Page 64 of Ford
What if the kid had a knife?
Ford slammed into the gap she made, a couple steps behind her. “Scarlett—”
Scarlett was shoving people aside, desperation in her moves as Red Sweater got on the train.
Ford glanced at the clock. One minute in-station, max, and he watched the clock count down.
The doors were about to close.
Scarlett wasn’t slowing. “I’m getting on that train—”
A bell chimed—the warning—and she lunged for the closing doors.
Ford grabbed her around the waist before she pitched into the gap between the tracks.
Red Sweater stood inside the door.
Smiled at them and held up her pack.
Scarlett let out a shout as the metro pulled away from the station.
She spun out of Ford’s grip, stalked away from him. “Idiot. I know better—Iknowbetter.” She leaned over, gripping her knees, breathing hard, then stood up and covered her face with her hands.
Ham ran up, also breathing hard. “You didn’t get him.”
Ford wanted to punch something.
“Now what?” Scarlett said. “My visa, passport, and boarding pass were in that pack.” She ran her hand across her forehead. “I can’t believe I just…I practicallyhandedhim my pack!”
Ham stood, his hands on his hips, looking down the dark tunnel as if he wanted to keep chasing the kid down the tracks. “The good news is that I still have Scarlett’s old passport, but no visa and no boarding pass. And”—he looked at his watch—“the train is boarding right now. I don’t even know if there are tickets left—but we don’t have any time to try.”
“I’ll stay here,” Scarlett said. “I’ll just…I’ll stay.”
“No.” Ford rounded on her. “You’re not staying here. You have no money, no contacts—I’m not leaving you in Kiev.”
Ham was swinging his pack off his shoulder. “I’ll stay. I can arrange transport to Moscow on the next train or even stay here and solve some logistic issues if we still want to bring RJ out through Ukraine.” He set the pack on a bench and pulled out Scarlett’s old passport, his visa, his ticket. “There’s no name on the ticket, so we’re good there. Here’s my visa—do what you can with it. I’ll get ahold of my contact in Moscow, make sure you’re met at the train by the right people. That way, if you’re detained, you’ll have help in Moscow.” He shoved the papers into Scarlett’s hand. “Go. Run. Both of you, or you’ll miss your train. Up the escalator, platform three.”
“We don’t speak Russian! How will we—” Scarlett said, but Ford reached for her hand.
“It’ll be okay, Scarlett. Let’s go.”
Oh, he wanted to believe his own words as he took off back up the escalator.
She would tell them nothing.
RJ sat in the quiet, sweaty room that smelled of chlorine, a bag over her head, her arms fixed behind her back, tied with flexicuffs, and determined that no matter what—
She would be like Ford. A SEAL. Withstand the torture, the waterboarding, the bright lights. She’d—
RJ froze as a groan lifted near her, hating how her pulse ratcheted to high, wishing she could see something,anything.Only pinpricks of light shone through the bag one of the goons who’d jumped them had thrown over her head.
Another groan. York? She’d call out his name, but duct tape pasted her mouth shut. She’d been working at it, though, moistening the edges with her tongue.
She’d rescue them both.
Poor York. She’d like to scrape from her mind the crazy, strangled sound he’d made when they tased him. Then he went rigid, every muscle constricting before he fell to the floor.
Passed out.