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knife itself were tracking me.
    Homeboy’s execution was perfect. In one step, he was on me, the blade closer than it had any right to be. I twisted my upper body back and away from the sweep of the weapon, feeling the faint whisper of disturbed air under my chin, the steel tip millimeters from my throat.
    His next thrust was an extension of the first, the glistening steel never slowing, the move brilliantly conceived. Flicking the weapon to his other hand had forced me to stop with a suddenness that threw me off balance and exposed my throat area, which could only be protected by whipping the upper half of my body away at the last second, as I’d done. But this left my lower limbs in an unprotected forward position, a target a blind man couldn’t miss.
    Even as I recognized the cunning of the maneuver, I was powerless to stop it. The knife swung harmlessly past my throat and carved an arc in the air between us, then dropped down and swept across my right thigh, chewing a long gash through my Levi’s and the flesh underneath. I grunted in pain and my leg buckled. I hobbled away, putting vital space between us as swiftly as I could. Blood oozed from the wound.
    Sheer genius. The secondary strike was assured if the first missed, and designed to cripple. The next pass would be the death blow.
    I edged back as my assailant charged in low for a finishing gut shot. I stepped left, then feigned a half-kick with my weakened leg, an aggressive move he wouldn’t expect. He hesitated and I slapped the knife hand aside, connecting with a solid jab to the jaw, managing to put some weight behind the blow. He winced and stepped away. A fortuitous strike on my part. And pure luck that I connected at all. Hamstrung, I was overmatched. I could slow his advance but not stop him.
    Homeboy paused, disdain in his eyes. “You’re fast, asshole, but not fast enough.”
    “Stay away from my place.”
    Indecision played across his features as he considered how much more pain I’d be able to inflict before he could penetrate my defenses. We both knew he could advance on me, given enough time and no witnesses. But he held off, restrained by an unseen force.
    He waved the knife. “Cute daughter you have. Maybe I should try slicing her up.”
    “Leave her out of this.”
    “She’s in it. Way in it. And so are you. More than you know.”
    He dropped back, the weapon covering his retreat, then disappeared around the nearest corner.
    Enraged, I wanted to race after him, but blood flowed too freely from the gash in my leg. Unthreading my belt, I strapped it around my upper thigh to stem the bleeding. Had Homeboy connected with the first swipe, blood flow would have been the least of my worries. His fighting skills were unlike anything I’d ever encountered and it was a minor miracle I was still standing.
    By all rights I should be dead, and in a less public place, Homeboy would have succeeded. Although my unexpected resistance had deterred him today, his threat suggested his retreat might have been tactical rather than permanent: She’s in it. Way in it. And so are you.

CHAPTER 7
    A HIGH-PITCHED scream greeted my return.
    Jenny rushed forward and threw her arms around me. My blood-soaked jeans had triggered her panic, the makeshift tourniquet and limp sending her over the edge. She buried her face in my stomach and sobbed. Her body shook. I wrapped my arms around her. Each cry tore at my heart.
    “I’ll be all right, Jen.” When I tried to pry her arms from my waist, she pressed her face deeper into my belly.
    She raised bloodshot eyes to my face. “Are you going to die?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Does it hurt?”
    “No. It just looks bad.”
    I led her to the couch, and we sat down together. Her cheeks glistened. I took her hand.
    “It’s my fault, Daddy.”
    “Why would you think that?”
    “Because I told you about him.”
    “He’s a stranger. You should tell me about him.”
    “But—”
    “Listen to me. You didn’t put him