by Linda Ladd
Matty hesitated, thoughtfully chewing the inside of his cheek. For thirty seconds or more he lunched on it while the rest of them waited and watched. The little girl was still crying over the dog's carcass and occasionally pelting Dmitri with clumps of dirt. Dmitri was glad she was not the negotiator.
“How much dough you talkin'?” Matty was very suspicious.
These two-bit marijuana peddlers were uneducated hicks; it wouldn't take much to make them roll over. “Three hundred grand. I'll give you half, a hundred and fifty thousand to split up any way you want. She's up at your residence, isn't she?"
“Residence?” repeated the one who'd been crying a minute ago, obviously tenderhearted despite the swastikas decorating his arms. “What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
“You took her in, didn't you? Helped her, right? Believed her cock-and-bull story. But she's lying, playing you guys for fools. She's bad news. She kidnapped that baby. Haven't you heard the copters flying all over the place? The cops are after her, and she'll bring the law down on you. The feds'll bust up your business and get you for harboring a felon. You don't want that to happen, do you, because of her?"
Matty raised his gun to Dmitri's head. The other rednecks followed suit like a synchronized firing squad. “What'd you know about our bidness?"
“We saw the marijuana plants growing out here but we don't give a damn. All we want is the girl. Hand her over and we'll take her back to St. Louis. That'll get the authorities off your back and out of here for good. The kid's parents are filthy rich. You'll get your half of the money, I swear to God you will."
“Why should I trust fereigners like you, who ain't even real Americans?"
Dmitri decided to lie a little, fairly confident he could control the quartet of dumb-ass boys once he was out of the hole and armed again. “You can keep one of us as hostage until we bring back your share of the money, if you want. Make it an even trade."
Everyone waited silently as Matty considered the deal. Slowly considered the deal. Dmitri could almost visualize the cogs and wheels winding laboriously inside the big hick's head, rotating slowly, inching notch to notch, like the inside of a worn-out alarm clock a few minutes from dying.
“Matty, we can't just sell out Miss Kate,” said an overalled clone.
“That's a heap of money, ain't it, Matty?” said a second. “Enough even to move into town. In a real house and stuff?"
“Maybe we could all get us a truck, too, with that kind of money,” agreed waxed mustache.
The rednecks all looked at one another, obviously losing some sympathy for Kate Reed's plight. Greed was indeed an amazing incentive.
“In different colors like our towels so we know whose's whose, and what not,” said creases-in-the-face, becoming excited now.
Matty was listening, still thinking the hard thoughts.
“You willin’ to shake on it?” Matty demanded at length, eyes narrowed shrewdly as he examined Dmitri's face.
At first Dmitri didn't know what he meant, then realized the hayseed wanted to cement the deal on a handshake. Christ, the boy was even stupider than he looked. “You bet I will. A gentleman's agreement is the best kind, that's what I always say, right, Yuri?"
Yuri nodded slowly, following Dmitri's lead and smiling like old friends, but his eyes were watchful. Yuri had been around the block a few times, served with the Soviet army in Afghanistan; he knew how dangerous these kind of men were.
“All right, we'll haul you out and go get the girl. I don't cotton none to baby stealing, not even for Miss Kate who seems real nice, and all. But you ain't gonna hurt her none, not without dealin’ with me first."
Dmitri gave a warning glance to the others. If he could prevent it, he didn't want any bloodshed with the hillbillies. Yuri and the two cops would know that. He wasn't so sure about Misha. His nephew was still too unpredictable, rash and easily provoked. The hillbillies hadn't even patted them down for other weapons. It wouldn't take much to get the upper hand. Timing and persuasion would win the day, he thought, as a rope dropped down and dangled right in front of his eyes.
When Kate came out of the back bedroom still wearing Granny's sundress and her tennis shoes, Joey clean and changed, her knapsack was already packed for the drive into Van Buren. She had heard a commotion at the other end of the trailer as she fed Joey his morning bottle, lots of yelling, slamming doors and running feet. But the Joneses made a lot of noise no matter what they did.
