Bodyguard (39 page)

He squealed to a stop, pushed open the door, and she threw herself inside. He had the pedal to the floor before she even closed the door.

“Oh, God,” she was saying. “Oh, God. Oh, Harry. It’s Ivo!”

“I know.” He had to make a choice. Head for the local police station or the highway to the FBI office in Farthing. The local station was tiny—with never more than two officers on duty. There was no way they were equipped to hold their own against Ivo and two of his men. Or more. It was possible Ivo had more than two men with him. “Did you see how many shooters he had with him?”

“There were four other men.”

Four. Jesus. Okay, the highway. He had a head start. He knew these roads better than they did. He could make it to the Bureau office in Farthing in just under three hours.

“How did you know?” Allie asked. She had a very odd
look on her face. “I said, ‘It’s Ivo,’ and you said, ‘I know.’ How did you know?”

“Shit,” Harry said as a large black car appeared in his rearview mirror, moving far too fast to be just anyone. “Al, you didn’t happen to see the kind of car Ivo was driving, did you?”

She turned and looked out the back. “That one,” she said.

“Hold on.” Harry pushed his little car into higher gear, moving on the residential street as if they were already on the interstate. The subcompact had the definite advantage—he could pass other cars, even when facing oncoming traffic, just managing to squeak by. It wasn’t any fun for the people he was passing, but it put the two of them farther and farther ahead of Ivo’s black cruise ship on wheels.

Still, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out where they were heading. Of course, there was a 50 percent chance Ivo would think they’d headed toward Denver instead of east to Farthing.

They took the exit ramp onto the highway on two wheels, squeezing past a pickup truck already there, brushing against the guard rail.

Allie clung to the handgrips, her face pale.

Once on the highway, Harry opened it up. His car could move, putting them miles and miles ahead of Ivo. His souped-up engine guzzled gas, but it was well worth it in times like this. He could do ninety-five without even blinking and—

“Shit.”

Allie briefly closed her eyes as she shook her head. “I hate it when you say that. That never means anything good.”

“I had a full tank of gas this morning,” he told her. “But now my gauge shows nearly empty and the gas
light’s on. That bullet I took must’ve hit low in the tank. We’ve been leaking gas for the past ten miles.”

And they were continuing to leak, way too fast.

He looked around. They were in the middle of nowhere. Moving farther into the foothills of the Rocky fucking Mountains, God help them. The next exit east of Hardy was at least another fourteen miles away. He wasn’t going to make fourteen miles, not going ninety-five the way he was. And he wasn’t going to make fourteen miles going anything less than ninety-five—not if he wanted to keep Ivo’s bullets out of his and Allie’s heads.

“So where’s the backup?” Allie asked, her voice tight. “Isn’t this where backup is supposed to come and save the day?”

“I wish. I’m afraid we’re on our own.”

“There’s no backup?” She was furious. Totally pissed. He didn’t blame her.

“No. We’re going to have to lose ’em in the—”

“You’re telling me you set me up again, you son of a bitch, and you didn’t arrange for backup?”

Jesus, did she think …? “Allie, I swear, I had nothing to do with—”

“And I’m supposed to just believe you? You’re not behind it this time—even though it’s exactly the same thing that happened before?”

The gas alarm went off, a series of much too pleasant tones considering the direness of their situation. Whatever they were going to do, however they were going to handle this, they had to do it now.

“Okay, Allie,” Harry said. “We’re going off-road. I need you to hold that thought and hold on tight.”

“God, I hate you! I can’t believe I trusted you!”

There was a particularly large hill, a baby Rocky Mountain, coming up on the left. Harry approached it still going ninety-five, searching for a split in the highway,
one of those places where state troopers turned around. He saw one, but he didn’t slow soon enough and left a healthy trail of rubber on the road. He threw the car into reverse and backed up, the engine whining. There wasn’t any traffic on the other side of the highway—even if there were, he would’ve kicked his car out into it. Any minute now Ivo’s black boat could appear over the rise, and then they’d be dead.

He crossed both lanes, heading off the shoulder of the road, skidding down a soft patch of grass, and taking the car as far into the woods as he possibly could.

If they were really, really lucky, Ivo and his shooters would head toward Denver and wouldn’t stop until they got there.

If they were only mostly lucky, Ivo and his goons would head east, but just zip on past them. They’d be halfway to Farthing before they realized they weren’t catching up to Harry because Harry wasn’t in front of them anymore.

But Harry had to bank on the worst-case scenario—that Ivo would somehow figure out they’d pulled a U-turn and would see the tracks leading into the woods and find the car. He and Allie had to start up the mountain, moving as far away from the car as they possibly could.

He got out and opened his trunk, jamming a supply of ammunition into the pockets of his jacket, grabbing his binoculars and a fanny pack he kept loaded with energy bars and caffeine gum.

“There’s a map in the glove compartment. Take it,” he ordered Allie. Allie, who hated him. He didn’t blame her. Right now he hated himself. He should have known. As soon as he’d seen that letter from those lawyers, read the words “petition the court,” he should have realized
anyone—including Michael Trotta—could now find his kids, thus finding him, thus finding Allie.

There were two extra sweaters in his trunk. He threw one to Allie and tied the other around his waist. It got cold out here at night, and it was conceivable that they’d still be here come sundown. Provided they weren’t dead.

Allie silently put the sweater on. Grimly held out the map for him to put in his pocket. Silently, grimly hated him.

“I didn’t set you up.”

Her expression didn’t change.

This may have been his fault, but it was going to be a job to convince her that he hadn’t set her up. And right now he needed to focus on another job—keeping them alive.

