Waking Evil 02 by Kylie Brant

way you looked at it.

    “Stay ’way from him, you hear me?” Banty slammed his palm against the screen door for emphasis. “We needed to give permission to the sheriff and those state guys to talk to him. Even had to sign somethin’ before the media folks could get near him. So who the hell do you think you are to waltz up and sit him down pretty as you please and fill his head with nonsense?”

    “Well, the fact is, Ba—Robert,” he corrected himself, “I’m not the law and I’m not the press. So technically I don’t need your permission to pass a few minutes shootin’ the breeze with your son.”

    “The hell you don’t!” The second assault on the screen door came from Banty’s fist. “My kid’s not gonna be one of them weirdos you write about spoutin’ crazy talk about haints and zombies and whatnot.”

    He was about to point out that he’d never written about zombies—although he would if he found an interesting case—but the man’s next words had the statement drying in his mouth.

    “Don’t know as I’d want him talkin’ to you under any circumstances.” Banty spit his chew on the porch in disgust. “Hell, ever’body in these parts know what you come from, what your daddy was. Maybe some folks can ferget that sorta thing, but I ain’t one of ’em.”

    Dev slapped his palm on the screen door and pushed it open so abruptly that Banty had to back up a few steps to avoid being struck by it. “Care to expand on that?” he said in a deadly controlled tone.

    The shorter man thrust out his jaw. “Yer daddy’s a killer. Can’t deny that even if you want to. And now we got us another murder ’round here and who shows up? In Buffalo Springs, havin’ your family ’round is plain unlucky for some folks. I ain’t the only one thinks that way, neither.”

    “Thinkin’s not your strong suit, Banty.” Dev took another step toward the man. Felt his fingers curl into fists. “Never was. Now you’ve had your say. Better leave before I kick your ass.” Although he saw the car roll in front of his house, he didn’t take his eyes off the man in front of him.

    “Shee-it.” Banty spat again and rolled his shoulders. “You couldn’t kick the ass end of a fly. You always was a . . .” His fist swung out, nearly connected, its speed surprising. But Dev was ready for him.

    His foot hooked around Banty’s ankle at the same moment he sent a vicious right jab to the man’s jaw. Banty’s head snapped back and the momentum had him tumbling backward off the porch, landing on his backside in Benjamin Gorder’s azalea bushes.

    “What seems to be the problem, fellas?” Mark Rollins strolled up the walk, looking sternly from one man to the other.

    Whipple scrambled to his feet, wiggling his jaw gingerly. “I come here to tell Stryker to stay the hell away from my kid, and he went crazy and started swingin’.”

    “Now, Banty, I stood right here and watched you throw the first punch,” the sheriff said reasonably. “You really want to stick to that story?”

    The man’s face flushed an ugly shade of red. “I want him to keep away from my kid. A man’s got a right to protect his own son from Stryker’s type. He’s got bad blood. That’s probably what made him some weirded out haint chaser.” He scrambled to his feet and took a step in Dev’s direction.

    “You said your piece. Now it’s time to move on.” Rollins inserted himself between Banty and Dev. “Go on with you now,” he said, when Banty showed no signs of obeying. “I’ve already run you in once this year on assault charges. The judge won’t be so lenient second time ’round.”

    Whipple finally brushed himself off and turned to go. “I’m leavin’. But don’t you ferget what I told you, neither, Stryker. Keep away from my kid.”

    Both men watched as Banty climbed into his souped-up dually truck and roared away. When Mark looked back at Dev, a small smile was playing around his mouth. “You always did