feverishly high pace.
He jumped off the boardwalk, squatted low behind some saw grass and
peered at the back of Faith’s beach house. What he saw chilled him to
the bone. The two men were dressed all in black and were sliding over
the rear wall of Faith’s courtyard. Were they the Feds? Or were they
the men who had been prepared to assassinate Faith at the airport?
Please, God, don’t let it be them. The two men had already disappeared
over the wall. In seconds they would be in the house. Had Faith reset
the alarm system after she let him out? No, he thought, she probably
hadn’t.
Lee jumped up and dashed toward the house. As he crossed the
boardwalk, he sensed something coming at him from the left as the
darkness began to lift even more. That sensation was probably the only
thing that saved his life.
The knife plunged into his arm instead of his neck as he ducked and
rolled. He came up bleeding, but the rigid material of the bike suit
had absorbed a good deal of the blow. His attacker didn’t hesitate but
leaped straight at him.
However, Lee timed it just right, managed to raise his good arm, pushed
hard, levered the man over him, throwing him into the saw grass which
was about as unpleasant as having a sharp knife driven into your flesh.
Lee lunged for his gun, which he had lost when the guy had slammed into
him. Lee had no qualms about shooting the guy down and raising a
ruckus. Right now he would welcome any assistance the local police
cared to provide.
His opponent made a stunning recovery, however, bursting out of the saw
grass with startling velocity and colliding with Lee before he could
retrieve his pistol. The two men landed at the edge of the steps. Lee
saw the knife thrust coming again but was able to grip the man’s wrist
before the blade hit him. The guy was strong; Lee could feel the
steely tendons in the man’s forearm and in the rocklike triceps as he
grabbed the man’s upper arm in an attempt to force the knife out of his
hand. But Lee wasn’t exactly a weakling either. He hadn’t shoved tons
of barbells around for years for nothing.
The guy he was battling was an experienced fighter as well because he
managed to get in two or three efficient gut punches with his free
hand. After the first one, though, Lee tightened his abdominals and
obliques and felt little pain from the other jabs. He had spent over
two decades doing stomach crunches and having medicine balls slammed
into his belly. After that punishment, the human fist offered very
little difficulty for him, no matter how hard it was thrown.
Thinking that two could play at that game, Lee let go of the man’s
upper arm and landed a body uppercut to the diaphragm. He felt the
wind go out of the guy, but the grip on the knife remained unbroken.
Then Lee landed three successful kidney punches, about the most painful
ones you could throw and still leave your opponent conscious. The
knife fell from the man’s hand, clattering down the steps.
Then both men rose to their feet, breathing hard, still clinging to
each other. Like a burst of wind, the man executed a nifty loop kick
that knocked Lee’s legs out from under him. He went down with a grunt
but popped right back up when he saw the guy go for his pistol. Being
seconds from death gave Lee’s body resiliency he could never summon in
less dangerous times. He hit the guy low and hard, linebacker to
running back in a textbook impact, and they both went over the edge of
the steps, bouncing painfully down each pressure-treated plank and
landing in a pile of twisted arms, legs and torsos in the sand and then
eating mouthfuls of salty water as they rolled into the water, the
rising tide being almost up to the steps.
Lee had seen the pistol tumble away during the fall, so he kicked
himself free and stood in ankle-deep water. The guy rose too, but not