by Ruth Wind
“Right.” She took a breath. “Well, Superman, you ready to get the bad guy?”
“Don’t do anything stupid, all right? I don’t want to have to kick your ass when we’re finished here.”
She gave him a sideways smile. “No promises. If anybody bumps my ear, they’re dead.”
For a long moment, he looked down at her. “Ah, hell, Valenti, why’d you have to go and get under my skin, huh?” He looped his arm around her neck and kissed her, hard.
Suddenly, the idea of him getting hurt in there was not acceptable. “I’ll check on backup.”
He let her go. “Do it.”
Kim dialed the office and put the phone to her ear, stepping away to look around the building.
Suddenly, the side door opened. Kim simultaneously slammed the folding phone to its off position and dived behind the corner of the building, gesturing fiercely to Lex. She put her finger to her mouth.
Three of the younger men spilled out, their backs to Kim And Lex, talking quietly among themselves, as if it were just an ordinary day and they were going out to get some food for the transmission crew. She could only catch a word or two, their voices thinning as they walked away.
Maybe, she thought, there was no bomb. Maybe it was a headquarters of some sort, a rendezvous place.
Lex pushed around her and grabbed the door before it closed entirely.
She nodded. She eased in first, slipping behind the truck. The three men in the center of the warehouse were helping a young man, a boy, really, into a vest with bulging pockets.
She looked over her shoulder just as one of the young men who’d left stepped back in and charged at Lex.
Jumping out of sight, Kim looked around the immediate environment for a weapon. A heavy steel bar was propped against the wall and she grabbed it. She peeked around the truck in time to see the youth on the ground, unconscious or dead, and Lex dashing into the open, yelling at the top of his voice, gun trained on the startled terrorists. Lex knocked one down and away from the boy before he could move, his gun pointed at the sober-eyed Mansour, who raised his hands.
None of them saw Kim, coming from the other side as Ugly Face drew a gun. She was not at all unhappy to have to slam him with the bar across the shoulders. He fell hard and the gun skittered across the concrete floor. She knelt and grabbed it, just as Ugly started to clamber to his feet. With a sharp kick to the chest, she knocked him down.
He dived away from her, and remembering the struggle in the television station, Kim took no chances. She slammed the butt of the gun down on his head, and he collapsed, unconscious.
“Hands on your head!” she cried to the boy in the loaded flak jacket. Slowly, he obeyed, his eyes sullen and liquid. In Arabic, she added, “And, boy, don’t you move one muscle, do you hear me?”
His nostrils flared, but he stood there without moving.
And then backup arrived in force.
Ugly Face looked as if he had a concussion. Mansour would not meet her eyes.
She’d get to that in a minute.
First, with her eyes on the truck in front of her, she strode over to Lex. “Cell phone, please.”
He pulled it out, his own eyes on the mountains of explosives wired to the truck. He sighed as Kim punched in numbers. “Good God.”
Kim dialed the office and asked to be put through to the team leader. “Agent Rosen,” she said. “Better get some teams nationwide to check out all tire chops called Hafiz’s Tires. Pronto.” As she spoke, the third man in the trio was boring holes through her with dark, angry eyes. “Hafiz, I presume?” she said to him.
He spit on the ground at her feet. Kim smiled faintly. “You have no idea how glad I am to bring you down. And how pleased I am that you could not martyr yourself killing innocents.”
“There are no innocent Americans.” The comment came from Mansour, standing next to Hafiz with calm dignity, his large eyes liquid and fierce in a well-cut face. “All bear the guilt of murder in Berzhaan.”
“You know,” she said, tucking her hair away from her face, “I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Mansour. I can see it caused you terrible pain, and I’m sorry you had to endure it. I’ve lost someone, too, and sometimes his face keeps me up at night.” She frowned. “But can you tell me how you killing my sisters will bring yours back? How is it ever going to make anything better?”
Maybe she’d hoped for a flicker of repentance, or guilt, or sorrow. “Ask your country,” he said. “Ask them when they will stop funding rebels to kill our wives and daughters and sisters. When they stop, we will stop.”
