Intent to Kill Page 21

On the water, a fishing village floated on the lake over a quarter mile away and managed to spill a tattered cobweb of light across the beach as two figures emerged from the roadside, one taller, broader than the other—long, lean, and achingly familiar.

  “Damn it, Claire.” Simon took her arm. “You’ve got to go—”

  “It’s too late, Simon.” Arun motioned to their left. “There’s nowhere to go. They’re here.”

  “Here?” Claire’s heart seemed to skip a beat. That was impossible. They needed to tell Simon and Arun that the Siem Reap police were moving in, that their presence wasn’t necessary. Let them think it was two police forces, Phnom Penh included. Let them believe anything but get them out of there. Now it was too late.

  “Malone,” Simon whispered, and it was more confirmation than question.

  “They’re early. Damn it,” Vanna hissed.

  A figure emerged, walking at a good clip near the water, the outline hard to discern, only the lumbering walk giving any indication of who it was. At least fifty feet away, Ella hadn’t seemed to notice them, and with the light so murky they had enough shelter near the stand of shrubs to remain hidden as they watched the faceless shadows.

  “Claire, get behind me. I don’t want you in the way if I need to shoot.” Simon flagged with one arm, motioning behind him.

  Shoot? Did he mean it?

  Simon pulled her behind him.

  She reached for Vanna, taking her along with her. They stood near the brush, silent, unsure what to do next.

  The air was humid and the smell of algae and exhaust combined into an acrid, overpowering scent. Tension seemed to vibrate around them, even as the silence cloaked them.

  Suddenly another figure appeared from out of the shadows, mere feet from Ella. And then, like a trick of light, as quickly disappeared.

  “Simon? Watch it, there’s—” Claire took his arm and realized that it wasn’t free, that he held a gun by his side. Suddenly his words connected with reality. She dropped her hand. Beside her Vanna tensed.

  Armed.

  “Simon . . . Chan . . .” She wasn’t sure why she was trying to tell him now.

  “I know, Claire. Everything. We’re on it. I just didn’t anticipate you.” There was an edge to his voice, anger, disappointment, tension—maybe a combination of all of those things. It was impossible to tell and suddenly Claire felt out of her element, like she had misjudged, like . . .

  Claire looked behind her to where another stand of brush stood. It was the only cover nearby without going ten feet or more right or left.

  Ella Malone was coming their way, maybe twenty feet away now, her heavyset frame silhouetted in the moonlight, a gun in her hand. Around them everything seemed to slow and, for a moment, it all stood still.

  Claire almost forgot to breathe. None of this was happening as it should. Simon and Arun weren’t supposed to be here, not yet, and neither was Ella. There was supposed to have been time. Time to warn them.

  “Shit,” Arun muttered under his breath. The moon slipped behind a cloud and the air, although warm, seemed to chill.

  Claire’s nails bit into her palm as she tried to make sense of the situation. Ella was armed and only a show of force might make her back down. She looked from Simon to Aaron. Neither of them had raised their guns. And Claire knew in that moment that she and Vanna were the reason why they stood vulnerable. Because a show of guns could deter but it could just as likely initiate a gunfight.

  Simon.

  She’d endangered him because of a story. No, because of her ego, but also because she thought she could save him. And instead . . .

  Tension strummed through her. She pushed the thoughts out of her mind as she fought to remain still, to remain behind Simon, to remain out of the way.

  Behind them, still in the shadows, Claire could hear Bourey’s breathing. It was deep and raspy, like his personality.

  It was her and Vanna’s presence that was preventing Simon and Arun from doing their job. And there was no one else to do it. No police, and Ella was early. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She needed to distract Ella, give Simon and Arun room to move in.

  “Ella, I didn’t want to believe it.” Claire hoped she sounded shocked as she left the shelter Simon was providing and moved away from him and to the right. She looked left once and saw no sign of Arun. Where had he gone?

  “What have they told you?” Ella’s voice had an edge and there was no surprise in her tone. It was as if she knew why Claire was here.

