Неизвестно - Megan's mate

What century are we in?

The fact that Nathaniel could laugh was a hopeful sign.

She thinks I'm moving too

fast.

I'd tell you to slow down, but I've known you too long.

Calmer, he took up a ratchet, considered it, then set it down again.

Suzanna took

her lumps from Du-mont. How'd you get past it?

I yelled at her a lot,

Holt said, reminiscing.

I've tried that.

Brought her flowers. She's got a real weakness for flowers.

Which made him think

that perhaps he'd stop on the way home and pick some up.

I've done that, too.

Have you tried begging?

Nathaniel winced.

I'd rather not.

His eyes narrowed curiously.

Did you?

Holt took a sudden, intense interest in the engine.

We're talking about you. Hell,

Nate, quote her some of that damn poetry you're so fond of. I don't know. I'm not good at this romance stuff.

You got Suzanna.

Yeah.

Holt's smile spread.

So get your own woman.

Nathaniel nodded, crushed out his cigar.

I intend to.

Chapter 10

The sun had set by the time Nathaniel returned home. He'd overhauled an engine and repaired a hull, and he still hadn't worked off his foul mood.

He remembered a quote Horace, he thought about anger being momentary insanity. If you didn't figure out a way to deal with momentary insanity, you ended up in a padded room. Not a cheerful image.

The only way to deal with it, as far as he could see, was to face it. And Megan. He was going to do both as soon as he'd cleaned up.

And she'll have to deal with me, won't she?

he said to Dog as the pup scrambled

out of the car behind him.

Do yourself a favor, Dog, and stay away from smart women who have more brains than sense.

Dog wagged his tail in agreement or sympathy, then toddled away to water the hedges.

Nathaniel slammed the car door and started across the yard.

Fury?

He stopped, squinted into the shadows of dusk, toward the side of the cottage.

Yeah?

Nathaniel Fury?

He watched the man approach, a squat, muscled tank in faded denim. Creased face, strutting walk, a grease-smeared cap pulled low over the brow.

Nathaniel recognized the type. He'd seen the man, and the trouble he carried with him like a badge, in dives and on docks the world over. Instinctively he shifted his weight.

That's right. Something I can do for you?

Nope.

The man smiled.

Something

I

can do for

you,

Even as the first flash of warning lit in Nathaniel's brain, he was grabbed from behind, his arms viciously twisted and pinned. He saw the first blow coming, braced, and took a heavy fist low in the gut. The pain was incredible, making his vision double and waver before the second blow smashed into his jaw.

He grunted, went limp.

Folded like a girl. Thought he was supposed to be tough.

The voice behind him

sneered, giving him the height and the distance. In a fast, fluid movement, Nathaniel snapped his head back, rapping his skull hard against the soft tissue of a nose. Using the rear assailant for balance, he kicked up both feet and slammed them into a barrel chest.

The man behind him cursed, loosened his grip enough for Nathaniel to wrest himself away. There were only seconds to judge his opponents and the odds.

He saw that both men were husky, one bleeding profusely now from his broken nose, the other snarling as he wheezed, trying to get back his breath after the double kick to his chest. Nate snapped his elbow back, had the momentary pleasure of hearing the sound of bone against bone.

They came at him like dogs.

He'd been fighting all his life, knew how to mentally go around the pain and plow in.

He tasted his own blood, felt the power sing up his arm as his fist connected. His head rang like church bells when he caught a blow to the temple. His breath burned from another in the ribs.

But he kept moving in as they circled him, lashing out, dripping sweat and blood.

Avoiding a leap at his throat with a quick pivot, he followed through with a snapping, backhanded blow. The flesh on his knuckles ripped, but the pain was sweet.

He caught the quick move out of the corner of his eye and turned into it. The blow skimmed off his shoulder, and he answered it with two stinging jabs to the throat that had one of the men sinking bonelessly to his knees.

Just you and me now.

Nathaniel wiped the blood from his mouth and measured his foe.

Come on.

The loss of his advantage had his opponent taking a step in retreat. Facing Nathaniel now was like facing a wolf with fangs sharp and exposed. His partner was useless, and the man shifted his eyes for the best route of escape.

Then his eyes lit up.

Lunging, he grabbed one of the boards waiting to be nailed to the deck. He was grinning now, advancing and swinging the board like a bat. Nathaniel felt the wind whistle by his ear as he feinted left, then the wood slapping on his shoulder on the return swing.

He went in low. The rushing power took them both over the deck and smashing through the front door.

Fire in the hole!

Bird shouted out.

All hands on deck!

His wings flapped

frantically as the two men hurtled across the room.

A small table splintered like toothpicks under their combined weight. The wrestling wasn't pretty, nor was there any grace in the short body punches or the gouging fingers. The cottage rang with smashing furniture and harsh breathing.

Something new crept into the jungle scent of sweat and blood. When he recognized fear, Nathaniel's adrenaline pumped faster, and he used the new weapon as ruthlessly as his fists.

He closed his hand around the thick throat, thumb crushing down on the windpipe.

The fight had gone out of his opponent. The man was flailing now, gagging.

Who sent you?

Nathaniel's teeth were bared in a snarl as he grabbed the man by the hair and rapped his head hard on the floor.

Nobody.

Breathing through his teeth, Nathaniel hauled him over, twisted his arm and jerked it viciously up his back.

I'll snap it like a twig. Then I'll break the other one, before I start on your legs. Who sent you?

Nobody,

the man repeated, then screamed thinly when Nathaniel increased the pressure.

I don't know his name. I don't!

He screamed again, almost weeping

now.

Some dude outa Boston. Paid us five hundred apiece to teach you a lesson.

Nathaniel kept the arm twisted awkwardly, his knee on the man's spine.

Draw me a

picture.

Tall guy, dark hair, fancy suit.

The squat man babbled out curses, unable to move without increasing his own agony.

Name of God, you're breaking my arm.

Keep talking and it's all I'll break.

Pretty face like a movie star. Said we was to come here and look you up. We'd get double if we put you in the hospital.

Looks like you're not going to collect that bonus.

After releasing his arm,

Nathaniel dragged the man up by the scruff of his neck.

Here's what you're going to

do. You're going to go back to Boston and tell your pretty-faced pal that I know who he is and I know where to find him.

For the hell of it, Nathaniel rammed the man against the wall on the way out the door.

Tell him not to bother looking over

his shoulder, because if I decide he's worth going after, he won't see me coming.

You got that?

Yeah, yeah, I got it.

Now pick up your partner.

The other man was struggling onto his hands and knees.

And start running.

They didn't need any more urging. Pressing a hand to his ribs, Nathaniel watched until they'd completed their limping race out of sight.

He gave in to a groan then, hobbling painfully through the broken door and into the house.