The scene before him pulsed his blood in force, making his chest heave, his cheeks and neck burn, his trigger finger itch.
Noman had Fifth gripped tightly before him, one hand holding a knife to her throat. A bloodied knife. And Fifth was covered in the stuff. Half her face was a red-smeared mask, her arm sliced in at least two separate places he could see and slowly bleeding. With one eye set between Noman’s, one eye on Fifth’s, Dent felt fear and rage creep up from within him. Fear for Fifth’s safety, rage at himself for not locking her in the basement or forcing her to hide upstairs.
He knew that if he’d done either of those, he himself likely would be dead, a bullet in the back from the men who’d come in from the rear. But he’d rather be dead than where he was now, where Fifth was now.
Noman had followed them cross country, waiting for another chance to strike. And Dent had inadvertently given the bastard that opportunity. He should have accounted for this, should have had this scenario planned for. But he’d been too focused on the here and now. He’d erred, and greatly so.
A mere quarter of an inch, and he could kill the bastard with one finger. Just a slight amount of pressure and ….
“Don’t,” Noman said, correctly gauging Dent’s intentions.
Dent’s finger stilled.
“You think that will save her?” asked Noman. “You’ve seen enough death, Dent. You know what will happen if you shoot. You’d be slitting her throat with your finger.”
“Do it!” Fifth urged.
Noman shifted, putting his free hand on the other side of Fifth’s neck. “Shhh,” he said softly, his gaze never straying from Dent.
Finger easing up on the trigger, Dent tried to think. He attempted to push aside all emotion, all anger and fear, and yes, doubt, and focused on what he knew. Facts, probabilities, cause and effect. Noman was correct. If Dent put a bullet in him, there was an overly high probability that the man would spasm and slice through Fifth’s neck. In rapid-fire thought Dent sought out varying targets on Noman’s body, different points of impact, but quickly dismissed them all. Any shot any place would put Fifth’s life at risk.
He needed help.
He looked to Fifth, meeting her eyes. They were set, unwavering and determined. She thought he could get her out of this. Maybe if they worked together they—
“No!” Noman yelled. “You look at me, Dent! Not her! Me!”
Dent continued to look at Fifth. The extreme change of demeanor from calm to screaming led Dent to believe that Noman was volatile. To give in to his demands would be the first step down a path of losing.
Fifth sucked in a pained breath as Noman drew a line of blood on her neck.
Dent’s heart pounded. He was forced to look up.
“Better,” said Noman, slipping back into his calmer tone. “Now, I have to admit, we have a problem.”
“A big problem,” Dent said.
“I want Kasumi. You want Kasumi.”
“So great to be wanted,” Fifth growled.
Noman ignored her. “The thing is, you probably prefer her alive.”
Dent added, “And you dead.”
Noman rolled his eyes. “We’ve already taken my death out of the equation, Dent.” He pressed the knife against Fifth’s neck to prove his point. “So, what do we have left?”
Dent didn’t answer. His finger wanted to answer, but Dent held it as still as his tongue.
“Dent, Dent, Dent. What’s the point of having a nice conversation if you won’t actually converse?”
“Don’t you hurt her!” Theresa said from Dent’s side.
Noman gave the girl an odd look, one Dent couldn’t put a name to. “At least someone here is willing to talk to me.”
For no better reason than to take something away from Noman, Dent stepped to the side, pushing Theresa halfway behind him with his hip as he did. He wouldn’t give this man anything.
Noman looked down at Fifth then at Theresa. “So you two are friends, eh? Must be … nice.”
Fifth tried squirming in Noman’s grip as she blurted out, “No! I can’t stand her.”
Dent wondered why she would say such a thing. They were seconds ago standing side by side in this mess.
Theresa added to Dent’s confusion when she pushed up against his side, saying, “And she’s way to bossy for me.”
Whatever the girls were about, Dent was at a loss. But apparently Noman was not.
