Paradise Burning (34 page)

Mandy was not amused.

She had heard, Peter kindly informed her, the
sound of a dried-up palm frond snapping off and falling to the
ground below. If she’d learned to recognize the crash, crunch, and
snort of a wild hog, how could she panic over the snap of a palm
frond?

So this time she was going to be brave. Mandy
edged toward the bedroom window, opened a crack between the
flowered draperies and peeked out. It took a few moments for her
eyes to adjust, for the deck and trees outside to coalesce into
solid forms. A sound—eerie and forlorn rose above all the
background noise outside. Mandy dropped the drapery, jerked back,
quivering. And yet, the sound had been . . . distinctive.
Recognizable. She frowned, squared her shoulders, peeked out once
more, staring at the towering live oak that loomed just beyond the
deck’s ornately carved railing.

Mandy sucked in her breath, eyes widening.
Easing the drapery back in place, she ran to the kitchen where
Peter was bent over a sheaf of manuscript pages spread out on the
kitchen table. “Peter,” she hissed, putting a finger to her lips,
“come see.”

Alarmed, Peter jumped to his feet, scattering
precious pages onto the tile floor as he followed his wife’s
swiftly retreating back.

“
Look at the branch that’s almost
touching the deck,” Mandy commanded, pulling the drapery
aside.

Peter peered out. “For God’s sake, Mouse,” he
growled, his heart rate plunging in relief, “it’s only an owl.”

“
Only an owl!
That’s the biggest owl I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s huge.
It’s gorgeous. How can you say, ‘It’s only an owl?’”

What he’d feared was an array of men in ski
masks, creeping forward, guns and knives at the ready. A goddamned
nature lesson was not what he needed at this point. “Look, Mouse .
. .”

“
My name is Mandy.”

Counting to ten wasn’t going to be enough,
Peter thought. Remembering they were on the teetering knife edge of
hammering out a reconciliation wasn’t going to be enough. Mandy
didn’t need to worry about the Russian mafia; she was in worse
danger right here and now. He was going to wring her neck.

But sparks were shooting from her huge green
eyes. Those oh-so-vulnerable windows to a valiant soul. “It’s a
beautiful owl,” he heard himself say. “And twice the size of any
I’ve ever seen. Sorry I lost it, but for a minute there, I thought
. . . well, I thought you’d seen something else.”

Mandy’s face fell. “I should have realized .
. . I’m sorry.”

Peter pulled her into his arms, his anger
dissipating on a surge of passion. There was nothing like the
threat of danger to send a man’s libido into overdrive. “I’m the
one who’s sorry,” he murmured. “I got you into this. I only wanted
us to be together, to be happy . . . and I’ve dragged us into
hell.”

“
I’m the one who crossed the river,”
Mandy reminded him. “I’m the one who had delusions of grandeur, the
hotshot who thought working for AKA automatically made me a junior
Jeff Armitage, if not a female James Bond. Big joke,” she added
forlornly, burrowing further into the comfort of his
shoulder.

“
Not a joke. In true Bond style you
stirred up a hornet’s nest.”

“
And need a few Bond miracles to get us
out,” Mandy sighed, snuggling in for an even tighter
fit.

Oh, yeah
. With
a flick of his wrist, Peter tossed the blue wicker laundry basket
onto the floor, scattering transparent nightgowns and barely-there
bras and panties over the soft thick blue rug. Clothing swiftly
followed.

The queen-size bed a hopeful Peter had set up
for his wife was being tested at last.

Later, Mandy would wonder if things
might have been different if they hadn’t fallen asleep in a
blissful haze of exhaustion. If they’d managed to maintain their
reputations as Jeff Armitage’s protégés. If they’d remembered
Brad’s
Never think you’re
safe
.

Would they have heard the tinkle of glass as
the spotlights disintegrated onto the deck? The whispering rasp of
the lock on the utility room door, the clunk of the security chain
hitting the wall, the catlike footfalls of the four men who
surrounded their entwined bodies?

A moot point. They were caught, naked, their
precautions useless. With four armed men staring down at them. The
Glock, the AirLite, the shotgun, their cell phones might as well
have been on the moon. Mandy knew she should be terrified, but her
only coherent thought was guilt. She’d finally done it. She’d
managed to kill them both. Just when she and Peter . . .

