Chapter 8

Calm.Blair needed to remain calm. Act as if nothing had changed. That she didn't know Leland and that prat, McClaren, were planning on capping her the moment they pulled up to the villa. She didn't know if they'd simply shoot her or use their bare hands — if they were bloody psychopaths who enjoyed watching people die — only that she had about seven minutes to figure it out.

Leland had grown noticeably more distant. Not that he'd been chatting her up, before. But since receiving the text, he'd completely removed himself. As if he'd vanished from the other side of the vehicle. Only the occasional shift of his eyes in her direction as proof he was watching her. Gauging her reactions.

She ran over a number of scenarios in her head, inwardly cursing when none panned out. Either impossible or guaranteed to kill her — remove any need for the men to do it, themselves. Until Leland turned onto a dirt road, that little four by four sliding left then right as he tried to maneuver through the mud. Avoid the rivulets of water running down the center from the sudden downpour.

All the cars behind them slowed, giving Leland a wide berth as he struggled with the Suzuki, finally getting it somewhat straight on the road.

The incident created some much-needed space between them and that arsehole, McClaren. Opened up a sizeable gap between the two vehicles. What might be her only chance at escaping without getting run over or shot inside the first five seconds.

She'd have to time it perfectly. Knock Leland against the door a second before diving out hers. Hopefully send him careening down the far side of the hill. Anything to buy some time before McClaren caught up — started hunting her.

Leland wasn't even giving her the occasional glance, now, too focused on the road. On not sliding off or hitting any oncoming traffic along the narrow path. The wipers barely keeping up as the rain intensified, bolts of lightning forking through the near-dark sky. It wasn't even sunset, but it could have been midnight with the thick cloud cover masking most of the light. Only those occasional flashes setting off the trees and sporadic homes in harsh relief.

Blair waited, one hand on the door handle, the other ready to sock Leland in the face. They were getting closer, with only a few more winding turns before they reached the top of the mountain — arrived at that villa. Her death sentence if she didn't get moving before it was too late.

An upcoming right turn was the opening she needed. Having a pickup skid around the corner, headlights suddenly piercing the interior, seemed like an act of providence — what might edge the odds in her favor. Leland cursed, dodging left to avoid the truck, when she moved.

A quick jab to his ear had his head snapping right, his hands jerking the wheel in the same direction. A hard uppercut to his chin when he managed to regain his equilibrium — glare at her — had him smashing into the side window. Leaving a splotch of blood on the glass.

But Blair was already moving. Flinging open the door then diving out as the Suzuki fishtailed, giving her an added boost. She rolled when she hit the mud, slipping off the edge and down the side a few feet before getting caught in some brush. What stopped her from continuing over a small out jut and into a copse of trees.

Ten seconds to untangle herself and look for a viable path through the forest, then she was up and running. No idea where she was heading, just a sprint through the lush undergrowth. Branches and vines whipping her in the face — trying to snag her legs. She fell, cut her leg on a rock, then picked herself up and kept moving. No looking behind, no worrying if she was leaving a trail. Just her pushing as fast as possible straight ahead.

She ran for ten minutes before finally easing up. Taking a moment to take stock. Shouts sounded above a clap of thunder as branches cracked behind her.

McClaren.

No doubts it was him. Hunting her, just like she'd suspected. Probably hoping she impaled herself on a sharp branch or fell to her death off one of the steep ledges. Maybe cracked her head open on a rock when she slipped in the mud. Not that he was counting on the forest killing her, if the racket he was making charging through the trees was any indication. In fact, he was gaining.

She took a moment to orient herself — head toward where a flock of seagulls were circling overhead. What she hoped might be a beach. Some way to make better time before losing the men in the underbrush, again.

The makings of a path opened up on her right, and she took it, picking up her pace when another round of shouts rose behind her. More rain blanketed the area, the steady downpour making it hard to see. To distinguish between the open path and any tangle of trees. She caught her foot on a log — tripped against a tree, only to have to have something latch onto her hand.

