by Selma Wolfe
“Do you have any idea how many degrees I have?” a spitting-mad Iseul demanded.
A weary voice replied in heavily accented English, “I do now, for you have told me at least six times.”
“Well, I have a lot. Far too many for this nonsense! If you do not release me - ”
The goon interrupted, “You will do what? Throw your degrees at my head? They might suffocate me under their weight madam but you will notice your hands are tied behind your back. Now stop talking or I will gag you!”
“I am a lawyer,” Iseul shot back with icy disdain. “When I get out of here - and I will - I will drag you in front of the courts so fast it will make even your thick head spin.”
“Heads cannot spin.”
“It’s a colloquialism, you oaf!”
There was a dull thud that sounded awfully like someone dropping their face into their palms. “How can you expect me to know these things? I am not American, I do not know your stupid phrases. I hate this country. This is the worst task we have ever had to complete. Once we get this drug I will leave and never return. I will poison each of the Botswana myself if it means I never come back to this place where women like you are taught to speak like this.”
“Ever heard of extradition? Look the word up in the dictionary, buddy, because you’re going to be intimately acquainted with it very soon. And if you think I’m going to let you harm one hair on Rick Stone’s head, you’re sadly mistaken.”
The henchman gave an ugly snort. “You cannot protect your lover. You are weak and your hands are tied. Literally. Ha! Do you see? Your hands, they are cuffed. Ha!”
There was a brief pause, and then Iseul said grimly, “I will charge you with brutal use of force on the English language. That was sue-worthy. And for the hundredth time, I’m not Rick’s girlfriend anymore, are all of you selectively deaf as well as stupid?”
A distinct growl sounded from the other side, and Hope figured it was time to get to work before the goon got any bright ideas about educating Iseul further.
She looked over her shoulder at Rick to find him staring anxiously at her.
“Ready?” she breathed.
He nodded without a moment of hesitation. At that moment, no matter how inexperienced he was, there was nobody Hope would’ve rather had at her back.
She opened the door.
No matter how experienced you are, when a true adrenaline rush hits, you freeze for a second. It’s biology. What separates the pros from the amateurs is how long it takes you to unfreeze.
Within a half a second Hope had swept her eyes over a survey of the room and was moving forward.
Iseul was dressed in probably not the most flattering pair of flannel pajamas, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail, and her face set as stubborn as any respectable mule. Her hands were zip-tied behind her back and she was sitting on one of those uncomfortable metal folding chairs, glaring up at a goon at least as wide as he was tall. Hope was momentarily impressed that Iseul had the nerve to stand up to him. He probably had a room temperature IQ, but hundred-year-old oak trees would be envious of the width of his neck.
The guy saw them and his small eyes widened marginally in surprise. He was kitted out in your standard semi-professional goon outfit of black army pants and a tight black shirt with a black jacket on top just to add a little color (and pockets).
He jerked his elbow back and reached into his jacket for his gun, but Hope was faster - not fast enough to stop him grabbing hold of it, but fast enough to grab his arm and force it up toward the ceiling.
“Rick! The shears!” she bellowed into the goon’s face. He might have looked confused, or that might have just been his normal expression.
To her great relief, over her shoulder she heard footsteps start into action. She’d known that Rick would freeze; in fact, she’d counted on it to keep him in comparative safety by the door during those first few uncertain seconds. But she’d also counted on the fact that he’d wake up and start moving when she needed him to. If somebody else had been watching them, they’d probably have assumed that Hope was negating all the benefits of her showing up by bringing Rick along - that she’d have to try to protect both Rick and Iseul and herself, and end up saving none of them.
But Hope had a little more faith than that, these days.
“Come on, my ankles too,” she heard Iseul hiss impatiently behind her, and then the goon’s other fist came swinging in at her face, and she had to stop listening.
When the goon started laying into her, Hope immediately had a serious problem, because if he managed to hit her it was going to hurt. And if the guy managed to hit her in the head, she was probably out, and then they were all screwed.
Fortunately, his bulk slowed him just enough that Hope was able to get in under his guard. She swung herself out of the way of the punch and shoved him off-balance with her shoulder, making him stumble after his punch.
Unfortunately, he actually was trained; rather than tumbling forward he sank down and took his weight into his knees. It held him steady and he recovered in time to sling a quick, almost random, punch right into Hope’s side.
She had about a quarter of a second to decide whether or not to get out of the way. But Hope knew she couldn’t. If she let go of this goon’s grip on the gun then it would instantly become a firefight, and in close quarters like these, it could just as easily be deadly by accident as on purpose.
The goon’s fist slammed into her side and she let out an involuntary mix between a grunt and a forced exhalation of air. It felt like the hit tossed her like a rag-doll, but though her lower body jerked around, she kept hold of her grip on the gun. Behind her, somebody shouted her name.
Pain radiated out from her side. Hope knew it was moderated by the adrenaline. If she pushed past the initial adrenaline rush and had to keep fighting, this was going to be nasty.
Time to stop messing around.
The goon’s thick lips drew up in a grin as he drew back his fist for another punch. He let out a grunt of exertion; Hope could see the glint of victory in his eye.
