Annja ignored him, looking over his shoulder at Garin instead. “Are you all right?”
“Peachy,” he replied, and then, ever so slightly, nodded his head.
It was a signal and one that didn’t take a lot of brain-power to understand.
Garin was ready for whatever she had planned for getting them out of this mess.
His faith in her was reassuring.
Her lack of a specific plan was not.
Michaels was tired of waiting. “The treasure, Miss Creed.”
She shook her head. “Not until you release him.”
Expecting him to argue, she was surprised when he turned, studied Garin for a moment and then nodded at the guard standing beside his captive.
The guard drew a clasp knife out of his pocket, opened it and stepped up behind Garin.
“Don’t even think about it…” Annja warned, the tone of her voice dark and deadly. Her concern was misplaced, however. The guard simply used the knife to slash Garin’s bonds.
Garin brought his arms up in front of his chest, using his hands to rub each of his wrists in turn where the zip tie had dug into the skin. While the movement looked perfectly natural, Annja knew better. Garin was preparing for action.
“I won’t ask again,” Michaels said in an icy tone, one hand reaching inside his coat.
Annja held up her hands in front of her in a gesture of surrender. “No need for anger. I have what you need,” she told him, smiling at the same time to help reinforce the idea that she wasn’t a threat.
When she saw Michaels relax slightly as a result, she made her move.
She lashed out with a savage front kick, catching Michaels square between the legs with one booted foot. As the pain slammed into him a half second after the strike he dropped to his knees and toppled to the ground, groaning in agony.
Annja wasn’t waiting around to see the results, however. She was already in motion, driving forward toward the guard on Garin’s left. The man was just reaching inside his coat for his weapon when Annja called her sword to hand and ran him through. He looked down at the length of steel sticking out of his gut, tried to say something through the blood that was suddenly filling his throat and then collapsed.
Garin moved in the same instant as Annja. He smashed his elbow into the face of the guard on the other side of him and followed it up with several short, sharp punches that sent the man reeling to the ground.
“Follow me!” Annja shouted as she slid over the hood of the Cadillac, glancing back at the rest of Michaels’s men as she did so.
It was not a pretty sight. The guards were charging toward them, guns in hand, and even as Garin bent over to grab the pistol out of the hand of the guard he’d knocked over, the bullets started flying.
“Come on, Garin! Move!” she roared.
She felt useless standing there with her sword in hand, but there wasn’t anything she could do. They had to get under cover of the trees before the rest of the guards caught up with them or they would be killed.
Garin threw himself over the hood of the car, rolled to his feet and spun back around. He snapped off three quick shots, sending the gunmen diving for cover, then grinned at her.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked.
She turned and ran for the trailhead, Garin at her heels.
They were almost within the trees when the gunfire started again. She could hear bullets striking the Cadillac behind them and was grateful for her foresight in setting it up as a barrier. She was just about convinced they could make a clean getaway when she heard a grunt of pain and felt Garin stumble into her.
She caught him before he could fall and helped him stumble forward into the dense protection of the trees. His right hand was clasped to his left shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers, and the gun he’d risked himself to retrieve was nowhere to be seen.
“How bad?” she asked as he righted himself and continued under his own power.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Went clean through.”
The pain in his voice told her differently, though.
Their chances of escape had just been cut in half.
Without any idea where the trail actually went, they were stuck just following it, hoping it would lead them somewhere safe. Annja could hear Michaels shouting at his men to find them and knew their pursuers wouldn’t be slow in doing as instructed.
Suddenly they burst free of the tree line and found themselves standing on a promontory that jutted out into the canyon. In front of them, a sagging old bridge connected their side of the canyon to the other.
The bridge was essentially just two parallel strains of braided steel cable to which slats of wood had been secured at six-inch intervals. The cables were less than an inch in diameter and painted red with rust. The slats weren’t in much better shape. In more than a handful of places they had been eaten clear through by the elements. Only the rope railings that stretched the length of the bridge’s span appeared to be in decent shape.
Annja did not want to cross that bridge. She looked frantically about, searching for some other way out of their predicament. About a quarter of a mile up the canyon from where they stood she could see the modern bridge, a graceful span of iron and steel, but there was no way for them to get to it. They’d have to backtrack the way they’d come to get off the promontory and somehow manage to elude their pursuers while doing so.
A glance behind let her know that wasn’t possible; she could see forms approaching through the trees and knew it was Michaels’s thugs closing in on them. It would only be a matter of moments before they were within shooting distance.
No choice, then.
“Come on!” she shouted, grabbing Garin’s arm and literally dragging him out onto the bridge in her wake.
The sagging old structure jerked and swayed with their every step but Annja didn’t care. All she wanted to do was make it to the other side. She kept her doubts to herself.
Garin, on the other hand, wasn’t shy about voicing his concerns.
“Are you nuts, Annja? We’re sitting ducks out here!” he shouted as he made his way along as best he could with only one arm to steady himself. “The minute they reach the clearing, it will be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
Annja shook her head. “They won’t shoot,” she told him as she carefully stepped across an opening where a pair of slats had rotted through. She could see the river rushing past a hundred feet beneath them, the water churned into a white froth from the boulders strewn about its path. She helped Garin across and then continued forward.
“Says who?” he asked, already out of breath from the exertion of keeping his balance on the shifting platform beneath his feet.
“I’m telling you, they won’t shoot. Michaels wants the location of the gold. If they shoot us, they won’t have any way of getting it.”
They were halfway across when they felt the bridge suddenly lurch violently. Annja wrapped her arm around the rope railing next to her to steady her balance and to keep from sliding off, then chanced a look back.
Two of their pursuers had stepped out onto the bridge behind them. They were slowly making their way forward, but each step they took made the bridge sway dangerously to either side, creaking and groaning like an old rocking chair as it did. Annja had a sudden vision of the bridge giving way, plunging them all into the gorge below.
Apparently their pursuers must have imagined the same thing, for after another few steps they decided discretion was the better part of valor and retreated back the way they had come.
Garin suddenly swore beneath his breath.
Annja turned forward only to find the source of his distress. Michaels and several more of his henchmen were standing on the far side of the chasm. They must have found another trail and circled around ahead of them. We’re done, she thought.
As if he’d heard her, Michaels shouted, “Now what, Miss Creed? Intending to sprout wings and fly away like a little bird?”