TWENTY-ONE
Gravel and dirt crunched beneath her boots as Marty
approached the gate. From twenty feet away she noticed the rusty chain and padlock securing it, the
No Trespassing
sign swinging in the wind. She considered stopping and waiting. But the caller had told her to keep going, so she put her toes on the first rail, swung her leg over the top of the gate and jumped down on the other side.
Around her the wind turbines groaned, a sound so low and hushed it was nearly drowned out by the whistle of the wind through the power lines. As she approached the first turbine, she tried hard to quiet the little voice telling her the e-mails she’d sent hadn’t gone through. If that was the case, there was no way in hell she was going to walk away from this. Best-case scenario, they would kill her quickly. Worst case, she would go the route Rosetti had gone.
Marty couldn’t think of a more horrific way to die. She felt the weight of her own death pressing down on her as she walked past the first turbine. She could feel her legs shaking, her heart pounding out pure adrenaline. She was keenly aware of the mini Magnum jammed into the hair atop her head, but the small weapon was little comfort in light of what she faced. Unless the Russians presented Erica right away, and Marty got a clean shot at the person holding her, the gun probably wouldn’t do much good.
That wasn’t taking into consideration all the variables. Like how she would get to the weapon without being gunned down. And there was a possibility Erica wasn’t even here. Then what? The answers eluded her. The only thing she knew for certain was that she didn’t want to die, and she didn’t want that innocent girl to die.
Her heart beat heavily in her chest as she proceeded toward the second turbine. She felt as if she were being stalked by some bloodthirsty predator. A sense of danger hung in the air like the stink of cordite after a shot. Fear infused every cell in her body. The urge to turn and run was strong. But Marty had Erica to think of. Even if the Russians killed them both, at least the little girl wouldn’t be alone.
She thought of Clay, and unexpected tears burned at the backs of her eyes. The stolen moments they’d spent together in her hotel room flashed in her mind’s eye. Their lovemaking had been one of the most emotionally moving experiences of her life. Only now did she realize what it meant to love someone heart, body and soul. It was the ultimate irony that she would die now that she’d finally found him.
It didn’t escape her that her love for him had brought violence into his life. Into his child’s life. It would destroy Clay to lose Erica. His daughter was the center of his world. Without her, he would be pitched into a never-ending darkness.
The thought broke her heart.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve, Marty shifted her focus to her environment. The size of the turbines was astounding. The diameter of the base was so large a dozen men could easily hide behind it. The surrounding landscape was a flat plain interrupted only by the occasional cholla cactus or scraggly mesquite, providing little cover. There was no doubt in her mind they were watching her.
“I’m here!” she shouted. “Where are you?”
The wind and the low groan of the turbines mocked her with otherworldly sound. To her left a small herd of cattle grazed the prairie grass. The peacefulness of the scene stood in stark contrast to the terror bubbling just beneath the surface.
The sound of tires crunching through gravel spun her around. Dizzy with adrenaline and fear, Marty watched as a white Lexus idled up to the gate and stopped. The driver got out. A young man with brown hair and dark eyes, she noted. The blue steel of a handgun jutted from his waistband. In his right hand he carried bolt cutters and used them to sever the chain.
He shoved the gate open with his foot, got back into the car and drove through it. Marty’s heart pounded her ribs like a piston when the car stopped a few feet from her. The man was alone. No female cohort. No Erica.
Where the hell was Erica?
Marty could hear her breaths coming short and fast as the man got out. He pulled a semiautomatic revolver from his waistband as he approached her.
“Ah, you came,” he said in a slight accent.
“You didn’t leave me a choice.” Marty looked more carefully at the car. A rental. Four-door.
The one she’d seen in the canyon the day she’d been jogging.
“Where’s the girl?”
“In a safe place.”
“You were supposed to bring her.”
He lifted a shoulder, let it drop. “So I was.”
“What about your sister? Katja?”
Surprise flicked across his expression. “Nearby.”
“In that case tell the bitch her shooting sucks.”
