style="font-size:15px;"> And now he would’ve been tempted to laugh if the situation wasn’t so serious. His hands rose, just enough to show that he’d heard her. Surely she’d know how easily someone with his training could disarm her. The only reason for him to even hesitate was to minimize the risk of her getting hurt. Not to mention that if they got into a physical altercation he’d probably have to report it, and that would hardly help her case when it came to proving her innocence in Seth’s crimes. “Rebecca, look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m not about to hurt you.”
What was she even holding? Definitely metal, but not sharp enough of an edge to be a knife. Cylindrical, but it didn’t feel like the barrel of a gun, either.
“I want to believe you.” Her body brushed up against his back. Her breath tickled his ear. The scent of her hair filled his lungs. “But you haven’t exactly been honest with me, Sergeant.”
“Okay, you’re right, I didn’t answer all of your questions earlier. I’m sorry, there are just some things I can’t tell you.” He spun around, grabbed both her wrists in one swift motion and held her hands above their heads. “Now, drop your weapon.”
Rebecca was pinned against his chest, so close that if he’d just leaned forward a couple of inches he could’ve kissed her nose. She’d donned a simple gray windbreaker since he’d seen her last. The hood was pulled up over her head and closed tight, leaving a few black wisps of hair framing her face. Rebecca buried her face deep inside his chest. Something clicked above him. He glanced up. There was a small, metal canister of high-potency bug spray in her hands. She fired, using his chest to shield her own face. Bug spray filled the air above them, burning his eyes and choking his throat. Her wrists slipped from his grasp. Then she bolted out of the camper, through the trees.
Wow. Somebody had apparently kept her skills since they’d last sparred. Not to mention adding a new skill or two. He’d never been sprayed like a bug before. He chased after her. His eyes watered. His vision blurred. “Rebecca, wait! I’m—” A fit of coughing stole the words from this throat.
Lord, help me figure out how to stop Rebecca and calm her down before someone gets hurt.
He ran after her. She didn’t even try to double back to her truck. Instead, she cut straight through the trees, as though she was trying to reach the main road. She was faster than he remembered. She’d always been lithe. But the years had added strength to her limbs.
“Rebecca! Stop!” Surely she had to know there was no point running. He was going to catch up with her. She burst out of the trees and started down the road. Then he heard a vehicle.
Oh no. No, no, no... Why is there another vehicle on this road?
“Help!” Her voice echoed through the trees. “Help! Stop!”
Tires screeched. Zack pushed his legs faster. But it was too late. A red moving van had reached the rock barrier and seemed to be turning around. Smiling stick-figure animals on the side advertised Woodland Home Movers.
“Rebecca! Wait!”
She reached the van. The back door opened. He couldn’t let her leap into a random van, no matter the cost.
He stopped chasing her, stood on the road and gasped a breath.
“Becs!” he shouted. “It’s me! Zack! Zack Biggs!”
She turned back. The hood slipped from her head. Hair fell loose around her face. “Zack? It’s actually you.”
“Yeah.” He risked taking a step toward her, as though she was a nervous animal he didn’t want to spook. Just please don’t get in that van. “My name is Zack Keats now. New name. New look. But yeah, it’s still me.”
“I thought... I mean, I kind of knew...” Her dark eyes opened wide like a camera lens struggling to bring a picture into focus. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Well, if you knew, why didn’t you just ask?” He reached his hand out toward her. “I’m sorry, forgive me. I had my reasons. Please don’t go with them.”
“Look, Zack, I—”
A scream stole the words from her lips as a burly, tattooed man reached out from the back door and yanked her backward into the van.
“Rebecca!” Zack pelted toward the van. For a second he could still see her legs kicking and prayed she’d break free. Then the van door slammed, trapping Rebecca inside.
A second heavily tattooed man leaned out of the driver’s window and fired a semiautomatic. Bullets flew past Zack’s head. Rebecca’s screams filled the air.
But neither shook Zack anywhere near as much as the two-headed black-and-red bird-of-prey tattoo on the driver’s bulging arm.
These men were members of Black Talon, a highly dangerous Eastern European organized crime syndicate.
And they’d just kidnapped Rebecca.
The hollow sound of the door slamming echoed in Rebecca’s ears. The van was picking up speed. The burly bearded thug who’d manhandled her into the vehicle pressed a gun to her temple. But it was the huge hand holding tight to her throat that filled her with such blinding pain that for a moment she couldn’t begin to find a way to fight back. He shoved her down into the cold empty back of the moving van and pinned her to the floor.
Help me, Lord. I need to escape this van before it gets to wherever they’re taking me.
She looked around. Inside the vehicle she could see two guns, two kidnappers, but nothing within her reach that she could grab as a weapon. Outside the vehicle was the muscular bulk and courage of the one guy she would’ve trusted with her life. Would he rescue her now?
She looked up at the man now holding her down. There was a crude, vaguely Eastern European tattoo on his neck, of two red-and-black eagles that almost seemed to be crawling out from under his shirt, and the word Ivan.
He yelled something to the driver, but it wasn’t in English. Then the van lurched forward. “Ivan” let go of her body but kept his weapon aimed at her face.
“You down! No move!” The order came from the driver. The same bird-of-prey tattoo was on his arm, this one with Dmitry.
Were those their first names? A family name? Or some other distinction?
Dmitry was trying to drive forward with one hand and shoot backward out the window at Zack with the other. He shouted something at Ivan in a language Rebecca couldn’t understand.
Ivan shouted back in heavily accented English. “She’s down! She’s not going to move!”
Oh, how little those men knew her.
The sound of a bullet cracked the air outside the van. Zack was returning fire. Then the back window shattered in a spray of class. She sprung to her hands and feet in a racing stance, prayer crossing her mind even as glass rained down around them. Ivan swore. The van swerved. Rebecca glanced back through the open gap in the shattered glass and saw Zack running after her, gun in hand.