The extreme quiet was unnerving, though, as she stood alone in the living room. Even the giant television was turned off. No one was in sight anywhere, not even Millie Mae. The living room door stood ajar and the wind was stirring up the tan draperies on the window beside it. She glanced at the gun rack. Some of the guns were missing. She wondered what had happened, where they'd gone in such a hurry. She hadn't heard anything except for dogs barking.
“Hello,” she called, standing in the open door and searching the yard. “Where is everyone?"
No answer. She stepped outside, holding Joey and looking to see if the truck was still parked at the end of the trailer. It was. Frowning, she tucked Joey into the sling, hoping he'd doze off for awhile. Something was wrong, she felt it with the new sixth sense she developed since she'd had murderers hunting her down. It was too quiet.
They'd had biscuits and bacon gravy for breakfast. Their plates were still on the picnic table. A plate full of biscuits was covered with a screened picnic dome to keep off flies. She lifted it, chose one and took a bite. She took two more biscuits and absently stuffed them into her dress pocket. When she realized what she'd done, she knew she was still struggling to survive, foraging food wherever she could get it. Thank God, this terrible ordeal would soon be over. Within the hour she'd be in Van Buren at Gus's office.
Joey was getting fussy, and she worried that the milk was upsetting his tummy. When he finally took his pacifier, she sat down in the metal chair and rocked him, listening for dogs barking in the woods. She didn't hear anything but the flock of blackbirds chattering high in the oak branches. Occasionally wind would whisper through the cornstalks and make them rustle like silk petticoats.
As she stared at the souped-up Dodge truck, she had an almost uncontrollable urge to run to it, get it and take off for town, now, before anyone came back. The impulse was strong enough to bring her to her feet, but she couldn't just steal their vehicle, not after all their kindness. Her uneasiness was growing faster than her gratitude, however, and she walked out to the truck, thinking she could try again to get hold of Gus on the cell phone.
Inside, the shiny black truck looked like a disaster area. The seats were filthy, torn in places with lots of empty Dr. Pepper and Budweiser cans and crumpled-up McDonald's Happy Meal cartons. The truck smelled strongly of marijuana and motor oil. The keys weren't in the ignition. She looked under the floor mat and found a hole through which she could see the gravel of the driveway. Behind the visor she found a Penthouse centerfold of a bosomy blonde but no keys. She dialed the phone again but the signal wasn't strong enough to get the call through. She clunked the door shut and stood gazing out through the cornfields. She looked down at Joey and brushed a curl of dark hair off his forehead. It was then she heard a cry and jerked her head up in time to see Millie Mae running up the cornrow as fast as her bare feet could carry her.
“Miss Kate, Miss Kate! You gotta make a run for it. Matty's gonna give you to those bad guys after you. They shot Ol’ Pete dead, and they're gonna turn you in for half of the money. You got to get away, they're comin’ now, right behind me! Hurry, quick, I know a place you can hide!"
Kate wasted no time asking questions. She took off after Millie Mae, who was running full speed toward the barn. Kate kept looking back toward the cornfield, saw no one but could hear the yapping dogs getting closer. Millie Mae pulled open the barn door, gesturing wildly for her to hurry.
“C'mon, Miss Kate, they ain't never gonna find you up here in Granny's root cellar. The boys won't think ‘bout it neith
er."
The little girl ran through the shadowy barn, past horse stalls converted into dog pens, and Kate followed her, anxiously clutching Joey. She could hear shouts now, could hear the men congregating around the trailer.
“Here ‘tis, through here,” Millie Mae said, pulling Kate into a small room at the back of the barn. It looked as if it was being used as a moonshine still, with dozens of whiskey bottles affixed with handprinted labels, the walls hung with farm tools and mowing implements. When Kate shut the door behind them, the windowless room plunged to near darkness. The child dropped to her knees and frantically brushed away the dirty straw littering the floor. A moment later she pulled up a trapdoor and quickly scrambled out of sight.
Kate peered down into the black hole until Millie Mae jerked the cord on a lightbulb suspended from the ceiling, illuminating a long, narrow root cellar lined with shelves of home-preserved fruits and vegetables in mason jars.
“Hurry now, Miss Kate, you don't have no time to waste. Don't worry, nobody's gonna know you're in here but me, I promise."