Kim shook her head. She glanced at the third man, the stiff-faced man she’d struggled with at the television station. “And you—may you burn forever, wherever it is.”
He didn’t bother with a reply, and the police led the trio and the young boy away.
Lex said beside her, “Nice try. Now, let’s get to work.”
“What kind of bombs do we have today? Bomb caps? Time pencils? Plastic? What?”
He grinned. “C’mon, little girl, let me show you.” His eyebrow wiggled.
Chapter 21
Election Day
After a dinner of homemade raviolis and at least a quart of red wine, and rolls as fluffy as cotton candy, and bowls of buttered carrots and green beans, Kim sat on the couch in her mother’s living room and tried to keep from groaning.
On her right, Lex had no such qualms. He sprawled, all six foot four of him, limbs akimbo, across the couch, rubbing his belly every so often. “Mama Eileen, that was so good.” He reached out and snared her hand as she was about to pass, and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”
Kim gave him a look. “No,” she said to forestall the next question. “I will not marry you.”
“What if I cooked like your mama?”
“Not even then.”
On her left, Scott chuckled. He was very thin, and had not fully recovered his strength after being in the hospital for nearly three weeks, but he was on the mend. The doctors expected it would be at least a year before he was back to his former health, but Scott had vowed to make it six months. She believed he could do it.
A graphic came on the television they were all watching. “It appears we will not have to hold back our prediction of who will be the next president of the United States,” the anchor said. “After tallying votes in just six states, incumbent president cannot hope to surpass the electoral votes now amassed by opponent, Gabriel Monihan. The race goes to the new president of the United States of America, President Gabriel Monihan.”
Kim jumped up and did a little dance around the room. “Whoohoo! The bastard is gone!”
“Kim!” her mother said.
She laughed and kissed her sisters on the cheek. “Cut it out!” cried Jenni.
“You‘ve never heard that before, huh?”
Behind her, Lex whistled and clapped, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek, too. Then Scott, who looked disgruntled said, “We can’t have a president who is that young. It’s just not right.”
Kim grinned and kissed him, too. “You’ll just have to be the most handsome president ever, not the youngest.”
He winked.
“In other news,” the announcer said, “terrorists suspected of nefarious activities within the U.S. have been arraigned in Washington, D.C.”
Kim turned to see the photo of the elegant Mansour flash over the screen. Video of him in orange prison clothes, his hair too long, made her sad. “He had so much potential,” she said. “And how did he use it? Killing people, destroying the world instead of trying to make it better.”
Eileen jumped up, wary as always when the subject turned to terrorism and soldiers. “Anyone want coffee?”
“Let me help you,” Scott said, and hauled himself to his feet.
Behind Kim, Lex said quietly, “Come sit down, honey.”
The pain was finally starting to emerge, like a splinter working its way to the surface—for the past few weeks, Kim had been overflowing with grief f
or her brother, Jason. It was healthier than the bottled-up agony she’d felt before that, but it still wasn’t comfortable, and something about Mansour always made her think of her lost, beloved brother.
She sat down and rested in the circle of comfort Lex provided. “It gets easier,” he said. “I promise.”
“I know,” Kim returned and put her hand on his long and sexy thigh. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he said, and settled his hand in a comforting way over her once-torn ear. It was protective and sweet and she appreciated it.
“You’re all right, Lex Luthor,” Kim said.
“You, too, Wind Talker.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ruth Wind
A passionate hiker and traveler, there is nothing Ruth Wind likes better than setting off at dawn for a trip—anywhere! New people to meet, new sights to see. Her favorite places so far include the Tasman Sea off the coast of New Zealand, the aromatic and pungent streets of New York City, and the top of her beloved Pikes Peak. Between books, she’s currently planning trips to India, China, and a long rest in the damp and misty United Kingdom.
Explore her columns on rambling around France and Scotland, working the marathon to the top of Pikes Peak, and many topics about the writing life at www.ruthwind.com or www.barbarasamuel.com. She loves to hear from readers at [email protected]
