by Dee, Bonnie
The woman shouted at the men guarding the exit to stop him. Running feet sounded in the hall behind him.
Veering left, Ian opened a door into a short hall and raced down it to another set of doors. He slammed through into the quiet, dim dining hall. Round tables with white cloths were scattered like ghosts throughout the room. A dais at one end of the room held a podium.
The tables were set for the morning’s breakfast. He grabbed a cutlery set, dove under a table, and huddled with his arms around his knees, clutching the pathetic fork and knife in his white-knuckled hand, waiting for his pursuers to enter the room.
Seconds later the door pushed open. “…has to be in here. Check under all the tables. You two, guard the other doors,” a male voice commanded.
“If we let him get past us, we’re dead, Ryan.” The woman’s legs and high-heeled feet were in Ian’s direct line of sight.
“No one has to know we let him walk past,” the man muttered. “We’ll just say we spotted and chased him. Come on. Start looking.”
The tablecloth swayed as the woman moved away.
Ian gripped his cutlery tighter.
The cloth twitched as the man lifted it and bent to look beneath the table.
Like a snake striking, Ian lashed out, stabbing him in the shin with the sharp tines of the fork.
The man yelled and grabbed his leg as he jumped back.
Rolling past him, Ian scrambled to his feet and ran for the door from which he’d entered. He pelted back down the hall and burst through the door into the kitchen. The exit was now unguarded, the men having abandoned their post to pursue him.
Ian shot a quick look around, unable to believe it could be so simple, and then he slammed through the door into the cold night air. He raced around the side of the building, heading for the visitor's parking lot where his ride awaited.
* * * *
Mira’s heart beat faster as she turned onto the road leading to Brody’s facility. Her every instinct to flee danger kicked into high gear, and yet she drove right toward it. The car’s headlights splashed across the illuminated sign: Welcome to the Center for Human Wellbeing. In smaller script underneath were the words, Health, Healing, Happiness.
“Horseshit.” Her mouth thinned to a straight line, disgusted at Brody’s manipulation of peoples’ basic desire to find contentment.
As she approached the gate, she drew a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She stopped the car in front of the gatekeeper’s brightly lit glass cubicle and rolled down the window.
“Good evening.” The guard’s smile was wide. “Welcome to the Center for Human Wellbeing. How can I help you?”
“Hello. I’m here for the retreat. There was a delay in my flight and then I had a problem with the rental car company.” Mira didn’t have to work hard at sounding harassed and upset. “I can’t believe I missed the whole first day! I’ve been looking forward to this retreat for so long.”
The man nodded, sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear about your troubles. We generally take latecomers to a special wing of the facility. You’ll go through a decompression process of sorts to ease you into the retreat experience.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Collectively, the group has begun to achieve a certain level of peace and introducing a newcomer, still uptight from the outside world, would disturb the harmony.” He pulled out his Palm Pilot. “Can I verify your registration Ms…”
“Castle. Arlene Castle.” Mira reached her hand through the open window, praying the man would take it.
His warm palm slid against hers. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Castle.”
Mira gazed deep into his eyes, a pleasant smile stretching her lips. You will let me pass now. I belong here. You will not notify anyone of my arrival.
When Mira used mental suggestion, it was usually as part of a psychic healing process, and she never did it without receiving her client’s consent first. Coercing people with her strong will went against everything she believed in, but tonight was no time to nitpick over ethics. With every fiber of her being she broadcast the message at the gatekeeper.
His mouth went a little slack and his eyes glazed over then came back into focus. “All right then, Ms. Castle. You go ahead and park in the lot to your left. Enjoy your stay at the Center for Wellbeing.”
“I will. Thank you.”
The iron gate slid open soundlessly and Mira drove into the compound.
* * * *
“Four of you and you let him get away?” Murav snapped into his radio. “Well go after him. He’s probably headed for the gate, but you should split up. Check the rear of the building. I’ll meet Fredrickson out front.”
Ray’s heart leaped. How was this possible? Ian Black was as slippery as an eel.
“They think he went out the service door by the kitchen,” Murav said. “Garcia got stabbed in the leg. The others are running around like incompetent boobs.”
The two men walked quickly toward the reception foyer at the front of the building.
Ray felt suddenly calm. “He’s a thief. He’ll look for a car he can hotwire. That means an older model, something he can break into without setting off an alarm. Something with easy access to the wiring.”
Murav nodded. He spoke into his radio as they walked, alerting the team leaders to change the scope of their search. He spoke to the gatekeeper, telling Sheffield they would send extra men to help him guard the main entrance.
“The only other way out is to climb the fence. My bet is he’ll try to crash the gate.”
“Everyone understands he’s not to be killed, correct?” Ray verified. “Tell them they can shoot to maim, but not to kill. I want to question him again about this amulet.”
“Yes, I believe the men understand, sir.”
They strode through the foyer, a glass-domed structure that enclosed an indoor garden, a trickling fountain and wicker benches giving it a warm, welcoming air. They passed beneath the banner over the doors which read, “Peace, Joy, Serenity.” Murav pulled his gun from the holster underneath his suit jacket and thumbed off the safety.
