"Uncharitable." In a sudden paroxysm of chill, he shivered and paced away from her. "You may not have to."
"I know," she muttered, and rooted around in the cart until she found a pile of clean towels. She wrapped two around his shoulders for warmth. Used one to wipe the sweat off his face.
And slammed against the back door of the van as the driver put the gas pedal to the floor.
"Varinskis." Warlord stood immobile, braced with one hand on the ceiling and one on the side, and looked out the back windows.
Inching her way to her feet, she looked out, too.
A black Hummer H2 with dark-tinted windows swung in behind them and was gaining fast.
The private airfield was ten minutes from the hotel.
"Weall never make it," she said.
Then the guy in the vanas pa.s.senger seat opened his doora"at eighty miles an houra" leaned out, and dropped something on the road.
Karen watched a small ball roll, break open, and spread steel stars across the asphalt.
The Hummer drove over them. The tires blew. They swerved off the road.
Karen breathed a sigh of relief, started to turn back to Warlorda"and the Hummer doors opened. A wolf sprang out. Another. Another. A peregrine falcon flew out and after them. And in an impressive show of sleek strength, a great panther leaped from the vehicle.
His body flowed as he ran. His spots glistened in the rising sun.
Her heart leaped with the horror of knowing . . . knowing the truth about these beasts, these things that came from the heart of evil, who would murder her, murder anyone who got in their way. "Who are these guys?"
"Varinskis," one of the guys in the front said aloud.
She glanced at Warlord.
He was one of them.
She glanced behind them. The wolves were falling behind. They were just too slow to keep up. But they kept running, knowing theyad get there.
The panther ran ahead, looking almost leisurely in his pursuit, but his green eyes seemed to glow.
"How much longer?" Warlord asked.
"Weare almost there."
She saw him push aside the pain and the fever. Saw him gather his strength.
He flexed his knees, his arms. Coming to the back, he looked out. "Wolves. Bad choice. Their top speed is forty-five miles per hour. What else have they got?"
"A peregrine falcon."
"Which dives at speeds of over one hundred miles per hour. These Varinskis arenat all stupid. Someone in this part of the organization has brains. I wonder who?" He scrutinized the panther. "Innokenti. Of course. Wouldnat you know head be a panther?" Taking a breath, he quietly said, "The birdall be on us before we can get on the plane."
She looked out on the runway. A Cessna Citation X sat on the runway, ready to go.
"Thatas yours?" She was impressed. Fastest small jet in the world.
"Can you fly it?"
"Try to stop me."
He nodded. "The bird will go for me. Take your bags and get on that plane."
"These guys are like you. A mixture of man and animal." She ought to be over the shock by now.
She wasnat.
"Except theyare the bad guys and Iam the good guy." Warlord sounded so calm, so rea.s.suring.
The van screeched around the corner and into the airfield, throwing her into Warlordas arms.
He held her, hard, for as long as it took them to clear the gate. "If I donat get on the plane by the time youare ready to go, shut the door and take off."
She could. She should. He was sending her away. She knew her way around the world better than most people did. She had money. She had his plane. He might not have faith in her, but she knew she could run from him and his freaky enemies, hide from them, keep the icon safe, and if she did that, she would never have to confront her pa.s.sion for this . . . beast.
But the same stubborn stupidity that had made her go back in her cottage and save his life still held her in its grasp. "No."
"They want the icon."
"They canat have it, so youad better win this fight."
Blood flushed his cheeks. He visibly shook off the poison. He gazed at her with the old Warlord determinationa"how could he ever have fooled her?a"and said, "Youare right." As the driver slammed on the brakes, he held the door handle, and her. Before theyad come to a full stop he flung himself out. "Have the plane ready to go as soon as Iave finished," he shouted. He landed on the asphalt with the lithe grace of a . . . a panther.
She saw a blur streaking toward him from above.
The van fishtailed, stopped, and both guys leaned back and yelled, "Out! Get out! Get to the plane!"
She grabbed her backpack and bag and went.
The van screeched away.
The small, beautiful blue and white personal jet sat waiting. She raced to the wheels and shoved the chocks aside, leaving the wheels free to roll. The stairs, part of the outer sh.e.l.l, hung there, open and inviting. She took the steps three at a time, got to the top, and turned in a tight whirl.
Below her, Warlord fought a slender man who handled a knife with deadly accuracy.
And out beyond the gate the wolves were loping along, their eyes fixed on Warlord, and glowing red.
"Fine," she muttered. She had her weapons, too.
