Page 173 of Nash Falls

She took all of three minutes and joined him back in the bedroom. He held her hand to steady her as they swiftly moved down the stairs.

They had just reached the lower level and were about to exit the home through the door Nash had come in when he heard the noise.

He drew his gun and told Judith to get behind him. Nash calmly lined up his muzzle directly at the back door. As it was pushed open, Nash took aim. The man coming through had on a black ski mask and was holding a knife, so this was clearly not the FBI; they would have come in the front door with lots of guns, badges, and noise.

The moment of truth was here.

Obstacles, Nash. Not human beings, obstacles. Like Dad said.

Nash shot the intruder in the head and he tumbled down dead even as Judith screamed. The door was then kicked fully open and two more men burst in. This was the team of Asians who had accompanied them to Shock’s place. They had no doubt recognized Nash, which meant he had to kill them or else it was all over. But that was far easier said than done.

Before he could fire again his gun was smashed out of his hand by a spin kick executed to perfection by the first man. This was followed up by a hard leg strike against Nash’s shoulder by the same man. He tumbled backward and slammed into Judith. She went down, slid across the floor, hit her head on the baseboard, and fell unconscious.

Nash had no time to see how she was because the second man was now coming at him with twin knives, whirling them at incredible velocity. Nash grabbed a plastic laundry hamper off the washing machine and used it to block the knife strike. He finally managed to get the blades stuck in the side webbing of the basket and then Nashtwisted them out of the man’s grip. But the man came at Nash again, kicking and punching, and Nash was barely able to deflect the blows.

Nash knew he was not going to be able to hold out for long, especially since the other man was attempting to circle behind him in the confined space. Their martial arts skills were greater than his, he had to concede. Sometimes, it was as simple as that.

Then Shock’s entreaty came back to him.

Do whatever you have to do—cheat or anything else to walk out alive.

Well, he had one advantage. He knew this particular battlefield better than his opponents.

Nash grabbed the iron off the shelf, and when the man put up his hands to block the object he believed Nash was about to hurl at him, Nash tossed it through the window instead. As the bewildered man took time to process this, Nash snatched a washcloth off a stack on the dryer, scooped something from the shattered window with one hand and lifted a bottle of bleach with the other, his fingers dexterously twisting the top off. He turned and fed a face full of bleach into the eyes and open mouth of his startled attacker. The man gagged and ripped at his pupils, at the very same time that Nash took the jagged piece of glass from the broken window, which he was holding with the washcloth, and slashed it violently across the man’s sinewy neck. It severed both the left and right jugulars, sending blood spewing across the room.

The second man screamed in fury as he rushed forward. Nash dumped the rest of the bleach on the floor, and when the man hit the slickened spot his legs flew up and he landed hard on his back on the floor.

Nash dropped to his knees, drew the Beretta from the ankle holster, and shot the man in the face, twice, just to be sure.

Then, it was over. Nash stared down at three men, all of whom had lost their lives solely due to him. He felt his knees weaken and his gut lurch as he eyed the blood, the bodies, the… destruction he had wrought. He lowered the gun and closed his eyes.

Four breaths in, hold for four, four breaths out, and hold for four.Repeat. It got Dad through his combat. It will get you through… your combat.

When he heard the rush of footsteps coming toward the door Nash’s eyes popped open and he pointed his Beretta at the opening.

“FBI!” called out a voice. “Show yourselves. Now!”

“Agent Morris?” called out Nash.

Morris, his gun held in one hand, peered around the doorway, and shone his light around. “Who’s that?”

“It’s Dillon Hope. I’m the one who messaged you. I’ve got Mrs. Nash with me.”

Nash raced over to Judith, who was just now regaining consciousness. When she sat up and saw the dead men and all the blood, she moaned and was sick to her stomach.

Nash grabbed another washcloth to help clean off her face and blouse.

Morris came farther into the room and shone his light on them. The FBI agent studied Nash but clearly didn’t recognize him.

“Dillon Hope?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Nash helped Judith up and said, “I’ve told Mrs. Nash that I’m working with the Bureau on this matter. And that you would get her to a safe place.” He looked at the three dead men. “I think we were both a little late on that score.”

“The Bureau?” Morris said, still staring at Nash before looking down at the dead bodies.