Penni closed one eye and sighted down the Bersa’s short barrel. Her hands were shaking so badly she was ashamed of herself. But even if they hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have dared take the shot. Not when one inch in the wrong direction could mean the difference between hitting the Russian and hitting Dan by mistake.
Punches. Kicks. Body blows. Face strikes. It was terrifying to watch them dance and dodge. And strangely quiet. Neither man uttered a word. Just the occasional grunt when a brutal blow landed with particular force.
Penni recognized some of Dan’s moves as Krav Maga. The CQB—close quarters combat—technique combined boxing and wrestling with various forms of martial arts. It was invented by the Israelis and taught to America’s Navy SEALs. And it was as effective as it was impressive. Despite Kozlov’s greater bulk, Dan was gaining the upper hand.
Now, if only he’d get out of the damned way so I can get a clean—
Bongggg! Dan slammed Kozlov’s head into the metal side of a pay phone bolted to the curb. Huh. Do those still exist? Apparently. And Dan put the apparatus to good use. Grabbing the receiver off the hook, he used the cord as a garrote and started strangling Kozlov, the big veins in the Russian’s neck stood out like snakes with the strain of it. Kozlov frantically gripped the cord, trying to get his fingers between the garrote and his throat. But it was no use. Dan was way too strong. And way too determined.
When Kozlov’s eyes bulged from his crimson face and his booted feet scrabbled against the cobblestones, Penni saw her opportunity. Racing across the street, she bent and retrieved Dan’s dropped Ruger. Luckily, this time she managed to keep from almost ass-planting. And then, with a weapon in each hand, she slowly made her way around to the front of the men, aiming both the Ruger and the Bersa straight at Kozlov’s midsection.
“Stop fighting him or I’ll fill your belly with lead,” she warned, amazed her voice sounded so incredibly steady when her insides were jiggling around like a Jell-O mold…
Chapter Nine
“You heard the lady,” Dan hissed through gritted teeth as he yanked the pay phone’s cord tighter. “Stop fucking fighting and you might just live.”
Kozlov must have realized he was overpowered and outgunned. And proving he was smarter than he looked, he went slack in Dan’s arms. Without taking the pressure off the improvised garrote, Dan reached inside Kozlov’s coat and carefully removed the T/C Contender from the Russian’s shoulder holster.
Once the weapon was secure, he unwound the pay phone cord, slammed the receiver back onto the hook, and shoved away from Kozlov before the big Russian could gather his wits and make any sort of counter move. Placing himself at a ninety-degree angle from Penni, Dan joined her in drawing down on the motherfucker, enjoying the Contender’s solid weight at the end of his arm. He knew if he fired, the roar of the handgun would be loud enough to shake the ground. And the thought of its lethality almost gave him a government operator stiffy.
Or maybe that’s just the adrenaline…
Blowing hard and wiping the blood from his eye with his free hand, he spared Penni a quick glance. He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms, to assure himself that she was safe and whole and unharmed. But he didn’t dare allow Kozlov an opening. And besides, the expression on her face when she shot him a look said it all. Coolheaded and clear-eyed, Penni had everything under control.
Balls to shame an elephant…
If he ever again found himself trying to take down a trained Russian spy, he could do a lot worse than having former Secret Service Agent Penni DePaul by his side. But he probably couldn’t do much better.
Swiping more blood from his forehead and flinging it onto the cobblestones—head wounds always gushed like a damned geyser; it was annoying—he saw Zoelner race around the corner and skid to a stop. Once Zoelner verified with his eyes what he’d been hearing through his earpiece, that they had everything under control, he planted his hands on his knees, let his head hang between his shoulders, and started panting.
“Nice of you to show up,” Dan said drolly. Despite the brutality of the fight—he was going to have bruises galore up and down his left side thanks to Kozlov’s thunderous right hook—it had lasted no more than a few dozen seconds. No doubt Zoelner had been busting ass in their direction every single one of them.
“Shit,” Zoelner wheezed. “Holy shit.”
One would think the guy didn’t have an ounce of energy left in him. But that was proved dead wrong when Chelsea started around the opposite corner. Her toe had barely cleared the lip of the curb before Zoelner did a one-eighty so fast he was nothing but a blur. When he stopped, his Beretta 92 was aimed right between Chelsea’s wide eyes.
Her squeal of surprise damn near deafened Dan. And his peripheral vision told him Penni winced. The weapons she had trained on Kozlov didn’t move an inch, however, remaining locked, loaded, and rock-fucking-steady.