Free Naughty by Ann Voss Peterson, J.A. Konrath, Jack Kilborn Page A

the hair, checked the right ear, then yanked her head over and checked the left, finding the earpiece.
    Shit. They’d been in constant contact, and Ludlum had heard everything. Hammett needed to—
    Forsyth made a grab for the gun at the same time she hit the brakes. Hammett bounced off the dashboard, still gripping the Glock. Forsyth—who’d been smart enough to not only play Hammett, but to also put on her seatbelt—wrenched Hammett’s wrist and made her drop the gun, which bounced onto the floor of the Chevy.
    Hammett drove an elbow into her twin’s nose, breaking it, and then head-butted her in the temple. Human beings had evolved to take head-on punishment well, but they didn’t do so good when hit in the side. Hammett’s head was fine, but Forsyth’s brain smacked the inside of her skull, bringing instant unconsciousness.
    Forsyth’s body went slack, and the car began to roll, picking up speed as it went down an incline toward the intersection. Hammett was reaching for the passenger door when the Chevy rear-ended the trailer of a semi-truck at the stoplight.
    Both airbags exploded, pinning Hammett in her seat. The white propellant powder hung in the air like smoke, clogging Hammett’s nostril and burning her lungs. She found the handle, shoved the door open, and plopped into the street on all fours—
    —just as a gun was pressed to the back of her skull.
    “Hello, Sis. Face down on the street. Now.”
    Disoriented from the car ride, Hammett still couldn’t help but wonder why Ludlum hadn’t killed her immediately. Not that she planned to complain.
    Hammett raised her hands as if surrendering, and then executed a move she’d practiced so often it was practically automatic; she knocked the gun away from her head with her right hand and caught it in both, twisted her body while pointing it away, and pulled Ludlum to the street, face-first.
    Ludlum tried to roll onto her side as they wrestled for the weapon, but Hammett had leverage, and strength, and kept applying pressure until her sister’s grip gave and the gun fell to the ground.
    Hammett searched for it, then catching movement in her peripheral vision, she bunched her shoulder to take a kick that was meant for her head.
    Forsyth. That was the problem with knocking someone out. Eventually they woke up.
    Hammett rolled smoothly to her feet and reached into her belt for the box cutter. A kick caught her in the side. The cutter skittered across the pavement.
    “You chipped a tooth,” Forsyth said, fists in front of her and shuffling on the balls of her feet. “And I thought we were bonding so well.”
    Movement to her left. Ludlum, scrambling for the dropped gun. Hammett did a quick cartwheel, kicked the Glock away, and hit Ludlum with a right cross.
    Ludlum blocked, then tried a leg sweep, which Hammett jumped over. She looked right, saw Forsyth moving in, muay thai style. To her left, Ludlum adopted a taekwondo back L-stance.
    “You girls want to surrender?” Hammett asked.
    They attacked as one, Forsyth with a flying elbow, Ludlum with a side spinning kick. If they’d both connected, Hammett would have been knocked horizontal. But Hammett threw herself into a back handspring, coming up on her feet in time to block a right cross and a spin kick. She backpedaled, ass hitting the rental car, and turned sideways just as Forsyth smashed her foot through the passenger window. Hammett scooped the woman up, WWE style, and body slammed her onto the pavement.
    Ludlum threw a knee at Hammett’s face, but Hammett dropped and shoved upward, sending Ludlum soaring overhead. Then she moved to stomp on Forsyth’s head, but Forsyth was already kipping up to her feet. Hammett lashed out with her palm, clipping Forsyth in the chin, and then dropped down on all fours to search for the Glock. It had been kicked under the rental car, far out of reach.
    Time to run.
    Getting back to her feet, Hammett sprinted toward the truck Forsyth’s car had rammed into. The