Blake slammed the trunk down.
A black, claustrophobic fog enveloped her. Barely able to move. Unable to talk. All she could do was hear.
And feel the cell phone wedged inside her jeans.
She heard the driver’s door open, but then the next sounds made no sense. A shout, a gasp, a bang. A clattering as Blake’s gun fell to the ground. The car bounced again as something large and heavy struck the Impala above them. Like something hitting, sliding, and falling.
It took her a moment to realize that the sound was Blake being thrown across the roof of the car.
FORTY-FOUR
Leo Rucci came around the front of the Impala, where Blake was on the ground, shocked and dazed. Blake realized that his hands were empty, that his gun was gone. He reached into his waistband for Serena’s gun and pulled it out, but the impact had dulled his reaction time. He wasn’t fast enough. As he drew the gun, Leo kicked it out of his hand. It skittered down the street as if it were gliding on ice and wound up near one of the squat palm trees lining the curb.
“Okay, you pussy, now it’s just the two of us. Think you can beat an old man?”
As the fog lifted from Blake’s head, he felt Rucci’s giant hands on his shirt, lifting him up off the ground and slamming him face first into the rear door of the car. Blood erupted from his nose, and his brain seemed to slap against the sides of his skull. The world spun again.
“You killed my son. You murdered him like a dog. Now I’m going to make sure every bone in your body is broken before I finally finish you off.”
Leo spun Blake around. The Impala’s window was streaked with blood. Leo’s fist reared back and came streaking forward, but Blake had recovered enough to duck down. Leo hit the window instead and grimaced. Blake used the moment to try to squirm free, but Leo still had an iron lock on his shoulder. He grabbed Blake’s neck with his other hand and yanked him off the ground.
Blake couldn’t breathe. Leo’s fat fingers squeezed off his air. Blake grabbed at the man’s hand and tried to dislodge him, but it was like trying to peel away a boa constrictor that had coiled around his neck in a death grip. With a grin, Leo wound up and sent a hammering blow into Blake’s abdomen. Blake felt his lungs balloon as the pent-up air tried to escape and had nowhere to go. He felt as if he had swallowed a hand grenade that had blown up inside him, as if his chest were being cut up from within.
He was beginning to lose consciousness. There was a roaring in his ears, and a million blood vessels felt as if they were popping at once. Blake thrashed. He continued prying at Leo’s hand and got nowhere.
“This is just the beginning,” Leo said. “We’re not even close to being done. Once you black out, I’ll take you somewhere nice and private.”
An image penetrated Blake’s brain. Something long and smooth. He couldn’t even see it anymore, but he could feel the cold touch of steel. His knife. It was still in his back pocket. Blake gave up trying to free his throat from Leo’s grasp and instead used his last few seconds of awareness to squeeze his hand behind him. His limbs didn’t even seem connected anymore. Whatever messages his brain was sending were scrambled. He kept reaching for his pocket and finding nothing, and his fingers began jerking spastically.
Finally, he touched the handle of the knife. He had an instant of crystal clarity, and his hand dug for it, grabbed it, and pulled it free. In a single, desperate swing, he buried the blade in Leo’s forearm and heard the man roar in pain like a wounded bear. Leo’s fingers unlocked from Blake’s neck, and sweet air rushed in. As Leo stumbled back, Blake’s mind cleared, and he kicked ferociously with his boot into the meat of Leo’s knee. The old man toppled to his side, a tree falling.
Blake still had the knife.
He pounced, aiming the next thrust of the blade for Leo’s chest. Leo saw it coming and grabbed Blake’s wrist as the knife came down. His grip was slippery and loose from the blood on his hand, and Blake easily pulled away and jabbed again. The tip of the blade sliced Leo’s shoulder, but before Blake could inflict further damage, Leo used his other arm like a baseball bat and swatted Blake away. Blake rolled several times and got up, shaken.
Leo pulled himself to his feet. Both of his arms were streaked in red. He was unsteady, but he waved Blake toward him.