Hope hung all her weight off the goon’s wrist and he instinctively refused to let his arm fall. The movement distracted him and momentarily occupied his energy; he shifted his feet to brace himself. In one moment Hope snapped her leg out in a kick and pulled at the gun hard with both hands.
The kick landed right at the bottom of his kneecap. She would’ve winced in sympathy if she wasn’t busy trying not to get killed by him. He howled and she used the moment to seize the gun away from him.
Instinctively Hope backed away a few paces, breathing hard. She immediately regretted it when the goon showed no signs of backing down. His wide face set in the meanest snarl she’d ever seen and though he limped a bit, he still looked formidable as he closed in on her.
The best defense was a good offense, but Hope wavered as the goon growled low in his throat and came forward. She really didn’t want to shoot him; she would if she had to, but she’d go another round if it was at all possible to prevent it. A fight could be explained away. Gunshots generally couldn’t be (not in the US, anyway); fatal ones even less so.
She didn’t bother to point the gun at him. After years in this business you developed the skill of picking up on the little cues that most people were too used to fights to notice. Hope knew that the goon wouldn’t back down if she threatened to shoot him. She could see it in the way he bore down on her with his shoulders hunched inward like he wanted to trap her, the inexorable rolling motion of his gate, the way that adrenaline had narrowed his pupils into pinpricks.
It felt like whole minutes passing by as the goon barreled toward her, though it wasn’t more than a second. There was no safe action to take. She couldn’t do anything but watch the goon close in on her, and trust that she’d be able to do something, anything to stop him when he reached her…
“HEY!” someone shouted, and at almost the same instant, the shears were flung into the side of the goon’s head.
Without waiting to see who had done it or why, Hope exploded into action. She leapt forward, grabbed the falling pair of shears, and slammed them into the side of the goon’s head again. A thin line of blood trickled down the side of his face. He grabbed for her, but slowly, woozily, and she dodged out of the way easily. Hope had time to square up and land a solid punch right to the sweet spot on his jaw.
The goon dropped like a stone.
She kicked him over before his limbs had even fully come to a rest and held out an impatient hand. “I need the rope, now,” she demanded. The goon’s wrists were too thick for her to zip-tie him.
Only a second passed before a couple lengths of rope dropped into her hands. She quickly but carefully looped the rope around the goon’s wrists and tied a constrictor knot. Simple and secure, and if he tried to struggle he’d just make it tighter. Someone else would need to cut him out of it for him to ever get free.
Her side was really starting to hurt now, a combination of a sharp pain near her kidney and a dull ache that spread out over most of her torso. She ignored it and moved down the goon’s body. She tied his ankles together the same way.
When that was done, Hope gave herself a single moment to pause and inhale. Agony flared out from her side and she choked on the breath; Hope closed her eyes and forced herself to exhale slowly. So, that was at least a cracked rib or two.
She opened her eyes again and drew a knee up carefully.
Before she started to push herself up, a familiar hand reached into her field of vision.
Hope craned her neck up, taking care to move only her neck, not her torso. It hurt anyway.
“Ah,” she started to say, but talking hurt more than she expected, and she grimaced.
Rick stared down at her, dark eyes wide and worried in his pale face. He kept the one hand extended toward her, but the other was settled on the hilt of his knife, which was unsheathed in his hand.
“Thank you,” Hope managed to gasp. Rick’s eyes narrowed.
“For what?” he asked, an unfamiliar note of bitterness in his voice. Hope drank in the sight of his face, a reminder of better things in the midst of all this pain and ugliness. She wished that right then, under the lingering effects of the adrenaline, she had the chance to talk. Here, where she knew what to do and how to do it, maybe she could find the words to tell him how she felt.
But as ever, wrong place and wrong time.
“For trusting me to take care of it,” she said succinctly, and placed her hand in his. Hope managed to hide the worst of her winces as she slowly leveraged herself up. “If you’d jumped in with the knife, Mr. Six by Six here would’ve grabbed it, grabbed you, and then creek, paddle, you know the rest.”
She traded an instant white-hot flare of pain for a glance up at Rick’s face; he looked startled by her words, and the lines around his mouth softened, though his eyes were still very dark. When he caught her looking, Rick’s fingers tightened around hers and he dropped his head for a swift, soft brush of a kiss against her lips. They didn’t really have time for it, but Hope let him anyway.
Just for a second, then she pulled away and slipped her hand out of his grasp. She turned away to remove the temptation of giving her attention to Rick when it needed to go to other things. Like getting them out in one piece.
Hope turned to Iseul, who was standing with her arms and legs no longer restrained, smiling a little at the display. Mostly Iseul looked relieved.
“I’m glad you’re alright,” Hope said, a bit awkwardly.
“Well.” Iseul flipped her hair over her shoulder and shot Hope a quick smile. “I’m sure I would have managed on my own, but I can’t pretend I’m not very pleased to see you.”
The tension in the cramped room broke; Iseul and Rick started laughing. Hope wanted to join in but knew it would hurt. She contented herself with a smile and another long look around the room.
