Peter took her by the shoulders, moved her back until he could look directly into her face. His brows went up in almost comical question. Okay, so her hope seemed unlikely.
Blinding light, a deafening clap of thunder . . . screams . . . the acrid smell of ozone. Karim was up and running through the door, waving one of the guards with him, moving down the hallway toward the rear of the house. Peter opened an arm, Nadya slipped inside, the three of them clinging together in the center of the bed. Mandy was startled to realize the words tumbling from Nadya’s lips seemed to be a Russian version of The Lord’s Prayer.
Karim returned, passing the open door, continuing on toward the front of the house. The guard resumed his place at their door. Nadya broke off her prayer. “Girls in living room,” she shouted to Mandy. “Karim must see they all right.”
Mandy could picture the scene. Although she suspected some of the screams she had heard had been her own and Nadya’s, there had been enough coming from the front of the house to top the roar of the storm. Who was with the girls? Mandy wondered. The man called Misha, whom she had heard about but never seen? Perhaps another guard? Or was Misha enough to intimidate the women all by himself? From what Mandy had heard on Nadya’s tape, he probably was.
When Karim walked back into the room, the person he made contact with was Peter. Mandy knew she shouldn’t be surprised. They were exchanging one of those man-to-man looks that have nothing to do with the line that divides friend from foe. They were the male of the species, protecting their women, surviving a mutual threat.
“Kitchen,” Karim shouted, pantomiming the fall of a tree. “Half gone.”
“The women?” Peter mouthed, pointing toward the living room.
Karim made a face. His fingers trailed down his cheeks, indicating tears. His arms churned the air in mock hysteria. Men! Mandy grimaced. Now they were allies, the two of them, laughing at female foibles.
“Good thing you’re leaving,” Peter shouted.
Karim shrugged, held out his hand to Nadya. The odd pair of lovers resumed their close embrace, Nadya sitting on the desktop, Karim standing beside her.
The storm seemed to last forever, but a stern application of logic told Mandy that only about ten more minutes passed before she noticed a change in the storm’s rage. Gradually, the sharp cracks of simultaneous lightning and thunder receded. The continuous white fire diminished to individual flashes, then intermittent flickers. Echoing booms were fewer, farther between, becoming rumbles fading away . . . as was the lightning.
It was over. Peter’s arms tightened into a triumphant hug. Mandy shook her head as if emerging from a nightmare. She turned her face, which had been buried in Peter’s shoulder, and looked out the window. Incredibly, the sky was growing lighter, the sound of rain reduced to the steady drip of water from the eaves. Increasing brightness hinted that the sun would actually make an appearance before it sank into the gulf on the western horizon.
An old expression popped into Mandy’s head: mind-boggling. Florida was all that, and more. Was she actually considering living in this godforsaken country?
“You are right, Mr. Pennington,” Karim pronounced, as if Peter had just spoken. “It is fortunate we no longer need the kitchen. The women have already packed food which we will eat on the road.” The ex-major glanced at his watch. “Forty-five minutes to sunset. One hour later, we will move out. There was little rain, the roads should be fine.”
“Fallen trees?” Peter suggested, trying not to sound hopeful. He too had been attempting to establish rapport with their enigmatic host. No sense in aggravating him unnecessarily.
Any hint of camaraderie vanished as Karim Shirazi’s dark brows snapped together in a scowl. At last, Peter exulted, he’d managed to shake the bastard.
“A sensible thought, Mr. Pennington, though not a pleasant one,” Karim ground out. “I do not think we have a . . .” He made a sawing motion.
“Chain saw,” Peter and Mandy pronounced together.
Karim repeated the words, obviously adding them to his vocabulary. Then, in the tone of command Mandy had come to dread for the inevitability it conveyed, he added: “There are two roads out. It is unlikely both will be closed. One way or another, we are leaving.”
Chapter Twenty
One way or another. The dictate of a security chief coldly determined on doing his job. Close-mouthed bastard. Had he even considered her offer? Mandy wondered.
