Jamie by Lori Foster Read Free Book Online

Creed out . . .
    The dog cried, cold and scared, the noise annoying. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too much longer.
    Ah-ha. Finally Knute left his car and headed for his house, red-eyed and mean drunk. But that didn’t matter.
    Yesterday the dog had gotten loose and wandered through town. One and all had seen the signs of neglect, the burs and ticks, the lack of flesh. Stupid bastard.
    Yes indeed, Lamar Knute would serve perfectly as the first target.
    When he neared the dog, it barked, startling him so that he almost tripped. He cursed, raised his hand—and that was all the distraction needed. With speed, training, and experience, the body erupted from the bushes, kicking out fast and hard. Well before Knute could touch the poor dog, a steel-toed boot connected squarely in his chest, sending him backward into a puddle of mud.
    â€œSon of a bitch!” Knute roared, then clutched his chest in pain.
    A thick stick, collected earlier from the side of the road, hit him next, connecting with his hip, his thigh, his shoulder. Thwack, thwack, thwack. Too fast to be deflected, too hard for a quick recovery. Once more, not as hard, against his jaw, and Knute screamed out.
    God, it felt good to dominate, to take ultimate control.
    â€œStop! Stop it, please.” The bastard curled in on himself, sniveling, cowering.
    The dog served as a good excuse for the attack, which would keep others from guessing at identities. “You aren’t very good to your dog.”
    â€œIt’s a fucking animal.”
    â€œAnimals need care. When was the last time you brushed him? Or took him to see a vet?”
    Knute obviously lacked good sense, to provoke an attacker. “A vet! That costs money. And I ain’t wasting good money on a worthless hound—”
    Perfect. Thwack, thwack.
    â€œStop! Why are you doing this?”
    Thwack.
    â€œOw, stop!”
    Thwack. “You’re a slimeball, Knute, you know that?” Thwack, thwack. The stick landed again and again with satisfying force. With each strike, the sense of power grew.
    â€œFor the love of God, stop!”
    One breath, then another, and calm settled in. “You won’t ever mistreat the dog again.”
    â€œFine, fine! I won’t. Jus’ quit beatin’ on me.”
    â€œYou better not change your mind.” The thick stick lifted into the air with credible menace. Holding back the blow took Herculean effort. “You won’t know when, and you won’t know where. But trust me, next time, I won’t stop until your black heart does.”
    â€œJesus.” The man stared hard through the pouring rain, petrified, his ugly face pale and twisted in pain. “Who the hell are you?”
    Beneath the silly black mask, white teeth flashed in a cocky grin. “I’m your worst nightmare. Remember that.”
    â€œI ain’t likely to forget.” Knute pushed to his feet and stumbled. “I think you crippled me.” And still grumbling, he headed for his house in a haphazard, awkward trot, constantly looking over his shoulder in fear. Seconds later, he disappeared into his house and slammed the door.
    No more time to waste. Getting caught now would ruin well-laid plans.
    The dog whined, unaware of its improved future. “Sorry dog. You’re on your own now.” Rain dripped off the dog’s snout, its stooped back. Pitiful. But surely someone else’s problem.
    A twig snapped, and bushes rustled.
    It couldn’t be that easy.
    Filled with anticipation, the stranger jerked around and searched the surrounding area. Nothing. Not a single sign of Creed. Must have been an animal, or maybe the wind.
    Disappointment set in, but not for long.
    Sooner or later, Jamie would come out of hiding. He couldn’t help himself. His do-gooder nature dictated that he try to protect everyone, more than he protected himself. That was the key.
    The plan would work. If not today—then tomorrow or the day after.