Cici’s smile felt much colder as she remembered the blood dripping from the man’s leg. One-hundred forty pounds of ticked off canine packed a punch. Too bad Mona stayed back—Cici and Rodolfo could have used her added strength. While Cici struggled to free herself, Rodolfo almost took him down. Almost being the operative word.
Still, he took a hard knock to the head, thanks to her elbow, which throbbed in response. And Rodolfo did some damage to his thigh. From her dream, she knew Patti Urlich managed to batter the guy’s shin.
At least he wasn’t coming out of this unscathed. Cici narrowed her eyes. “And if I get my choice, he’s not going to get away with abducting Jeannette and me. Aci, I need help. A plan. Some way to take this sucker down.”
Yes, yes, she was now talking to her dead twin as if she were a living, breathing entity standing next to her. Cici was scared—more scared than she’d ever been and that included being hunted by Russian mercenaries. The only way to keep her teeth from chattering and her bladder from releasing fluid was to pretend her sister was alive.
So that’s what she did.
“How did he know I was with Evan? Did he…” She paused, swallowed, and knew the answer deep in her bones. “He came back to my house after he grabbed Jeannette. He watched Sam drive me to Evan’s—he followed us. And, then, I was an idiot and walked outside.” She closed her eyes as guilt settled over her. Sam would be worried. Evan, too. She couldn’t change their concern, but she did have to figure out how to get herself out of this predicament. To at least give herself a chance until Sam would find her.
She blew out a slow breath, trying to calm her raining heart. Think.
“He outweighs me by…what? Over a hundred pounds. I have a broken ankle, which makes a fast breakaway impossible. And, now, I’ve managed to get my hands tied behind my back, so I can’t use them. My resources are limited.”
No wonder her sister came to her in that dream. She’d told Cici her life was endangered. Cici hadn’t understood the magnitude of the threat. But she promised, if she survived this, to take her sister’s messages to heart.
“What can I do?” Cici’s breath sped up as anxiety once again gripped her throat. No. She refused to break down into a blubbery sobbing mess. She’d survived an international terrorist incident, and by God, she would survive this, too. She swallowed with difficulty because survival was different from coming out of this unscathed. She shuddered at the thought of what the man might do to her—what he’d done to so many other women.
Deep breath in, trying to ignore the noxious fumes of gasoline and old socks. Survive to continue to fight. Him or her—she’d already made the choice, and she’d continue to save herself.
What would the great spy Sterling Danvers do in this situation?
He would take stock of what items were within reach and at her disposal, as he’d done in her car last week. Cici’s eyes wheeled around. Nothing. Well, the guy had thrown her atop the tire iron. Cici grasped it in her hand. Not that it did her much good with her hands behind her back.
He’d taken her phone from her pocket and dropped it on the driveway, so Sam couldn’t track her via the cellular connection this go-round. She wore her boot and, on her other foot, her ballet flat she’d worn to the church earlier. She wore a silver metal belt over her long, flowy skirt.
The belt!
Thank goodness she never got around to changing—the day simply got away from her. But the belt was her best chance. The edges of each of the silver discs weren’t sharp, per se, but might be able to saw through the plastic bindings. It took serious wiggling, a lot of cursing God would not approve of, nearly dislocating both shoulders—twice—but she finally positioned her hands against the edge of one of the silver conchos.
She gritted her teeth against the ache in her shoulders and worked the material back and forth, back and forth as far as she could, pressing into the metal each time. The first little bit of give nearly made Cici cry with relief. She sweat profusely, her shoulders burning with the strain, but she kept going, knowing surprise was her only chance to stop him from overpowering her.
The car stopped and Cici rolled. She braced her feet, grinding her mouth against the vicious throb in her ankle that was mirrored in her shoulder. She wiggled frantically, trying to get back to the position where she could work more on the tie. The trunk flung open and she squinted upward. His dark eyes, wide-set with long lashes—such attractive eyes—took her in, noting her arms behind her back and her clamped jaw. He was definitely the man she’d seen at Patti’s funeral. Anger built in her chest at the idea of the man who’d killed such a wonderful woman showing up there, desecrating the family’s moment to say goodbye.
