by Alyssa Dean
Kent surrendered. He didn't see many options, other than being shot to death on the road, and he didn't much care for that choice. He stopped about halfway between the sedan and the helicopter, parked the bike on the side of the road, and waited to see what they'd do next.
The two men in front of the helicopter came toward him. Both were over six feet; one a square hulk with blond hair, the other narrower, older and darker. They held their rifles expertly aimed at his belly. A glance over his shoulder showed the other two men approaching, prepared to shoot him in the back. "Keep your hands where I can see them!" ordered the blonde in front of him.
Kent raised his hands chest high, palms out. He could disarm them one by one, but that would give the others an excuse to shoot him—something he'd rather avoid. He'd have to wait for better odds, and a better opportunity. "I'm not armed," he called out. "What do you want?"
"FBI," Blondie announced. He hauled a black vinyl square from his jacket pocket, waved it around, and replaced it.
"FBI, eh?" Kent studied them. "What's up?"
"We'll ask the questions," Blondie said.
Kent grimaced as someone yanked his arms behind his back and snapped on a pair of handcuffs. Someone else tore off his helmet and patted him down for weapons, removing his wallet, his knife, and his package of macadamia nuts. All this time, at least two rifles were pointed at him, one from behind, one from in front. When the men were satisfied he wasn't armed, they stepped back.
Blondie flicked open Kent's wallet. "Ah," he said. "Kent MacIntyre. Good." He thumbed through the plastic sleeves, reading the contents. "You're a private detective?"
"That's right," Kent agreed. "You guys need me to help you out?"
The man's smile showed no amusement. He shoved the wallet into his own jacket pocket. "Where's the girl?"
Kent gave him a half grin. "I didn't know I was supposed to bring a date."
The man clenched his jaw. "I'd advise you to cooperate, Mr. MacIntyre. The FBI doesn't take kindly to your activities."
"They probably don't like yours, either," Kent retorted. "They hate people impersonating them. I believe they take it as a personal insult." The tension in Blondie's jaw increased, and Kent went on. "They also don't carry .308 Winchester hunting rifles, and don't have agents with IQ's under twelve." He paused, then added. "I believe that eliminates all of you."
Blondie lifted his right fist, smiled sweetly, and rammed it into Kent's stomach. Kent doubled over, gasping.
"Let's start again," Blondie suggested. He grabbed Kent's hair, pulling his head up. "Where's the girl?"
"What girl?"
The next blow was forestalled by the crackling of the radio on Blondie's belt. He let Kent's head fall, took a few paces away and undipped the radio, speaking softly into it. He replaced it on his belt and returned. "They've got her up there," he announced. "Burton wants this idiot up there, too." He graced Kent with a malevolent grin. "He wants to deal with you personally."
Kent had a good idea what that meant, but he was more concerned with the first part of Blondie's statement. Was it a bluff, or could they possibly have got Faye? She was supposed to stay hidden in the forest. She had her long-sleep powder with her. They couldn't have got her.
Blondie turned to the man beside him. "Take Martin up with you to keep an eye on MacIntyre. Shertz and I will meet you at the airport in an hour."
The short, mean-faced man on Kent's right heaved a sigh. "Do I have to go in that damn thing?" he whined. "It makes me sick."
"Don't be a wimp!" Blondie said sharply. He grabbed Kent's arm, and gave him a shove. "Get in the chopper."
Kent staggered along between them, struggling to remain calm. If they really had Faye, he'd have to keep cool and think. If they didn't have her, he was still going to need all his faculties to outwit them.
Martin slid open the side door and climbed into the back, dragging Kent behind him. Kent flopped onto the bench seat, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. He shouldn't have let Faye stay in that stupid forest, no matter how much she objected. He should have made her come with him. At least they'd have been together; he could have done something to keep her calm. His breathing rate increased as he imagined her terror. If they'd hurt her, or frightened her, by God, they'd suffer for it.
As the machine's motor started, Kent received a message of despairing concern from Avril. He spent a few moments in silent communication with her, bolstered by the intangible presence of her thoughts. He sent her a reassuring, Don't worry, it's not that serious, and pushed her away. He needed to concentrate.
