Bride of the Tiger

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Bride of the Tiger Page 20

by Heather Graham


  “Meaning no disrespect, Miss Hill. I may be mature, but I’m not useless. Those scoundrels knocked us out unawares, and that was all there was to it.”

  She was glad that so far Sam seemed okay, just indignant that she had worried that he was too old to handle the situation. And he was indignant that they had been removed from the hotel in laundry baskets, along with a ton of dirty sheets.

  “I’m so sorry,” Tara murmured.

  “Would you quit that!” Jimmy insisted, a protective arm around Tanya, as usual. “Tara, I started this whole thing. No, I didn’t. Elliott started it all.”

  “Can’t we just give him the stinking mask?” Ashley asked.

  “That’s the plan, I assume,” Jimmy murmured, trying to sound cheerful. But his eyes met Tara’s, and she knew that he was wondering, just as she was, how ruthless Tine was. Was he capable of killing them all?

  She’d come to know too much about him to hope for much in their favor now.

  “What do you think our chances are for escape?” she asked Sam.

  “The man right outside the door is carrying a submachine gun. He could—” Sam cleared his throat. “It’s a dangerous weapon.”

  “He could wipe us all out in thirty seconds,” Ashley said bluntly.

  “Then—”

  The door reopened. The man from the lobby looked in. He pointed at Tara. “You, come on.”

  “She will not!” Ashley protested.

  He ignored Ashley and grasped Tara’s arm. Sam leaped to his feet; the submachine gun was whirled toward him.

  “Sam, sit down. I’m sure I’ll be right back. Don’t forget, I knew Tine well once,” Tara said, trying to sound assured. Yes, she knew Tine, and she was terrified! But she couldn’t let it show; someone would wind up dead.

  “Tara, don’t—” Jimmy began.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She wouldn’t be, but she had to convince them. Oh, God. Now more than ever, thoughts of Rafe were crowding in on her, and her knees began to wobble as she was led back along the hallway. She thought of when she had looked up, that first time at the museum. Seeing the tiger, seeing Rafe. Feeling from that very first moment the sense of utter excitement. Wondering what it would be like...

  And then knowing what it was like to be held by him. Loved by him. Touched...

  She thought that if Tine were to touch her now, she would just as soon die. She’d known real tenderness, real care. Passion, beauty.

  She swallowed sharply; surely Rafe figured somewhere in this. Tine would be coercing him as he had coerced her. He wanted both the Tylers, because he wanted the mask. He wanted them both stopped from hounding him. It had become an obsession. Tine was obsessive. He had never loved her, but had simply been obsessed.

  She was scared that he would touch her. Scared that he would get Rafe. Rafe would do anything to prevent harm from befalling the rest of them. God, she wanted him. She wanted to be in his arms. She wanted...

  Don’t think! she warned herself. Don’t think that Tine could trick him, could get him here—could shoot him. Kill him. In cold blood.

  Deal with it moment by moment! she pleaded with herself. And she tried to convince herself that Rafe was no fool, that someone would miss them very soon, that maybe the police were combing the mountain at this very minute. Maybe she could even reason with Tine, convince him that he could never get away with it this time, that he would be found, that he would—

  “Tara. I’ve waited a long, long time for today.”

  She stopped walking because he was standing there. At the end of the hallway, waiting for her. She didn’t say anything; she was too wary of his next move.

  “Let’s go, Tara.”

  “Where?”

  “A walk in the moonlight.”

  “I won’t go.”

  “The hell you won’t.”

  A second later she screamed, because he strode straight toward her, grim-faced, wrenched her arm behind her back and prodded her forward. Stay calm! she told herself desperately, and then she wondered, what good would it do?

  He opened the door and pushed her out into the night. All she could see was darkness, though he seemed to know where he was going. The night had grown cool; she could see her breath in the dark. Under her feet, the ground grew rockier. Suddenly he yanked her back. She started to scream again, but he cut her off sharply.

  “The ledge, you idiot. Another step and you’ll be over it.”

