She took a deep breath. “Hello,” she called out, still out of sight. “I could really use some help.”
She emerged from behind the tree and approached them. They stopped immediately and began inching backwards.
“Hi. Can you help me get this off?” she said matter-of-factly, hoping that keeping her voice even and showing relatively little emotion was the proper pose to strike.
They glanced at her and then each other, unsure of what to do or say, or if they could believe what their eyes were showing them. “Is that a straightjacket you’re wearing?” said the male half of the couple suspiciously.
Yeah, it’s the latest fashion rage on the East Coast, thought Kira flippantly, but aloud she said. “Okay, yeah, it’s a little weird. I know that. I came up here last night with a new boyfriend,” she continued, making the instant decision to put on the persona of a coarse, not-too-bright party girl. “He rented a place a half mile from here. We ended up getting shitfaced last night, and, well . . . you know . . . he kinda wanted me to wear this—so I did. I guess he’s into some weird sex shit. I mean, I know this is some wild, bizarre shit,” she said, gesturing toward the straightjacket with her chin, “but I mean, couples handcuff each other to beds and all, right? And like I said, I was totally shitfaced at the time.” She paused. “Anyway, we ended up getting into a big fight, and the fucker just took off. He just left me in this damn thing. What an asshole!”
The girl eyed her suspiciously. “You look like you’ve been through a war.”
“Yeah. That’s what the fight was about. I thought the asshole was just into bondage games, but he’s heavy into this S&M shit. That’s not my thing. But he didn’t do all this,” she added, gesturing with her head toward her injuries. “I fell down a few times trying to find someone like you to undo this.” She smiled sheepishly. “I guess that’s why hikers don’t wear these things, huh?” She turned her back to them. “I think you just have to undo these straps,” she said.
The two hikers came closer and inspected the straps. “You look worse than I thought,” said the guy, and Kira was encouraged to hear concern rather than suspicion in his voice. “You going to be okay?” he asked as he began unbuckling the restraints. “You need me to call 911 or anything?”
“Nah,” said Kira. “It looks worse than it is. I’ll be fine. Not that I don’t feel like a total moron for letting this guy talk me into this.”
The buckles undone, the two hikers helped pull the jacket over her head. Kira blew out a relieved breath when it was finally on the ground. “Thanks,” she said gratefully. She turned to the female half of the duo. “Do you mind if I use your phone to make a quick call?” she asked. “I have a friend who lives about thirty minutes away. I wanna ask him for a ride.”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
Kira took the phone, reveling in the use of her arms and hands once again. She walked a few steps from the hikers and turned away. “David, hi, it’s me,” she said when Desh answered, keeping her voice low.
“Kira!” he shouted in a whisper, the relief in his voice palpable. “Are you okay?”
She realized that he must have learned of the fire by now, and probably thought she’d been in it. “Yes. But believe it or not, I’m on the outskirts of the Rocky Mountain National Park.”
“I know,” said Desh, which was the very last thing she expected to hear. “Jim and I are here too,” he continued hurriedly. “We know about van Hutten. Six commandoes raided his cottage about twenty minutes ago, with more probably on the way.”
Kira adjusted to the new information and circumstances immediately, crouching down to make herself less visible, her heart picking up speed. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. “Who are they?”
“My guess is Jake sent them,” replied Desh. “But we aren’t certain. Which direction did you run from the house?”
“East.”
“Shit. We went west.” There was a pause. “Circle back to the cottage. We have a car about a quarter mile from it. This is a national park, so Jake’s men can’t make themselves too obvious. But be quick. And be careful.”
41
Jim Connelly climbed through the attic window of van Hutten’s rented cottage and onto the roof, sliding toward the edge on his belly. In most situations like this, binoculars would have come in handy, but not in this one. He needed as panoramic a view as he could get, especially given the woods made this exercise far more difficult. He was looking for movement, nothing more, and evolution had made human eyesight exquisitely sensitive to picking this out against a still background. Even if the figures were tiny in the distance, he could guess their identities. Moving fluidly and blending into their surroundings: commando. Moving stiffly and making no attempt to conceal themselves: tourist. Girl alone: almost certainly Kira Miller.
“See her?” said Desh into his phone, fifty yards away to the east.
Connelly continued scanning the area. “No. But you have a hostile at three o-clock. And he’s moving with purpose. If he keeps his bearing he’ll pass twenty yards due north of you in about forty-five seconds.”
“Copy that,” said Desh, plotting an intercept course and moving as stealthily through the woods as he always did.
As the commando passed in front of him, Desh dove out of nowhere, timing his assault perfectly, and drove the man to the forest floor. The commando had been so intent on tracking Kira, and so confident he and his associates owned the woods, that he was taken entirely off guard. Desh kicked his gun away and drove an elbow into his face. After delivering three more blows in rapid succession, the man fell to the forest floor, helpless.
“Who are you?” said Desh, pointing his gun at the man’s head.
“Fuck you,” said the commando calmly, giving Desh the voice sample he needed. Desh delivered another blow to his neck and the man was out cold.
Desh lifted his cell phone to his mouth. “One down,” he whispered to Jim Connelly. “Any Kira sightings yet?” he added anxiously.
“No. But I’ve got another hostile thirty yards due west of you on a southeasterly vector.”
“Got it. Get off the roof and meet me behind van Hutten’s van. I’ll take this second guy out and send the others to the southwest.” Their car was parked to the northeast, so if he could send their pursuit in the exact opposite direction, they should be able to escape.
“Roger that,” said Connelly.
Desh removed the earpiece and attached microphone from the man lying unconscious before him and worked his way farther north. He intercepted the second man the same way he had the first, and although this soldier was able to block a few of Desh’s blows and even land one of his own, the end result was the same.
Two down, thought Desh.
He crouched down and focused on the Fuck You the first commando had been kind enough to utter. His voice was deeper than Desh’s, and it had a gravelly, resonating quality. Desh lowered his voice and practiced a few times. Hopefully, it would be close enough. Desh lifted the microphone he had removed from the second commando to his mouth. “This is . . .” he began, and then mumbled incomprehensibly, counting on the man’s colleagues to think his call sign had been the victim of poor reception, which wasn’t unknown in the Rockies. The ease with which he had surprised these two men showed they weren’t expecting company. They saw themselves as the hunters, not the hunted, regardless of the warnings they may have been given about Kira’s skills. “I’ve spotted the girl southwest of the house, moving fast,” he continued in his deeper voice, making sure the words were clear once again. “She’s . . .” He garbled more words and then tossed the headset away. He paused for a moment to consider his next move when Kira Miller emerged from behind a tree.