Running Scared

by Linda Ladd

  “You're dead, you piece of shit, for coming to my house like this,” Vince ground out, getting up close and glowering into Booker's face. His rage rolled off him like waves of heat. “You and the woman are both dead."

  Anna rose at once, clasping Joey against her breast. Her voice was soft, sweeter than it had been, but she wasn't trying to hide her tears. Booker was very glad to hear her next words. “You've got to let them go, Vince. All of them. They did nothing wrong."

  Vince turned on her, red in the face, nearly foaming at the mouth. “What the goddamned hell are you talking about? They took my kid, came into my fucking house. Nobody's gonna do that and live, nobody."

  “No, no, Vince, you are wrong, you don't understand. Somebody made horrible mistake.” That got everyone's attention, even Dmitri, who was mighty bruised up from his near-death experience in the car wreck but glaring at Booker now, no doubt salivating with the fantasy of killing him with his bare hands.

  “What are you talking about, Anna? Kate Reed kidnapped our son. She and Reed took him..."

  “No, Vince, no, she was trying to bring him back but everything's all mixed up,” Anna cried, looking down at the baby, then tearfully meeting her husband's furious eyes. “It's not our baby, Vince. It's not him."

  Vince looked as if she'd cold-cocked him with a two by four. So did Kate and Booker.

  “That's bullshit,” Vince barked angrily, striding across the room to his wife. “That's my son. They said it was him themselves. They wanted to trade him to me, my own son."

  “No, he's not our son, he's not,” Anna cried desperately. “Our son has birthmark on his right arm, just above wrist. You know that, I told you about it, did I not?” She sobbed, very convincingly. “He does not have it, Vince, look, see, he does not have it. Michael told her he got this baby from Philippines, and he must have been telling truth. He's not ours, he's not."

  When Anna dissolved into tears, Vince pulled up Joey's sleeve, shaking his head and looking as confused as everyone else. He stared helplessly at his weeping wife, but Anna turned away and walked sobbing across the room to where Kate had risen unknowingly from the chair.

  Booker watched Anna stare into Kate's eyes, and it dawned on him what the woman was doing. Vince had never seen his son, had been away in New York when Joey was born. There was no way in hell that he could contradict his wife on the baby's identity, no way. Good God, Anna was giving up her son all over again, giving up all claims as his birth mother. To save Joey from the kind of life he'd know as the son of a Mafioso, Booker realized, the miserable life she endured as Vince's wife. A thrill went through him when he realized Kate might get to keep Joey after all, and he saw the same joyous emotions flickering across Kate's face.

  Anna handed the baby into Kate's arms, and Kate cuddled Joey close to her heart, both women weeping for completely different reasons. Anna backed away, turning and running into the arms of her stunned husband. She wept against Saracino's chest, her words muffled but full of anguish, “It's not him, Vince. It's not him, it's not, oh God, what are we going to do now? Where's our baby, Vince? Where is he?"

  Booker watched Vince slowly dissolve to the consistency of a melted marshmallow, holding tightly to the wife he obviously adored, unaware of the undercurrents of her despair, seeing only her grief and her tears, and how much she needed him. “We'll find him, sweetheart, we'll find him. I'll search every goddamned inch of this earth before I give up.” His eyes clashed with Booker's, but fortunately no longer filled with the murderous insanity of moments ago. “Get them the hell out of here, Kavunov, and make sure they keep their mouths shut."

  “Promise me you won't hurt them, Vince, promise me,” Anna begged, clutching the front of her husband's shirt, her voice growing slightly shrill. “They're innocent, I tell you. They did not anything but try to give my baby back, but he wasn't mine, he wasn't mine. Please, I can't bear it if you hurt them, I can't bear it."

  “Hush, my prize, don't cry, they won't be hurt, I promise.” He patted her back when she buried her face in his shirt and looked at them over Anna's bowed head. “Unless they do something stupid. Like go to the cops."

  “No, no, we won't,” Kate hastily assured him. “You'll never see us again, I swear to God, you won't."

  “I better not,” Saracino muttered, cold eyes latched on Booker's face. “Kavunov, take them outside and let them go."