“That, girls, is just so adorable,” he said. “The two of you looking out for each other, caring enough to lie. It makes me …,” his grin faded into a tight line, “… makes me … sick.” His arm tensed, the knife drawing more of Fifth’s blood.
“No! Don’t!” Theresa screamed, and would have rushed forward had not Dent blocked her path.
Noman grinned again. “That’s much better. We’re all in this together, so let’s act like it. Only together can we all get out of this … predicament.”
“There’s only one way out of this for you, Noman,” Dent threatened.
“Noman?” His jaw dropped. “No-man?”
“That’s what you are,” Fifth said through her teeth. “Noman.”
“My name is Ingram.” He tightened his grip on her neck. “Say it!”
Dent was proud of the girl when she remained quiet.
“Say it! Say my name!”
“Your name is Ingram!” screamed Theresa. “Your name is Ingram. There? You happy?”
Noman looked at her. “I’m starting to see who the smart one of the bunch is.” Something then passed over his face. Eyebrows perking up, mouth popping open, eyes traveling from girl to girl, Noman obviously came to some conclusion.
“We know I’m leaving here alive,” he said.
“Don’t be so sure,” Dent countered.
“Don’t be so doubtful.” He took a deep breath, let it out. Smiled. “Now, who I leave with, that’s up in the air.”
Dent continued to stare, his gun still trained between Noman’s eyes.
“I’m here for Kasumi,” Noman said, “but at this point, one girl is good enough. I’d be willing to settle for either one.”
The man was suggesting a trade?
Noman took Dent’s silence as agreement. “So you like the idea, then?”
“No,” Fifth said, to Dent, to Noman, to the whole idea.
Noman squeezed her neck. “You are not helping your cause, Kasumi.”
She ignored him and though her voice was strained from Noman’s grip, she still managed to squeak out, “Don’t, Dent.”
“If you don’t let go of her neck ….” Dent let his threat hang in the air.
Noman bobbed his head, maybe in apology, and did as Dent asked. Fifth’s hands lifted to rub her neck.
“Put your hands back down, Kasumi,” Noman ordered her, his voice going flat and even. Then, in a lighter tone, he said, “Look. Dent’s thinking about my proposition. You might make it out of this alive.”
Dent was thinking about it. He risked a quick look at Theresa. The girl’s hands were balled into fists, her shoulders squared, her cheeks wet with tears.
“Dent …,” whispered Fifth, but both he and Noman ignored her.
The two stared into each other’s eyes. One set calculating and hardly readable, the other practically humming with excitement, with volatility.
Overhead, the sounds of an approaching helicopter. Both men registered the sound, both men drew conclusions.
“That would be the cavalry arriving, Dent.”
Dent didn’t say anything.
“Are they Chisholme’s men, do you think? Or maybe … maybe it’s the local news. Which would be worse? Men with guns or men with cameras?”
Exactly what Dent was thinking. The arrival of back-up for the security team could result in Fifth being hurt. And the arrival of a news copter could result in Fifth being plastered on the news again. Neither scenario played out well for her.
“What happens if Chisholme gets a hold of Theresa again?” Noman asked Dent, but
he looked at Theresa as he spoke. “You think he or his men will be happy? At best, she’d be carted off to another city, trussed up and used again for whatever nefarious purposes Chisholme can think of. At worst … well, I don’t think we want to think of that. If Chisholme deems her expendable ….”
Theresa started crying again, mumbling and sobbing and sniffling, and Dent deciphered bits and pieces of what she said, the sum of it being that she did not want to go back to Chisholme.
“Even someone like you has to feel bad for the girl, Dent. She’s in a tough spot. And I can be her way out.”
Fifth shook her head, opened her mouth to say something, but Noman clicked his tongue at her and applied pressure to the knife. “Not now, Kasumi. We’re bargaining for your life.”
“You don’t talk to her,” Dent growled. “You talk to me.”
Noman appeared as if he were going to say something, but thought better of it. He instead bobbed his head this way and that. “I see this as a win-win. For you, for me. For Theresa. For Kasumi. If you let Theresa go with me, I promise she won’t be hurt, won’t become some lab rat.”
