Darkness(47)

Ivanov had looked in the closet, she was sure. It was unlikely that he would look in it again.

But he might. Or someone else might.

On the other hand, if she left the closet she could run right into them. She had no idea where they were. Ivanov, Heavy Tread, third guy—they could be anywhere. In this building. Just outside. Somewhere they could see her if she emerged from her hiding place.

For all she knew, there might be more than just the three of them.

To make a run for it, she would have to go back the way she had come: through the common room, the kitchen, the mudroom, across the meadow, up the mountain. Any other route would take her through the complex, and that was too dangerous even to contemplate.

She could take the phone, call for help. Call whom? The Coast Guard? The sponsors? 911?

A question to be answered later, she decided. The point was, she could call somebody and know that help was on the way.

Heavy Tread had spoken of the fuel tanks being too close to the buildings in the context of burning the bodies—what if he meant to cause an explosion, or in some other way set the buildings on fire now?

The mere thought that she could be trapped in a fire made Gina go woozy. Gritting her teeth, clenching her fists, she fought to banish the disturbing images.

You can’t lose it now.

The men could come back into the common room at any time.

Her chance to run would be lost.

So—go?

Go.

Moving as silently as she could, Gina picked her way to the closet door. For a moment she crouched there, listening, surveying as much of the room as she could see.



THE ROOM was empty.

Darting out of the closet, she snatched up the telltale apple and turned to grab the phone.

It was gone.

A lightning survey of the shelves confirmed it: the phone was missing. They’d taken it.

No time to waste worrying about it.

Go, go, go.

With every sense she possessed on red alert, being as quiet as she could possibly be, she dashed for the kitchen, then paused on the threshold to listen for any sound that might indicate someone was in there. Nothing.

Didn’t mean somebody wasn’t standing there silently.

Heart pounding so hard she could hardly hear over it, she peeked in, saw no one, and flew across the room, thrusting the apple down on top of the trash in the trash can on the way, not wanting to just drop it in case it made a telltale sound. At the entrance to the mudroom she paused again.

She listened, heard nothing. Looked, saw nothing.

Bolted for the door.

The mudroom was relatively small. Two big washing machines against the short wall at the kitchen end, two industrial-size dryers against the short wall at the opposite end with the outside door opening between them. Shelves with laundry supplies and the table with the laundry baskets taking up one long wall. The cubbies along the other. The door to the outside was solid. No window, no way to see through it.

Anybody could be out there, Gina thought as she reached it. Heart pounding, she hesitated, trying to listen, to hear anything that might be on the other side of it even as her hand wrapped around the knob. Nothing, not even the generator, not even the wind or sea. The walls and door were apparently thick enough to block external sounds. The rest of her senses were acutely attuned to the building behind her. For all she knew, someone might still be inside.

A slight creak from what she thought was the kitchen electrified her. Was someone there?

She was so frightened that she could feel her knees shaking.

The sound wasn’t repeated. But—maybe whoever was in there was being very quiet as they listened, too? Listened to her.

There was no help for it: she would have to pull the door open, scan the yard, and then run like a rabbit across the flat meadow until she reached the hills.

Thank God for the fog: it would provide concealment.

She hoped there was still fog.

Praying no one was outside, she was just tightening her grip on the knob when it turned under her hand and the door was thrust forcefully inward.

With a cry Gina went stumbling backward. Off balance, trying to keep herself from falling, she stared in wide-eyed horror at the opening door.

Her heart almost stopped as Ivanov stepped into the room.





Chapter Seventeen





Gina heard a distant roar through the rush of cold air that burst into the room with Ivanov. Someone had started up the tractor, she realized, identifying the sound using the part of her mind that wasn’t transfixed by fear. The tractor was what the team had termed the big trucklike vehicle with the tank treads that was used for heavy hauling or other chores around camp.

Ivanov stopped abruptly just inside the doorway as he spotted her.

“Hel-lo,” he said with a note of recognition as she barely saved herself from falling by grabbing on to the edge of a washing machine. There was satisfaction in his tone and in his face as his eyes ran over her. Gina barely noticed. Her attention was entirely focused on his gun.

Closing the door behind him, Ivanov raised the compact black pistol, aiming it at her almost casually.

Gina’s throat closed up. She couldn’t have said a word if she’d wanted to. Hideous visions of what bullets had done to Mary and Jorge sent icy spicules of fear racing through her bloodstream.

“You were hiding, yes?” he asked in a conversational tone.

Her heart and her pulse and her adrenal system all blasted into full freak-out mode at the same time.