The guy’s shovel glanced off Mike’s back as he plowed straight into the guy’s gut and backed him against a tree. He grabbed the guy’s arm and slammed it hard against a low-lying branch until he dropped the shovel. The guy grabbed him by the neck and drilled his thumbs into Mike’s windpipe. Desperately prying at the guy’s hands, Mike kicked and twisted. Dots danced before his eyes. He couldn’t utter a sound. A rifle shot cracked through the tree above their heads, spitting bark. His assailant’s arms shot up. Mike gasped for air. He recognized the guy from the tea shop. He had to be connected to GPC. Who else would come out here with a shovel? A squat woman in a ratty cardigan and dark, heavy skirt stepped into the clearing, sighting them down the barrel of her rifle. “Don’t move.” Lifting his hands, Mike’s gaze veered to Katy.
