Page 31 of Coyote

"They knew John was next to the bike?" Mateo asked.

"They knew the bike was here," Ransom said. "Finding John beside it was luck."

"Bad luck," Cruz muttered, hands shaking.

He caught me noticing and shoved them into his pockets.

"You did well," I said.

"I screamed and ran."

"You got three men off me in under a minute. Screaming was the fastest thing in this yard."

His mouth tightened. He nodded and looked away.

Rafe stood. "Paired watches from now on. Nobody sleeps alone. Nobody leaves the main yard without checking in, and nobody crosses the fence alone. Ransom, double the perimeter. Linc, wake Fenix and take the south line. Three for the west plot before it's light. Joe, check every vehicle for another tracker. And I'll call Aguilar tonight. Better he hears it from me than from somebody else tomorrow." He looked at Coyote. "You stay with John."

Coyote showed him blood-covered teeth. "I wasn't going to."

"This wasn't the attack," Rafe said. "This was Zaroff proving he could reach us. Next time he'll send more."

"Next time, I'll be waiting."

Rafe looked down at the bodies. "I know."

People started moving.

Joe pulled tools from the wall and started on the motorcycle. Ransom and Mateo carried the first body outside. Sierra argued with Cruz about whether a near murder excused him from work.

Coyote stayed beside me. His hand closed around mine. His palm was tacky with another man's blood. "Come on, big man," he said. "I'm getting this off you."

Sierra put three new stitches in John before he let either of us near the bathhouse.

He sat John sideways at the kitchen table and cut away the dressing over his ribs. Two sutures had pulled through completely. A third hung loose in the swollen skin, useless except for making me want to find another Javelina to open up.

"You did this fighting?" Sierra asked.

"Some of it."

Sierra looked at the bruises darkening John's throat and jaw. "I see."

John's eyes found me across the table. I still had blood drying under my nails. Some of it was mine. Most of it belonged to the men in the shed.

"Needle," John said.

Sierra already had one waiting. He washed his hands, pulled on gloves, and numbed the skin around the torn sutures. John told him where to place the first stitch and how deep to take it. Sierra listened without arguing, which meant he was more worried than he wanted anybody to know.

I stood close enough that my thigh touched John's knee.

The needle went in. John didn't move. His hand closed around the back of my leg instead, fingers curling into my jeans.

Sierra pulled the edges of the wound together. The black thread passed through John's skin. A new bead of blood rose where the needle came out. My teeth ached.

"Easy, Percy," Sierra said without looking up.

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're growling."