The God Collector
Page 33
He had been sitting there listening to the Triumverate’s loudly voiced complaints about the criminal element that the annual music festival brought to town. In their esteemed opinions most of the musicians were deviants or worse. He’d ignored their hushed whispers about how the county sheriff—Jake himself—played in one of the bands they were complaining about. Instead of worrying about the area’s drug problem, which was growing by the week, the Triumverate was more worried about the damn noise level from the music festival, and blamed the annual event for year-round crime issues.
All he had intended to do was answer any questions about law enforcement coverage for the event—street closures, security and so on—and get out of there before the usual gossip fest began. But the mayor’s ex had shown up, apparently upset about his child support payments. A few moments later and Jake was on his back with a hole in his gut.
Funny thing, Jake didn’t feel as bad as he knew he should. Maybe he was dying. Or worse, maybe he wasn’t.
That thought made him open his eyes.
Yep, the Triumvirate was looming over him, along with Evan. What looked like half the populace lurked beyond them.
“Stay with the sheriff while I get these people outta here, will ya, Charlie?” Evan growled. “And keep pressure on this. I’m gonna find out what’s taking the ambulance so damn long.”
“I’m on it,” Charlie said.
Charlie Sloan was his best deputy and the one slated to step in for Jake if he was out of commission. He was definitely out of commission now.
Jake watched Charlie’s face come into view above him, pale and concerned. Oddly, even though Charlie was practically leaning on the wound, the pain had become distant and dull. He heard Evan and another of his men rounding up the gawkers.
“Dammit, Jake. Were you that desperate for a vacation?” Charlie said. The look on his face belied his words.
“Hell no,” Jake croaked. “I’m in this…for the long term…disability.”
“I knew it. You’ve been angling for more time to fiddle around in Donnie’s shop.” Charlie’s smile looked forced. “Get it? Fiddle?”
“You trying to…kill me…with that crap?”
The building had gone silent. The three witches had been corralled outside with the rest and he heard the ambulance siren at last.
“You ain’t gonna die, Moser. Your hide is too thick.”
If the bullet was where he thought it was, he wondered what the EMT guys would make of his thick skin. Shit. “Charlie?”
“Yeah, Jake.”
“Get to my…mom before someone else does. Tell her I’m…okay.”
“I’ll bring her to the hospital myself,” Charlie said. “And I’ll keep an eye on her for you.”
“Thanks.” He knew his voice was a slur. He was so…very…tired.
“Anyone else you want me to call? Eric? The Woodruffs? They’ll wanna know.”
His brother Eric had fled across the continent to get away from all the drama. And this past year had been bad enough for the Woodruffs without adding this kind of trauma.
Some befuddled part of his brain offered up a memory of Thea Woodruff dressed all in black standing in the shadows at her grandfather’s funeral.
“No,” he answered as everything slid away into darkness.
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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The God Collector
Copyright © 2015 by Catherine Butzen
ISBN: 978-1-61922-498-8
Edited by Jessica Corra
Cover by Kanaxa
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First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2015
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