Trouble on Reserve

Part 6

Irate, he looked out over the road. “I said I was sorry. I said it would never happen again.  Can we talk about this later?”

I reluctantly tucked my splat gun away. If he didn’t want to be place here, I didn’t want to be placed here, and spells could unfortunately be traced back to their maker. “Stop looking up there,” I muttered, pulling him back. “And stay below the level of the dirt. You’ve been tagged.”

“I know.”

Shocked, I turned to him, reading his self-anger in the dim light. Satisfied he would stay put, I peeked over the edge. The man was rummaging around in the car. Most assassins worked in pairs. Where’s the other guy?

Breath held, I eased back into the ditch. I had to get my splat ball back. Minimize the damage. “That car isn’t registered to you, is it?”

“No, not really.”

I peered over the edge. The man was gone or waiting for us to poke our heads out.  “Good, because it’s full of holes now.” The vehicle had probably been taken right off the line and put in his garage, completely untraceable thanks to money. “I work best when I know what’s going on.”

“There’s nothing to know. I think we should just leave.”

There was the bare brush of presence beside me, and I turned to find him gone.  Frustration edged out my anger. “Trent!” I whispered, stumbling as I followed him into the steep woods. “Assassins travel in pairs. Will you stop wandering off! I can’t do my job if you’re too far ahead!”

My splat ball was still out there somewhere. Everyone knew I used them. Hesitating, I turned back to the road, weighing the chance it might be missed against me running into the assassin.

A soft grunt and scuffle spun me around. In the scrub just off the road, two figures grappled.

Adrenaline coursed through me. Springing forward, I pulled on the ley line until the tips of my hair began to float. With a soft cry, Trent spun, hitting the man’s wrist perfectly.  Swearing, the man dropped the gun, only to wind his arm around Trent’s neck instead. It was a hold to contain, not kill. I slid to a halt, not helpless, but if I hit the man with a ley line, Trent would take it, too. He isn’t trying to kill him. Then why the tag? The thought niggled, but I couldn’t give it any attention. Trent was in the man’s grip, fighting to breathe.

I ran forward, dancing back when Trent tried to lever his attacker over his head, but the man was twice his weight and the hill was working against him. Struggling, Trent slammed his elbow into the man’s middle, and still he held on.

“Some help here?” Trent wheezed.

Frowning, I made fists of my hands. “Don’t move.”

“Urgh . . .  Rachel!” Trent sputtered as I found my balance. I was wearing these dumb shoes. This was going to hurt.

“Haaaaaeah!” I screamed, putting everything I had behind a crescent kick. It hit the man’s temple perfectly, a spike of pain radiating up my foot as I connected. Breathless, I stood with my weight all on my left foot, right foot throbbing. “Wait for it,” I said as Trent desperately dug at the man’s grip, still tight around his neck.

With a soft sigh, the man fell backward, dragging Trent down with him. They hit with a thud. For an instant, Trent blinked up at me, then he shoved the man’s arm off him.

Scrambling to his feet, Trent tugged his suit straight. “That was a little close, wasn’t it?” he rasped as he felt his neck.

I was still riding the adrenaline high of having saved Trent, and I crouched to feel for the man’s pulse. This wasn’t Mr. Glock. My foot hurt, and I kept my weight off it as I rose. “You’d rather I use my fist and have to explain to Ivy why she has to cut my steak?” Trent was silent, and I stood on one foot and rubbed the other. We needed to go. We’d find nothing if I searched the man. “He’s out. Let’s go. I can get that tag off you, but I need some time.”

“You want to just leave him here?”

“He’s not going to go to the I.S. and file assault charges. He failed. He’ll be lucky if his employer lets him live.” It wasn’t as if we could kill him. Hesitating, I thought about his arm wrapped around Trent’s neck. No. We couldn’t kill him, even if I wanted to.

“Perhaps you’re right.” With a surprising amount of grace, he climbed the steep ditch and scrambled out onto the road. He didn’t seem to be worried about the tag. Maybe he’d neutralized it himself.