David Morrell - Burnt Sienna

“What are you talking about?” she managed to say, her voice hoarse.

Facing her, Ramirez twisted her arm behind her back. Making her wince, he drew her close to him. “You don’t need to be afraid. I haven’t told anybody about you.” He pressed her against him. “I did a computer search. I learned your real names. I learned that the CIA is looking for you. But don’t worry. I broke contact. Your secret is mine.” He put his other arm around her. “But what is the secret? Why is the CIA looking for you? What would you do to reward me for not reporting that I’d found you?”

He brought his mouth toward hers. She turned away and struggled. He redirected his mouth, trying to reach her lips. When she pulled her head back, he squeezed her tighter. She stomped on his boot.

He hit her.

For a moment, she saw blackness. Then he hit her again, and suddenly she was on the floor. Through blurred vision, she saw him reach back his boot to kick her, and for a frenzied moment, she thought he was Derek, that she was back in the hotel room in Istanbul, that Derek was kicking her and -

Something slammed. A figure rushed past. As her mind stopped spinning, she realized that the noise was the trailer’s door, that the figure was Chase, that he had collided with Ramirez and knocked him onto the kitchen table.

When the table collapsed, toppling them onto the floor, Sienna looked desperately around, hoping to find something she could use to hit Ramirez. In the gloom, Chase and Ramirez were indistinguishable, rolling one way, then another, striking each other. One of them groaned. Their breathing was forced. They struggled to their feet and slammed against the kitchen counter. A pot clattered into the sink. A dish smashed onto the floor.

Someone lurched back from a blow to the face and punched the other man’s stomach. The second man staggered back. At once the man straightened, his silhouette clear against the twilight at the kitchen window. He raised his right hand. Something was in it. A pistol. Ramirez. Sienna opened her mouth to shout a warning. Too late. The gunshot was deafening. Ears ringing, Sienna could barely hear herself scream.

The bullet shattered a window. Chase struggled with Ramirez’s gun arm, trying to wrench the weapon away as the pistol went off again, its muzzle flash almost blinding in the gloom. Her ears in greater pain, Sienna felt the bullet pass her, but all she cared about was squirming to the broken table and groping for one of its legs. The wide end had splintered, forming a spear tip. She plunged it into Ramirez’s back. He screamed. The two men lost their balance. The pistol went off a third time as they fell to the floor.

Sienna grabbed another table leg, raising it to bash it across Ramirez’s head, but away from the twilight at the window, she couldn’t tell which man was Ramirez.

“Chase, where are you?”

“Here!”

She slammed the club against Ramirez’s head so hard that the weapon split in half.

She picked up another table leg and struck him again, feeling something on his skull go soft, but he showed no reaction, remained motionless, seemed not to have felt it.

For long seconds, no one moved. The only sound was Malone’s labored breathing. He couldn’t stop his heart from racing.

“Is he dead?” Sienna struggled to get the words out.

“Yes.”

Hot bile rose in her throat.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think…” She wiped blood from her mouth. “I’m all right.” Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, a storm coming up the gulf.

Malone braced himself against the counter. “Why didn’t we hear his Jeep?”

“It isn’t outside. He must have parked on the beach and snuck up.”

The thunder rumbled louder.

They held each other.

“He called me Mrs. Bellasar.”

“Jesus.”

“He said he’d done a computer search.” Her shoulders heaved. “He knew that the CIA is looking for us.”

“If he put Dale Perry’s name into the computer, you can bet it set off alarms in the Agency. By now, whoever told your husband we were at that Virginia safe house has passed along the news. Your husband will be coming.” When thunder again rumbled, Malone stared toward the window. “We don’t have much time.”

“But what about…” Sickened, she peered down at the body. “We can’t just leave him. The Mexican police will connect him to us. The next thing, they’ll be after us, too.”

Malone strained to order his thoughts. “We’ll tie something heavy to the body and dump it in the gulf. His Jeep. We’ve got to find it. I’ll drive it to Santa Clara while you follow in the Explorer.” His mind raced. “We’ll make it seem like he parked on the edge of town. The storm and the tide will wipe out the tire tracks. If we’re careful not to leave fingerprints, the police won’t be able to prove we had anything to do with this.”

“But the shots…”

“We’re too far from town for anybody to have heard. Yes, Fernando must have, but he’s too afraid of the authorities to tell what he knows.” Ignoring how quickly Ramirez’s body was turning cold, Malone searched the pockets. He found car keys, but they weren’t enough. He needed Dale Perry’s driver’s license. Where was it? He had to find it. “There. Thank God.” He pulled the license from the corpse’s trouser pocket. “Hurry. Help me carry him to the boat before that storm comes any closer.”

He grabbed the corpse’s hands, started to lift, then realized that Sienna hadn’t moved.

Spurred by a new burst of thunder, she grabbed the corpse’s boots, shuddered, and lifted.

They lugged the body across the trailer. Malone was in the lead, backing toward the screen door. He nudged the door open with his hip. Then he got a better grip on the corpse and backed out, startled by a flash of lightning that revealed a look of terror on Sienna’s face.

But not because of Ramirez. Something was behind him.

He turned.

A blaze of lightning revealed Bellasar, Potter, and three bodyguards.

“You should have known I’d find you,” Bellasar said.

Sienna gasped.

“Taking out the garbage?” Bellasar asked.

Malone released the body and tried to straighten.

Not fast enough.

Potter slammed the barrel of a pistol across his forehead. “Let’s deal with this garbage first.”

Blood streaming down his face, Malone felt himself being lifted, two men carrying him into the darkness of the trailer. As if from a distance, he heard Bellasar demand something.

Sienna’s answer was a murmur. Malone was too dazed to know what it was. At the moment, what he was most aware of was the force with which he was slammed onto a chair.

More indistinct voices. Something flickered. At first, Malone thought it was the lightning outside, his impaired vision barely registering it. But a second flicker and a third spread across the trailer, the darkness dissipating until he realized that what he was seeing were candles that Bellasar had made Sienna take from a drawer. She lit a fourth and a fifth. The trailer glowed.

“More portraits.” Bellasar’s features were twisted. He rammed a fist through an image of Sienna’s face. “I’ve lost my enthusiasm for your work.” Cursing, he threw the ruptured portrait into a corner, the frame shattering as it bounced off the wall. He went over to Malone and punched his face so hard that the chair fell over, sending him sprawling onto the floor. “Do you remember I warned you never to touch my wife?”

Malone was in too much pain to speak.

Thunder shook the trailer.

“Pick him up.”

Hands yanked Malone to his feet.