going to die anyway. And so she could live a few more hours, I watched my men get butchered. And then I ran — not to come back and report. Not to try to flank the people tearing them apart. I ran because I
“Enough!” Smith said, slamming his hands down on the table.
Rivera was breathing hard, and one of the wounds on his forehead had started to seep, creating a thin red line along the bridge of his nose.
Smith’s phone rang, and he looked down at it. Klein.
“I don’t have time for all this navel gazing,” he said, standing. “I’m going to take this call, and while I’m gone you’re going to think about what details you left out of your report that could help me figure out what happened to you and your men. Are we clear, Lieutenant?”
13
The Land Cruiser’s speedometer was showing 150 kilometers per hour when the sharp left turn appeared in the headlights. Dembe Kaikara slammed on the brakes and twisted the wheel, listening to the scream of the tires struggling to maintain traction.
The bitch had cut him!
He had a hand clamped over the deep slice across his side and could feel the blood oozing around his fingers. It wasn’t a serious wound, but the pain radiated from it, stoking his anger.
The road straightened and he took his hand off the wheel, balling a fist and slamming it repeatedly into the dashboard. His orders were to take her to the meeting place unharmed. And, as always, it was very clear that failure to carry out those orders would be severely punished.
But she owed him for what she had done. Surely Bahame would agree that he had a right to take his payment. She would still be alive for whatever he wanted her for.
A car appeared in front of him, and he slowed as it passed, looking behind him at the helpless woman bound in the backseat. She had regained consciousness and stared defiantly back at him.
It wouldn’t last, though. Soon her anger would turn to terror. She would use that beautiful mouth to beg him to stop, to offer him whatever he wanted. After a time, they all did.
He faced forward again, easing back some more on the accelerator. The road had gone black again, and he scanned the edge for a place he could pull over far enough to be invisible to the occasional passing car. Somewhere they wouldn’t be disturbed.
Sarie gave up pulling against the duct tape binding her hands. Her head had cleared enough to know she was accomplishing nothing but peeling the skin from her wrists.
What did this man want? Violent break-ins certainly weren’t uncommon in Africa, but theft clearly wasn’t his goal. He hadn’t taken anything but the Land Cruiser — and that just seemed to be a convenient mode of hostage transport.
Of course, sexual assault was also rampant in South Africa, but why be so elaborate? Her house was totally isolated, and he’d sure as hell had the upper hand.
No. There was more to it than that. How did he get through the gate and beat her alarm system? Tears began to well up at the thought of her dogs, but she fought them back. There was no time for that now. She had no idea what this man wanted, but whatever it was, she doubted she would survive it. If she’d ever focused in her life, this was the time.
The African leaned out the open window and jabbed at the brake, jerking the vehicle enough to give her an excuse to roll to the floor behind his seat.
He reacted immediately, twisting around and grabbing her hair with a bloody hand. The anger dissipated a bit from his voice as he shouted at her, and while she couldn’t understand his words, the reason for his improving mood was clear. He had won. And he was ready to take his reward.
The sound of gravel beneath the tires forced him to return his attention to the road, and he kept talking as they drove, occasionally slowing and leaning out the open window as though he was looking for something.
His attention occupied, Sarie pressed her back against his seat and worked her hands beneath it. The lessons of her father’s death didn’t end at the walls of her house.
She could just barely touch the gun she’d hidden there, but the holster was positioned with the assumption that she’d be driving when she reached for it. And that her hands wouldn’t be taped behind her back.
Using her knees for leverage, she gritted her teeth and crammed her arms a few centimeters farther. Her shoulders felt like they were being pulled from their sockets, but it still wasn’t quite far enough.
The African whooped joyously and jammed on the brakes again, throwing her weight toward the front of the vehicle. One of her elbows felt like it was going to snap beneath the edge of the seat, but the sudden deceleration allowed her to get a hand around the gun and turn the holster. He threw the Land Cruiser into reverse as she yanked the pistol free, but the front sight got caught on the springs.
She tried to push it forward again but realized that she’d reached the limit of what she could do without breaking an arm. A wave of despair washed over her and she beat it back, bracing her knees in front of her. One hard push. That’s all it would take. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d broken an arm, and it would almost definitely be preferable to what the man in the driver’s seat had in mind.
On three, she told herself. One…two…
The wheels fell into a deep rut as the African backed the car off the pavement, the sudden jerk followed closely by the crack of the pistol and the acrid scent of gunpowder.
From her contorted position, there was no way to know where the gun had been aimed when it had gone off, and she assumed that the bullet had passed harmlessly through the seat until a wail loud enough to overcome the ringing in her ears filled the cramped vehicle.
He’d been hit, which was good. But he wasn’t dead, which was bad. Maybe very bad. In any event, there was no reason to wait around and find out.
Using a toe to get the door open was easier than she anticipated, but getting out from under the seat wasn’t. She squirmed wildly, feeling the cool breeze running over her as she inched toward what she prayed was freedom.
In the driver’s seat, pain had turned to fury and the Land Cruiser rocked with the force of the driver’s door being thrown open. Just as her foot touched dirt, Sarie heard the handle of the door behind her head being pulled and a frustrated howl when the man discovered it was locked.
It didn’t seem to occur to him to reach through the open front door, and instead he shattered the glass with his elbow while she desperately tried to pull herself out with heels hooked over the running board.
But it was too late. His hand was in her hair again, and a moment later the jagged glass clinging to the window frame was cutting across her back. There was no way to stop it, so she decided to do the opposite, kicking off one of the seats and sending him staggering backward into the road.
She hit the ground hard, but not so hard that she couldn’t roll to her feet. In the moonlight, the right leg of his jeans had turned a glossy black, already completely saturated with blood.
Whether the bullet had hit him in the leg or the ass was impossible to know, but either way he was going to be a hell of a lot slower than he’d been at the house.
He’d obviously come to the same conclusion and reached behind him for something that Sarie wasn’t interested in waiting around to see. She ran past a flowering rose bush at the head of a row of vines, struggling to stay upright with her hands still bound and her shoes still back at the house.
The first shot tore through the plants to her right, and she ducked, veering left. The second shot came close enough for her to hear the hiss of it as it passed, but as she penetrated deeper into the vines, his aim became more erratic.
She finally fell to the ground in a narrow trough, breathing hard and listening to him empty the gun in her general direction.
She stayed completely still, waiting for the sound of him wading in after her, but instead she heard distant
