“No.”
“That was a dumb question.” Beef snorted derisively.
Neville looked irritated. “Why? All I asked was if they were police.”
“Well, for one, they could lie to you.”
“Uh-uh. Police have got to tell the truth.”
Beef cursed and juggled the skull in one hand. “Dude, I don’t know what planet you’re from, but my brother is a cop, and they can lie to everybody. Ain’t no law against lying for police.”
Neville shook his head. “That don’t seem right. I mean, a police guy has gotta tell you he’s a police guy.”
“And two,” Beef went on, “now they know we got a reason to worry about police up here.” He looked at Dylan. “We gotta kill ’em now, dude. They’ve seen our faces. Anybody finds out we’re growing pot up here, we’re gonna go to prison this time.”
Dylan didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he shrugged. “They already dug the hole, I guess. Kill the guy first.” The rifle shifted to center over Huangfu’s chest.
Unable to stand by while the man was killed, Annja surged up from the hole. Controlling the fear that vibrated within her, she stayed low, diving toward Dylan because she believed the other two would fire their weapons after he did. Catching Dylan around the waist in a flying tackle, she spilled to the ground with the young man in a tangle of arms and legs as the rifle went off.
Three other reports cracked almost simultaneously, all of them different timbers.
Rolling, Annja came up in a crouch, taking in the scene before her in disbelief. Beef collapsed only a few feet away, his face covered in blood. Huangfu, low to the ground and in motion, held a small black pistol in his fist. The weapon cracked, spitting fire twice more.
Neville staggered back, gazing down at his chest in astonishment. Two tiny flowers blossomed bloodred over his heart. “Very uncool, dude.” Then he dropped, sprawling across the ground.
Stunned, Annja didn’t notice Dylan’s kick until his foot was only inches from her face. By then it was too late to avoid the blow. She twisted her head in an effort to deflect the impact and succeeded, but the side of her face suddenly felt like it was on fire and her vision turned blurry for a moment.
Dylan was cursing and scrabbling for a pistol in the waistband of his pants when Huangfu took aim and fired again. Two bullets caught Dylan in the chest, staggering him but not knocking him down. He brought his pistol up in both hands and fired.
The bullet sheared a tree branch only inches from Huangfu’s head. The loud detonation filled the ridge for a moment, but it relented when Huangfu fired three times in a rapid string of explosions.
Huangfu pointed the pistol at Annja as Dylan’s knees buckled and he fell face first onto the ground.
Time slowed for Annja as she tried to assess what had happened. Huangfu had acted only to save them. Having the gun he’d obviously carried on his person might offer some legal challenges, but it wasn’t anything that a good lawyer couldn’t work out. If the young men had been worried about further criminal charges putting them in prison, that meant they had a criminal history of some sort. And there was no denying the weapons they’d brought. But Annja knew she was in grave danger.
She moved, trusting her instincts and not trying to reason through the improbable situation. Huangfu had killed the three young men and he was going to kill her, as well. She dodged behind the nearest tree. A bullet tore bark from the trunk and spewed splinters across her cheek.
She didn’t break stride, plunging deeper into the forest surrounding Volcanoville. The sun was setting to the west, steeping the forest in darkness. She headed in that direction, knowing the long shadows and the loss of depth perception against the fading brightness would make her a harder target.
More shots rang out behind her. Bullets cut through the trees, ricocheting from thick limbs and trunks, and cutting small branches free.
Taking brief respite in a hollow between two large fir trees dug in tight against the hillside, Annja realized she was still holding the items from the dig site. She shoved the belt plaque into the leather pouch, then tied the pouch to her belt. Metal clicked inside and she guessed that some of the contents were coins. The cold ate into her, but she knew the adrenaline and fear coiling through her increased her vulnerability to it.
The forest continued to darken and the shadows deepened.
Annja listened for footsteps but didn’t hear any. Either Huangfu wasn’t moving, or—
The man suddenly appeared out of the darkness with the pistol in his hand.
Annja made herself stay put and trust the shadows. Any movement would make her visible.
Huangfu stopped beside a tree. His breath puffed out in front of him. He lifted his left hand and Annja saw that he was holding a satellite phone. He pressed a number.
I’ll bet that’s not 911. A sinking sensation coiled through Annja’s stomach. She was a long way from help.
After finishing a short conversation in which he did all the talking, Huangfu put the phone away. “Miss Creed.” His call echoed in the forest.
Annja let her breath out, knowing she had to keep breathing in order to keep from hyperventilating. Her fight or flight instinct surged madly, but she kept it in check.
“Miss Creed, you should come out.” Huangfu started walking again. “There’s been a mistake. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Annja watched the man moving carefully through the forest. He took advantage of cover and stayed within the shadows. She thought he moved like a military special forces soldier. She hadn’t been around those men often in her life, but there had been occasion at some dig sites to talk to them. Many ex-soldiers had moved into security work.
“I panicked,” Huangfu said. Three more steps and he vanished into the trees.
Annja didn’t feel comforted by his disappearance. At least while she could still see him she knew where he was. She listened intently, but Huangfu was more silent than the wind blowing through the budding tree limbs and the fir trees.
Taking a moment, remembering the bodies of the three young men back at the dig site, Annja reached for her sword. She felt the grip against her palm, then pulled it from the otherwhere.
Annja had found the last piece of the sword while in France, but she hadn’t known what it was then. Roux, who claimed to be over five hundred years old, had spent those years tracking down the pieces of Joan of Arc’s sword. He’d stolen the last piece from Annja in France, but it hadn’t been until she had touched all the pieces that it once again became whole.
Roux claimed that the sword brought a legacy with it, unfinished business that Joan was supposed to have been given the chance to do. Annja didn’t know if she believed that, but she did know that her life had changed after the sword had come into her possession.
In the stillness of the night, she considered her options. People knew she and Huangfu had come out to Volcanoville—park rangers and a handful of Georgetown residents. But they might not think anything was amiss until morning.