  A knot rolled tight in Claire’s gut and she wanted to throw up as she realized that Ella may have expected them.

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. Why are you here now? Why are you early? Damn, she was no good at this.

  “Simon Trent,” Ella said with a soft purr in her voice. “I should have been stronger in my warnings. He’s the wrong kind of company for a girl like you.”

  “Ella, it’s not too late to back off, to . . .”

  “Claire, what are you saying?” Vanna hissed.

  “Who’s that?” Ella swung toward where Vanna crouched only five feet to the left of Claire, the shadows and low-lying brush her only cover.

  “Ella,” Claire began, unsure of what she was going to say. She needed to create another distraction. She shifted further to the right and away from Vanna so that Ella might think that was where the voice had come from.

  Behind her something moved, a whisper of sound in the darkness.

  “It’s not too late to end it all. Stop this insanity,” Claire said, only thinking that she needed to keep her talking, keep her distracted.

  “Insanity?” Ella’s voice had an edge now. “What are you suggesting?”

  Claire bit her lip. Crap, she’d said completely the wrong thing. “I wasn’t . . .”

  “Weren’t you?” Her voice had none of the poise or the sweetness that had been there before. “You’re just like the rest. I should have known.” She took another step closer. “You’re too beautiful to be any different. But I won’t kill you, not until you tell me where I can find that Buddha of yours.”

  “Ella . . .”

  “And then you must die like the rest.” Something clicked.

  The safety, Claire thought dully as black metal flashed in the fickle light of the moon. She had to say something, do something. “You’re not alone, are you?”

  “Ella, it’s over,” Simon interrupted as he emerged to the left and just behind Ella. Claire saw him tip his head slightly and she realized that he was motioning to Arun. “The police are right behind us.”

  Ella’s gun wavered then steadied as she trained it on Claire. “Stay there, my dear. Oh dear, I do hate that you’ve gone and become involved,” she said as if Simon had never spoken. “She’ll be dead before you can get a shot off.”

  Claire’s mouth was dry. She couldn’t keep up with Ella’s obviously fractured thoughts. Her gaze went to where Ella’s gun glinted as the moon slid completely from beneath the cloud cover.

  “There are no police,” Ella said to Simon, who was now only ten feet away from her and just a shadow to Claire in the darkness. “Samnang took care of that.” She chuckled. “And the others are yet to arrive. So you see, it’s really just you and me.”

  With Ella’s attention temporarily off her, Claire dashed back and found shelter on the fringes of tall grass and brush. Out of Ella’s sight, she was surprised to see that even though the moonlight bathed the area, Arun was nowhere in sight—and suddenly, neither was Simon.

  “I know where you are,” Ella almost sang the words.

  Claire shivered. She tried to breathe quietly, to still her body and listen for danger and for rescue. Instead another shadow emerged behind Ella.

  “Ella.” It was a man’s voice, unfamiliar, unidentifiable in the darkness. And then he came closer, and she drew in a breath at the glint of dark hair, shiny with hair grease.

  “Richard, you’re late.” Ella’s voice was edgy, annoyed.

  “Who were you talking to?”
Richard stood only a few feet behind Ella.

  “Richard, dear.” Ella’s voice had a cloying sweetness to it that seemed to add an aura of unreality. And from somewhere on the water, there was the muted blare of a distant boat whistle. Claire jumped and used the cover of noise to move a few feet closer to Vanna.

  Richard swung in the direction of the water, obviously thinking there was a threat there, and fired blindly.

  “Get down!” Claire shouted as she ran left and dove with Vanna behind a sturdier stand of brush.

  But as she and Vanna hit the ground another boat horn sounded from somewhere far out on the lake. She looked up and could again see Simon as he took advantage of the distraction and slipped into the shadows of a cluster of leggy brush just to the left of her. Claire’s heart pounded. She was welded to the ground, Vanna beside her, their breaths held, silent, motionless.

  Richard turned and fired in the direction where Simon had disappeared.

