pressing a gun against Becca’s throat. Adam stood not four feet away,
helpless, frozen in place, shattered glass all around him. Thomas
knew he was trying desperately to figure out what to do. Becca’s
eyes were closed, Mikhail’s hold against her throat was too strong,
far too strong. She’d passed out. He had to do something, anything.
He couldn’t let her die, not like this, not after she’d hurled herself
in front of him, to save him, to take the bullet herself. He felt the
pain pulsing deep in his chest, but with it, he felt such an intense
surge of love for her that gave him a burst of strength. He managed
to ease his hand down to his pants pocket, to the small derringer.
Just a bit more strength, that’s all he needed, strength.
Mikhail saw the slight movement from the corner of his eye.
“Damn you, you’re supposed to be dead. Don’t move!” His hold
against her throat lightened and almost immediately he saw that
Becca was coming out of it. He clouted her hard on the side of the
head, and shoved her away from him. He leaped to his feet, pulled
a Zippo lighter from his pocket and set it to the bedding. In an instant,
the blanket and sheets burst into flame.
Thomas fired the derringer. Mikhail yelled and grabbed his arm
as the bullet punched him backward. He hit the wall but didn’t fall.
Adam dove for his gun. Thomas fired again, but Mikhail had
twisted low and the bullet just grazed the side of his head.
Thomas fell back, the derringer falling from his hand. Adam
twisted about, his gun raised, but Mikhail was out of the bedroom,
and when Adam fired, the bullet hit the door frame. Mikhail
slammed the door behind him and the flames gushed higher with
the sudden rush of air, igniting the pillows, the thick brocade
drapes that were ripped from Adam’s run into the bedroom.
“Damnation,” Adam shouted. “Becca, are you all right?” He
leaned over and slapped her face. “Come on, we’ve got to get out
of here. Damn, the drapes are on fire now.” He scrambled on his
knees to where Thomas lay on his back. He shook him. “Thomas,
open your eyes. That’s it. Now, can you make it?”
Thomas just smiled at him. “No, unfortunately not, Adam. I
think this is the end of the line for me. Get Becca out of here. Tell
her I love her.”
“Don’t be a jackass,” Adam said. “We’re all getting out of here.
Come on, you can do it.” He wrapped an arm around Thomas and
jerked to his feet, pulling Thomas with him. He started to lift him
over his shoulder.
“No, not yet,” Thomas said, the pain flooding over him now,
drawing at his brain, making everything darken, darken. “No,
dammit, we’ll get out of here. Becca, get yourself together! I’m not
going to lose you now.”
Becca was sitting now, shaking her head, trying to breathe. She
heard agents yelling outside, prayed they wouldn’t try to come into
the burning room, prayed they’d be ready to pump a hundred bullets
into Mikhail when he came out of the house. She said, “I’m
okay. Just give me a second, just a moment.” She stared at her father.
“Mother left me. There’s no way you’re going to leave me
now. I’ll help you, Adam.” Together, one of them on each side of
him, they managed to get the door open and drag Thomas into the
hallway. The flames were whooshing up high behind them, thick,
incredibly hot, smoke gushing out of the room. No time, Adam
thought, just no bloody time to put it out.
All of them were coughing now from the smoke. “Let’s move,”
Adam said. He pulled the bedroom door closed after him, but
it was too late. The fire was already eating away at the hallway carpeting.
“If he isn’t dead yet,” Adam said, “they’ll get him the instant he
gets out of the house.”
Becca was panting with effort and coughing at the same time. “I
had my gun strapped to my leg, but it didn’t matter,” she said,
coughing. “Are you all right, Daddy? Don’t you dare talk about dying