Page 135 of The Bachelor Spy
But Evie’s position still put her between Rivers and her exit.
Rivers emerged from the other side of the wardrobe, firing at close range, but Evie used the table as a shield, slipping from its other side between shots and tackling the woman. They hit the floor hard, Evie on top. She drove her fist toward Rivers’ face, but Rivers twisted, and the blow glanced off her cheekbone instead of connecting solidly.
Rivers followed up with a knee toward Evie’s midsection. Evie twisted, took the impact on her hip, and drove her elbow into Rivers’ face. Felt cartilage give way. Blood sprayed.
But Rivers, rage taking over, barely seemed to notice. Out of nowhere, the woman jabbed a dagger toward Evie’s chest. Evie spun, but not fast enough, the blade sinking into her shoulder—the already wounded one.
White-hot pain exploded through her arm.
Evie grunted from the impact but refused to yield, landing a fist in Rivers’ chest. It only stalled the woman for a moment. In a flash, Rivers grabbed at Evie’s shoulder wound and dug her nails into it, evoking a cry of pain.
In that moment of distraction, Rivers slammed Evie against the wall, forearm across Evie’s throat, cutting off air.
“Youareweak,” Rivers hissed, blood streaming from her broken nose. “You care. Probably worried about some patient wandering in here and getting himself killed.” Her grin turned serpentine. “Compassion distracts.”
Evie drove her knee up—once, twice—felt it connect with Rivers’ abdomen. Rivers gasped but didn’t release the pressure on Evie’s throat.
Can’t breathe. Need air.
Evie slid her hand down to her hip and drew out her second knife, driving the tip into Rivers’ side.
Rivers screamed, releasing Evie’s throat. Evie sucked in air, stumbling, gasping. But Rivers came at her again, inhumanly fueled by some dark rage. She feinted a strike, then dropped low to sweep Evie’s legs out from under her.
Evie hit the floor hard on the side of her wounded shoulder, her knife skittering across the boards. She rolled, attempting to regain her feet, but Rivers was faster.
The woman lunged forward, and Evie barely managed to get her knees under her before Rivers was on her.
But this time, Evie was ready.
As Rivers reached for her, Evie pivoted on her good shoulder and drove both feet up into Rivers’ midsection—a desperate mule kick that sent the woman flying backward into the wardrobe with a satisfying crash.
Rivers hit hard, and the wardrobe rocked on its base. For a precious second, she was dazed, slumped against the wood.
Evie scrambled to her feet, ignoring the screaming pain in her shoulder, and dove for her knife.
Her fingers had just closed around the hilt when Rivers recovered. Evie had barely made it to a stand when Rivers grabbed Evie’s wounded arm and wrenched it behind her back, the movement sending fresh agony through Evie’s shoulder and weakening her at the knees.
Evie struggled, but then the cold press of steel hit her throat.
A knife.
“You’re good,” Rivers said, breathing hard. “But your brother was right. You’re toosoft.” She leaned closer, the blade pressing against Evie’s skin. “And it’s going to cost you your life.”
Chapter 19
Blake had slowly been gaining more strength as Brandon helped him toward the house. They barely made it through the side entrance when Brandon settled him in a chair, pressed a glass of brandy into his hand, and then excused himself to call the police, reiterating that Blake needed to rest until the good butler returned.
Surely Brandon knew better.
As soon as the older man left the room, Blake slid out the other exit, dodging any curious gazes and making a direct line for the west wing. He took the stairs three at a time, ignoring his body’s inconvenient but rather loud protests. His wounded side ached with each step. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. His legs wanted to collapse.
He didn’t care.
He had to reach Evie.
After all, he’d survived theLusitania,hadn’t he? Survived being shot by the woman he loved, survived hypothermia and blood loss and five months of thinking she was dead. Not to mention a rather impressive battle with two operatives.
He dipped his head in mental appreciation as the scene flashed back to mind. Weber bound and unconscious, Smith dead from his own partner’s bullet.
