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Out of sight, in the van, the extended arm gripping Piper was Tango’s new chew toy.
Tango’s teeth set Piper free.
The assailant’s scream turned people in their tracks, and the midday pedestrians sprinted to get off the bridge.
It cleared Ethan’s line of sight as he raced forward, pushing this person then that out of his way, double-stepping and side-sliding to get to Piper, who had fallen backward when the man’s grip released.
A different man behind Piper hefted her back to her feet and away from the van, and for a split second, Ethan thought a good Samaritan had pulled her from the lion’s den.
A few more strides, and Ethan realized all three men—the one in the van, the one with the knife, and the one controlling Piper—wore the same patterned hoodies.
Piper was fighting him as hard as she fought the man in the van.
The knife guy grabbed the door handle; he was about to slam it on Tango’s neck.
Piper could have escaped. Ethan saw her gaining control, but she used the assailant's grip and the fact that her feet were off the ground to lift her hips and repeatedly kick the living shit out of the guy who was trying to subdue Tango.
“Tango, release! Back!” Ethan bellowed.
Despite Piper’s efforts, the door slammed shut.
It just missed Tango’s nose.
Tango twisted and leaped toward the knife.
Thank god Tango was wearing her tactical Iniquus work vest made of protective materials.
The knife-wielder’s scream was high-pitched. It was panic laced with agony as Tango clamped down and the knife flew from the man’s grip.
“Call off the dog,” the man with Piper in his arms roared, looking Ethan’s way as Ethan closed the gap.
Sadly, Ethan sprinted at 10 miles an hour, while Tango could fly at 33 miles an hour.
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
Ethan’s training said that the physical fight was not as important as the strategy. A warrior’s mind had to be working twice as fast as his body.
No step of Ethan’s race forward was robotic; he was calculating.
The knife was on the ground.
First thing, Ethan would kick it under the van.
The van door was open again, ready for everyone to jump in.
That would be ideal as long as Tango and Piper were unharmed.
The assailant holding Piper was at the side of the bridge, pressing his leg from booted foot to hip against the guardrail post. His hair was covered by a hoodie. He wore a medical mask over his mouth and nose and sunglasses over his eyes.
Piper was on the wrong side of the railing.
Ethan played the scenarios. When he got there, he could punch the shit out of the guy. But if the guy collapsed, Piper would go into the water straight down, possibly clipping her chin or head on the stone as she dropped, knocking her out.
She might be okay momentarily. But from Ethan’s recon that morning, she wouldn’t be able to reach the shore unless she was a trained fast-water swimmer. Ethan was doubtful that was possible; few were.
Someone from shore could grab their kayak. Undependable.
A punch was out of the question.
