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She wore a sleeveless gown. The slug punched through her skin just under the armpit. Its impact nudged her sideways. She jogged along, knees pumping up the front of her dress, axe still raised. She angled toward the doors like a sleepwalker in a big hurry. The doorjamb at the far side stopped her. She struck it with her face, bounced off and fell back. |
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Rushing forward, John grabbed Carol's wet hair. He yanked, jerking her head up. |
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The man with the pocket knife glared up at him. |
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'She's with me,' Goodman said, as if this was some kind of a damn prom and John was trying to put moves on his date. |
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The same knife he'd used to cut the laces of Cassy's bodice was now deep in the thigh of the man who was gasping and writhing on the floor. |
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Goodman tore the knife out and waved it at John. 'She stays with me!' |
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'No she doesn't,' John said, and shot him in the forehead. |
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He looked around quickly. Nobody rushing them. He jammed the revolver into a rear pocket of his slacks, chopped the edge of his hand against Carol's neck hard enough to black her out but not kill her, then hoisted her onto his shoulder and carried her toward the corner of the foyertoward Lynn and Cassy and the waitress and Stevewhere he would make his stand. |
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