It was a cut and dry decision, Dent knew. Theresa for Kasumi. Why, then, was he hesitant? Why was he reluctant to give up Theresa to this man?
No. Theresa was not his problem. Theresa was his target, his part of the contract. Nullify her and fulfill his side of the contract and Otto would supply Fifth with the means to live a normal life.
“I get Fifth,” Dent finally said.
Noman nodded. “And I get Theresa.”
“No,” Fifth pleaded.
Again, Dent and Noman ignored her.
Dent asked, “What assurances do I have you won’t go back on your word?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. But ….” With speed and every movement precise, Noman dropped down, grabbed one of the dead men’s guns from the carpet, and came back up, never once easing the blade from Fifth’s neck. He pointed the gun Dent’s way. “Now I have my assurances.”
“You shoot and I’ll—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know how it’ll work out. Like I said, assurances only.”
“You can’t do this, Dent,” Fifth said, trying to squirm her way from Noman’s grip. She grabbed at his hand, oblivious to the cuts she received for trying to put up a fight.
“Stop it, dammit!” Noman said, putting the gun to her temple.
Dent looked into Fifth’s eyes, silently pleading for her to stop fighting. He would get her out of this. She had to give him the chance to save her.
But was he willing to risk Theresa’s life for Fifth’s? He didn’t give it a second thought. Of course he would. He’d risk whatever it would take to see Fifth safe, even though she may not agree with his methods.
The chopping sounds of the helicopter were nearing.
Dent felt Theresa tug on his shirt.
He quickly glanced down at her.
“I can’t go back to Saint Nicholas,” she said. “Can’t go back to Chisholme and what his people will do to me.”
“No, Theresa,” Fifth said. “There has to be another way.”
Noman obviously saw an opportunity. “You come with me, and I guarantee Chisholme will never harm you again. My employer will see to it.”
Theresa stepped around Dent. He didn’t try to block her way.
“Who is your employer?” the girl asked.
“That, my young friend, is not for me to say just yet.”
“Theresa, don’t.”
“He’ll hurt you if I don’t, Kasumi.”
“He’ll hurt me even if you do.”
Noman made a coughing noise. “I most definitely will not. If anything, I keep my word. Why would I lie?”
It would be for the best, Dent reasoned. Theresa for Fifth. Both girls alive. His contract to put an end to Theresa’s influence through Saint Nicholas would be fulfilled if the girl went away with Noman. What happened to the girl after was of no concern to Dent. Only Fifth’s safety was his concern.
The helicopter was directly overhead now. Bright lights speared through the windows in jerky movements, the spotlight above trying to find something to focus on, trying to take in the scene outside the house.
Noman began to shift his feet. “Time is not on your side, Dent. I can get myself out of this easily. But you? You don’t make a decision, and I mean right now, you won’t be able to get out of here.”
Theresa made the decision for him. She stepped forward.
Fifth shook her head, but the other girl paid her no attention.
Noman grinned at Theresa. “Like I said, the smart one of the bunch.”
Theresa’s voice cracked as she asked, “You’ll leave her alone?”
“Of course.”
Someone said something over a bullhorn in the helicopter circling the house, but Dent couldn’t make out the words over the rush of the rotors.
“Okay.” Theresa took another step forward, putting herself closer to Noman now than Dent.
Dent tensed. He brought up the Beretta, put it in line next to his Glock. It was an unnecessary effort, as one bullet would have been enough to end Noman’s life, but it was an effort that he wanted to make.
Theresa kept walking forward.
“Let Fifth go,” Dent told Noman.
Gun coming away from Fifth’s head to center on Dent’s chest, Noman said, “Patience is a virtue, Dent.”
Dent wanted nothing so much as to drop Noman right there and now. If Fifth weren’t at risk, he would, and he’d welcome the bullet Noman put in him in response.
