Ann Bruce - Excerpt 2 from FALL DEAD

Excerpt 2 from Fall Dead

Augusta dug her fists deeper inside the pockets of her black leather peacoat and stretched her neck, lifting her face up for the cool night air to caress. She had Adam drop her off a few blocks before they reached her townhouse. He had protested vehemently, not liking that she wanted to walk the rest of the way home so she could stretch her legs and clear her head. She could stretch her legs and clear her head walking around her house. This was New York City and it was dark outside, he had pointed out. It would be stupid and irresponsible of him to let her walk several blocks to get home. However, she had picked up a few things about stubbornness from Drew, and after she reminded Adam that he wasn’t her keeper, he had angrily pulled to the curb and let her out.

She would have to call him tomorrow and apologize. Adam only had her safety in mind. With Drew’s violent death, it was only natural that he be even more protective than usual. It was a Langan family trait. They may bicker endlessly and even hate each other at times, but Langans looked after their own. Or, Augusta amended wryly, those who they thought were their own. With the exception of Adam and Drew, the Langan family would happily see her on her way to Hades’ realm, or any place where she wouldn’t be able to get her little hands on their money.

Christ, but their opinion of her was low.

Stop it, Augusta. You’re supposed to be clearing your head, not burdening it with things you have no control over.

"Right," she murmured, breathing deeply, hoping the proven relaxation technique would come through again for her this time.

It didn’t. If anything, it stretched her already taut nerves. The back of her neck prickled and Augusta had a suspicion that Adam had been right after all. It wasn’t the most intelligent thing to walk alone after sundown, even if the distance was only four city blocks. A braver person would’ve stopped and glanced around. But that would be like admitting fear was playing havoc with her pulse and sweat glands. Augusta quickened her pace, the sound of her heels ringing loudly in her ears as they fell rhythmically on the cracked pavement.

Relief poured through her as she passed the bakery where she often stopped for a cinnamon and raisin bagel each morning. Another block and she would be able to lock herself inside her home and laugh at the stupid fear that was making her paranoia come to the fore.

Augusta almost missed it, the movement was so quick. But from the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow break away from the darkness of the narrow alley beside the bakery. Her head instinctively turned, but the dark figure had already clamped a gloved hand over her nose and mouth, another surprisingly strong arm snaked about her waist, imprisoning her arms and slamming her back into a hard, burly body. Her feet cleared the ground and she was hauled backwards into the alley. Always hand over your purse or wallet. Don’t struggle. Once they get what they want, they’ll take off and you’ll be okay. Sound advice. But only if you’re not panicked, actually facing the situation, and hadn’t been bullied by an overprotective boyfriend-turned-husband into taking self-defense courses. Besides, how the hell was she supposed to hand over her wallet if she couldn’t move her arms, dammit?

Do something, Augusta! Do something!

Augusta struggled, twisting her body this way and that. Her attacker, obviously experienced, wasn’t taken off-guard. He silently tightened his hold on her. Her vision beginning to dot from lack of oxygen, Augusta kicked desperately backwards, the adrenaline pumping through her veins giving her added strength. Her sharp little heel did catch her attacker off-guard. He dropped her and howled when it dug satisfyingly into his leg. But Augusta didn’t have time to savor his pain as she gulped in air and scrambled to her feet. She didn’t make one running step before a hand fisted in her hair and viciously yanked her head back. Augusta turned with the momentum, her arm outstretched with a subtle bend in her elbow, arcing with the turn. She felt the side of her hand connect with skin, felt the Adam’s apple and tendons underneath. Choked, gasping sounds interspersed with curses filled the air. The hand fisted in her hair let go and her attacker fell to his knees, both hands curved protectively about his abused throat. Augusta sent a well-aimed knee into the man’s face for good measure, knocking him solidly on his back. Distantly, she registered something hot and wet exploding onto her pants. Then, ignoring the mangled howl of pain renting the air, she whirled around to run as if the hounds of hell were baying at her heels.

Her mouth was open and she drew in great gulps of air to appease her burning lungs as she bounded up the steps of her stoop to her door. Key already in hand, she swiftly inserted it--and found that she didn’t need it when the door gave way under her weight. It silently swung inward and, gripping the doorknob as if it was a lifeline, she staggered inside.

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