Without a word, he slammed the lid shut. Cici sighed in relief and to release the pent-up emotion flaring hot in her chest.
She got back to work on the zip tie. Back and forth. She heard his steps go to the side of the car. The back door opened. He grunted. Back and forth. She heard the sound of clothes rustling. Back and forth.
The car dipped—as if more weight was added. Back and forth, back and forth. He was rocking the car. She tried to plug her ears to the sounds coming from the other side of the seat cushion, but she couldn’t.
If he had Jeannette…but, no, Cici didn’t want to think of what he’d be doing to the blond agent.
The wind picked up, bits of dirt and other debris slamming against the car as a gale-force wind screamed across the vehicle, seeming to Cici as if her twin were raging at the atrocities committed on the other side of the seat.
Back and forth. She pressed harder, no longer caring about the cuts into her wrist. She needed out of these bonds. With a mighty tug, the plastic snapped free.
Then she realized silence descended on the car. No more wind. Nothing.
She heard clothes rustling again, and she tensed. She unclasped her belt and wrapped one end around her wrist, the long end dangling. In her other, she clasped the tire iron.
He wouldn’t take her body without her permission as he had the woman in the back seat. She couldn’t let him do that to her because the next step—after he raped her—was death.
And Cici was not going to die. She would not be another sad assault statistic that most of the world simply shrugged off.
Footsteps, but they were muffled against dirt or grass. Cici clenched her muscles, determined not to let him hurt her.
The wind picked up again, shrieking and moaning like the spirit of the wailing woman, La Llorona, in the stories Cici’s grandmother used to tell them when she and Aci were small. The noise had the same effect now, making Cici clutch her weapons tighter as she shivered with dread.
Something thudded against the trunk of the car.
“Christ,” he muttered. He grunted and the item scraped off the metal, no doubt taking paint with it. Rocks and other items pinged against the car’s metal exterior.
Cici pulled her knees up, knowing she’d only have the element of surprise for a mere second, she squinted her eyes. The trunk opened, but she didn’t hear the squeal of the hinges over the raging wind and her heart thrumming in her chest. He bent down, toward her, and Cici bolted upward. She flung out her arm with the belt as hard as she could, trusting her sister to help her connect. Aci’s aim was much better than Cici’s—the silver metal wrapped around his throat in perfect loops.
Thank you, thank you, thank you ran through Cici’s head. He raised his hands to the metal, no doubt shocked by her attack. Cici yanked her arm, still wrapped around the other end and pulled with all her might. She slammed back against the trunk’s lid and bit back a cry as pain radiated up through her already sore shoulders.
His face mottled, his eyes turning to molten hate as he fell toward her. Cici screamed, bringing down her right arm with the tire iron. It slammed into the side of his face and she heard the crunch of bone. She gagged, hating herself in that moment, even as she remembered what Anton told her as they walked across the mesa: hit hard and fast and do not give them a chance to get
up. If your opponent can rise, he can—and will—kill you.
The man’s eyes turned questioning before he slid sideways into the edge of the sedan, his arms limp and his mouth hanging open.
“Help me, Aci,” Cici sobbed. Hitting him again was necessary, but her stomach churned and her hands turned to ice. She kept her hand tight around the belt, cutting off as much of his airway as possible. As he listed over, she took a deep breath, already sobbing with disgust at her actions, Anton’s words ringing in her ears, and brought the tire iron down a second time. Blood squirted from his nose as he hit the side of the car and Cici retched. She managed to climb over the side of the trunk and get to the ground. Dirt. The car was parked on a dirt track mere feet from a small pond.
The pond.
She didn’t need her sister’s nudge in that direction. From what she and Sam had gleaned, he tossed his victims in water. The proximity now wasn’t a coincidence.
