Iris Johansen - Dark Summer

"Wait." Marrok's gaze was on the overpass ahead. "Don't lose him. Lead him down the underpass to the access road."

"Why?"

"I need him." He unbuckled his seat belt. "Slow down as you take the down ramp. Then speed up and get Devon out of here. You should have no trouble."

"What about you?"

"I should have no trouble either." His hand was on the handle. "Swerve to the left so that it will close the door behind me."

"You're actually going to jump?" Devon asked. "Are you nuts?"

"Hopefully not. This shouldn't be too difficult." He was tensing, his gaze judging the speed and incline. "Like jumping off a log."

She couldn't believe it. His expression was intent, but there was also an element of excitement. He was enjoying himself. "Don't do this."

He shook his head. "I told you. I need him." He shoved the door open. "Now swerve!" He jumped, tumbling head over heels as he hit the ground.

The door was swinging shut as she saw Marrok roll behind the shrubs bordering the access road.

"Crazy," she whispered. "He probably broke some bones."

"I doubt it."

"What's he going to do?"

"Probably shoot out his tires." Walt's foot pressed the accelerator, and the car speeded up. "There's our tail entering the down ramp. The gray Volvo. Come on, Marrok…"

A shot. The gray Volvo suddenly swerved violently as the left-front tire blew. The driver was fighting the wheel, trying to keep on the ramp. Another shot. The back tire blew. He swerved again and ran up on the grass bordering the access road.

"Got him," Walt said. "Now we get out of here per instructions."

"No, we should go back and pick Marrok up."

"He doesn't want company."

"Suppose there's more than one-"

"He'll take care of it," Walt said quietly. "He doesn't want us, Devon. He particularly doesn't want you and Ned there. Now I'm going to get back on the freeway, drive up to the next exit, get off, and wait for him to phone."

"He's only one man. How can-" She stopped. Why was she protesting? It wasn't as if she wanted to be any more involved in this horror than she already was.

But murder had been done and was still too close to her. There was no doubt in her mind that the car that had followed them had been driven by someone who meant them harm. "Why couldn't Marrok have just let you get away from him?"

"I have no idea."

"Yes, you do."

"He probably wanted information." He drove into a ser vice station and parked on the side of the lot. "I'll get us a cup of coffee. It may be a while. How do you take it?"

"Black."

"Me, too. I can't see how anyone can ruin a good cup of coffee by putting junk in it." He got out of the car. "You keep her company, Ned."

Ned stuck his head between the seats and laid it on her arm.

"Wait. Why should it take a while?"

"Sometimes information isn't that easy to pry out of the kind of hard-asses that Danner hires." He strolled away into the ser vice station.

Torture?

She closed her eyes, feeling sick. Murder and torture and a nightmare of fear. Why had she insisted on coming tonight? For all she knew, Marrok was worse than the man who had been following them. Yes, she knew Danner was a monster. He had proved it by his actions. But she knew too little about Marrok. He had thrown her a few bits of information and she had let herself believe that he could be one of the good guys. What if there were no good guys in this equation? What did that make her?

"Here's your coffee."

She opened her eyes and took the cup Walt handed her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. You look like you could use it." He got into the van. "Don't worry about him. He usually comes out on top."

"I'm not worried about him. I don't even know him. He's almost a stranger to me." But she was worried, she realized with panic. What kind of macabre intimacy had grown between them? It was like the bond that she had read about that was forged between kidnappers and their hostages. No, it wasn't like that. She had felt that sense of intimacy the night he'd brought Ned to her. Suspicion and intimacy mixed and twisted until they became one entity.

"Drink your coffee," Walt said gently. "It's going to be okay. See, Ned's not worried."

She took a sip of coffee. "How can you tell?"

"He'd be howling and fighting to get out of the van."

"He's done that before?"

"A couple times. And it turned out that Marrok was not in the best shape. Dogs have great instincts."

"Yes." He didn't have to tell her about instincts. Tess had almost been able to read her mind, and she had always known if Devon was ill or sad. She had once been caught in a mudslide, and Tess had found her against all odds. Tess had dragged her out of the muck, and they had lain together all night, sharing warmth until the rescue crew found them.

"So Marrok is probably just fine." Walt turned on the radio. "How about some music? It's supposed to soothe the savage breast. I always used to think that quote was supposed to be beast. It made more sense to me." He raised a brow. "Am I talking too much?"

"No." She was barely hearing him. Her nerves were keyed to the breaking point as she waited for Marrok to call. "You're taking this very calmly. I can't do that. All this violence… is Marrok always like this?"

Walt didn't answer for a moment. "He's a violent man. He's had a hard life, and he has problems with restraint. He's much better than when we first met years ago. I think he has focus now, and that helps."

"Right now he's focusing on a man who's probably trying to kill him."

"True. But it'll be a piece of cake for him," Walt said. "Trust me."

HE WAS BLEEDINGlike a stuck pig.

The bastard had nearly gotten his jugular, Marrok thought. He had only managed to deflect the knife at the last minute, and it had gone into his shoulder. He'd been good. Danner had upgraded the talent. He was better than Kingston had been on Santa Marina.

He tightened the garrote around the son of a bitch's neck and dragged him farther into the bushes beside the road. Don't strangle him. Don't kill him. Not yet.

All this would be for nothing if he let him die.

But he had to be quick. Someone might notice the Volvo on the side of the ramp.

Or this blood flowing from the wound might make him pass out.

He straddled him, his hand still twisting the garrote. "I'm going to loosen this for a minute, and you're going to talk to me." He was searching in his pockets as he spoke. He flipped open the wallet and glanced at the driver's license. "Sherwood."

"It's… a… mistake. I wasn't going to hurt you." Sherwood's voice was a pleading croak. "Just the others. They told me to make sure you weren't hurt."

"Then you won't mind our having a little conversation, will you?"

"I don't know anything." Sherwood said, panicked. "Do you think Danner would tell me anything?"

"No, but you have names, telephone numbers, addresses. No man is an island. I can put them together. I like puzzles."

"I'll make a deal."

Marrok shook his head. "I've found that loose ends always come back to bite me. But I'll make it quick if you give me what I want."

Sherwood's lips curled. "The hell you will."

"Oh yes, I'm very good at this kind of thing. Did Danner tell you I was Apache? I grew up on stories of how my great-great-grandfather taught the white men pain. I was pretty bitter. I enjoyed it then." He tightened the garrote again. "The years haven't made me any more civilized."

He waited until Sherwood was gasping, then released the pressure again. "First, phone numbers you've been given to contact anyone in Danner's organization."

"Screw you," he hissed. "You're bleeding all over me. All I have to do is wait until you pass out, then I'll gut you."

"I don't think you'll want to wait." Shit, he wished he had time to rig a ban dage to stop the bleeding. He had to be quick, or Sherwood would be right. "Do you want to bet in three minutes you'll be begging me to let you tell me all you know? There are so many ways…"