Night Magic Read Online Free PDF Page B

toward the kitchen door, leaving her pink mules behind her as she went. He had left it standing wide open.
    “Stop her!” he roared, and his two confederates burst out of rooms on either side of the hall. Terror gave her a speed and agility she had never imagined she possessed as she dodged them both and the glass on the floor as well to fly through the door with them hot on her heels, shouting curses in a foreign language that was not French or Spanish or Arabic but Russian. (The “nyet, nyet” she heard one of them shout to another was unmistakable.) The cold wash of an autumn rain fell about her head, but she didn’t even feel it, or hear the companionable rumble of thunder. She ran for her life, darting across the yard into the tobacco field across the road, leaping and dodging amongst the stalks of tobacco that had thankfully not been harvested because there was no money in it this year and were therefore higher than her head. They would have a hard time finding her in the field at night. Behind her she could hear them crashing about, and she was glad of the noise. At least she could keep track of their whereabouts, and the noise they made would drown out her own less cumbersome passing. …
    A tall, shadowy figure holding a gun materialized directly in front of her. No, it couldn’t be, it was impossible. They could not have gotten in front of her. Clara opened hermouth to scream with mindless, soul shattering terror. She would be killed now, she knew. He was on her in an instant, whirling her around so that her back was to him, his hand slamming over her mouth, stifling the scream before it was born. He yanked her back against his chest, then threw her to the ground. Her breath was knocked from her as he fell with her, landing heavily on top of her, pressing her face into the pebbly mud between the rows. Tears fell from Clara’s eyes to mingle with the rain on her face as she felt the hard muzzle of a gun pressed to her temple.

III
     
    McClain felt the soft body of the woman beneath him and cursed under his breath. He hated hurting women. It was a weakness of his that must have been instilled in him by his female relatives. But this one was one of the bad guys, had to be if she was involved with Rostov. And she was involved with Rostov. McClain had tailed him to this farm in the middle of nowhere, having discovered the Russian and his henchmen systematically searching his apartment when he had driven the Corvette up outside, only a half hour or so after he had made it safely away from the hospital. He had stopped only to buy a Saturday night special from a guy on the streets. At the last minute he’d thought to offer the man an extra twenty if he’d throw in his sweatshirt and sneakers and the man had obliged. He might smell a little bit—the sweatshirt was definitely well-worn—but at least he was armed and decently covered.
    The disadvantage of being as much machine as man was that your moves were predictable, McClain thought. He had expected Rostov to show up at his place, although he had thought it would take a little longer than it had. Hehad already decided that his best course was to go on the offensive and take out Rostov before the Russian could take him out.
    Thanking God that he and Gloria had had a fight that morning and she had stormed home to her mother for the umpteenth time that month, McClain had settled in to watch what happened. His first thought upon driving away from the hospital parking lot, with a relatively whole skin, had been to contact Hammersmith, but an innate sense of caution had caused him to hesitate. After all, his last conversation with Hammersmith had had very unpleasant consequences. Somehow, that telephone call had been intercepted by the KGB. The odds on Hammersmith being involved with the Soviets were minimal, but not nonexistent. Good agents had turned before. With his life on the line, McClain preferred to err on the side of caution. Until he had had a chance to sort