“One more move, and her head explodes,” a cracked voice rasped.
Jack’s head jerked around. A hideous gnome clutched Vivi’s trussed body against his. His pistol was shoved under her chin. Her breath hitched. Her bright eyes were fixed on Jack’s. They were wide and desperate.
The old goblin giggled shrilly. “Drop the gun. Or I’ll kill her.”
Jack doubted that was true. Whatever their kinky plans were, they involved live D’Onofrio women, not dead ones. But he could be wrong. And his whole universe hung on that yes-or-no question.
He would far rather die than get it wrong.
The old guy edged along the wall, dragging Vivi’s slight body for a shield. “Drop the gun!” he shrilled. “I will kill her!” He jabbed the barrel against Vivi’s soft, white throat. She made a desperate, choking sound.
Jack’s hands opened. The H&K dropped to the floor.
“Cut her hands and feet free,” the old guy ordered curtly.
The younger man gave him a stupid, confused look. “Huh?”
“She must drive the van, you moron!” the old man shrieked.
Jack watched, paralyzed as the man sliced the ropes near Vivi’s wrists. She winced. He slashed between her ankles.
“Kick the gun to me,” the young guy growled.
In the seconds that followed, every detail was printed and burned into Jack’s memory. He stared into Vivi’s eyes, tried to scream through the silent realms of eternity that he loved her. Hoping she’d hear.
And suddenly, she wrenched out of the old guy’s grip and head-butted the bastard.
The old man screamed, stumbled back. The big guy swung a savage backhand blow that knocked her sprawling. The old man squeezed off a shot at him, then another. Both went wild. The guy didn’t have the strength to aim the thing accurately. But he didn’t need to, to kill Vivi. Not at that range.
Jack was in motion, kicking his gun to the corner. His boot whipped up to crack into the big guy’s jaw. The old man scooped the dazed Vivi up, arms locked under her armpits, gun shoved in the hollow of her cheek. “Deal with him!” he yelled. “Meet at the rendezvous point!”
The big guy lunged with a knife. Part of Jack’s brain dealt with weaving and dancing to avoid the blade, while the old man herded the stumbling Vivi to the passenger’s side of the van, bullied her into the driver’s side, and climbed in behind, jabbing the gun into her ear. He could hear the man’s shrill, scolding voice from in here.
The van’s engine roared, the lights flicked on. It squealed backward, and accelerated out of his line of vision. Gone. Nothing to concentrate on except not getting cut. And keeping that berserker son of a bitch too busy to get near the guns on the floor. He arched back to let a huge boot whoosh through the space where his face would have been, then spun to the side to avoid a knee to the gut. He took an uppercut to the nose that sent him spinning into a rib-crunching whack against the cement-block wall.
Pain and lost breath cost him a precious fraction of a second. The blade whipped down. Jack jerked to the side. The tip hit cement, bounced, skittered, stung the top of his shoulder. His knee jabbed up into the guy’s balls. The man lurched back, bellowing.
They circled each other, breath rasping. The other man lunged, and Jack saw the movement broken down to infinite increments. Parry with his forearm, spin until he was side to side, seize the knife hand between scissored wrists, torque until the guy screamed, doubling over. The knife clattered to the ground. Jack applied more pressure, whipped a vicious side kick into the side of the knee, guided the top of his head toward the wall—and swung him, hard, like a battering ram.
His opponent thudded to the ground, the crown of his head wet with blood. A red, bloody smear on the wall. Jack stared down, breath jerking in and out, every limb trembling. Trying to think. Hard, with combat hormones flooding his system. Sirens wailed, far away. Myra had called the cops. Good, but he could not stay to talk to them. Every second that passed widened the space between himself and Vivi. He touched the big guy’s carotid artery. Alive. He was tempted to kill him, just to have one more player off the board. But he would have to change into a different person to kill an unconscious man.
He didn’t want to be that person. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Let the cops take care of him. He scooped up the guns and leaped over the bulk of the fallen man to jerk open the bathroom door.
Edna leaped into his arms, shaking and whining. Jack ran for the truck, tossed the dog through the door. He burned rubber, turning out of the lot just as sirens approached from the opposite direction.
He jerked the wheel around, fishtailing to a shuddering stop at Dwayne Pritchett’s gas station, at Pebble River’s exit from the highway.
Dwayne jogged forward, his big, ruddy face alarmed. “Jesus, what the fuck? Were you in a car accident?”
Jack realized abruptly that his nose was streaming blood, all the way down over his chin. His shoulder was wet with blood as well, from the knife wound. “I’m fine,” he said tersely. “Did you see Vivi’s van?”
“Yeah, I seen it come by here. Going hell for leather. Didn’t stop at the sign. Took the turn on two wheels. Big fuckin’ hurry. Did Vivi do that damage to you? Jesus, she must have been pissed as hell. Wadja do to her, for Chrissakes? You want to come in and clean up that—”
“Which way did she go?” Jack roared.
Dwayne nodded toward the northbound road. “Thataway.”
Jack gathered up the shivering golden dog, pushed his door open, and shoved the animal into Dwayne’s arms. “Vivi’s dog. Look after her.”
“But…but I…but you—”
“Later!” The truck leaped forward, squealing toward the exit.
“Faster!” Haupt shrieked. “Drive faster, you stupid bitch!”
Vivi pushed down on the accelerator. Not much point telling the guy that her decrepit van was already making a valiant effort, and didn’t have any more speed in her. The frame of the vehicle shuddered scarily, as it was. Or maybe the shuddering came from inside her own self.
They were on the northbound Kaneset Highway, which looped alongside the steep-banked, meandering Kaneset River. Haupt rolled down his window, stuck his empurpled face out to drag in air.
She was in conflict. A quick, fiery death after a few seconds of falling through midair was a far better death than the one Haupt had described for her. But what about Jack? He’d come back for her.
In back of the panic and terror was a thread of music in her head, sweet and poignant. She hung on to it, and with it, to her sanity.
He’d come for her. How had he found her? How had he known? It made the prospect of driving off a cliff oh, so much harder to accept.
She tried to concentrate on high-speed driving. No future, no past. Just this breath, into her lungs. Just this heartbeat, then the next, and she was grateful for every one of them, even with a gun to her head. She hoped he was okay. Please. He’d come back for her.
“What are you smiling at, you insolent slut?” Haupt shrilled. “Are you laughing at me?” He jabbed the gun into her ear.
The van lurched and wove. “No! I wasn’t, I wasn’t!”
She reached down with her left hand to touch the tire iron. The road ahead did a hairpin and started to gain altitude. Farther on, the road was high over the canyon. Any further attempt to drive off the road once she drove higher would result in certain death. This turn coming up was her last chance at a slightly more favorable compromise with certain death. Right…now.
She widened the turn, wrenched the wheel, and braked, violently. Haupt lurched forward, holding out his arms to brace himself. Vivi whipped the tire iron down over his forearms. Crack.
He screamed. The gun dropped. She spun the tires in the gravel, accelerating, gaining the crest…tipping over the top. They were sliding and bouncing down the other side, tipping crazily, and Haupt screamed, scrambling for the gun, but the van bounced wildly in every direction as it rattled down the steep slope of rock and shale—