Immortal Mine (38 page)

I throw another prayer heavenward that the
restaurant doesn’t have any kind of security cameras for
Kory
to look at. Even if they don’t, they’ll find something
somewhere else. Niahm’s life is now in danger.

A beep sounds, and the two men turn back
toward the first warehouse whose door I shot out. They begin
running, and I take the opportunity to move. I pick up one of the
metal rods and hurry toward the warehouse. It doesn’t take long to
pop the lock off. I’ve had a bit of practice. I run back to where
Niahm and Jean wait and once again we sandwich Niahm as we run
toward the warehouse.

Once inside we bypass the offices and enter
the area in the back which is piled high with large wooden crates.
We hurry down between them ducking between two high stacks.

“Do you have the phone?” I ask Jean. She
pulls it from her pocket and I give her a kiss on the forehead. I
quickly punch in some numbers and wait while they send. After
thirty seconds, it vibrates and I get the confirmation I was
looking for. “Shane’s on his way with the van,” I say and Jean
grins at me.

“What van?” Niahm asks, confused.

“Bullet-proof,” I say. Niahm blanches. I
curse myself once again for my thoughtlessness. “It’s what will get
us all out of here alive,” I say.

Yelling and the metal door slamming open let
us know the Sentinels have arrived. Jean and I both grab one of
Niahm’s hands and we begin moving again, quickly but quietly. This
time Niahm doesn’t pull her hand from mine. We wind down between
the crates, watching and listening for the Sentinels. But they are
now being stealthy themselves, no doubt aware that they have us
trapped. As we round another crate, I stop. We’ve reached the back
corner of the building with nowhere to go. Instinctively, we turn
back but a nearby footfall stops us. I push Niahm behind me into
the corner, taking a stance in front of her with Jean helping to
complete the wall. After a few tense moments the footsteps move
further away.

Suddenly, Jean grasps my hand. I look at her
and she is staring at me intently. Immediately understanding, I
open my mind.

Can you hear me?

I nod.

We aren’t going to be able to get out when
Shane comes, not from where we are. You know that, right?

I think about arguing, but finally nod.
Behind her clear thoughts she’s sending my way, I’m seeing
everything else that resides in Jeans mind, her childhood with a
cruel father, her loveless marriage and feelings of worthlessness,
the despair that drove her actions.

I’m going to distract them so you can get
her out of here.

No!

Her eyes widen.
So you can project
thoughts as well?

I nod, jaw clenched.

She has a better chance with you. You know
that. I’ll do everything I can to get away.

I shake my head.
She’ll never forgive
either of us
.

Jean’s mouth quivers a bit as she nods,
acknowledging my words. Abruptly, she turns toward Niahm and pulls
her into her arms. Niahm fearfully clings to her. Jeans hand shoots
out and I grasp it tightly.

Tell her
, she thinks frantically,
tell her this was my idea. You have to take her away, Sam, keep
her safe. They’ll figure out who she is.

I nod.

In six months I’ll be here.
She sends
a picture into my mind of Bryce Canyon, at Rainbow Point. I know
it; I’ve been there.
I’ll go every six months until you have the
chance to come.

I’ll be there,
I send to her.

Only when it’s safe,
she admonishes.
I know you love her.
I nod fervently.
I’m counting on
that, Sam. I’m counting on
you
. Make her understand and keep
her safe.
The last three words are thrown at me, as if she’s
thinking them as separate words with an exclamation point after
each.

I will, Jean. And... thank you.

She nods again, letting go of my hand to
wrap both arms tightly around Niahm. Then she releases her and
begins to move away. Niahm grabs her arm, alarm on her face. Jean
looks back at her with a small smile. She takes Niahm’s face
between her palms and then leans forward to kiss each cheek. She
whispers something in Niahm’s ear, and though Niahm still looks
terrified, she nods.

