Pockets of Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page B

a line of blood on his mouth. When Bridget raised the chair again, the thief caught it with both hands and wrenched it away, slamming it against the wall. Then he flew at Bridget, ramming her back into the dining table, tipping glasses and toppling a crystal handle holder. The flames played against the linen tablecloth as Bridget got to her feet, winded.
    At the same time Otter pressed his own attack, trying to draw the tall thief near the window. Otter was a head shorter than his opponent, but anger clearly fueled him. He grabbed a chair and pressed the legs at the thief.
    “Don’t call me ‘boy,’ you son of a bitch!” Otter managed to drive two of the legs into the man’s stomach, forcing him against the wall. Their feet crunched over spilled sugar cubes and something crystal that had shattered. The thief’s heel caught against the silver teapot and set him off-balance. Otter jabbed him again, but the thief was strong and knocked the chair aside and stayed upright.
    “I’ll call you whatever the hell I please, boy ,” the tall thief shot back. “I’ll call you fancy boy. Pitiful little fancy dancy boy.”
    Otter dropped the chair and came at him, fists pumping. He swept his leg out and around, turning and smacking the tall man’s kneecap.
    “Fancy boy, huh?” Otter kicked at him again in the same spot, clamping his hands together to form one fist and swinging hard at the man’s chest. “Fancy boy who took two years of taekwondo and six months of boxing.”
    The thief reeled from Otter’s onslaught, but stayed on his feet and managed to dart deeper into the room, while narrowly avoiding Bridget, who was wrestling on the floor with the leader.
    Grabbing the tablecloth, the tall thief yanked hard, sending plates and silverware clattering to the floor and keeping Otter at bay for a moment. The linen had caught fire, just enough smoke rising from it now to set off a ceiling sprinkler.
    Water showered the combatants and made the floor slick.
    “Fancy wet boy,” the tall thief sneered. “Soon to be a dead one.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a sap. “I’ll beat you to death.”
    “And enjoy it.” This came from the leader, who’d gotten the upper hand on Bridget. The thief had Bridget on her stomach and straddled her back. He pulled Bridget’s head and shoulders up with a firm chinlock. “I know I’m certainly going to enjoy finishing this Mick.”
    “No!” Otter shouted. He ignored his own opponent, whirled, and dove at the lead thief, landing a kick, but not one strong enough to dislodge the man. Otter came at him again, his heel catching the side of the man’s face this time; blood sprayed in an arc. “Get off my Mom. Get—”
    “That’s enough!” This came from Dustin. “Stop it, all of you, before someone really gets hurt.” The chef stood just beyond the doublewide doorway to the dining room, pistol in his hand, but pointed at the floor. There were three men with him, all in dark pants and sport coats, one wore a plaid vest. “Everyone up. Game over. I declare Bridget and Otter the clear winners.”
    The leader got off Bridget. “Hope I didn’t hurt you too much, boss.” He continued to wipe at the blood on his face. “Your kid’s pretty tough, looks like. Gave Rob a run. Holds his own.”
    Boss? Otter mouthed. A pause. “Cool. Coolest birthday ever! This beats the hell out of my fourteenth.” He beamed. “Thanks, Mom.”
    Bridget was slow to get up, nearly slipping in the water. She ground her teeth together; a couple of ribs were bruised or cracked. Straightening, she brushed at her blouse. Then she looked to the man in the vest. “See to having this cleaned up. And reset the sprinkler system.” To the thieves and Otter: “We will convene downstairs in the study after I change.” She grinned as she walked past her son and gave him a pat on the back. “Happy Birthday, Otter.”
    Dustin and the three men backed up to let Bridget through the