"Doranna Durgin - Heavy Metal Honey" - читать интересную книгу автора (Durgin Doranna)

believed a man like Rio existed. Someone who could be so different, and yet
understand тАФ and accept тАФ her. Someone who could show her glimpses of
another way to live, and still let her find her own way there. So she didn't pretend.
"You're welcome."
"And you're right," he said. "About priorities. If we'd had no choiceтАжwe'd have
had to stick with the bomb boys. Get that powder back."
"Choices are good," she told him, thinking that it was probably too late in any
event. Thinking that they might yet have to let the woman go in their efforts to
retrieve the package. ButтАж "Creating our own choices is even better. I don't like
being cornered." She looked over at him, grinned wickedly in the darkness. "Doing
the impossibleтАжone of my favorite things."
"Listen," Rio said, cocking his head at the sound of an approaching vehicle, one
that traveled far too fast for the state of the road and the lack of light. "I think you're
about to get your chance."


Chapter Eight


Kimmer had no intention of getting fancy. They'd found the womanтАжthey'd lured
the bomb boys to find her with renewed purpose. And now it was time to wrap
things up in one tidy little sting, descending on the small adobe house to apprehend
the terrorists and save the woman sickened by their stolen fuel rod.
"Watch the back," she suggested to Rio as they thoughtfully flattened the tires of
the bomb boys' car. "I'll hit the front. They're not as likely to run from me."
"More fools, they." Rio's teeth gleamed briefly in the darkness, a quick grin. "You
need help, you shout."
She still wasn't used to having the option, and had to grin back. "Sounds good to
me."
From within the house came shouting; they couldn't wait any longer. Kimmer ran
for the house while Rio loped around the back, avoiding an abandoned car axle and
a broken grocery cart before he disappeared around the side.
Kimmer didn't knock. She didn't even hesitate. She kicked the flimsy door out of
her way тАФ and she didn't stop until her SIG's muzzle ran up against the back of a
bomb boy's skull. Fast. Tidy. Freezing the action: the woman sat on a cot in the
corner of a crowded room, too sick to get up even though she'd evidently tried.
Flaco the pimp, hands in the air and smear of greasy beard on his face, backed up
against the far wall, gauging the distance between his position and the archway to the
next room. And two bomb boys, guns in hand, froze in place, knowing better than
to move.
"Avon calling," she told them, and then raised her voice. "Hey, Avon man тАФ let
them know I'm not alone."
From the back of the house, Rio's amused voice said, "She's not alone."
The bomb boy at the end of her gun stayed perfectly still. "Who are you? Not
cops."
"Not cops." Kimmer wrenched the man's revolver from his hand, thumbed open
the wheel to dump the bullets, and tossed it out into the darkness. "Think of us as
troublesome independents."
"Hey, man, I got nothing to do with this," Flaco said. "I was just trying to help."
"Oh, please," Kimmer said to him, bumping the SIG against her captive's spine as