“It’s better this way,” Noman said, to everyone, to no one. “Theresa will be somewhere safe, away from dangerous men.” His eyes went to Dent at the last statement.
“Fifth,” Dent said, never looking away from Noman. “Walk to me.”
Surprisingly, Noman pulled the knife away from her, freeing her to move. But then he swiveled his gun to the back of her head. “Just in case you think of doing anything stupid.”
Theresa closed the last few feet to Noman. Both girls reached out, clasped hands briefly.
“I’ll get you back safely,” Fifth promised as they slowly passed each other.
“First you get safe, okay?” Theresa replied.
Their hands separated and Theresa turned to stand at Noman’s side. Dent couldn’t read the little girl’s face, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore. That was enough to tell Dent that she was okay with the situation.
Gun still pointed at Fifth’s head, Noman gripped Theresa’s shoulder and started to back slowly out of the hall, heading for the back door.
“Do something,” Fifth whispered up at Dent when she reached his side.
He shook his head, stepped to his left to keep Noman in his sights.
“Dent, please.”
“Nothing to do, Fifth. Not now.”
“But—”
He raised his voice. “Not now!”
Noman and Theresa made the back door. After a quick grin sent Dent’s way, the man grabbed the back of Theresa’s shirt and yanked her out of sight.
Dent had to do the same to Fifth to keep her in the house, to stop her from rushing after Theresa. Held fast at his side, Fifth tried holding back her tears. She wiped at her neck, almost mechanically, staring at the fresh blood on her hand when it came away.
Before him, his Glock was still raised, finger ached as it rested against the trigger. The Beretta he’d dropped to grab Fifth’s shirt.
Inside, Dent was torn between having Fifth back and what he could only call sadness for allowing Theresa to go with Noman.
And above, the helicopter, lights and bullhorn blaring down on the house, spurring all thoughts but those of survival from Dent’s mind.
XXXVII
“Where are we going?” Theresa asked, the first time the girl had uttered a word since Ingram had thrown her in his car. They’d left Dent and Kasumi to their own devices about ten minutes ago, and Ingram was caught up in wondering how they fared.
&nbs
p; Thoughts of Dent and Kasumi put on hold for the moment, Ingram looked over at Theresa. Though the girl looked like she wanted to cry, she had the backbone not to. He was almost impressed.
“We are going straight to the airport. Then you are taking a trip. And I’m heading back to work.”
She glared at him. “Where am I going, then?”
“Ever been to Japan? It’s not that bad.”
“Why Japan?”
“Why so many questions?”
And now the waterworks. Slowly at first, then full on tearing and crying and shoulder-shaking sobbing.
“Stop crying,” he said.
“Easy for you to say,” she got out between bouts of sobs. “You’re not going somewhere to be some prisoner.”
She had a point. “Girl, stop the crying. Seriously. It’s getting on my nerves.”
She stared out the window, into the night. “Screw you.”
Well, at least she stopped crying.
“Don’t think of it as being a prisoner,” he told her after a minute of silence. “Think of it as working for something greater.”
She didn’t reply.
He wanted her to. For some reason, this girl noticed him. She didn’t glaze over him, didn’t ignore him like everyone else did. She recognized him as being there. That alone made Ingram want to keep her around. But Takeda would want the girl back in Japan, for observation, for study, and most of all, for a big “up-yours” to Chisholme.
He wondered what made Theresa different. Not the whole ability to force elevated emotions on others, but the whole fact that she could take notice of him.
“We’ve got some time together, you and me,” he said optimistically. “Might as well get to know each other.”
“Don’t see any reason to talk to you.”
“And I don’t see any reason for you to be testy. Here,” he said, rolling down his window. The wind whipped their hair around and she turned his way, watching as he tossed his gun out. After rolling the window back up, he looked over. “See? That shows you I’m not such a bad guy. Besides, I’ve never been a fan of guns. Too impersonal for my taste.”
He saw her send her eyes flicking across his body, around the interior of the car. No doubt looking for weapons. He still had his knives, but those were hidden, out of her sight.
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