State of Emergency – Chapter 12

March 2, 2011


Everyone moved. Swearing under his breath, Chris flexed his knees and ducked, but Carlyle was younger and faster. The butt of the pistol smashed into the bridge of Walsaw’s nose, sending vivid pink fireworks cartwheeling across his field of vision and drops of blood spattering on the Englishman’s glasses like red rain.

Sight misty and head spinning, the old cop tried to even the score, throwing his weight forward with head lowered, aiming for Carlyle’s midriff, but his ankle ran into a solid barrier, something that pulled back and out, robbing him of all remaining balance while a single searing pain ran up his calf. The floor came rushing up, interrupted by a steady zoom-in on Carlyle’s knee. It filled his vision momentarily, bringing a third explosion of pain and peaceful darkness in its wake.

That didn’t stop Carlyle finishing up with a kick to the crotch that sent Chris’ limp body tumbling over to lie bleeding on the stripped pine floor.

Breathing hard, pulse pounding more with rage than with exertion, he wiped the blood from his glasses and watched as Dolly bent to retrieve her shoe from the body, pulling the spiked heel out of the hole in the man’s calf, then rested two fingers on the old man’s jugular, lips silently counting, before lifting his eyelids and peering into the sightless orbs beneath. She nodded. “He’s alive, but he’s out cold.” She hesitated a moment, shivering. “Do we have to run again now?”

Setting his sunglasses down on the mantle, Ian rubbed gently at his wife’s shoulders for a moment before enfolding her in a long, tight hug. “Maybe. Maybe not, though. Enforcers aren’t exactly popular here in merry old Blighty, and he’s sure as hell out of his jurisdiction. I doubt anyone legit knows he’s here… not wearing that.” He nodded down at the hollow threat of the explosive vest. “Might be a way out of this yet. And I still need to talk to him about what happened in London.”

He looked down into her wide, hopeful eyes and wiped a speck of blood from her cheek with a tender sweep of his thumb as she quivered in his arms. “You alright?”

She nodded, then ducked her head, blushing, and flicked a glance back up him that sparked and smoldered like a catching blaze. He had to catch himself from laughing. “Really? Here? Now?”

She swallowed and nodded, eyes gleaming guiltily as her lips tugged into a smile and she pressed closer, hips pushing against his groin, breasts brushing upwards against his chest as she stood on tiptoes to kiss him, lips hungry, eyes hungrier. He could feel her nipples through his shirt; diamond-hard little nubs straining at her clothes as if begging to be let out.

It was getting hard to breathe for some reason, but he tried to play it casual. “Oh, I dunno.” He arched a mischievous eyebrow at her. “I’m pretty tired from all the fighting, you know…”

Suddenly, she slipped out of his arms, a blur of movement and flowing gold hair that he couldn’t quite follow with all the blood at the wrong end of his body. Then she was back again, face alight with silent laughter, holding up Walsaw’s little bubble pack of pills. Ian burst into hearty belts of laughter, grabbing his wife and pulling her in against him.

“Silly girl. Don’t need those; I’ve got you.” He ran his fingers through the sweep of her hair, looking down at her face as though capturing her look forever in his memory.

“Now get on your knees.”

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