  “You're going to let them go?” said Dmitri in disbelief. “Just like that?"

  “That's right. You idiots've been chasing the wrong goddamned people for the last week. Let them go and then find out who the hell's really got my son."

  Booker took Kate's arm and led her toward the door, wanting to get off the property before Vince could change his mind. Mac was just as eager to get the hell out but Dmitri moved out of the room behind them, eyes narrowed, just itching to get at Booker. Booker grinned into the man's bruised face.

  “What happened to you, Dmitri, have a little fender bender?"

  Dmitri's eyes turned rock hard with hatred but he controlled himself. “You got lucky this night, friend,” Dmitri muttered in Russian, very low. “But it's not over between us yet."

  “You're scaring me to death, Dmitri.” Booker moved past him, glancing back to see that Saracino had shut the bedroom door. Two guards stood outside while he consoled his distraught wife. Booker turned back and said in Russian, “By the way, friend, if you ever lay a finger on Kate again, if I even see you down in my neck of the woods, I'll kill you just like I killed your two buddies. Got that, Dmitri?"

  Kavunov did a slow burn, his face darkening, a tic working in his cheek as he ground his teeth in rage. He said nothing but followed them all the way out to the car. He stood at the bottom of the portico's steps as if waiting his chance, and Booker helped a woozy, disoriented Mac into the front seat and buckled him in, noting that Saracino's guards had confiscated his gun from the dashboard. He wished they hadn't, especially with Dmitri lurking around like the Grim Reaper. He turned back to help Kate and the baby into the backseat, then froze, his eyes locked on the Beretta Kavunov now held against the back of Kate's head.

  “You killed my sister's boy and the best friend I ever had, Booker, you and this bitch. You aren't going to get away with it, I don't care what Vince says."

  “You're out of your mind pulling this stunt on Saracino's property. He'll have your head if you go against his orders."

  “Shut the fuck up and get in the car, or I'll shoot Kate, right here, right now. Believe me, I'd like nothing better."

  Booker stared at him, saw the fear in Kate's eyes. Dmitri would do it. His face was alive with hatred and the thirst for vengeance. Eyes locked on the Russian's gun, Booker got in and started the Mustang. Dmitri pushed Kate and the baby into the backseat, and Booker contemplated taking off, but Dmitri kept the gun trained on Kate's temple until he was settled in beside her. Booker couldn't take any chances, not with a killer as cold-blooded as Dmitri Kavunov.

  “Okay, Booker, drive through the gate as if nothing's wrong. I'll kill her if you don't. Make one wrong move and I'll show you how her brains look spattered all over the window."

  Booker watched him in the rearview mirror, aware he'd eventually have to make a move against Kavunov because the man was definitely going to kill them, all three of them. The Russian just didn't want to murder them at Saracino's house and risk facing the Mafioso's wrath. He probably wanted to take them somewhere more private, an isolated country road where he could torture them to his heart's content with no one to interrupt. Booker's best chance was to make a move right here and now but he couldn't without Kate taking a bullet. He'd have to think of something else, some way to overpower the Russian before he got a chance to kill them. He put the car in gear, backed up, turned the Mustang around and headed for the front gate.

  “You okay back there, Kate?” he asked, slowing to a stop and waiting for the entrance gate to swing open. He had an idea, a bad one, true, one that was risky as hell, but the only one he could t
hink of. He turned around, catching her eyes and holding them, as he made a show of strapping on his seatbelt.

  “I've been better,” she murmured, but took the hint and snapped her own restraint across her chest. She was holding Joey tightly against her with both arms. She looked terrified.

  Booker glanced at Mac. His head was lolling against the window. They'd roughed him up good before they'd gotten Anna's call. Mac wasn't doing so good at the moment.

  “Don't try anything with the guards, Booker, I'll shoot her, and they'll shoot you because they'll think you're firing at them."

  Dmitri was right, that's exactly what the hoods would do. They had their guns out already, pointed at Booker. He sat still, both hands on the wheel, his mind racing. The iron gates opened slowly and Booker drove through them, watching the barrier close behind the car. He turned left and headed down the dark, deserted residential streets. It was well past midnight now, most decent folk already safe in their beds. He wished they were safe in their beds.

