do for her chances. But if an opportunity presented itself, she planned to be ready.
“Don’t move!” Frank James shouted. Coward that he was, he moved behind Mindy, and put one hand against the side of her head while he pressed the barrel into her temple with the other.
Deke hadn’t taken his eyes off James since the instant he’d cocked his gun. His expression was a mask of fear and nausea. He believed Frank James would shoot her.
The realization of how afraid Deke was sent panic fluttering into her throat.
Right now they were in a standoff. Deke couldn’t rush James without fear that he’d pull the trigger. James couldn’t easily lower his gun without the fear that Deke might jump him. And she couldn’t do anything.
Or could she?
Her hands were free, and James didn’t know that. Considering his position, if she interlaced her fingers to form a double fist, she might be able to slam him in the groin and get away.
Okay, maybe not get away—not constrained by her bulk as she was. But at least she could give Deke a chance to jump him while he was doubled over with pain. Maybe Deke could even grab his gun.
Of course she could also get herself shot in the head. But at least she’d be shot trying to do something. Frank James didn’t sound like the most stable kidnapper on the planet. He could accidentally pull the trigger at any second.
Here goes. She looked up at Deke and slowly winked at him. His brows drew down slightly. He gave her another of his World Series-caliber head shakes.
But she couldn’t obey him. She had to try something. With excruciating slowness she pushed her fingers together, moving her shoulders as little as possible.
She moaned loud enough for James to hear her as she drew up carefully, until every muscle and tendon in her arms and shoulders were tense and poised, preparing for one ultimate purpose—driving her fists into Frank James’s groin.
“Shut up,” he snapped.
“But I’m hurting.” She made her voice small and hesitant. “I need to move my legs. Please?”
James made a growling sound in his throat, but he eased off the pressure of the barrel at her temple.
Mindy shifted position, using the movement to brace her feet on the floor. Then she took a long, slow breath, and sighed, as if in relief.
Deke’s body tensed expectantly. At that instant, she rammed her fists backward, putting all her weight and all her determination behind the blow.
She connected.
James squealed and dropped his gun.
Deke dove forward.
Mindy froze, staying as still as possible. She felt Deke’s hands sliding under her arms. He lifted her up off the crate and out of the way.
But by the time he’d turned back to James, the man had retrieved the short baton from his belt. He flicked his wrist and it telescoped.
Deke stopped in midlunge and backpedaled. He held up his hands, palms out, and glanced back her way.
James flicked his thumb and a faint crackling hum filled the air.
Mindy stiffened. What was that thing?
Then he lunged, as if with a fencing sword, right for Deke’s solar plexus. Deke tried to pull back, but she was too close behind him, so he took the full brunt of the attack. His spine arched sharply and he growled between clenched teeth. Then he flopped to the ground like a discarded rag doll.
“Deke!” Mindy screamed, as he collapsed to the dirt floor of the basement. “What did you do to him?”
“Shut up, honey, or I’ll give you a dose of the same.”
She cradled her belly and glared at Frank James, or whatever the heck his name was. She was so damn helpless.
I love you, Sprout, but you’re crippling me.
Deke heard Mindy’s scream, but he couldn’t make sense of what she’d said. He had to get to her.
Cold dirt scraped against his cheek.
What the hell was the ground doing there?
He tried to lift a hand, but his hand wasn’t paying attention to his brain. Nor were his feet. Even his eyelids seemed stuck open.
He saw a movement in front of his eyes. Something glittery—silver? James’s damn cowboy boots. Fake and all show, just like the lowlife who was wearing them.
Kick me again, bastard, and I’ll make you regret it. At least that was what he wanted to say, but his mouth wasn’t cooperating, either.
From somewhere he smelled the aroma of tangerines, mingled with dirt, mildew and the faint odor of burnt hair.
Then, more static filled his ears, his muscles spasmed in unbelievable pain and lightning struck his head.
WHEN HE GOT BACK TO HIS ROOM it was almost midnight. The strategy meeting Irina had called had lasted a lot longer than planned, mostly because they couldn’t agree on a course of action.
He’d tried to sound helpful but neutral. Trouble was, everybody else was doing the same thing. Ultimately the only decision that was agreed upon was that Irina would not leave Castle Ranch until the threat from Novus Ordo was over.
He could see in the other guys’ eyes that they were as skeptical as he was that she’d be able to stay put that long.
He bolted his door and put the chain on, made sure the blinds were closed, then went into the bathroom and dug in his shaving kit for the miniature cell phone.
Sure enough—a missed call. Reluctantly, he pressed the callback button, wishing he had good news to report.
THE INSIDE OF DEKE’S EYELIDS screamed with pain.
It was that damn sand. It got into everything. Slowly, he opened his eyes to a narrow slit. The tent was dark, so he had a few hours before Novus’s man came to torture him again.
He came every day. Every damn day. With that laugh. That gun.
That sound.
An icy shudder of helpless terror crawled up his spine as he relived those awful few seconds. They never varied.
First, the pressure of cold steel against his temple. Then the split second of screaming panic and soulwrenching sorrow before the hammer clicked against the empty chamber.
The sound triggered a cold sweat of relief, and the casually
