like — no threat to her. The Fiorella woman was the danger. She was up, trained, prepared.
The Selkie turned to face her, knife held ready. She would have to hurry. The shots would draw attention.
She had first learned street fighting from her father, who had survived several hand-to-hand encounters. She had trained with half-a-dozen fighters since, including a couple of Filipinos who were experts with a stick or blade. She would cut the woman down, finish the target and run. If she hurried, she could still get free in the confusion.
She moved toward Fiorella—
Michaels felt the bullet hit him — it was a hot ball-peen hammer smashing against the front of his right thigh. He fell. It didn't really hurt, but he couldn't get back to his feet. The shot leg didn't want to work.
In front of him, Toni faced the woman, who had torn off her skirt and pulled a white-bladed knife. The assassin edged toward Toni. It wasn't over. He had to do something—
The gun! She had dropped the gun. Where was it—?
Toni actually felt calmer now. An attacker with a knife — this was something she had dealt with in practice, over and over again. High, low. The most important thing was to control the knife. You couldn't trade a punch for a stab, so you had to take high line and low line, you had to stop the knife arm at two points, high, low, to control it —
The Selkie moved in, keeping her balance. Fiorella stood and watched her, waiting, and she looked as if she knew what she was doing. It didn't matter. She had to finish this and go.
The Selkie feinted with a kick, then lunged—
Back of the arm, back of the arm, where there were fewer vessels to get slashed! Guru's instructions came back, crystal clear, as sharp as the approaching blade:
The kick was a feint, but the slash was also a feint. When Toni threw up her left arm to block, the assassin jerked the knife back. The edge scored a deep line along the outside of Toni's forearm, just above the elbow.
It didn't matter. She wouldn't bleed out from that. Her hand still worked. She shifted her feet, waited—
Fiorella didn't react to the cut, didn't look at it, kept watching the attacker. The Selkie grinned. She was good, but time was running out.
There was a sequence attack, two feints, a shift of the knife to the other hand, then the heart stab between the ribs, followed by the backslash to the throat. It always worked in practice, and she had also killed a man with it in real combat.
The party was over. It was time to do what she did best, then leave.
The Selkie moved—
The attacker came in again, feinted, faked, thrust, then flipped the knife to her other hand as Toni went for the block. Toni would have been impressed watching from elsewhere, but she didn't have time to be impressed now. All the years of practice had to take over, no time to think anymore—!
Toni shifted her stance, passed the fake and did the block and break on the attacker's knife arm. Her right arm stopped the thrust at the wrist — low. Blood flew from the cut on her arm as she slammed the back of her left wrist under the woman's elbow — high.
The arm broke, the knife fell. Toni moved in, went over the wrecked arm and slammed her elbow into the woman's face. Followed her as she stumbled back and hit the lockers, drove a knee into the attacker's belly, then did
She knew now she couldn't take Fiorella in a one-on-one, even if her arm hadn't just been broken. One chance. The knife wasn't the best for throwing, but it would back the other woman off if it hit, point or butt. She'd lost, but she could still get away—
The Selkie aimed her elbow at the target, knife held by the blade next to her ear—
Michaels found the white gun, rolled over his bad leg—
She didn't waver, started to make the throw—
He pulled the trigger.
The recoil twisted the gun from his grip, and the sound was so loud it was like a bomb going off next to him.
A long moment held. Aeons passed. Nobody moved.
The knife flew — but clattered to the floor five feet away.
He'd hit her. Right in the middle of the back. The woman dropped to her knees, tried to reach the wound in her back with one hand, could not. She turned to look at him, her face puzzled more than anything. Then she toppled over onto her side.
Toni ran to where Alex lay. 'Alex!?'
'I'm okay, I'm okay, she just got me in the leg.'
The sound of approaching and excited voices rolled over them.
'You're hurt,' he said.
'Just a cut. Looks worse than it is,' she said. 'Stay there, I'll get us some towels.'
'I'm not going anywhere.'
She got to her feet. Remembered Rusty. She hurried to where he lay. His eyes were open wide, not blinking. He had a bloody wound in the center of his chest — wasn't breathing — there was no pulse in his neck.
Two of the men from the gym ran in. 'He needs help!' she said, pointing at Rusty. She dropped to her knees.
The two men were joined by a third. 'We got it, Toni,' one of them said. 'Go wrap up that cut.'
Alex had dragged himself to where the woman lay. He rolled her onto her back. The assassin moaned. She looked at him. Toni moved back toward Alex and the assassin, found a towel, pressed it against the wound in Alex's leg.
'Ow.' He looked at Toni. 'Thanks.' Then he looked back at the woman.
'Son-of-a… bitch,' the woman said. Her voice was burbly. Probably bleeding into a lung.
Alex said, 'Who paid you to kill Steve Day?'
The woman was dying. But she laughed, a bubbly, liquid noise. 'Who?'
'Day. Steve Day.'
'Don't know the name,' she said. 'I never… forget a… target. He's… not one of mine.'
'You didn't kill Steve Day?' Alex said.
'You deaf? I was hired to… do you. I — Genaloni. I did him. And some others. I don't—'
And just like that, she blinked out. Whatever she'd intended to say was chopped off in mid-sentence. There was a final outrush of bubbly air, and she was gone.
Alex and Toni looked at each other. Somebody from Medical ran in. The place seemed filled with people. Toni felt an overwhelming urge to hug Alex. She did.
He let her. And he hugged her back.
38
Bureau Medical had a doctor and several nurses on staff in the main compound, and their own ambulance for
