Countdown - Iris Johansen [132]
She could barely see three feet ahead of her through the snow. How the devil could Reilly see anything on camera?
“Change your mind, Mario,” she said over her shoulder. “So far the only criminal thing you’ve done is kill a murderer.”
“And become an accessory to a terrorist. They either shoot you or put you in jail and throw away the key for that. I made a choice that night when Grozak hired me. I was going to be rich. I can still make it work.” He halted. “Stop. We’ve almost reached the tree line.” He dialed his phone. “Mario Donato, Reilly. I’ve got her. We’re coming in.” He listened for a moment. “Okay.” He hung up the phone. “We’re going to have a welcoming committee when we reach the house. Kim Chan and Reilly’s latest protégé, Chad Norton.” He grimaced. “Another Jock. Another weakling.”
“Jock isn’t a weakling. He’s a victim.”
“He has to have a basic flaw in his character to be manipulated like that.”
“You don’t think it could happen to you?”
“No way.” He gestured with the gun. “And I doubt if it can happen to you.”
“But you’re willing to let Reilly try.”
“If you turn out to be of the same weakling stock, then you’ll deserve it.” He smiled. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and that half-wit Jock will save you.” He nodded at the woods ahead. “Move.”
She hesitated. Once she reached that tree line the video cameras would pick her up and she’d be in Reilly’s court.
“Jane.”
“I’m going.” She started toward the woods. “I respect that gun. I’m not about to let you shoot—” She spun, her leg lifted in a roundhouse kick. Her boot hit the gun, sending it flying, and she followed through with another kick to Mario’s gut. “Weakling? You son of a bitch.”
He grunted and fell to his knees.
She hit him in the back of the neck and he fell to the ground. “You egocentric excuse for a—”
Christ, he’d fallen too close to the gun. He was reaching for it!
She dove into the snow. Her hand closed on the handle. It was cold, wet, slippery. . . .
He was on top of her, reaching down to grab the gun from her. “Bitch. You are a weakling. Reilly will be—”
She pulled the trigger.
He jerked upright like a marionette, gazing down at her in disbelief. “You—shot—me.” A tiny rivulet of blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. “Hurts . . .” He collapsed on top of her. “Cold . . . cold. Why am I—” He shuddered and went still.
She pushed him off her and looked down at him. His eyes were wide open in disbelief—and death. She shuddered as she sat up in the snow. She couldn’t seem to move. She should get out of here. They were only a few miles from Reilly’s headquarters. Maybe they’d heard the shot.
In a minute. She’d killed a man, and the realization was just hitting her. She kept remembering the Mario she’d first met, the man she’d thought him to be. In death his features were softer, boyish, as they’d been that night.
All pretense. All deception.
Get a grip. Get out of here.
She got to her feet.
“What the hell happened to—” A voice behind her.
She instinctively whirled with the gun raised.
“Hold it!”
MacDuff. She dropped her arm to her side.
“Thank you.” He moved forward to stare down at Mario. “Grozak or Reilly?”
“Me.”
He swung around to look at her. “Why?”
“He was in Grozak’s pay and made a deal with Reilly on the side. He was going to turn me over to Reilly.”
He smiled faintly. “And you didn’t choose to go.” His smile faded. “What word of Jock?”
“I haven’t seen him since he left me at the shack. Where’s Trevor?”
“Here.” Trevor came toward them. “I was farther back than MacDuff. I ran into an encumbrance.” He looked down at Mario and his lips tightened grimly. “I wish the bastard was alive so that I could kill him myself. Did he hurt you at all?”
She shook her head. “What encumbrance?”
“Wickman. His body was under a pile of snow near the shack.” He looked at Jane. “We found Grozak at the cabin. Mario?”
She nodded.
“And Wickman?”
“I don