“Come on, pussy. You need a knife to beat an old man? Come on. Try it again.”
Blake didn’t let himself be goaded. He held back, breathing heavily, trying to nurse his strength back and drive the fog from his brain. He kept the knife poised in front of him.
Leo inched forward.
“Pussy, pussy. Gino would have crushed you in a fight.”
“You should have seen his head split when I shot him,” Blake retorted, taunting him. “Like a hairy coconut.”
Leo charged, his voice bellowing in rage. Blake sidestepped him and swung his knife again, finding a target in the fleshy muscles under Leo’s shoulder blade. He thrust the knife brutally inward all the way to the hilt. Leo threw his head back and screamed. Blake tried to cut his way downward into Leo’s organs, but the man twisted away, and Blake lost his grip on the handle. Leo swung blindly and caught Blake on the side of his head with a massive curled fist. Blake felt the world spin again, and he collapsed to his hands and knees.
He felt something metallic under his fingers. His car keys, lying on the pavement. He cupped them in his hands and tried to get up.
Behind him, he heard a sucking, slurping sound. It was Leo, pulling out the knife. Blake turned around, lost his balance, and steadied himself against the side of the Impala. He and Leo eyed each other warily. Blood soaked Leo’s shirt, and he looked weak and pale, but he still had a substantial advantage in size, and now he had the knife. Leo’s hand was so big that the knife looked tiny in his grasp.
Blake crept backward, still leaning against the car. Leo matched him step for step. Blake’s eyes scanned the pavement, looking for his gun, but he realized he had lost it somewhere on the other side of the car. Leo seemed to read his mind. As Blake retreated toward the trunk, Leo shifted, moving around toward the front of the car.
If the gun was in sight, Leo would get it first.
They stared each other down from opposite corners of the Impala, Blake on the right rear, Leo on the left front, near the headlight. Blake saw Leo’s eyes sweeping the curb and driveway, and then a twisted smile formed on Leo’s lips. Confident. Nasty. Their eyes met again, and Blake knew Leo had found the gun. He watched the old man edge away from the car toward the landscaping in front of Serena’s home.
Blake pushed a button on the remote control of the car keys. With a soft chirp, the lock on the trunk unlatched.
Leo watched him with a puzzled expression, and then he understood. He turned away, and with a groan of pain, he bent to retrieve the gun.
Blake swung the trunk open and ducked, expecting a bullet to tear through the metal. He saw Claire’s blinking, terrified eyes looking up at him. With both hands, he pulled Claire out of the trunk in one smooth motion and then slammed it back down. He twisted Claire around and snaked one arm around her throat. He put his other hand on top of her head and held her skull firmly.
He didn’t see Leo at first. He backed up, worried that the man would creep around the side of the car to ambush him. He kept Claire in front of him and could feel her fear. She fluttered in his grasp like a bird.
Leo straightened up. He hadn’t moved. He was still near the front of the Impala, but he had the gun now, and he pointed it at Blake.
“Let her go.”
“You want to take the shot and risk killing her? Go ahead.” Blake began to push Claire forward as he nudged toward the Impala. His keys were still in his hand. “Drop the gun, Leo. Throw it away.”
There was hesitation in Leo’s eyes.
“I’ll crack her neck, Leo. One quick snap, and she’ll be gone.”
Claire struggled frantically in his arms, panicking. He held her tight.
“And so will you,” Leo told him. “You kill he
r, and I kill you.”
“And then Boni kills you for letting his daughter die. Is that what you want? Do you want to be the one to tell Boni that you let his daughter die right in front of you? Do you want to fail him like that?”
Frustration boiled over in Leo’s face. Blake knew he wanted to shoot, and he couldn’t. Blood was still flowing out of his wounds, too, and Leo wouldn’t be able to stand much longer. Blake kept coming forward, moving up on the driver’s door of the car.
“Throw it away, Leo. If you throw it away, she lives.”
