No joke, she was having a hard time making her lungs work properly. They kept wanting to seize up on her. Which could have something to do with the fact that her nerves were stretched piano-wire tight, the muscles in her entire body burning because she’d kept them tensed for so long. That inner war she’d thought was over and won continued to see the occasional skirmish, and she asked herself for the hundredth time since she left the hotel if she’d made a mistake in agreeing to help.
You already said you would, her old man’s voice whispered through her head. Some folks had little angels or devils sitting on their shoulders and giving advice. She had Sergeant Gerard DePaul. And you’re not a woman to go back on her word.
Flippin-A. In death as in life, her dad was right as rain. Which meant…
Relax. Breathe. Hold steady.
She was in the process of forcing her shoulders down from where they’d crawled up around her ears, twisting her head back and forth to relieve some of the tension, when Chelsea’s rusty-sounding voice whispered through her earpiece. “Penni, I don’t know what you just did, but there’s a faint silver sheen coming from your location.”
Penni glanced down and saw a strip of reflective fabric on the underside of her parka’s collar. When she’d raised her zipper, it’d revealed the strip. What the—? How could she not have noticed that when she bought it?
“Son of a suck-ass bitch,” she hissed, ripping her zipper down to once more conceal the offensive material. As if to add insult to injury, the teeth on the zipper made an overly loud scriiiiitching sound. She winced. Then she held her breath and waited.
They all did.
Utter silence reigned as one second stretched into two. Two stretched into ten. The pounding of her heart was like the ticking of a frantic clock. Lub-dub…tick-tock. And just when she was about to blow out a relieved sigh, Zoelner said, “Kozlov’s moving, ducking into the alleyway.” Her internal alert system flashed from yellow to red. “I’m following,” Zoelner added unnecessarily.
Pressing back into the doorway, Penni strained her eyes toward the northwest corner of the square. She could see nothing beyond the gentle glimmer of the water spurting from the fountain and the subtle ripple of shadows across the ground when a cold breeze rustled the leaves on the trees.
It went without saying that losing track of the modern-day equivalent of a Russian KGB officer in a back alley in Cusco was way down on her list of Safe Things to Do on a Friday Night. Unfortunately, that’s apparently what had happened when Zoelner cursed and said, “I’m at the mouth of the alley. He’s not here. Everyone maintain their positions until I can pick up his tail.”
Unease coursed through Penni’s veins. Come on, come on, Zoelner. Get eyes on.
“Okay, I’m at the other end of the alley,” Zoelner finally said. “Kozlov has ghosted. Fuck. Fuck. I’m heading south around the square toward Penni’s position in case Kozlov saw what Chelsea saw and he’s coming to investigate.”
“I’ll hold my location,” Chelsea whispered.
“I’ll make my way to Penni from the opposite direction,” Dan told Zoelner. “Penni, babe, you needa get the hell outta there.”
“One step ahead of you,” she said, looking both ways and sliding from the shadows to hastily descend the stoop’s two narrow steps. She’d gone no more than twenty paces when a massive baseball mitt of a hand emerged from nowhere and nearly yanked her out of her boots.
She screamed—or squealed, really—as she was jerked around the corner and shoved up against the cold back wall of the coffee shop. A half second later, a heavy forearm slammed across her throat, cutting off her air and her squeal.
“Penni! Penni!” Dan’s dismayed voice blasted through her earpiece.
“Who are you?” Kozlov’s face was an inch from hers. His narrowed blue eyes were ice picks stabbing at her. His facial features were as blunt as a closed fist. And considering the unnatural flatness of his nose and cheekbones, it was a fairly good bet that many closed fists had made them that way. Fear blazed through her like napalm, burning across her nerve endings.
“Why are you here?” he demanded, easing up just enough so she could croak out an answer—not that she was going to answer him.
Oh God. Oh hell. Oh shit.
“Oh fuck!” she heard Dan hiss. Okay, and that works too. “Hang on, Penni! I’m coming!”
Hang on? Forget about it. In what world was she the damsel in distress who waited to be rescued by the white knight…er…in this case, the Black Knight?
Channeling all her fear and adrenaline, and ignoring the way her brain buzzed from lack of oxygen—blue really wasn’t her color—she dug her nails into Kozlov’s forearm and tried to yank it down at the same time she brought her knee up. Hard. Aiming for his wedding tackle with enough force to ensure he wouldn’t be procreating anytime soon.
Unfortunately, he was prepared for the move. He swiveled his hips at the last second and her knee missed its intended target, slamming ineffectually into his muscled thigh. “Mmph,” he grunted on impact as—“Uhhhh!”—she struggled to breathe.