Free Not Without Juliet (A Scottish Time Travel Romance) (Muir Witch Project #2) by L.L. Muir Page A

friggin’ episode could end—so she could turn off the nightmare.
    Or maybe the Monster would go back the way he’d come, see Jillian, and kill her instead, mistaking her for Jules.
    One of the Muir sisters gasped, as if she’d read her thoughts. Then she frowned at Jules and shook her head. What was with her?
    “Mind your own business, Witchy Poo,” she snarled.
    I didn’t say I wanted it to happen, she thought, and she thought it hard, just in case someone was listening in. And she’d be damned if the woman didn’t nod.
    Holy shit. I’m not in Kansas anymore.
    She and the sisters were led toward the dais. She couldn’t tell which disturbed the people more, the Muirs or the fact Jules wasn’t wearing a dress like all the other women. Ewan gestured for them to sit at his round table, just in front of the dais where the giant chair, the tomb, and the statue stood like three pink elephants in the room that everyone pretended not to notice. The crowd quieted when Ewan took his seat. But they weren’t looking his way anymore. They were looking back at the doorway, the one that led to the kitchens—and the cellar—where a very angry, though slightly confused hitman stood with his forearms braced against the walls to either side of him. In one hand, he held a shiny black gun. His black leather coat and blue jeans stood out as badly as her own. It took three seconds for him to locate her.
    Ewan reached out and squeezed her hand. Under his breath he said, “Stay calm, Jules. We’ll catch him and cage him. Just ye stay calm.”
    Calm? He didn’t know what he was talking about.
    A baby cried off to her right. She noticed a toddler on his father’s knee. From behind layers of her mother’s skirts, peeked a little girl. Jules couldn’t let these people get hurt because of her. But if she surrendered, she was dead.
    Ewan stood and Daniel fell in step beside him as they ambled toward the red-headed stranger. The man laughed as he tucked his gun behind him, then rubbed his hands together and egged them on. The fact that he hadn’t shot them was a damned good sign.
    She’d have only a minute or two, so she’d just have to move fast. And going back to the cellar, back into the tomb, was not an option at the moment. Her only chance to get him away from these people was to run.
    She was a great runner. She’d dragged the FBI babysitters around by the nose, insisting they let her run or she wouldn’t testify. It was the best way to pretend she was free of them. Eventually, they realized she was dead-set on testifying no matter what they did, so they’d stopped dancing to her tune. They’d made her settle for a treadmill. Still, over the months, she’d become quite the long distance runner. All she needed was a little head start.
    Ewan growled and attacked. Men jumped up all around her, suddenly ready to fight. The crowd blended quickly and in a matter of seconds, all those men were standing in the center of the room with the women and children to their backs and their enemy before them. The women were shuffling along the wall and taking the children with them, out a half-hidden doorway near the statue of Montgomery.  It was like a dance they’d danced before, or a fire drill.
    Ewan had flung his arms around the enemy’s stomach and plowed him into the side of the archway, but the big man just laughed. When he noticed the small army waiting their turn for a piece of him, he laughed harder.
    Jules had to move. Now.
    She hustled to the giant wood door that stood open to the night air, then paused. It was covered with metal and rivets and looked like a shield for a giant. It was probably part of that Scottish carpentry that Ewan was talking about. But that’s not what made her stop.
    She realized if she slipped away, Gabby’s man would keep searching for her there, among all those innocents. They might be slaughtered. She needed to go, but she needed the hitter to follow.
    Jules searched the back of the room for