44 - Tell us what you know

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I turned back, ready to return to the audience when a dark figure filled my field of vision, a hand clamping down on my mouth before I could scream.

Fear like never before exploded in my chest. Even worse than when my dad was in one of his moods.

Unthinkingly, I swung my fist out, aiming for the throat. Never had I been gladder for muscle memory and adrenaline induced clear headedness. Even as terror choked me, I found myself objectively itemizing perceived weaknesses and attack points.

My hand curved in a perfect arc heading for his throat.

He released me in favor of blocking the blow. It was expected but a part of me was still shocked it had worked.

Before my hand even connected with his raised forearms, I began executing my next move. My leg swung out, catching his side less than a second later. Parker would’ve been so proud of me.

The assailant cursed under his breath and made another grab for me.

I was ready this time. I jabbed my elbow in his armpit. It wasn’t a calculated move and as soon as I did it, I wanted to slap myself. Parker would not have approved of such a clumsy tactic.

It had barely been a second since my elbow made contact but my mind was on an adrenaline high and processing things a mile a second. I readied myself to take whatever hit would come next.

But nothing came.

My terror abated a little when his grimace finally registered in my brain. I saw, more than heard, the pained grunts escaping from his lips. My ears were filled with white noise. I couldn’t hear anything over it. Not even sounds of impact from our scuffle.

I finally noticed he was awkwardly cradling the arm of the armpit I had hit to his torso, shooting me a look that promised pain in my immediate future if he got his way.

I must’ve hit a funny bone.

I sent up a quick prayer of gratitude for the lucky accident. There was no conscious decision. No weighing my options. My brain wasn’t even processing options. Only one thing popped into my head; run.

My fist made contact with his nose while he was still distracted by the effects of the armpit hit. It didn’t break but I was willing to bet it still hurt immensely. I turned on my heel ready to bolt regardless of the direction.

“Shit,” he cursed softly behind me. “Little bitch. Ian conveniently did not mention that.”

I stopped on my tracks. Froze was more like it.

“Who are you?” I fell into a defensive stance as I turned around.

“Did your dad teach you that move?” He grunted, slowly righting himself.

The way he said it sent shivers down my spine. It wasn’t particularly malicious but the thought that he knew my dad was chilling.

“Who are you?” I swallowed.

He inclined his head as though taunting me; guess.

I drew in a shaky breath, my hands clenching into fists as a warning.

“Give it your best shot.” His expression was condescending even as his eyes hardened to glaciers.

He knew me. Knew Ian. Knew my dad was the sheriff and was confident enough to not care.

“Town?” I asked, suspicion coloring my tone.

I refrained from saying his full name in case I was wrong and it wasn’t Agent Townsend. If it was him, that should be enough of a hint for him to know that I knew and if it wasn’t him, whoever it was wouldn’t be able to claim the identity and pretend to be him.

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