Vanished by John Shepard, Danielle Cloakey Page A

naked flesh, the touch electric.
    She could hear Radek’s words again though he remained silent. “Me! Look at me.” Clinging to the comfort of the memory, she obeyed. His eyes locked on hers, giving her the strength to continue. His chin elevated a fraction when the suit swallowed her. She realized his challenge set her on fire. Raw power surged through her, and she smiled. If she could be naked before them and survive, she could endure anything.
    She pulled on the undersuit, struggling a bit with the back zipper. Radek padded to her, stepping around so close her short hair whipped back from her face.
    His hands tickled up her back, jerking the back closed and sliding the zipper up to her neck. Trying to forget the memory of the warmth she’d experienced when he’d last zipped it, she fought the blush searing across her cheeks.
    She stretched her arms out, then up, rolling her neck to loosen the kinked muscles there. Straightening her spine with the pull of her arms, she lifted to her toes, sensing Opreden’s eyes on her. The air hummed with electric excitement, and she lowered her body, shaking out the last of the sore exhaustion.
    She bounced back onto the mat, lifting her arms to block her face while Opreden’s gaze shifted from her to Radek, his uncertainty clear. She waved him over, judging his weight. He was the smallest among the giants, but still had a good six inches and forty or fifty pounds on her.
    Her father’s words floated back. You’ll never win in a fistfight. You’re too dainty. It’s about using leverage and their weight against them. Fight smart and win. Fight angry or panicked, and you’ll lose.
    She caught Zoltan’s eyes, and paused. Rattled, she tried to force memories of her father telling her to get up after Zoltan dropped her to the mats. In the beginning, he’d won, every round, every time. Later, they seemed to split the winnings down the middle. After he’d kissed her, she’d lost most of them, unable to focus with his face so close to hers.
    Focus that now descended on her. It forced all thoughts from her mind, save one; how to win. She studied Opreden's movements, gauged his style. He walked up, knees bent, but obviously skeptical. In a flash she decided that showy was better while his guard was down.
    Radek stepped onto the mats. “First one down is out.” He edged back and nodded at her, but her attention stayed on Opreden. He bounced a bit, those fists flashing up near his face. He threw a couple punched at the air, sharp breaths bursting from his lips. Suddenly thankful they were all trained in the same style with only slight variations, she allowed a small smile to cross her lips.
    She turned around, catching the wide-eyed shock and fear of the men bef ore her. Throwing her hands up with a showy smile, she gauged her motionless adversary. With a quick backbend, her hands touched the ground, walkovers closing the gap. The world flashed by, and she caught his confused expression and frozen limbs. Launching off her hands on the last, she hooked her knees over his shoulders.
    Her stomach clenched, jerking her upright. She slammed her palm into his nose. He fell back. Her hand found her knife. His back slammed into the mat, her feet on either side of his ears, knees bent double. Her knife jumped to his throat. His hands flashed to his nose; the tip of her blade pricked the flesh of his neck.
    She stood, turning to face the men. New respect shone from faces, along with the need to take her on. Opreden was dragged from the mat, his bloody nose examined. Radek threw her a frustrated glance that obviously asked if she really needed to rearra nge the bones in Opreden’s face. She shrugged, pulling as innocent an expression as she could manage.
    Once he’d been healed, he gave her a nod. She stepped before him, offering her hand. He took it, his face reassuring no hard feelings. He dragged her close, their arms between their chests. His other arm grasped her shoulders and she