trimmed hedges and a wrought iron railing that ran along the first level. Behind it was a large outbuilding. She could see wheelbarrows lined up against one wall, and rows of tools hanging from hooks. That must be the storage shed for some of the landscaping operations that would be required here.
Pine parked herself behind one of the hedges and waited to hear footsteps. The damn wind had picked up, making it hard to hear anyone approaching. She sighted along the top rail of her Glock, pivoting around again as she aimed at the direction from which she had just come.
Another snap of a twig. There seemed to be a lot twigs on the grounds of a well-manicured and -preserved national cemetery. And someone seemed to be hitting them all.
Shit.
She whirled around right as something hit her from behind, launching them both into the hedge she’d taken up position behind. She could feel the sweat and the booze coming from the man. His long, oily hair whipped across her face as they fell.
The breath was knocked out of her when they hit the dirt, his weight landing fully on top of her. He had the advantage right up until she crushed her Glock against the side of his head.
He cried out, gripped his head with one hand, and landed a weakened punch to her shoulder with the other. Pine absorbed the blow with a grimace, then planted her knee in his groin and kept it wedged there while she landed a straight palm strike to her attacker’s nose. He responded by slamming all of his weight down on her, ripping the air from her lungs.
He gripped her gun hand with his, and now things were getting perilous.
Until she got her elbow under his throat and cut off his air. When he pulled back to try to draw a breath, as she knew he would, she slammed the crown of her head against his already busted nose. The nose was a sensitive appendage. One blow hurt; a second blow disabled.
He got to his knees, freeing her from his bulk, his body teetering from side to side. She slid out from under him and drove him to the ground by landing a brutal kick to his kidneys. When he fell sideways, she stomped his head, drilling it into the grass. Red blood now colored the green blades.
She added one more stomp for good measure and the man stiffened, then went slack.
Pine had about two seconds to enjoy her triumph when she was knocked off her feet a second time by another man who hit her right at the waist, lifted her off the ground, and pitched her over his head. She could have hit the ground flat on her back or her head, either of which would have left her stunned. But she put out her hand, let it strike the ground first to give her a bit of leverage, and then tucked and rolled, coming to her feet quicker than her attacker probably thought would have been possible. Although there was now a shooting pain in the arm and shoulder she’d used to lessen the impact of her fall. And, even more problematic, she had lost her gun in the process, and with it her main advantage.
The man rose in front of her. He was big, over six-three, nearly twice her weight. She could tell, even in the dim moonlight, that he was pissed off beyond belief. And he was about to take all this fury out on her.
She sat on her haunches as he gathered steam and whatever wits he possessed.
“I’m an FBI agent, in case that makes a difference to you,” she said breathlessly.
He didn’t seem to comprehend what she was saying. He had on a dirty sweatshirt and a jean jacket over that. Dirtier jeans below that. Muddy boots, a chain around one wrist. A beard that nearly touched his thick chest. He was maybe twenty-five.
“You hurt my buddy bad,” he roared, pointing to the lump lying on the ground and not moving. “Deke might be dead.”
“Then maybe Deke shouldn’t go around attacking people.”
“We were just looking for a good time. That’s all. Could’a been nice and sweet for everybody.” He looked at his fallen buddy once more. “Now I’m gonna mess you up bad, bitch. For Deke.”
“And I’m telling you not to do that because you’ll regret it like you won’t believe.”
The man shook his head from side to side, thumped his chest with a hammy fist,