  “Where to, Kavunov? Got somewhere special in mind to kill us or you gonna play it by ear?"

  “Shut your mouth or I'll just do it right here, starting with the woman and the baby."

  Booker shut his mouth but he pressed down harder on the accelerator. The Mustang jumped ahead and quickly gathered speed. Dmitri was sitting sideways on the seat behind Booker but his gun was still point-blank against Kate's head. Booker had a feeling he'd done this before, lots of times. Housecleaning hitman-style, mopping up all the messy details, getting rid of any pesky witnesses before he flew away home, but this time the Russian had extra incentive. Kate had spurned him. Booker had killed his friends. Mac had helped them escape. It was definitely payback time for everybody at the party.

  “The interstate's about three blocks up, take it and head south,” Dmitri said conversationally, in total control of the situation at last. He sounded really happy about it.

  Booker pressed down harder on the gas pedal. They were doing close to sixty already, and he could see a traffic light flashing to red at the next corner. He didn't slow down.

  Kavunov was becoming downright chatty. “I'm going to enjoy killing you, Booker. But first I'm going to kill your friends so you'll know how I felt when I walked into that trailer and found Yuri and Misha shot to pieces. I'm going to rape Kate, let you hear her scream for mercy, then you can listen to her last agonizing gasps for breath as I strangle the life out of her. Then I'm going to blow your head off."

  Booker's fingers tightened on the wheel but he forced his voice steady. “You really shouldn't mourn so for Yuri and Misha, Dmitri. They were nothing but murdering cowards who deserved to die. Just like you."

  Kavunov forced a cold little chuckle. “Don't think you can goad me into doing something stupid. I'm not stupid. But I always avenge the wrongs done to me. It's a funny little quirk I have, one of my idiosyncrasies, if you will."

  They were up to eighty now, the speedometer still climbing, faster and faster. Booker took them through the stoplight without flinching, causing a car entering the intersection to throw on its brakes in a screech of rubber tires.

  “Goddammit, slow down,” the Russian yelled as Booker took the on-ramp without braking and shot out on the interstate like a launched rocket. “I'll shoot her! I will!"

  “You shoot her and I'll take this car off the road into the nearest concrete wall, and we'll all die together. What do I have to lose, Kavunov? You're gonna kill us anyway, right? Go ahead, pull the trigger but you're gonna die if you do."

  Dmitri took his gun off Kate's head and rammed the nose hard against Booker's temple. “Slow the tuck down, do you hear me, Booker? Slow it down!"

  Booker jerked the wheel and shot around a semitruck, doing well over a hundred miles an hour. The trucker honked and gestured obscenely, and Booker hoped to God the driver had a CB radio he could use to alert the authorities. If he could get a motorist on the interstate to call 911, make them the target of a police chase, they might have a chance. He'd be damned if he'd sit docilely while Kavunov took turns putting bullets in their brains.

  “You shoulda done your murdering back there when you had the chance, Kavunov,” he told him, trying to sound calm and wondering how fast the Mustang could go. They were edging up on a hundred and ten, and Kavunov was the only one who didn't have a seatbelt on.

  “Stop, stop, you stupid fuck!” Kavunov yelled as they forced a pickup truck off the road, “I'll shoot, I'll shoot!"

  “Go ahead, and see how long you last going this fast."

  Mac had come to his senses a little now, enough to get the drift of what was going on around him. He was pressing back into his seat, bracing both hands on the dashboard as they roared up behind another car and went around it in a blur. “God, God, oh, God, we're going to crash, we're going to crash, Book..."

  Suddenly Dmitri jerked back from the seat and shoved the gun into Kate's face. “I'm gonna kill her, I'm gonna kill her, slow the car down, goddamn you!"

  At that point Kate acted, knocking the gun up and away from her and jerking to one side. Booker slammed on the brakes the same instant Dmitri pulled the trigger and blew out the back passenger window. The car shimmied and shivered, went into a skid, the brakes locking and burning, but the sudden deceleration flung Kavunov forward over the seat into the windshield. The top of his head hit the glass, sending out spiderweb crackling from the point of impact.

