Point of No Return (15 page)

There was nothing in the fucker’s record he’d seen combat. Only support duties. The other men nodded their approval of his explanation.

“We’ll say you attacked us.” Bear took a step. The man farthest away tossed a three-inch blade into the dust. “We had to defend ourselves.”

“Why would I attack you? What about the cameras? They’ll show it was you.”

“All they’ll show is what
we
say happened.”

Whatever. She was more interested in Bear’s primo attitude. For her it was confirmation this harassment had been endorsed and perhaps even ordered by Bristol.

Flaming fish balls, why?
Fuck it,
she didn’t care anymore. She allowed her anger to build like molten lava, pushed to the surface by the rush of adrenaline preparing her fight-or-flight response. There would be no flight. Something else these assholes didn’t know. Her response gage needle was stuck on fight. The muscles in her thighs tensed.

“We’ll say we regret the situation and we’re sorry.” He made a ridiculous sad face. “Of course, it will be from an undisclosed destination. This afternoon we’ll be on a company jet, headed to a high-value security job.”

She checked for any movement from Ferret Face and Squeaky. None. They remained confident in what they thought was about to happen and made the number-one mistake in hand-to-hand combat. Never underestimate your opponent. Hand-to-hand was something she did on autopilot. Years of weekly, even daily practice with different partners and occasional real-life scenarios left her with bruises, scrapes and a freakish ability to judge an opponent’s move before they made it. Like a game of chess. Bear was a lefty, his first strike would be on her right. The vest would protect her ribs from the force of the hit but she would be forced back. She glanced around looking for obstacles, then moved her feet and positioned her body to minimize the blow and maximize her balance.

“Back off,” she growled, offering a last chance.

“Fuck you, Barbie,” was accompanied with an earnest crotch grab and leg wiggle that made it look like he had a serious wedgie.

Honey laughed. “Now I think of it, with all the ’roids you take, your dick is probably so small a Barbie doll is the only thing you
can
fuck.” She turned her left shoulder to the big man.

Veins bulged in his neck. “I fuck plenty of women,” he said from behind clenched teeth.

“Please. I’ve had more women than you have.”

He lunged, leading with his left as expected. “This is what you get for pissing me off.”

She blocked the jab with her forearm, pushing it away and down, taking his right to her ribs with the vest absorbing the shock. The helmet connected with Bear’s face, snapping his head back and producing a sound thunk. His hands instinctively went to his face, leaving him open for attack. She lost the helmet and shot a fist hard into his throat.

“Oooppph.” He gagged and staggered, hands going to his throat, then bent forward.

She tangled her fingers in his greasy hair. “Bet your other women don’t fight back.” His face connected with her knee, the impact sounding like she’d stomped a pile of dry twigs.

“Ahhh,” he moaned and gurgled.

“Thought you’d say that.” She released him. As he went down, she turned to prepare for the next attack. She wasn’t fast enough. A steely arm snaked over her right shoulder and under her left arm as she watched Bear face-plant onto the hard-packed earth.
Ferret Face.
His other hand cupped the back of her head, forcing her head to her chest. She grasped his arm but he had her on her toes, off balance, unable to leverage away. Squeaky came toward them with fist tight, arm cocked back. She’d been wrong. They weren’t pussies after all
and
fuck
, she’d lost the element of surprise. She let go of Ferret Face’s arm and clasped her hands, pressing her forearms together to deflect a fist streaking at her face. Like Bear, Squeaky didn’t consider the prospect of being struck back. He left himself wide open and she blasted a kick, landing her size-nine boot in the deluded asshole’s stomach before he got in a hit.

His eyes went wide, breath escaped in a loud “oomph,” and he stumbled, back arms windmilling. The man holding her staggered but maintained his grip. She kicked and scrambled, managing to get enough traction with her boots to push him against the building and slam an elbow into his side. He flung her down with such force her teeth rattled and she bounced.

