At the bottom of the staircase she burst into the garage and barely saw the tire iron coming toward her face. She brought up an arm but only partially blocked the blow, the tire iron cracking her wrist and glancing along her forehead. She stumbled back.
The goon came at her with another wild swing. She ducked underneath, kicked his kneecap, heard the fleshy pop. He screamed and went down. She finished him with a punch across the jaw. Nikki didn?t wait to see his eyes roll back. She ran from the garage, flashed across the neighbor?s lawn, and leapt aboard the BMW. She cranked it, accelerated at rocket speed down the hill without turning on the bike?s headlight.
Her wrist flared pain. Perhaps the bone was only bruised. It didn?t seem broken, but it hurt like hell. She?d been careless yet again, forgotten about the fifth bodyguard. Why couldn?t she stay focused? Maybe she was about to start her period. If a man had suggested that, she?d have broken his neck.
Nikki leaned the bike low, took a tight turn fast, and the Audi?s taillights swung into view. She thought about shooting his tires out but didn?t trust herself to handle a pistol and keep the bike steady at the same time. Not on this road at this speed. And not with an injured wrist.
With her headlight off, she didn?t think Ramirez had spotted her. On the next short straightaway, she opened the bike up full throttle, sped toward the Audi until the bike touched the rear bumper.
She leapt up on the seat, hands still tight on the handlebars as she found her balance. She launched herself and kicked the motorcycle away in the same motion. For a terrifying split second, the road flew past beneath her. Nikki landed in the back of the convertible, the motorcycle clattering and crunching along the hardpack in the Audi?s wake.
Ramirez shouted surprise, almost lost control of the Audi, tires squealing on the next turn. She wrapped one arm around his throat, her other hand going to the knife on her belt.
Nikki winced, the pain lancing from her wrist up the rest of her arm. She tried to jerk away from Ramirez, but he was too strong. They careened down the road, Ramirez driving with one hand, fighting off Nikki with the other. She punched him in the back of the head. Ramirez shoved her just as he steered the Audi into a sharp turn. She tumbled out of the car, tucked into a ball, landed hard but rolled out of it. She stood, watched the taillights vanish down the road.
She spun, ran back up the road toward her discarded motorcycle. Nikki Enders was in top physical condition and could maintain a sprint uphill without effort. As she ran, she pictured the road, looping and snaking down the mountain. If she hurried, she?d have one more chance at Ramirez.
She arrived at the fallen bike. It was scratched and dented, a rearview mirror ripped off. She bent and pulled the sniper rifle from its sheath? almost without breaking stride. She left the road, ran up the steep hill as she unfolded the stock, and snapped the high-powered scope into place. At the top, she threw herself down in the tall grass, cocked the rifle. She looked through the scope at the road below.
She panted heavily. She forced her heart rate down. She?d need a steady hand for the shot? three hundred fifty, maybe four hundred yards. Her wrist throbbed. She ignored it.
The Audi?s headlights came around the bend. It was too dark to see Ramirez, but she aimed above the driver?s-side headlight, estimated a spot on the windshield. She squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed in the night.
The Audi swerved, went off the road at high speed, and slammed into a tree. The smack and crunch of metal. She climbed down the hill to check the kill. Ramirez leaned against the steering wheel, half his head missing. Blood and brain and gunk were splattered across the backseat.
She left the Audi, continued down the hill. Neither the BMW nor any of the other equipment she left behind could be traced to her. She unclipped the cell phone from her belt and checked her recent calls to see who?d phoned. It had been
She dialed his number.
?Hello.? That slight accent. Czech?
?You called??
?Are you still on the job?? he asked.
?I just finished.?
?Good. I have something else for you.?