  Booker grabbed the Russian around the neck with his right arm, squeezed it back against him as hard as he could as Mac grabbed for the gun, desperately trying to wrest the weapon away. It went off again, hitting the front windshield and shattering the glass. Still holding onto Kavunov and clamping his foot down on the brake, Booker fought the shaking steering wheel with his left hand, bringing the car around in a sliding, screeching U-turn that left them facing the traffic behind them.

  A car honked and veered off to the left, barely missing them, as Kavunov struggled, getting off another shot, but Booker was pummeling his head now with his fist while Mac was trying to get the gun away. More traffic was slamming to stops with blaring horns and squealing brakes all around them, ramming each other with rending metal and smashing glass. Mac finally wrenched the gun out of Kavunov's hand, but the Russian somehow jerked free and was out the back door before they could stop him. Booker fumbled with his seatbelt and jumped out, thinking only that he had to get him. His blood was rushing hot, his mind sharp, and he thought about only one thing, getting to Kavunov, killing him so he wouldn't come after them again.

  Dmitri was heading for the overpass about twenty yards up the highway, running hard and jumping down into a ditch that ran alongside the road. Booker could see him in the smoky lights thrown from the headlights of the stalled traffic jam. Kavunov was moving more slowly now, bleeding heavily from where his forehead had slammed into the windshield. Booker bolted after him, his mind and body filled with a red haze, his blood beating with adrenaline-pumped rage.

  He caught Kavunov on top of the overpass where an old Buick was slowing down as the bleeding Russian ran toward it and tried to force open the driver's door. The woman driver screamed and took off, tires squealing down the road to safety as Booker tackled Dmitri around the waist. They went down together on the pavement, and Booker drove a doubled fist into the man's face. He grunted as Dmitri kneed him in the groin and wrestled away.

  He only got a couple of feet before Booker had him again, this time getting him around the neck with one arm, jerking him to a stop, trying to squeeze off his carotid artery. Kavunov struggled fiercely, then somehow, someway, he had a small gun in his hand. He turned it into Booker's side and pulled the trigger.

  Booker moved but not quickly enough and felt hot lead rip like fire across his hip. It spun him back against the concrete barrier, high above the honking, smoking accident scene. Then Kavunov was on him again, leaning over him, the gun muzzle against his cheek. Dmitri's lips stretched out over his teeth in a feral grimace.

  Booker grabbed at the gu
n and they grappled a moment until Kavunov's grip on him went slack, his eyes looking vaguely surprised for an instant. Then he fell to his knees, and Booker saw the gaping wound in the back of his skull. Heaving in great gulps of air, Booker rolled away and glimpsed Mac at the end of the overpass, both arms extended, the Russian's silenced Beretta still smoking in his hands.

  Kate was behind Mac, holding Joey in her arms, and when Booker took a step toward them, she rushed past Mac and into Booker's arms. She wept against his chest and he held her, trying to calm her but knowing how very close they'd all come to dying.

  “It's okay, Kate, it's over. It's over for good."

  Kate nodded, somehow managed to pull herself together. Booker kept his arm around her as Mac walked up.

  “You hit bad?” Mac asked him.

  Booker glanced down, hardly feeling the pain. “No, I think he just nicked me. He had a gun hidden on him somewhere."

  “Well, I'm gonna shoot you myself if you screwed up the brakes on my new Mustang."

  Booker managed a shaky laugh, then shook his head. “I owe you a big one this time, Mac."

  “You sure as hell do, those guys beat the hell out of me back there."

  Booker stared at his old friend's battered face, and they shared a serious look before Mac glanced down on the roadway below, where a lot of yelling and screaming was going on, as people pulled off the road to make way for the police cars roaring toward them through the stopped lanes of traffic. Shrill sirens splintered the night.

  “You better get the hell outta here, man, both of you, before the cops catch sight of you. I'll tell them I was alone in the car, that it was a carjacking. I know most of the guys on the force, they'll believe me."