Free Out of the Shadows (Tangled Ivy #3) by Tiffany Snow Page A

dilapidated wooden sign proclaiming the entrance to “Hunter’s Glen,” and beyond it I could see the outline of trailers lined up in a row. At this hour, I’d expect them all to be dark, but lights glowed from so many windows, it was as though it were merely seven o’clock in the evening instead of only a few hours from the approaching dawn. Very weird.
    Devon pulled off the road and killed the engine. He handed me the gun Beau had left, racking the slide for me.
    “It’s loaded with a round in the chamber,” he said, “so be careful. Don’t point it at anything you wouldn’t want to shoot.”
    I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. If Devon did actually need me to help him, I hoped I could.
    “I want you to stay here,” he said. I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “I’m going to do a recce, see what we’re dealing with. Easier and quieter with just one person. Then I’ll be back.”
    Okay, well, I couldn’t really argue with that, so I just nodded, but I wasn’t happy.
    Devon switched off the overhead light so it wouldn’t come on when he opened the door. When he got out, he didn’t slam the door shut, but pushed it lightly until it latched.
    The road was empty and silent, and I watched until he was swallowed by the darkness.
    God, I hated the waiting.
    My nerves were on edge and I started at every little noise. The smell inside of the car grew nauseating with each minute that passed, even with the windows down. Finally—afraid I was going to vomit from the sickly sweet odor—I couldn’t take it anymore. I got out the same way Devon had, making sure to be as quiet as I could.
    The weeds were thick on the side of the road and I tried to watch my footing carefully, not wanting to tumble down into the ditch. Walking a few yards down the road away from the car, I took a deep breath and cradled the weapon in my hands. Crouching down to better conceal myself, I waited.
    The humidity was thick, and sweat trickled down my spine, tickling me. The cicadas were out in force, their sound filling the night air. Grass moved off to my right and I prayed it wasn’t a snake. Though I’d grown up on a farm, I hated snakes.
    Then the sound of a scream split the air, followed by a gunshot.

T he scream cut off as abruptly as it began, and then there was a flurry of activity.
    I watched in horror, terrified that Devon had been spotted. Several men gathered in one area, talking animatedly. One of them pointed at a particular trailer and after a moment’s discussion, that’s where they went. I heard a screen door bang shut and more voices arguing.
    I waited for Devon to appear, sweat trickling down my back and mosquitoes feasting off my exposed arms. Surely he’d have heard the commotion and would be hightailing it out of there. But minute after minute passed with no sign of Devon. Anxiety and fear clawed at my belly. What if they had caught him? Killed him? Was that what the gunshot had been?
    Just when I thought I’d go insane, I saw him.
    The screen door banged open again and two men dragged Devon outside, one under each of his arms. His head hung low toward his chest, and he was barely supporting his own weight.
    Oh God . . .
    They dragged him down the ramshackle stairs of the wooden deck and into the forest of trees behind the trailer lot. I thought frantically of what to do. Was he dead and were they taking him into the woods to bury him? Or was he alive and were they going to finish him off?
    I couldn’t let them kill him. I had a gun and the added advantage of them not knowing I was there.
    There were too many of them for me to take on at once. This would require a bit more finesse than going in there, gun blazing.
    I hurried back to the car, searching the rank interior until I found something I could use—a ratty scarf. Quickly jerking up the shirt I was wearing, I used the thin scarf to tie my weapon against my side, tightly knotting the fabric so it wouldn’t slide. Then I grabbed a puffy vest