Page 68 of Under Arthur’s Protection

He collapsed, cursing one more time.

“Arthur!” Gwen screamed. “Arthur, come on!”

I lashed out at Blue Ballcap with the case and turned for the car.

Gwen finally moved. She reached the SUV, hauled the driver’s door open for me, then went for the rear one. She paused once she had the door open, waving me forward.

And the third man—the fake archivist—snuck up behind her.

“Get down!” I yelled, but it was too late.

His arm circled her neck, dragging her from the car door. “Stop or she’s dead!”

I froze, my blood unsure if it was supposed to boil or run cold. “Don’t hurt her.”

He had her. Did he have a gun? Another knife? Or did he have⁠—

Gwen smashed her elbow into his solar plexus. As he released her, wheezing out a breath, she kneed him in the⁠—

A solid blow met my kidneys. My knees buckled, and I went down hard on the pavement, the sword case clattering beside me. As the parking lot spun, I saw Gwen hit the archivist with her messenger bag.

I rolled in time to catch Blue Ballcap’s next lunge and used his momentum to throw him over me. Grabbing the sword case, I pushed myself up and ran for the car.

The archivist shook his head, apparently dazed from Gwen’s blow, and shoved himself off the car he’d stumbled into. “We can’t let them keep it!”

“So do something useful,” the bigger man coughed out.

He and Blue Ballcap came after me. The archivist was moving toward me now, too.

But I was faster than the two behind me, and only one man stood between me and the car.

“Get in, woman!” I shouted at Gwen.

The archivist rushed me. I sidestepped and swung. The case caught him full in the chest, knocking him into the car next to ours, where he crumpled.

Gwen dove into the car, and I slammed the door behind her. I tossed the sword case onto the passenger seat, dropped into the driver’s seat, and hit the start button before my door was closed.

The bigger man was up and running at us.

I threw the car into reverse. The tires squealed on the pavement.

His fist crashed into the rear door as I cranked the wheel, shifted into drive, and hit the gas. We reached the street, and I turned hard. Two blocks. Three. I took another turn and another, putting corners between us and anyone who might follow.

“What was all that?” Gwen’s voice shook. “Who were they?”

“I don’t know.”

“Arthur, you’re hurt. Your arm⁠—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine! You’re bleeding through your jacket. Pull over, let me⁠—”

“Seatbelt, Gwen,” I snapped out because she was in shock, and firm orders were what she needed.

“What?”

“Put your seatbelt on.” I watched the mirrors. A white van two cars back had been behind me for three turns. But it hung a left at the next intersection. Not a tail. “Now.”