“Fucking bitch.” He lashed out with a foot.
Oh, yeah
.
Now they knew who she was
. She anticipated the kick and twisted, robbing it of its main force. Still, it lifted her, causing her own “oomph.” Thank gawd for the vest. His grubby fingers tangled in her hair, then he yanked her up and propelled her into the building. Stunned and vision wonky, she lashed out with a foot, connecting on his shin. He grunted, but it didn’t slow him. He gripped the vest lifting, once again forcing her head down and aiming to ram it into the building.
Think again, asshole
. Honey got her feet in front of her, planted her boots against the wall, and walked them to shoulder height. She bent her knees and heaved back, head butting him as they fell. Ferret Face took the brunt of the fall, landing hard and losing his grip. Honey scrabbled to her feet and delivered a going-for-the-winning-goal soccer kick up alongside his head. Spittle and blood spewed into the air accompanied by a bone-snapping pop. He was on the bench for a few. Bear stirred and she gave him an equally rousing kick in the ribs, lifting him off the ground. His reintroduction to the ground drew a groan and a cloud of dust.

She turned to deal with the other moron and Squeaky’s fist came at her face like a rocket-propelled sledgehammer with no chance to dodge it. She backpedaled and jerked her head but took a glancing clip on the jaw that rocketed her back. She stumbled over Bear and landed on her ass.

“Just you and me, bitch.” Squeaky was crouched, gripping the knife he’d pitched in the dirt.
Really?
What kind of crazy juice were these guys on? She pushed to her feet on wobbly legs, rubbing the side of her face, very much aware her vest was no protection from a knife. He licked his lips, tossing the blade from one hand to the other, enjoying his moment of minor success and stupidly giving her time to recover from the hit.

“Nice knife,” she said in fluent sarcasm.

“It’ll do for fucking you over,” he said with a nasty smile.

He should have come after her when he had the chance. She used Bear’s back as a launch base, throwing herself at him. “Didn’t expect that, did ya, bitch,” she growled as their bodies thudded to the ground. Their faces connected and she sank her teeth into his cheek. He howled, pushing at her face. She released him, aiming a punch at his special man place but missed, her fist landing in his stomach. She rolled away before he had a chance to skewer her.

His hand went to the bleeding parentheses marks on his face. “You bit me.” For a moment he examined the blood on his hand. Then they both scrambled to a wrestling crouch, dancing side to side, looking for an opening to attack.

He telegraphed a slash and she hopped back. The knife cut the space where her midsection had been a nanosecond before. The next swing he went high, for her neck. She grasped his wrist pushing it away but leaving her open to a slap on the side of her head that cracked liked a suppressed 9 millimeter and filled her mouth with the metallic taste of blood.

He wrenched his arm free from her grip and came at her again, this time jabbing the knife. She sidestepped the first jab. On the second jab she grabbed his wrist with both her hands and twisted. Her fingers were long and she had more strength in her hands than most men. He grunted from pain. Still he didn’t drop the knife until she slammed his arm against her knee. He hunched reflexively, showing her his back. She jumped him, arms around his neck choking, legs wrapped tight around his middle, squeezing. He clawed at her arms and legs, growling, spinning them in circles to throw her off. That didn’t work and he treated her to a slam against the building. Once, then twice, and again.

Her insides felt like they were being pulsed in a blender. They were breathing heavy. No matter what kind of shape you’re in, fighting for your life pushes a body to its limits, draining all its energy. Time to end this.

She let her legs slide and landed a pile driver into his kidney. He attempted to turn on her but his feet tangled, he staggered and went down. Not all the way, but more of a three-point defensive lineman stance. His face was jutting out, right there, a perfect target begging to be hit. So she did. She chambered her arm back and delivered a jackhammer blow to his temple so hard she felt it in her teeth. As he went down for the count, a hand grabbed the back of her pants.

Ferret Face
had come to life with a head full of stupid
.
She latched on to his fingers, yelled, “Scream if this hurts,” and bent them back until there was a snap, crackle, and pop like you’d hear jumping on bubble wrap. The asshole squealed like one of the three little pigs. She pushed him away, finishing him with a boot to the ribs. And it was done.

Huffing in breaths, she staggered out of their reach then leaned forward, hands on her knees, and surveyed the scene. Blood leaked from the goons’ mouths and noses, mixing with dirt and darkening their faces. All they needed to complete the team zombie look was green glop. It was good Global had excellent medical and dental. The assholes would be taking full advantage. The company was also going to be looking at replacements for a
high-value security job in an undisclosed destination
. These morons weren’t going anywhere for a few days
.

