Page 43 of Over the Edge

“Affirmative.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Ronan leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. His eyes drifted closed, and Cal waited in silence, not disturbing the great mind at work. The fire hissed and popped now and then, but nothing else disturbed the deep silence of the night.

Ronan was lost in thought for upward of a half-hour. Cal didn’t move, hell he hardly breathed, while he waited for his old teammate to finish thinking. The rest of the team followed his lead and waited out Ronan in silence.

Eventually, Ronan’s eyes opened. The front legs of his chair came down to the floor. He planted both elbows on his thighs and stared hard at Lily as he spoke at Cal. “How good is she?”

“Good enough for whatever you’ve got in mind. She’s fully trained and ready to go. We’ve been running a few last exercises to finish integrating her into the team while we get permission to go after Ken.”

“Have you got maps?” Ronan asked briskly.

“In the Hummer.”

“Go get them. And somebody brew a pot of coffee. We’re gonna need it.”

Anna knew they were trapped.Like it or not, this was going to come down to a fight. She guessed it would be a knife fight. Neither Trevor nor the men about to rob him would want to draw the attention gunshots would bring in this quiet neighborhood.

“Get back in the corner,” Trevor ordered quickly. “Stand perfectly still. They’ll leave you alone.”

She lowered the duffel bag to the ground and passed Trevor the U.S. military issue K-Bar field knife he’d just bought. She prayed it was sharpened. Then, she did as he’d instructed and faded back into the deepest shadows. Of all people, she understood the best bet was to give Trevor all the room he needed to fight this fight.

Here they came. Two men on the run. They were lean and moved with athletic confidence. Trevor quickly shrugged off the light jacket he wore and wrapped it around his left forearm using his teeth and right hand to tie the sleeves in a knot to hold it in place. He settled into a relaxed, ready stance, the K-Bar knife in his right hand. She didn’t envy the two guys about to engage him.

Two on one was never ideal, and the advantage to the pair of attackers was usually substantial. But Trevor was world-class in a hand-to-hand fight.

She slipped the small switchblade that was the only knife on her person out of the thigh pocket of her cargo pants. Flicking the blade open with a quiet snick, she gathered fistfuls of her burka’s fabric with her other hand, lifting it so it wouldn’t trip her. She balanced lightly, ready to leap forward if necessary.

The men stopped in front of Trevor. “Give us the bags,” one of them snarled.

Trevor had dropped his gear bag about six feet behind where he now stood. He answered calmly, “No.”

The two men looked a bit taken aback at his obvious lack of fear. But then they visibly gathered themselves. A glance shared. Bodies coiled.

She was surprised at how obviously they telegraphed the moment when they were going to attack. Trevor never gave any indication before he leaped at her in training.

Exhaling slowly, she released all tension, fear, and doubt. Trevor expected her to stay out of this, and he would make decisions based on knowing she was tucked out of the way. Her randomly jumping into the fray would actually mess him up more than it would help him.

Still. She was ready to roll.

The two men jumped forward as one, both slashing across their bodies with fists gripping knives. Trevor’s left arm flashed up, catching one of the blades on his jacket, which protected his arm. The other blade schwinged across his K-Bar knife with a shower of sparks.

Trevor fell back from the first onslaught. But, when the first man paused fractionally to prepare for another attack, Trevor’s booted foot flashed out fast and low, its steel toe connecting viciously with the man’s kneecap.

The guy’s leg buckled and he cried out in pain and rage.

The second attacker was startled and froze for an instant, which gave Trevor an opening to slash across his knife-bearing upper arm. He, too, cried out.

Both men lost their cool and attacked wildly. They were enraged enough to shift into what Trevor called being blood-blind.

It was a dangerous moment in any fight when the attacker went crazy and might do unpredictable things. But, it also led to lowering one’s defenses and leaving openings for an aware opponent.

The two men drove Trevor backward under a series of flailing arms and shouts. His expression was grim, focused, as he warded off the blows, catching them with his jacketed arm and the blade in his right hand. A few blows made glancing contact, and he got a thin slice on his right shoulder.

One of the attackers leaped up in the air with a scream of rage, attempting to attack Trevor from above. The other guy went low at the same time in what was clearly a practiced tactic.

Trevor had no choice but to jump back hard.

Too hard. He banged into the bag of gear with the backs of his calves. High jumper slammed down onto Trevor’s upflung left forearm, driving him down with the sheer force of his falling body weight.

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