A barely discernable whine drew her eyes to the sky. Above the trees, a man appeared suspended in midair, jet thrusters propelling him forward at a high speed. He swooped toward them, turbines spinning in a blur of motion. Elise’s heart leaped when she recognized Harry’s features through his visor.

Gilmont’s attention shifted to the apparition. His mouth opened, and he raised the Glock.

No. This evil man would not kill Harry. Elise rushed Gilmont, kicking out, her heel connecting with the handgun. The Glock went flying into the undergrowth.

A snarl twisted Gilmont’s features. He whipped her knife from his waistband and slashed at her. Jumping backward, she landed on the balls of her feet, the blade nicking the front of her jacket—directly over her breast.

Unable to free her sgian dubh from her boot, Elise circled Gilmont, panting, just out of range of the dagger. She had to keep his attention while Harry landed. If Gilmont turned on Harry, he had no way to defend himself.

Eyes narrowed, Elise raised both hands and wiggled her fingers at Gilmont. “Come to Mummy,” she taunted, mouthing the words.

Gilmont did a double take, his head pinging from her to Harry. Her energy lagged. She was almost spent and knew it. With everything she had left inside her, Elise inhaled and stepped forward on her left leg, while her right leg pivoted to the side and bent backward. Raising her hands, she snapped her leg forward, turned hard on her opposite foot, then kicked through.

Gilmont slashed just as her foot connected with his torso. The blade glanced off her boot and penetrated her calf.

They both went down. Gilmont scrambled to his feet, holding his ribs. But his eyes weren’t on her; they were on Harry.

With jets on low and strapped to both arms, Harry could not unbuckle the vest holding his pack without assistance, nor reach for his weapon—as Gilmont was obviously aware.

Unable to stand, Elise grabbed the closest rock and flung it, hitting Gilmont in the back. It had no effect. Gilmont’s attention remained fixed solely on Harry, who resembled an unwieldy tin man.

Gilmont stalked forward, like a cat after a vole, his steps measured, his eyes glittering.

The two jets on each of the arm mounts whirred on low, making it difficult for Harry to remain stationary.

A sob hitched inside Elise’s chest. She crawled frantically toward the brush and patted the leaves for her gun, while blood puddled inside her boot.

One meter from Harry, Gilmont raised his right arm, the blade red with Elise’s blood.

“Take off, you glaikit!” Elise screamed, though neither man could hear her over the falls.

Like a wax effigy from Madame Tussauds, Harry stood at Gilmont’s mercy. Time slowed. Gilmont swung the knife, arcing it toward Harry.

Raising both arms, Harry shot a warning blast from his jets.

Gilmont jumped back, out of thruster range.