The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [685]
“She’s a fighter,” he said to Sherlock, who was standing beside him as he picked Becca up in his arms. He looked at the back of his hand. At least he wasn’t bleeding, but he could see the row of even teeth marks. That had been close, too close. But now he had her, thank God. She was too thin, he thought, as he carried her back. She didn’t weigh enough; well, he’d see to that. He’d force food down her gullet if he had to. He frowned as he realized she was a fast runner, very fast. He wasn’t certain if he could have caught her if Sherlock hadn’t been there. He didn’t like that thought, not one bit. He saw Thomas striding toward him, looking frantic.
“What’s going on here, Adam?” Suddenly Sherlock was right in his face, and she wasn’t going to move. He couldn’t very well clip her on the chin. She’d probably flatten him. Since she was married to Savich, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had a black belt, maybe two.
He said, “Krimakov kidnapped Sam McBride. Come on back to the house and we’ll let everyone know what’s happening. She promised McBride that she wouldn’t tell anyone. However, when Agent Cobb gave her some Valium to relax her so he could hypnotize her, she inadvertently spilled the beans. She did go under. Then it all came out.”
“This is insane,” said Sherlock. “That maniac kidnapped Sam? Let me get ahold of Savich. I can’t believe this. Is that guy everywhere?” She stepped away and pulled the cell phone out of her purse.
The agents who’d been watching the house were now standing next to Thomas and agents Hawley and Cobb.
They parted from his path and Adam carried Becca back into the house, not saying another word. He hoped no neighbors in this lovely neighborhood had seen this bizarre action and called the cops.
“I hope you didn’t hurt her,” Thomas said, right on his heels.
“She nearly bit my hand off,” Adam said.
“Yeah, but you brought her down.”
“No, that was Sherlock. I just clamped my arms around her.”
“You weren’t gentle enough.”
“Thomas, what did you want me to do, lie down and let her stomp on me before she ran another four-minute mile?”
“Yeah, Adam,” Agent Hawley said. “She got you good, but it’s not bleeding. Good straight teeth. Put her down on the couch.”
Thomas covered her with an afghan Allison had given him some seven years before. He didn’t realize it was quite hot, since they’d left the front door wide open and all the cold air had seeped out.
“I was careful,” Adam said, but he was sitting beside her, lightly touching her jaw where he’d hit her. “She shouldn’t even bruise. Listen, Thomas, she was going to run and run until we brought her down. She would have fought me until I might have hurt her by accident. She wasn’t thinking.”
“Yeah, I guess I understand.” Thomas raised his eyes to Hawley and Cobb. “We’re in deep trouble now.”
Becca moaned and opened her eyes. She lurched up only to have two hands push her back down, and Adam’s voice close to her face saying, “If you try anything again, I’m going to lock you in your room. If you bite me again, I’ll lock you in your closet and feed you moldy bread and water.”
Her hair was hanging in her face, her jaw felt swollen and sore, and she was so mad she wanted to spit. More than that, she was desperate. She was tired of failing. All she’d done since Krimakov had come into her life was fail. She raised her head and looked him squarely in the eye. “That wasn’t funny. Go to hell.”
“No, I won’t do that. What I want to do is help you if you’ll just let me.”
The three hours were up, she knew it. She had to do something. She had to do something right this minute. But it didn’t matter. It was too late. All of them knew now. She said, trying to control her misery, her deadening fear, “I’ve got to call Tyler. I promised to call him in three hours. If I don’t, I don’t know what he’ll do, probably go to the media. Don’t you understand?