This can’t hurt me.”
“No, it can’t.”
“She’s right,” Thomas said. “But I’ll deal with it. Continue, Agent Cobb.”
Agent Cobb smiled and patted her hand. “Now, Becca, let’s go back to that night when you awoke to that prick in your arm.”
She moaned, then jerked.
“It’s all right,” Agent Cobb said quickly. “Listen to me now. He’s not here. It’s okay, you’re safe.”
“No, it’s not okay. He’ll kill him. I know he’ll kill him. What am I going to do? It’s all my fault. He’ll kill him!”
Just a slight pause, then Agent Cobb said, “You mean that he’ll kill you, Becca? You’re afraid that he injected some long-waiting poison in your arm?”
“Oh no. He’ll kill him. I’ve got to do something. Oh God.”
“Do you mean he’ll kill your father?”
“No, no. It’s Sam. He’s got Sam.” And then she started crying, deep, tearing sobs that jerked her wide awake. “Oh, no,” she said, staring at all the appalled faces. “Oh, no.”
“It’s all right, Becca,” Agent Cobb said. “You’ll be just fine now.”
Thomas said very slowly, “So that’s what McBride had to say to you. Krimakov kidnapped Sam and had McBride call the director to find you and have you call him.”
“No,” she said. “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Valium, she thought. She’d just killed Sam, just killed her father, God knew who else, all because of one damned Valium.
Adam was on his feet. “Where’s your address book? I’m going to call McBride, find out what’s going on here.”
“No,” she said, jumping up to grab his arm. “No, you can’t, Adam.”
“Why the hell not?”
25
The room was dead silent.
“No, you can’t have my address book.”
“Fine. I’ll call information.” Adam walked toward the phone. “We’ve got to know exactly what’s going on here.”
Becca didn’t say another word. She ran out of the living room, grabbed her purse from the table in the entryway, and made for the front door.
“Becca! Dammit, come back here!”
She heard Adam yelling but didn’t pay any attention. She heard her father’s voice, then Special Agent Cobb’s voice. She didn’t slow. She was out on the narrow front porch before Adam reached the entryway.
She heard all of them shouting at her, running after her, but she knew she had to get away. No one else was going to die. Not Sam. Not her father. She had to stop it. She didn’t know how she was going to do it yet, but she would think of something. She should have thought of something before-maybe even been a bit on the subtle side.
There were no sidewalks in this very nice neighborhood, just big lawns, thick curbs, and the road. She hit the road. She was fast, always had been since she was on the track team in high school. She put her head down, turned off all the voices, and ran. She felt the breath pumping in and out of her lungs, felt herself filling with energy, with power, expanding, moving faster, faster. Her feet in Nikes were unbeatable.
She ran right into Sherlock. Both women went down.
Becca was on her feet in an instant. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
“Stop her!”
Sherlock grabbed her ankle and pulled. Becca went down on the edge of a lawn, hitting her hip on the curb. A shaft of sharp pain went through her, but she ignored it. She was ready to fight, ready to do whatever she had to, but Sherlock had somehow managed to straddle her, how she didn’t know, but she’d been fast, too fast, and now she was holding her arms down. How could she be so strong when she was so small, hardly anything to her at all? How did she get her in this position so quickly? Sherlock was leaning over her, her curly red hair bouncing against Becca’s face. “What’s going on here, Becca?”
“Get off me, Sherlock. Please, you’ve got to let me go. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You can’t hurt me, so don’t even try. Tell me what’s happened.”
Becca started struggling, but then it just didn’t matter, and she stilled because Adam was there, not even panting hard, standing over them, staring down at her, his hands on his hips. “Thanks for bringing her down, Sherlock. That wasn’t very smart, Becca.”
Sherlock didn’t like this one bit. She looked at all the men running to the scene, even the two dark-suited FBI guys who’d been parked discreetly down the street. “What’s going on, Adam? Oh yeah, given that I could have hurt Becca dragging her down, I’d really better like the answer.” She pulled herself off Becca and slowly got to her feet. She held out her hand.
Becca looked at that slender white hand that was surely too strong, but she didn’t move. She just rolled over away from them, grabbed her purse, and was off again. A sharp pain went through her hip but she ignored it.
She got at least ten feet before two arms went around her waist and she was picked up, twirled around, and thrown over a man’s shoulder. She hit her chin against his back. “Hold still,” he said, and his voice was calm and quiet. Too calm, too quiet.
Sherlock was one thing. Having a big guy haul her over his shoulder was another. It was humiliating. “Bullshit,” she yelled, and jerked and pulled and kicked. “All right,” he said, and pulled her down. He brought her back up against him, wrapped his arms around her, and held on tight. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get free. He’d pinned her arms to her sides but good.
Three hours, she thought. Time was running out. “Oh God, what time is it?”
“I’ll tell you after you promise not to run away again.”
She leaned down and bit his hand, hard. He didn’t make a single sound, just jerked her around to face him and said, “I’m sorry, Becca,” and lightly tapped his fist against her jaw. It was the strangest feeling. It didn’t really hurt, but she saw a whole skyful of white lights, popping all over her brain, then it was as if someone switched off the lights. Just nothing. She slumped against him.
“She’s a fighter,” he said to Sherlock, who was standing beside him as he picked Becca up in his arms. He looked at the back of his hand. At least he wasn’t bleeding, but he could see the row of even teeth marks. That had been close, too close. But now he had her, thank God. She was too thin, he thought, as he carried her back. She didn’t weigh enough; well, he’d see to that. He’d force food down her gullet if he had to. He frowned as he realized she was a fast runner, very fast. He wasn’t certain if he could have caught her if Sherlock hadn’t been there. He didn’t like that thought, not one bit. He saw Thomas striding toward him, looking frantic.
“What’s going on here, Adam?” Suddenly Sherlock was right in his face, and she wasn’t going to move. He couldn’t very well clip her on the chin. She’d probably flatten him. Since she was married to Savich, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had a black belt, maybe two.
He said, “Krimakov kidnapped Sam McBride. Come on back to the house and we’ll let everyone know what’s happening. She promised McBride that she wouldn’t tell anyone. However, when Agent Cobb gave her some Valium to relax her so he could hypnotize her, she inadvertently spilled the beans. She did go under. Then it all came out.”
“This is insane,” said Sherlock. “That maniac kidnapped Sam? Let me get ahold of Savich. I can’t believe this. Is that guy everywhere?” She stepped away and pulled the cell phone out of her purse.
The agents who’d been watching the house were now standing next to Thomas and agents Hawley and
