Long Lost - James Scott Bell Page 0,88

His erstwhile assassin.

What a great client he had turned out to be.

63

Steve stared at him.

Neal stared back, his eyes wide with dead shock.

Above Neal’s left temple was a hole the size of a quarter, with dried blood caked all around it.

Who? How?

He had to get out now, because now he had a purpose. He almost prayed again, this time for revenge. He flashed to a painting he’d seen once at the Getty in LA. It showed a figure of an angel with a torch and another with a sword. They were about to put the hurt on a guy running away after murdering a figure, all white, his blood drained out of him. The title was something like Justice and Divine Vengeance. Yes, he would like to be in the angel business and put a flaming sword to all the LaSalleites.

Right. First he’d have to make it through the night, or find his way to the road. He had no idea how far from the road he was. All he knew was that it was up, and up was not a great proposition.

But what if they were coming for him? Where was he? How far from the compound? From town?

He worked his hands again, the tape again, but nothing. He was almost helpless.

Then heard something crunch. And again.

Someone coming. There was someone, or several, coming toward the car.

LaSalleites.

Closer. The steps were closer now. Then stopped. Right outside the car.

Then a tapping.

“Are you alive?” a woman’s voice said.

A woman?

So how was he supposed to answer with tape on his mouth?

He wiggled.

“Hold on,” the voice said.

Hold on to what? Who are you? Just get me out.

“I’m going to break the glass,” she said.

No, don’t break the—

A cracking sound. Another. He couldn’t see what was happening, it was behind him. But then he heard the sound of a reluctant car door being pulled open like a sardine can.

“I’ve almost got it,” the voice said. “There. Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He felt her hands on his, working the tape, ripping it off his wrists, the last pull taking some nice chunks of hair with it.

But his arms were free. He tore the strip off his mouth.

He felt like the Tin Man. He felt like saying oil can.

She helped him get out from the wreck and into the dropping shadows. He stood and almost fell. His left leg again.

The woman caught him and held him up.

He looked in her face. “It’s you.” The last time he had seen her, she was on her knees in front of Eldon LaSalle, being shamed.

She nodded. “Are you hurt bad?”

“I don’t know. My leg. I think it’s bleeding.”

She bent down and looked at his leg. “Don’t move,” she said.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She was wearing one of those plain cotton dresses. Now she tore a large strip from it and used it to start binding his leg.

“What’s your name?”

“Rahab,” she said. “She was a prostitute. In the Bible.”

“Oh, that’s just great. Who put that handle on you?”

“My father did. When he gave me to Master.”

“Gave you?”

“I was thirteen.” She kept working, expertly splitting the strip and tying it off. “Before that my name was Bethany.”

“Johnny said you were a street junkie. That they brought you in to clean you up.”

Bethany stood up and looked at him. Her face was weathered. “I was given. For Master’s use.”

“That is just crazy,” Steve said.

“I belong to him.”

“Then maybe I’d better ask you what you’re doing out here with me. And whether you had anything to do with this stiff here. Somebody got him with a clean shot to the head.”

Bethany looked down. “I was unlucky I guess.”

“You?”

“I shot him. But I was aiming for the tires.”

“What the heck did you use?”

“A rifle. I stole it.”

“Where is it?”

“I buried it up on the ridge.”

“You buried a rifle?”

“Yes.”

“It’s too bad because—” Steve grabbed his leg as a fresh shot of pain snaked up to his midsection. “I’ve got to tell you, Bethany, I’m not in real great shape here. If you were trying to kill me too, you almost did it.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was trying to save you. But now it looks like both of us are dead.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They will find us.”

“I’m not ready to die yet. I have some revenge I want to take care of.”

“It won’t work. They are too strong.”

“Will you help me?”

“I must. I have broken away and that is punishable by death.”

“My leg is pretty bad.