Amusement infused with cruelty glinted in his pale blue eyes. “She could not have known you were wearing a vest.”
“I’m a cop. What do you expect?”
“Ah, a smart aleck.”
“I hope that doesn’t hurt your sensibilities.”
“Oh, but Katja will be pleased with you.”
The words unnerved her, and for a moment her heart beat so hard she couldn’t speak.
His gaze raked over her. Marty felt it as if his eyes were laser beams burning streaks on her skin. “Put your hands up.”
Marty did as she was told. “I know who you are. Radimir Ivanov.”
“We can forgo introductions, then.” Quickly and impersonally, he ran his hands over her, checking her bra, the waistband of her pants. “Spread your legs.”
She did so and he spent a minute feeling up and down her legs, and her boots, the seat and crotch of her jeans.
“I’m clean,” she said. “I followed your instructions. Now let the girl go.”
“Take off your shirt.”
“What?” Rolling her eyes, Marty forced a laugh. “I’m not going to do a damn thing until you—”
His fist shot out so quickly she didn’t have time to brace. The impact of the punch snapped her head back. The momentum knocked her sideways so forcefully she lost her footing and went to her knees.
“Take off the goddamn shirt, you American bitch cop.”
Marty didn’t want to take off her shirt. She didn’t know what he had in mind; she didn’t want to make herself any more vulnerable than she already was. Her mind spun through options, but there were none.
Meeting his gaze, she got to her feet, hooked her fingers beneath the hem of her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. She’d worn a sport bra, so it was more functional than revealing. Still, she hated feeling so exposed.
She tasted blood as she tossed the shirt onto the ground at his feet. “I’m not armed.”
“Good thing for you.” His gaze swept slowly down her body. “Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Take off your pants.”
She tried not to cringe when he licked his lips. “Not until you show me the girl.”
“You are in no position to bargain.”
“Let her go, and I’ll do whatever you want.”
He jammed the pistol into her face. “Take off your goddamn pants.”
Marty knew there was a high probability that he was going to shoot her no matter what she said or did. She also realized Erica and the female Russian might not show up at all. That her life would end here and now at the hands of this man. The best she could hope for at this point was to buy some time.
Never taking her eyes from his, she unsnapped her fly, eased her jeans over her hips and down her legs, and stepped out of them.
The man grinned. “Stupid sow.”
Marty could feel herself trembling, and she knew he could see her knees quaking. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was scared. “Where’s the girl?”
The man’s eyes moved beyond her. Slowly, Marty turned. Twenty yards away a slender, dark-haired woman wearing jeans and a light blue blouse stepped out from behind the base of the nearest wind turbine. Next to her, Erica stood as stiff and pale as a mannequin. Katja Ivanov clutched a handful of the child’s hair in her left fist. In her right, the chrome Sig she’d shot Marty with in the canyon gleamed in the sunlight.
“Erica, are you all right?” Marty yelled.
“I’m scared.” The girl began to sob.
“It’s going to be all right, honey.”
The woman started toward them, her hand clenching the girl’s hair. Marty wanted to pull out the mini Mag and put a slug right between her eyes. Instead, she turned to the man. She looked into his eyes. “You’ve got me. I know you’re going to kill me. Let the girl go. You gave me your word.”
A stone of dread dropped into her gut when he didn’t answer.
Please, God, don’t let them hurt this child.
Looking past her, he spoke to the woman in Russian. Katja gestured angrily and hissed a reply as she approached them. Next to her, Erica stood stone still, her eyes red from crying. Dust coated her face, and Marty could see where tears had left clean stripes in their wake. She wore jeans and a red blouse. No shoes.
Marty caught the girl’s eye as she and the woman walked past her toward the man. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I want my daddy.”
“I know, hon—”
The blow came out of nowhere. Smashing across her back like a baseball bat slamming in a home run. Marty felt the air rush from her lungs. Pain streaked down her sciatic nerve all the way to her toes. Momentarily paralyzed, she stumbled forward, fell hard on her stomach.
“Marty!”