“
Get dressed,” the tallest of the men
barked, shining a powerful beam into their eyes. Before being
blinded by the light, Mandy caught a glimpse of the four men
clustered around the bed. Stalwart clichés in black. Ominous ski
masks added to the menace of the squat Mac-10s in their hands, the
glint of knives hanging from their belts, the MP-5 submachine guns
slung over their backs. Overkill. Intimidation. And highly
effective. Nobody, but nobody—most certainly not an author and a
researcher caught naked in bed—was going to argue with
them.

But . . . “I’m not getting out of bed naked!”
Mandy declared.

One of the dark silhouettes stepped forward,
placed the muzzle of his Mac-10 machine pistol directly against
Peter’s head. The leader barked something unintelligible, then
disappeared into the darkness, light dimming as he took the
powerful flashlight with him. The gun against Peter’s temple never
wavered.

“
Here.” A bath towel landed on the bed
in front of Mandy. “You will hurry,” the leader added in a tone
that had Mandy whipping the towel under the bedcovers.

“
Call your dog off,” Peter ground out.
“I can’t get dressed if I can’t move.”

More unintelligible words. Cold metal
receded. Slowly, carefully, Peter shifted his feet toward the
floor.

Mandy squirmed beneath the covers, attempting
to convince the towel to cover her nakedness, her mind scrambling
just as hard. The tall man, the leader, hadn’t said much, but it
was enough for her to recognize his accent wasn’t Russian. She was
almost positive it was Karim Shirazi. Which gave her some slight
hope. He’d had an opportunity to kill them once before and hadn’t
done it. Maybe . . . hopefully . . . this was just another
warning.

“
My clothes are in the other room,”
Peter said.

A jerk of the leader’s head, and Peter was
allowed up, his naked body a stark contrast to the black-clad
invaders. Two of the men followed as he walked down the short
hallway to his own bedroom. The third man positioned himself in the
doorway, his back to Mandy’s room.

The leader’s powerful flashlight flicked over
the room, illuminating the closet, dropping to a survey of the
floor. The beam made a leisurely examination of the blue wicker
laundry basket, the scattering of intimate apparel. Mandy could
feel her whole body blushing. This man, this scumbag, sleazeball
pimp, was in her bedroom, getting his kicks out of her most
intimate secrets.

As Mandy watched the Iranian’s flashlight
move from nightgowns to bikini panties to discarded clothing, a
useful thought finally penetrated her brain. Her cell phone was in
the pocket of her slacks. “I’ll put on what I was wearing earlier,”
she said. “If you’ll turn that light somewhere else,” she added a
bit more sharply than was wise.

The beam never wavered. “American women are
very arrogant,” said the deep voice behind the ski mask. “You
should learn to mind your masters.”

Mandy gasped.
Rotten, miserable chauvinist peeping tom.

Stop! Don’t be stupid. He’s the guy carrying
the gun. And he has friends. The odds are four to two. And your
only weapons are boobs and a smile.

“
Foolish female,” Karim growled. “I
have seen a thousand women. Nothing you have is of interest to me.
You are not young enough or beautiful enough to be of use. Tonight
is a different kind of business. Get dressed, then I will
explain.”

It wasn’t as if she didn’t know she was no
longer young . . . or that she had never been beautiful . . . but
it hurt. She was surprised how much it hurt, dammit. Even the bad
guys didn’t want her. Except for . . . what?

Surprisingly, the flashlight beam suddenly
shifted to her dresser. Mandy supposed Shirazi was merely
emphasizing his complete disinterest. She slipped out of bed and
grabbed up her clothes, rejecting the temptation to see if her
captor’s eyes had followed the light of the flash. She could only
hope he was taking note of all the little telltale signs on her
dresser that indicated she was truly female—creams, lotions,
lipsticks, hairspray, cologne, perfume, makeup mirror.

Shit!
Mandy’s
attempt to hold the towel in place while pulling on her panties
proved futile. With a grimace of disgust she dropped her shield,
scrambling into her clothes with as much haste as shaking fingers
could manage. As she fumbled with her slacks, while keeping her
shirt-clad back to Karim, she felt a surge of satisfaction at the
solidity of the tiny cell phone hugging her thigh.

