Stand Your Ground by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page A

one found in small towns. “You might find something in McElhaney. It’s ninety miles farther west—”
    â€œMy business is here,” the blonde interrupted. She reached into the pocket of her tight, stylish jeans for a phone.
    Stark was about as far from being a member of the fashion police as anybody could be, but he thought the jeans went well with the dark blue silk blouse the woman wore. The outfit suited her. She wasn’t young anymore, but she was still extremely attractive.
    And he wasn’t so old that he failed to notice that.
    Something about the woman interested him besides her looks. She seemed familiar somehow, as if he had seen her before. He was trying to figure out if they had ever met when he suddenly realized who she was.
    He left a twenty and a five on the table with his ticket to pay for the meal and a generous tip. Then he stood up, carried his Stetson, and walked over to the counter.
    â€œHello, Ms. Devereaux,” he said.
    â€œHi,” she said, nodding distractedly in his general direction without really looking at him. Clearly, she was used to people recognizing her and coming up to her to say hello. Why wouldn’t she be? She had been on TV quite a bit, after all. Everybody knew people who had been on TV.
    â€œI couldn’t help but overhear about your problem,” Stark went on.
    She had her phone out now and was scrolling through something on its screen.
    â€œUnless you’ve got a motel room in your pocket—” she began.
    â€œI might,” Stark said.
    That prompted her to look at him, finally. Interest sparked in her eyes at the sight of his tall, broad-shouldered form.
    â€œWhat did you have in mind?” she asked.
    Not the same thing she obviously believed he did, he thought, but he was flattered that she hadn’t rejected the idea out of hand. He said, “I have one of the rooms over at the motel—”
    â€œYou do, do you?”
    â€œAnd I thought maybe if I could find somewhere else to stay, I could give it up and let you have it,” Stark went on.
    â€œOh.”
    He wasn’t sure if she sounded disappointed or relieved—or both.
    Then a look of recognition appeared on her face, and she went on, “Wait a minute. I know you. Don’t I?”
    â€œWe’ve never met in person,” Stark said, “but you’ve talked about me on television, when you were being interviewed as a legal expert, and before that as a spokesman for the White House.”
    â€œOh, my God,” she breathed. “You’re—”
    â€œIf I recall correctly,” Stark said, “you called me a murdering, right-wing, vigilante lunatic.”
    â€œYou’re him. John Howard Stark.”
    â€œYes, ma’am. And you’re Alexis Devereaux. And this—” Stark waved the hand holding the Stetson to indicate their surroundings. “I think this is what they call in the movies a meet-cute.”

CHAPTER 7
    Phillip Hamil arrived in Fuego that evening, as well. He had caught the red-eye from Washington to Dallas, where one of the members of his organization had a car waiting for him. Then he had spent the day driving across Texas, one of the places he hated most.
    This was one of the last bastions of Republican strength in the country, and even it threatened to turn purple because of the growing liberal enclaves of Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, and Austin.
    Over the past decade, the Democrats had become as adept at getting the illegal alien vote as they always had been at turning out the dead vote, so it was only a matter of time until a tipping point was reached.
    Hamil didn’t really care about American politics except for putting the system to use in furthering his own cause, the cause of Islam. The Democrats were the most useful because they were the most easily manipulated. Appeal to their emotions and they would fall into lockstep behind any idea, no matter how stupid and obviously