Page 76 of Silk and Steel

“So, Emmy,” Lovejoy says, ignoring me and looking directly at her. “Has he told you about how he let his best friend get killed? Cole may look good on paper, but he’s a screw-up.”

“Nine,” I bellow. “Eight. Seven.”

“You’re not going to take the shot,” Lovejoy says, sounding pretty sure of himself. “You know you’ll choke, like you did when Jonathan died.”

Jonathan. Jake hated that name, he never used it. He went by his nickname instead. Lovejoy is trying to get into my head. I can’t let him.

“Six,” I say calmly. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One–”

Lovejoy tosses the gun down on the ground.

“Looks like you called my bluff. Congratulations. I guess you’re going to arrest me now, huh? Oh wait, you’re not a SEAL anymore. You’re just a civilian now.”

I stand up from behind the boulder and walk toward him, holding the gun on him the entire time. I won’t hesitate to squeeze the trigger if he so much as twitches, and I think he knows it.

“Who I am is the one with a gun pointed at your head. Ask the asshole who poisons daycares how he feels about my aim.”

Lovejoy’s eyes flicker to the body on the ground, and he licks his lips nervously. It’s the first open display of fear he’s shown.

“Come on, man. Did you bring handcuffs with you? Are you going to drive me to the police station in the same car you have Emory in? What if I manage to get at her in transit?”

“You’re not making a very good case for me to not shoot you,” I growl, drawing ever closer.

“You’re just going to send me back to that glorified country club of a private prison, you know. Wouldn’t you rather try to make me suffer with your own hands? Really punish me for what I’ve done?”

He points at the weapon in my hand. “Throw the gun down, and let’s do this mano a mano. The old-fashioned way. Unless you’re a coward.”

“Your taunts mean nothing to me.”

I suddenly raise the barrel of my gun into the air, and eject the magazine. Then I flip the safety on and shove it deep into my pocket.

“What the hell are you doing?” Emory shouts.

“If he goes for his gun, shoot him, Emory,” I call over my shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to fight him.”

Lovejoy sneers. “You’re not? Then what exactly are you doing? Because if Emmy shoots from this distance, she’s as likely to hit you as me.”

“There’s something that doesn’t add up about your escape, Lovejoy. The moment you escaped, you lost access to all of your accounts, even the offshore ones. Someone has been helping you.”

His smile doesn’t fade, but he swallows, and sweat beads on his forehead. Bingo. It looks like my hunch was right. There’s another villain in this story, maybe more than one.

“You’re out of your mind. I'm just a very clever chap.”

“I want the names, Lovejoy. Otherwise, you’re going to spend a few months in the hospital before you go back to prison.”

Lovejoy’s eyes grow dangerously narrow.

“You’re a stupid man, Cole Drake. I’m an expert at hand-to-hand combat, and I’ve got six inches of reach on you.”

He drops into a wide-legged martial arts pose. I just walk toward him with my arms at my sides. Lovejoy launches into a pretty good front snap kick, aimed at my groin. I turn my hip into it and close the gap.

I smack his arm out of the way and bash my knuckles just beneath his nose. I feel the sensation as if I've pushed into wet cardboard.

He falls back onto the grass, burbling, wet sounds coming from his ruined mouth. Lovejoy spits out most of his top row of front teeth into his hand, then looks up at me.

“Your training doesn’t mean shit, Lovejoy. Not against me. Tell me who’s been helping you.”

“Fuck you,” Lovejoy sputters. “You got a lucky punch.”

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