the weapon into his unharmed hand as he advanced. “Barely.”
“You know, I have a small problem with that.” She noticed the tree behind him. Its leaves were wispy, but the branches were low enough to be of use. All she needed was for him to back up, which was a challenge, when he was so intent on advancing toward her.
He brandished the knife, flipping it back and forth in his grip. “You’re assuming I care, love.”
“You’re assuming I’m going to cooperate.”
He sneered. “Your cooperation isn’t required.”
“Oh, good. Then you won’t mind if I do this.” She spun around and delivered a right roundhouse.
She caught him off guard, but not off guard enough. He clumsily jumped back, so her foot only grazed him. He slashed with the knife but missed.
She rounded to his right, and he followed.
Just a little closer to the tree.
“You know,” she said conversationally, “switchblades are illegal in California.”
“You’re not going to be telling anyone, now, are you?” He lunged at her again, but she saw it coming by the way he swelled into action, and she was ready. Planting a compulsion in his brain, she urged him to drop the knife.
His hand opened and it pinged to the ground.
As he looked down in confusion, she did a double block, cupping his arm and spinning both of them around so his back was to the tree. Before he could react, she punched him in the nose. With a gurgled moan, he staggered backward. Blood began to spurt almost instantly. “You’ll pay for that,” he said in a low growl, not even bothering to wipe away the blood.
She shook her head. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
“You’re the one who’s going to get it.” He shifted his weight, ready to pounce.
She focused
mù ch’i
and felt the tree’s energy. It was distant, its energy faint. She pushed toward it, but it resisted.
Gritting her teeth, conscious that he was a second away from attacking, she shoved
mù ch’i
toward the tree. It shuddered physically, the leaves rustling so violently, her attacker looked back.
Willow concentrated her energy on a branch, willing it to whip forward. It hit the man’s arm, and his knife went flying. “That was your first mistake.”
His head whipped around and he growled at her. “Bitch.”
“And that was your last one.” With another surge of
mù ch’i,
she had the tree limb smack the man on the side of the head. His eyes rolled up and he dropped like a rock.
“Bastard,” she muttered. She retracted her energy from the tree, but something stuck and it snapped back at her. Gasping, she staggered backward.
Straight into Ramirez’s arms.
For someone as levelheaded as he prided himself on being, he’d seen some crazy things in his life.
Like what just happened here.
He held Sophie—or whatever the hell her name was—in his arms; then he looked at the thug on the ground. He’d seen him attack her and, inexplicably, Ramirez’s heart had almost stopped. But she’d dispatched him efficiently, using a tree as backup after he conveniently dropped his knife.
She looked at Ramirez with her eyes wide. Some of her hair had come loose and clung to her bare shoulders. Her face was pale, and she breathed heavily.
Ramirez frowned. “Are you okay?”
She blinked at him as if she didn’t comprehend.
He shook her lightly, fighting the need to cradle her. “Are you okay? Did he cut you?”
Another blink, and she shook her head. He thought she was just clearing her mind, but then she said, “Let go. I’m fine.”
He released her, only because he needed to see if she’d killed the man. If he was dead, she’d be able to get off on self-defense, but he’d still have to take her in. His teeth clenched at the thought of locking her up, but what choice did he have?
Ramirez leaned down and checked the man. He was still breathing. Ramirez exhaled, oddly relieved. “You’re in luck. He’s just knocked out.”
He stood to face her, only she was no longer
“You know, I have a small problem with that.” She noticed the tree behind him. Its leaves were wispy, but the branches were low enough to be of use. All she needed was for him to back up, which was a challenge, when he was so intent on advancing toward her.
He brandished the knife, flipping it back and forth in his grip. “You’re assuming I care, love.”
“You’re assuming I’m going to cooperate.”
He sneered. “Your cooperation isn’t required.”
“Oh, good. Then you won’t mind if I do this.” She spun around and delivered a right roundhouse.
She caught him off guard, but not off guard enough. He clumsily jumped back, so her foot only grazed him. He slashed with the knife but missed.
She rounded to his right, and he followed.
Just a little closer to the tree.
“You know,” she said conversationally, “switchblades are illegal in California.”
“You’re not going to be telling anyone, now, are you?” He lunged at her again, but she saw it coming by the way he swelled into action, and she was ready. Planting a compulsion in his brain, she urged him to drop the knife.
His hand opened and it pinged to the ground.
As he looked down in confusion, she did a double block, cupping his arm and spinning both of them around so his back was to the tree. Before he could react, she punched him in the nose. With a gurgled moan, he staggered backward. Blood began to spurt almost instantly. “You’ll pay for that,” he said in a low growl, not even bothering to wipe away the blood.
She shook her head. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
“You’re the one who’s going to get it.” He shifted his weight, ready to pounce.
She focused
mù ch’i
and felt the tree’s energy. It was distant, its energy faint. She pushed toward it, but it resisted.
Gritting her teeth, conscious that he was a second away from attacking, she shoved
mù ch’i
toward the tree. It shuddered physically, the leaves rustling so violently, her attacker looked back.
Willow concentrated her energy on a branch, willing it to whip forward. It hit the man’s arm, and his knife went flying. “That was your first mistake.”
His head whipped around and he growled at her. “Bitch.”
“And that was your last one.” With another surge of
mù ch’i,
she had the tree limb smack the man on the side of the head. His eyes rolled up and he dropped like a rock.
“Bastard,” she muttered. She retracted her energy from the tree, but something stuck and it snapped back at her. Gasping, she staggered backward.
Straight into Ramirez’s arms.
For someone as levelheaded as he prided himself on being, he’d seen some crazy things in his life.
Like what just happened here.
He held Sophie—or whatever the hell her name was—in his arms; then he looked at the thug on the ground. He’d seen him attack her and, inexplicably, Ramirez’s heart had almost stopped. But she’d dispatched him efficiently, using a tree as backup after he conveniently dropped his knife.
She looked at Ramirez with her eyes wide. Some of her hair had come loose and clung to her bare shoulders. Her face was pale, and she breathed heavily.
Ramirez frowned. “Are you okay?”
She blinked at him as if she didn’t comprehend.
He shook her lightly, fighting the need to cradle her. “Are you okay? Did he cut you?”
Another blink, and she shook her head. He thought she was just clearing her mind, but then she said, “Let go. I’m fine.”
He released her, only because he needed to see if she’d killed the man. If he was dead, she’d be able to get off on self-defense, but he’d still have to take her in. His teeth clenched at the thought of locking her up, but what choice did he have?
Ramirez leaned down and checked the man. He was still breathing. Ramirez exhaled, oddly relieved. “You’re in luck. He’s just knocked out.”
He stood to face her, only she was no longer
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