He jabbed down, slashing open another wound in Hunter’s injured leg. Then he swung from the hips, using his elbow to drive Hunter away from him. He reversed, swinging now with the knife at Hunter’s throat.

Hunter got his own arm in the way and their forearms clashed.

Hunter kicked at his groin, but there was no power in his leg. Rickard took the kick, allowing the steel cup in his jockstrap to take the brunt, and cut again at Hunter’s throat.

Hunter ducked, but Rickard felt the knife graze the top of his skull and saw a lock of hair spinning in the breeze of their making.

Hunter came back at him with the big knife and Rickard twisted so that it missed. The only problem was that it left him teetering over the balustrade and he had to make a quick adjustment to avoid crashing through it. He threw a back kick into Hunter’s legs. But now it was his kick that held little power.

Hunter slammed him from behind, an elbow across the nape of his neck. The armor didn’t help cushion this blow, and Rickard staggered away, almost going over the balustrade again. Below him he saw the Japanese dude—Jared Rington, Wetherby had called him—lift up an assault rifle. He saw the flash before he heard the rattle, and he felt the impact of bullets hit his body before he felt the pain. He stumbled away, feeling like he was being pummeled by a crowd of determined pugilists.

Then he was out of the line of fire.

The cessation of bullets left him as dazed as the incoming fire had. He wondered for the briefest fraction of a second if he was still alive.

Of course he was.

Testament to that was the intensity with which Joe Hunter lurched after him to finish the job.

How none of Rington’s bullets had found flesh he had no idea, but he didn’t want to chance them again. He was at the corner of the building now and he dodged around it, causing Hunter to follow.

“Come on.”

He beckoned Hunter after him. He was confident that the armor would halt Hunter’s knife whereas there was nothing to stop him from slicing the man to ribbons.

“Come on, Hunter.”

“Don’t worry, I’m coming.”

Hunter was pale, weakened by blood loss and favoring his right leg. The material of his trousers was slick with blood and he was limping on the ball of his foot. His balance was off. No way could he avoid Rickard’s lunge.

Rickard leaped at him, slashing upward at Hunter’s belly.

Hunter didn’t dodge back.