Jean moves quietly away, peering around the
corner before moving out of sight. Niahm and I listen quietly.
Tension thrums through my blood. After a few stress-filled minutes
pass with nothing, Niahm grasps my hand tightly. I keep my mind
closed, but I don’t have to open it to know how frightened she is.
Not for the first time I wish I could go back in time and not enter
her life so that she wouldn’t now be in this predicament.

Then, the metal door slams loudly. Niahm
jumps and the tiniest squeak escapes her. Two sets of footsteps run
in the direction of the sound as one of them curses. They noisily
slam through the door themselves. I don’t waste time. Keeping hold
of Niahm’s hand I pull her toward the front of the stack. I look
around the corner and don’t see or hear anything. I put a finger to
my lips to remind her of the need for silence and she nods, eyes
wide. We hurry along the front of the crates toward the front
office, bypassing the metal door which has swung back to rest
within inches of being closed.

We move into the front office area and
toward the front door as I punch a couple more numbers into the
phone. The front door is glass, but the office is dark. I urge
Niahm into a crouch as we near the door. Then I see it—the van
screeching into the parking lot, not even making an attempt at
stealth. Shane brakes and turns the wheel, forcing the van into a
squealing circle in front of the office. The sliding back door of
the van gapes open and I wrap an arm around Niahm’s waist as I push
the bar which allows me to shove the door open. An alarm
immediately sounds.

Niahm pulls against my grip for just one
second, clearly intending to not leave without her grandma. In that
second, a shot rings out as I unceremoniously toss her into the
van, following closely and shoving the door closed behind me even
as Shane stomps down hard on the gas pedal, sending Niahm and I
tumbling toward the back of the van.

As I right myself, I look to see Niahm still
crumpled in the corner. I quickly crawl toward her, knocked back a
bit as Shane sharply corners the van, the feeling of two wheels not
quite making contact with the asphalt clear.

“Niahm, are you okay?” I ask as I finally
get to her side.

“Jean,” she moans.

“She’ll be fine. They won’t stick around
with the alarm going off. When she’s safe, she’ll find us,” I say.
Niahm nods sluggishly at my words. “Did you hit your head?” I ask
with concern. She isn’t responding as she should be.

“Get Stacy,” she says, her words garbled and
slow.

“Shane,” I call to the front of the van.

“Got her,” he says back. Stacy peeks around
the front passenger seat, pale, lips pulled tight. She glances at
Shane.

“Just sit tight a few more minutes,” he says
in answer to her unspoken words. “”We’ll be in the clear soon, and
then you can have your reunion.”

Stacy narrows her eyes slightly at him,
though the gesture is rather unthreatening in her fear-filled face.
She doesn’t unbuckle or try to come back though.

I turn back to Niahm who is lying with her
eyes closed. “Niahm?” I ask. No response. I’m worried about a
possible head injury between the way I threw her in and the tumble
she took as Shane sped off. I reach down and slowly, gently probe
her skull. I can’t feel anything obvious, so I do the thing I know
will infuriate her. I take her hand and listen.

All I see are confused images overlapping
one another. Images of Jean, Stacy, and myself rotate and merge.
Then I see it...
feel
it really. “No,” I mutter, pulling her
up from the floor of the van, pushing my hands frantically against
her back. Sticky wetness greets me. I don’t need to pull my hands
up to know it’s blood, but I do anyway. My hand is covered.

“No, no, no,” I moan, pulling her limp form
into my arms.

“Sam?” Shane questions as Stacy’s gaze comes
back around.

“Shane, you’ve got to get us to a hospital.
Now
.” I’m pleading with him, pleading more desperately than
I ever have before. “Niahm’s been shot.”

“We can’t do that,” Shane says calmly as
Stacy, who managed to unbuckle herself and move into the back of
the van in one fluid motion turns back to him with a horrified,
“
What
?” Perhaps it’s a good thing she’s not within striking
distance of him, because I think she might have belted him if she
were closer.

“If we take her to a hospital, she’s dead,”
Shane replies.

