Dance With the Enemy (15 page)

Grainger was here, and she was in trouble. He took out his Beretta and slowly walked up the trail, towards her vehicle, keeping low. No more gunshots came and there were no other noises to indicate where Grainger, or the driver from the other car, might be.

The smell from the sunflowers was almost overpowering. Logan had always suffered from hay fever and just the smell of some things – cut grass, barley – was enough to send his eyes streaming. He’d never been in a field of sunflowers before but he could feel his eyes itching, his nose starting to run. He tried his hardest to resist rubbing his eyes, not wanting to set off a reaction. Strange, the things you think about in a crisis.

When he reached the Ford, there was no sign of Grainger. The car was abandoned. Steam rose out of its bonnet, probably a result of the crash through the fence. From the damage to the back of the car, it looked like she’d been rammed off the road.

But by whom?

The driver’s door was wide open, much like the other car. She’d made off in a hurry. But there was no indication of which direction she’d gone in. The car had flattened its way through the field and left a clear path. A human, though, could quite easily move through the gaps between the plants, leaving no obvious signs of their presence.

She could be anywhere. Any direction.

He didn’t even know how long she’d been out there.

He guessed that given the time it took him to get his new Fiat, she could have been here as much as half an hour, forty minutes
max, before him. Which meant she could be two miles or more away from here by now, if she’d kept on moving.

But that wouldn’t have been his tactic. He would have stayed closer to the crash scene, doubling back on himself, trying to outflank his foe. Maybe Grainger would do the same.

Logan heard a rustling coming from his left. He spun around, sinking onto one knee. Gun drawn and ready.

A rabbit bounded out into the open, scrunched its nose at him and hopped back into the foliage. Logan dropped his head, relieved. That was when he saw what he was looking for. A human might not leave a trail of flattened sunflowers to indicate where they’d been, but they would leave footprints. Right in front of him, he could clearly make out two sets. Both entered the sunflowers where the rabbit had just appeared. Of course, they could have been there since who knows when and weren’t necessarily from Grainger and her pursuer. But how many people go for a walk through seven-feet-high sunflowers?

Two sets. He would have much preferred to have only seen one.

He crept forward, entering the forest, the giant flowers making him feel like an ant walking through grass. The sunflowers were tightly packed and it was difficult to see more than a few yards in front before the view became obscured. Logan had never been claustrophobic but it was an uncomfortable feeling to be completely surrounded like this. In response, his heart rate had noticeably quickened.

He quite soon found himself deep into the field. Looking behind him, he could no longer make out Grainger’s car at all. In fact, in every direction he looked the view was identical. Other than the trail of footprints, it was difficult to get any bearing at all.

No matter. Just follow the trail.

But after a few more yards, the footprints began to get shallower as the ground became drier. Pretty soon, they were all but gone.

Logan stopped and looked around. Still no signs of anyone. He guessed he’d moved about two hundred yards so far. He was pretty sure it had been more or less in a straight line but it was hard to tell.

More rustling from behind him. He turned quickly, not dropping
down this time, but still aiming his gun towards where the sound had come from.

Nothing.

It was all quiet. No signs of any movement. No rabbit, no Grainger, no enemy.

More sounds came from his right. Logan spun on his heels, his finger twitching on the Beretta’s trigger. Several sunflower stalks were swaying, just a few yards in front him. But no indication of anything else.

Had it just been the wind?

There was another crunching sound from back in the opposite direction. Logan spun again. He was becoming disoriented. Nauseous almost. His eyes were streaming from the hay fever, his nose too. His hands were now clammy, his heart pounding in his chest. The pit of his stomach was churning. It felt like this forest of flowers that had been so picturesque from the outside was moving in on him, swallowing him up.

But that wasn’t the hay fever. It was an altogether more unfamiliar feeling.

He would never admit to it, but the emotion he was feeling was fear.

Who or what was out there?

He spun around again. He didn’t even know why this time. There hadn’t been any sound in that direction. It had just been an instinctive reaction. But with all the twisting and turning, he now no longer had any idea which direction he’d come from.

The feeling of nausea was growing. The tell-tale hand tremors were also returning. But this time the shaking seemed to be going right through his body, all the way down to his toes.

He thought he saw movement up ahead. The outline of a person moving fast. His finger twitched on the trigger again. He had to concentrate hard to resist the temptation to shoot. It would have been a feat of desperation, giving away his position. And if he wasn’t careful, it could well be Grainger he shot.

He was almost relieved when seconds later a gunshot rang out, loud and clear. He guessed it had come from no more than fifty or so yards away in the direction he was facing. It was something that he could at least focus his attention on, a target.

But the relief was short-lived. Not long after the shot came a shrill scream.

It sounded like a woman.

It had to be Grainger.

