Road Kill by Zoe Sharp Page A

moment by the thin veneer of civility he presented. His eyes swept over me and narrowed in much the same way that Isobel’s had done. Except when she did it I wasn’t quite so afraid of what she had in mind.
     
    “You OK?” he asked.
     
    I shrugged, feeling the protest in my muscles where the baton had bitten me. “More or less,” I said.
     
    He turned slowly towards Eamonn and made a slight sideways movement with his head, loosening the muscles in his neck. Eamonn smiled at him, reaching into his coat and bringing the baton back out into view.
     
    “Knight in shining fucking armour, are we?” he said, extending the weapon again with a practised flick of his hand.
     
    Suddenly he sniffed loudly, pulled a face of almost delicate distaste. “Now that wouldn’t be a bastard squaddie I can smell, would it? Seen plenty of your type. Think you’re a hard man, do you? Think you can take me on?”
     
    He made a couple of showy slashes with the baton, making the air whine as it sliced through.
     
    “Maybe not,” Sean said calmly. He inclined his head in my direction. “But between us we can.”
     
    Just for a second Eamonn faltered, then he grinned fiercely. “Oh, you think so?” And he beckoned us on.
     
    Sean didn’t respond to that, but something had died behind his eyes, like a light had gone out. He began to circle, clockwise, moving slowly. I circled in the opposite direction. Whether Eamonn liked it or not, we were moving in and out of his blind spots. He couldn’t cover us both at once.
     
    But the Irishman continued to smile. He knew that two against one were not good odds in his favour. He also knew, as we did, that if he could get a couple of decent blows in with the baton, he might yet stand a chance of coming out on top.
     
    His eyes went to Sean’s unprotected arms, then to my leather jacket and I saw he’d picked his first target. I wasn’t about to give him a chance to act on that decision. And I wasn’t about to let Sean take a hit to protect me, either.
     
    We continued to circle. I waited until Eamonn had flicked his eyes away from me again, then jumped him. He caught the flash of my attack and spun round, uncoiling the baton at shoulder height, aiming for my head. A killing blow. I ducked underneath it and crashed through his defence, getting in close to his body.
     
    I managed to snake my left hand round and get my fingers pinched hard into the pressure points at the back of his neck, controlling his upper body as I brought my knee up hard, once, twice, into his gut.
     
    Sean moved in smooth and fast, landing a massive uppercut to the other man’s face as he began to fold. The stinging blow broke Eamonn’s nose and sent blood flying.
     
    I let go and jumped back, getting out of Sean’s way. He twisted the baton out of the Irishman’s hand and into his own with almost negligent ease, turning the tables. His first slash took Eamonn’s legs out from under him, then he went for his upper arms just above each elbow. Hit the nerves there hard enough and they shut down like circuit breakers, disconnecting each limb.
     
    Sean hit him with a coldly scientific precision, throttling back to inflict pain rather than outright injury. Enough to put Eamonn down and make sure he wasn’t going to get up in a hurry, nothing more. Then he stepped back and watched the Irishman as he lay writhing and groaning on the dusty ground.
     
    It was too much for Isobel. She gave an outraged howl and launched herself at Sean, clawing for his face. He shook her off, sending the woman reeling.
     
    Jamie jumped automatically to his mother’s defence. I saw him start to sprint and turned to face him, taking half a step into his path to hook my right arm up inside his as it swung past me. His own momentum ensured that as he went on I jerked his arm up and back behind him. I twisted on the balls of my feet and locked his wrist up hard behind his own shoulder blade, a classic police restraint