Riptide

“I tried to kill him, burn him out of existence, just to leave ashes, but he survived. My father sent him to Switzerland, to this clinic that specializes in burns. He knew then what I’d done. I called him a coward, told him he’d let that wretched woman, those children, distract him from killing the man who butchered my mother. You know what he said? He said it over and over, tears in his eyes, wringing his goddamned hands-it had been an accident, he’d lied to me all those years. I didn’t believe him. He wanted it soft and easy-a woman in his bed, children around him-but I wasn’t going to let him forget my mother, just erase her memory, and turn away like you would turn away.

“Now I’ve got you both and I’m going to kill you, just as you killed my mother. It’s justice. It’s retribution.” He smiled as he raised his gun, aiming right at Thomas.

“No!” Becca yelled. “I won’t let you!” She hurled herself in front of her father.

Mikhail Krimakov gave a scream of rage when Thomas shoved Becca to the floor. But he didn’t have time to cover her with his own body. Mikhail shot him in the chest, knocking him backward.

Mikhail dropped to the floor, grabbed Becca’s ankle, and jerked her hard toward him. He slammed his arm around her neck, and pressed the gun against her ear even as the balcony glass door shattered inward and Adam leapt through the billowing draperies and the broken glass into the bedroom. He stopped dead in his tracks.

Mikhail smiled at him. “You try to kill me and the little bitch is dead. You got that?”

30

Mikhail said, the gun pointed in Becca’s left ear, “That bastard shot my mother in the head. He’s paid for it. You move and I’ll blow her head off. You won’t even recognize what’s left.”

Adam couldn’t believe it, just didn’t want to accept what he was seeing. “I should never have let you stay here. Damn me, I should have drugged you, Becca, and hidden you away.”

But Becca didn’t hear him. Mikhail’s arm had tightened until she couldn’t breathe, until everything turned black and she heard voices in the distance, but they didn’t reach her, not really.

Mikhail eased up on Becca’s neck as he waved his gun at Adam. “Drop that gun and do it slowly and very carefully.”

Adam let the gun fall to the floor. It came to a stop, he saw, about thirteen inches beyond his left foot.

“I dropped the gun. You’ve killed Thomas. No one else is near. Let her go, damn you, you’ve already choked her unconscious.”

“Yeah, right, you asshole.”

Thomas felt as if his chest was frozen, a good thing, he knew, because soon enough he would be in such pain he probably wouldn’t be able to think, much less move. Krimakov’s son was pressing a gun against Becca’s throat. Adam stood not four feet away, helpless, frozen in place, shattered glass all around him. Thomas knew he was trying desperately to figure out what to do. Becca’s eyes were closed, Mikhail’s hold against her throat was too strong, far too strong. She’d passed out. He had to do something, anything. He couldn’t let her die, not like this, not after she’d hurled herself in front of him, to save him, to take the bullet herself. He felt the pain pulsing deep in his chest, but with it, he felt such an intense surge of love for her that gave him a burst of strength. He managed to ease his hand down to his pants pocket, to the small derringer. Just a bit more strength, that’s all he needed, strength.

Mikhail saw the slight movement from the corner of his eye. “Damn you, you’re supposed to be dead. Don’t move!” His hold against her throat lightened and almost immediately he saw that Becca was coming out of it. He clouted her hard on the side of the head, and shoved her away from him. He leaped to his feet, pulled a Zippo lighter from his pocket and set it to the bedding. In an instant, the blanket and sheets burst into flame.

Thomas fired the derringer. Mikhail yelled and grabbed his arm as the bullet punched him backward. He hit the wall but didn’t fall. Adam dove for his gun. Thomas fired again, but Mikhail had twisted low and the bullet just grazed the side of his head.

Thomas fell back, the derringer falling from his hand. Adam twisted about, his gun raised, but Mikhail was out of the bedroom, and when Adam fired, the bullet hit the door frame. Mikhail slammed the door behind him and the flames gushed higher with the sudden rush of air, igniting the pillows, the thick brocade drapes that were ripped from Adam’s run into the bedroom.

“Damnation,” Adam shouted. “Becca, are you all right?” He leaned over and slapped her face. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here. Damn, the drapes are on fire now.” He scrambled on his knees to where Thomas lay on his back. He shook him. “Thomas, open your eyes. That’s it. Now, can you make it?”

Thomas just smiled at him. “No, unfortunately not, Adam. I think this is the end of the line for me. Get Becca out of here. Tell her I love her.”

“Don’t be a jackass,” Adam said. “We’re all getting out of here. Come on, you can do it.” He wrapped an arm around Thomas and jerked to his feet, pulling Thomas with him. He started to lift him over his shoulder.

“No, not yet,” Thomas said, the pain flooding over him now, drawing at his brain, making everything darken, darken. “No, dammit, we’ll get out of here. Becca, get yourself together! I’m not going to lose you now.”

Becca was sitting now, shaking her head, trying to breathe. She heard agents yelling outside, prayed they wouldn’t try to come into the burning room, prayed they’d be ready to pump a hundred bullets into Mikhail when he came out of the house. She said, “I’m okay. Just give me a second, just a moment.” She stared at her father. “Mother left me. There’s no way you’re going to leave me now. I’ll help you, Adam.” Together, one of them on each side of him, they managed to get the door open and drag Thomas into the hallway. The flames were whooshing up high behind them, thick, incredibly hot, smoke gushing out of the room. No time, Adam thought, just no bloody time to put it out.

All of them were coughing now from the smoke. “Let’s move,” Adam said. He pulled the bedroom door closed after him, but it was too late. The fire was already eating away at the hallway carpeting.

“If he isn’t dead yet,” Adam said, “they’ll get him the instant he gets out of the house.”

Becca was panting with effort and coughing at the same time. “I had my gun strapped to my leg, but it didn’t matter,” she said, coughing. “Are you all right, Daddy? Don’t you dare talk about dying again. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you, Becca,” Thomas said, and his chest was on fire, just as the fire raged around them, it raged inside him. He knew he couldn’t last much longer. He didn’t want to leave her, not yet, please God, not yet.

“Just a little farther.”

They heard a whoosh of flames behind them. The smoke was dense and black now. “We’ve got to hurry,” Adam said. He didn’t ask, just picked up Thomas and eased him over his shoulder. “Becca, get downstairs. I’m right behind you.”

A shot rang out in the thick smoke. Adam felt the punch in his arm, sharp, hard. He didn’t loosen his hold. “Jesus, Becca, get down, crawl. I don’t want him to shoot you.”

But Becca had her Coonan in her hand. She stepped behind Adam and fired back through the smoke in the direction of the shot. There were three more shots. Then silence.

“He must be back near the bedroom, Adam.” And she fired off another shot. “That’ll keep him away. Get my father out of here. Oh God, the walls are on fire. It’s bad, Adam. Hurry! Save my father!”

Adam felt his arm pulsing with raw pain, weakening as he carried Thomas down the front stairs. He felt an instant of dizziness, then shook his head, coughed, and kept moving. He felt a strange pulling in his back, weird, but nothing really. Thomas was now unconscious. He prayed he wasn’t dead. He heard another shot, then another, but nothing all that close.