Free Pariah by J. R. Roberts

steady flow of words that made as much sense to Clint as his words had made to her. He listened to her carefully, however, to see if he could narrow down what sort of language she was speaking. It sounded Asian, but not Chinese. It wasn’t Japanese, either, but that was only going off a few encounters he’d had with people from that area. Lylah’s words had an Asian lilt with a bit more of an edge to them. Before Clint could figure out more than that, he was presented with another letter.
    She handed it to him and Clint took it. No comparison was necessary for him to recognize the handwriting as Maddy’s. It read:
    Wait for Clint Adams. Go with him. Hide until he gets there.
    The note had been hastily scribbled and, by the looks of it, had been crumpled up more than once.
    â€œGo where?” Clint asked. When he saw the confusion start to spread on her face, Clint pointed to the second sentence of the letter and made the same exaggerated shrug he’d made earlier. “Go . . . where?”
    It seemed Clint’s efforts had paid off. Lylah understood him well enough to answer with some gestures of her own. Pointing toward the door, she started to wave in a series of several shooing motions.
    â€œGo away from here, huh? That’s not a bad idea.”
    Suddenly, footsteps rattled upon the front porch and someone started knocking upon the door. Hearing that, Lylah swung her hands toward the back door and waved furiously toward that exit instead.

SIXTEEN
    Clint not only agreed with Lylah’s idea, but was already seeing it through when the knocks grew stronger and louder. He pulled himself up from his chair, grunting at the fierce pain that still lingered below his belt. Choking back the discomfort, Clint headed for the kitchen and the back door that he’d used to get into the house. Lylah moved like a cat, shooting past him and streaking into the kitchen.
    â€œHello?” someone said from the front porch. “Is that you, Maddy?”
    Clint stopped and looked toward the front door. There was a narrow window near it, but that was covered with curtains. Although he couldn’t see who was outside, Clint could tell there was more than one person there.
    â€œI heard a commotion in there,” the person said. “Is someone hurt?”
    When Clint looked into the kitchen, he saw Lylah motioning at him to hurry up and get through the back door. He held out a hand in a way that said “stop” in nearly every language.
    After he’d waited there a few more seconds, Clint heard, “I know someone’s in there. Are you all right, Miss Gerard?”
    Grudgingly, Clint approached the door. He knew it was either that, or wait to be discovered by the already curious neighbors when he rode away. Lylah didn’t like that much at all, and she looked ready to bolt. Before she did that, Clint turned toward her and used one of the words from Maddy’s letter.
    â€œHide.”
    She knew that one and scampered toward the cupboard where she’d been hiding when Clint first arrived. After the kitchen was quiet again, Clint opened the front door to find the pinch-faced old woman who lived next door standing on the porch along with two young men wearing badges.
    â€œOh,” the old neighbor said. “It’s you, Mister Adams.”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    â€œWas there a problem? I heard a crash.” Leaning to try and get a peek into the house, she added, “Several crashes, as a matter of fact.”
    Clint winced painfully, which wasn’t an act. “Yeah, that was me. I tripped over a chair.”
    â€œIs Madeline in there with you?”
    â€œNo,” he replied, figuring it was safer not to underestimate the old woman’s nosiness. “She isn’t.”
    â€œWho is? I thought I saw a young woman slip in a while ago. Would that happen to be another one of those poor, unfortunate souls Maddy insists on collecting?”
    Clint