She managed to crush the scream clawing at her throat before she'd given away her position — maybe signed her own death warrant. Not that getting bitten by some brown-colored snake wasn't its own emergency. But she was pretty sure none of the species were deadly. More of a nuisance, than anything. Though, the numbing burn down her arm when the stupid thing finally released her suggested otherwise. She only hoped it wasn't some kind of foreshadowing of how her escape would pan out. That she'd barreled her way through the forest only to end up dead.

Were there other animals she needed to worried about? Jaguars or some form of man-eating spider? The kind that lived in her imagination but seemed more than viable staring into the eerie depths of the trees. All that rain masking everything but the steady crunch of the men racing behind her.

Whether they were familiar with the area or were simply faster than her, she wasn't sure. Only that they were still gaining. Cutting down her lead every time she stopped to assess her position — find any kind of opening in the brush.

She took a moment to make tracks leading in three different directions before heading for the nearest tree. She grabbed the closest branch, levering her feet off the rough bark in order to pull herself higher — grab the next branch. Her trainers slipped on the bark a few times, scraping up her legs below her shorts, but after a minute of scrambling, she was high enough they wouldn't see her without looking up.

Blair stilled, willing her heart to stop pounding against her ribs. What she feared might give her away because it felt like a damn jackhammer in her chest. Likely sending out giant S-waves like earthquakes did. A warning of an impending catastrophe.

Footsteps splashed along the path before two men broke into the small open space where she'd flung the snake, skidding to a halt in a spray of mud and water. She didn't need to see their faces to know it was Leland and McClaren. She knew. From their broad shoulders to the way they carried themselves. Men accustomed to this kind of work.

McClaren bent over, staring at the mud for a few seconds before grabbing a radio off his belt as he stood. "Fairfield. There's a slight open patch two hundred meters ahead of you. We've got multiple tracks in the mud. We'll head northwest. You and Brown head east. Even if we don't catch her, she's running out of real estate. I'll call…"

His voice was crushed beneath the next clap of thunder — the resulting roll across the sky — before it faded into his final few words. "I want her alive."

The men took off to her right, racing through the rainforest like a couple of freaking gazelles. Avoiding branches and vines as if they had forcefields repelling them. No awkward tripping. No getting yanked backwards. Just their boots flying over the mud.

Definitely not MI5 unless the department had issued some new, special operations training she was unaware of.

Blair waited, rain running down her back, wondering who McClaren was going to call — what life-altering intel she'd missed to that crack of thunder — when a massive spider crawled out from behind some leaves to rest next to her hand. What looked like something out of a horror movie. Was it watching her? Tasting her fear hanging in the air? Because she swore all eight eyes were directed her way, the thick hairs on its body standing on end.

She shifted enough it couldn't touch her just as two more men skidded to a halt below her tree — mud flying in every direction. One of the guys toppling onto his arse.

Cap guy from inside shook his head, studying the ground for a moment before shrugging. "McClaren's nuts. There's nothing here but mud and more mud. The rain's washed away any tracks." He pointed to the left. "But that's east so…"

His buddy grabbed his arm, exposing some sort of handgun when his shirt rode up. "Are you sure? Because there are definitely tracks heading farther left, which would be true east."

"True east? Are you an idiot? There's only one east, jackass."

Neither of them were British. American, maybe, though she couldn't be sure with the rain giving every word a hollow reverberation.

They started shoving each other, just as that spider began crawling toward her. As if it knew she'd shifted because the hairy thing creeped her out. Was likely that man-eater she'd been worried about.

The thought had her reaching for it. Not gagging or screaming as she cupped it in her hand was definitely her bravest accomplishment. Not immediately dropping it when one of those gangly legs moved against her palm the second. Blair held it still just long enough to judge the best trajectory, then she was flinging it at the second guy — praying it landed on his head. That he'd react poorly even if he wasn't afraid of spiders the way she was.

Having it land on his shoulder with an audible thud was unexpected. But garnered the same result. Both men stilled, focusing on the one bloke's shoulder before jumping back — swiping at the creature.

That was Blair's cue to move. A push and a shove, and she airborne — heading straight for cap-guy. She hit him square in the back, knocking him face-first into the mud. Her weight and momentum burying his head all the way to his ears.

