Deep Water by Mark Ayre (best big ereader TXT) 📕

he had a gun. Even an untrained idiot with a gun was dangerous and needed to be handled with caution.

The guy's jacket had two exterior pockets. Neither were situated where he had patted, indicating he had been checking an internal pocket. Abbie could yank the guy to the ground and grab for where he tapped, but if the pocket was zipped, she would get nowhere. If, while she was trying to retrieve the sealed weapon, he launched an attack, he might get lucky, might land a punch and retrieve the gun and blow out her brains.

Better to go for the assault. Get the upper hand, then worry about the weapon.

Bush Man still fiddled with the door. It was all Abbie could do not to sigh at his awful attempts.

She readied herself for attack.

As Bush Man huffed and dropped his arms from the door, Abbie launched.

He was on the balls of his feet, crouched low. Abbie grabbed his chest and heaved.

With a yell, he tumbled. As his back hit the ground, Abbie fired a palm into his face, smacking his skull off the concrete slab.

She hadn't punched because she aimed to disoriented more than to harm. As Bush Man's head thunked the slab, as stars exploded in front of his eyes, Abbie got a knee on his chest and shoved Ana's knife to his throat, ensuring the cold steel touched but did not so much as knick the flesh. A warning.

Bush Man whimpered. Still dazed, he tried to move his head.

"Wouldn't do that," Abbie said. Her voice a whisper. "If you don't keep your head flat to the ground, you'll decapitate yourself."

This was an exaggeration. The blade was sharp but short. If Bush Man came up fast and hard, the steel might pierce a carotid artery. This would likely kill him, but he would die with his head still attached to his body.

Frightened, Bush Man kept his head still. He moved his arms.

"No," said Abbie. "Spread your arms, keep your hands on the ground."

Bush Man wanted to signal his willingness to be compliant, but Abbie had warned him about nodding, and he was afraid to speak in case it caused his Adam's apple to bob towards the deadly blade.

He lay his arms flat on the ground.

"You have something in your internal jacket pocket," said Abbie. "You know what pocket I mean. I want to know if it's a gun. Blink once for yes, twice for no."

Charlie had proven himself unable to follow this simple code. Had shaken his head instead. Perhaps because he was unable to move his head, Bush Man followed Abbie's instructions. Blinked once for yes. Maybe it was an age thing. Teenagers were rubbish at following instructions. The man beneath Abbie's knee was late twenties. Abbie's age.

"Is there a zip over the pocket? Once for yes. Twice for no."

Another single blink.

"You're good at this," said Abbie. "I'd ask if you thought I was pretty, but with a knife to your throat, I couldn't trust your answer."

Bush Man was staring at her. Some of the fear had ebbed away. His mind was beginning to whir. Abbie had no doubt he was starting to get ideas. Ideas on how he might escape, on how he might get the better of Abbie. Everything Abbie had so far seen of the guy suggested he would fail to best her, even if she let him stand and handed over both the knife and gun. Still, she didn't believe in tempting fate and would always be careful.

Keeping her knee on his chest and the knife to his throat, Abbie used her free hand to toss open his jacket on the side he had tapped. The internal pocket was immediately evident. It was not quite large enough for the gun he had stuffed inside.

With ease, Abbie removed the gun. It was compact, black, a close if not an exact match for the Walther PPK famously used by James Bond to defeat Blofeld and an endless line of henchmen. Less famously used by Hitler to commit suicide. In one swift motion, Abbie removed her knee from Bush Man, stood, and slid the knife into her belt. While Bush Man scrambled to his feet, Abbie checked the gun's magazine and found it full. Six shots. She pointed the weapon at Bush Man's chest.

"Name?" she said. There was nothing dignified about calling him Bush Man.

"Do one," he said. This was a fine enough comeback, but the tremble in his voice stripped it of its effect.

"Okay," said Abbie. "Do people call you Do for short? Or maybe Oney?"

Do One only glared at Abbie. Frustration rolled off him, but she sensed he was not angry at her. He guessed she worked security for Jacob's family, which meant she was only doing her job. Impossible, or at least futile, to hate a person for that. He was angry at himself for screwing up, for failing to get inside, for letting someone get the better of him.

"What are you doing here?" said Abbie.

Above their heads, a light turned on. Do One looked up. Abbie kept her focus on the man in her sights. She considered the homeowners. Even close to the house, in darkness, Jacob might spot them if he opened a window or even just looked outside.

"Why were you trying to break into this private property?" said Abbie.

"Save it," said Do One. "Don't pretend not to know who I am."

"Someone has a high opinion of themselves. If you were a child actor in some famous 90s sitcom, I must have missed it."

"Funny," said the guy. "I don't believe you weren't briefed. Been watching this place a while, and I've never seen security. You must be new. That means Louis is nervous, so he must have warned you about me and mine."

Abbie kept the gun raised, though her arm was starting to ache. Even a weapon this small seemed almost as heavy as that scrawny teen, Charlie.

"Louis must be Jacob's father?" said Abbie. She saw nothing to be gained in pretending to be