  She saw it then, the point where the cliff ended. Below the city lights twinkled. So tiny, so far away.

  “Sit down, Tara.”

  There was a tree with a clear space beneath it. Tara sat. He stood behind her and lit a cigarette.

  “Tine,” she murmured, when the silence became unendurable, “this is idiotic. You should have disappeared into the South American rain forest. You have to be crazy. If the authorities get hold of you this time—”

  “I want that mask.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” He laughed shortly. “Simple. Money. I know the right channels. I could spend the rest of my life in outrageous prosperity with that thing.”

  “But you made good money!” Tara cried out.

  “With Galliard, you mean?” he asked, amused. She felt the skin at her nape prickle. He had stooped down behind her. She could feel his breath touching her skin, and she tried not to shiver. The longer she could talk...

  “I could have made a fortune with you, love. I would have known how to package you just right. But you didn’t want me. And now you think you’re going to marry Rafael Tyler. Hah! That’s a laugh. I’m the one who dragged you out of the refuse, out of the gutter. And you betrayed me, you little bitch.”

  “You didn’t pull me out of the gutter, Tine—you tried to drag me down into it. I knew some poor, poor people, Tine, but not one of them would have stooped as low as you—for anything. They were all rich in something called pride.”

  “I’m impressed, Tara. But it’s a pity you feel that way. I might have taken you with me. ‘Cause it’ll all be over tonight, you know. I’ll meet lover boy at midnight, he and boy wonder will get the mask—and take a tragic fall down the mountain.”

  “You wouldn’t!” Tara almost choked on the words. “Tine, don’t be foolish! So far, no one can get you for murder—”

  “Hey, it’s easier to get away with murder than a few other crimes I could mention,” he said lightly. “I think that’s about enough talk. It never was a high point with me. I missed you. That’s the truth, you know. There’s always been something special about you—”

  “Don’t be absurd. There’s something special to you about anything in skirts,” she said harshly, inching away.

  She stopped when his fingers wound into her hair and jerked roughly.

  “No, you aren’t the only one, but you are special. I felt it when I watched you on that runway the other day. I had a hard time doing things slow and right, you know.”

  He tightened his hold on her hair as tears stung her eyes. He was laughing at her helplessness. She felt sick, almost overwhelmed by the panic that was sweeping through her.

  “Come here, Tara!”

  She was so close to the cliff—but she didn’t care. Blind instinct made her wild and furious. He wrenched her around by the shoulders; she brought her hands to his face and raked furiously, bringing a sharp cry of pain to his lips.

  “You stupid little bitch—” he began.

  And he released her for just one second.

  The second had been enough. She was on her feet, still wild, unaware that she had nowhere to go. She tried to retrace her steps. Tried to race away from the dangerous cliffs so she could find a way down the mountain.

  There was someone on the path before her. Coming toward her. She halted, then gasped and started racing forward again, relief singing through her. It was George Galliard.

  Tara cast herself straight into his arms. “George! How did you get here? Oh, thank God! Are the police here? Tine is right behind me. Ge
orge—”

  He held her stiffly, looking over her shoulder. She turned, gasping and crowding closer to him. Tine was almost on her, wrath and cruelty on his features; along with the blood-red gashes she had torn across his face.

  “George...?” The name escaped her in a gasp. Tine kept coming closer. George’s grip tightened—then he pushed her toward Tine. She stumbled; he caught her in a grip so venomous that she cried out.

  “George?”

  “Sorry, love,” Tine said softly, with an edge of malice. “You hadn’t guessed? How do you think dear George got his start? No one would buy his damn fashions. I never worked for him; he always worked for me. Gems, gold, artifacts, in and out so easily, because who would think to check up on a world-famous designer? He arranged this nice trip back very carefully, right after he talked to you and discovered that you were running a little low. He had a hell of a time squeaking by the authorities last time.”

  “Idiot!” George accused Tine suddenly. “Neither of us will get out of it this time! What the hell did you have to take half the town hostage for?”

