Free In Rides Trouble by Julie Ann Walker

at his target.
    Now, as a rule, he wasn’t too partial to the French. They tended to be too effeminate for his tastes, and he could not listen to them speak English without thinking of Pepé Le Pew. “I am zee peanut butter; you are zee jelly. Come, cherie, let us make a sandwich of luuuv.”
    That being said, he had to give credit where credit was due. They made one helluva set of throwing knives, and if Angel’s shot missed its mark, he was right there ready to replace a lead round with a steel blade.
    “Wait for it,” he whispered as Sharif swung one leg over the railing. “Wait until she’s clear…Ah, goddamnit!”
    Becky whirled on Sharif like a dervish as soon as he lowered his weapon to balance himself, whipping out Frank’s razor sharp KA-BAR from where she’d hidden it in her shorts and driving all seven inches into the guy’s gun hand. Sharif squealed like the pig he was, dropping his Glock over the side as Becky lunged at him.
    Sonofa—
    Frank burst from his hiding spot, “Take the shot! Take the shot!” he yelled as he freight-trained it toward the struggling pair.
    “She’s not clear!” Angel’s voice blasted into his ear.
    Motherfucker! He didn’t have a shot either. Becky’s blond head kept bopping in the way as she played conquering heroine and valiantly struggled with the guy.
    Frank threw every ounce of strength he had into making it those last fifteen yards. Becky managed to land a hard elbow to Sharif’s nose— that-a-girl— causing blood to spray in a wide arc that glistened in the bright illumination of the bridge’s spotlights.
    Dazed, Sharif stumbled backward, and with one foot already on the ocean side of the railing, it was all the impetus needed to have him slipping right over the edge. He scrambled to grab onto the top rung, but with the KA-BAR skewering his right hand like a shrimp on the barbie, his fingers refused to work.
    His left hand found its grip, however…in Becky’s long ponytail.
    Frank saw it all happen in slow motion. Sharif windmilling backward over the railing with one arm while he used the other to jerk Becky headfirst after him.
    Good Lord! Frank couldn’t get his legs to work right.
    It felt like he was running through sticky molasses, and no matter how hard he pumped his arms and pleaded with his legs to turn faster, he seemed to be humping it at one-quarter speed. His terrified heart threatened to explode. Boom! Lights out!
    No, no, n o!
    This couldn’t be happening. Not to Becky.
    And then, like a hiccup in a stop-motion film, he was suddenly there, at the railing, just as her feet slipped over the top rung.
    He had only one chance.
    Dropping his knife, he plunged one arm through the space between the top rail and the one below it, managing to snag her slender ankle. He was instantly jerked forward by the combined momentum of her and Sharif’s falling bodies, and his head slammed into the top rung. Bam! A bright burst of stars circled in front of his eyes as, with a hard thump , Becky and Sharif simultaneously crashed against the Hamilton ’s hull.
    That’s when it happened.
    He felt it.
    His shoulder just…wow, it just…gave way. Bone and muscle and tendons tearing away and snapping. The sharp blast of agonizing pain was quickly followed by burning numbness, and then the weight pulling against him suddenly disappeared.
    Oh sweet lovin’ Lord, no!
    He’d dropped her! She’d slipped through his numb fingers and…
    With a roar of gut-wrenching fury, he managed to blink away the happy stars giddily swirling in front of his vision to peek over the side and—
    Oh, thank God.
    He still had her. She was flailing and cursing and trying to grab onto the hull, but he still had her. Sharif— that asshole —wasn’t so lucky. He’d lost his hold on her hair and was falling, screaming, into the sea below.
    Good riddance.
    With a mighty heave, his wet suit boots scrabbling for purchase on the deck, Frank started reeling her in. And then his feet