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She couldn’t believe that whoever came in to get him didn’t also care about her. Then again, maybe that was exactly what happened. She wasn’t exactly in good standing with the FBI, considering the last time she saw any agent was the day they were kidnapped and the rest of the SUV’s occupants had been killed. The time before that was the night in Vegas when she had killed the FBI director.
Not exactly a stellar resume.
If she were still in the FBI, she probably wouldn’t be interested in saving her life either.
Kenna shielded her eyes from the wind and the sun. “Where are we going?” she asked. Even though there was a decent chance the answer to the question might be out into the desert so he could kill her, she still needed to ask. If only to get her out of the downward spiral of her own thoughts.
Kart yelled back over the noise of the engine, “Over there.” He waved at the horizon, toward a couple more men and another vehicle like this one. Plus a dirt bike.
When he cut the engine, she waited for him to usher her out. Compliance was a means to an end—not the statement she wanted to make. If she pushed back repeatedly, they would only retaliate by taking her life.
Which meant she would never know if Jax had made it out alive. Even if it saved her from Elliot.
Kenna had to work a combination of playing the game and looking for the first chance to get free. Even so, there was a tiny niggle at the back of her mind over what had been in that syringe. Given how well it worked and how much better she felt after healing sleep, she would probably get to a point where she needed more.
Enough to get her through.
Or enough to hook her on the effects of the drug until she got to a place where she couldn’t live without it.
She liked to believe that she didn’t need anyone, or anything. The fact was that Kenna wasn’t so far removed from the people she took down. She would kill, and had, when it became necessary. There wasn’t more than a fine line between her familiarity with taking lives and some of the people she went after.
If she had to take more pain meds in order to do that, so her arm injuries didn’t hinder her, would she? If it came down to saving a life that would otherwise be lost, was she the kind of person who would allow herself to battle an addiction just to do it?
Saving victims had become a compulsion over the years. A way to experience the freedom she had after the death of her partner—the man she had loved.
That kind of obsessive drive could lead her down a dark path if she wasn’t careful.
Kart said, “Let’s go.”
Kenna stuck her hands in the pockets of the clean shorts Kart had given her. She also had on a new T-shirt and a pair of boots, and they’d found a rubber band she had used to get her hair off her face. Tying back the scraggly mess helped almost as much as coffee did.
All the better to escape.
As she and Kart approached the others, she spotted something in the desert beyond the vehicles. Kenna walked in a wide circle around the men, giving them plenty of space. Not so she could run off—or even feel like she might be free for a second—but to get a good angle as she circled the dead young woman who lay in the sand.
Lola wore the same clothes she had when Kenna saw her last. Blood covered the front of the shirt, tugged up slightly to reveal the dark skin of her lower back and the end of whatever wound she had been given. Her body lay twisted at an odd angle, almost as though she had been running and fell in the dirt. Her hair sprawled out on the ground, matted and tangled. Sightless eyes wide open.
A fly landed on her cheek.
“Who did it?” one of the men asked in thickly accented English.
Kenna kept studying the body. Absorbing everything she could, the way she did with any scene she came across.
“Hey, I said, ‘Who did it?’”
Kenna blinked and glanced over at the men. “You’re asking me?”
“You’re that famous investigator.” The local man waved at the young woman’s dead body. “So who killed her?”
Kart stood there, saying nothing, waiting to see what she would do.
“Do you seriously think that’s how murder investigations work? Generally evidence is taken, and there’s a whole lot of processing—which can take weeks. Knocking on doors, asking lots of questions.” Kenna straightened, her hands still in her pockets, giving her an air of feeling casual even if what was happening on the inside was nothing like that. “Right now, I can tell you with reasonable certainty that yes, she is dead.”
One of them barked a laugh, and another shoved at him.
She glanced at Kart. “Did you call the police department?” She didn’t want to say “your buddy” if the others didn’t know he had friends in the local law enforcement community. “Did you report this so they can go inform the next of kin and properly bury the body?”
“It doesn’t work like that out here.”
