Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [110]
Becca looked at that white hand that was surely too strong, but she didn’t move. She rolled over away from them, grabbed her purse, and was off again. A sharp pain went through her hip but she ignored it.
She got at least ten feet before two arms went around her waist and she was picked up, twirled around, and thrown over a man’s shoulder. She hit her chin against his back. “Hold still,” he said, and his voice was calm and quiet. Too calm, too quiet.
Sherlock was one thing. Having a big guy haul her over his shoulder was another. It was humiliating. She jerked and pulled and kicked. “All right,” he said, and pulled her down. He brought her back up against him, wrapped his arms around her, and held on tight. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get free. He’d pinned her arms to her sides but good.
Three hours, she thought. Time was running out. “What time is it?”
“I’ll tell you after you promise not to run away again.”
She leaned down and bit his hand, hard. He didn’t make a single sound, jerked her around to face him and said, “I’m sorry, Becca,” and lightly tapped his fist against her jaw. It was the strangest feeling. It didn’t really hurt, but she saw a whole skyful of white lights, popping all over her brain, then it was as if someone switched off the lights. Nothing. She slumped against him.
“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. 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 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 pocket.
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 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