This can’t be happening! Oh sweet Christ, I have to—
Desperate, she dropped a hand from his forearm to instinctively reach for her service weapon. She hesitated only a fraction of a second when she remembered she wasn’t wearing her shoulder holster. But that fraction was enough. She was able to get a grip on the butt of Dan’s little Bersa Thunder, but Kozlov was right there with her, wrapping his thick fingers around her wrist and slamming her hand against the wall the instant she pulled the weapon free. Pain exploded up her forearm as white lights burst in front of her eyes. The Bersa fell to the cobblestones with an echoing clink and a clatter.
“Suka!” Kozlov hissed. His hot breath washed over her face, thick with the smell of high-dollar whiskey and cigarettes. When his lips curled back in a snarl, they revealed tobacco-stained teeth.
Penni didn’t speak Russian, but judging from his tone and expression, she was pretty sure he’d just called her something that would translate into “bitch.”
Must breathe. Must breathe. Must… Oh, thank God!
“Let the woman go,” Dan commanded, having materialized out of the darkness like an avenging angel. He pressed the lethal end of his Ruger tight against Kozlov’s temple and snaked an arm around the Russian’s throat. She squeezed her eyes shut as relief rushed through her so quickly she felt dizzy. Or maybe that was the lack of O2.
And, yes. Okay. So turns out she was the damsel in distress who needed a Black Knight to rescue her. Maybe she’d feel bad about that later. For now, all she felt was gratitude.
“I said let the woman go, asshole,” Dan demanded. “Or instead of putting a bullet in your brain, I’ll be tempted to reach down your throat to pull your backbone out through your mouth.”
Whoa. And she thought Kozlov was scary? Penni opened her eyes to find Dan’s concerned gaze searching her face. She nodded jerkily, letting him know she was okay. You know, if she could…Just. Breathe.
“No problem.” Kozlov lifted his hands in the air, his Russian accent rolling the R.
The instant his forearm disappeared from her neck, Penni filled her hungry lungs with bright, glorious air. She didn’t even care that its biting cold flayed her tender throat on the way down. Okay. Okay. It’s okay. The mantra circled around in her head a couple of times, and she pressed a shaking, reassuring hand to her stomach.
“Now, nice and easy,” Dan growled—normally she found that animal-like snarl sexy as hell, but she had to admit, it could be damned unnerving too—“I want you to ease that big piece out from under your coat. And before you think of trying anything, you should know I’m a total cliché. I got a hair trigger and twitchy finger.”
“No problem,” Kozlov said again.
When the big Russian reached inside his jacket, Penni bent to retrieve the Bersa. Her wobbly knees betrayed her at the last second and she muttered a foul word, catching herself with a hand pressed against the coffee shop’s back wall.
“Penni?” Dan asked urgently.
“I’m fine,” she assured him again.
She’d just wrapped her fingers around the Bersa’s polymer grip when Kozlov took advantage of Dan’s momentary distraction to slam an elbow into his face. Thunk! The obscene sound of bone hitting bone echoed dully down the dark street.
Penni was on her feet in an instant, taking aim and curling her trembling finger tight against the .38’s trigger. But it was too late. Dan’s head whipped back, blood gushing from the wound over his left eye where the skin had split open on impact with Kozlov’s elbow.
For a big man, the Russian was extremely fast. He twirled like a top in Dan’s arms, managing to get a hand on Dan’s wrist and angling the Ruger away from his head. And then the fight was on! The two men became a blurry tangle of arms and legs as they spun toward the opposite side of the street. Each used his free hand to pummel the other. Each grunted with the exchanged jabs, twisting and turning and struggling for dominance over the weapon.
Dan! No!
Fear left a sour taste in Penni’s mouth. These things could turn bad at the drop of the hat. One false move, one missed opportunity, and it could all be over. If Dan ended up on the wrong end of that gun because of her, because her mutinous knees had failed her, she’d never forgive herself.
“I can’t get a clean shot!” she hissed, her blood roaring through her veins so quickly it burned. “Dan! I can’t get a—”
She didn’t finish because Kozlov slammed Dan’s hand into a street sign and the Ruger dropped into the road.
Christ! Christ!