“No. You have it right in my face, that’s a CZ 75? I’ve only seen pictures of them.” I focused on his face again. “If you were going to use it, you’d have already shot me. You had the drop on me from the moment you walked up in the theater. But you didn’t—you threatened everyone else to get me to go with you. That means you need me. For something.”
His expression transformed from fury to consternation and back to fury again. “I could just kill you right here.”
I spread my hands. We were alone, in this tunnel, and far enough away Em and the others would be safe. “Then do it.”
Daring him was a gamble. A huge one. But one I was willing to bet on since I didn’t think he could afford to kill me. People like him didn’t threaten—they just did.
I gave it to a count of sixty in my head and then I “crossed my arms” and leaned back against the wall. The race of my pulse thundered in my ears. He’d just ceded some of the power in this interaction, gun or no gun.
“So, as I was saying earlier, you want something from me. Let’s hear it and see if I’m willing to deal or not.”
The longer I delayed him the sooner Bodhi would find me. I had no doubt that he would. Bodhi seemed more aware of me than I was of myself. He’d seen Vedriš taking me.
I really wanted this man caught, dropped in a hole, and bury him forever.
Vedriš took two steps forward until the gun was right in my face again. It took some discipline to maintain my bland expression. The closer he got the more obvious his trembling was.
“You’ve cost me a small fortune.”
“Hmm. Let me see, how do I feel about that?” I mused, canting my head and looking past him to the way we’d come. I couldn’t really see that far, the turns in the tunnel just made it a blind curve. Taking my attention off him was a risk, but he shifted a step then glanced back to see what had my attention.
I unzipped the side pocket of my purse.
“Hmm, not remotely troubled by that at all. In fact, I’m sorry I haven’t cost you everything. I do like to be thorough.” I pulled his eyes back to me.
“You’re not funny,” he snapped. His accent grew more pronounced with his agitation. The rather suave, bland Eastern European turned almost distinctly German for a moment.
Interesting.
“I never said I was.” I could brush the cool metal of my baton with my thumb. It would take a moment to pull out, so I’d have to choose that moment carefully. Raising my free hand, I snapped my fingers. “Can we get on with this? I have plans.”
“You took the children.”
“Yes, I did. Never going to apologize for it. Just because you’re a sick perverted creep who makes his income on peddling flesh and kids, doesn’t mean you’re owed anything but maybe a .50 cal to the groin.”
“You took the children. Three of them are already under contract. One is worth several million. I want her back.”
“Let me see, how do I put this?” Free hand up, I ticked off the words to engage his attention. “Too. Fucking. Bad.”
He shifted his grip ever so slightly and jerked the gun back like he was going to swing it at me. Yeah, that would hurt if he connected, but I closed my hand around the baton.
“You had no right to take her. To take any of them.”
“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong. I had every right. She’s my sister. I’ll die before I let you anywhere near her again.”
He barked out an unfriendly laugh. “You are going to die,” he said, scorn salting every word. “Americans always mess everything up. You shouldn’t have taken what belongs to me. Now call and have her brought here.”
“Nope.” He could shoot me. I hadn’t stuttered when I said I’d die before I let him have Andrea. Period.
He charged forward, waving that gun. Pointed at me.
Away.
At me.
Away.
At me.
Away—I yanked out the baton, snapped it to full length and struck his wrist with all the force I could muster. He let out a roar of pain, the gun went off. A bullet slammed into the stone, ricocheted and then hit the stone closer to both of us and sending out shards of dust and rock. It also sent the gun skittering down the tunnel.
Win.
He reared back with his fist, but I jabbed forward, driving the baton into the soft flesh below his arm. He grunted, grappling with it. But I had the leverage and I shifted my stance to use his weight and when he jerked, I rolled him around me and ran him into the wall.
The grunt he let out wasn’t pained enough for me. Swinging my baton, I slammed it against his lower back, right over a kidney. But he was faster than I expected, and his fist caught my cheekbone.
Pain exploded through my face and I staggered, slipping on the smooth stone. I was fighting for my balance when Vedriš dove to the side and grabbed his gun. I had nowhere to go.
A gunshot ripped through the tunnel. The loud report echoing against the stone and threatening to deafen me. Skidding onto my knee, I braced for more pain, but nothing happened. Lifting my chin, I stared at Vedriš who looked stunned himself.
A dark stain spread over his shoulder. The hand that had been holding the gun had already released it as his arm just hung there. The click of heels on the stone made me look.
Margareta Waldemar stepped out of the shadows, coming from ahead of us, like some kind of silver-crowned avenging angel. She held a gun with the kind of familiarity that served as a testament to her shooting Vedriš.
“Thank you,” I said, trying to catch my breath. The trembling in my hands told me the adrenaline rioting through my system was going to lead to a hell of a crash.
She didn’t say a word to me as she continued her approach. When she was next to me, she held out her free hand. I accepted it and let her help me to her feet.
