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had to keep from panicking, and her reserves were running low. She would have given everything she had just to be able to curl up in a corner and rest, pull together the tattered remnants of her courage. But she had no choice. She would follow him, silent and uncomplaining. Anything else meant degradation and probably death.
    She’d understood more than he thought. It hadn’t taken a linguistic expert to know what Carlos had in store for her, and the other scrawny rat had looked just as dangerous. He was right about the blonde hair, of course. The children she taught had loved it, loved to touch it and stroke it. She had very pale hair, thanks to her part-Scandinavian heritage, and it stood out. She should have dyed it brown before she got here.
    She stumbled, going down on one knee, and she felt her pants rip. Her unwilling rescuer didn’t stop, didn’t even slow, and she scrambled to her feet, hurrying after him, keeping her curse between her teeth. She was at war with her own stamina, and she was at the losing end. If she fell and couldn’t get up, if he decided to abandon her to the Guiding Light again, she might just ask him to kill her instead. She was sure he could, quite easily, with those strong hands of his. It wasn’t a case of death before dishonor. It was more a question of death before rape, torture, and death. Might as well skip the uglier parts and get straight to the pay-off.
    She wanted to laugh at her thoughts, but try as she might she couldn’t find the humor in her melodramatic musings. Because they weren’t actually melodramatic – they were based in fact.
    She slammed into him again, unaware that he’d stopped. “Christ, woman,” he muttered. “Must you always fling yourself at me?” It wasn’t even a whisper beneath his breath.
    “As long as you keep stopping without any warning,” she said back, not quite as soft as his but close. “You could . . .” The words were cut off, as he moved, fast as the strike of a snake, yanking her against him and slamming a hand over her mouth.
    “Make a sound and I’ll snap your neck,” he breathed against her ear.
    Well, that answered that question, she thought. He could easily kill her by hand. She stayed absolutely still and silent against his strong, bony body, waiting, though she wasn’t sure for what.
    Two figures loomed up out of the inky darkness, and she felt a panicked scream bubble up. If she tried he’d kill her – better than having him hand her over to Carlos and the other one.
    He must have felt her sudden panic, because his arms tightened for an uncomfortable moment. “You made it,” he said, and she realized he was talking to the newcomers. Newcomers who, as they approached, were definitely not the two feral kids.
    Relief hit so hard she sagged against him, and he held her for only the briefest of moments before he released her. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he grumbled.
    She almost fell again, but she managed to keep to her feet by sheer willpower. “I thought you were handing me back to Carlos and his new friend.”
    He only grunted – such a charming companion, she thought. She was almost light-headed with relief as she looked at the two men - one middle-aged, the other a kid not much older than Carlos.
    “Who the hell is she?” the older man demanded in a German accent. “We’re paying you to get us out of here. She’ll slow us down.”
    She felt MacGowan’s eyes on her. “If she does we ditch her,” he said. “Miss Beth Pennington, this is Hans Froelich, who works for Deutschland Oil, and the brat there is Dylan Hamilton. He says his father is a movie star, and the two of them combined have more money than God. As do you. I figure I get at least one of you down, I’m due a tidy sum. If I get all three of you down I’m set for life.”
    A mercenary , she thought, vaguely disappointed. She kept trying to turn him into a hero. It was no wonder – she was counting on him to save her life.
    “Nice