Part 29 (2/2)

Mouchamps, France Next day, November 24 Ca.s.sady woke groggy, her jaw still aching from Rozsa's blows.

Thank G.o.d she'd had her fill of water in the shower, because he hadn't been back with food or water since. The malnutrition and dehydration she'd endured were beginning to affect her ability to think clearly, which worried her. Her dreams the night before had been so vivid she could scarcely separate them from reality. She remembered noises and seeing Rozsa down here, telling her to face the wall away from the door...the same wall she was staring at now.

She rolled over.

It hadn't been a dream.

A few feet away, out of reach, lay the body of a young man, dressed in a blue policeman's uniform.

Ca.s.sady tried to shake off her mental fog as she crawled as close as possible to the man. She was no stranger to corpses in her line of work, so she was able to somewhat detach her emotions as she studied the body, but this new development sent a new thrill of fear through her.

As far as she knew, Rozsa always had others do his dirty work, but this proved he was capable of cold-blooded murder, though he was on the run and being sought by numerous law-enforcement ent.i.ties. It didn't bode well for what he might do to her if she tried to escape again. And certainly killing a policeman would bring * 225 *

additional and immediate heat on him, so he might do something desperate.

Was the cop here looking for her? Did the EOO know she was alive?

The possibility gave her hope, but she felt partially responsible for the officer's death. No doubt he'd been the man she'd heard knocking on the door last night, the unfamiliar second set of footsteps walking around the kitchen above her head. Her screams had likely sealed the man's fate and made Rozsa take such drastic measures.

She peered at the sleeve patch on the man's uniform. Police Nationale, it read, and beneath that, the blue, white, and red colors of the French flag. So she was in France. Knowing even that tidbit made her feel better. The US had good relations with France, so if the EOO did know she was alive, they'd be able to get local authorities'

a.s.sistance in searching for her.

Ca.s.sady stiffened when she heard Rozsa descend the stairs.

She quickly crawled back to her usual place against the wall, putting distance between her and the body.

The sound of the bolt being thrown echoed through the bas.e.m.e.nt. Rozsa came in with a grim expression and glanced from her to the body. ”See what you made me do,” he said. ”His death is on your hands. I should kill you now and be done, all the trouble you have caused me.”

”I'm sorry for trying to escape. I won't do it again.”

”Lie face-down, with your hands behind you.” When she hesitated, he said, ”Now, if you want to live another day.” She did as she was told and, a moment later, the weight of his body crushed her, his knees immobilizing her arms. Too weak to fight back and throw him off, she felt the sting of a needle pierce her neck, and all went black.

New York The limo Dario sent took Heather over the George Was.h.i.+ngton Bridge to New Jersey and followed the signs to Teeterboro Airport.

* 226 *

When it pulled up to a gate away from the terminal, the driver showed the security guard at the manned booth some credentials and was waved through.

Heather's heart was pumping wildly. Landis and Jack had been right in guessing Dario was flying on a private plane. They pa.s.sed several hangars, some empty and the others housing a variety of aircraft, from tiny, single-engine prop planes to large corporate and charter jets that could hold twenty or thirty pa.s.sengers. Most of the buildings had corporate names or logos painted on the front or sides, but the one they stopped beside had only an identification number.

The wide bay doors were closed.

The driver got out, took her suitcase out of the back, and opened the door for her. ”Come with me, please, miss.” Heather took a deep breath and, on unsteady legs, followed him toward the hangar. What the h.e.l.l have I gotten myself into? She clutched her purse tighter. Her hands shook badly, and she didn't want Dario to know how nervous and afraid she was.

The driver pressed a b.u.t.ton beside the enormous doors of the hangar, and they parted to reveal a sleek white jet with black call letters on the tail. From the number of windows, it looked like it could seat fifteen or twenty people, but once inside she saw it had been customized to hold only eight, in two rows of large, comfy recliner chairs. The aisle between them was wider than normal, and the rear of the jet was mostly hidden behind faux-wood part.i.tions.

Aside from the steward-who took her coat and greeted her with, ”Welcome, Miss Snyder. My name is Howard. Please make yourself comfortable”-five other men were on board. It wasn't difficult to discern which was Dario.

Four look-alike goons with the build of football players occupied the second row, while a much more diminutive man, probably in his late thirties, had the front row to himself. He was watching her expectantly.

Dario was probably about her height-five six, or seven- and his expensive suit couldn't hide the fact he was unevenly proportioned. His upper arms and chest were well developed and stretched his crisp white s.h.i.+rt and blazer to their limits, while his * 227 *

legs looked bony thin in the matching loose trousers. Jack was right; Dario was dependent on the wheelchair she spotted stashed beside the forward galley. That explained the disparity in his physique.

He looked like an average Joe, neither handsome nor homely.

Unremarkable, he would be hard to describe to the cops, except for two distinguis.h.i.+ng features-his short, vivid red hair and his pale-blue eyes-the color of ice. He smiled at her, displaying perfect teeth. ”Welcome, Heather. I'm Dario.”

”h.e.l.lo, Dario.”

”The result of a childhood diving accident,” he said, to satisfy her apparently visible curiosity. ”I know I'm probably not what you expected. I hope you're not disappointed.”

”I had no expectations about you,” she replied noncommittally.

Heather knew she had to be pleasant to the guy, but his cold stare made her feel naked and exposed.

”Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said. When she hesitated, glancing from the seat beside him to the pair across the aisle, he added, ”Wherever you like.”

Taking him at his word, she chose the window seat across the aisle and buckled in. The bodyguard/steward delivered a coffee to Dario and turned in her direction. ”May I get you a beverage, Miss Snyder?”

”Orange juice, please.”

He returned with a crystal flute of fresh-squeezed OJ and set it on the tray table beside her.

”Thank you again for agreeing to come with me,” Dario said.

”You made it impossible to refuse. Speaking of cash...” Dario bent down and removed an envelope from his briefcase.

”I can see how your reward is tempting,” he said, and tossed it to her. ”But I'd like to think you enjoy my company.”

”You know why I'm doing this.”

”Your reasons don't matter. I just hope they won't prevent you from enjoying yourself while you're there.”

”I suppose that will depend on what I'm asked to do.” The pilot announced over the intercom that they'd be departing soon and told everyone to buckle up. A small vehicle came into view * 228 *

outside Heather's window and towed the plane out of the hangar. A few minutes later, they were in the air.

She'd give anything to be sure Dario was being truthful about their destination. Given all she now knew about him, it was conceivable he'd lied about everything just to get her to agree to all of this. What if Landis and Jack went to China and this plane ended up on some other continent? She'd have no way of knowing until they landed.

Not long into the flight, the bodyguard/steward returned with menus. ”These are the available selections during the flight,” he said.

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