meters to go. He took another breath, then propelled himself beneath the surface once more, willing his body to relax, his mind focused on swimming swiftly and smoothly through the murky water. He couldn’t be sure how deep the lake would be on the other side. It wasn’t much deeper than five feet here. At some point it would be too shallow to conceal him. He would have to be ready to bring it from that point on.
He’d gone maybe thirty or forty seconds when his fingers and feet brushed the bottom. Carefully holding his position, he lifted his head above the water and took a breath, watching, listening. He heard a man’s voice coming from the house slightly to his left. The structure had plywood walls on the ground-floor level, but no windows and no doors, just openings that stared out at the lake. If he’d had some overhead support, he might have known where Kimball had her, what kind of weapons Kimball had, which direction Kimball was facing, but he didn’t. He’d have to take his chances and be prepared for anything.
Realizing there was no background noise to mask the sounds of his movements, he army-crawled quickly and quietly to the shore, dragging his body through cold mud, his bones aching, his muscles stiff and sluggish. The water had been colder than he’d expected it would be. But then water was
A woman’s voice.
“You set your bogus interview to coincide with the explosion.”
She was still alive.
“I wanted to hear you die. I listened to you scream when the bomb went off, just as I listened to you scream when Al-Nassar’s men dragged you away.”
Javier locked down his anger, tried to channel it toward action. He unclipped and dewatered the AR-15, his gaze fixed on the house as he watched for movement, for shadows, for any sign of Kimball’s location. It sounded to him like they were just on the other side of this thin plywood wall—which meant they would hear him unless he was very careful.
“You managed to startle me, but that was all. You killed that poor kid for nothing. Know what that makes you? A murderer and a coward.” Laura was doing her best to act calm, but Javier could hear the fear in her voice.
There came the sharp sound of a hand hitting flesh.
Javier set the AR carefully aside, then soundlessly drew the Walther PPS from his holster and made certain it, too, was drained.
“You’d better watch it, bitch. I have your life in my hands!” Kimball was shouting now. “Why do you even give a shit about that kid?”
Javier took advantage of the increased noise level to click off the safety on the AR-15 and move, positioning himself against the wooden wall near what would have been a doorway. His response times were slower than they should be, and he knew he must be hypothermic. He’d have to plan for that.
“The whole country is going to care about him when the truth comes out. How do you sleep at night? Do you see the faces of the people you’ve murdered?” She was trying to keep him off guard, trying to keep him talking.
“You think you’re so brave, but I know you’re not. I’m going to prove it to you. See what I brought?” The bastard laughed. “I knew you’d appreciate it. You’re afraid now, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes, I’m afraid. I’m afraid you’ve made a very big mistake.”
“The only reason you’re still alive is that I can’t decide how I want to kill you. Once you’re actually dead, I won’t get the chance to do this again. I want to do it right, to enjoy it. I can either listen to you scream while you burn to death, or I can watch your face as I cut off your head. But I can’t do both.”
“How frustrating that must be for you.”
Javier closed his mind to what he was hearing and crept into position, peering around the corner, taking in the scene at a glance.
Kimball stood with his back toward Javier, a large serrated bread knife in his hand. Laura was bound by duct tape to a chair in front of him. A half dozen gas canisters were placed strategically around the room, two of them flanking Laura.
Did they contain fuel or ANFO? Were they rigged to blow?
Javier had no idea. He drew back, working the plan through in his mind, visualizing each step of it, taking his own sluggishness into account.
“I know you were terrified by the thought of Al-Nassar cutting your head off like this. But isn’t it better to die this way than to burn to death? What do you think?”
“I-I think . . . you should run . . . while you can.”
Javier made his decision, his muscles tensing.
It was time to bring the pain.
LAURA COULDN’T STOP herself from shaking, fear stealing her breath, making her pulse race. She’d run out of time, and she knew it.
They weren’t going to find her. Javier probably knew she was missing by now. One way or another he would find her car—either by tracing her cell phone or by getting the address from Joaquin. He’d call Zach, Marc, Julian—but they would be too late. They would only learn what had happened to her after firefighters reported discovering a charred body in the ashes of this house and the ME identified her remains.
A wave of despair washed through her, the hope that had held her together unraveling thread by thread.
Kimball moved to stand behind her. He fisted his hands in her hair and forced her head back, pressing the rough edge of the blade against her trachea and carotid artery. “If I cut your throat here, you’ll suffocate, bleed out, die fast. But if I start here,” he said, tilting her head to the side, moving the blade to press against the muscles at the back of her neck, “you might last a little longer.”
Laura’s mind raced as Kimball tormented her with his words, thoughts chasing one another through her mind.
An image of her mother’s and grandmother’s faces. They would never recover from this. Losing her the first time had devastated them.
She hoped her mother would keep up the fight to reclaim Klara.
And Javier . . .
They hadn’t been together long enough, not nearly long enough, but she was grateful for every moment she’d had with him. He’d brought her back to herself, made her feel alive again. Because of him, she wouldn’t die the broken woman Al-Nassar had left behind. She would die as herself.
Somehow, that mattered so much in this moment.
As hard as she fought to hide her fear, a tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
Kimball noticed, wiped it roughly away with his thumb. “You’re not so tough after all, are you?”
And then she saw him.
Wet and covered with mud, he appeared out of nowhere, rifle aimed at Kimball. “Hey,
Kimball jumped, the knife blade falling to the floor. “What—”
The rifle didn’t fire.
Javier quickly sidestepped, cleared the misfire, and aimed again.
