Natural Evil Read Online Free Page A

satellite cell phone and laptop, and set the old wooden, painted box holding the Tarot deck, along with her books, on the tiny kitchen countertop beside medicinal supplies for the dog.
    Then she set the metal case that held her Glock on the booth/couch and sat down beside it. Storing her gun already cleaned and unloaded was an old habit, but to make sure it was in optimum working order, she field-stripped it, racked the slide, reassembled it and snapped a full magazine of ammunition in place. Her movements were fast, sure and automatic. The gun was a familiar companion, as comforting as Jackson’s cigarette smoke. Tension eased from her neck and shoulders as she worked.
    As a young woman just finishing college, she had watched with deep interest when the Pentagon came close to banning women from active combat in 1994. They had cited both physical and psychological concerns, but the outcry against such a decision had been so public, the Pentagon had been forced to abandon their stance.
    None of the seven Elder Races demesnes had ever banned females from any part of their military or ruling structures, so it was viewed as reprehensible for human society in the US to even consider barring women from serving combat duty in the army. The public debate had actually piqued her interest in joining the army. Her abilities had solidified her career path in Special Forces. Two years ago she had retired a Major.
    She lived the same story so many other soldiers did. She was haunted by the ghosts of those she had served with who had fallen, by the ghosts of the innocents harmed by war, by the ghosts of decisions she had made and not made, and now would have to live with for the rest of her life.
    And there was something that slept deep inside of her that only came awake when she held a gun.
     
     
    The sound of someone racking a gun slide yanked the dog awake. Adrenaline dumped toxic waste in his bloodstream. He was awash in pain and feral urges. He wanted to tear into flesh. He needed to hear bones break and somebody screaming. He hurt so bad, it almost made him vomit. He breathed shallowly because the binding on his broken ribs wouldn’t let him do anything else.
    Quiet, warmth, golden light. They made no sense to him. As he worked to get his bearings, a sneakered foot shifted beside his head. The foot was attached to a long, trim, jeans-clad leg. He remembered steel-toed boots slamming into him, and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. If he could have, he would have lunged forward to savage that leg.
    That was when he caught scent of her. The woman.
    He had been drowning in a dry, fiery ocean of agony, scoured by endless sand and scorched by the sun, when she’d appeared. She’d cradled his head in long, strong fingers, and bathed his parched mouth and throat with cool water.
    When he had lost all reason to live, she’d whispered to him, “Don’t die.”
    So he hadn’t.
    Now they were together in this quiet, warm, golden place. Wherever this was. A knock sounded at the door. He tried to lunge to his feet to protect her, but his abused body wouldn’t obey him. He watched through slit eyes as she rose to her feet. She was a long, tall woman who moved with confident, lethal grace. His thirsty soul drank down the sight. Just before she answered the door, she tucked a gun into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, underneath her sweatshirt.
    She was the one who had racked the slide. If he could have, he would have smiled.
    Cold air sliced through the warmth. A worn voice said, “Settling in all right?”
    “Yes, thanks,” the woman said. “It’s cozy in here.”
    The voice was male. The dog growled. The sound he made was hoarse and broken. Fresh pain erupted in abused throat muscles. The woman turned to stare at him. She said, “Shush.”
    The calm command in her voice startled him into shushing. But he kept his lips curled, and he showed the newcomer his teeth.
    “He’s awake,” said the