  Claire bit back a scream and instead willed herself to silence, listening. She could hear him. She could hear the soft brushes of branches and the tentative crackle of underbrush on her left. He was getting Ella and Richard’s attention even as, she suspected, Arun was coming in from behind, trapping the pair.

  “Dear Richard, what are you thinking? Trent is mine to kill.” Ella’s voice was higher than usual.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Richard demanded in a voice that was ragged with impatience. He fired another shot to his left.

  Claire pressed her body tighter to the ground, all the while straining to hear where Simon was and hoping for any sign of Arun. She lifted her head and thought she saw a shadow in the faded light of the floating fishing village. She knew without confirmation but with everything in her being that it was Simon.

  What was he doing?

  “I have everything under control, dear. Calm down.” Ella’s precise British voice had an edge. Claire could see, even from her position with the brush obscuring an already bad line of sight, that Ella held a grenade in her left hand.

  Claire gasped and sat up. No one was looking at her or Vanna. Arun was still not in sight. She spotted Simon. He stood to her left, sheltered by the trunk of a tree, now not ten feet from her but standing between them and Ella. She and Vanna were the only ones who could see Ella clearly, at least see what was in her hand.

  Claire blinked, her body held so tight, so still, that her teeth ached. She thought of how many ways this could go wrong, of how Simon or Vanna or even Arun could be hurt.

  Another shot rang out. This time it came from behind Richard. “Arun,” Claire whispered. She hoped that she was right, because the other option meant that it wasn’t just Ella and Richard they faced right now but that someone else had joined them.

  “He was trying to get behind them,” Vanna whispered back.

  Ella was silhouetted perfectly as the cloud cover slipped even more and moonlight streamed across her face. She had her arm lifted, tilted back as if she were a pitcher, as if . . .

  “What the hell?” Vanna whispered just to Claire’s left.

  A soft thud sounded in front and to their right as if a rock had been thrown.

  Gunfire cracked seemingly from every direction and she saw Simon hit the ground and knew some of those shots were his.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Vanna hissed.

  “I . . .” There were no more words, only horror as the grenade rolled toward her. Her heart seemed to stop. She could barely breathe. Was it live? Was it—what was the range, what? Her mind spun with no answers and only more questions.

  Stop thinking. She reached out, her fingers shaking, and took a breath. She picked it up, sat up without another thought and threw it as far as she could away from all of them.

  More shots slammed into the darkness and behind them an explosion lit the night sky.

  And in the glare of light, Claire watched as Richard turned on Ella and fired, once, twice . . .

  Vanna reached for Claire’s hand and took it as Ella fell.

  It was just the two of them.

  Simon.

  Where was he?

  The silence seemed to deepen as the moon disappeared behind a cloud and only the shaky fingers of light from the fishing village broke the darkness.

  “Where’s Bourey?” Claire whispered to where she knew Vanna crouched.

  “Behind, I think. Where he’s been the entire time.” Vanna’s voice was faint, barely a breath of sound.

  Richard was somewhere in front of them and yet there was little they could see.

  An owl hooted once, twice from somewhere to their right, and then there was nothing.

  Claire strained ahead of her looking, listening, her head pounding with the stress of what had occurred and the effort of remaining crouched and still. Her knees ached and she tried to get a position on Simon and Arun but there was nothing ahead.

  Where were they?

  The cloud cover slipped and moonlight spilled onto the figure that lay not ten feet in front of them. Ella’s hands were sprawled in the sand, fanned out from her body as if they had attempted to save her in those last dying moments.

  Claire swallowed back the horror of a dead body so close to them, but it was the sheen of metal that lay between her and Ella that held her attention.

  Ella’s gun. She shifted, moving closer to the gun. She needed to get the gun and she needed to get a position on the others, on Simon and Arun, and most important, on Richard.

  Where was he?

  “Get the gun,” Vanna whispered.

  She nodded.

  “Maybe the bastard’s dead,” Vanna whispered.