“When we find this man, I want you to make him suffer,” Ray said.
“No problem, Mr. Brody.”
Chapter Twelve
Ian raced along the perimeter of the building, eyes straining for darker shapes among the shadows that might be guards posted to keep watch for him. His blood sang through his veins with an adrenaline rush. Every nerve crackled with energy. He felt a hundred percent better outdoors. Even though he still had to get out of the compound, for the first time in hours he felt he might have a chance to escape with his life.
Dropping to a crouch in the shadow of a hedge, he looked across the front of the Center. The beautifully landscaped lawn and horseshoe curve of the drive were brightly lit. The illuminated area stood between him and the parking lot. He had no choice but to dash across it.
The muscles of his thighs coiled like springs as Ian launched into a dead run. He pounded across the grass and paved path, leaping low shrubs and flowerbeds and dodging around stone benches. He crossed the lit area without being shot by a sniper and counted himself blessed as he dove to the ground in the shadow of the hedge on the opposite side. Winded, he lay face down in the dirt, breathing in the rich-scented loam and some kind of mint planted by the hedge. He vowed to appreciate little details of nature like this every day for the rest of his life if he made it to freedom.
After a moment, he lifted his head and scanned the lot, looking for a likely prospect. Third row down, eighth car over was an older model Plymouth, less likely to have a security alarm. He crawled up off his stomach and crouched, ready to run again. Eyes on his target, Ian loped down the first row of cars and then cut between a van and a Mercedes. He peered around the edge of the van.
Something was happening by the gates farther down the drive. The gatekeeper was talking to the driver of an arriving car. Crap. If only the person had arrived a little later it would have been a good distraction
when he attempted to crash the gate.
Ian’s attention turned back to the Plymouth and he ran the rest of the way to the car. The door was locked. He looked around for something with which to break the window. Despite what action movies showed, he knew from experience that using an elbow would only result in a hell of a lot of pain.
Running footsteps and a shot blistering the pavement near his feet were his warning that escape was not going to be so easy. Asphalt shrapnel flew up and struck him like a hail of BB pellets. He dropped to the ground and crawled back the direction from which he’d come, rolled underneath a truck, came out on the other side; then continued to crawl away between the vehicles.
Footsteps pounded behind him. More came from in front of him.
Ian crouched between two cars, ready to run again as soon as he could figure out which direction was safe.
“Over there,” somebody shouted. “Cut him off.”
Eyeing the distance to the perimeter fence, he calculated his chances of scaling it before he was riddled with bullets. He drew the table knife from his pocket. The fork had served him well as a weapon, maybe there was hope for him to fight his way out with a dull knife. He cursed his stupidity in leaving his handy pick in the pocket of the coveralls.
Someone approached only a car length away on his left. Beneath the car, he saw a man’s feet on the other side. Ian made a snap decision, jumped up, rolled across the trunk of the car and landed on his feet behind the man. He leaped on his back, an arm around his neck and pressed the knife into his throat.
The man was Murav. He spun around, knocking Ian against a vehicle, trying to dislodge him, then reached over his shoulder and hit him in the head with the butt of his gun.
Ian pressed harder with his knife. It was dull but serviceable for cutting off airflow.
Murav gripped his arm, trying to pull the knife away from his throat. He rammed Ian’s back into the vehicle again, knocking the breath out of him and loosening his choke hold.
Another man came running; a shadowy figure with a gun in his hand. Ian figured the guy wouldn’t shoot with Murav in the way, but he was wrong. A bullet whizzed past his head and hit the roof of the car behind him with a sharp, metallic ping.
“Stop shooting. I want him alive!” Brody’s voice came from a distance away.
With superior strength, Murav’s grip on Ian’s wrist crushed his bones until he was forced to drop the knife. The Terran wrenched him off his back and threw him against the trunk of the car with a force that dented the metal.
For a split second Ian wondered how they would explain bullet holes and dents to the car’s owner the next morning, then Murav’s hand encircled his throat and he quit thinking about anything except drawing his next breath. Third time’s a charm, flashed through his head. Maybe this time the guard would succeed in choking the life out of him.
“Got him?” Brody’s voice floated somewhere on the periphery of his consciousness.
Ian grabbed Murav’s arm with both hands, trying to break the man’s grip, but he wasn’t nearly as strong as Brody’s henchman. Black dots swam before his eyes and he wheezed for air. His body was pressed between the car and his attacker, but Ian managed to lift his knee and drive it up as hard as he could into the other man’s crotch.
Murav let out a constricted groan and loosened his grip.
Ian squirmed away, rolled off the car and stumbled across the ground into the open path between the rows of vehicles.
A car’s headlights were coming straight toward him. He froze in their glare like an animal, staring into the beams, too overwhelmed to make yet one more decision about jumping right or left. It would almost be a relief for the car to hit him and take him out of this nightmare.
Ian! His name burst inside his head and he recognized the caller immediately.
Mira? He darted out of the way of the oncoming car.
She hit the brakes and the car screeched to a halt.
