Nathan stared, not sure he’d heard it right. Was she challenging him to a physical contest? He’d make mincemeat of her. He narrowed his eyes. “May I assume there will be no closed fists and no groin or head blows?”

“Sure, why not.”

Nathan tossed his gun on the bed next to hers.

It happened fast.

One second she was six feet away, the next she was on him. He parried her palm punch aimed at his solar plexus and realized his mistake too late. Before he could react, she had dropped down and swept his legs out from under him. He went down hard, landing on his butt with a grunt. Two seconds later, he found it difficult to breath. Pinned against the base of the bed, his mind tried to register what had happened, but his vision was already graying. He was pretty sure he felt her left forearm across the back of his neck and her right hand squeezing his throat, but he couldn’t be sure. Somewhere in the growing black tunnel he heard her whisper in his ear, “You can cry uncle anytime.”

Nathan would’ve laughed and responded with a witty retort, but he was immobilized in a half nelson executed by an opponent half his weight. He braced his legs against the base of the bed and thrust out, flipping them both onto their backs. Now underneath him, Grangeland’s grip on his throat didn’t waver. His mind was fading fast. He figured he had ten to fifteen seconds to break the hold or be rendered unconscious. If they hadn’t agreed to no head blows, he could easily drive the back of his head into her face and smash her nose, but he wouldn’t do that to her, even it meant losing this struggle.

He sucked in what air he could and saw an opportunity to break her hold. Yeah, it could work. Using the space between the bed and the dresser, Nathan rolled to his side and braced his feet against the bed. With his free right hand, he reached behind her back and grabbed the belt above her butt. With Grangeland still clinging to his back he began simultaneously pulling her jeans up while starting a crushing leg press. All 130 pounds of Special Agent Grangeland ended up pinned between himself and the dresser. He was hoping the intrusive distraction of her jeans, coupled with the pressure on her torso, would drive the air from her lungs. Feeling his mind begin to plummet into the void, he pushed his legs harder and yanked her jeans higher. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, he doubled his energy, giving it all he had.

It worked.