| |
“SIR, DROP THE KNIFE.”
The rest of the team fell silent, and only the man in front spoke. His tone was calmer now, even though Kennedy’s ears still rang with the sounds of the men’s angry bellows and ultimatums from a moment earlier.
Anthony wrapped one arm around her chest. She could feel him breathing hard behind her and wasn’t sure if she was the one quivering so much or both of them. She held her breath, trying to creep away from the blade pressed against her skin.
“Sir, you need to drop the knife. Now.”
Kennedy wondered why the agent was so reserved. Couldn’t he see what was happening? Couldn’t he tell she was less than half an inch away from death? How far down was her carotid artery? And once Anthony made the fatal slice, how long would it take to die? Would it feel like drowning? Would it be peaceful, like falling to sleep as the world around you slowly went black? Or chaotic — gasping for nothing as you felt your life spurt out of you pulse by pulse?
The men in the doorway looked to Kennedy more like one cohesive unit of death than individual men. Their eyes were all fixed on Anthony. She wished one of them would look at her. They were trained for rescues like this, right? So why weren’t they acting? Should she duck so they could get their shot? They must have good aim and quick reflexes. They’d make sure to hold their fire until she was out of the way.
Wouldn’t they?
“Hold still.” The leader was talking to her even though his eyes hadn’t moved off of Anthony. Had he anticipated her thoughts? Why couldn’t someone tell her what was going on? A little nod, a slight hand gesture — something to convince her they were going to take care of her?
Kennedy was trembling so hard she feared she might slice herself open on the blade. She could feel the cold pressure against her skin, but it hadn’t cut into her yet. At least she didn’t think it had. These men wouldn’t let Anthony go that far, right?
Why were they so still?
“Don’t take another step closer, or I’ll kill her.” Anthony was still breathing heavily, but his voice didn’t quiver.
“You’d be dead before you finished.”
The words didn’t comfort Kennedy at all. What did these men care more about — getting Anthony, or keeping her safe? When she stared into their hard, calculating faces, she had serious doubts. This wasn’t anything like in the movies. There was no fast-paced soundtrack, no pops of gunfire syncopating in the background. In fact, it was almost completely silent except for the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
Anthony gripped her more tightly from behind. The movement from the men in black was barely perceptible. She didn’t know if she actually saw it or only sensed the increase in tension. She sucked in her breath. Were they going to shoot? Was he going to cut? She knew too much. Even if Anthony was about to die, what would stop him from taking her down with him?
Apparently, the team leader’s thoughts weren’t that far from hers. “We have a medical team assembled right outside this building,” he told Anthony. Kennedy knew she should feel relieved, but then again she didn’t relish the thought of getting cut open at all. Was he trying to boost her confidence? “The girl would get immediate attention. And you would rot in hell. Your choice.”
Anthony let out a loud sigh. Hope tried to emerge from its steel cocoon where Kennedy had buried it deep within.
“All right.” Some of the tension seeped out of Anthony’s strained muscles. “We’ll do this your way.”
Kennedy waited. Wasn’t there supposed to be a rush of relief like they talked about in books? Shouldn’t the men’s faces relax? If she had to guess, their expressions were even more strained now. Or was it her imagination? Was the worst really over?
He removed his arm from across her chest.
“Easy,” the team leader warned, but Kennedy didn’t know which one of them he was talking to. What was she supposed to do now? Was she really free? “Easy ...”
She didn’t trust her legs and waited for some sort of sign from her rescuers. If Anthony was letting her go, why did he still hold the blade to her neck?
“Lower that knife.” The rescuer sounded like someone telling the high tide to calm itself and take a time out.
Hope for freedom merged with some sort of primitive, fear-laced instinct. Kennedy held her breath as Anthony slowly moved the knife away from her throat. So he really was giving in. It was over.
A second later, the saturated silence was broken by a chaotic din as everything erupted into noise at once. Someone shouting, “No!” A dozen gunshots or more. The sound of Kennedy’s own scream.
Next the shock of fiery, glowing, diabolical pain as Anthony plunged the knife into her back.