There might still be hope. Mandy recalled the moments during the storm when Karim had held Nadya in his arms and allowed Peter do the same for herself. A remarkably human gesture. Was it a sign that he had listened to her? Or merely a flicker of humanity, giving false hope?
Unfortunately, the latter seemed most likely. A tough nut, Karim Shirazi.
Peter had been allowed to stay. They were sitting, shoulder to shoulder, on the side of the bed, presenting a united front to the guard who had moved into the room when Karim left. The guard, a sturdy young man with a round face, straight brown hair, and clear blue eyes, could have been just off the farm or a streetwise city boy from Moscow or St. Petersburg. His gaze was sharp, his grip on the Mac-10 casual but confident. Unlike the older, harder-looking man standing in the hall, this guard, called Grisha, gave the impression he was not eager to shoot.
“When we get out of this . . .,” Peter murmured into Mandy’s hair.
“I know. Me too.” No need to say more. Imminent death tended to clarify priorities. Too bad they might never have the chance to enjoy the benefits of mutual forgiveness.
“So how many kids do you want?” Peter asked, his voice husky with emotion.
“We’re getting kind of a late start,” Mandy pointed out, joining his whimsey.
“Maybe we should try for triplets.”
Mandy choked. “Pennington, you’re a crazy man.”
“Maybe. They say all people in love are crazy.”
Love. Mandy’s smile vanished. Her mouth remained open in an “O” of surprise. “Did I actually hear the word love?” she inquired.
“Good God, Mouse,” Peter groaned, turning to take her face between his hands, “would I be asking you to be the mother of my children if I didn’t love you?”
“Karim says I’m a good woman,” Mandy enunciated with care, ruthlessly repressing her surge of joy. “The kind appreciated by men of good character. I guess I thought that’s why you wanted me. I was suitable.”
“Suitable!” Peter barked. “What the hell is Shirazi doing making personal comments to my wife? The bastard needs to keep his eyes to himself.”
Guard forgotten, Mandy was savoring the moment. She had to struggle to keep a straight face. “He says my beauty is of the soul. That purity shines from my eyes.”
Peter’s hands tightened around her cheeks, amber eyes blazed. “Did that son-of-a-bitch touch you? Did he?”
“I still haven’t heard you say it.”
“Say what?” Peter growled.
“That you love me.”
“Well, hell, of course I love you.”
Mandy sighed. There was no rule that guaranteed words of love be enhanced by the scent of roses and the seductive notes of a singing violin. She would have to be content with the sound of palm fronds swaying in the wind.
Peter kissed her while Grisha looked on with unabashed interest.
“Mandy?” Nadya’s voice, small and tentative, reminded them she, too, was still in the room. She was standing at the north window, looking out. “Mandy!”
“Yes?” Mandy finally responded to the urgency in Nadya’s tone.
“Please to come look,” Nadya said. “The sun is not right.”
It was easier to slide out of Peter’s arms and look than figure out what Nadya was trying to say. The Russian girl moved aside so Mandy could peer out the north window. The sun is not right. The sun wasn’t right. The sun did not set in the north. The fine hairs on Mandy’s arms rose to attention. As she ran to the window facing east, she heard Peter’s feet hit the floor.
>
The sun was also setting in the east.
“Nadya,” Peter barked from above Mandy’s head, “tell Karim the woods are on fire. This is bad, very bad. Understand? Fire!”
The Russian girl’s eyes went wide. “Da.” She turned and ran for the door.
Grisha, the guard inside the room, pushed past them, looking out the east window, then the north. “Shit!” he pronounced in distinct Anglo-Saxon before calling to the other guard in the hall who came in on the run. This one, Mandy thought, had the look of a man who could do mass murder without blinking an eye, but his lean face paled as he looked out the window. A sharp order to Grisha and the two resumed their guard posts. Not even the primal fear of fire was going to budge these two from their duty.