Logan moved forward with more purpose, trying to move as quickly and quietly as he could. However disturbing the scream was, it had at least given him a sense of direction. Somewhere to aim for. The feeling of claustrophobia was diminishing, his focus returning.

He heard more screams, muffled now. They couldn’t have been from more than ten yards away. He kept on moving.

But then came to a stop when he spotted them. Just in front of him, in a small clearing, were two writhing bodies.

Grainger.

And Lorik.

Her service revolver lay out of reach. The Slav was on top of her, a blade in one hand, held against her throat. Her tights were torn, exposing her bare legs, her skirt pushed up over her waist. The Slav’s other hand was roaming free, pulling at her clothes, tearing at her blouse. She flailed at him with her arms but the struggle was half-hearted, the feeling of metal against her throat enough to keep her subdued.

That feeling. Logan knew that feeling.

Grainger’s bloodshot eyes met Logan’s. She gave him a pleading look.

But he couldn’t move. He was frozen.

A rush of images flew through Logan’s head. Selim. The young girl. The things Selim had done to her. The things he’d made Logan
watch
him to do to her. Such a pretty face. Her soft, clear skin, forever stained red by her own blood as she lay butchered on the floor.

Logan was staring right into Grainger’s eyes, but he wasn’t seeing her at all. He was only seeing the girl.

Look at her. You did that. Not the hero anymore, are you?

Logan shook his head, trying to escape his nightmare. He felt his legs begin to twitch. Adrenaline surged through his body, readying him for action. Grainger’s screams were no more than resigned moans now. She was still looking at him. Still pleading.

Her distraction caught the attention of Lorik. He turned, snarling like a dog, pure animal in his eyes. He half smiled through his gritted teeth when he saw Logan.

With the images of the girl still flying through his head, Logan was sure he heard a battle cry as he sprang into action. He couldn’t be certain if it was in his head or if it had actually come from his lips. But he was no longer acting consciously. Something else was controlling him now. Something deep down inside him that had been waiting to come out.

Lorik, calm as anything, had just enough time to get to his feet before Logan barged into him.

But Logan had underestimated the pint-sized Slav, who almost caught Logan as he flew through the air at him. They both remained upright, grappling, trying to gain an advantage. Logan’s gun flew out of his hand in the chaos. He tried his best to keep Lorik’s knife at bay, his left hand tightly around Lorik’s right wrist. But the Slav was strong. Far stronger than Logan had imagined. He knew he wouldn’t be able hold him in the position for long.

Lorik aimed a head-butt at Logan. It caught him on the base of the nose. A dull crack sounded out at the impact, but Logan felt no pain from the blow. He couldn’t feel pain right now.

As Logan continued to focus on the knife hand, Lorik used the distraction to his advantage. Ducking and twisting his body, he hauled Logan to the floor. They landed with a thud, Lorik on top. But the knife had come out of his hand in the process.

It was now an even fight.

Lorik tried to pin Logan’s arms. But as strong as he was, four men couldn’t have held the rage inside Logan at bay. His right arm wrapped around Lorik’s neck, pulling him into a headlock. He pushed upwards and outwards, swivelling them both around so that he was on top.

Logan had the advantage now.

But with him lying directly on top of Lorik, there was little room for either man to manoeuvre his arms to get any clear shots. Both men grappled, throwing fists at whatever flesh they could reach. But at close quarters none of the blows were strong enough to make a difference.

Time for a different approach. And some payback.

Logan lifted his head as high as he could, arcing it back until his neck strained, then brought it down onto Lorik’s nose. He measured the head-butt poorly though. While it had the desired effect on Lorik, it also split the skin on Logan’s forehead, just above his right eye. Not a bad cut, but a bloody cut. The blood began to pour, covering his face and filling his eyes. But the blow had still been enough to leave Lorik dazed.

Logan moved his body so that he was no longer lying on Lorik, but straddling him, his legs pinning Lorik’s arms. He again threw his head into Lorik’s. He felt his own wound open further, but also felt some more strength go from the Slav. Blood now covered both men. Logan couldn’t be sure how much of it was his own and how much was Lorik’s.

He hit his foe with another head-butt, then another. Each one sapped some more strength from the Slav. One more butt and Logan’s world began to go dizzy.

But he was in charge now.

With him sitting upright, his arms had free reign. And Lorik wasn’t providing much resistance now. Not anymore.

A right hook from Logan caught Lorik’s jaw. Then a left to the cheek. Logan pounded him with his fists. A right to the Slav’s other cheek. A left caught his right eye, the skin around it bursting open at impact.

Logan panted heavy breaths as his fists rained down on Lorik’s head. One punch after the other. Hit after hit. No stopping him now. Nothing left to hold him back. The images of Selim, of the girl, returned to him. He pounded harder, trying to get the images out of his head. Harder and harder, pounding away.

‘Logan. No.’

