want me?”
“The only thing that was keeping me alive was the idea that I might have passed on to a few people some information I have. Rostov didn’t dare kill me until he found out who I might have talked to. They tried to torture the information out of me. When that didn’t work, they decided to bring you in and see if I could stomach watching them kill my girlfriend by degrees. They were gambling that I couldn’t. But either way they would have killed us both.”
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Her voice and the eyes she turned to him were suddenly despairing. “It doesn’t matter that I never saw you before in my life until you popped up in that field and scared the life out of me. It doesn’t matter that I have absolutely nothing to do with whatever you’reinvolved in. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know anything about anything. They want to kill me anyway, because of you. It isn’t fair!”
“Life isn’t fair.” His calm rejoinder set her temper to sizzling. She glowered at him, then switched her attention back to the road. He was right: life wasn’t fair. If it was, Rostov would have made hamburger of him long before she’d become involved in this nonsense.
“What’s that?”
A dull roar prompted her question. McClain frowned, then his eyes widened and he looked out the van window.
“Holy shit,” he said. “They’ve got a helicopter. Hit it, would you?”
Even as Clara took a quick, instinctive look out her window, the spotlight picked them out of the darkness and the copter swooped until it was flying just above and behind the van. Stepping on the gas for all she was worth, Clara concentrated on keeping the van on the twisting road. Driving at such speed under the conditions was suicide—but so was doing anything else.
The spotlight beaming down on them made it impossible for her to see the helicopter’s occupants, but from her recent experience with Rostov and his thugs Clara did not doubt that they had guns. She was right, and ducked reflexively as a hail of bullets strafed the van.
“Oh my God!”
Head still lowered so that her eyes just peeped over the steering wheel, she stood on the accelerator. The van tore down the road. McClain, hampered by his handcuffs, was practically thrown out of the seat. Cursing a blue streak, he kept his head down and watched the helicopter’s progress through the passenger side mirror.
“Turn right!”
“Where?”
“Here!”
Clara barely saw the narrow road that cut through a swathe of trees. But she swung the wheel for all she was worth. The van stood on two wheels as it obeyed her. Then they were passing safely under the overhanging branches, protected from the helicopter—for the moment. Clara barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before the van was shooting out into the open again.
The helicopter’s spotlight found them. Clara had to fight the urge to close her eyes as it dived around them like a demented seagull. It was swooping after them, bullets smacking into the pavement and the dirt on either side of the road. A bullet smashed through the roof to ricochet through the interior. Clara and McClain ducked simultaneously. The bullet whined over McClain’s head to smash through the window on his side.
“Oh my God!”
For just a moment they were safe beneath another group of trees. But then they were in the open again. This time the helicopter swooped and dived at the van’s roof. Its runners scraped against the metal over Clara’s head. She cringed, stomping down on the accelerator so hard that the van’s wheels were barely touching the narrow, dark road. The speedometer needle climbed past seventy. The left rear wheel hit gravel at the side of the road, and for a moment Clara thought that it was all over. But with a desperate swing of the wheel she managed to right the van, although her correction sent it careening amidst a spray of gravel down the wrong side of the
“The only thing that was keeping me alive was the idea that I might have passed on to a few people some information I have. Rostov didn’t dare kill me until he found out who I might have talked to. They tried to torture the information out of me. When that didn’t work, they decided to bring you in and see if I could stomach watching them kill my girlfriend by degrees. They were gambling that I couldn’t. But either way they would have killed us both.”
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Her voice and the eyes she turned to him were suddenly despairing. “It doesn’t matter that I never saw you before in my life until you popped up in that field and scared the life out of me. It doesn’t matter that I have absolutely nothing to do with whatever you’reinvolved in. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know anything about anything. They want to kill me anyway, because of you. It isn’t fair!”
“Life isn’t fair.” His calm rejoinder set her temper to sizzling. She glowered at him, then switched her attention back to the road. He was right: life wasn’t fair. If it was, Rostov would have made hamburger of him long before she’d become involved in this nonsense.
“What’s that?”
A dull roar prompted her question. McClain frowned, then his eyes widened and he looked out the van window.
“Holy shit,” he said. “They’ve got a helicopter. Hit it, would you?”
Even as Clara took a quick, instinctive look out her window, the spotlight picked them out of the darkness and the copter swooped until it was flying just above and behind the van. Stepping on the gas for all she was worth, Clara concentrated on keeping the van on the twisting road. Driving at such speed under the conditions was suicide—but so was doing anything else.
The spotlight beaming down on them made it impossible for her to see the helicopter’s occupants, but from her recent experience with Rostov and his thugs Clara did not doubt that they had guns. She was right, and ducked reflexively as a hail of bullets strafed the van.
“Oh my God!”
Head still lowered so that her eyes just peeped over the steering wheel, she stood on the accelerator. The van tore down the road. McClain, hampered by his handcuffs, was practically thrown out of the seat. Cursing a blue streak, he kept his head down and watched the helicopter’s progress through the passenger side mirror.
“Turn right!”
“Where?”
“Here!”
Clara barely saw the narrow road that cut through a swathe of trees. But she swung the wheel for all she was worth. The van stood on two wheels as it obeyed her. Then they were passing safely under the overhanging branches, protected from the helicopter—for the moment. Clara barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before the van was shooting out into the open again.
The helicopter’s spotlight found them. Clara had to fight the urge to close her eyes as it dived around them like a demented seagull. It was swooping after them, bullets smacking into the pavement and the dirt on either side of the road. A bullet smashed through the roof to ricochet through the interior. Clara and McClain ducked simultaneously. The bullet whined over McClain’s head to smash through the window on his side.
“Oh my God!”
For just a moment they were safe beneath another group of trees. But then they were in the open again. This time the helicopter swooped and dived at the van’s roof. Its runners scraped against the metal over Clara’s head. She cringed, stomping down on the accelerator so hard that the van’s wheels were barely touching the narrow, dark road. The speedometer needle climbed past seventy. The left rear wheel hit gravel at the side of the road, and for a moment Clara thought that it was all over. But with a desperate swing of the wheel she managed to right the van, although her correction sent it careening amidst a spray of gravel down the wrong side of the
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