Shoulder to shoulder at the north window, Mandy and Peter saw Karim run out into the circular drive at the front of the house. With him was a man who was older, shorter, stockier in build. They scanned the woods to the west, north, and east, then jogged past the window where Mandy and Peter were standing, heading toward the back of the house. “That is Misha,” Nadya said, standing on tiptoe to see over Mandy’s shoulder. “A bad man. I not like him. He uses the girls for . . . for bad sex.” She tapped her head. “He is sick, that one. He not use me. Karim not allow.”
The two men disappeared from sight. “They’re probably checking the woods near the river,” Peter said. “Assessing the situation.”
“Assessing the situation!” Mandy echoed. “Are you kidding? It’s get out now or never. Anybody who can’t see that without a hike around the house is crazy.”
“There are two roads out. They have to choose.”
“How are they going to know which one doesn’t have trees down across the road?”
“God, spare me from logical, analytical women,” Peter groaned.
“What’re the chances of convincing Karim the river is the only way out?”
“Not good,” boomed the Iranian’s strong baritone from just behind them. “Come, we go now!”
When Peter and Mandy reached the driveway, with Grisha dogging their footsteps, the young women who had been huddled in the living room were getting into the white van which was usually used to transport the brothel’s customers. Each girl was carrying a bulging pillowcase, evidently containing her few possessions. In front of the van was a black Buick sedan. Peter looked west into the setting sun. And swore. Several dark plumes of smoke were rising on the west side of the river. In Amber Run. Near his house? His goddamn beautiful brand new house? No time for that now. Houses could be replaced. People couldn’t. But if there was no refuge here, no refuge on the far side of the river . . .
In the distance Peter thought he heard the first wail of a fire engine. There was refuge on the west side of the river. Even if the river failed as a firebreak, there were paved roads, room to run. Experienced firefighters, emergency medics. Police. Friends.
Karim snapped a command, forcing Peter to turn away from the billowing black smoke rising to the west. With a wave of his Mac-10, Grisha motioned Peter into the back seat of the black sedan next to Nadya. Mandy was already seated in the front next to the driver. With an authoritative swing of his arm, Karim gave the signal for the cavalcade to move forward, then slipped into the backseat with Nadya and Peter.
They were, Peter noted with relief, taking the northern route. Although the road would take them through the small enclave of homes east of the river, it was by far the shortest way out. Shirazi had wisely decided to brave civilization rather than attempt the long road to Pine Grove. It also meant turning toward the worst of the fire, toward the shimmering red sun rising in the north. Toward ground that glowed like a bed of coals, underbrush that leaped with flames, dancing in a grotesque nightmare ballet. But to the north they could be over the natural firebreak of the Calusa River in less than ten minutes.
As they approached the gate Mandy had seen the first day she explored this side of the river, Karim punched in the numbers to open the gate. Nothing happened. The cavalcade ground to a halt. Obviously, in the last few minutes the fire had breached the electrical wires. Around them the glow beneath the black plumes of smoke was growing brighter as Florida’s short dusk gave way to night. They were poised at the gate to hell, and Mandy found herself almost absurdly glad it wouldn’t open. Behind them, to the south, the night was dark. Behind them was the footpath to the river. Surely now . . .
“Don’t move!” the Iranian ordered, drawing a 9mm pistol from his belt. “Misha and the Yuri have orders to shoot on sight. Believe me, they will do it.”
“Misha wants to shoot you,” Nadya confided to Peter as Karim and Grisha left the car and ran toward the gate. “He says with police gone it makes no difference. No one stay out in the storm, so they not know you dead. But Karim, he not like that. He has honor, you see.”
“Yeah.” Peter hoped he didn’t sound as skeptical as he felt. Nadya was basically a good kid. Women couldn’t help being crazy about the men they loved. Look at Mandy. She was actually considering taking him back.
The Mac-10 and the 9-mil made short work of the gate’s coded lock. Karim and the young guard strained at the gate, pulling it open just far enough for the vehicles to squeeze through. The fire was mostly on their right, but, suddenly, hot embers drifting on the wind ignited a series of blazes to their left, the flames growing, licking out, soaring up. They were only a half mile from the house when the world in front of them exploded. On both sides of the road the fires crowned, soaring into the treetops in a howling burst of fury that sent flames leaping across the road.
