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Olivia rolled her lips in and shook her head.
And when the biker stood, reached over his shoulder, and back-slapped her, Nutsbe’s body was moving.
He flew through the door, grabbed the lamp, jerking it from the wall socket. In the sudden dark, the man spun to identify the sudden changes.
With the moonlight streaming through the curtain, Nutsbe clocked the guy across the temple with the heavy lamp base.
The impact momentarily twisted and bent the man, dropping him to a knee.
The man grunted and sprang to his feet as Nutsbe loaded the bat as if he were going to hit one out of the park. Aiming, Nutsbe swung.
Throwing up an arm to block, the intruder collapsed the lampshade. The house momentarily brightened with the glistening, tinkling sound of glass shards as the bulb broke.
Feet pounded up the stairs as the other man roared toward the scene. The upstairs man fell toward the door as, once again, he collapsed to one knee. Rising from the ground, he reached a hand toward his back belt.
The downstairs man shoved the door open, hitting Upstairs, making him stagger to catch his balance.
Nutsbe took advantage, pulling his knee to his chest; he aimed his boot toward Upstairs’s hip and push-kicked him back to the door to block Downstairs from getting in.
One at a damned time.
Nutsbe, with the lamp base still in his hands, dropped his hips onto the small of Upstairs’s back. The sheer weight and velocity collapsed Upstairs to the ground.
When Upstairs tried to rise, Nutsbe chambered his fist and pounded him in the back of the head and the base of his neck.
Every drop of adrenaline, every ounce of fear, every boiling degree of anger found its way into Nutsbe’s fist, and he punched.
Nutsbe only stopped when Upstairs’s body relaxed into unconsciousness.
Outside in the hall, there was a scramble and thuds.
A set of feet thundered down the stairs, followed by another.
The bang of the door being jerked open and hitting the wall.
Feet back on the stairs, a voice outside the office, “Iniquus. Iniquus. Iniquus.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Nutsbe
“I’m not answering questions, officer, while my adrenaline is rushing around,” Olivia said. “I will go to the hospital for a check. And then, I will have at least one good night’s sleep or two, then my lawyer, my boss at the prosecutor’s office, and I will sit down with the correct person and answer your questions.”
“Ma’am,” The officer swirled the tip of his ballpoint pen over his pad, “we need a statement.”
“If I’m under arrest, you can talk to my lawyer. If you’re telling me, as a witness and victim, that I am required to say anything to you at all, you’re wrong, and you know it.”
Olivia had a swollen red patch on the side of her face. She had refused an ambulance, but she insisted they both needed to be seen at the hospital.
And Nutsbe agreed. In the small space, he’d manipulated his body in ways that he knew were problematic for his legs.
The upstairs man was being hauled out of the house cuffed to a gurney, seemingly concussive and out of it.
After Downstairs had bolted into the night, Gator—the responding operator from Strike Force—had turned his attention to the fight on the second floor, ensuring that Nutsbe and Olivia had the support they needed.
Now, Gator was outside, waiting for Bob to bring in Whiskey and Chaser, the Iniquus-trained bloodhounds. There was no visible escape vehicle, meaning a criminal roamed the sleeping neighborhood. Iniquus wanted to track him down before he did more harm.
Knowing that, Nutsbe had already pulled off Upstairs’ boot and handed it over to Gator as a scent source.
