Free Maximum Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 3 by Jodi Redford Page B

spent under water, but Jona hadn’t elaborated on what the ruckus down at the station entailed. Better to be safe than sorry.
    Less than fifteen minutes later, he parked in front of the nondescript cedar-shake building that served as the station for parish nine. From all outward appearances, the structure blended seamlessly with all the other weather-beaten cottages hugging the Atlantic’s shoreline—an illusion that served their purposes well. The more in the dark the residents of Tybee remained regarding the true scope of the facility, and the necessity of having it, the better off for everyone.
    That judgment was validated a million times over the moment Max strode into the receiving area and spotted his deputy and two other men tussling with a scrawny guy dressed in tight pleather pants and a mesh muscle shirt. Ronnie Despano, AKA The Shock Factor. Ronnie lived up to his nickname as a series of loud crackles popped through the air, followed by a volley of grunts and curses by Max’s men. Lesson number one—never jump into a fight with an electric eel without properly arming yourself.
    Heeding his own advice, Max crossed to the small closet housing the office and janitorial supplies and located a pair of rubber gloves. Snapping them in place, he journeyed across the room to where Ronnie and the officers were still duking it out. Not wasting any time, Max calmly and efficiently reached over Jona’s thrashing form and crunched his fist into Ronnie’s nose. The eel shifter’s eyes rolled back, and a second later he crumpled to the floor, down for the count.
    Three pairs of sheepish expressions met Max’s head-on. He bit back the urge to reprimand them for being so dumbass as not to have taken precautions with Ronnie. Back when he was a rookie, his commanding officer would have reamed him a new one with no remorse for such a mistake, and rightfully so. But Max was still on shaky ground trying to earn the trust of his men. Chewing their asses out while his temper was riding high would only reinforce their belief that a shark shifter possessed no control over its teeth. Instead, he peeled off the gloves and nodded his chin toward the line of vacant cells in the rear of the building. Taking the hint, Fritz and Colby towed Ronnie’s limp body away.
    Slapping the gloves against his thigh, Max watched their departure. “What happened?”
    “We fucked up.” Jona’s voice held a wealth of chagrin. “Ronnie was three sheets to the wind when we dragged him in, but that’s no excuse to let down our guard.”
    Max inclined his head. “True. So I take it Ronnie’s here on a public drunk and disorderly again?” He checked the clock hung over the booking desk. Ten a.m. Had to be a record for the good ole Shock Factor.
    Jona swiped a hand over his jaw. “Yeah. He made a big scene at The Shipyard when they refused him a table. Not that I blame them with the condition he was in. Stupid bastard only made things worse when he started making lewd suggestions to the hostess.”
    “Mike Talbot the one who called dispatch?” Relief eased a fraction of the tension pinching the upper vertebrae of Max’s spine when Jona nodded. Max whistled a slow breath between his teeth. “Thank Jesus for small miracles.” Mike Talbot was the owner of The Shipyard diner, as well as a fellow water shifter. If Mike hadn’t been on the premises at the time, who knew what might have happened. The frightening possibilities pumped Max with dread.
    A sudden bellow erupted from the direction of the holding cells. “He broke my fucking nose! I’m suing your asses for this.”
    Jona groaned. “Sounds like Ronnie’s regained consciousness. Too bad we didn’t take him out with a tranquilizer dart.”
    Yeah, that would have saved them all a shitload of trouble. Grinding his molars, Max stalked across the room. In the holding tank, Ronnie was pacing behind a set of bars, a trickle of blood leaking from his left nostril. He stopped his aimless prowling