The helicopter rose. Kent peeked from under his lashes at Martin, who was shifting uncomfortably from side to side, one hand on his stomach. Kent focused in on the man, sending him the suggestion that his stomach pain was intensifying. Martin's shifting increased, his facial color transformed from white to pale green.
Now, Kent considered the handcuffs, building a mental picture of them in his mind, then imagining them open. It worked. He slid them off as unobtrusively as possible, checking on his guard out of the corner of his eye. Martin appeared too concerned with his own sickness to take much notice.
It was a five-minute trip. Kent kept his hands behind him the whole time, his eyes closed while, one by one, he emptied his mind, forcing away the anxiety in his stomach, the ache of his jaw, and the gnawing concern about Faye. By the time the helicopter began its descent, he was ready.
The front door of Faye's cabin opened as soon as they landed. The man responsible for Kent's battered face stepped out, his demeanor that of triumph. He didn't appear to be armed, unless the set of brass knuckles on his right fist could be considered a weapon. He must be Burton, the one who wanted to "handle Kent personally."
Beside him was the brown-haired, square-nosed guy, whom Burton had referred to as Davy. Davy had a gun in his right hand, while his left arm supported a defeated, miserable-looking woman with silver-blond hair. It was Faye, with no jacket, and her blouse ripped half off her. Her hands were cuffed in front of her, her head lolling down, her shoulders drooping as she sagged against her captor.
Kent had never considered himself capable of purposefully injuring anyone. Now, as he watched the three figures start across the clearing, he realized he'd been wrong. He was quite willing, even anxious, to hurt those two men, to make sure they suffered at least as much as the pathetic little pixie obviously had.
"Get out!" Martin commanded.
Kent swung around to face his unwell companion. Martin's face was olive green now, the rifle he held swaying unsteadily. "Get out!" he repeated. "I'm going to—"
Kent silenced him with a quick jab to the jaw. Martin's head snapped back, banged against the window and lolled forward. Just as the pilot glanced back, Kent snatched up Martin's rifle and slammed the butt end into the pilot's temple. He, too, crumpled.
Kent snatched another pair of handcuffs out of Martin's pocket. Then he retrieved the pilot's rifle, holding it in his left hand, a finger on the trigger, while holding Martin's in his right hand the opposite way. He allowed himself one second to draw in a long gulp of oxygen, then turned his body to face the door. It slid open.
"What the hell are you guys waiting for?" Burton demanded.
"You!" snapped Kent. He chopped the rifle butt straight into Burton's forehead, gratified by the crunch it made. Burton sank to his knees, hands over his face.
Behind him, only yards away, Davy had sized up the action. He swung Faye to shield half his body. "Hold it!" he yelled. "Drop those rifles, or I'll shoot her."
Faye stared at Kent as if she had never seen him before, her mouth opening and closing in total, uncomprehending terror. Kent focused on the gun aimed at her chest. It jumped from Davy's hand, vanishing into the tall grass. Davy stared at it, decided against trying to retrieve it, and took a step backward, dragging Faye with him.
"Let her go!" Kent shouted.
Davy eyed the rifle in Kent's left hand, and took another step backward. Faye sank almost to the ground. Kent bent his
left index finger and squeezed the trigger. The bullet whizzed past Davy's right ear. He dropped Faye as if she were burning him, and stood dead still, his hands in the air.
"Get away from her!" Kent snarled. "Come over here!"
As the man began a slow walk toward him, Kent slid out of the helicopter and set down one rifle, while keeping the other trained on the two men. With his free hand, he pulled the two sets of handcuffs out of his pocket.
Davy took a dive at Kent, who rapped him sharply on the temple with the edge of the rifle. Davy fell sideways, landing in a groaning heap amid the grass and flowers.
Kent then handcuffed him to one of the leg supports of the helicopter, and Burton to another. He had no idea who had the key to the handcuffs, and he didn't much care. As far as he was concerned, they could spend the rest of their lives that way.
