Drew had told her in a panic situation to just jab the Kubotan where she could do the most damage. Jab it anywhere with as much force as she could. Get free. Get loose and get away.
Anywhere was likely to puncture the old man’s paper-thin skin. She tried not to think about it.
“Like the view?” she said to distract him.
The old man cackled and coughed. “Love it. You have nice legs, too. Pity I have to slit your throat. Messy business. Damn trembling hands. I’m not the shot I used to be or I’d have gotten you from the parking lot.”
She felt his arm tense as he prepared to rip the knife across her throat.
“You’ll never get away with this!” She lunged her weapon back into the old man’s left thigh.
He groaned, dropped her right arm, and grabbed his leg. The pressure on the knife against her throat lessened. She cocked her hand for another blow.
Her focus had narrowed to her fight for life, to just the two of them. The rest of the store—everything else—ceased to exist.
His age showed. His reactions were slow. She stabbed him again.
He grunted. His hand fell away. The knife clattered to the floor. He clutched his chest and gasped for breath.
She stared at him.
His face went ashen, definitely grayer than the old-man pallor it had been before.
A heart attack? Now? She stared at him, amazed at her good fortune.
The sound of a familiar voice and the firm clasp of a friendly hand on her shoulder snapped her out of her daze.
“Pity. It appears the old man is having a heart attack.”
Staci looked into the smiling eyes of NCS chief Emmett Nelson. She caught the slight movement of him stuffing a syringe up his sleeve. He’d always had the deft fingers of a magician. Some said he’d been trained in sleight of hand by one of the world’s greatest illusionists.
“Put the Kubotan away, Staci,” he said as he picked up the knife and stuffed it in his jacket. “I’m just about to call for help. We don’t want any questions or anyone wondering why you jabbed an old man with a Kubotan and gave him a heart attack.”
Her mouth fell open. “Em!” S