Free Witches Protection Program by Michael Phillip Cash Page A

requests; he was sure he had gotten the instructions wrong.
    It was his first assignment, in the backside of Nevada, the armpit of the country. A dry desert town in the middle of nowhere had her in an underground lockup. He and three others were supposed to transport her to LA. An easy job, with simple instructions. She was a little old lady, for Christ’s sake.
    “Don’t look at her eyes. Don’t listen to her talk,” his superior informed him. They’d put a burlap bag over his face. It was medieval, gothic. Who put bags over people’s faces?
    Wes shrugged as he led her into the school bus they were using for transport. He was advised to tie her up, all the way in the rear. He held her elbow as she shuffled, her swollen feet manacled together. She was so polite, her voice a frail thread when she asked for water. It was absurd. What was she? A drug lord? Terrorist? Gun runner? He asked his fellow guard. It was an easy assignment, his father assured him. Don’t screw it up. He had pointed his fingers right at Wes’s face. Make me proud.
    Wes felt his eyes sting. His chest ached. He pressed a hand to his breastbone, feeling heat welling up in his chest cavity. He breathed out, fighting the strange feeling. Well, he hadn’t made his dad proud. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what had happened, but he came up with nothing. Nothing at all.
    He left the room, falling exhausted in his bed. Greenish shades from Junie’s container bathed his apartment.

CHAPTER NINE
    “Y ou scared her off yesterday,” Wes said crankily to his nauseatingly cheerful partner.
    “Maybe she got frightened when she saw two hundred and fifty pounds of flesh barreling toward her. She’s just a little itty -bitty thing,” Alastair said smugly.
    “I’m not two hundred and fifty pounds, and I did not come barreling toward her,” Wes retorted. “Itty -bitty? Who are you?”
    “A man with more years’ experience finding witches than you’ve lived on earth. Besides, I didn’t get myself escorted out of the building by two goons.”
    “I made it into the building.”
    “For what purpose?” Alastair said absently. “Don’t you think anybody could have done that?”
    Wes steamed with resentment. At the very least, he got an idea of who they were up against, didn’t he?
    “Do you think I don’t have an intimate knowledge of our adversary?” Alastair said, as if he was reading Wes’s thoughts.
    “What’s that got to do with your lack of understanding on how to handle a possible lead? You totally blew that one,” Wes growled back.
    “And you didn’t. I bet she burned that card to ashes when she got home.”
    Wes rubbed the spot under his breastbone that tingled still. He squirmed uncomfortably.
    “What’s the matter?” Alastair peered at him closely.
    “Nothing. I don’t know. Heartburn. There she is.” Wes dashed out the car before Alastair had a chance to react.
    * * *
    Morgan popped the rest of her sesame bagel into her mouth, her eyes scanning Sixth Avenue. It was early morning. Little gray sparrows fought for territory with the pigeons pecking at the crumbs beside the cart on the corner. The vendor held up a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee, which she declined. A black SUV with dark windows slowed as it passed her. The window opened, and she made eye contact with the silver -haired man who followed her yesterday. He slid into a space, and the younger blond man was out of the truck before she could move. He sprinted toward her, coming so close she could smell the clean scent of his aftershave. He clasped her wrist in a gentle hold, imprisoning her.
    “We’re not what you think.” His deep voice was close to her ear, making her shiver. He held onto her, and while he knew that he was doing the same thing he’d accused his partner of, somehow, it didn’t feel threatening.
    The world narrowed to the two of them. She noticed his blue eyes seemed even brighter than she remembered. She looked up at him, observing