Page 64 of Hotter than Wildfire

Such a miserably lonely and squalid place to die.

“Hurry it up,” the man with the funny accent said. Come on, get going, do what you have to do so we can torture you to death for information that’s not in your head.

Suddenly, a hot flush of rage ripped through her system and she welcomed it. It chased away the icy chill of fear, and even the sadness, because she was going to do what these two men thought was impossible.

She was going to beat them.

“Okay.” Kerry put soft humility in her voice, just as he’d expect. She understood very well that they liked degrading her, humiliating her. Just as they would like hurting her.

Fuck them.

She put up the toilet cover, a sound the man would be expecting. Only instead of bending over that filth, she held up her right hand and examined the ring on it. It was a sleek modern design, pure titanium. Will resist a conflagration, the online brochure had said.

Of course the subtext was—if they burn your body, something will remain.

The company was as mysterious as its owner—a legendary beauty who hid from the world. Whoever she was, she was brilliant—a designer of jewelry that doubled as weaponry, only for women. Necklaces that broke apart to become small razor-sharp scythes or hid garrottes, bracelets that held a small amount of C-4 and a detonator that came with detailed instructions and was just enough to blow someone up. The solutions were endless and fascinating.

Kerry had opted for a ring, very simple and unobtrusive, but beautiful nonetheless. It was disguised as the kind of ring that at first glance looked like something you could pick up at a crafts fair or on any costume jewelry stand.

Perfectly ordinary ring except for one thing. Press a tiny hidden button on one side and a spring-loaded mini hypodermic syringe preloaded with enough neurotoxin to fell a bull shot out. The syringe could also be preloaded with a powerful tranquillizer, but Kerry knew that if she ever became desperate enough to use it, she’d need to kill. So it had been Option A. Neurotoxin.

There was a second option to the ring, which Kerry had barely paid attention to. Twist that tiny button instead of pressing it, and the syringe would pop out on the underside, penetrate the skin of your hand and kill you instantly.

If the man who stood with his back to her had been alone, she’d have stabbed him in a heartbeat. Reached over and jabbed him in the neck, hard. He wouldn’t be expecting it at all. He’d die at her feet and she’d rejoice.

But the syringe was preloaded with just one dose. Kerry hadn’t thought it through but she realized how incredibly clever the designer was. If you needed two doses, you were better off killing yourself because you’d never prevail.

“That’s enough,” the man muttered and turned around, giving her a quick, impersonal up and down look. She hadn’t gone to the bathroom, she hadn’t vomited. “What the fuck⁠—“

Staring him straight into his dead eyes, Kerry wrenched the button, felt the white-hot prick of the needle, welcomed it, and dropped where she stood, dead before she hit the ground.

THIRTEEN

San Diego

They came up out of the condo’s garage in single file. One, two, three. Mike first, then Sam and Nicole, then Harry and Ellen. They turned right and followed the ocean for a couple of miles, then turned inland over a beautiful bridge.

They all drove at exactly forty miles an hour and kept the exact same distance from each other.

It took Ellen a while to realize what this was. A convoy.

She turned her head and looked blindly out at the passing scenery. This was an unusually beautiful part of San Diego but she barely noticed what she was seeing.

This then, was the life of Harry, of Sam and Nicole and of Mike. Reduced to moving in a convoy as if through Baghdad during the war years, through incredibly hostile terrain.

Because of her.

Roddy, dear, sweet Roddy, was dead.

Because of her.

“Hey.” Harry’s deep voice broke the silence. He picked up her hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed the back and returned her hand to her lap, all the while staring at the road up ahead. “It’s not your fault.”

“Are you a mind reader, now?” Ellen’s voice was froggy and she cleared it.

“Don’t have to be a mind reader to know what you were thinking. It was all over your face.”

She huffed out a little laugh. He hadn’t looked at her once since they’d come up out of the garage, so clearly he had 360° vision. It wouldn’t surprise her, he seemed to be Superman. He’d prevailed over three of Gerald’s men.