With a hiss of hatred, Leo flung the gun behind him, out of range.
“Smart move,” Blake said. “Now back off away from the car. We’re leaving, Leo.”
Leo retreated. He backed up slowly, retracing his steps around the front of the car and taking a few steps down the street. His hands were in the air. His eyes were dark with anger and pain.
“You don’t look good, Leo. Better call an ambulance after we leave.”
Leo kept backing away. Blake opened the car door and shoved Claire inside, pushing her across to the passenger seat. He clambered behind the wheel and pulled the door shut, keeping an eye on Leo. The old man seemed to be crumbling. His chest was heaving as he took labored breaths. His footfalls were erratic. He wasn’t even looking at Blake or the car anymore. He staggered back, bumping into a palm tree near the curb, and bent over, his hands on his knees. Blood began to spit from his mouth.
Blake started the car. He backed up and then turned for the street. As he spun the wheel, he saw Leo look up again, and with blood on his chin, the old man smiled, his face coming alive. It had been an act. Gasping. Staggering. Nearly falling. Blake realized finally that Leo had come to rest at the palm tree, inches from Serena’s gun. Leo ignored his pain and reached for it, and an instant later, he had the gun in his hand and was swinging it up, pointing toward the windshield of the Impala.
“Get down,” Blake told Claire.
He aimed the car at Leo and jammed his foot into the accelerator. The engine raced, and the car leaped forward, its tires squealing. Blake kept a hand on the wheel and jerked to his left, hearing the explosion of the gun at the same time that the windshield shattered and spilled glass into the car, covering him and Claire and the front seat with sharp confetti. The car shuddered as the front bumper struck Leo. A second later, the car jarred to a halt, and the air bags deployed, cushioning them as their bodies were thrown forward. The balloons collapsed, and he saw Claire jolt back against the passenger seat.
Blake looked through the shattered windshield.
The car was lodged against the palm tree. Leo was pinned between the car and the tree, his lower body crushed. The gun had fallen from his hands. He was still alive, barely, and he stared back at Blake with the ferocity of a man who has been defeated in a fight that means everything to him. Tears of agony slipped down his cheeks, but he didn’t cry out or say a word.
Blake got out of the car. He retrieved the gun from where it had fallen to the ground. Leo followed him, impotent, unable to move.
“You played this well, Leo,” Blake told him with genuine admiration. “Gino would be proud of you.”
Leo tried to spit at him. He couldn’t.
Blake glanced into the car and saw that Claire was watching him. He found himself feeling something like mercy. He shoved the gun in his belt and went around to the other side of the Impala. He opened the door, and Claire seemed to spill out into his arms.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her.
He let her stand up, and she was unsteady on her feet, but she didn’t seem to be injured. She was too stunned to walk, though, and Blake picked her up and carried her back to the trunk. He opened it and laid her inside next to Serena as tenderly as he could. He closed the trunk again and walked back to Leo.
“I know that the pain must be excruciating,” Blake said.
Leo didn’t look at him.
“Eyes open or closed, Leo. It’s your choice.”
Leo turned his head with what seemed to be a superhuman effort. His eyes were open. Blake nodded, brought the gun up to Leo’s head, and fired.
FORTY-FIVE
Serena reached for Claire’s bound hands and held them tightly. When the gunshot exploded outside the car, she knew that Claire was screaming behind the tape that gagged her mouth. She could hear the muffled cries as Claire buried her face in Serena’s shoulder in the dark, cramped confines of the trunk. She felt the dampness of tears through her shirt. Claire clutched her hands so fiercely that her nails were close to breaking the skin.
She felt the car rock as Blake got back inside, and then they were moving, their bodies bouncing loosely as Blake steered the Impala through the town-home complex toward the street. Serena recognized the familiar turns. She hoped someone had heard the shots and called 911, but she knew they would be long gone by the time a squad car responded.