“
My shoes are in the closet. And I’ll
need my jacket. That’s in the closet too.”

Instantly, the beam of light shifted to the
walk-in closet. Would he follow her? Maybe if she took a long time
finding socks in the built-in closet drawers, rummaged among the
shoes to find just the right footwear to be kidnapped in. Perhaps
he would grow bored, not watch so closely . . .

The Iranian inspected the closet, stood back,
somehow managing to radiate boredom and impatience at the same
time. A few minutes later when Mandy emerged from the closet, she
had to work to keep a glow of triumph from suffusing her face. A
small victory, probably short-lived. But any successful attempt to
outwit Karim Shirazi’s smug male superiority was enough to make her
day. Her right jacket pocket sagged ever so slightly with the
weight of her AirLite twenty-two. Obeying an imperative wave of the
flashlight, Mandy headed toward Peter’s bedroom.

Obviously, things had not gone smoothly . . .
perhaps Karim’s cohorts preferred it that way. Peter, now dressed,
was spreadeagled against the wall, a Mac-10 held under his chin by
a menacing black figure who radiated an intense urge to squeeze the
trigger. Peter’s hair was tousled, face pale. Blood dribbled from
the side of his mouth. Mandy started to dash forward, was brought
up short, like a dog at the end of its chain, as Karim Shirazi
grabbed her arm. He was, she discovered, as strong as he looked. A
quivering circle of light reflected down from the broad splash his
flashlight was making on the ceiling after he jammed it, upside
down, into his belt.

“
All right, let’s have it,” Peter
challenged. “What do you want?”

Karim pulled Mandy back against his chest,
the hand with the Mac-10 moving up under her chin in a stance
similar to the one pinning Peter to the wall. Somehow the Iranian’s
body was more frightening than the gun, Mandy thought. It was like
coming in contact with a Mack truck. His was the most solid,
inflexible flesh she had ever encountered. She struggled to keep
from shivering. No way was she going to give him the satisfaction
of knowing she was terrified.

“
The matter is simple,” Karim stated.
“We never stay long in any one place, but usually the choice of
length is ours.
This woman
,”
he pronounced with considerable emphasis, “has made that
impossible.” Mandy’s stomach churned as her captor’s arm tightened,
a momentary wave of the squat ugly gun emphasizing his disgust with
the current state of affairs. “So now we must make special
arrangements before we can leave, and it is all this one’s fault.”
Karim’s arm slid higher, his forearm pressing Mandy’s throat in a
choke hold.

Arrogance. Ignorance. Pride. Passion.
Mandy tolled the list of her stupidities that had brought them to
this disaster. She and Peter were about to die. Karim’s elbow
tightened. Mandy’s brain shut down. She’d never been so scared in
her life. A wisp—a thin, desperate wisp of intelligence
whispered:
But if he’s going to kill you,
why did he have you get dressed?

“
We wish to move out,” Karim continued,
directing his remarks to Peter, “and you and your woman are going
to make that possible. It is only right,” he added on a growl.
“When we are safely away from here, you, Mr. Pennington, will call
your friends in the FBI, the police, or whoever is watching us, and
tell them they must go away. Far away. And take their vans, their
radios, their airplanes and helicopters with them.”

“
It won’t do you any good,” Mandy
wheezed.

“
Shut up, Mouse,” Peter
snapped.

“
It will
have
to do us good,” Karim assured her, “or you
both will be dead. You heard that, did you not, Mr. Pennington? I
do not enjoy killing, but sometimes it is necessary. My job demands
it. You understand, I am sure.”

Man to man, Mandy noted sourly. Serious
discussions were a male affair. Women only rated threats.

“
You will not win this contest, Mr.
Pennington,” Karim emphasized with surprising patience, “no matter
what your friends in government may do. It is possible you are
noble, willing to sacrifice yourself, but heroic gestures will do
no good. I can, and will, kill this woman unless you and your
police friends do as I say. If you wish your lover to remain alive,
you will see that everything is arranged as I have said. Any sign
of interference and she is dead. You understand?”