Uneasiness prickled at the edges of her mind. The room was shadowy, but not so much that she couldn’t see its emptiness. And Boran was off taking care of any other potential threats. They should have been as safe as it was possible to be out here.
And yet.
“Come on,” Hope said, interrupting a murmured conversation about something to do with Rick’s pockets that she didn’t quite catch. “We need to get moving. Rick, you go in front. Iseul in the middle, I’ll be behind.”
Both of them gave her a little frown, but didn’t protest. She guessed they were pleased at the chance to stay in front of her. The truth was though that she could guard them better with a clear view. Even more luckily, they were up against enemies who wanted her wards alive. She had little to fear for their health unless by an accident and far more to fear with her own. Hope was comfortable with that.
A hand landed lightly on her shoulder and traveled down her arm. Rick leaned in to say, “Are you sure that you’re alright?” against her ear. She smiled at him with only a little effort.
“I’m fine. In a minute we’ll be out of here and then we’ll be even more fine.”
Behind her, a familiar and yet unexpected voice said almost sadly, “Hope, you should know better than to make promises you can’t keep.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It wasn’t so much adrenaline as a wave of pure denial that hit her. Something was wrong. The voice was wrong. Or the words were. One of them had to be.
Nothing but force of training made Hope swing around and look at the door. Not because she was scared of what she’d find, but because she knew exactly what she was about to see. And no matter how tough you are, nobody really wants to face the betrayal of a friend.
Boran stood there with a gun in his hand and another goon at his shoulder. This one was less hulking than the other, but only slightly.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hope said flatly. Rick had gone totally still beside her. She didn’t look at him or Iseul, who probably didn’t even recognize Boran.
Her colleague rolled his shoulders into a shrug. He didn’t look vindictive, just determined, his face set firmly. She knew right then that she wouldn’t be able to deter him. But Boran wasn’t just some meat shield; he was smart and experienced. Hope had no idea what was going on in his head, and she might actually have to figure it out if they were all going to get out of here in one piece.
“I don’t want a conversation, just hand over your boyfriend’s invention and I’ll let you go.” His expression wavered; he looked like he was struggling with himself somehow. “I did tell you not to get so close to him, didn’t I? I tried to warn you.”
“The rumors claim of a powerful weapon. Something that we country folk cannot understand, that will make us flee our own land.” Thabo’s words rang through her head.
Hope raised an eyebrow. “Warn me that what, you were gonna rob the person I was hired to protect? That was never going to turn out well. And you’re double-crossing a job? Really? I thought you were better than that.”
“I don’t have any obligation to the kgosi.” Boran shrugged. “I finished my contract for him. Then Gouws offered me more money. It’s as simple as that.”
“You know it isn’t,” Hope said quietly.
The man behind him was staring at Hope with wide eyes. He kept raising and lowering his gun. That made her far more nervous than Boran did: Boran might kill them if they got uncooperative enough, but someone twitchy like Goon Number 2 could easily freak out and kill somebody by accident.
“Pretty small operation you’ve got here,” Hope continued. Maybe if she distracted them long enough, she’d move from “shocked” into “plan-having”. Maybe she could bluff her way out. She chanced the slightest glance back at the knocked out goon behind her, and then looked between Boran and Goon Number 2. “Not exactly a powerhouse.”
Boran’s jaw tightened. “Something came up. The rest of the boys are… otherwise occupied.” He glanced behind Hope and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “But let’s be honest. I don’t need much backup right now.”
Hope almost wan
ted to laugh - he was picking his words carefully, not insinuating that she was the problem, but that having two civilians at her back was enough of a disadvantage to put her out of the game. It was the most courteous mugging ever.
She didn’t laugh. Instead, she let the hand with the gun drift lazily to her side. Boran’s eyes followed it.
“Let us through,” she said. “We know who you are. Just leave now and we won’t be able to find you… back in Africa, I assume?”
She’d overestimated his patience. A long sigh hissed between Boran’s lips and then leveled his gun at Rick’s forehead.
“Give me the sample of the skin-graft serum. You don’t even know if we’ll be able to use it. Could be Gouws will just use it as a threat.”
Hope felt hot and cold all over; completely frozen and burning up at the same time. She was a terrible bodyguard (even if she was technically fired). Rick should never be in this situation.
“No,” Rick said without the slightest hesitation. Boran sighed again, louder, and swung the gun around to point at Hope’s forehead.
Oh thank God.
“Okay, give it to me now,” Boran said. He sounded calm and reasonable - and confident that this plan would work.
Hope didn’t turn to look at Rick. She wasn’t worried that Boran would shoot her. Not yet. Boran obviously didn’t want to kill them or he’d have done it already; they were basically sitting ducks. He knew that he could threaten Rick and at the end of the day, Hope would grab the formula from Rick and hand it over herself.
Selfishly, she didn’t want to be forced to do that. She wanted Rick to make that decision on his own. She’d never cared about being the bad guy before, but she didn’t want Rick to think of her that way.
Their only chance had ever been to divide and conquer; to grab Iseul and haul ass. But Boran didn’t just have them held at gunpoint; he’d manipulated the situation to be exactly what he wanted. He’d put the vial of formula in Rick’s pocket and planned to take it back out.