Terrors of the High Seas - DK6 Read Free Page B

hedge. Dar broke into a jog as she passed it, then ran lightly down the road towards the small, what Kerry called “charmingly rustic” market just at the next crossroads.
    She made the trip without bumping into another soul until she pushed open the door to the market and walked inside. The shop had well-stocked shelves, a respectable collection of fresh fruits and vegetables, and best of all, a very fresh seafood counter in the back.
    Dar headed for it, then examined the choices laid out on ice in the cold case.
    “Well, hello there, young lady.”
    The cheerful voice almost made her jump. Dar looked up to see the owner standing behind the fish case, wiping his hands on a Terrors of the High Seas 11
    towel. “Evening.”
    “Got some great looking crabs today.”
    Dar’s eyes twinkled. “Not today, thanks. Gimme a pound of the shrimp and two of the tails.” She watched contentedly as the man wrapped up the chilled, already cooked seafood. “Thanks.” She accepted the package and went toward the dairy case, not really paying attention when the market door opened.
    “Hey, mister.”
    Aware that the salutation didn’t include her, Dar studied her choices in milk, cocking half an ear behind her mostly because the rough voice that had spoken had set off her trouble sonar.
    “What can I do for you?” the market owner replied.
    “Got any shotgun shells?”
    After a moment’s pause, the owner chuckled. “Son, this is a grocery, not a Sportsman’s Paradise,” he said. “We don’t sell no guns here.”
    “Aw, man, you mean I gotta go up to the Wal-Mart? That sucks!
    Why don’t you get them stuff here? You got all kinds of other crap!”
    “Well, you gotta get a license, for one thing—”
    “So? Go get one!” The voice was getting belligerent. “You’re supposed to get what people need, right?”
    Dar set her package down and replaced the sugar she’d been considering; then she circled the row of canned goods and examined the noisy newcomer. It was, as she’d suspected, a boy in his late teens, dressed in an NRA T-shirt and jeans with patches consisting of Confederate flags. “Oh, look,” Dar muttered under her breath. “Walking stereotype. Wonder where his pickup’s parked.”
    “So get off yer ass and get us some service here!” the boy demanded.
    “Now, look, son—”
    “Don’t you call me that, you old jackass!”
    Dar walked over. “Excuse me.”
    The boy turned, irritation switching to lechery in the blink of a hormone as his eyes took in Dar’s suntanned, mostly exposed body.
    “Hey, baby! What c’n I do for ya?”
    Detecting fermented malt, Dar’s nose twitched. “Stop breathing.”
    He blinked. “Huh?”
    Dar abandoned that tack. “You go to the hardware store for bread?”
    “Naw.”
    “So why come here for gun supplies?”
    The boy didn’t seem to mind the questions, his eyes busy taking in Dar’s athletic form. “’Cause it’s closer’n hauling my ass 12 Melissa Good up the road to the Wal-Mart.” He grinned suddenly. “You wanna ride in my truck?”
    “No,” Dar replied. “What are you shooting?”
    “Huh?”
    “You’re buying shotgun shells.”
    “Yeah?”
    “What are you going to shoot them at?”
    “Signs,” the boy replied amiably. “Or them little deers, or whatever.”
    Dar frowned. “For what?”
    “Fer fun,” the boy said. “You wanna come? I got me a box of shells. Just wanted some more in case I find me some ’gators or something. You up fer some fun, baby?”
    Dar stared at him for a moment, then felt the wash of adrenaline and anger sweep through her. “Sure.” She grinned. “I love fun.” She moved in a blur, drawing her right hand back and cocking it, then letting loose and cracking the now really smirking boy across the chops. He spun away from her and fell over a stack of beer cases, slamming his head against the doorpost.
    “That was fun.” Dar stalked after him intently. “C’mere, you brainless little punk.” She grabbed