Brakes squealing, the two vehicles ground to a halt. Mandy stared open-mouthed, heart pounding. Fear of fire was a primal threat, impossible to control. Someone was banging on the window. A face appeared out of the gloom. “Drive through!” Misha yelled at Grisha.
“No!” Karim jumped out of the car to stand nose to nose with his boss. “It is too dangerous. We go back.”
“The other road is too long!”
“We will see. There is always the river.”
“He’s right,” Peter urged, leaning across Nadya to be heard by the two men outside. “There’s no way to tell how thick the flames are ahead. They could be twenty feet wide or twenty miles.”
It wasn’t only the glow of the fire that turned the Russian’s square face to crimson, Mandy thought as Misha and Karim glared each other down. A sharp crack. A shower of sparks cascaded over them as a branch fell from a pine tree onto the road not fifteen feet in front of them. Heat from the fire enveloped them, leaving little doubt their section of the road was the next to be engulfed. Mandy longed to be in the back seat with Peter. If they were going to die in this horrible way, at least they should die in each other’s arms.
Karim’s 9mm rose black and menacing, pointing straight between Misha’s eyes. “I am chief of security,” he said. “The business is your job. This is mine. We go where I say. Get back in the van.” Mandy held her breath. The heat intensified. Sweat beaded Misha’s brow. With an angry flick of his shoulders the Russian turned and stalked toward the van. Karim windmilled his arm, ending with his finger pointing back the way they had come before jumping back into the Buick. Yuri, the lean-faced guard, unable to turn around on the narrow road, jammed the van into reverse and promptly demonstrated a remarkable ability to drive backwards. At speed. Grisha, not to be outdone, grimly followed.
At the clearing by the gate, each driver turned his vehicle toward the southeast. The white van was now in the lead. By the time they passed the old house, the sky had become dark enough that Peter could see the glow of the spotty fires on the Amber Run side of the river, the smoke inky black against a pewter sky. The sun had given up, leaving only leaping flames to light the night. There was no way Peter could see through the woods to the river, to see if the firefighters had arrived. If there was hope for his house . . . for Brad Blue’s dream of elegant old style Florida homes along a jungle river.
Mandy’s attention was on the road in front of them
, the long meandering trail to Pine Grove, which they had traveled a little more than twelve hours earlier. The glow of fire was distinct—closer, brighter than it had been when she’d first seen it from the bedroom window. But how close? Moving how fast? With scant hope, Mandy turned her eyes to the south. The woods behind the old house were dark. Blessedly dark.
“Look, there’s no fire behind the house,” she said, turning toward the occupants of the back seat. “I think we could still make it to the river.”
“We will try the road first.” Karim at his most intransigent after his clash with Misha.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it,” Peter interjected. “It’s a hell of long ways. Do you hear the noise, Shirazi? Fires scream and roar. At the moment it may be a dull roar, but what I’m hearing isn’t all coming from behind us.”
“The women cannot swim.”
Peter choked off a hot response. Bastard that he was, the Iranian had a point.
“I swim,” Nadya said stoutly. A swift patter of Russian, while Karim’s face never eased from a dark mix of fierce and stubborn. “He asks do all the girls swim,” Nadya explained to Peter and Mandy. “I tell him no. We talk about it once. Only two besides me swim. And they are afraid of the alligators.”
“I’d rather drown than burn,” Peter declared darkly.
Mandy fished in her pockets, searching for a tissue for her watering eyes. How much longer would the drivers be able to see the road? Her hand encountered the AirLite. What would happen if she trained it on the driver, tried to get them to stop? She could almost hear Karim’s laughter. Her peashooter against a 9-mil and a Mac-10.
Mandy bit her lip, forgot to breathe. They were moving far too fast for the narrow dirt road. There was no way the headlights could adequately penetrate the growing whorls of smoke and ash. A sharp command from Karim. Grisha slowed, opening space between the van and the Buick.
Paradise Burning Page 28