She dumped her bags in the pa.s.senger seat and ran to the c.o.c.kpit. Shead never flown one of these babies. Yet her father had trained her well. It took only a minute to familiarize herself with the controls. Then, with a grim smile, she began the preps for takeoff.
Batterya"on. Fuel pumps, gangloada"on. Right engine starter engage, rpm coming up. Ignitiona" on. Throttle around the horn. She could feel the vibration of the engine spooling up and hear the whine somewhere behind her.
Left engine starter switch in hand, ready to activate . . . As soon as Warlord was on board.
As she ran through the checklist, the tower radioed, "What the h.e.l.las going on down there?"
She grabbed the mike and put a note of panic in her voice. "Theyare fighting with knives. Send the airport police!"
Not that the police would do much good, but theyad provide a diversion, and she needed all the help she could get.
Behind her the engines purred, sweet and low. She moved the plane a few inches, feeling the way it handled.
The two men wrestled on the ground, and Warlord was visibly losing strength as they rolled.
The wolves were through the fence, all their attention focused on the battle.
The cops were running toward the fracas, their pistols in their hands.
Karen gunned the throttle and, with the engine screaming, headed for the wolves.
They hadnat expected that. They looked up, saw her illuminated face through the windscreen, and kept running, playing chicken with an airplane because they thought that a woman wouldnat really run over them.
Arrogant, egotistical, dumbs.h.i.t thinking about this girl.
She swerved fast enough to mash one into wolfie roadkill.
The howls, composed of equal parts fury and anguish, reached her ears even over the sounds of the screaming engines.
She turned the plane again and chased one of the remaining wolves. It might be some supernatural being who changed from man to wolf and back again, but she was pretty sure she could make a dent in his ego with the wheels of her plane.
The wolf veered off toward the gra.s.sy edge of the runway.
She headed toward Warlord and the other, the falcon Varinski.
Shead made her point. The Varinski lost his concentration and watched her from the corners of his eyes.
Warlord gathered strength and, with a swift wrench of his hands, snapped the guyas neck.
"Yes!" She slowed and swerved, putting the steps close to Warlord. She heard a clatter of feet, looked and saw him pitch headfirst into the cabin, and yelled, "Secure the cabin!"
Left startera"engage. Left throttlea"advance.
Warlord looked up toward her, and as his will drained away his face became skeletal.
"Get up and do it!" Because the wolves had disappeared from her view, and she knew that at least one of them was going to try to catch their plane.
Picking up the microphone, she transmitted, "Tower, November eight-seven-eight-seven-six, taxiing, ready to copy clearance."
Warlord heaved himself to his feet. He looked out and blanched paler than death.
"Thereas a pistol in the side pocket of my backpack," she called.
He found it, pulled it out, and shot in one smooth movement.
She heard a yelp. "You killed him," she yelled.
"It takes more than that to kill a Varinski." He pulled the steps up and sealed the plane; then, as she moved onto the runway and accelerated, he staggered up to the c.o.c.kpit and heaved himself into the copilot seat.
The Cessna neared takeoff speed, and a man, a human, stepped onto the runway.
She recognized him.
She shouldnat, but she did.
Shead seen him in a vision.
A face like a Neanderthala"wide jaw, heavy brow, and one cheekbone that had been broken and shoved up toward his eye. His earlobes hung low, each pierced by a three-eighths-inch countersunk bolt. He waded through the battle, throwing Warlordas men aside as if they were toothpicks. He was ma.s.sive, indifferent to pain, fast as lightninga"
No. No! She couldnat go into one of those trances now. She had to focus.
The Neanderthal stood with his ma.s.sive hands on his hips, his eyes drilling into hers, silently commanding she stop.
The little Cessna accelerated like a slingshot dragster. She saw the mark on the airspeed indicator indicating single-engine speed as the airspeed needle flashed past it. Immediately she pulled the control wheel back slightly.
Airborne, gear up, flaps up, turn to departure heading.
Right before she hit the Neanderthal, he moved aside.
"What was that?" she whispered.
"My idea of h.e.l.l."
Chapter Twenty-four.
The rust-colored desert and its dangers fell away and the blue sky embraced them.
"What are you doing?" the tower screamed at them. "You did not have takeoff clearance! Return to the field immediately! A violation has been filed!"
Warlord reached down, flipped a switch, and the speaker went silent. Elevating the long middle finger of his clenched right fist, he rotated it with a flourish and pointed straight ahead.
"What does that mean?" Karen asked.
Warlord grinned. "Screw them. I filed visual flight rules."
Karen grinned back. "Where are we going?"