He barely heard Grainger’s voice, just carried on. His fists were falling in a frenzied fury, the battle cry sounding out again. A left, then a right, then a left, his hands and arms moving in a steady rhythm almost like he was conducting an orchestra. Each
shot was pushing further and further downwards, pushing right through Lorik now, it seemed. The surface beneath Logan’s fists became softer and wetter with each punch.

‘Logan, stop. Please!’

Grainger’s pleading voice was weak. He’d heard it, but he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. He kept on going, kept on pounding. In his mind he saw the look on Selim’s face. That ridiculous grin. Saw the look of terror in the girl’s eyes.

He could have saved her.

Why hadn’t he saved her!

‘Logan! Stop!’ Grainger screamed.

She thrust her arm around Logan’s neck. Not an aggressive move, more consolatory.

Feeling her touch, Logan finally found the focus to stop. He was panting heavily, his chest heaving. His hands throbbed. His vision was blurred and red. The images of Selim and the girl disappeared.

He shut his eyes, not wanting to look at what he’d just done. Both of Grainger’s arms were now wrapped around him. He put his hands on hers, fell back into her arms and fought back the tears.

‘He’s dead, Logan.’

He didn’t move. Couldn’t.

‘Logan, it’s okay. He’s dead now. Come on, we have to get out of here.’

He opened his eyes but didn’t say anything, just nodded his head.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get back to the car. We need to go. Before any others turn up.’

She stood, leaving a hand on his shoulder. He bowed his head and stood up with her. His legs felt like jelly, but the fog in his head was beginning to clear. With his senses returning, he was aware of the pain in his body for the first time. It was growing by the second; his nose, his head, his hands.

‘My God, Logan,’ Grainger said, putting a hand to her mouth in shock. ‘Your face. We need to get you seen to.’

He kept his head down, not looking at her. He couldn’t bring himself to. He felt ashamed. But he didn’t know of what. What he had done to Lorik? Or what Lorik had done to her?

He stole a glance at her. As well as her ripped and dirtied clothes there were tears streaming down her face. Her bottom lip was cracked and bleeding, her left cheek swollen and red.

‘Are you okay?’ he said.

‘Not really. But I’m more concerned about you. Look at the state of you.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He wasn’t sure what for, but he was. She didn’t say anything to that.

They began walking, pulling each other along.

‘Thank you,’ she said, after a minute or two.

‘For what?’

‘You saved my life.’

He didn’t respond. Right now, he certainly didn’t feel like the hero.

Beyond the throbbing, he could still feel the tremors in his hands. He looked down at them. His knuckles had been rubbed raw. Opening and closing his fists was a struggle, but nothing seemed to be broken.

‘You think those are bad, you should see your face,’ Grainger said.

‘Nothing a needle and thread won’t solve,’ Logan said.

‘We’re getting you to a doctor.’

‘No!’ he shouted, stopping. ‘I’m not going to a doctor. We’ll do it.’

‘With what?’

‘Just get us to a pharmacy.’

They carried on and reached her car. He didn’t know how she’d found the way back. He wasn’t sure he could have done that.

‘Do you have a GPS?’ he asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay. Grab that. We’ll take my car.’

Before they left, they moved Lorik’s car into the field, behind Grainger’s, so that both cars were more or less hidden from the road. They didn’t want Lorik’s friends finding the body. That would almost certainly make the kidnappers panic and run. And they would possibly kill Modena before they did so. Logan spent a few minutes propping the fence back up. He wasn’t convinced it would hold for long. Hopefully they wouldn’t need it to.

The GPS showed that there was a chemist’s ten miles away. It
was six o’clock, so with a bit of luck it would still be open. Grainger insisted on driving. They carried on down the road, past the sunflower fields. The scenery soon opened out once more.

Logan felt uncomfortable the whole way. He wasn’t sure what he should be saying or doing. The way he’d been in the field, with Lorik, he’d never felt like that before. So disconnected from his own body.

What was she thinking about him now?

What he’d done hadn’t just been about saving her. But how could he explain that to someone he’d only just met? He couldn’t even explain it to himself. And now that it was over, it almost felt like
he
was the victim of something. It made him feel like a fraud that she was showing concern for him.

He
wasn’t the victim.
She
was.

He might have a few wounds, but they were more or less self-inflicted. She’d nearly been killed by that psycho. She would have been if he hadn’t turned up. And he didn’t even want to think about what else Lorik would have done to her.

She
had suffered more than he had.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he said to her.

‘No, Logan. I’m really not.’

Without taking her attention off the road, or breaking her grip on the steering wheel, she broke down in tears. She didn’t even try to wipe them from her face as they cascaded down, falling from her chin onto her muddied and torn clothes.

‘But thank you,’ she said. ‘I really mean that. God, look at me. How pathetic is this? I don’t do crying.’

Finally she wiped at her eyes.

‘Believe me, everyone does crying,’ Logan said. He knew that better than most.