identified the crunch of half a dozen pairs of feet rushing toward them through the snow.
Chapter
5
“Quick. Down there. To the tennis courts,” Mick directed urgently, pointing.
There was no time to hope the thief had gotten his act together enough to think of another way out. Turning within the loose captivity of his arm around her shoulders, she shoved him in the direction she wanted him to go. He was solid, so it was like shoving an oak: he didn’t budge, but he did look down at her in obvious surprise. Mick hissed with impatience. One or the other of the groups of her would-be rescuers would be upon them in a matter of moments. Their only hope was to get out of sight and hope that Otis’s group thought they’d made it to the van. Iacono’s guys would soon set them straight, but the confusion should buy them a few precious minutes. If they were quick.
“Go.” She pushed him again, hands flattening on his chest, still with no success. All he did was crinkle his brow as his suspicious stare morphed into a frown. Her heart pounded at the realization that they could be surrounded at any second. Shouts and the rush of movements both in front of and behind them added impetus to her urgency. Forget the terrified hostage scenario, at least as long as there was no one but her supposed captor to see. If she had any hope of escaping this debacle, she clearly was going to have to take charge. “You want to get out of here in one piece or not? Head for the tennis courts .”
Once again she shoved and pointed.
At last he seemed to get it. Sort of.
“Grab the suitcase,” he ordered.
Dropping the arm around her shoulders but clearly not quite up to speed with the program change yet, the thief caught her arm to, as he seemed to think, compel her obedience while at the same time keeping her from escaping.
“Are you kidding me?”
But pointing out the obvious—if she’d wanted to get away from him, she wouldn’t have been telling him which way to go—would, like arguing, take too long: Mick grabbed the suitcase and took off with him a step behind her. He still gripped her arm like he actually thought she was his prisoner. He also had her gun, which he kept pointed at her as they ran, like at this point he thought she really believed he would use it on her anyway. Linked in that awkward fashion, they sprinted toward the tennis courts.
There were two courts, fenced in, shielded by hedges and green privacy webbing. In a matter of seconds, they were through the nearest gate. It had barely closed behind them when Otis and company rushed down the sidewalk they had just abandoned. Glancing over her shoulder, seeing her pursuers as little more than shadows through the webbing, Mick was just in time to watch them stampede past.
“Iacono. You got Mick and the guy?” Otis shouted. “Iacono!”
She didn’t hear Iacono’s reply, but she knew it was just a matter of minutes before Otis and Iacono connected and Iacono made it clear he hadn’t set eyes on her and the thief.
“This way. To the boathouse,” she directed urgently, practically towing the thief around the edge of the tennis court, where the snow was the lightest. Her flip-flops were damp and freezing. Her feet were solid ice and as numb as if they’d been carved from wood. The state they were in made her clumsy, but fear helped her compensate. “Hurry.”
“The boathouse?” Like her, he sounded breathless. She didn’t know why. He was big and fit, and she was the one lugging the damn suitcase.
“You know, the building that holds a boat. You got any other way out of here up your sleeve?” It was still snowing, still frigidly cold, but panic and exertion combined to make her feel almost warm, except for her beleaguered feet. “Out the gate up there. The boathouse will be right in front of you on the edge of the lake.”
Her arm ached from hanging on to the suitcase. As they burst through the gate at the rear of the tennis court, she would have
Chapter
5
“Quick. Down there. To the tennis courts,” Mick directed urgently, pointing.
There was no time to hope the thief had gotten his act together enough to think of another way out. Turning within the loose captivity of his arm around her shoulders, she shoved him in the direction she wanted him to go. He was solid, so it was like shoving an oak: he didn’t budge, but he did look down at her in obvious surprise. Mick hissed with impatience. One or the other of the groups of her would-be rescuers would be upon them in a matter of moments. Their only hope was to get out of sight and hope that Otis’s group thought they’d made it to the van. Iacono’s guys would soon set them straight, but the confusion should buy them a few precious minutes. If they were quick.
“Go.” She pushed him again, hands flattening on his chest, still with no success. All he did was crinkle his brow as his suspicious stare morphed into a frown. Her heart pounded at the realization that they could be surrounded at any second. Shouts and the rush of movements both in front of and behind them added impetus to her urgency. Forget the terrified hostage scenario, at least as long as there was no one but her supposed captor to see. If she had any hope of escaping this debacle, she clearly was going to have to take charge. “You want to get out of here in one piece or not? Head for the tennis courts .”
Once again she shoved and pointed.
At last he seemed to get it. Sort of.
“Grab the suitcase,” he ordered.
Dropping the arm around her shoulders but clearly not quite up to speed with the program change yet, the thief caught her arm to, as he seemed to think, compel her obedience while at the same time keeping her from escaping.
“Are you kidding me?”
But pointing out the obvious—if she’d wanted to get away from him, she wouldn’t have been telling him which way to go—would, like arguing, take too long: Mick grabbed the suitcase and took off with him a step behind her. He still gripped her arm like he actually thought she was his prisoner. He also had her gun, which he kept pointed at her as they ran, like at this point he thought she really believed he would use it on her anyway. Linked in that awkward fashion, they sprinted toward the tennis courts.
There were two courts, fenced in, shielded by hedges and green privacy webbing. In a matter of seconds, they were through the nearest gate. It had barely closed behind them when Otis and company rushed down the sidewalk they had just abandoned. Glancing over her shoulder, seeing her pursuers as little more than shadows through the webbing, Mick was just in time to watch them stampede past.
“Iacono. You got Mick and the guy?” Otis shouted. “Iacono!”
She didn’t hear Iacono’s reply, but she knew it was just a matter of minutes before Otis and Iacono connected and Iacono made it clear he hadn’t set eyes on her and the thief.
“This way. To the boathouse,” she directed urgently, practically towing the thief around the edge of the tennis court, where the snow was the lightest. Her flip-flops were damp and freezing. Her feet were solid ice and as numb as if they’d been carved from wood. The state they were in made her clumsy, but fear helped her compensate. “Hurry.”
“The boathouse?” Like her, he sounded breathless. She didn’t know why. He was big and fit, and she was the one lugging the damn suitcase.
“You know, the building that holds a boat. You got any other way out of here up your sleeve?” It was still snowing, still frigidly cold, but panic and exertion combined to make her feel almost warm, except for her beleaguered feet. “Out the gate up there. The boathouse will be right in front of you on the edge of the lake.”
Her arm ached from hanging on to the suitcase. As they burst through the gate at the rear of the tennis court, she would have
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