She gritted her teeth and stood it.

After fifteen minutes of hell, which proved beyond any doubt that Margo was in over her head, Sven Bailey stepped back and said, "Okay. What've you learned?"

Margo rubbed the freshest set of bruises and said, "That I have a lot to learn. I knew that last night."

"That's it? That's all you've figured out?" His tone relegated her to the realm of idiots, worms, and cockroaches.

Margo bit her tongue with difficulty.

Sven rested hands on hips and studied her. "I was under the impression you were here to learn something."

"So show me something to learn! All you've done so far is throw me around like a sack of flour!"

"Sit down."

"What?"

He jabbed an emphatic middle finger toward the mat. "Sit!"

She sat

"Close your eyes."

She did so.

"Now, breathe."

Margo felt like an idiot, sitting in the middle of the mat with people staring at her while she did nothing gut breathe..

"Forget Malcolm, forget the other people. Concentrate on your center. Breathe. Down' to the bottom. Hold it. Hold it.... Exhale. Again."

Grudgingly, her body began to relax. Tension made itself known in burning muscles from neck to hips. She shifted slightly for a more comfortable position.

"What are you feeling?"

"My neck is tight. My shoulders, too. My back hurts."

"Good, that's where you're fighting yourself. That's what I'm talking about when I ask what you've learned. You're fighting yourself as hard as you were fighting me. Keep breathing."

For half an hour, all Sven Bailey let her do was breathe and listen to her body's multiple complaints. When he finally allowed her to stand up again she felt looser, but restless.

"Now," Sven said, circling her slowly, "let's practice wrist exercises. The strength in your wrists is pathetic. To study Akido, that has to change. Like this ..."

For another half hour, Margo exercised her wrists until her arms trembled and her wrist-bones ached.

"Very good. Now, let's practice standing."

"Standing?"

Sven crossed his arms. "Are you going to question everything I tell you or do you want to learn something?"

"Yes! I'd just like to learn it before I'm eighty!"

Sven's appraising stare was about as warm as last winter's icicles. "You can't even crawl yet and you want to run the marathon?"

Margo clamped her lips shut. If she antagonized her teacher, Kit would yank her right out of training. Her mother's voice came back to her: Margo, you're too inpatient for your own good. Slow down. You'll get it all done. Yes, she would-but would she get it done in time? She was still fighting a relentless deadline, but if she hoped to succeed, she had to do things their way. If only you hadn't gotten sick, you bastard ...But he had. And like Sven Bailey's relentless personality, there was nothing she could do to change that. She could only adapt and incorporate the fact into her plans.

Margo drew several deep breaths. "Okay. All right. I'm sorry. Mom always told me I was in a tearing rush to do everything, even when I was learning to crawl. I'll do better. I promise." She tried a sweet smile and knew she'd succeeded when a little of the darkness left his scowl. "Okay, Mr. Bailey, how am I supposed to stand? Show me."

Sven put her in position, then began to talk -surprisingly enough, about something besides breathing and strengthening her wrists.

"The idea we have in mind is to give you a broad foundation in unarmed combat before we move to armed combat. No, Margo, sink down a little further, that's right, hold it. If you rely on the weapon alone, without backup layers of self-defense, you risk being caught helpless if you lose use of the weapon. Whether you're carrying a firearm, a knife, some kind of chemical, or a club, you need to have other layers of protection in your defenses. One layer is alertness. If you don't notice an attacker, he'll take you by surprise. And once that happens, you're in trouble. For the next twenty-four hours, I want you to practice a little game. Tomorrow, tell me how well you do. See how many times you notice someone before they're aware of you and how many times they notice you first. Keep a record and we'll talk more about alertness tomorrow"

For once, Margo could see the immediate usefulness of the lesson. She vowed to score a hundred percent on this particular test. Nobody would catch her napping.

"All right, shift your stance like this. Good. Now...one reason to stay alert. Suppose you have a gun."

Margo nodded. "Okay."

Sven backed up at least twenty feet. "I've got a knife." He brandished a closed hand as though holding a knife in a fencing grip. "Lady, I'm gonna cut your throat Draw from your holster and shoot me."

He rushed at her. Margo grabbed for her hip, pretending to go for a gun

And landed hard on her back. Sven's hand slashed her throat.

She widened her eyes. "Hey! No fair!"

"There's no such thing as fair, girl." He let her up. "Get back into your stance. Remember, a man armed with a knife can cover twenty feet faster than you can draw a gun. Keep your distance from potential threats and stay alert."

Quite suddenly, the game wasn't so funny.

Margo reassumed her stance. "What else?"

"Forget everything you've ever seen in movies. I'm talking martial arts, knives, fistfights, or guns. Movies are crap. They'll get you killed. A knife fight is likelier to leave you dead than a gunfight-dead or crippled if you don't know exactly what you're doing. Know how to use your weapon. Ann will teach you projectile weapons: firearms, archery, even blowguns. I'll teach you the rest. Getting tired? Good. Next, you fall."

And she did, too. Repeatedly Sven taught her a better way to fall than her karate instructors had ever shown her. By the time Sven was satisfied that Margo had at least learned how to fall down, she was shaking with exhaustion and covered with sweat.

"Okay," Sven finally told her, "shower and change into fresh clothes. Ann's waiting for you on the range."

Margo held back a groan and scraped herself off the mat. Malcolm Moore abandoned a kata of his own and intercepted her halfway across the gym.

"Please," Margo said, holding out both hands to ward him off, "don't rub it in."

"No hard feelings." He smiled, surprising her with the friendliness in eyes, and held out one hand. She shook it warily. "Really, Margo," he said with a self-conscious laugh, "you pointed out how badly I need to practice. I've been lax lately. Thanks for reminding me to get back in shape."

"Oh. Well, you're welcome."

"Sven gave you a hard time." It wasn't a question.

His friendly smile prompted a heartfelt response. "All he let me do was breathe, stand in one place, and fall down!"

Malcolm grinned. "I can think of worse things he might have made you do."

Much to her surprise, Margo found herself laughing. "Well, yeah, I guess that's true." She nodded toward the shower. "I, uh, have to get cleaned up. I'm supposed to learn how to shoot."

Her lack of enthusiasm must have communicated itself to Malcolm Moore, because he chuckled. "I'll make a wager with you. An hour from now, you'll be singing a different tune. In fact, I'll bet you enjoy it so much by the end of the week, you'll be sneaking in to practice when you're supposed to be studying math."

Margo rose to the challenge with glee. "That's a bet! What'll you wager?"

Malcolm grinned again. "Me? Hell, Margo, I'm broke."

She laughed. "Me, too."

"Okay, how about something besides money?"

"Like what?" She was abruptly wary.

Malcolm blinked, clearly taken aback for a moment by her tone. Margo gave herself a mental kick. Malcolm wasn't Billy Pandropolous or even Skeeter Jackson. Kit Carson wouldn't trust him if he were, for one thing, and he wasn't like any guy Margo had ever met, for another.