The Great Escape (11 page)

the barrier. 'What do you need?' His tone seemed much milder and

she felt relieved.

'Could you dig in my suitcase—no, wait! My knapsack has it—could

you bring me my nightshirt? I forgot to bring it in with me.'

'Just a moment.' Footsteps receded and a moment ticked by, then he

was rapping at the door of the bathroom. 'I'll leave it by the door.'

Dee grabbed the towel and wrapped it tightly around her. 'Don't

bother, I'm decent enough. Here --' And she opened the door to

encounter his gaze with something like shock quivering through them

both. He handed her the small bundle of material and she thanked him

gravely. Something showed in his face, very briefly, as his eyes

travelled down the length of her involuntarily, touching on the long

slim legs, the finely shaped, glistening collarbones, the grace of her

wet bare arms. Her eyes were an enormous, sapphire blue, and her

expression was uncertain.

Then Mike was backing up and shutting the door, leaving her to

wonder shakily what that look had been about.

She yanked her over-large shirt over her head and found as she shook

out the garment that a filmy white flutter fell to the ground. It was a

clean pair of panties, and she flushed at his thoughtfulness, feeling

embarrassed.

In the other room, as she entered it, she found him lounging on the

bed that he had claimed for his own, shoes off and one leg propped

casually up with the other stretched full out. His gaze was fixed on the

television screen directly opposite him and she realised that the late

movie was on. He had an open cardboard box on a chair dragged over

by the bed, and she saw that it was a pizza, with several pieces already

gone. When her eyes went back to his face, she saw that he was

intent, abstracted, his lean face sombre and his eyes withdrawn.

She excused herself politely as she walked in front of the television

and refused, as politely, his offer of pizza. Soon she was cross-legged

on her own bed, brushing out her hair thoughtfully, staring at the

opposite wall.

An abrupt movement made her look up enquiringly to meet Mike's

brooding gaze. 'I don't want to hear that motel door open,' he said

pointedly, nodding to the outside door. Dee just stared at him blankly,

saw his lips thin with exasperation, then he picked up his small toilet

case to stalk into the bathroom.

Her gaze swept to the door and she briefly considered making a dash

for it. But he was too alert for that, she knew, and he would be after

her so fast it wouldn't be worth the effort. She was too tired, anyway.

However, she mused, slanting a glance to her jeans by the bed . . . She

tore into them in record time, and was sliding under the covers with

her legs well hidden by the time the bathroom door opened again.

When Mike came out she was pulling the covers up to her chin and

peering over the edge doubtfully at him.

His lips twisted, but whatever he was thinking he didn't say, as he sat

on the edge of his own bed with his back to her. Off came his shirt,

and she ran her eyes over his beautiful back, already able to recognise

that neat taper down to a slim waist. His rib cage rippled under sleek

muscles and he stood, hands at his waist, unfastening his slacks.

Dee turned her head away at this, not wanting to see what happened

next. Obviously he was not embarrassed about someone seeing his

naked body. He was, after all, much older than she. He had probably

disrobed for a woman before. She suddenly had a burning curiosity,

wondering if he would sleep in the raw tonight, but she didn't have the

courage to turn around and look.

A tiny click plunged them both into darkness and she turned at that to

see a shadowy large figure move for the other bed and climb in with a

creaking of bed- springs. Illogically, Dee felt frustrated at the

cloaking darkness that hid the sight of his body from her seeking

gaze, and that was a thought that brought her up short, disconcerted.

Silence. She couldn't hear his breathing across the room, and that was

nerve-racking. She pinched herself, bit her lip nervously until it bled,

and thought of the most exhilarating and exciting things she could

imagine in an effort to stay awake. Frustration gnawed away inside of

her because she wouldn't let herself toss and turn to relieve the

tension. It was hard to stay awake, very hard, and time ticked away

slowly—too slowly. She waited and her lip bled sickeningly where

she had bit it, and she stared up at the blackness directly overhead that

was the ceiling. After an eternity she reached very, very carefully

over the edge of her bed and picked up her slim gold watch. Bringing

it close to her eyes and turning it this way and that, she was finally

able to. make out the time. Close to four o'clock. There was

absolutely no movement from the other bed, no indication whether he

was awake or not.

She would just have to chance it. If he was awake, well then, the only

thing that could happen was that he would catch her, and that didn't

bother her at all.

It did, really, but she wasn't going to let that stop her from trying. Her

hands slid down to her sweater and her socks and shoes stacked

neatly together, grasping that with one hand while the other groped

for her handbag. A second of panic gripped her when she thought she

might have left it over on the other side of the room, but then her hand

encountered the smooth, cool leather strap and she picked it up

silently. Then her legs slid to the side of the bed and she started to

stand very carefully, slowly. The bed didn't even sigh.

She didn't want to risk making a noise in an attempt to slip into the

rest of her clothes, and by now it was late enough so that everyone

should be asleep and the parking lot deserted. She'd put everything on

just outside the door.

Silent as a wraith, she glided over the floor to the door, and had to put

down some of her things to feel delicately for the lock and bolt.

