Deliberate Harm
Page 24
“It’s done,” he said between clenched teeth. He stood, placing his weight on his good leg, and gazed at her with dead eyes. “It’s finally done.” In a soft voice, he began repeating a mantra of foreign words.
“You bastard!” Portia started to rush toward him when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.
Altan, his face bruised and lips swollen, suddenly stood behind Caleb. He stuck the needle of the syringe in Caleb’s neck and quickly removed it. Caleb’s eyes burst with alarm. He started to reach for his neck, but his body went limp like a rag doll. He collapsed to the floor in a fetal position.
A swell of excitement and relief rushed over Portia. “You finally made it,” she said. “Caleb tried to ignite the bomb.”
“I turned on the jamming device,” Altan said. “Thank God it’s working.” He lifted Caleb and plopped him into a sitting position on one of the Victorian chairs. “Is that what he called himself?”
“Yes,” Portia said. “Why?”
“I met another PR member in Zimbabwe who called himself Caleb. I didn’t like that guy either.”
“What happened, Altan?” Imma asked. “Why were you late?”
“I had a run in with the PR.”
“They may be here any minute,” Portia said. “We have to get out of here.” As she stared into Altan’s amber eyes, she knew leaving him would be an unbearable ache, like losing a limb. But they needed to separate. “You’ve got to alert security and find the bomb, and we need to get Chessa to safety before the PR finds her.”
“Let’s use the east exit,” Imma said. “It leads out to a side street.” She hugged Altan and stepped back. “Good-bye, dear friend,” she said.
“Check the London Times every day,” he said. “I’ll post an ad that says physicians are wanted for a metropolitan hospital in Chicago. When you see it, you’ll know the threat is neutralized, and you can contact me. Okay?”
Portia nodded. “Don’t get yourself killed before we see each other again.”
“You either,” he said.
Portia, Imma, and Chessa fled through the banquet hall, which was now deserted except for two security guards who were engaged in a serious conversation. Portia smiled at them.
The shorter guard said, “The auction is this way, ladies.”
“Thank you,” Portia said. “Our friend isn’t feeling well, so we’re going home.”
“That’s too bad. Will she be all right?”
“Yes.” Portia answered, not bothering to stop as she kept up with Imma and Chessa’s fast pace. “Good night.”
“This way,” Imma said as they left the banquet hall and turned to head down a long hallway. They reached a closed door. “This is it.” She swung the door open.
They rushed outside. The steely blackness of the night smothered them into obscure shadows. They looked around for any signs of danger, but there were none that were evident.
“I don’t think we’ve been followed,” Portia said, “and we appear to be alone, but that can’t last. Security personnel and members of the People’s Revolution must be close by.”
“Let’s pick up Father,” Chessa said. “Where is he?”
“He’s still at Robert’s apartment,” Imma said.
“Will he be able to travel?” Chessa asked.
“He was badly beaten,” Imma said, “but I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry.”
“We should get out of here before we’re seen,” Chessa said.
“You go first,” Imma said. “We’ll be right behind you.”
“All right, but don’t delay too long.” She began rushing down the sidewalk toward a busy London thoroughfare.
Imma turned an intense gaze on Portia. “We’re going to fly to the Czech Republic. We should be safe there. Bovra has many friends and contacts we can rely on. Will you come?”
“Of course,” Portia said. “I don’t care where we are, as long as we’re together.”
“We may never know freedom or safety again.”
“Freedom and safety are overrated.” Portia’s tone was deliberately lighthearted. She wanted those things again, but what really mattered was in front of her. She looked at Imma’s left hand. “You lost your engagement ring.”
“It was stolen.”
“Then we need to go shopping.” She hastily took off what had become her most cherished possession and placed it on Imma’s left ring finger. “In the meantime, wear this one.”
“I can’t tell you how much I missed wearing this,” Imma said with a smile that lit the night, “or how much I missed you.”
Portia tenderly kissed Imma’s lips and drew back, swallowing hard. Her throat was oddly fine.
They dashed side by side and caught up to Chessa. They turned the corner onto the main thoroughfare and began walking briskly along the sidewalk, which was bustling with Londoners and tourists. Portia should’ve felt apprehension and fear over the perils their future no doubt held. Instead, a blanket of calm wrapped around her. Glancing at Imma, she knew the reason why—their scars had given them both uncommon strength.
###
About J.R. Wolfe
J.R. Wolfe grew up with a mystery book in one hand and a pen in the other. She lives in California with her spouse and two spoiled Yorkies. When she’s not writing, you’ll find her skiing, mountain biking, and snapping photos, or on the bocce ball courts drinking wine with good friends.
Connect with J.R. Wolfe:
E-mail: jrwolfeauthor@comcast.net
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Deliberate Harm
© by J.R. Wolfe
ISBN (mobi): 978-3-95533-365-2
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Also available as paperback.
Published by Ylva Publishing, legal entity of Ylva Verlag, e.Kfr.
Ylva Verlag, e.Kfr.
Owner: Astrid Ohletz
Am Kirschgarten 2
65830 Kriftel
Germany
www.ylva-publishing.com
First edition: July 2015
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Credits
Edited by Michelle Aguilar, Sandra Gerth & Nikki Busch
Cover Design by Streetlight Graphics