Georgia froze. A man was so close to her she could reach out and touch his sleeve. Did he hear her tramping through the underbrush? If he turned around, he’d see her. She’d be finished. She held her breath. After what seemed like an interminable time, he moved in the opposite direction and headed toward the farmhouse. His cell kept ringing. He fished in a coat pocket for the phone and brought it to his ear.
“Yah?” It was a deep voice, rough and guttural.
Georgia allowed herself to exhale.
“Da. Okay.” The man slid the phone back into his pocket and changed direction, walking up the driveway away from the farmhouse. She heard the sound of a car door opening. Jesus! She hadn’t known she was this close to another vehicle.
The man who’d answered the cell called out in what sounded like Russian. A second voice, sounding sleepy, replied. Then the passenger door opened, and she heard two men exit the vehicle.
Guards. Good to know.
Behind them loomed a dark structure. A barn? Toolshed? She’d have to check it out later. Carefully, silently, she turned back to the approaching car. It was rolling into the driveway, headlights illuminating the two guards, one of whom raised an arm in greeting. She hunched her shoulders and tried to disappear behind a tree. Thank God it was dark.
The car was a dark sedan. Maybe a Beemer. Two figures were inside: driver and passenger. The car stopped on the driveway, the passenger door no more than ten feet from her. The engine cut out, and the man in the passenger seat climbed out. Georgia squinted to get a better look at him. When she saw who it was, she gasped.