But she was already up and moving. Palming the other guy's shoulder — where that spider had been a few moments earlier — then jumping up. A lift and a spin, and she had her thighs wrapped around his neck — his balance shifted to the left. A twist of her torso, and he was down, face buried in the mud like his buddy. Arms flailing in an attempt to knock her off.

She reached for his gun and had it out of the holster and aimed at cap-guy — either Fairfield or Brown — a moment before she pulled the trigger. Had him crumpling to the ground. A swing of the butt, and the bloke beneath her stilled, blood leaking out of his skull.

Not that she'd done herself any real favors when that shot echoed through the damn rainforest like a cannon blast. What was sure to draw Leland and McClaren back to her location. And she couldn't chance waiting for them, hoping she killed them before they found her. Not if they were half as skilled as she imagined they were. Like Corbin and Walker. Men who'd anticipate an ambush — likely flank her on two sides. And with the rain reducing the visibility to only a few feet, she wouldn't even know they were there until it was likely too late.

Her cue to grab one of the radios, the extra mag for the Glock then start running, again. Straight ahead, though if McClaren had been correct, she doubted her direction really mattered. What she assumed led to the ocean unless she chanced retracing her steps. Heading back to the vehicles.

Not an option, especially when she suspected they'd called in backup. More mercenaries involved in their weapons' trafficking operation. Men happy to shoot first and worry that McClaren wanted her alive, second.

Even if they didn't kill her, getting captured wasn't any form of rescue.

Which meant pushing harder. Picking her feet up a bit more. Ignoring the cramping in her thighs. The way her shoes slipped every other step, nearly sending her into the mud as she scrambled her way along a small footpath. Gulls cried close by, surpassed only by the explosive echo of waves crashing against some rocks.

Blair veered left when the path opened up a bit, sprinting onto a scrubby hillside a hundred meters back from a wall of rocky cliffs. Black monoliths poised against the gray sky and surging waters. The white caps in the distance standing out amidst the dark waves.

Two silhouettes stood out against the pale horizon way off to her right, turning toward her as she stopped at the top of the cliff. Waves crashed against the rocks below, the tide dragging any bits of debris back into the ocean.

Were they firing at her? Even though she was too far away for a viable hit from a handgun? Because she'd definitely heard some sort of low report.

Lightning struck the water off in the distance, standing up the hairs along her skin. Goosebumps rose in a wake down her arms, the static charge to the air impossible to miss.

The men were running toward her, jumping and scrambling over the knee-high brush. Quickly eating up the space separating them. What would be a worse fate than if Leland had simply killed her in the plane.

Blair looked over the edge, hating the shivers that raced down her spine. She hated jumping. Hated it. The way her stomach pitched up into her throat. The feel of the wind blasting over her skin. How everything sped up at the bottom before finally hitting the surface. Just thinking about it had her lungs clenched tight. Every limb frozen in place.

Until those footfalls sounded closer. The cold reality of the situation finally freeing her. She'd never been one to give up. Tap out. And she'd be damned if she'd start now.

A few steps back, a glance at the men bearing down on her, then she was sprinting. Praying this wasn't as crazy as it seemed. That she wouldn't get swept out to sea and drown. Or worse, splatter onto some rocks because the water was only a few feet deep.

Knowing she'd face a worse death if she didn't jump kept her moving when she might have otherwise stopped. Right there on the edge, the wind blowing her hair, the rain pelting her face.

Instead, she hit the lip and kept on going. Jumping straight out as if trying to beat some kind of record. The most horizontal feet covered when running off a cliff scared out of her mind. Having her chest squeeze tight as she started falling made it all real. That in under five seconds, she'd be fighting her way to the surface. Hoping the men couldn't get off a kill shot once they reached the ledge.

Ten feet from the water and everything did that freaky hang time. Slowing to a crawl as if wanting to draw it all out. The lightning stalling halfway through the clouds, glinting off something in the sky. A spray of water reaching up toward her, the white color stark against the stormy sea. Her breath ghosting around her, blending with the mist rising off the rocks.

Then, it was speeding up. Just like she knew it would. The rocks looming black beneath her. The water gurgling as it retreated away from the shore. A single gull sounded above her before it cut off as she hit the surface and sank beneath the waves.