Private Dublin

Chapter 32

He crossed the paved floor and threw a jab, which I dodged. Another right and then a left hook, which all found nothing but air. He was fast and a skilled fighter. I got the impression he was feeling me out, trying to get the measure of me as we moved around the tack room.

The noise from outside grew louder, and I heard people hitting the door with something so heavy that it shook in its frame.

The shooter stepped forward and caught me with a front kick to my shin, which hurt a lot. I tried to shake it off, but he didn’t give me a moment and came at me with a flurry of punches. As I covered up to protect my face, he went for my body. He was powerful and quick. Punches were expertly delivered to my ribs and kidneys, but he had no idea I wanted him close and had lured him in.

When I had my chance, I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a head butt, my forehead connecting viciously with the bridge of his nose and making it crack. He tried to stagger back and I helped him on his way, dropping my shoulder and charging him into the wide wooden support that held up a mezzanine balcony encircling the tack room. He grunted as his back hit the beam and the air was forced from his lungs. With my head down, I punched his soft, yielding gut, driving my fists against him with all my strength. The support meant his body had no give and he took the full force of my blows. I felt him wobble as his legs lost their strength, but his arms caught me with a lucky one — two punch in the ear and cheek and I had to disengage and step back to let the pain subside.

He took the opportunity to run up the stairs onto the balcony and I chased him, trying to grab his ankles. I caught him when he was on the penultimate step. He stumbled and fell onto his hands and knees. He thudded into the thick boards, and, eager to press my advantage, I ran to seize him, but he kicked out and his foot found my face, heel connecting with my chin. I tumbled back down the stairs.

Battered and bruised, my ego wounded, I got to my feet and shook off the impact. I looked up to see him sprinting along the balcony toward an alcove.

I thundered upstairs and followed, but when I rounded the turn that had obscured my view, he was nowhere to be seen.

A small window to one side was hanging open. I peered through and saw him running across the roof of the neighboring single-story structure.

I climbed through the window and ran after him, matching him stride for stride.

When he reached the end of the building, he jumped without hesitating and I saw him sprint across the packed parking yard beneath. I followed, making the same leap and falling onto a narrow grass verge. I rolled, got to my feet, and as I ran after him, saw the shooter jump into a BMW 5-Series, gun the engine and speed toward the gate.

“Stop him!” I yelled, running up the drive in futile pursuit. “Stop him!”

My words must have been lost to the distance because the guard on the gate raised it and allowed the powerful car through.

I heard a vehicle race up behind me and thought about commandeering it, but when I turned, I saw it was a course security van. It screeched to a halt. Four guards spilled from inside and tackled me to the ground.

My cheek pressed against dirt, I was restrained forcibly with the four guards yelling at me to stay down. Through their legs, I saw a group of stewards and more guards running toward me, and behind them was Andi, her eyes full of dismay.