the man posed his question, he stepped toward the center of the ramp. She could see him now, silhouetted against the twin beams of the headlights. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked capable of holding his own in a fight.
“Help me,” she gasped as she ran toward him.
He didn’t look at her, focused instead on the teenagers who were still watching from below. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but—”
“Get in the car.”
That had clearly been an order, given in a tone that brooked no argument. She didn’t even think of making one.
She ran past him, her hand closing over the handle of the passenger door of the black SUV he was driving. Before she opened it, she looked back down the ramp.
The four had apparently recovered from their shock. Or maybe they had finally realized there had been only one person in this car and that he wasn’t a cop or a security guard.
They were advancing again. Slowly this time. From somewhere a long iron bar had appeared.
Tire tool or crowbar, she guessed. The one who’d thrown her purse aside held the instrument in his right hand, slapping it against the palm of his left. The whole thing looked like something out of a bad production of West Side Story, but she didn’t feel the slightest inclination to laugh.
“Get back into the car,” she said to the man standing in front of the headlights. “Let’s just get out of here.”
There was no response. His stance, illuminated by the headlights, seemed completely relaxed.
“Please,” she begged, beginning to be as afraid for him as she had been for herself. “We can lock the doors and drive by them. They can’t hurt us if we’re in the car.”
No response. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he still hadn’t realized what was going on. Maybe—
There was some sound from the group of teenagers. As if it had been a signal, they charged up the ramp in unison. The one holding the iron bar raised it high above his head, in full attack mode.
Sick with fear, she watched as they closed the distance to the solitary figure standing in front of the vehicle. She released the door handle and started back around the SUV. She had no idea what she could do, but she wasn’t about to let him bear the brunt of that assault alone.
“I told you to get in the car,” he said again, his voice as low and steady as it had been before.
And then, suddenly, they were there. She saw the raised crowbar begin its descent and knew its target. Too horrified to look away, she watched as it began to slice downward and then seemed to stop in midair.
The boy who wielded it staggered backward. With an agonized yell, he clutched his crotch with both hands. That’s when she realized he was no longer the one holding the weapon.
It was being employed by the driver of the car instead. Although the headlights distorted the scene, so that it was almost like watching a flickering silent movie, she could still follow his movements. Shifting the weapon he’d taken from the first teen, he slammed the end of the bar into the ribs of a second, leaving him doubled over in agony.
In the time it had taken him to dispatch those two, the second pair had decided on a concerted effort. They attacked in unison before the man could get the crowbar into position to repel them. The momentum of their forward motion carried all three backward to slam onto the hood of the SUV. Kelly flinched at the hollow thud of their impact.
After that, given her position at the side of the car, she couldn’t tell what was happening. All she knew was that two of the original four were still down and that the others were engaged in a fierce struggle with the driver of the SUV for possession of the weapon he’d taken away from their leader.
And that meant they were all occupied, she realized belatedly, their attention focused on him or on their injuries.
Her eyes flicked toward the elevator. Now was her chance to get out of here. While they were either distracted or in too much pain to care what she did.
The clang of the metal bar, striking and then bouncing off the concrete floor, brought her attention back to the bodies writhing on the hood of the car. She could hear the sound of blows as well as the noise their victim made as they impacted against flesh and bone.
She couldn’t distinguish the recipient, but given the loss of the crowbar, she believed she knew who was getting the worst of the fight. No matter what happened to her, she couldn’t run away without trying to aid the man who’d stopped to help her.
She bent down and slipped off one of her sandals, unable to think of anything else to use as a weapon. When she raised her head again, she saw that the three were no longer on the hood of the car. They were upright again, still exchanging blows.
Gathering what fragile courage she had left and feeling like a fool, she raised the flimsy shoe over her head and ran toward the struggling figures. Before she reached them, the two slighter bodies were propelled backward.
With room to maneuver, the driver, obvious both by his height and the breadth of his shoulders, began a series of lightning punches that drove his attackers back. His movements were so fast they were difficult to follow. She almost expected him to add a couple of martial arts kicks to the mix.
Apparently, he didn’t need to. One of the two teens still on their feet broke away, running down the ramp with a clatter of boot heels. When the second realized he was about to have the driver’s undivided attention, he also took off. His less noisy departure identified him as the one who had leaped across the ramp to grab her.
Having vanquished those two, the man advanced toward the first couple he’d dispatched. They weren’t inclined to wait for him to reach them.
The one he’d kneed in the groin to take possession of the crowbar was still breathing in low, keening moans. His agony didn’t prevent him from staggering to his feet and backing down the ramp, however, his eyes never leaving the driver. The second punk had his arms wrapped around his body, possibly the victim of broken ribs. If so, they didn’t slow his retreat.
In a matter of seconds the parking level was empty except for her and the man who had just effected her rescue. In the sudden stillness she could hear the sound of his breathing. He swayed a little, but somehow managed to give the impression that he was both ready and able to take them on again if they returned.
Kelly realized she was simply standing, openmouthed at the speed and efficiency with which he’d detached the four attackers. She closed her mouth and started toward him.
Either he had incredible peripheral vision or very good instincts. He turned, dropping into a fighter’s crouch. When he saw that she was the one who’d been moving behind him, he straightened.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“What is that? Is that your shoe?”
Only then did she realize that she was still holding the sandal over her head, its heel pointing toward him.
“What the hell were you planning to do with your shoe?”
“Hit one of them,” she answered truthfully.
