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Kyna relaxed. In spite of the wind she seemed to be in a very good mood, laughing and jokinghanging onto Cyrus's arm one moment and then waving her hands around in flights of fancy as she told him funny stories about her customers. But as they approached the stampede stadium, Cyrus found that he was only half listening. Something back in one of the cavernous tunnels that led down into the arena had caught his attention. Something that smelled . . . bad. |
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At first he thought that it was the cowboys letting their lust for revenge override their common sense. But as he got closer to the stadium, he decided that it wasn't the cowboys' smell, or their sound. And it most definitely didn't feel like anything Cyrus had ever run into before. |
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"Are you listening to me?" Kyna snapped. |
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Cyrus stopped and held up his hand for quiet. |
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"What?" She stopped and threw out her hip. "Here I am, freezing my tush off and you want to stop and chat?" |
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Kyna inched closer. "What is it? Those two men?" |
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"No. It's . . . something else. I'm not sure. I want you to go back to the pavilion and call the police." |
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Kyna shook her head vehemently. "No way. I go where you go. You come with me." |
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But he couldn't. Whatever was out there was challenging him in a way that had nothing to do with machismo. He didn't like it, didn't understand it, but something inside his body wouldn't let him ignore it. |
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"Do as I tell you, and take this with you." He pulled the automatic from the holster. "You know how to use it?" He pulled back the slide and fed a round into the chamber. |
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"Yes," she replied. "But won't you need it?" |
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"Not for this. New go on, make the call." |
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Even in the meager light Kyna could tell from Cyrus's expression that there was no room for argument. She took the automatic, checked the load and then, without another word, took off at a brisk walk back the way they had come. |
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Cyrus kept an eye on her until she was safely out of sight, |
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