He didn’t feel crazy. He knew psychotic patients rarely did, but he was pretty sure he was still firing on all cylinders. Surprisingly, he felt almost calm. Even though these two men wanted to kill him, it didn’t scare him as much as he thought it would. Beck already knew he was going to die—soon. He’d made his peace with that.
But these men were probably going to torture him as well. They wanted to know what was in his head, and what Kevin Scott had said in his last hour on earth. They would do whatever it took to get that information out of Beck, even though Scott had not told him anything but the word “Damocles.”
Even if Beck told the agents that now, they wouldn’t believe him. They’d hurt him until they were satisfied he wasn’t lying.
Beck could handle the idea of dying. But these men were going to subject him to agonizing pain.
Was he going to let that happen?
Hell, no. If he had to die, it was going to be on his own terms.
That made his next decision easy.
Morrison was still driving too fast. Beck waited for the next yellow light. Predictably, Morrison gunned the engine to barrel through the intersection.
And then Beck flung himself into the front seats via the space between them, and landed on Morrison, knocking his arms away from the steering wheel. Beck began kicking and biting and flailing, his own hands still bound behind him.
Morrison shouted an obscenity. Howard began to scream something, then caught one of Beck’s knees on his mouth.
Beck felt the steering wheel spin and the car tipped crazily.
There was a blaring horn, and then Beck was flying into the air as something hit the SUV like a fist.
Beck saw shattering glass. He felt the airbags explode all around him, burning him with white powder as they deployed. The SUV whirled like a top, and then came to an abrupt, crunching halt.
Chapter 7
Beck blinked and sat up. His side hurt like hell. He shook a little bit and safety glass fell from his face, his clothes, his hair.
He was still in the front seat. The windshield and passenger windows were broken. Deflated airbags sagged from every surface along the dashboard and interior. Morrison groaned underneath him.
Howard was still in the passenger seat. Blood trickled from his forehead where he’d cracked his skull against the doorpost. He looked at Beck, momentarily dazed. His lip was split where Beck had kneed him before.
Howard’s eyes snapped to focus on Beck. He didn’t speak. He growled. And without hesitation, he went for his gun, which, lucky for Beck, he couldn’t whip out with no trouble because Beck was half lying on top of him.
But Beck knew he’d get it sooner rather than later, and in the cramped space of the SUV’s front seat, there was almost no way he could miss Beck if he fired.
If Beck was still being civilized, he might have been scared. But he was far beyond that by now.
And it’s hard to scare a man who already knows he’s dying.
What’s he going to do? Beck thought. Kill me?
He reared his legs back and kicked as hard as he could. He caught Howard in the face. He heard a muffled snap and knew that he’d just shattered the man’s nose.
Howard’s head bounced against the doorpost again. Beck kicked him one more time for good measure.
Beck heard Howard’s gun drop to the floor. He hadn’t realized that the man had been able to get it so soon.
Morrison was thrashing around under Beck by now, pinned by Beck’s weight. Beck struggled to get off him. He realized that Morrison was having trouble using one arm. Then he saw why.
The SUV had been knocked out of the intersection when it was hit. It had come to a halt against a streetlight, which smashed in the driver’s-side door on impact. Morrison’s left arm was trapped in the narrow space between the crumpled door and the steering wheel. It kept Morrison from grabbing Beck or holding him down. Or drawing his gun.
About time I got a little bit of luck, Beck thought. He struggled to sit up again. He had to get out.
Howard was blocking the passenger door, and that was crushed by the impact as well. But the windshield was gone. It was basically an open invitation for Beck.
He used his forehead to smash Morrison’s head as hard as he dared, without giving himself a concussion, and when he saw Morrison’s eyes roll back in