Читать книгу Hard To Tame - Kylie Brant - Страница 7

They were dead. Every one of them.

With an unnatural strength borne of terror, Sara Parker tore away from the female U.S. Marshal and pushed through the apartment door.

“Get her out of here!” Agent Carlson shouted from his position on the floor. Sara felt arms grabbing at her shoulders, trying to yank her away from the bloody carnage.

She fought like a wild thing, adrenaline giving her the power to break free. She rushed into the compact kitchen, stumbling over the bodies on the floor. Carlson was checking one of the agents for a pulse, but Sara knew, in some numb, distant area of her mind, that he wouldn’t find one. Just as she knew the futility of the hope she still harbored.

“Sean!” She dropped to her knees beside the blond man’s chair and took his hand in hers, refusing to consider what the coldness of his fingers meant. He could have been asleep but for the fact that his eyes were open. The round hole in the center of his forehead was a horrifying contrast to his choirboy countenance. Somehow he still managed to exude that sad sweetness that was so much a part of him. Even in death.

There was a soft keening sound that Sara didn’t recognize as coming from her. Unmindful of his blood-soaked shirt, she slipped her arms around his waist, pressed her face to his form. I’m sorry. The words echoed endlessly in her mind. I’m so sorry.

And then the hands were at her shoulders again, drawing her to her feet. Her unnatural strength of a few moments ago had drained away as quickly as it had surged, leaving her feeling empty and weak.

“Don’t. Try not to look at them.” Agent Reindl’s voice was unusually compassionate. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

Sara allowed the woman to guide her out of the apartment, only half aware of the sharp exchange between the two agents, the cell phone conversation between Carlson and his superior. She took no note of the different route they took to the car. Made no observation of her surroundings before Reindl forced her to lie down in the back seat.

The vehicle started, pulled away. Sara lay motionless, her cheek pressed against the cool leather of the seat, eyes open, yet unseeing.

Another safe house. More agents. Leak in the department, had to be. Dammit, Dobbs had four kids.

The words eddied and swirled around her, surreal and unrelated. They made no sense. Nothing did anymore. She started trembling, the shudders racking her body. She could have told them that they were wasting their time. Finding another safe house was pointless.

She’d never be safe again.

“We’ll move you tomorrow, once we get word from the department. You’ll be fine here for tonight.”

Sara gave a listless nod at Reindl’s words, and continued to stare at the wall of the motel room. Carlson was on his cell phone again, after which he’d hold another whispered conversation with his partner. Both were doing their best to maintain at least an outward appearance of control. But Sara knew the truth. The only one in control was Victor Mannen, and he’d just had six people massacred.

She would be next.

The knowledge washed over her like a wave, and fear circled. How had security at the apartment been breached? How had two U.S. Marshals and four young adults been dispatched with such chilling efficiency? Useless to wonder about, really, just as it was useless to harbor a macabre fascination in how she would meet her death. A gun again, or a blade slipped into her back as she walked into the courthouse flanked by guards?

Swallowing hard, Sara barely noticed the concerned glance Carlson sent her way. There was something outrageously self-centered in worrying about her own demise when the deaths of six other people rested on her shoulders. A part of her wondered why she even cared. There was nothing worth living for, at any rate. Not since Sean…

She choked on the boulder-sized knot that lodged in her throat, and pressed a fist to her lips. Agent Carlson ended his conversation and looked at her. “How you doing?” he asked, not unkindly. The big, bespectacled agent had been the favorite of all of them. He’d always been ready with a joke or a quick remark. But now he was as grim-faced as his partner. Two agents and four witnesses dead meant Sara had a target on her back. And so did anyone unfortunate enough to be guarding her.

Launching herself out of the chair, she hurtled toward him, her arms going around his waist, taking him by surprise. After an instant he brought a hand to her back, patted her awkwardly. “Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be okay.”

She appreciated his attempt at reassurance, even as she recognized the lie. Stepping away from him, she avoided his gaze. “I think I’ll take a hot shower.”

He shot a quick glance at Reindl, and when the woman nodded, he said, “Sure. Probably a good idea.”

Crossing to the bathroom, Sara shut the door, leaned against it limply. Then, with a sigh, she reached up her sleeve and withdrew the wallet she’d just lifted from Carlson. She forced herself not to think as she rifled through it, taking out the cash. Folding the bills, she shoved them in her pocket and then laid the wallet on the vanity.

Her actions automatic, she turned the shower faucets on full blast and then climbed up on the vanity, unlocked the window. It was easier, far easier, to act without considering the sense of déjà vu she felt. But as she climbed through the open window it occurred to her that she was following her set pattern for dealing with trouble.

She was running.