The weapon involuntarily falling from his grip, the big blond drove his left palm up into Nic’s nose. Pulling back just enough to keep the thrust from driving the cartilage of his nose up through his brain, Nic wasn’t ready for the incoming head-butt. The Australian’s forehead collided with Nic’s nose, and he felt sparks of pain lance through his skull and a flash of light briefly blur his vision.

But if there was one thing Nic was good at, it was taking a hit. Still seeing stars, he swung an elbow into the man’s jaw with a satisfying crunch of teeth and bone.

The Australian, blood and spittle flying from his mouth, screamed and grabbed Nic in a bear hug, pumping his legs and driving them both back toward the interior of the house. His arms wrapped around the blond in a fit of rage, Nic could do little more than hold on for the ride as his attacker pushed him backward, out of the unfinished room, and over a set of wrought-iron railing bordering the home’s inner catwalk.

Nic felt himself go weightless as they both tumbled over the edge, a mass of flailing limbs and flying blood. The Australian had gone berserk, still head-butting and kneeing as they fell. Nic’s only thought was to keep a hold on the Sig Sauer in his right hand. If he could hit the ground and get a few feet of distance, he could end the confrontation decisively. And he was no longer worried about asking this maniac any questions.

He looked over his shoulder as they tumbled through the air to see a large sheet of plywood set up on sawhorses in what he presumed was the home’s living room. The good news was that the makeshift table would break their fall. The bad news was that it was covered in all manner of sharp tools.

Nic tried to brace himself for the impact, but it did little good. His head collided with a miter saw, shattering the plastic housing. The plywood table folded under their combined weight with a shotgun blast of splinters and sawdust. His arm struck something hard and metal, sending pain up his side and down his spine. The breath pushed from his lungs, his vision flashed dark, but he refused to succumb.

Nic pushed himself up and stumbled to his feet, realizing that he had lost his gun. He scanned the floor around him, but his attention quickly returned to his opponent when he heard the activation of a battery-powered Sawzall.

The Australian tore off his white suit jacket, tossed it aside, and revved the motor of the saw like he was preparing for a drag race. The man’s eyes were wild with anger, but Nic also saw a confident composure. His opponent was obviously a professional killer and not a man who lost a fight.

The Australian, eyes wild and teeth red with blood, issued a battle cry as he rushed toward Nic, slashing with the razor-sharp blade of the saw. Nic rolled over the remains of the plywood table and flipped one half of the broken wood on its edge, pushing it toward the Australian.