Page 65 of Acting on Instinct
Ty closed the apartment door and turned the top two locks to keep Phossy from running. Dropping his backpack by the door, ready for a quick retrieval, Ty glanced around the studio apartment to get a lay of the land before he tested the knob on the bathroom.
Ty could feel the panic sliding from under the bathroom door.
This was absolutely not the way Ty had hoped this would go down.
With a well-aimed boot, Ty slammed his foot into the door just north of the knob.
The jam splintered, and the door banged against the wall, and there was Rory—legs wide, hunkered low, lips peeled back in a vicious snarl.
Phossy Jaw brandished a fixed blade hunting knife with one hand, while he ripped the shower curtain down with his other. A quick flick and Phossy held the curtain like a matador facing down a furious bull.
Rory leaped for the weapons hand, and the man threw the curtain over Rory.
It was a small space taken up by the shower, toilet, and sink. There was barely room for the man, let alone an angry Rory, under the plastic.
Ty grabbed a side of the curtain to pull it free, and the man slashed with his knife.
Terrified that the knife would plunge into Rory, Ty lifted the curtain high. “Rory to me.”
Ty was not going to tell Trip Wire that Rory died on his last mission before retirement.
That wasnothow this was going down.
Rory scrambled backward. As soon as his K9 cleared the room, Ty gave the shower curtain a mighty yank.
Phossy had not let go, and the sudden shift pulled him off balance with wet feet dancing on slick tile.
Phossy dropped the knife, grabbing Ty to catch his fall.
Ty and Phossy grappled as Rory leaped about them, barking.
Rory hadn’t gotten the command yet to bite the man, and he was excited at the possibility.
Ty was trying to avoid the screams that always followed Rory’s sinking his fangs into flesh. Things had been loud enough, and White had asked for cats’ paws.
Phossy had the advantage of being able to grab Ty’s clothes and leverage his moves.
While Phossy, on the other hand, was naked and soap-slicked. It reminded Ty of a charity race he ran where he had to carry a greased piglet down the football field. It was ridiculous to try to get a lock on the guy.
The target was trained, and Ty was feeling the punches.
Soap was a hell of a lubricant, and Ty’s own strikes glanced off with little impact.
The humanity in him made Ty avoid the man’s jaw.
Phossy kneed Ty in the balls.
As his eyes and nose ran with the sudden shock of pain, Ty called. “Rory, restrain.”
The target turned horror-filled eyes toward Rory.
And Rory got to do what Rory liked best; he bit the bad guy as Ty clamped his left hand over Phossy’s mouth to muffle the sound of his scream. The whole jaw apparatus under Ty’s hand felt odd and otherworldly. Ty pulled the syringe from his right thigh, bit off the cap, and plunged the needle into the man’s thigh.
“Rory, release.” Good as gold, Rory opened his mouth and scrambled back two paces to sit, watch, and hope for another opportunity.
Soon, the tension left Phossy’s muscles, and Ty released him.
Pulling his backpack over, Ty grabbed a couple of zip ties and cinched them around Phossy’s wrists and ankles.