Stacy swings frantic eyes back to me. I know
he’s right, because I’ve seen it. Without help, she’s dead
anyway.

“Sam!” Stacy exclaims, the single word
demanding and pleading all at once.

“
Mac an
donais
!” I curse. “He’s right,” I admit
miserably.

“What do you mean?” she practically
screeches, leaning down near Niahm and soothing her hands across
her hair.

“Those men ...” I begin.

“What about them? What do they want, Sam?
Why are they after Niahm?”

I pull Niahm up into my arms, tight against
my chest.

“They don’t want Niahm,” Shane says from the
front. “They were after Jean. And now us.”

“Then go to the hospital,” she demands,
confusion lacing her voice. “I’ll take her and you guys can get
away.”

“Too late,” I moan, rocking Niahm as her
breathing becomes labored.

“They know her now,” Shane says. “Her life
is in danger. And yours if they see you with us. We have to get you
to a safe place where we can let you off. We’ll give you money to
get home.”

“No way,” Stacy says firmly, her eyes locked
on Niahm. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Shane, please,” I say, not knowing how else
to express what I need.

“I know, Samuel,” he answers. “Okay, I’ll
find somewhere safe where I can look at her.”

“Why in the world would that help?” Stacy
asks. Before he can answer she leans toward Niahm. “Sam, she’s not
breathing right,” she gasps. “She’s going to die if we don’t help
her.”

“I don’t think they’ve followed us,” Shane
says, turning to glance at us quickly. His eyes drop to Niahm
before returning to the road. “I don’t have my equipment,
Samuel.”

“Anything,” I say. “Anywhere.”

He nods. He knows what I’m asking. A few
long, eternal minutes later, after several turns, he stops the van.
He climbs into the back of the van and pushes me out of the way. I
move, but retain hold of her hand. The images are fading, becoming
more discombobulated and obscure. He turns on the overhead light.
Stacy whimpers when she sees the blood covering the floor. I’m not
altogether sure that I don’t join her.

“Samuel. Sam!” Shane says when I don’t look
up at him the first time. “This is a clinic,” he says. “You know
what to do.”

Stacy turns questioning eyes on me. I move
as quickly as I can to the sliding door. When I open the door, I’m
facing a rundown clinic, windows barred, graffiti, dirt, and oil
smudging the sides of the building.

“Sam, wait,” Stacy calls worriedly. I step
out, slamming the door behind me. I look around for a weapon, not
to defend myself but to slow anyone who would try to stop me. A
rusted hammer lies on the ground beneath the barred windows and I
scoop it up. At the front of the clinic, the metal door is locked
tight, a doorbell and camera facing me. I press the doorbell
several times.

“What do you need?” A tough-sounding female
voice crackles out of the ancient door speaker.

“I need help,” I say, trying not to sound
threatening.

“Hold your hands up and turn in a circle,”
the voice commands. “Lift the back of your shirt so I can see your
pockets, pull your front pockets inside out, lift your pant legs so
I can see your socks.”

I drop the hammer and do as she says, trying
not to look and sound rushed. The last thing I want to do is panic
and blow my only chance of getting inside. Once I’ve followed her
instructions, my mind ticking down the amount of time that is
passing, she asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Shot,” I say.

“We don’t have no narcotics here.”

“I don’t want any,” I answer.

Long seconds pass before I hear the multiple
bolts being opened from the inside. A burly man opens the door and
holds a gun on me. He looks me up and down, the blood on my clothes
obviously convincing him of my claim. He waves me in.

“Back here,” the tough voice calls, waving
me to the hallway next to her. She doesn’t look as tough as she
sounds, standing maybe five-four, rounded body, hair pulled up into
a black bun, ebony skin gleaming in the florescent light. The look
on her face would be convincing enough, though. The clinic is in
dire need of paint, flooring, and new chairs. But it’s clean. I
hurry back and she waves me into a room.