He ran for the rear driver’s side door, glancing up long enough to see Raymond Brody racing toward him with a posse of guards. Ian fumbled the door handle, got hold of it and wrenched the door open. He tumbled inside. “Go! Go! Go!”
With the door still open, Mira peeled out.
Ian scrambled in and reached out to pull it closed. He heard the shatter of glass as a bullet hit the car’s taillight.
Mira drove down the row of cars and swerved so sharply Ian was tossed across the seat. She hit the gas and tore up the next row heading back toward the drive. Tires squealed as she turned onto the drive and aimed the car for the gate.
Several guards and the gatekeeper were clustered near the lighted booth. Mira aimed straight at them like a bowling ball down an alley. On the straightaway approaching the gate, she pressed her foot to the floor. “Hold on. We’re going through.”
Ian stared at the decorative iron gates looming before them. “Holy shit!” He felt for the seatbelt, attempting to buckle it as they hurtled toward the men and the gate.
Like high school kids playing chicken, the men stood their ground, standing in the drive, trying to flag Mira down. They jumped out of the way at the last possible second, scattering before the rushing vehicle. The right fender hit one of the guys’ legs as he leaped.
Then the gate was in front of the car. They hit it with a bang and a scream of twisted metal. Ian was tossed back in his seat by the force of the impact, then sideways when the car skewed to the left but continued to plow ahead. It seemed impossible the vehicle didn’t stall out as the engine labored against the resistance of the gate, but Mira kept her foot to the gas and the Plymouth drove inexorably forward. Sparks flew up from the side panel as metal dragged the length like fingernails on a chalkboard. A section of gate got hooked on the side of the car and was carried forward several yards before falling away.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ian exclaimed. His head swiveled to look out the back window at the ruined gate and Brody’s men standing on the road behind them. “That was awesome!”
Mira caught his eye in the rearview mirror when he faced forward again. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t believe you’re here.” He couldn’t stop grinning. He felt buoyant as a balloon, drunk with relief and joy at the fact she’d come for him.
“You saved my life. Had to return the favor.” She smiled then searched the road behind them. “But we’re not safe yet. They’ll be after us.”
The car passed the sign welcoming people to the Wellbeing Center. Mira turned onto the road.
“Where’s Foster?”
“He’s taking care of the box.”
“And he let you come here alone.”
“He didn’t let me do anything.” She bore down on the gas once more and the Plymouth ate up the road as it headed for the highway. “I told him I wouldn’t wait for backup from KOTE.”
He craned his neck to check out the back window. No one appeared to be following yet. “Are you suicidal? What were you thinking?”
“That I had to get you out of there before Brody killed you.”
“What was your plan?”
There was a long pause. “I didn’t really have one. Sometimes you just have to go on instinct—and it worked out. I was where I needed to be when I needed to be there.”
“That was some pretty fucking amazing timing,” Ian agreed. He took off the suit jacket and climbed over the front seat to ride beside Mira. He took another look behind them, then settled into the seat, staring out the windshield at the stream of lights on the highway coming up before them. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” She looked over at him before turning her attention back to the road and steering onto the on-ramp. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you again?”
He shook his head. “I got away and ran around the building hiding.”
Mira didn’t ask how he’d escaped. “We’ll meet Justin and whoever they’ve sent from KOTE.”
Ian drank in her profile for a moment, the long dark hair, wide nose, strong cheekbones, thick b
rush of eyelashes and full lips. He could hardly fathom the fact she’d come back for him. He couldn’t stop smiling about it.
Mira glanced over at him. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just…” He shook his head. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
She laughed, a light, tinkling sound like a music box. “Yes it has.”
He rested his head back against the seat and closed his eyes for a moment, relishing his freedom. “Hey, where’d you get the wheels?”
“It’s a rental … on Justin’s credit card. You think they’ll notice the damage?”
Ian burst out laughing.
Chapter Thirteen
With a full tank of gas and an open highway, she broke the speed limit all the way back to the city. Ian checked the back window and the side mirrors obsessively, but no one was following. It was almost ominous that there was no sign of Brody’s men pursuing them.
Mira kept stealing glances over at him. She was worried about him. He was only human, after all, and easily damaged. His swollen eye looked terrible and there was a welt across his cheekbone. A ring of bruises from Murav’s fingers circled his neck. God knew what internal injuries he might have suffered from being punched in the gut with Terran strength. Her instinct to care for him and heal him was overwhelming. She reached out and brushed the side of his face lightly with her fingers.
At her touch, Ian started from his blind gaze out the window. He looked at her with shadowed eyes. “What?”
“Nothing, just … are you really all right? Nothing’s broken or ruptured or anything?”
“I’m fine.”
They arrived at the pub where Mira had arranged to meet Justin. She parked the car around the corner, out of sight, and they walked to the bar.
Sitting in a booth, the Protector and another man were arguing so heatedly they didn’t notice them at first. When Justin glanced up and saw them approaching, his face went slack with surprise. “You’re here! You made it!”
“Told you I’d be back in an hour or so.” Mira sank down on the vinyl seat with relief. She hadn’t realized her legs were trembling until that moment.