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The guy had tunnel vision. Hard-focused on his task with his helmet obscuring sight and sound, the rider wasn’t aware of the landscape.
The helmet guy shoved the driver across the seat and started climbing under the wheel.
Unexpectedly, Mrs. Harcourt leaped out of the back door. She leaned back against the frame for support, pulling off one shoe then the other, and holding the spiked heels up like weapons.
It gave Ethan another minute to get there.
The motorcycle guy was back out of the limo, reaching to grab Mrs. Harcourt when Tango sprang into the air, flying forward, mouth wide.
Her momentum spun the rider around and dropped him to the ground. There, they wrestled.
Ethan came to a sharp stop just shy of the tangle. He swung off his all-terrain.
Mrs. Harcourt whipped her head around, looking for somewhere to run in her stocking-covered feet, far from anything that could help.
“Ma’am, I’m Ms. Tifton’s security. I’m here to help,” he called out, slowing his approach, holding his hands open and away from his body so she could see he came without weapons.
It was hard not to move his focus to Tango and the man hollering on the ground.
Ethan had to trust his dog.
“I was by the door when you arrived,” he said with a calm, steady voice. “I saw your driver get shot. I chased you down the road to help.”
She pulled her arms in tightly against her chest, shivering and blank-faced.
Ethan took her by the elbow, moved her back to the passenger seat, and shut the door behind her.
There was no punching a guy unconscious when he was wearing a visored helmet.
Ethan had to abandon the rider there in the field. His protectee's safety was paramount, and Ethan wasn’t law enforcement.
It would have been nice, though, if the guy had paid a price other than losing his time and effort planning this job and whatever he’d hoped to gain from the back end of it.
Even Tango’s chompers probably had little to no impact. With the rider’s padded motocross leathers, he probably didn’t get any teeth marks.
“Tango, release,” Ethan called, making sure Clem had been skated far enough over that Ethan could get under the wheel and drive them away.
Tango spun in place and was at Ethan’s side.
Ethan signaled Tango into the car, and she leaped in the open front door, over the driver, to find a clear spot on the passenger-side floorboard.
Ethan swiped his arm across the driver’s seat, clearing the broken glass shards glittering from every surface, then followed Tango in and slammed the driver’s door shut.
Getting back on the road took every bit of skill learned or earned in his military life.
The limo’s suspension had taken a beating when it went into the ditch.
Now, Ethan had to decide where to go—back to the house to try to protect Mrs. Tifton and the guests, or forward to a phone connection that would mobilize medical help toward the driver and send a police team back to the estate.
Chapter Eight
Piper
Piper stood at the Harcourt Alabaster podium while the PA made the rounds, checking to see what tasks needed performing and noting them on her pad.
Waiting patiently for the room to settle, Piper was thinking of herself.
How could she not?
