|
|
|
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Mike seemed calm. "Let us both go," he said conversationally. "We don't know who you are, |
|
|
|
|
|