There was silence for a moment, then the dim imprint of a face as Garmendia got as close as he could to the rear windshield. "You lied to me, Connor! Your brat there, he threatened to tell!"
"I haven't broken my word," Sarah said, her voice hard. "The kid was bluffing, Lazaro. I swore that I would never tell and I never will, not even to him." Her
eyes narrowed. "I don't give my word often, Garmendia, and I don't break it when I do. But I'll break you if you DON'T BACK DOWN!"
The smuggler's face disappeared from the window and there was silence in the limo. Sarah went back to work on the lock. In less than thirty seconds she had it open.
"You're out of practice, Mom," John said as the lid came up.
"Everybody's a critic," Sarah groused. Then she sucked in her breath through her teeth at the sight of von Rossbach. "Eeee-ee," she said.
The big man lay on his side, his hands tied behind his back, his blond hair soaked in blood. As was the side of his face, and his nose and eye had begun to swell.
I could sure use a drink, Sarah suddenly thought. A chaotic snarl of emotion was erupting within her, horror at her friend's condition mixed with compassion, as well as rage at Garmendia for doing this to him. Not to mention the stiff anger she felt toward Dieter for being so foolish, and John for risking himself, and herself for risking John. It was almost overwhelming. She licked her lips.
A nice drink would sure… Do no good whatsoever. A smoke would be nice, too, but that wouldn't help either. She took a deep breath and pushed the insidious cravings aside. "You awake?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Barely," he said. Dieter turned his head and looked at her. His eyes were mere slits in the bruised flesh. He tried to smile.
"Uh, Dieter," she said, her heart sinking.
Reaching in, she checked his bonds. John tapped her on the shoulder, flicking his right hand to set the blade of his balisong. She took the wickedly sharp little knife and cut the sisal twine, unwound the ropes from where they were digging into his wrists. Shaking her head, she stood back to look at him.
"C'mon," she said, "let's get you out of there."
"You sound like a nurse," he quipped.
Sarah didn't answer but held on to his shoulder to keep him from falling over.
John hastened to lend a hand, supporting him from the other side.
Glancing at the moped, John said, "Mom, we can't get him away on that. We'll look like a team of Chinese acrobats."
Putting a hand to her forehead, Sarah tightened her lips as she thought. "You have a place to stay?" she asked quietly.
John nodded.
"Okay," she said. "Go steal a car. I'll follow you back on the moped. Once we've got him inside, you can return it to the same neighborhood."
Without another word John jogged off.
"You've got him well trained," Dieter said, impressed as always at the way John and his mother worked together.
"Shut up," she said, offhandedly. Then she frowned at him. "You can lie down until he gets back."
"I don't think so, if you don't mind," the Austrian said. He gripped the edge of the trunk and began to climb out. Sarah steadied him. "Is there a point to this?"
"Yeah." Dieter worked his sore jaw. "I'm afraid I'll go unconscious again." He sat on the back bumper.
"CONNOR!" Garmendia shouted from within the limo.
Actually she was surprised he'd been this patient.
"Yeah?" she answered.
"Get me out of here!"
Given the company he was keeping, she could well understand his desperation.
"Hang on," she called back. "Don't worry," she said to Dieter. "I have no intention of doing anything until you two are well out of here. Even then I might only give him advice." She smiled slightly and shook her head. "You're an idiot.
You know that?"
"John advised me against it," he admitted.
"I figured that," she said.
He frowned slightly, then winced as the movement hurt. "How did you know?"
"You were alone in the trunk," she said.
John and Dieter had been gone about ten minutes, and it had taken both of them to walk him back down the alley to the car John had boosted. Sarah shook her head as she remembered how weak he'd been. Ideally they'd be out of town before Garmendia made it out of this alley, but von Rossbach's condition made that chancy.
She let out a deep breath and slammed the trunk lid. "Okay," she said. "What have you been doing in there?"
"Smothering and waiting for you to get us out," Garmendia snapped.
Sarah grinned. "Well, I guess I could shoot a few holes in the window and you can kick it out. But if I were you I wouldn't be too comfortable with that idea."
"What do you suggest, Senhora?" Lazaro sneered.
"Haven't you got a cell phone? Why don't you just call your garage?" she said.
"You're going to need a tow anyway. I'm not your mommy, Lazaro; this isn't up to me. You wouldn't be in this fix in the first place if you weren't doing something damned stupid."
Not to mention if I hadn't been doing something damn stupid. She'd been a lot more focused when she was crazy. Now that I know they're still out there maybe I should let myself go crazy again. Lazaro banged on the glass. Speaking of crazy.
"I don't have my phone with me."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Okay," she said. "Who do you want me to call?"
Twenty-four hours later they were on the road to Asuncion in an old wreck of a car that she had gotten by calling in an old debt. Garmendia had agreed to leave them alone on the condition that they left town immediately and never contacted him again. This came about because Lazaro was totally thrown by the new, sane Sarah.
Enjoy it while you can, Sarah thought at him. Who knows how long it will last.
"Mom?" John said. "Are you all right?"
She put a hand on her hip, feeling the lumpy crumpled bulk of the bandage under the cloth; the wound wasn't bleeding much, but it needed a doctor to take out the slug, and there hadn't been time.
"I've been better, but it'll heal. Another of my patchwork of scars," she went on, smiling at Dieter's lumpy, bruised face; it was going to turn every color of the rainbow soon.
"I shouldn't have left you with Garmendia," he fretted.
"It wasn't him. It was the bodyguard, the freak," she repeated patiently. "And Garmendia shot him, right afterward. If you'd been there, you might have caught this—and between your eyes, possibly."
"Garmendia shot him?" Dieter asked. "The one who looked like a giant Neanderthal in a guayabera?"
"In the back," Sarah said.
Dieter touched the side of his face, wincing. "It's an unfamiliar sensation."
"A bruise?"
"No, feeling envious of Garmendia," the Austrian said. "I wanted to be the one who shot that guy, very much."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LOS ANGELES
Clea did her best to project untutored country girl at the CEO and president of Cyberdyne. In an effort to aid that effect she'd worn a denim skirt and jacket with a red plaid Western shirt, her tooled leather belt had a big silver buckle, and on her feet were a pair of well-broken-in cowboy boots. The rustic costume, with the glasses and attitude, she hoped, would eliminate any resemblance to Serena's slick corporate look and, therefore, to Serena.
As long as he doesn't focus on my tits, some sardonic corner of her mind thought.
They're just like Serena's. Clea scowled at the inner voice; it was far too much like the recorded memories of her clone sister/mother. Eventually they would notice; it was inevitable. But by that time they would be used to her and might comment on the resemblance, but they wouldn't be suspicious. Merely curious.