Taking a moment to wrap her belt around his wrists and securing them, she darted forward as best she could on her booted leg, pain pounding up from her ankle, through her leg, into her chest and jaw. She scrambled toward the water, her muscles once again seizing in fear as she neared the pond.
A body of a woman floated under the surface, head forward against her chest. Cici knew that beautiful blond hair.
56
Cici
Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage. ― Anaïs Nin
* * *
“Jeannette,” she whispered. She’d been down there the entire time Cici fought him. The water loomed closer and Cici’s heart rate kicked up harder, faster. Her throat closed. Her feet were to the edge and the water lapped over her toes. She wanted, desperately to back up, back away.
“Domini Deus,” Cici said, followed by, “I hate water.”
She almost paused, wondering if she heard the faint sound of a police siren. More than likely, it was wishful thinking on her part.
Before she could think it through, she dove in. The water surrounded her and Cici wanted to fling herself back out. She never would have been able to wade into the cold, wet hell. She kicked her stupid boot and pulled with her hands until she got around Jeannette’s midsection with both arms. She allowed herself to sink first before she pushed off the bottom, her heart pounding, her lungs aching, just as the woman had in the dream. And just like that previous victim, Cici stared up through the murky surface at the shadow of a man looming inches from the water’s edge.
She was almost out of air, and she wasn’t going to die in the water. She wasn’t. Cici pushed off the bottom of the pond, ignoring the suction of muck to her boot and tried not to cry out from the further pain to her ankle. She kept kicking, trying not to blackout, as she rose with painful slowness to the surface.
As she did, she wished she hadn’t. He stood in the shallows a gun in hand. His jaw hung at a funny angle and his nose bled profusely, staining his shirt crimson. The side of his head also dripped blood, making a considerable flow into his hair and down onto his shoulder.
She definitely heard sirens—maybe two or three.
Cici forced Jeannette’s head back onto her shoulder, trying to ensure her nose and mouth were above the waterline. Cici tread water, but her legs already trembled from her previous ordeal, and she knew she didn’t have the strength to hold up Jeannette long. Both women slid lower in the water.
She began her favorite prayer with silent fervor as the sirens blared closer. Cici eased toward the edge of the pool—a mere fifteen feet away. She’d be able to put her foot down on solid ground soon. Then, holding up Jeannette would be easier.
“You beesh.”
He must have a broken jaw. She could see red and blue lights. The harsh shine of the vehicle’s headlights outlined the man in starker relief. His entire shirt coated in red.
He raised the gun, clearly done talking.
Cici rearranged Jeannette in her arms, determined to make it another few seconds, praying help would arrive. That must have been just what Patti thought, too, in her last moments. She hadn’t been lucky enough for her husband to save her.
Cici might not be either, but damn if she wouldn’t go out fighting at least as hard as Patti.
The lights bounced up and Cici heard the unmistakable sound of metal hitting metal in a shrieking grind. The sound of the police vehicle slamming into the car caused the guy to whirl away from Cici. She began to paddle backward, her limbs nearly as deadweight as Jeannette, toward the far side of the pond. The vehicle didn’t stop. The man raised his gun and fired. Cici saw the flash. The windshield shattered.
The SUV’s forward momentum carried it into the man, who fired more rounds into the police unit. The front grill slammed into him as the vehicle rocked to an unsteady and steaming stop.
57
Sam
It is not holiness, but arrogance displayed to take away the greatest gift—free will—bestowed by God from the beginning of time. ― Tullia d’Aragona
* * *
Sam unclenched his fists from the steering wheel as Clint Rudder, brother to Shayne Rudder, sailed backward into the water with a mighty splash. Ignoring the blood on the back of his hands, thanks to the shattered windshield and flying glass, Sam shouldered open the SUV’s door with an effort and stumbled out onto the uneven terrain.
He splashed into the water, breathing hard, his chest aching as if he’d run a marathon at full sprint.
