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legs from beneath him with her own, then grabbed his hair through the mask and
slammed his head against the street. He went limp and the gun clattered to the
ground.
The third man snarled curses at her as he pointed his pistol. Before he could
fire, Annja rolled and came to her feet. She swung the sword and knocked away
the pistol. The bullet missed her by inches as the weapon went flying.
Recovering almost immediately, the man launched himself at her, punching and
kicking. Annja recognized him at once as she stepped clear of his attack. He
was the leader, the one who'd so coldly shot the college student.
Tossing her sword to the side, Annja felt its absence as it phased back into
the otherwhere. Taking another quick step back, she set herself, left forearm
raised in front of her and right hand clenched at her hip. She blocked the
man's attacks in rapid succession, turning aside a punch with her forearm, two
kicks with her lead leg, then stepped in low to deliver a kidney blow as he
tried to set himself.
He cried out in pain.
Savage satisfaction lit through Annja as she heard him. Still in motion,
slipping to the man's right, she reverse kicked, bringing her foot high enough
to collide with the man's face. Incredibly, he remained standing.
Okay, Annja thought, that's not good. She bounced back on her toes, setting up
with her right leg forward this time, changing strong sides so he'd have to
adapt.
The man spit blood.
"That's DNA evidence," Annja taunted. "Even if you got away, which you won't,
the police would be able to track you down."
He snarled, "You won't know how that ends up." He curled his hands and tucked
them in close to the sides of his face, elbows out to block. "I'm going to
kill you," he said. Then he attacked.
Annja gave ground, knowing his weight was an advantage that she couldn't meet
head-on. Her hands and feet flew, blocking, parrying, turning. Despite her
skill, the impacts would leave bruises.
She escalated her defense, still giving ground but circling now. Then the
rhythm changed. His breath started coming faster, his lungs sounded like
stressed bellows pumps. For every three punches or kicks he threw, she threw
one back, each one placed with telling accuracy, thudding into his face, his
chest or his legs. She patiently allowed him to exhaust himself.
When she saw his strength was flagging, she stepped in close and swept his
legs. As he fell, Annja hammered him twice in the face. He tried to get up,
but she grabbed the back of his head with her hands and kneed him in the face.
His nose broke with an audible crunch. Unconscious, he rolled over on his
back.
Police sirens screamed as they closed in.
Annja didn't want to be caught there. The police would have too many questions
about how she had overcome a van full of armed men. She turned and ran into
the night.
Annja looked up from the stone she'd been working on since the Kirktown Police
Department had shut down all activity at the warehouse and brought everyone to
the police station. Annja was seated at a borrowed desk in the detectives'
bullpen.
The man standing beside the desk looked as though he was in his early
thirties, with curly brown hair, dark green eyes and a square face. He wore
jeans and a white snap-button Western shirt, cowboy boots and a tan corduroy
blazer with leather elbow patches. He dropped a black cowboy hat onto the desk
beside the stone covered in Hausa writing.
"I'm Detective Andrew McIntosh." He extended his hand.
Annja took it, feeling his flesh hot against hers in the semicooled office
space. "You don't look like a detective," she said.
McIntosh reached into his back pocket and brought out a badge case. He flipped
it open to reveal the badge and ID.
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Annja kept her eyes on his face, studying him, but she read the ID from the
corner of her eye. "It says you're from Atlanta. Not Kirktown."
McIntosh smiled. "Most people don't see past the badge."
"I do," Annja said.
"Kirktown doesn't usually find murder victims 150 years old. Or have running
gun battles with terrorist weapons in their streets. Since both happened more
or less on the same day and appear to be connected, the captain of detectives
here in Kirktown asked for some help on this one. I volunteered."
"Are things that boring in Atlanta?" Annja was responding to the cocky
smoothness the man demonstrated. The overconfidence rankled her.
He smiled, and she could see the mischievous little boy he'd probably been
twenty-something years ago. His cheeks dimpled.
"Actually, that's a funny story. I'm on administrative leave." McIntosh
pointed to a chair beside the desk. "Mind if I sit?"
"The police station would seem to belong more to you than to me," she said
coolly.
"This is Georgia, Ms. Creed. Some of us still have manners. My momma always
said it was impolite to sit with a lady without asking."
He was a charmer, Annja was amused to discover. She wondered if the down-home
good-ol'-boy routine was an act. If it is, it's a good one. She was intrigued.
She turned a hand toward the chair. "Please."
McIntosh sat.
Around the bullpen, several of the students and Professor Hallinger sat with
detectives while giving statements.
Annja waited until he was settled. "Why am I being interviewed again?"
"You've been interviewed before?" McIntosh seemed surprised by that.
"I have been. And you know that. I just saw you talking to the detective who
interviewed me."
McIntosh grinned like a kid who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"I could have sworn you were totally involved in that rock."
"I am. I could be more involved if I wasn't trying to translate it while
sitting in a police station filled with people."
Leaning forward, McIntosh looked at the lettering and the pictographs. "You
can read that?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out."
McIntosh glanced at the notebook Annja had been working in.
Annja shifted just enough to shield the notebook.
Smiling easily, McIntosh leaned back in the chair. "You're an interesting
woman, Ms. Creed."
"Thank you. But you didn't answer my question."
"Actually, I did. I was asked to interview you again because you're so
interesting."
"How interesting?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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