Serena was bruised and sore. She had flown forward when the car thudded to a stop earlier, and she had banged her head against the rear wall of the trunk. Her arms ached from being held stiffly in place, and something-a tire iron?-had struck her squarely in the knee. The bone throbbed with pain.
She disentangled her fingers from Claire’s and rolled onto her back, landing hard on her shoulder blade. She had discovered earlier that she had enough play in her arms to bend them at the elbows and bring her hands up to her mouth. Her fingers clutched at the tape that was gagging her, and she peeled it slowly and painfully away. When her jaw was free, she rubbed it and took several long, deep breaths, gulping air into her lungs. She was sweating. The trunk was hot enough to make her light-headed.
The car rolled over a dip in the street, and her forehead struck sharply against the roof of the trunk. She cursed softly.
Serena braced her left foot on the floor and pushed herself back onto her side, facing Claire again. She found Claire’s hands.
“Claire, listen to me,” she whispered. “You can probably get your hands up to your face and get the tape off. Can you try it?”
She hoped Claire had enough strength, mentally and physically, to do it.
She let go and felt Claire squirming to reposition her arms and get her fingers near her mouth. Claire pulled the tape off quickly, and Serena heard her gasp.
“Shit, that hurt”
They both laughed. Serena was pleased that Claire sounded calm now and not frantic. She nudged closer and put her mouth close to Claire’s ear. “We need to be as quiet as we can. What happened out there?”
“It was Leo,” Claire said. “I think Blake killed him.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No. But I was scared to death.”
Serena laid her cheek against the soft skin of Claire’s face. “If’s okay. We’re going to get out of this.”
It’s okay, baby.
Serena felt a strange sense of freedom. Of strength. As if she had been given a second chance, a way to make up for the past. To save Deidre by saving Claire.
“Do you know where he’s taking us?” Serena asked.
“I have no idea.”
Serena didn’t want to speculate. None of the alternatives sounded appealing. She had tried to keep track of the stops and turns once they made it onto the street, but the route quickly became too confusing to follow. She knew they were still in a busy part of the city, because she could hear plenty of traffic noise, even late at night.
“I’m sorry I got you into this, Serena,” Claire told her.
“You didn’t.”
Claire was silent for a moment. “What was happening between us inside-”
“Let’s not talk about that now.”
“I need to know if you regret it,” Claire said.
“No, I don’t.” Serena knew she had to change the subject. “That was smart, what you did inside with Blake. Pushing me. Yelling at me.”
“Did you get it? Did you get the phone?”
“Yes. You have to get it for me. I shoved it in my pocket.” Serena shif
ted her arms as far as she could, and Claire’s hands explored around the front of her jeans until her fingers pressed into the hard shell of the wafer-thin cell phone.
“Can you slide down a bit?” Claire asked.
Serena pushed herself down, bending her knees to get more room when her feet bumped the side of the car. She felt Claire’s fingers at her waist, slipping inside the tight pocket. It was strangely intimate, to be doing this in the dark, in the hot interior of the car. Claire’s breasts were almost in her face. Her T-shirt clung to her skin like glue.
“Normally, I’d enjoy this,” Claire whispered.
“Hush.”
Claire found the cell phone and slid it between her palms. As she tried to pass it into Serena’s hands, she dropped it somewhere between them.
“Shit!” she hissed. “My hands are slippery.”
The car went through a sharp turn at that moment, and they found themselves sliding and rolling in the narrow space. The phone slid, too. Serena lost her sense of direction in the dark and didn’t know which way she was facing or which way was front and back. She was disoriented. “Claire?”
“Here.”
Serena tried to roll back next to her. “We have to find the phone.”
They performed an awkward dance as both of them tried to flip over and scour the black interior of the trunk. Serena brushed her legs along the carpeted floor, trying to feel the slim rectangle of the phone. Claire did the same. Serena began to feel the pressure of time, wondering how long it would take for Blake to reach where he was going. The phone had seemingly vanished from the trunk.
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