Kate hesitated, feeling as if she were walking into a trap, but she could hear the dogs’ excited barking and knew it was too late to run. Holding Joey tightly, she made her way down the slanted wooden steps.
“I'll take care of the dogs so they won't give you away,” Millie Mae told her urgently, “then after them bad guys go off again, I'll come back and get you out. Just don't make no sound, stay real quiet, okay?"
Kate nodded, watching the child scamper back up the ladder. The heavy trapdoor came down with a soft thud, followed by scraping sounds as Millie Mae scattered straw over the opening. Light footsteps creaked on the dusty floorboards above her head; then all was silent. Kate looked around, estimating the root cellar to be about six feet wide and twenty feet long. It felt like a grave, dark and cold and dank, and she shuddered violently, realizing that if her pursuers found her, she was utterly and completely at their mercy.
Fourteen
BY THE TIME they converged on the rednecks’ camouflaged trailer, Dmitri felt certain Kate Reed wouldn't be hanging around inside waiting for them to nab her. Her instincts were too damn good. Annoyed she'd given them the slip, Dmitri clamped his jaw as Yuri checked out the interior of the mobile home. His frustration aside, he did admire the woman's instincts for survival.
“She's gone,” Yuri said, appearing in the front door and waiting for further orders.
“Well, she cain't be far. We ain't been gone long enough,” offered the hick named Matty, scratching his head as if completely baffled by the lady's sudden disappearance.
“Then let's spread out and search for her,” Dmitri said, taking charge before Kate could get a good head start. “Matty, you guys check out the cornfields and the woods behind them. We'll cover the road leading out of here and the adjacent fields. If you find her, fire a shot in the air, then bring her back here."
Matty Jones nodded, and his little herd of hillbillies flocked off without a word, whistling to their mangy mutts now barking and whining around the barn. Dmitri's eyes sharpened when the little pigtailed girl exited the barn and secured the door behind her. She had something caught up in her T-shirt, dog food, he realized, as the animals pushed and leapt for the nuggets she was tossing.
Some distance down the cornrows, Matty gave a shrill whistle. The dogs bounded off obediently to do his bidding, but the child hung back and stared daggers at Dmitri. From thirty yards away, he could see the hatred on her face. She seemed determined to remain where she was, as if standing guard, only moving away from the barn door when Matty Jones yelled angrily at her. In that moment Dmitri felt positive Kate Reed was somewhere inside that barn. A sensation akin to euphoria flooded him. Fate was giving him a chance to approach her on his own, which was exactly what he'd hoped for.
He turned to Yuri. “You and Andre take the road out and see where it goes. Misha and Nikolai can search the pastures out to that grove of trees in the distance. Signal if you get her. I'll fire two shots to bring you back in. Nobody's to hurt her or endanger the baby, understand? I want her alive."
Nikolai didn't look pleased to be deprived of revenge over the yellow jackets, so Dmitri met his disgruntled gaze with a hard look until the other man broke eye contact and nodded.
“I'll check out the barn and stay here in case she doubles back. Get going, before she gets away again."
Dmitri watched his team move off, guns in hand as they spread out and beat the bushes for hiding places. If he was wrong about the barn and Kate had gone on the run again, odds were they'd flush her out sooner or later. When he glanced back at the barn, all his intuition told him she was there, and he'd learned a long time ago to trust his instincts. She was up there, he knew it, probably hidden away by the little girl. He grinned to himself as he climbed the rocky slope, savoring the moment when he'd finally have her under his control, to do with whatever he wished.
When he reached the barn door, he slid out his Beretta and held it up against his shoulder. Kate would not go down easily, and she might have a gun by now. Stockpiling lethal weapons seemed to be a pastime the hillbillies enjoyed. He pressed back against the wall and lifted off the bar, then nudged the barn door with his toe. He peered around the doorjamb and studied the shadowy interior, heavy with commingling odors of straw and dust, unwashed animals and dog manure. Nothing moved; the only sound was the insistent buzz of bluebottle flies.
Proceeding stealthily, determined not to underestimate Kate Reed again, he moved down through stalls nailed with chicken wire, slowly, carefully searching the gloom. But he suspected right away that the closed-off room at the rear of the barn was where he'd find her. A thrill rushed him. He wanted this woman, wanted to best her, to prove that he could, to get up close and personal with her.
