At that moment, Burke pulled his hands free and pushed himself up from the chair, hoping to land a blow before Grigor could turn. The man was a good fifteen years younger, doubtless strong as a tiger and trained in karate. He would be no match in a fair fight. Unfortunately for Burke, though he had cut through the rope that bound him to the chair, it was still wrapped around enough that it caught on the chair bottom, nearly turning it over, frustrating his intended movement.
Grigor heard the commotion and spun around, reaching for the gun.
Burke had stumbled back into the dresser. One hand brushed against a rose-colored glass candle holder. It was the only weapon available. In one arcing move, he grabbed the holder and hurled it toward the Bulgarian.
A sharp edge of the heavy glass object caught Grigor on the jaw just as he was raising the pistol. It stunned him momentarily and the gun slipped from his hand, falling to the carpet. Without hesitance, he rushed forward before Burke had time to find another weapon. As the charging figure reached his hands toward Burke's throat, Burke swung his hand out and raked the razor-sharp ring-knife down an outstretched arm. Blood spurted immediately from the long, slashing wound.
Grigor paused a moment, frozen by the shock of the cut, the unexpected sight of his own blood. It gave Burke just enough time to aim a heavy hiking boot squarely into the man's crotch.
Grigor staggered from the pain. Burke swung again, just as the stocky man flung his head back, causing the small knife blade to rake across beneath the chin. As the wounded man dropped to his knees, Burke grabbed a heavy bowl off the dresser and slammed it against the side of his head. He slumped to the floor unconscious, blood gushing from the neck wound.
Breathing heavily, the adrenalin pumping, Burke rushed to Lori's side, slipped the ring off and began to cut her ropes.
"I don't know what you've got there," she said in an excited whisper, "but I wish I'd had it earlier. Hurry. The other one may be back any minute."
As he pulled the ropes from her, she sprang forward to grab the pistol that lay on the carpet beside the still figure. She was about to turn toward Burke when the door swung open and Dimo rushed in with his gun drawn, babbling in Bulgarian, evidently about the noise he had heard.
Lori held the gun in her right hand, about chest high. Without taking aim or steadying her grip with the other hand, she fired off three quick shots. One of them struck a vital spot. Caught by surprise, Dimo was able to squeeze off only one round. It went wide. His momentum caused him to topple forward into the bedroom, his weapon skittering across the carpet in front of him.
Burke rushed over to snatch up the pistol just as he heard a noise on the stairway beyond the door. He crouched low, holding the gun out with both hands, and jumped through the doorway. He was about to pull the trigger when he saw the shocked look on an underwear-clad, unarmed Robert Jeffries halfway up from the landing.
"Don't shoot!" Jeffries flung his hands above his head.
"Move up to the top of the stairs," Burke said, straightening up, the pistol aimed at Jeffries' head.
The frightened figure promptly obeyed. His only fighting experience had been in the cockpit of a streaking jet. Close combat was a different breed of warfare.
Then Burke heard the sound of another pair of feet rushing up the stairs. As he sprinted into view at the landing, the stocky, blond-headed young man came to an abrupt halt, eyes wide, the pistol in his hand wavering. Burke spun Jeffries around to face the man and pressed the barrel of the automatic against his temple.
"Drop your weapon or Jeffries is a dead man," Burke said with a growl.
As the man hesitated, Lori stepped around Jeffries, Grigor's gun squarely aimed at the blond head. He released his grip, letting the pistol fall to the carpet with a muted thud.
"I'll frisk him," Lori said, moving down the steps, keeping the gun trained on her captive. She ordered him to spread eagle, with his hands against the wall on the landing.
Burke pressed the barrel harder against Jeffries' head. "Is there anyone else downstairs?"
He could see the man tremble as he stammered. "No… no one."
"What about outside?"
"No one outside."
Burke grabbed an arm, pulled it back and up. He put enough pressure on to make Jeffries flinch. "You're positive?"
"Positive."
"What do you know," Lori said from the landing. "A pair of handcuffs. And a key." She snapped them on one wrist of the blond-headed man, then pressed the gun against his back. "Now bring the other hand down slowly."
When she had him secured with the cuffs, she turned back to Burke. "This must be one of Hawk's hired goons. Probably a small-town cop."
"Big mouth broad," the man said.
"That's no way to talk to a lady." She gave him a shove. "Okay, up the stairs."
They tied up the two men in separate bedrooms, gagging them in case someone should return soon. Then they returned to check on the two Bulgarians.
Burke bent over Dimo, lying beyond the doorway. "This one's damned sure not going to engineer any more auto accidents. The bullet went through his neck and out the back, probably severed his spinal chord."
Lori was checking on Grigor. "This fellow certainly isn't going anywhere." She turned her head away from the sight of all the blood. "Your little knife must have hit the carotid artery." She stood up and looked across grimly. "After what they did to my Dad… " Her voice faded away.
Burke was in full agreement. He had set out on this odyssey to track down Cam's killers. Now they were a pitiful looking sight. But he had never been out for revenge, only the pleasure of seeing them behind bars. The task ahead, though, had become even more urgent.
"We'd better get out of here," Burke said. "Where are your shoes?"
"I don't know. They took them away when I first got here. Let me look around."
Almost as soon as Burke had walked out into the foyer at the head of the stairs, he heard a sound coming from the front lawn. Sprinting across to a window, he looked out into the darkness and saw a car pulling into the parking area. The doors opened, and he could see several men starting to climb out.
"Lori!" he called. "Let's go. There's a car out front."
She ran out of the room, still barefoot. He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the stairs. They ran down to the main floor and back into the kitchen, where they found an outside door. Crossing the deck behind the house, they began to race across the lawn toward the woods to the rear.
Lori had no problem on the smooth grass, but when they reached the densely wooded area, the going became treacherous. Beneath the trees, the darkness intensified. Even if there had been paths, they could not have followed them. Thick underbrush clogged the area. Frequent low stumps, fallen trees and the tentacles of thorny bushes made for hazardous footing.
Burke had planned to turn toward the stone fence and make their way into the adjacent property where he had parked the Jeep. But in their headlong rush into the blackness, attempting to dodge hazardous obstacles, he had lost his bearings. With only occasional patches of sky visible, it was impossible to determine which way they were heading.
"I can't go any farther," Lori said, dropping down on a large log. She was almost in tears. "My feet feel like they have spikes in them."
Burke kneeled down and lifted one of her feet. He could feel the bloody cuts. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped both of her feet. Then he ripped strips from his fatigues and wrapped her feet with them. He knew they hadn’t gone far enough to feel safe.