Free Ruffskin by Megan Derr Page A

arrived."
    "I hate you," Johnnie replied and struggled to get free so he could inflict bodily harm.
    "If you think I am letting you go just so you can hit me," Grim said, still laughing, "then you are sorely mistaken, Highness."
    "You'll have to let me go event—" The words broke off on a hiss when Grim bit the back of his neck, nuzzled at his throat, and Johnnie decided he would delay the hitting slightly if—
    Johnnie nearly fell forward onto the pool table when Grim abruptly let him go as the door slammed open. He scowled at the intruder, who at present was nothing more than a raincoat and what seemed to be buckets of water pouring off him. The man had better have burst in for a very good reason.
    "Sorry!" the man said, and pulled off his raincoat, hanging it up on one of the hooks by the door and adding to the mess already put there by Johnnie and Grim's coats.
    Johnnie picked up his cue stick, setting it aside while he racked the balls to start over.
    "Sorry to barge in and make a mess," the man repeated.  "Especially as loudly as I did; I'm afraid the wind got the better of me." As if in agreement or protest, the wind rattled at the door, threatening to slam it open again.
    "No worries," Grim said. "Can we help you with something?"
    The man pulled down the brim of his flat cap, hiding his face. Johnnie realized then that they had yet to get a good look at him. "I'm looking for Peyton Blue?" the man said, phrasing it as a question, as if not certain what Peyton looked like—yet Johnnie had the distinct impression he knew neither of them was Peyton.
    "He's in the back," Johnnie said even as Grim darted off to fetch him.
    Curiosity snared, Johnnie abandoned the pool table and wandered over to the bar, closer to the man. He was dressed in a drab polo and worn jeans, but Johnnie could not make out the insignia on the polo, covered as it was by the light hoodie the man wore over the polo. He wore no jewelry to speak of, and his hair was hidden. Nothing about him stood out or was remotely memorable. The man was trying very hard to give nothing of himself away.
    Johnnie moved closer, smiling congenially as though he were attending some interminable social function. "So what brings you out in this wretched weather?"
    "Uh—business," the man said. "Delivery. Man said the package couldn't wait, had to be delivered today, the sooner the better."
    "Package?" Johnnie echoed. But before he could press further, Peyton appeared, wiping his hands on a towel, with Grim just behind him.
    The delivery man jumped, and Johnnie eyed him askance. The man then stepped forward and thrust a small brown box into Peyton's hands. "For you," he said, and Johnnie caught the faintest tremble in the man's voice.
    Then suddenly the man turned and bolted, door slamming behind him—his raincoat was still hanging beside Johnnie's on the hooks by the door.
    "What in the world was that all about?" Peyton asked aloud. He looked at the package, frowning. "Should I open this?"
    Johnnie took it and examined the box carefully. "I don't smell or sense anything."
    "Nothing seems amiss," Grim added. "Maybe Johnnie was just making him nervous?"
    "Be silent or I'll give you good cause to be nervous," Johnnie retorted. Grim only smirked.
    Peyton rolled his eyes at them, and then began to peel off the brown paper, revealing a black velvet jeweler's box, but deeper and wider than usual.  There were no markings to speak of. So it was a generic box, or the contents were from a store too low-end to bother stamping their boxes.
    Pulling off the lid, Peyton drew a sharp breath, and all the color drained from his face—then he threw the box, contents and all, on the bar and bolted out the door, bellowing for the messenger.
    Johnnie flicked his fingers at Grim and said haughtily, "Fetch."
    "Yes, Highness," Grim replied and vanished.
    Alone, Johnnie helped himself to the box. Inside was a handsome watch. He would not have minded seeing it in his collection. But then, a