Gabrielle’s hands gripped the M24. Laila’s horrific accident and injuries, Max’s agreement to end her suffering—these revelations explained the darkness in him. Her grief after her parents died was suffocating, but because she had no closure, no understanding of what had happened, she’d been obsessive in her quest for justice. If she did ever figure out who was responsible, it was possible she could be just as myopic in her desire for revenge. Maybe that was what had drawn her and Max together—the recognition of another soul in searing pain.
She spent her career assessing people, but with Max Heros her feelings had blinded her to the truth. Just her luck that she’d been attracted to a man on a full-on homicidal rampage. What Max, an officer of the law, had done in the name of payback had crossed every line imaginable. Innocent people had paid the ultimate price. And if she let him, he’d kill Christos Paris and his daughter, Thea.
Max would never relinquish his hostage. He might play with Thea, give her false hope while he used her for an audience, but he’d have his way in the end.
A raven cawed. She ignored it, entering the sniper zone. She inhaled a deep breath through the nose and held it.
The world became quiet, still.
Her eyes burned as the crosshairs settled on Max’s face. She memorized the angular line of his nose, the cleft in his chin, the lips that she’d kissed.
“I’m so sorry, Max.”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Fog clung to the Zambian side of the gorge like a frightened child held on to a mother’s skirt. Thea stepped closer to Max and Papa, careful not to cross the trip wire.
“For fuck’s sake, stop this madness, Thea. I’ve almost cut through the girder.” Rif’s warning buzzed in her earpiece, but she ignored him. Papa was bleeding profusely, and Max was near the end of his tether. Rif was under the bridge, so he didn’t understand how quickly the situation was spiraling out of control.
“Why not destroy what Christos loves most? I’m his only daughter, someone he has pampered and protected for years.”
Come on, Max. You want to hurt me.
She raised her hands and tilted her head.
“You know too well how suffering can be worse than death. Let Christos experience what it’s like to lose everything that matters to him.”
“No.” Papa’s voice reverberated across the bridge, firm but scared. “Leave us, Thea. You have nothing to do with this.”
Max stood a little straighter. Her words and Christos’s reaction to them had triggered the logical, incisive mind of the police inspector. She’d presented an attractive alternative, a way to prolong his enemy’s pain. How could he resist? Misery demanded company. She watched him, hopeful. Come on, let me get inside your defenses. Let me close so I can disarm you.
“The bomb’s almost free . . . It might detonate on the way down.” Rif’s voice was tight, strained in her earpiece. “Don’t take this crazy risk.”
“Even better, I will just take all of us out together—that would be fitting.” Max raised his cell phone and moved his finger toward the screen.
A loud crack penetrated the air. She recognized the sound and dropped to the ground.
Pink mist collided with the rain. Max’s face was an angry red canvas after being struck in the T-zone with a high-caliber round. His head snapped back, and he stumbled, crumpling onto the cement.
She searched the horizon. Who had shot him?
“Max is down. Dump the bomb, Rif. I think he activated it.”
On the Zimbabwe side of the bridge, movement on the grassy terrain below caught her eye. Gabrielle Farrah charged toward them, a rifle slung around her shoulder.
“Shit, you’re right. It’s been activated. Ten seconds before it blows. Almost there.” The tension in Rif’s voice was unmistakable.
No way could she get to Papa and escape the bridge in time. They had to count on Rif.
“Got it!”
Thea peered over the edge of the bridge, watching the bomb as it sailed down through the air. The blast rumbled through the canyon, its concussion knocking her to the ground. The bridge shuddered as the bomb exploded, the blast traveling in all directions in a sphere of debris and concussive waves. Her ears buzzed, and her eyes burned.
Papa clung to the guardrail on the platform.
“Rif, you okay?”
Nothing.
“Rif! Talk to me.”
He didn’t respond.
Then she heard a cough in her earpiece. Another one. “Dammit.” Cough. “Remind me not to climb any more bridges.”
Thank God.
The high-pitched whine of a small engine caught her attention. What the hell? She rubbed her face, then climbed to her knees.
Out of the fog hovering inside the gorge, a motorcycle bulleted toward them from the Zambian side, snaking around the truck blocking the bulk of the bridge.
As it closed the distance, she recognized a familiar silhouette. Nikos.
Chapter Eighty
Thea’s mind reeled. Time slowed, like in those horrific nightmares where you’re desperate to get somewhere but feel as if you’re running through sludge. She staggered toward Papa, knowing this was no dream.
She couldn’t match the motorcycle’s superior speed. Nikos beat her to the platform, hopping off the bike before it came to a full stop. Sparks flared from the pavement and metal groaned as the motorbike slid across the harsh concrete.