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Moe appeared, pointing the M4 at the terrorist. “I’ve got him,” he told her. To Romalov, he said, “On your stomach, asshole.”
Romalov continued to scan the cloudless sky as if he might find an answer to his predicament there. His insubordination made fresh rage whip through her. She kicked him in the side, causing her injured leg more pain, but at this point, her fury overrode it. “He told you to roll over. Do it.”
He grabbed her leg and jerked her down. Her ass hit the ground hard, making her drop the shotgun.
Boom! It went off, all of them flinching from the deafening noise. The buckshot tore into the side of Gus’ cabin.
A scream roared out of her. Using her nails, she scratched Romalov for all she was worth. Moe clocked the guy in the back of the head and Romalov slumped to the ground, as unconscious as Gus.
Moe helped her to her feet—foot. “Can you make it to the cabin and find me something to tie him up with?”
Fighting her discomfort and exhaustion, she nodded and hobbled past Gus. Once inside and blinking away the pressure in her eyes from frustrated tears, she snatched up two belts. By the time she returned, Moe had Romalov propped against the porch. He took them from her and secured the man’s arms around a post, then belted his ankles as well.
“You need to prop that leg up,” he told her. There was an edge to his voice that she rarely heard when he spoke to her. It brokered no argument. “Don’t remove the tourniquet. Just pour alcohol over the fabric.”
She sagged against the railing. “You still have that watch, right?”
“I’ll hand it over to Emit as soon as they get here. What do you think is on it?”
At least he didn’t berate her to go inside. “Something pretty damn important.”
“That’s what I think, too, and we need to know what it is.” Moe dragged Gus onto the porch, gently patting his cheeks. “Wake up, old man.”
“I’ll get him some ice for his head.”
Before she made it inside, a voice stopped her. “About that watch.” Emerging from the side of the gas station, a woman dressed in khakis, hiking boots, sunglasses, and a hat marched toward them. She held a pistol. “I need it.”
Moe glanced at Parker, shaking his head in disbelief before he turned to her. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter.” She eased toward them. Her accent was American, and she might have been forty or sixty—it was impossible to tell. Her hair was hidden under the hat, her eyes behind the glasses, but she held herself with confidence. “There’s nothing good to be gained from the contents of that device. It needs to be destroyed.”
Moe raised his hands. “Sorry, I lost it.”
A corner of the woman’s lips quirked. “Nice try.” She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
Gus groaned softly, beginning to regain consciousness. Parker leaned against the door, trying to make all the random pieces fit together. “What’s on it? National security secrets? Blackmail?”
The woman leveled the gun on Moe. “The less you know, the safer you are.” Her fingers tightened on the pistol. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Please. Lydia’s life depends on it.”
“Not buying that.” Moe scratched the whiskers on his chin, seeming entirely unconcerned about having yet another weapon aimed at him. “For all we know, Charmaine’s already dead. How do you know about any of this?”
“Time is running out. There’s a timer on the watch you stole. It controls the detonator on the bomb they strapped to her chest. I need to disable it.”
Another scratch of his chin. “This far away, it would take a pretty powerful antenna to set it off, and as you can see…” He gestured with both hands at the surrounding area. “There’s no service out here.”
She cocked her head in the direction of an old windmill, the rusted metal blades turning lazily in the dry breeze. “Gus is resourceful if nothing else. He outfitted that with two high-powered antennas.”
Parker moved down the steps to scrutinize the structure, stopping by Gus. “I don’t see any.”
“Military-grade, CIA-approved, and hidden well.” She glanced at the elderly man near Parker’s feet. “He’s a lot more than a hermit living in the middle of nowhere.”
Moe snorted. “I don’t give a shit if the wanker is Superman, we’re not giving you the watch.”
Her thumb cocked the hammer. “You will if you want to live.”
Parker shifted close enough to touch Moe’s back. Since half his shirt was wrapped around her lower leg, her fingers brushed his skin. “Give it to her.”
“No.” His voice was in the danger zone.
