“We let him go, we don’t know where he’ll end up,” Shorty mused.
Joe frowned. “What’re you saying? You don’t want to take him back with us, do you?”
Alarm shot through Sullivan. The last thing he needed was a bunch of civilians, ready to exact their personal brand of revenge because he happened to be handy. He’d been too careful about avoiding confrontation to get caught at this point.
When he took a step backward, ready to run, however, Leviticus growled and raised his hackles. He halted, stopped as effectively by the returned attention of both distrustful men.
“Look at him.” Shorty swept an age-mottled hand at Sullivan. “That mangy cat that keeps dumping dead rats on my doorstep looks better fed than he does.”
“But—”