  “I only did what was necessary. Quit sniveling like an old woman. Go back to town. I hope you weren’t foolish enough to be followed!”

  Tara’s knees suddenly gave out with shock. George! What had looked like salvation had been a merciless trick. She couldn’t believe she had run to him for help and he had handed her right back to Tine.

  “Get up!” Tine yelled at her. “George, get out of here! I’ve been waiting for the return of my love so patiently!”

  He turned, dragging her with him. She screamed; she kicked; she fought.

  And she knew he wouldn’t loosen his hold for a minute. Not this time.

  * * *

  Rafe took five different cabs, stopping at five different places and coming out on five different streets before taking the final cab to Costello’s office. He chafed at the time it took, but knew that he had to take the precaution. He burst in on the lieutenant so wildly that in retrospect, it was a wonder that the man had listened. But he did, and it was probably another miracle that he studied the ridiculous map with Rafe, stroked his chin and agreed that they could probably find the location.

  “I’ll call in one of my men—Juan Ortega. He’s from the mountain, a farmer. But if it is not the place, Rafael, then—”

  “It has to be the place,” Rafe said hoarsely. “Jimmy is alive, and he wouldn’t have done this without being certain.”

  They sat down and went through the particulars. The only way to get up there without being seen would be to take the back roads. That would take time. And they’d have to count on surprise. Neither knew if Tine Elliott was ruthless enough to start shooting or not. Since the woman had died last time, Costello didn’t think that an effort at negotiation would be worthwhile.

  Four of them would go: Ortega, who knew the mountain so well; a sharpshooter; Costello; and Rafe.

  It was nearly ten o’clock when they set off.

  They followed the city lights, then turned into the mountains. They could only go halfway by the main road. Soon they were climbing, and Rafe stared out the window at the mountain. Purple and haunted and shadowed, wild and primitive, and anything could be hidden there.

  They reached a point where they could no longer take the car. They would have a long walk, he was warned, and they’d have to study the situation when they reached their objective—a hostage situation was always tricky.

  Ortega did know the mountain. He walked easily; Rafe and Costello were panting.

  “Here, this path,” Ortega said. “If the map is accurate.”

  They walked until Rafe’s muscles ached, though not as badly as his heart. Time was his enemy. And it was passing so swiftly. All he could see was the forest. Tree after tree, branch after branch. Eternal darkness.

  Ortega stopped short. Rafe saw the lights seeping through the trees. Costello gestured, and the four of them scattered, circling the hut, which seemed to blend into a crevice of the rock and the forest.

  It was the sharpshooter who found the right window. He beckoned silently to the lieutenant. Costello went around the front; Ortega went with him. Rafe and the sharpshooter stared at each other and counted off the seconds.

  Then Rafe crashed through the window. The sharpshooter followed, covering them both with a burst of fire directed at the door. Rafe found Ashley first and pulled her to the floor, shouting that the others should duck.

  It was really ridiculously easy. The sharpshooter shouted to the armed man guarding the hostages that he would be a fool to die for the criminal norteamericano.

  He gave up without firing a shot. By then, Ortega and Costello were coming in through the front, herding two more men ahead of them. To Rafe’s amazement, one of them was George Galliard.

  He couldn’t dwell on that for the moment, though; he saw his brother and clasped him tightly in an embrace.

  But then he even pushed Jimmy from him. “Where’s Tara?”

  “Out—out somewhere with Elliott.”

  “Wait!” Costello ordered Rafe. But it was too late—Rafe was already out the door, running into the night.

  He paused a short distance from the hut, looking left, right and forward. The mountain was so dark. It seemed to have an evil pulse. No, the pulse was his heartbeat. It was the panic, the fear, the desperation bubbling up within him.

  And then he heard it—a scream. Tara. Sick with dread, but galvanized, Rafe started running. He veered, he slid, he crashed into the trees. She screamed again; the sound was nearer.

  He saw her, and his heart caught. She was so close to the edge. Struggling. And there was Elliott. A big man, his blond hair gleaming in the night. He was laughing as she screamed. Bending over her, saying something, taunting her, touching her...

