Footsteps crunched through sand and brittle leaves. Someone was approaching.
“Sorry,” a woman’s voice said. “I got turned around.”
She came into view. Medium build, dark hair, dark eyes, jeans and a T-shirt. I had seen her somewhere before but couldn’t quite place her face.
“I was down at the lake.” Her smile was fake. “I didn’t mean to trespass.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” I said, not getting any closer to her because my gut said something was wrong here. Something wasn’t as it seemed.
“Just follow me this way. I’ll point out the easiest way back down to the lake.”
“Thank you.”
I didn’t turn, didn’t take my eyes off her as I took a step backward.
That was the only reason I saw her gaze flick away from my face. That was the only reason I saw her expression go hard. That was the only reason I knew, in the pit of my gut, that I had walked right into a trap like a damn rookie.
There was someone behind me. In the split instant I realized it, I dropped to my knees.
The fist meant to connect with my head whiffed above me, fast, and hard enough I could feel the wind generated from the blow. I spun while still crouched and punched at the knee of the attacker.
He swore, overcorrected, and slammed shoulder first into the side of the house.
There were more feet, more legs, more people behind the man, but before I could twist and scramble to my feet, the woman jumped on my back and started punching.
She wasn’t a skilled brawler, but with the slippery ground and limited space, I took a couple shots to my ribs and one to the back of my head before I bucked her off.
Being on the ground was bad. Being on the ground with my weapon in someone else’s reach was terrifying.
I heaved away from the house, through the rose bushes, then rolled up onto my feet, pulling my gun at the same time. “Freeze! Police. Stay right where you are.”
My pulse roared in my ears. Sweat dripped down my neck, slick between my shoulder blades. I knew I was injured, but the lightning spike of adrenalin sharpened my sight, my hearing, my sense of smell.
My mind burned through possibilities, sorting and throwing out options.
The man had regained his footing and taken a couple steps toward me, the roses still between us. The woman was on her ass.
The other legs—two people—had taken off at a run, and were already out of my sight. Not worth pursuing.
A second, two had passed. The pair in front kept their eyes locked on my gun.
“I said freeze! Turn toward the house. Both of you.” I moved to better cover them. “You,” I ordered the woman, “stand up slowly. Palms on the house.”
Her eyes were wide. She nodded and swallowed, then rose, slowly, her hands in front of her. She turned and placed both palms on the house.
“You too,” I told the man. “Palms on the house.”
He narrowed his eyes, and there was a moment where I saw him consider rushing me, but his gaze fell to the gun, and then rose to my face. Whatever he saw there made him do as I asked.
“You picked the wrong house to try and rob,” I said, grabbing for the zip ties in my pocket. This was the tricky part where I’d have to manage the gun and secure the attackers.
I approached the man first. “Hands behind your back.”
He complied and I secured his hands, keeping an eye on the woman.
“You next.” I zipped her wrists, then took several steps back putting the rose bushes between us again.
The adrenalin sloshed through me like an ocean with a heavy undertow and my stomach soured and churned. I knew the shakes were going to follow soon. I needed backup.