Catching her fingers on something, she grasped the thing protruding

out about shoulder-high and pushed very, very carefully,

experimentally. The bolt slid open without a sound, and she then

reached for the doorknob to turn the lock there. The darkness behind

her was completely silent, and she wanted to call out to him to say

goodbye, a strange, insane desire that had her nearly laughing out

loud. Picking up the clothes that she had put down and shifting her

handbag to one shoulder, she grasped the knob and hesitated briefly.

There was nothing else for it but to open the door as quickly and as

silently possible and to pray that the cold night air didn't wake him.

She turned the knob, pulled the door slightly open and slipped

through to shut it immediately. She shivered convulsively as the night

wind brushed her bare arms. Only vaguely did she take in the sound

of low voices close by, and she didn't even see the two shadowy

figures on the other side of the car parked three spaces down. She

slipped her things on to the ground and swiftly tucked her nightshirt

into her jeans, pulling on her black sweater with shaking hands.

She didn't stay just outside the door to put on her socks and shoes but

instead inched delicately away, shuddering as the -cold cement under

her feet turned them into blocks of ice. Propping her bag on the hood

of Mike's car, she slipped on her shoes and socks—then gagged from

shock when a low masculine voice sounded right by her ear. He had

heard her! But then she realised that the voice had come from behind

the car, not by the motel door, and this sent fear zigzagging down her

spine in an electric jolt.

'Hey, cute thing, where you goin', so late at night?' the strange voice

asked her, and she started to back away, nearly screaming when she

came up against something solid. In fact, she thought about it and

then would have screamed anyway to wake Mike up and let him

know she was in trouble, but a rough hand clamped down over her

lips and a low voice admonished her to be silent.

There was no choice about that, with that biting hand gripping her so

hard, but she wasn't going to just stand there passively. The man

gripping her privately marvelled at how violent such a little thing

could be. She writhed and kicked and squirmed grimly, determined to

hurt as much as she possibly could, but he was far stronger than she,

and the element of surprise had been to his favour. Then the other

man was cursing and grabbing her arms with a bruising pressure, both

of them forcing her away from the building.

There was more low curses as some of her wild blows hit home. The

second man holding her arms swore vulgarly as her kicking landed a

vicious blow on his shin, but he soon put an end to that by reaching

down and wrapping both arms around her flailing legs. That left her

hands free, and she suddenly reached back to scratch hard at the face

of the man behind her. His head jerked back to avoid those wounding,

dangerous claws, and his grip loosened enough on her mouth for her

to be able to force her jaws open and fasten her teeth into the soft,

fleshy part of his hand. She bit with every particle of strength in her,

with the tenacity of a fighting wildcat, and briefly tasted something

sour before a warm, salty spurt of blood filled her mouth. The man

hissed in pain and rage, and he landed a heavy, stunning blow to the

side of her head, making the world jerk sickeningly, but Dee didn't let

go. She wanted to be sure she would have time enough for one

lung-bursting, ear-splitting, peace-shattering scream, for the only

sounds so far had been the men's low cursing and her own sobbing

breaths. She almost made it; she would have made it, except that the

other man taking in his accomplice's pain, loosened his hold on her

legs and fastened his heavy hands on her neck.

The weight on her throat tightened cruelly, cutting off her air and

making her see stars dance behind her closed eyelids. She kept her

grip on the other man's hand, though, biting as deeply and as

viciously as she could, but soon her lungs were bursting from lack of

fresh air, and her head swam dizzily, her consciousness beginning to

recede. Her mind was divided into two parts: the one part totally

wrapped up in her desperate, physical struggle and pain, and the other

part simply incredulous that this was really happening to her. As she

slumped in her attacker's arms, so did her jaw relax her death clench

on the one man's hand, and it was jerked away. She was barely

conscious of it happening, for she was going under into a murky

blackness, her hands pounding weakly on the man strangling her. The

passage of time from the moment she had stepped out of the motel

room to now had been perhaps three minutes, if that.

She began to die.

Mike was stronger than the man in front of him, and he had to his

advantage the element of surprise, so the chopping blow that fell on

the back of the man's neck caught him off guard and he slumped over,

stunned. Then Mike was advancing on the man who had his hands on

Dee's neck, his normally calm facade cracked into a ferocious snarl of

rage as he took in her drooping slight figure, and then the man

holding her was tossing her aside like a paper doll tossed to the wind.

He turned to Mike and had just enough light to see blazing, searing,

feral green eyes glint at him, and had just enough time to wonder if a

man was attacking him or a wild beast. Then Mike launched a blow

right out for his face, and he had no more time to think of anything but

survival.

That awful blackness receded, and Dee was able to gulp frantically at

the sweet, cold, life-sustaining air, retching slightly from the terrible

pressure that had been on her neck. Both her hands were around her

bruised and swollen throat, and she fought her way back to

consciousness with grim determination. She wasn't to know that one

of the men was already half- conscious on the ground, because her

vision had not yet cleared. All she could think of was that there were

two of them against only Mike. She didn't bother to analyse just how

she knew that it was Mike. Some sixth sense told her, and he was

fighting all by himself. And he was in danger. She turned, crouched

on the pavement, one hand Still at her aching throat, one hand on the

ground for balance, and she saw two panting, plunging, heaving

figures in front of her. One of them managed to get back far enough

for a blow, and there was a grunt of pain, from the one struck, a

whoof.
of expelled air. It went right to her heart, for she imagined that