Page 21 of A Walking Shadow

Gun?Sasha wondered instantly.

“Who’s asking?” Connelly demanded.

“We’d like you to come with us,” the guy responded.

“Yeah, no,” Sasha told him as she planted her feet firmly, hip-distance apart.

The two men exchanged an unhappy look. Sasha and Connelly kept their attention directed to the men, but she could feel him getting ready to fight if need be. They didn’t need to look at each other to read one another’s energy.

The tall man darted forward and wrapped his hand around her right wrist.

Game on.She covered his hand with her left and pulled him closer. Then she brought her foot down hard on his.

He wrenched his hand free and bounced back on his heels, ready to fight. He drove a sharp elbow into her ribs. She winced at the impact before recovering and throwing a jab to back him off.

She flicked her eyes toward Leo and the stockier man. Her opponent took advantage of her distraction to backhand her across her left cheek, hard. She jerked her head back, her face stinging from the impact and raised her fists up by her face.

“Ma’am, please stop. We want to?—”

She cut off whatever he was about to say with a fast palm heel strike to the bridge of his nose, recoiling in disgust as hot bloodspurted over her left hand. She wiped it on her dress, hooked her foot around his ankle, and knocked him to the ground.

He kicked out at her, catching her right knee, and she bobbled back. He rose to his feet, unsteady but furious, lowered his head, and charged her like a bull. She darted to the side, and he ran past her. She took the opportunity to risk a glance over her shoulder at Connelly.

Her husband had the other man pinned against the brick side wall of the garage. The guy’s shirt was fisted in Connelly’s hand as Connelly lifted him nearly off his feet. Incongruously, she noticed the silver streaking Connelly’s dark, spiky hair before she spotted the open cut on his cheek.

Anger rose like a wave in her belly as the man lurched forward and head-butted the love of her life. Connelly growled, kneed the man in the groin, and then kneed him a second time in the face as he crumpled to the ground.

The Vanderkamps’ porch light clicked on with a burst of illumination, and Mrs. Vanderkamp stared out into the dark night.

“You damn kids get away from my garage!” she shouted, her raspy smoker’s voice shaking with rage. “I already called the cops.”

As if to prove her point, the distant wail of a siren filled the air. The tall guy yanked his buddy up to his feet and pulled him toward the street. Vindicated, Mrs. Vanderkamp shook a fist at their backs as they vanished into the night.

Connelly led Sasha toward the Vanderkamps’ backyard and tipped her chin up to examine her face in the dim light.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she told him, brushing his hand away. “But your cheek is bleeding.” She glanced down. “And your knuckles.”

“He had a hard face.”

She managed a laugh, as Mrs. Vanderkamp stumped through her yard. “Sasha? Leo? ‘Zat you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Connelly called back.

“What the devil? I thought you were those blasted McNally kids messing around again. You know they stole a case of hard seltzer from the Jacksons last week?”

“I didn’t know that,” Connelly said somberly, but Sasha caught the undertone of amusement in his voice.

“You two look like hell,” their neighbor informed them, peering over her chain-link fence at them.

Sasha smiled weakly. “You should see the other guys.”

Mrs. Vanderkamp snorted. “You okay?”

“We will be. Thanks for calling the police. Will you send them to our house when they get here.”

“Pshaw, I didn’t call the cops. I just said that.”

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