But it didn’t put him down.
Without missing a beat, Tory redirected his momentum into a leg sweep that would have landed me on my backside had it been adequately aimed. But it wasn’t. “Perkele!” he swore, cursing the devil that had him fighting half-blind.
I didn’t let up.
I didn’t pause.
I didn’t hesitate.
I spun around as he stood from his sweep and brought the back of my left hand through like a slung stone. It smashed against the same spot that my fist had just visited. There was another crunch, but this one included bones from both bodies.
I bit back my yelp.
Tory dropped, but he didn’t collapse.
I pressed on.
So did he. He pulled some kind of a rolling backflip that landed him on his feet and poised to pounce—and pounce he did. Before my mind processed the feat, he was at my throat squeezing, pressing, and clawing like a rabid dog on fresh red meat.
I scrunched my shoulders and flexed my neck, but he was simply too strong. I tried putting my own arms into play, but he was too damn close. I didn’t have the angle. I didn’t have the leverage.
He added to the onslaught with a roar so savage I knew he was releasing all the pain, sorrow, and suffering he’d bottled up under interrogation. I felt like a lone tree in the path of a nuclear blast. The heat and energy were overwhelming.
My consciousness began to flicker, like pulses of black light cascading through my brain. I was seconds from asphyxiation and would soon be powerless to resist.
This was it. The end. The last gasp. The final fade to black.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I had one left. I unleashed my inner animal. The big black beast men keep caged for fear of what they’ll become after it’s freed.
Reversing course, I rushed into the storm. Rather than attempt to extricate myself, I used my final act to embrace the berserk assassin—and bit his nose. I clamped down with everything I had left. Incisors, canines, premolars, and molars. I put them all into play, crimping and grinding and gnashing with the full force of my jaw and the dynamic desperation of one who knows it’s now do or die.
The animalistic assault was too much for even his superhuman self-control to bear. He immediately abandoned his attack and pulled back into a concealing posture.
That was when I went for his eye. I whipped around with all the speed I could summon from my back, shoulders, arms, and legs. I put everything into play and planted my elbow deep into that swollen socket.
Tory’s mouth flew open, expelling vomit as he dropped to the ground. He convulsed a few times before lying still as a stone. Unconscious at a minimum. Possibly dead.
Possibly was not good enough.
Nor would incapacitation suffice.
This battle wouldn’t end until one of us drew his last breath.
Panting like a derby horse, I wiped my face first with one arm and then with the other. Next I turned my attention to the briefcase that had struck Skylar’s head. I unlatched it with my functional hand, hoping to find the equivalent of a matador’s sword. A .22, a .38, a .45, a 9mm. It didn’t matter to me. It wouldn’t matter to Tory.
But the case didn’t contain the gun that Tory had failed to find tucked into his belt. It held no knife or bludgeon or papers either. Instead, it was jammed full of jewelry.
The necklaces, bracelets, and rings weren’t packed in the padded envelopes a wealthy woman would use while traveling. Instead, the precious ornaments had been hastily piled inside, as if snatched during a robbery. Snatched during a robbery, I repeated to myself as a theory formed. If correct, the justice I’d just served had been poetic indeed. Tory had been killed by greed.
I was about to move on in search of a suitable rock or stick when a letter opener came into view. The long curved instrument was crafted from platinum and capped with a sapphire the size of a quarter.
Still stoked by adrenaline and fired by rage, I plucked it from the case, pivoted toward my opponent and plunged it through the bloody pulp until it struck the back of his skull.
75
Good Prediction
NOW THAT I KNEW WE WERE SAFE, that the monster would not rise from his grave, I ran to Skylar’s side. She was sprawled out flat on her back, still positioned exactly as she’d dropped. I put my ear to her chest while my fingers fumbled for her carotid pulse.
Her heart was strong and her lungs were working. “Oh, thank goodness.”
“Skylar. Skylar, can you hear me?” I hesitated to speak too loudly, lest I be overheard by the occupants of the pool. Although, come to think of it, there’d been no reaction to Tory’s primal roar…
She didn’t stir.
I probed her temples with a tender touch. It wasn’t obvious where the briefcase had hit her and I hadn’t seen it happen, but her nose wasn’t busted so I assumed it had struck the side of her head. That fit with her condition. Knockout blows were caused by the brain bouncing off the side of the skull in a way that throws the central nervous system into shutdown mode, like a fuse tripping for the brain’s protection.
Beyond the immediate loss of consciousness, the primary threat from such a blow was a subdural hematoma. Bleeding inside the skull. I couldn’t look for that, but I knew how to test for brain function.
I pinched her earlobe.
She flinched. A good sign.
I pinched again.
She made a faint swatting gesture, as if battling bugs in a dream. A great sign.
I pulled back her eyelids.
Both pupils contracted. Her brain was two for two on the key indicators. I’d have to monitor for changes going forward, but she didn’t appear to be in immediate danger.
So what now?
I decided to go with the original plan, only instead of asking for assistance with a drone, I’d beg for help with my wife.
But first, I would arm myself.
And hide the signs of treachery. Hard to charm your way into someone’s confidence if midway through the discussion you stumble upon a fresh corpse doing a Polyphemus imitation.
I hated to leave Skylar, even for the sixty seconds it would take me to run to and from the boat—but I did it anyway.
With the Sig P320 secreted in the small of my back, I used my good hand to grab Tory by a heel and haul him beneath a cluster of ferns. Then I dragged the duffel under another clump. The bag was heavy enough to contain a body. Unable to resist, I pulled the zipper back and peered inside. It was stuffed with cash. Stacks of brand-new banded hundred-dollar bills. Judging by the size of the bag and some quick math, I placed the sum in the neighborhood of three million dollars.
I picked up the second briefcase and found it to be as heavy as any barbell I’d ever lifted. Probably sixty pounds. Between it and the hefty duffel, I understood why Tory had been less than completely attentive while walking to his boat.
Once I maneuvered the briefcase beneath the bush, I flipped the latches and lifted the lid. It was packed with gold. Coins and bars. Had to be a million dollars’ worth.
I slid it beneath the black duffel, end to end with the other briefcase.
Returning to Skylar, I used my right hand to tent her knees so that I could slip my left arm under her without further injuring my hand. Then I lifted her up and carried her around back.
The two men we’d seen on the drone screen were still lounging in the pool. I could tell it was them by their bathing suits. Both appeared to be sleeping. The woman had gone. “Hello,” I called over the waterfall.
Neither of them moved.
“I need your help,” I said even louder.