Cici had managed to pull Jeannette toward the shoreline, where the blond floated face up. Her skin was pale and her mouth tinged with blue but her chest rose and fell in small increments. By the time Sam reached her, Cici struggled out of the water, chest heaving.
“Jeannette. I don’t think she’s breathing,” Cici managed as she continued to crawl forward, onto the dry ground. Her body convulsed and Sam wasn’t sure if it was from cold or shock or something worse.
“Are you ok—”
“Jeannette,” Cici said, her voice tinged with hysteria. “She was under t-too long.”
Sam immediately switched directions and picked Jeannette up from the water. He set her on the dry land four steps from the water’s edge, near where Cici managed to crawl, her arm muscles twitching and barely supporting her weight. By now, the next few police rigs rolled in, braking hard near Clint’s mashed-in vehicle. Two officers barreled into the water, grabbing the slowly submerging Clint.
Sam pressed his fingers to Jeannette’s carotid artery, his adrenaline spiking again at the faintness of her pulse.
As he turned her to her side, an EMT ran up. He crouched over Jeannette and began administering oxygen while his partner, a blond with a high ponytail, monitored her pulse. The two worked in tandem until Jeannette’s chest heaved. The first paramedic snatched away the oxygen device just before Jeannette vomited water, her body convulsing as she rid her lungs of the murky liquid.
“She’s stable,” the one with the ponytail said. “Let’s get her loaded on the gurney.”
The two of them picked up Jeannette, who sagged between them. Once on the gurney, the paramedics hurried Jeannette to the waiting ambulance. The female paramedic’s ponytail reminded Sam of Jeannette. He lowered himself next to Cici. Someone had wrapped her in a silver insulated blanket.
“I told them to h-h-help J-Jeannette. A-and h-h-him,” Cici said.
Sam pulled her into his arms, ignoring the crinkle from the blanket’s outer shell, as the fear of the past few hours morphed into bone-deep exhaustion.
“Is she g-g-going to b-be…” Cici couldn’t finish her sentence. She’d turned to stare at Clint, who had begun to scream invective at the officers, fighting like an enraged bucking bull getting sent into the rodeo chute.
“Hey,” Sam said, voice soft. “Hey, look at me.”
After a long moment, when Sam’s heart finally started to slow, Cici turned to face him.
“I don’t know about Jeannette, but I know you got her out of the water with a broken ankle, and I know she’s in good hands now.”
“Where will they take her?” Cici asked.
“Christus. It’s the closest. Then, maybe Albuquerque. I’m not sure. But I’ll find out.” Sam grimaced as he straightened his legs. “I managed to leave my phone in the unit but my sidearm is wet.”
“I’m glad you didn’t have to use it.”
“I’d have done anything—anything—to keep you safe, Cee. But this is a Glock. It’ll shoot well even if it’s submerged. That’s why law enforcement carries them.”
She laid her head on Sam’s shoulder. “He hurt her. I think…I think he raped her.”
“How can you be sure?” Sam asked, his voice gentle.
She sucked in a harsh breath. “I heard…” Sam didn’t need her to complete her thought. He stiffened.
Cici swallowed, her lashes tickling his cheek as she blinked in rapid succession.
“There will be evidence,” he said, his voice as raw as her emotions.
“Then, after he…he finished, he threw her in the water.” She pressed in closer, gripping his shirt.
Sam’s arms tightened around her. “And he came for you.”
That same rage Sam had felt at the house boiled through his veins, making him shaky and sick.
He needed to get up and deal with Clint. He needed to get Cici looked over. He was concerned she’d done worse and permanent damage to her ankle. But at the moment, he sat there in the hard dirt and said a deep, heartfelt prayer for the second time in under two weeks that Cici was safe. That she was alive. That he had this moment, this chance—and tomorrow, and the day after and hopefully many, many years—to love her.
He knew before he raised his head that Anna Carmen was nearby. And he heard her voice, so similar to Cici’s in his ear.
“I’d do anything for her.”
Anna Carmen did her best to save Cici, to give her a chance at life—at a love with him—that she’d been denied.
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