He glanced over his shoulder at Faye. She hadn't moved. She was still crouched in the grass, staring. He wasn't sure she had any idea what was happening. "You're okay, babe," he called back to her. "It's safe now."
She squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering. Kent did a quick check of his prisoners' pockets, relieving them of all their possessions. He did the same with the two unconscious men in the helicopter, removing the cartridges from the rifles and hurling the weapons into the forest. Finally, he unhooked the two-way radio from Burton's belt and smashed it with the heel of his boot. Then, with a gasp of a breath, he turned to Faye.
She was about ten yards away, staring up at him, the terrified silver-blue pools of her eyes accentuated by the mauve bruise that began on her left cheekbone and covered most of that side of her face. "K-Kent?" she whispered.
"Good guess." He put a hand under her elbows, pulling her to her feet, and shrugged off his jacket so he could use it to cover her. He kept one arm around her, and she sagged into him as he glared at her handcuffs, undoing them as he had his. "Which one of our friends hit you?"
"The… big… one."
Kent glanced at the helicopter, and the figures beside it. "Did he do anything else?"
"My… shirt." She stared down at the tatters. "They were going to… He…" She was breathing fast, panting and sobbing, her body shaking. As soon as she was free she twisted into him, pressing her face against his chest, her arms around his waist. "Oh, Kent… Kent, thank you. Thank you… I was so scared. I thought you were gone. I thought they would… And then… But I…"
She went on sobbing incoherent explanations while he held her as tightly as he could, murmuring, "It's okay, babe, it's okay now." When she made no sign of stopping, he picked her up and carried her into the cabin. She kept her arms around him the whole time, her small body quivering, her heartbeat fast and irregular. Kent sat on the sofa with her in his lap, cuddling her close, stroking her back, whispering soothingly into her ear.
It took a good ten minutes for her shudderings to subside, five more for them to be gone. She lifted her head, and put a hand on his cheek. "Oh, Kent," she murmured. "How did you get here?"
"I hitched a ride with Mug-Shot Airways. Are you all right?"
"I… I think so."
"Good." He lifted her off him and set her on the sofa, while he tried the phone. It had been ripped out of the wall. He swore and returned to sit beside her. "You can't stay here. Those men…"
She bowed her head, took a shuddering breath, then threw herself against him again, curling her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry. Please don't leave me again. I'm sorry. I want to come with you. I'm sorry." She punctuated each sentence with a slew of kisses, all over his face. "I'm scared. I don't want to be alone. Please don't leave me here."
"I'm not leaving you here," he mumbled. "I shouldn't have left you before."
"It was my fault. I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He regretfully unwound her arms and pushed her down. "What happened? I thought you were going to stay hidden until the police showed up."
Her top teeth slid into her lower lip, she swept her eyelids down, then raised them in a sheepish manner. "You were right," she admitted. "The forest didn't do a good job of protecting me."
He motioned with his head toward the front, wincing as he felt the first pangs of the familiar headache. "What did those fellows want? Did they say anything?"
"They wanted the formula." She waved a slender arm, shuddering again. "They thought I might have something hidden in here."
For the first time, Kent noticed that the place was a total mess—books, plants, chair cushions strewn all over the floor.
"They asked me where it was," she whispered. "When I wouldn't tell them, they… That big man, he…" Her eyes filled up again.
"I get the picture," Kent said grimly. "Do you know who they work for?"
"Probably Col-Collingswood, but they didn't say."
He patted her shoulder and stood. "You stay here for a minute. I'll be right back."
"What are…"
He ignored her, thrust his hands in his pockets, and went outside. The scene was exactly as he'd left it—no one inside the helicopter moving, the two men beside it groggily murmuring to each other. Kent stopped in front of them, and they stared up at him, Burton's battered face indicating plottings of revenge, Davy's looking more apprehensive.
Kent studied the helicopter, then looked down. "What do you want with her?" he asked mildly.
Burton gave a painful snort. "Since you're such a smart-ass, you figure it out!"
Kent squinted up at the sky. "Who hired you?"
"Co—" Davy started. Burton elbowed him and he subsided.
It was enough. "Joseph Collingswood?" Kent guessed. "What does he want?"
