Long Road to Mercy (Atlee Pine, #1)(57)

Both men were armed. Both men were in a crouch and looking around the space.

Pine was hoping that they would not turn her way.

Her hope turned out to be a false one.

As soon as the man saw her, Pine kicked the door, and the edge caught the guy smack in the face. He grunted, fell backward, and slammed into the other man as he went down. As he fell, his gun arced upward. A single shot blasted into the ceiling as his finger reflexively pulled the trigger. The impact of the round into the ceiling sent plaster chips and dust down on them.

The first guy landed on his butt, and before he could fully right himself, Pine put him down for good with a roundhouse kick to his head, putting all her weight and substantial leg strength behind it. He slumped back down without making a sound.

The second man scrambled to his feet, but before he could line up a shot, Pine’s fist crushed his jaw with an overhand left that she delivered from a semisquat position, maxing her kinetic leverage. She heard the bone crack on impact. As he dropped his gun and slumped over in pain, she followed that blow with a sweep kick, cutting out his legs and sending him back to the floor. Hovering over him, she performed an eye strike with her index finger. When he howled in pain and grabbed his face with both hands, she bounced his head off the floor with the heel of her boot.

He groaned once and then joined his buddy in unconsciousness.

Pine quickly searched them, but they were carrying no IDs. She stripped off their masks and took pictures of them both with her phone. She took a moment to examine their weapons and took photos of them, too.

The next moment she was hurtling down the stairs.

She left the way she had come.

Pine cleared the brick wall at the back of the rear garden area and dropped onto the street on the next block over. She walked swiftly to the next intersection, then turned left and made her way over to Priest’s street. She peered cautiously down it to see if there was anyone else lurking around the man’s house.

There was no one she could see. They might be in one of the cars parked on both sides of the street, but it was far too dark to make out anyone inside any of the vehicles.

She rubbed her knuckles where she had clocked the guy.

She would have to ice that later.

They weren’t cops. They weren’t federal agents. They were two guys in ski masks with guns. Who were they? More to the point, who were they working for? And why was Priest a subject of interest for them?

She had to assume that they weren’t there because of her. If they’d seen her break into the house they would have been far more cautious about entering the only room where she could have been hiding. One guy would have gone in and flushed her, and the second guy would have taken her out.

At least that was how she would have played it.

Her mind was working so rapidly that she had barely registered the fact that it was raining hard. That is until another streak of lightning made her realize she was standing under one of the many very large trees that dotted the streets of Old Town, their aged roots laying havoc to the laid brick sidewalks.

She turned in the direction opposite from Priest’s and made her way back to the Kia.

It was after three, and in another few hours the dawn would be breaking.

She wanted to get back to her place and see what was on the flash drive.

As she was approaching her car, Pine noticed a movement to her left.

It wasn’t stealth. The person wasn’t intending to sneak up on her.

“Can we speak?”

She turned to face the person. He was a small, trim man of Asian descent, maybe in his early forties. He was wearing a raincoat, spectacles, and a slouch hat. He had an umbrella in one hand, but curiously was holding it by the wrong end.

Pine answered his request by pointing her gun at him.

He didn’t flinch at the sight of the weapon.

He said, “I sincerely believe you are an intelligent person. I think a meeting might be in both of our best interests.”

His speech was slightly accented, but his English was perfect, if a bit awkwardly formal.

“Who are you?”

“Perhaps a person who can at least partially explain the, um, delicate situation you presently find yourself in.”

“I’m listening.”

“Not here. We shall be more comfortable somewhere else.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I really must insist upon this.”

Pine indicated her weapon. “I think I have the upper hand.”

He moved so fast, she never really saw his umbrella hook her gun and rip it out of her hand. Pine simply realized she was suddenly weaponless, something she never liked to be.

Pine squatted down and feigned assuming a fighting stance. Then she lifted her pants leg and grabbed her Beretta. Before she could bring it up, he leapt forward and neatly kicked it out of her hand.

She stood and faced him. “Who are you?”

The man set his umbrella on the hood of a car parked on the street. “I must insist upon your accompanying me. I have a vehicle at hand.”

“I’m not going.”

Again, he moved so fast, Pine barely had time to attempt to block his kick. She was knocked backward and flipped over the car hood. She landed on the sidewalk on the other side.

She rose quickly, but not quickly enough. The next blow lifted her off her feet, and she slammed back into a tree growing through the brick sidewalk.