Chapter 27

TWENTY-SEVEN

Rattlesnake Creek

Concerned for Styles' safety, Beth bolted along the sidewalk, scanning the buildings opposite the park, but saw nothing. The freezing cold bit into her cheeks and hurt her lungs, but she needed to back up Styles. She'd heard sirens and now it was quiet, but as she ran past the sheriff's office, Cash's cruiser was missing. What was happening and why hadn't Styles called her to tell her if he was okay? A chill ran through her at the thought of him lying injured in the forest. She slowed and slid into the shadows, pulled out her phone, and called him again. The call went to voicemail and she stared at the screen in disbelief. Only minutes had passed since she'd pulled on a liquid Kevlar vest and headed out of the FBI building to lend assistance, and now nothing stirred in town. What was happening?

Ahead, a sound came from one of the alleyways as if someone had knocked off the lid of a garbage can. Heart pounding, Beth kept her back to the wall, and moved along the empty sidewalk. At this time of night, the only lights came from TJ's. Everyone else had headed home to avoid the bitterly cold night. As Beth moved forward, street lights glistened on patches of ice and from the river the mist was rising and spilling through town. Styles was usually back before nine, even when he dropped by TJ's on his way home. Not that she kept tabs on him, but the elevator clunked and ground when it opened on their floor, and she could clearly hear Styles' footsteps on the tile as he made his way to his apartment. Beth rarely watched TV, preferring to work on her laptop in the quiet.

The noise came again, and not taking any chances of meeting a hostile or a bear, Beth unzipped her jacket and pulled out her Glock. Holding her weapon out before her in two hands, she stepped from the shadows and headed toward the alleyway. If this was the person who'd shot at Styles, a professional hit man was heading her way, and she wouldn't see him until he decided to show himself.

The space between two stores was cloaked in shadows. Beth took a deep breath and, pushing down concerns, moved forward. She'd taken two steps into the dark when something hard smashed down on her wrists. Pain shot up her arms and her pistol slipped from her grasp and slid across the sidewalk and into the curb. She spun around, raising numb hands to defend herself against the threat. A dark shadow came at her, not a bear, a man. She ducked a punch to the side of her head and twirled away, to bring down the heel of her boot on what she hoped was the man's shin. Her boot hit a solid wall of muscle, but apart from a grunt, the threat remained big and solid in the dark. "What do you want? Money? If so, you sure need lessons on mugging people."

The attacker said nothing but moved in and out of the shadows like two people, stalking her. His silence sent shivers of uncertainty up Beth's spine. She could deal with serial killers. They always had a point to prove or a fantasy to play out, but this man was on a mission. Her heart sank. This was another hired killer hellbent on taking her out. She glanced both ways, hoping to see someone walking along the street she could call to, but only the swirling mist was her witness. She moved around, keeping away from the swishing weapon he wielded. One blow struck her shoulder and she staggered, gasping in agony, but when he came again, she danced away. Pain was her friend and she'd use it to pump adrenaline through her veins and keep her one step ahead of him.

Running away wasn't an option. He could throw a knife or shoot her in the back, but she doubted he wanted to call attention to his crime. Mercenaries either went in all guns blazing or murdered with stealth, and from what she'd witnessed so far, he was the latter. She danced away, trying to get closer to her Glock, but the man had her measure, swishing what she believed to be a nightstick like a samurai sword to keep her where he wanted her.

In the past year, her workouts with Styles had honed her fighting skills. He'd taught her the no-rules way of fighting. The true combat of life or death used on the battlefield. When she'd faced serial killers, the extra training and tricks Styles had taught her had saved her life. The attack in the motel had awakened her dark side, and she'd dealt with the problem, using her skills without a second thought. A swish followed by an agonizing strike across her back snapped her into action. She fell hard onto the sidewalk but rolled away just as a large boot smashed down so close to her face the patch of ice beside her shattered and sprayed her cheek with shards.

Her attacker was using the nightstick or similar, with skilled efficiency. As the shadow moved, she could make him out. He wasn't a big man, maybe five-eight, but broad and muscular. He could pick her up and toss her around with ease—if he could catch her. Pushing the pain to the back of her mind, she rolled her hips and smashed both boots into his knees. The man staggered back, giving Beth precious seconds to pull the KA-BAR knife from her belt. It had been a gift from Styles. He had two and had given her one, saying she should never leave home without it. It slipped into her hand as if it belonged. Getting her feet under her, she crouched. The nightstick swished over her head, taking her hat with it. Without a second's hesitation, Beth surged up, knife in hand. Before she could stab him, his giant fist grasped her by the throat and lifted her off her feet. Fighting for her life, and eyesight fading around the edges as he squeezed the life from her, Beth used her last ounce of strength to plunge the sharp blade up under the man's sternum. She could see the path of the blade in her mind's eye slicing through his heart. As his fist slackened, she twisted the knife and then pulled it free, ready to attack again.

The man made a gurgling sound, grabbed her arms, and then toppled over, crashing to the ground on top of her. Unable to break her fall, Beth hit the sidewalk hard, the heavy weight of him forcing the air from her lungs. Intense pain gripped her and she fought to breathe. Sure he'd broken her ribs, a wave of sheer terror gripped her. Would she die here pinned beneath him? The metallic scent of his blood crawled up her nostrils as it flowed over her, soaking her jeans and warming her flesh, followed by the acrid scent of voided bowels. Beth coughed painfully as nausea roiled her stomach. Terror gripped her as she scanned the sidewalk. There could be more of them. Trapped and helpless, she must get out from under him and find help. In the dark, his surprised wide eyes stared at her in death. She pushed with her knees and bucked but couldn't move him. I'm trapped.

Forcing herself to remain calm, she wiggled one hand into her pocket and found her phone. It took so long to maneuver it from her pocket, and all the while the pool of blood surrounding her was growing. An awful thought slipped into her mind. Was this man really dead? Dead men don't bleed. If he wasn't dead, she would be at his mercy. With her other hand she searched around the ground for the knife and sighed with relief when her fingers closed around the handle. If he moved, she'd stab him again. Sweat coated her brow by the time she finally got the phone to her ear and used her thumbprint to unlock it. She thought for a beat and then made a decision. "Call Cash."