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Page 263
calculating thug or a lunatic out of control. He believed now he faced the latter.
"Let me go to her," he cajoled. "I'll make sure she's all right; then you can let her go. You won't have to hurt a woman any more."
"Forget it." The voice was hard-edged once more. Mike moved only his eyes to look at the man. He was shorter than Mike, and slighter but wiry. He wore all black: long-sleeved T-shirt, pants, socks, andwing-tipped shoes! That seemed incongruous. Why not boots or athletic shoes? A gun-toting executive?
And then Mike knew exactly who it was.

Abby's head hurt. She tried to stay very still, for moving made it ache all the more. What had happened?
And then she recalled. A man in black, a dark mask over his face and hair, had pushed her to the floor, and she'd hit her head.
She remembered no moreexcept that she had to help Mike.
Mike! She heard his voice. He was alive!
Slowly she opened her eyes, then closed them again as pain shot through her head. She could not pamper herself. Mike needed her.
Through her lashes, she saw him beside his Bronco, one of the few vehicles in the garage at this late hour. The shorter man in black held a gun, and it was aimed at Mike's head.
She had to do something.
Mike seemed calm. "Let us both go," he said conversationally. "We don't know who you are,

 
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