across the floor. The cardboard Steelers memorabilia display went down, striking Carolyne; she leaped back, head jerking up and eyes going wide as she suddenly realized the situation developing around her.
“Caro,” Rio said, not raising his voice at all as hestepped in front of the second goonboy, “get in the car. Lock it and go.”
“I’m calling 911,” the store owner blurted, groping around under the counter, his gaze darting from Rio to the second goonboy to Carolyne.
Carolyne looked startled. “I can’t go without you—”
“Do it,” he said, and this time his voice held a steely tone that widened Carolyne’s eyes.
Probably her first glimpse of Rio Carlsen, spyboy . Kimmer had seen the like often enough; she stayed small and quiet—and ready. But Carolyne had already lost her chance. While Rio stood in the path of the second man, his stance almost as casual as he’d been with his cookies at the counter, Kimmer eased around the end of the aisle in time to see the first man getting to his feet, his face ruddy with anger and embarrassment—and also filled with more determination than Kimmer liked to see in a goonboy.
Beside the counter, the second man growled something low and threatening; Rio responded without heat. “I don’t think so.” And then Kimmer left the moment to him, for Carolyne had gone into retreat, skipping backward toward the bathroom she’d just vacated as her assailant lunged at her.
Can of soup. Bad guy. No-brainer.
Kimmer pitched the can with a wicked arm.
As the can of chicken noodle bounced off the man’s head, Carolyne finally turned to flee, running along the wall coolers, taking out a display tree of chips and heading for the door. Good. She was their weak spot, and now she’d bolted out of reach. Kimmer pulled the short, stout toothpick blade from her pocket and flicked aside thestubby leather sheath, covering the short aisle in a quick pounce. A glance showed her that Rio had shifted again, keeping himself between Carolyne and her would-be kidnapper but also effectively blocking the door so she couldn’t escape. Just hold him off a moment —
Her own goonboy rolled on the floor with a surfeit of cursing, blood gushing from his ear. Kimmer just barely heard the store owner in the background, shouting into the phone. “Send someone quick! There’s a big fight in my store—there’s blood!”
There was indeed blood. There might even be more. Kimmer landed knee first on the goonboy; she thought she felt a rib give way beneath her. It got his attention; he might have flung her right back off again if he hadn’t felt the cold flat blade of her knife on his face, pressing down against his cheek with the tip brushing his lower lashes.
He blinked again, letting his lower lashes brush the knife to confirm its presence. For an instant he considered taking his chances; Kimmer pushed the knife down, dimpling the skin but not cutting it. “Let’s be quick about this,” she said, Bonnie Miller’s accent fully in place. “Unless you’d still like to be here when the police arrive.”
“Who the hell are you?” His words came out muffled thanks to her knuckles against his mouth, but she found them understandable enough.
“Someone who wants answers,” she said. And who doesn’t want anyone else to hear me get them . “How’d you find them?”
His eyes, already quite full of seething anger, made room for perplexity.
“All right, then, how’d you find her? ”
Understanding dawned. Cooperation didn’t.
She twisted her fingers in his collar, glanced back over at Rio as he staggered back into a display of small foam coolers. He took his opponent with him, and she looked down again, meeting enough of a sneer that she sneered back and drew a careful pinprick of blood from the tender flesh of the goonboy’s lower eyelid. He squirmed, surprised, bucking slightly beneath her. She snapped at him. “Don’t do that, you jerk! Or are you already blind in that
“Caro,” Rio said, not raising his voice at all as hestepped in front of the second goonboy, “get in the car. Lock it and go.”
“I’m calling 911,” the store owner blurted, groping around under the counter, his gaze darting from Rio to the second goonboy to Carolyne.
Carolyne looked startled. “I can’t go without you—”
“Do it,” he said, and this time his voice held a steely tone that widened Carolyne’s eyes.
Probably her first glimpse of Rio Carlsen, spyboy . Kimmer had seen the like often enough; she stayed small and quiet—and ready. But Carolyne had already lost her chance. While Rio stood in the path of the second man, his stance almost as casual as he’d been with his cookies at the counter, Kimmer eased around the end of the aisle in time to see the first man getting to his feet, his face ruddy with anger and embarrassment—and also filled with more determination than Kimmer liked to see in a goonboy.
Beside the counter, the second man growled something low and threatening; Rio responded without heat. “I don’t think so.” And then Kimmer left the moment to him, for Carolyne had gone into retreat, skipping backward toward the bathroom she’d just vacated as her assailant lunged at her.
Can of soup. Bad guy. No-brainer.
Kimmer pitched the can with a wicked arm.
As the can of chicken noodle bounced off the man’s head, Carolyne finally turned to flee, running along the wall coolers, taking out a display tree of chips and heading for the door. Good. She was their weak spot, and now she’d bolted out of reach. Kimmer pulled the short, stout toothpick blade from her pocket and flicked aside thestubby leather sheath, covering the short aisle in a quick pounce. A glance showed her that Rio had shifted again, keeping himself between Carolyne and her would-be kidnapper but also effectively blocking the door so she couldn’t escape. Just hold him off a moment —
Her own goonboy rolled on the floor with a surfeit of cursing, blood gushing from his ear. Kimmer just barely heard the store owner in the background, shouting into the phone. “Send someone quick! There’s a big fight in my store—there’s blood!”
There was indeed blood. There might even be more. Kimmer landed knee first on the goonboy; she thought she felt a rib give way beneath her. It got his attention; he might have flung her right back off again if he hadn’t felt the cold flat blade of her knife on his face, pressing down against his cheek with the tip brushing his lower lashes.
He blinked again, letting his lower lashes brush the knife to confirm its presence. For an instant he considered taking his chances; Kimmer pushed the knife down, dimpling the skin but not cutting it. “Let’s be quick about this,” she said, Bonnie Miller’s accent fully in place. “Unless you’d still like to be here when the police arrive.”
“Who the hell are you?” His words came out muffled thanks to her knuckles against his mouth, but she found them understandable enough.
“Someone who wants answers,” she said. And who doesn’t want anyone else to hear me get them . “How’d you find them?”
His eyes, already quite full of seething anger, made room for perplexity.
“All right, then, how’d you find her? ”
Understanding dawned. Cooperation didn’t.
She twisted her fingers in his collar, glanced back over at Rio as he staggered back into a display of small foam coolers. He took his opponent with him, and she looked down again, meeting enough of a sneer that she sneered back and drew a careful pinprick of blood from the tender flesh of the goonboy’s lower eyelid. He squirmed, surprised, bucking slightly beneath her. She snapped at him. “Don’t do that, you jerk! Or are you already blind in that
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