Page 12 of Boxed In

Two short dark men dressed in business suits charged through the door. Each of them held a gun in his hand—pointed at him and Olivia.

The Poisoned Ones.

Who?

The men who have come to take the box. They will kill you and the woman to acquire it.

Luke swore under his breath, knowing that he and Olivia didn’t have a chance of survival. Not with the fruitcake named Zabastian running the show.

I know how to fight! Better than you. The warrior’s voice said inside his mind.

But you’ve never seen a gun—right? Luke pressed.

He felt the warrior search his mind. I have seen them. Other times when I awoke. A weapon that shoots deadly projectiles.

Yeah, well, they’ve gotten more sophisticated in the last few hundred years.

We must cooperate to defeat these dung flies.

Could they? It was going to be difficult. But maybe that was their only chance.

The whole conversation had flashed back and forth between them in nanoseconds, since it was more like an internal thought process than speech. And Luke had never taken his attention away from the men with the guns.

“Give me the box,” the one with the gray hair ordered.

“No.”

The man raised his weapon, preparing to take what he had come for.

Moving like a streak of light, Luke thrust the box into Olivia’s hands and shoved her to the side as he charged the one who had spoken.

He took the thieves by surprise, because they weren’t expecting resistance. Kicking upward with his foot, he caught the man in the gun hand.

The would-be attacker screamed and dropped the weapon.

Luke whirled, using what he knew must be some kind of martial art. He couldn’t name the moves he was making, but they were effective. He took down the other guy, then jabbed the first one in the stomach with his elbow. From his peripheral vision, he saw Olivia bring down an ornate metal candlestick on the head of the man who was trying to get up.

He went down again like a bag full of grapefruits.

The first one he’d kicked had pulled out another gun, holding it in his left hand. Before he could bring it into firing position, Luke chopped down on his wrist, eliciting a satisfying scream.

“Give me the box,” he shouted to Olivia.

When she handed it over, he tucked it firmly under his arm. “Come on. We’ve got to get out of here.”

The second man was climbing to his feet. Luke kicked him down again, then ducked around him and made for the door, pulling Olivia behind him.

He’d scoped out the building, and he knew where to find the stairs. As they ran along the corridor, a woman stepped out of another office, her face tense.

“What was that?”

“A robbery. Get out of the hall,” Luke shouted, then stared at the woman. He knew her. It was Betty Custer, and she had gone to school with him.

She ducked back into her office and asked in a hoarse whisper, “Should I call the police?”

“No. Just stay out of sight. Hide.”

They rushed past.

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