In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(142)

Sam burst through.





CHAPTER 29

He took it in, with crystal clarity; Sveti half-naked and tied on the floor. She was calling out, but her voice was drowned out by Hazlett and Renato’s yelling. Bam, he shot at Hazlett, but Hazlett was already diving for the ground, jerking Sveti up so that she covered his kneeling body. His arm clamped her bare torso, fingers digging into smooth white skin, the barrel of his gun stabbing beneath her chin, biting deep.

“. . . bomb!” Sveti coughed against the pressure of the gun barrel.

“Bomb?” Sam looked wildly around the room. “Where?”

“Not here,” Hazlett said. “Far, far away. And you can’t stop it.”

“Rome!” Sveti choked out. “Dirty bomb! White Telecom van! My family is right there! His phone! Stop . . . his phone!”

“Put down the gun,” Hazlett said. “If you shoot me, my finger will contract, and the top of her head will come right off.”

“Shoot him!” Sveti croaked. “Stop the bomb! His phone!”

A triumphant smile spread over Hazlett’s face as he stared at Sam. “You’re wasting your breath, silly bitch,” he said to Sveti. “He can’t risk hurting you.” He nuzzled the side of her face and licked her neck.

Sam saw in his peripheral vision that Misha was holding his gun on Renato, and Renato was frozen, hands up.

“Put the guns down, both of you,” Hazlett said. “Or she dies.”

Sam stared at Sveti’s eyes. It hurt, like staring at the sun. The intensity of her burned a hole in him. Light would blaze through it forever. He crouched and laid the gun down.

“Kick it away.” Hazlett’s voice quivered with excitement.

Sam did so. The gun twirled as it slid away on the mosaic tile. Hazlett reached out with his foot, nudging it toward himself.

“You too,” Hazlett said to Misha. “Put it down.”

“Do as he says,” Sam said.

Misha muttered something disgusted in Ukrainian and dropped his gun, but he kicked it out of Renato’s reach.

They were all frozen for a moment, as Sam stared into Hazlett’s glittering eyes. Wondering how long he could spin this out, playing this guy’s huge vanity. Hazlett was not going to kill them until he was done gloating, and this scumbag loved a good gloat.

Hazlett held up his phone. “I’m going to shoot you, as I am sure you know. But first, I’ll let you watch the show. Should have had Josef put the number on speed-dial. Who knew I’d have to dial it one-handed?”

He started punching in the number.



Sveti looked at Sam. The words came out, strangled but comprehensible, in spite of the gun barrel pressing her throat.

“I love you,” she said.

“Aw! How sweet,” Hazlett crooned. “That’s all that was missing. Now, scoot over so we can see the screen.” He shifted, pulling her.

Sveti jackknifed. Hazlett tumbled backward onto his ass as his center of gravity abruptly shifted, and dropped the phone. Sveti’s legs shot out, sending Sam’s Glock skittering toward him.

Sam lunged for it. Bam, bam, bam. The picture window shattered. Splinters and shards rained down, glinting in the thin morning light.

A cold breeze swirled in, and the huge murmur of the sea.

Sveti lurched to her feet, overbalanced, and fell to her knees again. She dove to the ground, rolled. Kicked the phone out of Hazlett’s scrabbling grasp, out the shattered window onto the veranda. It slid on the smooth terra cotta tiles and onto the rocky ground beyond. She barely noticed broken glass crackling beneath her body.

Hazlett bellowed with rage and charged after it, glass crunching beneath his shoes. She rolled to her feet and pelted after him, barefoot.

Bam. Bam. Sam shouted behind her, but she couldn’t hear him. She wanted that f*cking phone. Hazlett was ahead, trotting down the steps with frantic haste. She hurled herself off the veranda, hit the ground rolling up again. She got to the phone before he did. Kicked it off the path, onto the jagged rocks by the edge of the eighty-foot cliff. Bam, bam. Hazlett was shooting, but the shots went wild. He wasn’t pausing to take aim.

This time Hazlett got to the phone first. He dove for it, howling in triumph, but Sveti was possessed with white-hot avenging fury. She ran headlong, screaming like a bloody maenad. He glanced up from the keypad, eyes widening as she hurtled toward him.

She smacked into him head-on before he could lift the gun.

He tottered. His costly, gleaming shoes slid on the slippery rocks. They rolled, tumbled. She smashed her shoulder on a rock, and pitched into the open air. The world spun, whirled. Down, down, endlessly down. He was below her, mouth open, screaming, arms and legs wide and flailing as he fell. The phone fell, too. Turning, over and over.

She sliced deep into the churning foam. A slap of freezing cold, salt stinging. No up, no down, just an airless, milky, roaring blur of cold, pounding wet. Her legs pumped frantically, but without her arms, she had no control over how the churning maelstrom tossed her.

She fought her way up for a gulp of air, and a fresh wave pounded her down into the bubbling darkness again, legs pumping.

They started circling her. Mama was there. Sad, but proud. Tato, too. Sasha. The little girl clutching a toy bear, smiling shyly. A crowd of angels to lead her home.

Ow. Fresh pain blazed through her hyperextended shoulder, making her twist and writhe. A strong hand on her upper arm. Pulling.