Erica screamed at the top of her lungs. “Stop it! Don’t hurt her!”
“Shut up.”
Marty was only vaguely aware of the exchange. Her vision went black and white as she got her hands beneath her. An undignified sound squeezed from her throat as she flopped onto her side, raised her head and made eye contact with Katja.
“That’s for my brother.” The woman clutched an expandable baton in her right hand. Police issue. In the back of her mind, Marty wondered if it was Rosetti’s . . .
She was aware of Erica crying quietly. The urge to go to the little girl was strong, but Marty resisted. For now, her goal had to be getting the girl to safety. To do that, she was going to have to play her cards right. There was no room for error.
“Your brother shot a kid,” Marty ground out as she got her knees beneath her.
Katja’s fingers shifted on the baton. “Lying pig.”
Marty braced as the baton went up. For an instant, she thought about going for the gun hidden in her hair. But it was premature. Both Russians were armed with handguns. With Erica so close, it was too risky. If she could get them to send Erica away, she might be able to take them.
The blow caught her left shoulder hard enough to make her arm go numb. Pain fired and streaked to her hand. Marty rolled, her face grinding into dust and gravel hard enough to bruise her cheek. She lay there, gasping, her fingers twitching uncontrollably.
“You killed our brother.” Contempt blazed in the woman’s eyes. “You beat him. Humiliated him. Sent him to prison. They rape him every day.”
Rolling onto her side, Marty looked at her. “He blew a kid’s brains out,” she panted. “I . . . lost it.”
“You lost it.” Katja’s lips peeled back. The baton went up.
Marty turned, curled into a ball. It didn’t help. The baton struck the small of her back with bone-crunching force. She heard her spine crack. Pain burned down her left buttock and exploded at the back of her knee.
As if from a great distance, she heard Erica crying. Marty closed her heart to it. She had to stay focused, figure out a plan. If the situation didn’t improve, she was going to have to take her chances and go for the gun.
Or else risk getting beaten to death.
“Enough!”
Marty looked over her shoulder to see Radimir grab his sister’s arm. “You are wasting time we do not have.”
The woman never took her eyes off Marty. “I want to kill her.”
Marty rolled onto her side. Pain wracked her shoulder and back, but she ground her teeth and struggled to her hands and knees. “Let the girl go, and you can do whatever you want with me.”
Radimir looked at Erica. The girl shrank away, but he grabbed her arm, yanked her toward him, then shoved her toward the gate. “Run, you little bitch.”
Erica stood vacillating for a moment, crying, her terrified eyes flicking from the man to Marty.
“Run!”
Marty screamed.
“Run!”
A hysterical laugh tore from Marty’s throat as the little girl spun and stumbled to a sprint. “Go! Faster! Don’t stop!”
She watched the girl duck between strands of barbed wire and head for an open field to the east. Erica had a chance. She was going to make it.
Marty wasn’t too sure about herself.
“Why did you let her go?” Katja snarled.
“We have to get out of here.” He motioned to Marty. “She’s a fucking cop. She probably told someone where she was going.”
“I want to take her with us.”
“No, Katja. It ends here.”
Marty watched the exchange with interest. The challenge in the woman’s eyes told her there was discord within the ranks. A chink in their armor. If she could find a way to use that to her advantage, she might be able to gain the upper hand.
Marty struggled to her feet. Her pants and sweatshirt lay on the ground a few feet away. She wanted her clothes. At least her pants.
“I want to get dressed,” she said.
The woman leveled her sidearm at her. “You don’t need clothes in hell,
svinya
bitch.” She glared at her brother. “Get the chain, Radimir. Hurry up.”
Chain?
The word made Marty cringe; she wondered what the hell they were going to do with a chain. Her nerves crawled as she watched the man stride to the car and open the trunk. Next to him the female leaned in. Dread swamped Marty when the woman withdrew a rifle. A Dragunov, she realized. A deadly sniper rifle made for accuracy and distance. More than likely the gun that had been used that night in the canyon. The question was, who was she going to kill with it?