Honey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and spit the blood from her mouth. Sanity and reason seeped back into her brain. These idiots weren’t the only ones drinking the crazy juice. She really needed to look into getting that temper gage fixed. One day it was going to get her in trouble. She straightened. Her legs and ribs ached. She touched her face where she’d taken hits and winced.
Fuck
. Tomorrow makeup would need to be applied with a putty knife. Pain radiated up her arm. She opened and closed her hand. It hurt like hell from that last punch but wasn’t broken. Twisting side to side produced no sharp pain or cracking sounds. Nothing broken, but after the adrenaline let down there would be pain. She and pain meds would be seeing a lot of each other over the next few days.

Bear moaned and levered himself up on an arm. She walked over and kicked it from under him. “That’s what
you
get for pissing off Barbie . . .
Ken.
” She retrieved her gear, gathered all her bravado, stood tall and headed for her car. Hell if she was going to limp or show any weakness. She lifted her arm and waved for the camera, letting her team know she was okay. Then, in a final salute, she made a fist and extended her middle finger, letting everyone at Global know how she felt about them.

Honey dropped her helmet and vest onto the BMW’s passenger side floor, dry swallowed a couple of 800 ibuprofen and left the lot with tires screaming. She called Kara, who answered on the first ring.

“Are you on the way to the hospital?” Her voice was two octaves above normal. “Do you want me to call Daddy?”

“No. And No. I’m okay. Bruised but okay.”

“My God,” she cried. “How can you be?”

“Kara.”

“Why did they do that?”

“Kara.”

She snuffled. “Yes.”

“Put me on speaker,” Honey said, checking the rearview for cars following or more specifically a Hummer. None. She checked her speed and took her foot off the gas. Doing eighty in a ticket magnet car was not a good idea.

“You’re on,” Kara said.

“Who’s there?”

“Got us all,” Gunny said. “Major, confirm your condition.”

She imagined them wondering what she needed more, a medic or physic eval. “I’m good. What’s going on at Global?”

“They picked up the three you left in the dust. No chatter we’re privy to,” Coop said.

“It won’t go anyplace. One woman. Three men. Unlikely they’ll report it,” Gunny said.

“It was unlikely they’d do it to begin with,” Honey said solemnly.

Someone said, “Yeah.”

“Auntie, do you need, want anything when you get home?”

“Food.” She heard a snort in the background. “Turn up the ice maker.”

“You got it, ma’am. Anything else?”

Honey thought a moment. Kara needed calming down but the others would handle that without her asking. There wasn’t anything she needed but time to map out what the fuck the motherfucker Bristol was into, up to and mixed up in.

“No.” She hung up and called Paul Moore.

“Where are you?” he snapped.

“On my way home.” Before she could get another word out he went ballistic, chewing her a new one so expertly she felt like she was at a proctologist appointment. Bristol, of course, had called in his version of the incident. She let Moore rant and was on 495 before he finally asked, “What do you have to say for yourself? You know this looks bad for me.”

Sure, dude, and
thanks for thinking of you
. She didn’t answer, considering what bullshit story Bristol fed him. “Have I been relieved of the duty?”

“What? . . . Relieved of duty? Over a shoving match?” He sounded genuinely confused.

Honey looked at the phone display on her dash.
Shoving match?

“No. Get back to Global. Bristol is pissed you left. Doesn’t want to delay the report. Wants you back to finish.”

Yeah, they wanted her back.
To finish her
. “Sir, with respect, I’m not going back today.” Moore sputtered but she kept talking. “I’m taking the next two days to visit the families, as you requested. You can put me on leave. Sick leave. Say it’s my special time of the month. You can run me AWOL.” She hung up. “I don’t give a fuck.”

Seconds later the phone buzzed, she didn’t answer. Her phone hummed and a text from the two-star dick glowed on the phone screen.
When will you be back at Global?
She ignored the message. She called Ramsey and Saunders, requesting a time to visit. Ramsey agreed to see her that evening and Saunders the next morning. She didn’t call O’Brien. That would be a surprise visit in more ways than one.