Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

cookies,” I told him. “I saved a bag in the car for you to take home. I brought more with me, but the horde is in possession.”
    â€œGood,” he said. “Now, what is robbing you of sleep?”
    He used to leave me alone. But ever since Tim . . . ever since I’d been hurt, he coddled me in his own way.
    â€œNothing you can help me with,” I said.
    â€œMoney?”
    â€œNope.”
    He frowned, his white eyebrows lowering over his cool gray eyes.
    â€œVampires?” He snapped it out. Zee didn’t like vampires, much.
    â€œNo, sir.” I saluted his tone. “Nothing you can do anything about.”
    â€œDon’t you sass me, girl.” He glowered at me. “I—”
    One of Gabriel’s sisters screamed. I had a terrible vision of Sam chewing on one of the kids, and I was running.
    I had my hand on the door and the door mostly open when Tia shouted, “¡Mamá, Mamá, una pistola! Tiene una pistola.”
    Inside the office there were kids all over: hanging from shelving, standing on the six- inch sill at the bottom of the big window, on the floor wrapped around Sam.
    A man, a huge man with a nasty- looking automatic in a steady two-handed grip, stood in the doorway between the outside and the office, holding the door open with one black leather-booted foot. The rest of him was dressed in black, too, with some sort of bright yellow design on the left shoulder of his leather pseudomilitary jacket. The only outlier in his generally soldier-of-fortune appearance was the shoulder-length silver-threaded red hair that flowed from his head in a manner that would have done credit to a romance novel cover model.
    Just behind him, I caught a glimpse of another man, dressed in a button-up shirt and slacks. But the second man’s body language told me at a glance that it was only the first man, the man with the gun, who was a threat. The second man held something on his shoulder, but, beyond determining that it wasn’t a weapon, I ignored it and him to focus on the dangerous one.
    Sylvia held a broom in her hand, but she was frozen because the barrel of the gun was aimed right at the littlest Sandoval. Maia was locked onto Sam with both hands and screaming Spanish in a manner that might be overly dramatic if there hadn’t been an automatic pointed at her.
    I expect it was worry for her that kept the wolf motionless on the floor of the office, his eyes narrowed on the barrel of the gun as the skin over his muzzle moved in a soundless snarl.
    If I’d had time to be scared, it would have been then, looking at Samuel. At Sam. Already I could see the tightening of the muscles in his hindquarters that preceded an attack. Gun or not, Maia or not, he wasn’t waiting long.
    All of this I saw the first instant I opened the door, and I was moving even as I took in the scene. I snatched Sylvia’s broom, rounded the corner of the counter, and brought the broom handle down on the gunman’s wrists. It hit with a crack, knocking the gun loose before he, or anyone else in the room, had a chance to react to my entrance.
    Aside from turning into a coyote when I feel like it, my superpowers are limited to an inconsistent resistance to magic and a turn of speed that is a bit on the far side of humanly possible. From the time I heard the first scream, I used every ounce of speed I had.
    I swung at the man a second time, this time aiming at his body as if the broom were a Louisville Slugger, saying urgently, “Stay down , Sam.”
    All that karate was good for something, I thought, as the man grabbed the handle and jerked back. I let it go. Off balance because he was braced for resistance, he took a step back, and I kicked him in the stomach, knocking him down the stair and onto the blacktop outside. Not incidentally, he took the guy who’d been behind him with him to the ground.
    Now, if only the werewolf listens.
    I snatched up the gun our intruder had dropped on the floor and stepped into the doorway, holding the door open as he had, with one foot. I pointed the gun at the stranger’s face—and waited for the real terror to begin.
    But there was no roar behind me, no further screams as Sam shook off the air of civilization that made people look at him and think “pet” rather than “monster.”
    I took a moment to breathe then, half-stunned by Sam’s restraint. It took me a moment to figure out what to do with the