Page 90 of Welker

She was fully aware that she needed to play this just right to come out of it without jeopardy.

Going back into planning mode, Moira knew she couldn’t make her move until she heard the report of Hayden’s rifle. If she acted too soon, she’d lose the element of surprise. Too late, and Mick would have time to pull something out of his ass to keep himself safe.

But right now…

Hah. She could use Mick’s aggressive behavior against him.

Pretending to be dazed from his hit would have him unconcerned that she’d raise any fuss. Wouldn’t he be surprised when she eventually turned the tables and nailed his ass.

Moira walked a few steps toward the door, making a big show of staggering before eventually stopping, falling back into the douche-bag where he’d followed.

“Hey,” he growled, grabbing arm and hauling her off him. “Walk.”

“I’m…dizzy,” Moira groaned, and leaned back into Mick again, pretending to be disoriented.

“Fucking cunt,” he grumbled, grasping her shoulder and leading her to the door. He was making plans with Pidge.

“We’ll be taking her truck,” Mick informed his partner. “But I’m driving.”

Another dumb-ass move.

If he somehow manages to get her to the falls, and she did die there, when SWAT did their own investigation—which they would, invited or not—Mick’s fingerprints would be all over her steering wheel. That alone would most certainly implicate the clueless dick.

Mick opened the door.

This is it.

Moira calmed herself, knowing she’d probably have only one chance to take the big ape down. If her timing was wrong, if she hesitated, if she lost the element of surprise, Mick might be able to get the upper hand and manage to bundle her into the truck. Her only consolation if that happened, was that Hayden and Boone would be right behind them, and there’d be a second chance to get clear once they reached the falls.

If everything went sideways, however, and she didn’t survive, there was one bit of heartening luck. The recording apparatus she wore was water proof. So as long as the good guys retrieved her body, Gladstone would still be going away.

“Move it,” Mick shouted at her, shaking her as she hesitated.

Moira jerked out of his hold and raised her head high as she knew he’d expect. “I’m fine now. I can do it myself.”

Her move was purposeful. She’d need a few inches between them when the appropriate time came, to be able to break the zip-ties before beating on his ass. Still, Moira wanted the jerk to underestimate her, so she walked slowly and hesitantly forward, like it was taking a great amount of concentration to stay upright.

Pidge scooted around them and opened the door, looking her up and down as she passed by before emerging out onto the steps.

Mick followed, no more than two feet behind her as she carefully walked down and onto the flagstone pathway. Pidge closed the door behind them and took up the rear, snickering. “You know, boss, this bitch has always seemed kinda…manly before, but she’s looking pretty good these days. Maybe we should have a little fun with her before we bump her off.”

Mick turned. “Don’t be?—"

A shot sounded.

Moira immediately bent and snapped her bonds over one knee, then whirled around. Without a second’s hesitation, she launched herself at a stunned Mick, who hadn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that Pidge was writhing on the ground in pain, squealing.

Moira’s full body strike hit Mick square in his shooting arm, and yes! His gun went flying.

“Fucking bitch,” he thundered.

Moira backed off, moving confidently into a battle-ready position.

Just like on the mats, she told herself. Stay low, stay cool, and win this one.

Of course, she hadn’t used her body for anything more than cooking goulash and filling bird-feeders for the past three weeks, but her muscle memory was still there. And she knew from her extensive training that winning wasn’t always about strength. The victor was often determined by who was more strategic; who kept a more level head.

If she could get him rattled…

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