the woman called out anxiously. “Security’ll be right with ya!”
“Sorry, but my daughter needs the bathroom,” Tam called back. “Urgently, or we’ll have an accident. I’ll be right back, OK? Gotta scoot!”
She ducked around the corner, circled a crowd of Japanese tourists being herded into the ticket line by a harrassed tour operator, and sprinted down the escalator to the ground transportation area. There were several people in line for the taxis, and no taxis to be seen. She could not wait in that line. They would be on her in minutes.
The shuttle to the other terminals and the long-term parking lot was in the far lane. She darted across the road and climbed aboard the short bus, slumping down in the seat to be less visible. A minute or so later, a tall guy in an army jacket with a battered knapsack, long tangled brown hair and a bushy beard climbed aboard. She’d seen him in the terminal, asleep in one of the chairs, legs sprawled, mouth hanging open. Shaded John Lennon glasses covered his eyes.
He slouched promptly down into his seat and fell asleep again. The reek of his patchouli and marijuana filled the shuttle. He must be going somewhere in Asia, to smoke massive quantities of weed and dream his days away in the Himalayas, or the sun-drenched beaches of Phuket. The lucky bastard.
“Is this bus leaving?” She couldn’t control the edge in her voice.
“Two minutes,” the guy said.
Two minutes were a goddamn eternity. The next passenger to board was a tall, burly guy with a square chin, and a thick neck, and a swollen, reddened face that screamed steroids. Late thirties. Long, layered blond hair. Big white teeth. Hulking shoulders. No suitcase, just a knapsack. He slumped into the seat opposite hers. His thick thigh muscles bulged, straining his tight jeans.
Tam’s neck crawled. She had no guns or knives. They were out of the question for anyone hoping to fly. She had nothing helpful on her except a topaz-studded sopor-spray barrette with a very small reservoir. A one-squirt deal. Maybe two squirts, if she was lucky.
Rachel was starting to tug at Tam’s coat and ask questions she could not focus on sufficiently to answer. Two more guys got on the shuttle, both suspiciously young, fit and unencumbered. One was a lanky black man with a hooded sweatshirt, a duffel bag over his shoulder. The other was a crewcut jock type in polar fleece with a backpack. Both of them had cold, hard faces. Neither looked at her.
That, in itself, was strange enough to warrant alarm, even at an airport at the crack of dawn. In the normal universe, any straight man who saw her looked at her and then looked again. It wasn’t vanity, just a simple fact of life. The fact that three men in a row had not done so was a very bad sign.
In the very second in which Tam decided that throwing herself on the mercy of airport security was preferable to the ominous possibilities of these strange men, the bus lurched abruptly out onto the road.
She leaped up. “Hold on. Wait! I’m getting off here!”
The driver accelerated and cleared the end of the terminal, easing the bus into the chute of an exit ramp. No escape.
“Too late,” he said, his voice faintly triumphant. “You can get off at the next terminal, or you can make the loop.”
Tam sank back down into her seat, jaw clenched, and fought with the urge to panic. She murmured something senseless but soothing to Rachel’s inquisitive babble, and she started rummaging in the diaper bag for her jewelry case. Her hands were cold, shaking.
She was an idiot for having put Rachel into this situation. For not finding a solution sooner, not doing the hard, necessary thing before it came to this. There were some possibilities in her purse, but she disliked the thought of spraying toxic substances in an enclosed area near Rachel. She identified each by touch, discarding one after the other as too risky. The barrette she currently wore was her best bet. It was a small dose, and just a soporific, not a poison or a corrosive, if Rachel should accidently take a hit.
She pulled it out of her hair, positioned it between her fingers.
Maybe she was being paranoid, she thought. These men might just be mercenaries off to Iraq or Afghanistan. Men like that tended to have that hard, suspicious vibe. They kept to themselves, traveled light.
Yeah, right. Her stomach churned. Rachel picked up on Tam’s unease, and went very quiet, clutching Tam’s collar with damp, clammy kitten claws.
Thick Neck slid across his seat, across the aisle, and into the seat behind them. He leaned on the back of their seat, grinning.
Adrenaline ramped up in her overloaded system. Her hand tightened on the barrette. Thick Neck fluttered blunt, bolt-knuckled red fingers at Rachel. “Hi there, cutie,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Tam gave him a big, sweet, sudden-death smile. Rachel dove for cover in her bosom. He watched appreciatively. “Nice,” he said.
“She doesn’t like strangers,” Tam said.
“She’ll like me when she gets used to me,” Thick Neck said.
The hell she will, shithead, she told him with her eyes. “Why don’t you just piss off?” she suggested sweetly.
The segue into doom had been so smooth, she wasn’t even surprised when the SIG with the silencer rose up, cleared the top of the seat, and pointed at the back of Rachel’s curly head.
The guy clicked his tongue. “Rude,” he whispered. “Now listen to me, bitch. Do exactly what I tell you. Move real slow, and don’t make a sound. I’ll let you just imagine what’ll happen if you don’t, because I don’t want to have to say it in front of the little cutie-pie. Got me?”
Tam’s eyes darted around the bus. The men who’d gotten in after Thick Neck watched what was happening with expressionless faces. Patchouli Pothead dozed blissfully on, head lolling, mouth slack.
“Listen good. Put the kid down real slow on the seat,” Thick Neck whispered. “Then stand up. Turn your back to me, and put both hands behind your back. Slow…slow. Barker, get over here with those cuffs. Wow, they didn’t tell me you were so hot. Look at those tits. We’re going to have to get to know each other, beautiful. Those tits are special.”
Tam put Rachel down on the seat, detaching tiny, clinging hands from her hair. “Listen, baby,” she whispered in Ukrainian. “These men are bad. Slide off the seat and onto the floor, and stay way down. Can you do that for Mamma?”
“Shut up, bitch. Speak English,” Thick Neck growled.
“Shut up, and speak English?” she murmured. “Neat trick.”
He scowled. “I said, shut up!”
Rachel stared up into Tam’s face, her dark eyes huge, and slid like a boneless little eel down into the dark well between the seats. Brilliant, smart, good girl, yes, yes, yes. Tam silently cheered. To hell with the stupid doctors who’d warned her that Rachel probably had brain damage. The kid was smart as a whip. She made Tam proud.
“What’s the kid doing?” Thick Neck whispered furiously. “I didn’t tell her to get on the ground! Get her back up onto the seat. Now. Hey!”
Patchouli Pothead exploded into movement with a shout. A silenced gun went off—thhtp. Tam took advantage of Thick Neck’s distraction, whipped her arm
