“We can’t help them,” Devon said. “We’d be killed ourselves.” “Only a fool would try,” Beth agreed. Thud! “Aagghhh!” “Damn.” Devon’s expression twisted with conflicting emotions. Abruptly, he bent to pull up one trouser leg and draw a knife from the sheath strapped to his calf. Straightening again, he cocked an eyebrow at the sight of Beth holding up her own blade, which she had taken from a skirt pocket. “I thought you were a nice girl,” he said. She looked him in the eye steadily. “That doesn’t mean I’m weak.”
