Long Lost - By Harlan Coben Page 0,47

his ankle bone snap like a dried twig.

He knew to throw blows as he fell, but for the most part they were ineffective.

We were both on the ground. I was hurt and dazed, but I had two major advantages now. One, I still had his foot, though I could feel that grip loosening. Two, now that we were on the ground, well, size became important-and I mean that in a clean way. I was holding his leg with both hands. He tried to punch his way through. I moved closer to him, ducking my head into his chest. When an opponent is throwing punches, most people think that they should give the guy some distance. But it's just the opposite. You put your face into his chest and smother his power. That was what I did here.

He tried to box my ears, but that required both hands, leaving him vulnerable. I lifted my head hard and fast and caught him under the chin. He reeled back. I fell on top of him.

Now the fight was about leverage and technique and size. I had him beat right now in two of the three-leverage and size. I was still dizzy from the initial attack but the head butt had helped. I still had his leg. I gave it a vicious twist. He rolled with it and that was when he made the big mistake.

He turned his back to me, exposing it.

I let go and jumped on him, my legs snaking around his waist, my right arm around his neck. He knew what was coming. Panic made him start bucking. He dropped his chin to block my elbow. I whacked him in the back of the head with a palm strike. That weakened him just enough. I quickly gripped his forehead and tugged back. He tried to fight it, but I raised his chin just enough. My elbow sneaked underneath the opening and reached his throat. The choke hold was set.

I had him now. It was just a question of time.

And then I heard a noise, a voice actually, shouting in a foreign language. I debated letting go to see who it was, but I held on. That was my mistake. A second man had entered the room. He hit me in the back of the neck, probably with a knife hand, what you'd call a classic karate chop. A numbness swept through me as if my entire body had just become my funny bone banged the wrong way. My grip loosened.

I heard the man shout again, in the same foreign language. It confused me. The first man slipped out of my grip, gasping for breath. He rolled away. There were two of them now. I looked at the second man. He pointed a gun at me.

I was finished.

"Don't move," the man said to me with a foreign accent.

My brain searched for an out, but I was too far away. The first man rose to his feet. He was still breathing hard. We looked at each other, our eyes met, and I saw something strange there. Not hatred. Respect maybe. I don't know.

I looked at the man with the gun again.

"Don't move," he said a second time. "And don't follow us."

Then they both ran away.
Chapter 19

I stumbled to the elevator. I hoped that I could make it to my room without being seen, but the elevator stopped in the lobby. A family of six Americans looked at me, at my torn shirt and bleeding mouth and all the rest of it, and still got on and said, "Hi!" For the next few floors I heard the big sister picking on the brother and the mother begging them to stop and the father trying to ignore them and the other two siblings pinching each other when the parents weren't looking.

When I got to the room, Terese freaked out, but only briefly. She helped me in and called Win. Win arranged for a doctor. The doctor came quickly and declared nothing broken. I would be okay. My head hurt, probably from a concussion. I craved rest. The doctor gave me something and everything became a little fuzzy. The next thing I remember was sensing Win standing across the dark room. I opened one eye, then the other.

Win said, "You're an idiot."

"No, I'm fine, really, don't start with all the concern."

"You should have waited for me."

"Nobody likes a Monday morning quarterback." I struggled to sit up. My body was somewhat willing; my head shrieked in protest.