“Come hither, hither, bonny fly, with the pearl ‘n’ silver wing—”
The ground behind him crunched as the gunman took a step forward. “Dude, I can’t understand a word you’re say—”
Broch knew what the crunching sand meant.
He’ll hae a foot oot, ‘n’ the gun oot, ready tae poke me in mah back—
Broch dropped to a squat and spun, striking the side of the man’s knee with the back of his curled fist. With a sucking pop the joint gave way. Above his head the gun fired a single shot as the man yelped in pain.
The shot masked his cry and Broch kept his advantage. No reinforcements came running.
As the gunman folded to the ground like a faulty tent, Broch pounced, covering his mouth with his hand. His crippled foe’s arms flailed, clawing at Broch’s neck, fighting to wrestle free. The Highlander flopped back to a sitting position on the ground, jerking the man’s head into his lap.
The man’s arm reached down and Broch saw his hand wrap around a knife strapped to his thigh. In a moment, that knife would be headed his way.
With a sharp twist, he turned the gunman’s neck until he heard the muffled pop of his spine crack. The man fell limp in his arms. The knife and the hand wrapped around it, fell to the sand.
Broch stood, allowing the man to slide from his lap to the dust. He wiped his hands against each other and bent at the waist, grabbing the dead man by his shirt and pant leg. With a swinging heave, he lifted and tossed the lifeless body beside the workers in the van, sorry those two unfortunate men would have to spend such intimate time with their killer. He closed the doors, pressing them shut with a muffled click.
Broch picked up the gun. He stared at the warehouse door calculating his next move.
Inside, he heard voices growing louder.
Na time. Someone’s comin’.
Broch scrambled around the side of the van and pressed his back against it, studying the gun to be sure this time he’d know how it worked should he need to use it. The design was a far cry from the pistols and shotguns he’d used back in Scotland and only vaguely similar to the handguns Catriona carried.
He silently wrote learn hae tae use big guns on his mental to-do list.
The nose of a black car rolled around the corner of the warehouse and Broch shifted toward the front of the van to find a better hiding spot. He poked his head out just far enough to watch as Volkov exited the building. Another soldier led Catriona and Mo at gunpoint into the back of the long black car. Volkov entered behind them. The car seemed unusually long to Broch, and he guessed quite a few people could fit into the back of it.
He looked at his stolen gun.
I cannae risk it.
To start firing an unfamiliar weapon at armed men when Catriona lay in danger’s way, that wasn’t an option.
Frustrated, Broch flattened himself against the van as the black car rolled away, taking Catriona with it. Two more men had departed the building and the goons now stood together, talking and smoking as if they were in no hurry to leave.
Broch moved back to the passenger side of the van. Wincing for fear of noise, he eased his fingers under the latch and opened the door. He crawled inside, doing his best to stay silent and keep the van from bouncing. Contorting his legs and back he slid into the driver’s seat and released the breath he’d been holding since opening the door.
He ran through a list in his head.
Turn the key.
He checked and found the key hanging in the ignition.
Sae that’s guid.
He wrapped his fingers around the key.
“Hey, where’s Gino?” said one of the men behind the van.
Time tae gae.
Broch turned the key.
“There he is.”
Broch glanced in the side view mirror and caught the eye of one of the men. The man’s expression puckered.
Na. Ah’m nae Gino.
Broch put the car into drive and stomped on the gas and the man behind him pointed.
“Hey, that’s not Gino!” He threw down his cigarette and lunged forward.
The van’s wheels turned on the loose dirt and then caught, jumping the van forward. Broch heard the henchman yelling as he wrestled the beast of a vehicle under control and tore away from them.
A gunshot perforated the back of the van as Broch ducked and swerved. The second, third and fourth missed, but he heard the clank of a fifth as it ripped through the back of the vehicle.
Broch made a wide U-turn and realized he’d have to drive past the men to get to the road.
What was it that Catriona liked to say in situations like this?
Bummer.
The word made him laugh.
Sliding towards the floor, he pointed the van at the men and pressed the pedal. Driving blind, he turned the wheel left and right, weaving towards them as they opened fire. The front of the van clanked with the sound of bullets riddling the engine. The bullets stopped right before he heard a meaty thud.
That wis nae bullet.
Broch peeked from his hiding place. Only the road lay ahead of him now. He glanced in the mirror and saw one man on the ground, the other leaning over him. Broch reasoned he’d clipped one. It was a lucky break, now the remaining gunman was too busy helping his friend to fill the back of the van with additional bullets.
Broch raced down the dirt road leading to the main highway.
Ahead of him, the long black car had made its turn onto the asphalt. He followed, curving onto the street without pausing. He hoped to