Burton shook his head, but Davy was willing to talk. "She took a formula from him. We were supposed to get it, and take her back to him. That's all. We didn't hurt her. We—"
"I saw her face," Kent interrupted. "Looks hurt to me." He motioned at Burton's manacled wrist. "That the hand you hit her with?"
Barton sneered up at him defiantly. "She's lucky that's all she got. Stupid bitch wouldn't tell us anything. I wouldn't have hit her if she had cooperated." He lowered his voice, baring his teeth into a savage grin. "She wouldn't say anything. Not a word, not even when I slapped her. But when I ripped off her shirt, she did. She screamed." He laughed. "Screamed and screamed all the time I was telling her what I was going to do. I had to hit her again to make her stop."
The sunshine had been warm, but now it felt cold—a cold that seeped through Kent's bones as he pictured the scene Burton was describing. He crouched down, leaning back on his heels, stroking a thumb over the curve of his jaw. "You like screaming, do you?" he asked softly. He focused on the metal circle around Burton's wrist, imagining it smaller, and smaller still.
Burton's eyes widened, and he clawed at his trapped hand. "What are you doing?" he gurgled. "How are you doing that?" Then, as Kent kept it up, he begged, "Stop it, damn you!"
Kent released the pressure, Burton sagged back, and Kent started it again.
Burton gulped in desperation. "You'll cut off my hand if you… Damn, that's what you want, you…" He went on with a graphic description of Kent, his voice getting hoarser, his face losing what little color it had. He wrestled with the handcuffs, shouted another obscenity, then screamed—a huge sound of agony that ripped across the clearing, echoing against the cabin and returning to them.
Kent slowly released the pressure. Burton massaged his wrist under the handcuffs, his face twisted with pain. "Keep your hands to yourself," Kent warned. "If there's a next time, you'll lose a lot more than your hand." He hissed in a breath through his teeth, rose and strode back to the cabin, knowing that if he stayed near the man one moment longer, he'd do permanent damage.
Faye was picking up knocked-over plants, crooning to them. He was pleased to see that some of the color had returned to her face, and she was breathing almost normally. He sank down on the sofa and she came to sit beside him. "What was that?" she asked.
"Someone apologizing for what they did to you."
"Oh,"
said Faye in a very tiny voice, her eyes full of questions.
"They do work for Collingswood," Kent told her. He looked around, thinking. "How far to your nearest neighbor?"
"Wentworths are about fifteen miles toward town. Taggerts are about the same distance the other way."
"Do these Taggerts have a telephone?"
"I imagine so."
"Can we get there without going on the road?"
"Of course. We'll have to cross the river, that's the only problem. It's not difficult, but it's a lot farther than on the road."
Kent considered the situation. The blond man who'd captured him on the road had mentioned a rendezvous in an hour. When the goons outside didn't show up, Blondie and friends would somehow get up here to see what was going on. It wouldn't take them long to figure out that Faye and Kent had run off.
There was a good chance that Blondie had more men at his disposal. If he had any sense, he'd deploy some of them to watch the road into town, and use others to search from the sky. The best thing for Kent and Faye to do was to stay in the forest, where spotting them from a helicopter would be difficult.
There was one major problem with that. Already Kent could feel himself weakening. He'd overused his special abilities today. In about forty minutes it would hit him, hard. When it did, he'd have to send Faye on ahead, and catch up with her later. In the meantime, there was no point in worrying her with it.
"We'll go through the forest to Taggerts," he announced. "I'm sure this crowd will expect us to go toward town. We're going to have to be real careful—these folks have friends who are going to start getting nervous soon. Can you change clothes into something more suitable for a hike?"
"All right." She reached around and patted his pockets. "Where are your nuts?"
"My what? Oh, my macadamia nuts. They took them when they caught me."
"They caught you?" She looked astonished. "I thought you caught them."
"That's not how it started."
Faye's forehead furrowed with puzzlement, but she didn't ask anything. She glanced around the room, retrieved her woven bag from the kitchen table, and brought it back to the sofa with her. "What are you doing?" Kent asked.