  Something burst inside Rafe’s brain. He thought he could rip Elliott into a hundred thousand pieces, do it savagely, do it horribly. He didn’t feel quite human. Power rippled through him and he didn’t remember taking the last few steps; he was just there, driving his fingers into Elliott’s hair, wrenching for all he was worth, tearing the man away from her.

  Elliott came up swinging. Rafe ducked, something warning him that his adversary was tough. He pitched himself into the air, bringing his full weight down on Elliott. They wrestled, spinning in the dust, against the rock. Rafe felt it all. Elliott aimed a well-delivered blow at Rafe’s jaw. For a moment, the night spun—stars bursting inside his head instead of against the sky. He saw the man’s fist rise again; he saw the hate in the powder blue eyes, and he twisted just in time.

  He saw Tara there, standing too close to the edge. “Move!” he shrieked to her. “Tara, damn you, move!”

  He saw her indecision; he saw her anguish. She was trying to figure out a way to help him.

  He catapulted, putting Elliott beneath him, slamming his fist against his jaw. He took a pause. “Get out of here so I don’t have to worry about you, too!”

  Elliott swung and caught Rafe’s jaw again. “Go!” Rafe shouted.

  Tara ran.

  “Tyler!” Elliott raged. “If I go, you’re going.”

  “Then let’s do it, damn it!” Where the hell was Costello?

  They started to twist again, and Rafe got in another blow. They broke and stood, coming closer and closer to the ledge. They used their feet; they used their hands. Rafe slammed a good right hook under Tine Elliott’s jaw. Elliott let out a grunt and went down, but the impetus took Rafe with him—over the ledge.

  So this is it, Rafe thought fleetingly.

  But to his amazement he hit another shelf just a short way down. He looked over a few feet, dragging himself up, leaning against a rock.

  He gasped for breath and dragged in the mountain air. Elliott was a foot away, out like a light.

  “Rafael!”

  Costello was above him at last. He saw Rafe and Tine, and he grinned. “You need some help?”

  Rafe laughed. It felt good to laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I could use some he
lp. Take the carcass away!”

  Ortega and the lieutenant came down to collect Tine Elliott’s unconscious form.

  Rafe waved away Ortega’s hand when he would have helped him. “I need to catch my breath. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  Costello didn’t really think when he passed Tara on the mountain path. There was terror in her eyes, fear, anxiety—she looked like a beautiful gazelle caught in bright lights, elegant, still, ready to bolt like lightning.

  “My God, where’s Rafe?”

  “Down—down on the ledge.”

  She bolted.

  Costello realized that he hadn’t told her that the man was fine. He shrugged. She would see for herself.

  Tara just ran, her heart racing. Only the moon and stars illuminated her way; nothing but raw emotion guided her. There was no time to think that he was a man who had betrayed her, too. She was terrified, more so than she had been through any of it. The fear for Ashley, the terror when Tine had dragged her out. None of that meant anything now, nothing in the past, nothing in the future. She only knew that if Rafe was injured or—oh, God! no, she couldn’t even think the word—she would not be able to bear it. She had to hurry. If she could just touch him, she could stop his pain. It was madness, but it drove her relentlessly through the trees, over the bracken, branches ripping at her clothing, stones and roots tripping her. Nothing stopped her.

  She found him just below the ledge. Scrambling precariously down to him, she clutched a decaying root and paused, her heart seeming to rise to her throat and catch there, no longer beating.

  He was dead. Blood trickled from his mouth. His eyes were closed, and he was hunched back against the rock, as still and pale as the stone.

  “Rafe!” Tara shouted in desperation. Frantically she scrambled the last few feet to reach him, kneeling at his side, touching his forehead, taking his hands.

  “Rafe, Rafe, please, I love you so much. I’ve got to get help. Hang on. I’ll be back. I’ve got to get them down here. Don’t—don’t—you have to be all right. You have to be. I love you. I love you—”

 

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