dissuade him. And maybe teach him better manners. She swung her bag lightly by her side, whistling softly between her teeth. She didn't have a gun on her: she didn't trust the fancy digital locks on the lockers at the gym, so she always left her weapon secure in her car. It wasn't as if she expected danger when off-duty.
The parking lot had cleared out while she was inside. Only a few cars were left, scattered around the rectangular space. Of course, she’d gotten there at exactly the wrong time, right when the gym was busiest, so hers was at the far end of the lot. She glanced over her left shoulder. The front desk, through the glass doors and already twenty paces behind her, was empty. Figured.
He was on her right, not moving as she left him behind. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he’d simply been answering a phone call in his car. Maybe that ugly taste was directed at someone else.
She could feel the adrenaline starting, the tension charging through her muscles, so she slowed her breath, filling her lungs as deeply and patiently as she could as she strode toward her car, head high, letting her body language radiate confidence.
Or maybe he’d been leaning against the side of the building, watching. She felt the spike in his emotions as if they were her own. Damn. Yeah, he was targeting her and he’d started to move, too quickly, too eagerly.
Decision time. Could she get to her car and inside before he reached her? Probably not, so she veered to the left, approaching a car that wasn’t hers, and pulling her bag around her as if she were reaching inside it for her keys as she planned her line of attack.
Time started to stretch, slowing as her brain moved into a clear-headed lightness that encompassed everything around her: the crisp chill of the air, the smells from the vegetarian restaurant two doors down the street, the glow of light from the streetlamp, the darkness of the shadows under the trees that edged the lot, the metal glint on the handle of the car door, and the bitter tang of her pursuer’s emotions . . . and then as he reached her, she swiveled, swinging her bag out and up, hoping to hit his face. There was nothing heavy in the bag, only gym clothes, so it wouldn’t hurt him, just confuse and disorient him long enough for her to put him in a wrist lock.
But, oh, shit. This guy wasn’t the guy she’d brushed off earlier, she realized.
Her bag had missed his face, tangling instead in his already raised right arm. She took two steps forward, making a rapid adjustment to her plan, and grabbed his left arm, twisting and spinning. Leaning into her hammerlock, she shoved him forward into the car door. His surprise let her get a decent grip on him, but it wasn’t going to do a damn bit of good in the long run.
Bodybuilder, she thought, fatalistically. Or steroids. Or both.
Definitely both, she decided, as he roared with fury and tried to push back off of the car. “You fucking bitch!”
Her bag had fallen to the ground, along with whatever he’d been holding in his hand. She’d heard the clunk, but hadn’t seen what it was. If it was a gun . . . .
She forced all of her weight against him, but her feet were already slipping on the smooth asphalt. “You shouldn’t get near strange women in parking lots,” she said. “You never know what they might do.” The words came out more breathless than she liked, and she tried to steal a glance at the ground. If she let him go, could she get the bag and retrieve whatever he’d been holding?
No, she decided regretfully. He was too close, she wouldn’t have enough time. Choke hold? No, the bastard was too big. And too tough.
She felt the snap more than heard it, but his scream of rage could have been heard halfway down the street if there’d been anyone around. Damn. She dropped his arm and then kicked her bag and whatever was beneath it under the car as she danced backwards and dropped into a combat stance.
Had the break even registered with him? He
The parking lot had cleared out while she was inside. Only a few cars were left, scattered around the rectangular space. Of course, she’d gotten there at exactly the wrong time, right when the gym was busiest, so hers was at the far end of the lot. She glanced over her left shoulder. The front desk, through the glass doors and already twenty paces behind her, was empty. Figured.
He was on her right, not moving as she left him behind. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he’d simply been answering a phone call in his car. Maybe that ugly taste was directed at someone else.
She could feel the adrenaline starting, the tension charging through her muscles, so she slowed her breath, filling her lungs as deeply and patiently as she could as she strode toward her car, head high, letting her body language radiate confidence.
Or maybe he’d been leaning against the side of the building, watching. She felt the spike in his emotions as if they were her own. Damn. Yeah, he was targeting her and he’d started to move, too quickly, too eagerly.
Decision time. Could she get to her car and inside before he reached her? Probably not, so she veered to the left, approaching a car that wasn’t hers, and pulling her bag around her as if she were reaching inside it for her keys as she planned her line of attack.
Time started to stretch, slowing as her brain moved into a clear-headed lightness that encompassed everything around her: the crisp chill of the air, the smells from the vegetarian restaurant two doors down the street, the glow of light from the streetlamp, the darkness of the shadows under the trees that edged the lot, the metal glint on the handle of the car door, and the bitter tang of her pursuer’s emotions . . . and then as he reached her, she swiveled, swinging her bag out and up, hoping to hit his face. There was nothing heavy in the bag, only gym clothes, so it wouldn’t hurt him, just confuse and disorient him long enough for her to put him in a wrist lock.
But, oh, shit. This guy wasn’t the guy she’d brushed off earlier, she realized.
Her bag had missed his face, tangling instead in his already raised right arm. She took two steps forward, making a rapid adjustment to her plan, and grabbed his left arm, twisting and spinning. Leaning into her hammerlock, she shoved him forward into the car door. His surprise let her get a decent grip on him, but it wasn’t going to do a damn bit of good in the long run.
Bodybuilder, she thought, fatalistically. Or steroids. Or both.
Definitely both, she decided, as he roared with fury and tried to push back off of the car. “You fucking bitch!”
Her bag had fallen to the ground, along with whatever he’d been holding in his hand. She’d heard the clunk, but hadn’t seen what it was. If it was a gun . . . .
She forced all of her weight against him, but her feet were already slipping on the smooth asphalt. “You shouldn’t get near strange women in parking lots,” she said. “You never know what they might do.” The words came out more breathless than she liked, and she tried to steal a glance at the ground. If she let him go, could she get the bag and retrieve whatever he’d been holding?
No, she decided regretfully. He was too close, she wouldn’t have enough time. Choke hold? No, the bastard was too big. And too tough.
She felt the snap more than heard it, but his scream of rage could have been heard halfway down the street if there’d been anyone around. Damn. She dropped his arm and then kicked her bag and whatever was beneath it under the car as she danced backwards and dropped into a combat stance.
Had the break even registered with him? He
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