The Dream Thief, Kari Kilgore [reading well TXT] 📗

Karl snorted and shook his head. Even after everything he'd done and was going to do, she still didn't trust him.

"What do you want me to do?" he said. "Go home? Getting away from my parents before several hours go by might not be possible."

"No, that won't be necessary. The porch will be fine. I know it seems like a lot to ask."

"It is a lot to ask," Karl said, already heading for the door. "Especially when you're dragging me off to who bloody knows where."

"Karl, hang on." She touched his arm. "I'm not used to working with anyone, but that's not all of it. You can't tell him what you don't know. If you don't know anything, he may not question you all that hard if it comes to that."

She stepped over to a bookcase and moved several books aside. She turned to him with a small black revolver. Unlike the nearly arm-length bronzed weapons Constable Law carried, this wasn’t much larger than his hand. She also held a leather belt with a rigid pouch.

"I want you to put this on under your jacket," she said. "Bess is more than capable of defending me and herself, but Rhysto never fights fair. He's also a typical bully in a lot of ways. If he does happen to return and sees you, and this, odds are good that will buy us time to get away."

"Odds are also good that buys us a return visit with a lot more company with real blasters," Karl said, but he took his jacket off and strapped the belt on. Loretta slipped the gun into the pouch and snapped a strap across the back. "How long are you going to be retrieving your things? I've never touched any kind of gun, Loretta, much less fired one."

"It won't come to that," she said. "Not in the middle of the day. I'm telling you, seeing you with it will be enough, at least until we're gone from here. He knows what kinds of people go through the trouble to get these. I need about twenty minutes."

"I know what kinds of people, too," Karl said. "Not one minute longer."

Karl forced himself not to slam the door, mainly because having a firearm attached to his body made him distinctly uncomfortable. Carrying an illegal device at all was bad enough, especially in broad daylight. He knew the general procedure of shooting, but not much at all about avoiding it. He adjusted his jacket as carefully as he could, then sat on the porch swing to wait.

"I assume Loretta let you in on this little plan?" he said.

"We made the plan together, Mr. Gilmore," the floating voice said. "Far better he not know about me at all if we can avoid it."

"You didn't let him in?"

"He let himself in," she said. "He never suspected I was here."

Karl rolled his eyes, starting to wonder if Rhysto were a figment of Loretta's imagination, one meant to help keep him in line.

Movement at the end of the street caught his eye. A broad man with a heavy, dark brown beard strolled toward the house, the arrogance in his stride unmistakable.

"Expecting any other visitors, Bess?"

"I am not," she said. "Burly, brutish asshole approaching?"

"That would be him. Do I need to let Loretta know?"

"I already have," she said. "Make sure he sees the gun. You'll be perfectly safe."

Karl tried to let the firm confidence in her voice settle his nerves, but it didn't help. He watched the man approaching and listened to his own heart beating faster. Seeing Rhysto in the flesh made him tend to believe Loretta's description of his personality.

He wore the shaw pilot's typical long black jacket with a blood-red vest and broad black belt underneath. Coarse wool pants and boots that matched the belt completed the rough image Karl's mother so deeply disapproved of. She would have been even more horrified at Rhysto's shaggy brown hair, loose in the breeze without the flat, rimmed hat the pilots normally wore.

Restraining a patient, no matter how big or insane, was one thing. Facing down a cruel, shrewd man who likely carried his own forbidden weapons and at least as many knives as Loretta did was not something he felt prepared to do. And yet here he was.

Rhysto stood at the bottom of the stairs, and one hand was indeed hovering close to his left side.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm an invited guest of the owner of this house," Karl said. "I doubt I could say the same about you."

"Invitations don't mean a damned thing with a certain class of woman," Rhysto said, one foot on the bottom step.

Karl leaned back and stretched one arm along the back of the swing, grasping tightly so his hand wouldn't shake. He felt his jacket shift, and more importantly, he saw the other man's eyes shift too.

"All the same," he said. "She's made her preference clear."

"Why are you here?" Rhysto leaned forward, but he didn't take another step. "Do you know what sort of woman you're mixed up with?"

"That's none of your concern," Karl said. "You can state your business, and I'll decide whether to let anyone know or not. Or you can turn around and go back where you came from. It's all the same to me."

Imitating a courage he didn't feel, Karl got to his feet and stood with his arms crossed. He was a good bit younger and taller than Rhysto, and George wasn't the only one who talked about how strong he was.

Rhysto's hands curled into fists, then relaxed at his side. He moved his foot off the step.

"I don't know or care who you are," Rhysto said. "But I do know what's mine. You tell our mutual acquaintance that nothing between us is settled. If she keeps dodging me, it will only get worse. Understand me?"

Karl shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. He made sure to pull his jacket back again with the motion.

"I understand the