The Warrior. Dinah McCall

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СКАЧАТЬ his move. And even though he knew what was going to happen, it was still shocking to witness. All of a sudden, Nightwalker was in full camera range, running at the gunman and his hostage with a knife in his hand.

      Lee watched Deeds spin and fire. He saw the bullet hit the Indian. He saw blood spurt out the back of his shoulder and his shirt instantly turn red. Then Lisa Doggett went limp and Deeds shoved her away. He watched her come to and run to her boys, shielding them with her body. Deeds seemed to be about to fire a second shot, but it never happened. One moment the knife was in Nightwalker’s hand and the next it was in Wallace Deeds’ chest.

      Deeds went down, but the Indian didn’t. That was what kept freaking Lee out.

      When the Indian bent over and pulled the knife out of Deeds’ chest without staggering or showing any pain, Lee simply couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He wanted to have a reason to go after Nightwalker, but there wasn’t one, and considering the half-dozen new cases on his desk, he knew it was time to let this one go, however reluctantly.

      Two days later—Justice, Georgia

      Alicia Ponte’s life was one of wealth and privilege. She was the daughter of a rich man, the type of woman who headed committees and organized charity functions. She wore the right clothes, knew the right people and always made the society pages. She had friends, but none were close. She’d had one boyfriend in college and a brief relationship with another man over three years ago, and nothing that mattered since.

      At twenty-seven years old, she had always thought of herself as confident and self-assured, but the last twenty-two hours had proved her wrong. She was scared—as scared as she’d ever been—and of someone who was supposed to love her. The irony that she’d waited until now to run away from home was lost in the gut-wrenching fear that kept her moving. But her flight was about to be sidetracked by the need for fuel.

      She glanced down at the gas gauge. It was too close to empty to dare trying to make it to Savannah, but according to a road sign she’d seen a mile back, Marv’s Gas and Guzzle should be able to take care of that.

      A short while later, she came upon the city limit sign of Justice, Georgia, population: 488. Alicia didn’t care how many people lived here. She just wanted some of Marv’s gas—and maybe a cold drink and a snack—then she was back on the road. Only, running wasn’t going to solve her problem. She couldn’t run forever. She needed a place to hide. That she was hiding from her father was nothing short of horrifying, but there was no denying what she’d accidentally overheard.

      Her father—Richard Ponte, the largest arms manufacturer in the western hemisphere—was selling weapons to the enemy in Iraq, as well as to the American soldiers who were fighting them. Profiting from the war in the most hideous manner and arming both sides with the same most up-to-date munitions money could buy.

      Her father had been overseas for almost a year, opening a new recycling plant in Taiwan, overseeing the closing of a tire factory in India. She’d visited him a couple of times but had opted to go back to Miami. It made her uncomfortable to know that he was taking advantage of the poverty and strife in those countries by paying the workers only a fraction of what he would have had to pay American employees. Once he was back, she was excited to have company for dinner again.

      She’d been on her way into his office to see if he would be staying home for lunch when she realized he wasn’t alone. She heard her father and his old friend Jacob Carruthers talking, and she smiled to herself, thinking she would get to share a meal with Uncle Jake, as well. Just as she started to knock, she heard her father curse, which shocked her. He didn’t behave like that in her presence, and she knew if she went in now, he would know that she’d heard him. So she hesitated, and as she did, she heard something far worse.

      The phrase “shipment of arms” was common in her father’s world, and she normally thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until she heard the name Osama bin Laden that she knew something wasn’t right. Then, as she listened, for the first time in her life, she knew the true meaning of the phrase “her blood ran cold.”

      Osama bin Laden was happy with the goods.

      She put a hand to her lips to keep from gasping aloud. There had to be some mistake. Then she heard her father mention a delivery in Afghanistan to al Qaeda. Then the Kurds and Mohammed al-Kazir. The nail in her father’s coffin was when she heard Jacob say that bin Laden would double his offer if they could deliver before the end of the month, and something about the thirteenth being a problem, because it was some kind of holiday.

      She heard her father chuckle, then comment with something to the effect that he would make them pay out the ass if they wanted the good stuff.

      She felt sick. This couldn’t be happening. The last comment she heard was the one that sealed their fate.

      “You know,” Jacob said, “U.S. Customs might start getting wise. There are only so many plows and tractors that one company can import.”

      Her father snorted. “I pay enough money under the table to smuggle any damn thing I choose.”

      Alicia had no memory of how she’d gotten out of the hall and back up the stairs to her room. The next thing she remembered was being on her hands and knees in her bathroom, throwing up in the toilet. She threw up until her belly hurt and her jaws ached. By the time she managed to drag herself to bed, she was in a cold sweat. The maid had come in to clean, but Alicia had sent her away, claiming she was coming down with the flu.

      By the time the maid made it back downstairs, Jacob Carruthers was gone and Richard was on to the next big thing. The maid hesitated in the hallway, then knocked at Richard’s office door.

      “Yes,” he muttered, irked at being disturbed.

      The maid opened the door just enough to pass on her message.

      “Sir…Miss Ponte has taken ill…the flu, she thinks, and said to pass on her excuses because she’s going to skip lunch.”

      “Yes, thank you,” Richard said.

      Her father had too many irons in the fire to worry about a flu bug unless he was the one getting ill, Alicia knew, so for now she had some time to regroup. She’d never been able to lie and get away with it, and she’d never been able to hide her feelings. One look at her face and her father would have known something was wrong. It wouldn’t have taken him long to get it out of her, so she’d done the only thing she could think of to do: she’d packed a bag and run.

      And she was still running. She needed to tell someone what she knew, but her father’s power was great and his reach was long. He had strong ties to almost every arm of the government. She didn’t yet know who to tell or who to trust. Maybe he could live with the blood of innocent soldiers on his conscience, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t. And she wasn’t going to let him get away with it, either. The next day, after he’d left for the office, she left him a note that she was feeling better and was going to take off for a few days at a spa. Then she’d emptied one of her sizeable bank accounts and left Miami in the middle of a thunderstorm—perfect weather to match her mood.

      The spa excuse had worked for only one day. When she’d failed to check in, Richard began making calls. When she didn’t return the first call within the hour, he’d called a second time, then a third. By noon, Alicia had a half-dozen unanswered messages on her cell, including a text message from him hinting at concern. After that, she’d stopped keeping track. It was inevitable that she would have to answer, but she wasn’t ready. She was so angry with him that she could hardly think, and at the same time she was afraid. She knew her father’s reputation. СКАЧАТЬ