He checked his gun. “Let’s go.” He headed up the mountain, holding out his hand to help her along.

She didn’t take it.

He hadn’t really thought she would.

T
REE BRANCHES SWATTED
Allie in the face as she tried to keep up with Harry.

He was effortlessly heading up the side of the steep hill, as if mountain climbing were something he did everyday. As if setting up his lover were something he did everyday.

She couldn’t believe she was back at the beginning, stripped of the life she’d been trying to rebuild for herself, once again running for her life.

She couldn’t believe she’d been stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.

He paused at the top of a rise, waiting for her to catch up, training his binoculars down on the highway below.

“At this point, I’m guessing they headed toward Denver first,” he told her as she drew near. “My gut feeling is that they’ll turn around after about fifteen miles, after they don’t catch up with us. Ivo doesn’t know my car has warp engines—well, at least it does with an intact gas tank.”

He was talking as if nothing had changed between them. As if they were friends out for a day hike in the woods. As if she weren’t a fraction of a second from going postal, slapping him hard across the face, pushing him down the mountain, and bursting into tears.

“He’ll be thinking it’s a subcompact piece of shit,” Harry told her. “That we probably can’t do more than sixty without shaking apart. So he’ll turn around and head toward Farthing. I just want to watch him go past, and then we can hike back down to Hardy.”

“And then what?” she asked, unable to keep her voice from shaking.

He looked up from his binoculars to glance at her. “I know you’re not going to like this, but I think we’ll need to get you back into protective custody. At least for a little while—”

“No. I’ll take that money now,” she told him. “That money you wanted to give me? I’ll just take it and disappear.” She could do it now. She knew how to do it.

He looked up at her again. “Allie, if they found you once—”

“They found you Harry. Although I’m sure they had help doing that, didn’t they?”

“Not from me—hang on, here they come.” Harry brought the binoculars back up to his face.

Allie could see the black car approaching, the only traffic on the road in either direction. It was moving fast in the right-hand lane, and it sailed past.

Thank God. She and Harry were safe, at least for now. Allie slumped down onto the rotting trunk of a fallen tree.

“Shit.”

Allie closed her eyes. “No,” she said. “Don’t say that.”

“They’re stopping,” Harry told her. “And, damn, they’re backing up.”

She stood up. They were. They were backing up to the place in the road where she and Harry had turned around. “How did they know?”

“The tire tracks.” Harry’s voice was tight. When he’d hit the brakes to turn around, he’d left streaks of fresh
rubber on the road, gleaming like signal beacons. “They’re like freaking arrows, pointing this way.” He secured the binoculars.

“They might not see the car.”

“And aliens might erase their memories with their stun guns.” Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her with him up the hill. “Come on, we’ve got to move!”

“Goddamn it! Goddamn it!”

Kim let herself into the apartment warily, but George was alone. He was in the living room, shouting into the telephone.

“I don’t give a damn if Nicole’s in an important meeting—it wouldn’t matter if she were having a private conference with God. Interrupt her. Page her. Get her on this phone now!”

He paced back and forth in front of the windows, using only one crutch but limping heavily. He didn’t see her, didn’t know she was there.

He was far too upset. He wanted to speak to Nicole.

“No, she may not call me back. If you hang up this phone or put me on hold, I’m going to come down there. And believe me, friend, you don’t want me to come down there.”

He was silent then, either listening to someone on the other end of the phone or waiting.

Kim waited, too. She stood glued in place by a sick desire to hear just what it was George needed so badly to say to his ex-wife.

As she watched, George’s shoulders tightened, and he seemed to grip the telephone more tightly. “You bitch,” he said, his voice harshly unfamiliar in its intensity. “You told me everything was taken care of on the Colorado end. You promised me—you swore this wouldn’t go wrong again—but Harry just called me. Nothing’s set
up. There was a completely halfhearted, half-assed attempt to get in touch with him that failed, and now he’s on his own.”

His words were so different than what Kim had expected to hear, it took her several moments before they made any sense.

“What were you thinking?” he spat. “Was the plan to just let Alessandra Lamont die? Did you think you’d gain more notoriety from this case if the charge was murder one instead of just conspiracy to commit? God, I am so over you! I know you were willing to sacrifice our relationship for your career, but I had no clue you’d be willing to just let someone die—Jesus, not just one person but two. Because you know as well as I do that Harry’s with her. And he’s not going to run to safety when the bullets start flying.”

He paused, listening only briefly before he interrupted. “Bullshit. I know why I’m not out there, but why aren’t you? How could you do this?” His voice broke and he paused. “You didn’t know. That’s not good enough, Nic. This was your case. You’re supposed to know.” Another pause. “If I find out you knew about this—and I will find out—you’re history, babe. Listen closely, because I’m not going to say this twice. If you were part of this, you better just pack up your office right now. Transfer out while you still can. And go very, very far away. Because I won’t want to see your face ever again.”

He pushed the button to cut the connection, then turned and threw the telephone across the room.

It hit the wall mere feet from where Kim was standing.

The look on his face was terrible. She’d never seen him so upset. He didn’t apologize for throwing the phone. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, breathing hard and staring at her.

Kim didn’t know what to say. She was afraid to speak,
afraid she’d somehow reveal that she knew far too much about this case, about poor, doomed Alessandra Lamont.

“I think I might’ve helped kill my partner,” he told her. “And Alessandra, too …” He laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “Nice way for me to pay her back, huh? She saves my life, and I make absolutely certain that she’ll die.”

He turned away, and Kim stepped toward him. She knew it wasn’t the right time, but she had to know. “George … You told her that you were … over her?”