Cautiously he eased open the door and found it a storage area for the hillbillies’ abundant supply of homemade booze. There was a lawnmower and a carpenter's bench with lots of rusty tools, but no hiding places big enough for a woman and baby. He hesitated, frowning, so sure that he was on the right track that he wasn't ready to give up yet. He wondered then if she might be up in the loft.
Dmitri stepped back outside the storage room and lifted his gaze to the vaulted part of the barn. The roof had been damaged at one time, burnt, it looked like, but partially rebuilt. Raw pieces of lumber striped the ceiling over the loft. Another portion of the roof was open to the weather. He could see the wind skittering white clouds across the azure sky. He took a step toward the loft ladder, then stopped in his tracks when he heard the weak wail of a baby.
Dmitri stood very still, triumph rising inside him. He had her now. The muffled crying wasn't filtering down from the loft. It was coming from the room he'd just searched and eliminated. He turned back, smiling now with sheer, joyful anticipation. Stepping lightly, he entered and stood listening until he isolated the sound as coming from beneath the floor. Of course, there would be some kind of cyclone cellar or storage hole. Most barns in Russia were similarly equipped to store autumn apples and potatoes.
Going down on one knee, he brushed straw away until he uncovered the hinge of a trapdoor. Keeping out of the line of fire, just in case Kate did have a weapon, he grasped the iron ring and slowly pulled the door up. Instantly the unhappy sounds of the baby floated clearly to his ears. The wooden steps disappeared into utter blackness. Dmitri squatted to one side, gun held ready.
“You might as well come out, Kate. You're trapped down there, you know. You're awfully good, but your luck just ran out."
Silence. She would never give up without a fight. He already knew that much about her.
“Come now, Kate, you don't want to get the baby hurt, do you? Give yourself up. You tried your best, but it's over now."
The baby was growing angrier by the minute, crying hard. Dmitri would have to go down and get her but he wouldn't have expected anything less. Like him, she wasn't the type to surrender with a whimper and a sob. She'd fight tooth and nail to the end. He liked
that about her. Liked lots of things about her. Only thing was, this was the end of the line for her, and she'd better accept it.
After a moment's hesitation, he decided that if she'd had a gun, she probably would have come out blasting the minute she'd heard his voice. Chances were she was totally unarmed. Helpless. Again, he felt that strange tingle of excitement, and he recognized it for what it was. It was lust, for her, to have her on her knees at his feet, utterly at his mercy.
“Okay, if that's the way you want to play it. I'll come down and get you."
Nevertheless he was more than alert when he started down, holding on to the steep steps and leading with his gun. It was too dark to see much, but he could tell by the loud cries that Kate had the baby somewhere at the deep end of the root cellar. He made it to the bottom, peering blindly into the pitch-black hole. He listened. The baby's cries drowned out everything else. He finally made out the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. He reached out for it with his left hand, keeping his gun trained in the darkness where the baby was screaming.
Before he could pull the cord, he felt a wave of air at his left and managed to duck just enough for the glass jar she'd thrown to glance off his shoulder instead of smashing against his head. She attacked him bodily then, hurtling out of the darkness and grabbing his gun arm. It was a valiant effort; she was strong for a woman, but she didn't have a chance against his superior strength. She fought like a wild animal but he handled her easily, jerking her around until her back was against his chest, his left arm clenched tightly around her neck. She struggled and kicked, her breathing loud and panting until he flexed his biceps and cut off her windpipe. She jerked and clawed at his arm but he brutally increased the pressure until she choked and gasped for air. She gave up then and stood completely rigid, locked in against his body, the fingers of both her hands clutching his forearm.
“Got you,” he breathed, his mouth pressed hard into her right ear. He licked her earlobe, and she struggled desperately until he cut off her air again. She quit fighting and he let her draw a breath. Her hair felt silky against his cheek, smelled of soap, clean and soft. He brought his right hand up, still holding the Beretta, and pressed his arm up against her heaving breasts. She fought the intimacy until he flexed his arm against her throat and brought her under control.
