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46
Somewhere
SUNDAY
Sherlock stopped, breathing hard, a stitch in her side. Molly leaned over next to her, said between panting breaths, “I haven’t run this hard in far too long.”
“It’s been about fifteen minutes. I’d say we’ve covered well over a mile. We’re good, Molly.” She drew in a deep breath and straightened, looked back down the two-lane country road with oaks and maples pressing in on it, and too many potholes. They hadn’t seen a break in the thick forest since they’d left Williard House, no crossroads, no driveways, not a flicker of a light. “I thought we’d see a car by now, but there hasn’t even been a road sign.” She shook her head. “Not even a horse and buggy.”
Molly’s breath was finally evening out. “Well, it is Sunday night. I guess most folk are at home resting up for the workweek. Hey, maybe you’re right about a horse and buggy and we’re in Pennsylvania, in Amish country.”
“Oh yeah, that’d be great—no cell phones, no landlines, no cars, the ultimate sad situation for us.”
Molly laughed. “Okay, forget Pennsylvania.” She felt the cold standing still, and shivered, despite the large men’s warm coat that smelled of lemons. “Listen, Sherlock, I’ve felt this cold in April visiting Boston so maybe we could be somewhere up in the Northeast. If so, we’re lucky it’s not snowing.”
Sherlock hugged her own heavy oversized men’s woolen coat around her. “Could be. We have to keep moving, Molly. You ready?”
They broke into a fast walk. Sherlock said, “I wonder if Domino was smart enough to kill Nero, or at least not release him, and get away.”
Molly said, “Who knows? Say she just left him in the basement. Caruso would have freed him by now. Do you think she’d take off?”
“Domino’s a soldier, hired only for this one job. Her neck isn’t on the line, not like Nero’s. If she did kill him then she’d head out, leave Caruso and Ilic to fend for themselves.” Sherlock shrugged. “It’s only a guess, Molly.”
Molly said, “I do know this, Sherlock. If Nero’s alive, he won’t give up.” She paused a moment, exhaled a deep breath, and watched it condense in front of her. She dug her hands deep into her coat pockets. “Nero will want more than anything to kill you. You humiliated him. You’ll be his focus now, even more than I am. I’m only a means to an end, you’re the enemy.”
Sherlock said, “I think assignments like this one have always been a kind of game to him. Every move he makes he’s thought out and weighed before he makes it. Like every self-respecting psychopath I’ve come across, he thinks he’s invulnerable and he’s smarter than any opponent. He can’t envision or deal with failing. You’re right, Molly, if he’s alive, he’ll be coming after us.” She heard an owl, heard a small animal moving around among the trees. Overhead, dark clouds floated past a quarter moon leaving them very little light, barely enough to see the road. She saw Molly was shivering again. “Time to move out again, Molly,” she said and broke into a trot, Molly beside her.
A minute later they heard a car in the distance. They veered off the road and into the trees, hidden from view.
Molly chanted, “Let it be Mr. and Mrs. Smith with their cell phones with them.”
They peered back down the road, ready to jump back out on the apron and wave down the driver if it wasn’t Nero in his SUV.
An SUV did come into view, driving slowly, blinking its headlights. A woman had her head out the driver’s window and she was yelling. “Agent Sherlock! Mrs. Hunt! It’s me, Domino. I left Nero tied up, and I got away. You’ll freeze to death out here. I can help you!”
Molly jumped out before Sherlock could stop her, the Wait, Molly! dead in her mouth. She stepped out, too, no choice, and trained her weapon on Domino’s face.
“Great, I’ve found you. Hurry, I know Nero will be coming! Get in!”
But something wasn’t right, something—Sherlock realized too late the back window was down. Suddenly Nero’s head appeared in the window and he had a Walther in his hand, trained on Molly. “Hello, ladies. No, don’t shoot me, Agent Sherlock, or Mrs. Hunt is dead where she sta—”
Sherlock fired, hit the door an inch from his face. “Molly, run!”
Sherlock sprayed the SUV with gunfire as she ran back toward the forest. Nero fired back at them, and then there was a second gun, Domino’s gun, the shots loud in the still night.
Molly yelled out in pain. Sherlock grabbed her and they stumbled into the forest. She heard Nero and Domino slamming the car doors. Sherlock knew they couldn’t outrun them, not with Molly hurt. When Nero fired again, she went down on her stomach, pulling Molly down beside her. She didn’t move.
Nero laughed, ran to where Sherlock lay facedown in the mess of leaves. Molly lay beside her on her back, pressing on the wound in her side, her eyes closed.
He leaned over Sherlock. “Too bad you’re dead, bitch. I wanted to put some bullets in you before I shot you in the face.”
Sherlock rolled, jerked up her gun, and shot him in the neck. Nero dropped his gun, grabbed at his neck, and stared down at her, blood spurting out between his fingers. His voice gurgled with blood. “You can’t be alive—” He fell to his knees and toppled over.
“That was well done, Sherlock. I personally won’t miss him. But now it’s all over.”
Sherlock stared up at the gun trained on her chest, looked up into Domino’s eyes.
“I’m not who you think I am. I am sorry, but I will kill you, you know, if I have to. Now, I really don’t want to splash your brains all over your beautiful hair, so throw the gun down and we’ll take Mrs. Hunt back to Williard House. Neither of us want her to die.”
Sherlock threw the gun on Nero’s body beside her.
“Good choice. Now, you get Mrs. Hunt. We’ll leave Nero here. I’ll send Caruso to fetch him. You shot Ilic in the knee so he’s not much good. Caruso can bury Nero alongside Stankovic and maybe then he and Ilic will stop their whining and be thankful they’re not dead. Get up.”
Sherlock rolled up onto her knees. “Molly, I’ll help you. You keep pressure on your side and don’t let up.” Sherlock didn’t know how bad the wound was. If Molly died, it would be her fault they’d escaped in the first place. There’d have been another way, surely there’d have been another way. She flashed on the pain she’d felt when she’d been shot in the side, remembered the pain was bad. Molly was pale, grimacing, but she was holding it together. Sherlock helped her to her feet, whispered against her cheek, “Don’t give up, you hear me? And keep the pressure on.”
“I hear you,” Molly said. But her voice was thin, barely above a whisper. Still Sherlock heard the grit, the determination. Together they slowly made their way back to the SUV, Domino behind them.