  Claire inched forward another foot and then stopped. From somewhere ahead she could hear a sound that she hadn’t before, the crack of a twig, the heavy crunch of a foot coming unexpectedly down on underbrush or . . .

  And then the moon broke once again and she was exposed. The few feet she had moved had taken her away from cover. Ahead of her was a heavy figure, the silhouette of a man who was neither Simon nor Arun. Her breath stopped. Behind her she could hear a slight rustle, Vanna. She willed her to get back, seek cover, as if the power of thought would accomplish that. She could only hope that it did and that Bourey too continued to stay well out of the way.

  Richard was too close. Less than twenty feet away now. She could see his gun glint in the faulty light and not too much else.

  She realized there was nowhere to go and her mind whirled, searching for an escape route, something that would get them all out of here. She scurried backward, back to Vanna and the scanty protection of brush.

  Simon. Where was he? She couldn’t see him now.

  She looked behind, around. Flush to the ground, she and Vanna were sheltered with the low brush shielding them and the waning moonlight taking everything back to the shadows. She twisted and saw Simon to the right—just a movement, still maybe twelve feet away, but closer to Richard. Somehow in the time she’d lost track of him he’d worked his way around to the other side. She suspected it was choreographed, that Arun was somewhere nearby, but where?

  “Which of you bastards stole it?” Richard asked as he stepped closer to Ella’s body.

  “You mean what you stole from Samnang?” Simon asked.

  “Don’t play stupid, Trent,” Richard snarled. “I know you have the bust, the Buddha, but not for long. It’s one of the most valuable pieces of the shipment.”

  “Drop it.” Arun’s voice came from behind Richard.

  Simon fired what Claire suspected was a diversionary shot, not a shot meant to maim. Richard went down, rolled, and was back on his feet, but now with the brush directly behind him.

  “Stop right there,” Arun commanded as Richard swung to face him.

  Claire felt a rush of relief at knowing Arun was close, but another movement caught her eye as Arun held Richard’s attention. Simon was moving away from Richard and toward them.

  Richard turned and fired, dropping to the ground as Arun fired back.
>
  Claire heard leaves rustle very close beside her. Was it Simon? Should they turn and run now, while they could?

  She squinted into the darkness and then saw him not more than five feet away. A darker shadow against the scanty brush cover.

  Suddenly Simon seemed to hurl himself across the distance that had stood between them, flattening her to the dirt, covering her with his own body. Around her there was a clatter of voices, another gunshot. Then a long moment of silence before she lifted her head.

  “Stay here,” he whispered in a hoarse voice and rolled off her and disappeared through the brush and out of sight.

  Minutes passed and the silence carried. Claire lifted her head, gingerly looking around. Beside her Vanna did the same.

  “What the hell?” Vanna whispered.

  A boat engine echoed in the shadows as it made its way through the night, and then they heard the sound of footsteps.

  “You’re all right?” Concern seemed to accent each word as Simon’s silhouette appeared in front of them.

  “Fine,” she said as she stood up. But beside her Vanna looked pale and her own heart pounded. “Arun?”

  “Fine. He’s right behind me,” Simon said, his proud features looking weary.

  “Is Richard dead?”

  “We’re not sure,” Simon answered. “Unfortunately, I don’t think so. Injured maybe. You’re okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Vanna?”

  “Fine.” Vanna’s voice shook.

  “Yeah, me too.” Bourey’s rough-edged voice sounded behind them. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Damn it,” Arun said minutes later. “Richard got away.”

  “Claire,” Simon breathed, his voice low and comforting in the chaos.

  “We’re running out of time.”

  “I know. The final act hasn’t arrived,” Simon said slowly. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  On the lake a boat’s light blinked faintly. And at the dock, the rough rumble of the ferry’s engine broke the silence.

  “Siem Reap should have been here by now,” Simon said.

  “You knew?” she asked Simon.

  “I did.” He took her hand. “Let’s get to the ferry.”

  On the lake a boat was close enough for its light to break the darkness on the dock. They could hear distant voices, and farther down the lake was another boat light.