Undercover Memories. Alice Sharpe

Korenev said.

      “What kind of trade?” John asked as he gauged the distance he had to cover to get to the drawer.

      “Hand over gun and girl goes free.”

      “Oh, come on,” John said. “Did you try the same lame thing on the Pollocks before you murdered them?”

      “Not exactly,” Korenev said.

      “I don’t get it,” John said. “Why did you kill them that way?”

      Korenev shrugged. “Old man caught me stealing car. Had to die. Woman might hear car start and look out window. Anyway,” he added, shrugging, “overkill suggests crazy person. Someone like you, maybe. Give me gun or girl will be dead before she hits floor.”

      “Go to hell,” Paige managed to gasp. It earned her another throat-tightening squeeze, and this time John saw the gold on the man’s finger. Paige’s body grew limp and her eyes rolled back.

      “Here,” John said, holding the gun by the barrel with the empty grip down and pointed away from the brute’s sight. He advanced a few steps and didn’t have to work to inject panic in his voice. “Leave her alone, take the gun, let her go, I’ll come with you.”

      “Put the gun down,” Korenev repeated.

      But John kept advancing, talking a mile a minute as though he couldn’t stop himself. “No, no, you take it, here, please, just take it, let her go, don’t hurt her, I’ll come with you, let her go....”

      He was finally close enough to shove the revolver at the guy, who grabbed it by the grip. John steeled himself to take whatever opportunity presented itself.

      Paige, more or less cast aside in the transaction, slumped to the floor. A second later, it was obvious Korenev realized the ammo clip was missing. Enraged, he threw the gun at John, who dodged to the left. The weapon landed beside him and slid across the floor out of sight into the bedroom.

      The attacker came at him with the knife held above his head, roaring like a banshee.

      Paige was a blur at the desk as John fought to avoid the blade directed at his chest. “The clip is in my coat!” she yelled. John avoided the downward slash of the knife. Paige’s coat was on the bed. At least he thought it was. Six short feet to save the day. Might as well be six hundred....

      Barely dodging another slice-and-dice attempt, he glimpsed Paige advancing with the cleaver in her hand. Their attacker must have sensed her behind him. He turned quickly and slashed at her as she raised the cleaver to protect her head.

      Suddenly, the room filled with screams of pain and a geyser of spurting blood. For one terrible moment, John thought Korenev had slit Paige’s throat. But it wasn’t she who was injured. With the force of his own strength, Korenev had driven his right hand across the cleaver blade and lost his index finger in the process. His bellows rattled the windows as he tucked his maimed, bloody hand under his arm and advanced on Paige with a murderous fire burning in his eyes.

      Paige had dropped the cleaver in the impact and was now backed against the wall as John darted into the bedroom to get the ammo. Her coat was on the bed but it had four pockets, all zipped, and he wasted precious time feeling around trying to find the right one as Paige’s screams pealed through the cabin. At the same time, he scanned the floor, in search of the gun. There it was, against a floorboard on the outside wall. He finally found the right pocket.

      He soon slid the clip into the grip and lunged back into the living area. Paige and the killer were gone. He heard an engine start out back and ran through the kitchen in time to spot a gold car emerge from behind a copse of evergreen trees, Paige behind the wheel.

      John fired off a couple of shots at the tires, but he was too late. It was too far away.

      Swearing, he raced back into the house.

      * * *

      “DRIVE FAST,” KORENEV demanded. With his good hand, he held the knife tip against Paige’s throat.

      “I said fast,” Korenev repeated, and leaning toward her, stomped his boot on top of her right foot, depressing the accelerator even farther, ignoring her cries of pain as he crushed her toes. Shoved against the driver’s door, she could barely breathe and the trees flying by her window made her head spin.

      As they came to a crossroad, he grabbed the wheel with his bloody hand, swinging it hard to the right. The car turned widely, hitting a ditch but bouncing back onto the pavement, careening across both lanes as Korenev fought to regain control. Paige held her breath as the smell of his fresh blood combined with terror made her stomach heave.

      With the crazy turn, they’d left the main highway that would have taken them out of the mountains. If John was following, he would undoubtedly continue on straight.

      If John was following.

      What had Korenev meant when he claimed he’d butchered the Pollocks to make it appear the work of a madman, a man like John? Was John a cold-blooded killer?

      As if it mattered right now? If she had to choose her poison, John or this guy, bring on John. Please…

      Korenev was breathing kind of shallow. He’d lost a lot of blood. She had to keep focused. If the man blacked out, it would be up to her to get the car stopped without crashing it.

      Think, think, think. You still have your purse. What’s in it that you can use? Why didn’t you buy a spray can of pepper spray when you had the chance? Or a little gun?

      With a sinking heart, the only object she was sure she carried besides a wallet were her car keys.

      It became obvious that Korenev had no intention of giving in to pain or injury when he finally took some of his weight off her foot. His big hand still clamped the steering wheel over hers.

      They were approaching a wide spot in the road. On one side was a closed-up gas station and on the other a small square building, a tavern called Gil’s Place.

      Korenev turned the car into a parking area beside the tavern that appeared to be carved out of the surrounding dense forest. There was a sprinkling of other vehicles, but not many; after all, it was not yet noon. He made straight for the back of the lot, easing up on the pedal and searching for something.

      When he seemed to find what he wanted, he finally shifted his bulk back into his own seat and took his hand off the wheel, his foot off of hers. The relief lasted about one second.

      “Drive in forest over there,” he said, gesturing with the knife. “Hurry.”

      He’d chosen an area where the underbrush wasn’t as heavy. There was the suggestion of a track, perhaps a leftover from a logging road years before.

      She hesitated. Who knew what horror he had in mind for her, and surely the middle of the lot was a better place to face her fate than the deep cover of the trees?

      The knife tip grazed her skin. “Do it,” he said.

      She drove into the forest, following his directions, tears stinging her eyes because she was so scared and because she couldn’t find even the smallest sliver of hope.

      Stop it, she admonished herself. There’s always hope.

      “That’s far enough,” he said. As the car had more or less burrowed as deep into the forest as possible without the aid of a bulldozer, she eased off the gas and turned off the car.

      “Give me your purse,” he said.

      She took it from around her body and handed it to him. Her hands were surprisingly steady.

      “Open it.”

      She unzipped the bag and he peeked inside. “Put it on dashboard,” he directed, apparently satisfied she wasn’t carrying a weapon around in her bag.

      Again she did as he said.

      Staring right into her eyes, knife held firmly in his bloody maimed hand, Korenev unbuckled his belt and started tugging it through the belt