Melissa saw the light in the shed as she crested the hill. The silhouette of a helicopter was visible nearby.

It was already happening.

She was sobbing as she tore down the hill. Wait for me. Don't let me get this far and not be able to help.

The door was open. Deschamps might be just inside.

Screw him. If she delayed for even a moment, it might be the end for Travis.

She stood in the doorway, her gaze frantically searching the cavernous shadows for Travis.

She saw Deschamps first at the far end of the room. He was moving, stalking, staring at something in the shadows. Travis?

No, Travis was rolling from under the table, gun in hand, rising silently to his feet. His concentration was fixed on Deschamps, who had his back turned to him.

She held her breath. Do it. Shoot him. Don't let him turn around.

No?

Travis was turning his head. She hadn't made a motion, but he must have caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. His eyes widened as he recognized her.

And Deschamps was turning around!

The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion as Melissa tore the short distance across the room. She launched herself at Travis, her arms encircling his waist as she pulled him down.

Too late.

She heard him grunt and felt the jerk of his body as the bullets hit him.

She'd failed, she realized in agony. Deschamps had killed him.

They hit the floor. Wood splintered next to her cheek as Deschamps got off another shot and hit the lantern on the post. The lantern fell and the candle snuffed out.

Darkness.

Travis's gun was beside him. She fumbled for it and rolled under the table. She knocked over a chair and pulled it close as a shield,

"You can't get away," Deschamps called. "I've killed Travis. Who's going to protect you now?"

Her eyes stung with tears as she looked at Travis on the other side of the table.

"You're afraid, aren't you? I might let you go if you give up right now."

"Screw you." Jesus, how could she see to shoot him when it was pitch black?

"You can't stop me. Do you know how long I've waited for that statue?"

Another shot. A hot stinging as the bullet ricocheted off the chair and grazed her left arm.

"Give up. You don't have a weapon, or you would have used it already. I'm getting impatient. I don't have much time before Andreas gets here."

"Andreas isn't coming. He never intended to come. It was all a trick. So that makes you pretty stupid, doesn't it?"

"You're lying. I checked out the area for miles around. Only the main house is guarded."

"I'm not lying. It was a setup. Even if you kill me, Andreas will scoop you up before you get ten miles from Vasaro." A bullet whistled by her ear. He was aiming at the sound of her voice just as she was trying to gauge where he was. "Why are you wasting time? Get out of here and make a run for it."

"I won't have to make a run for it. I'll take the helicopter Travis arrived in…after I get the Wind Dancer."

The Wind Dancer. She could see the gleam of gold on the table above her. Would it lure him close enough for her to get a shot at him? Or would one of his bullets strike her first?

Another shot. Very close.

She gasped and then gave a low cry.

Deschamps grunted with satisfaction. "All right. You've gotten in my way for the last time." Silence. "Did it hurt? I hurt your sister, didn't I? I saw the blood spurting out of her before I ran out." He stopped, listening.

He was testing her, hoping she'd break if the bullet hadn't hit her.

"I was hoping to be able to take my time killing Travis. I admit I'm disappointed. I wanted to see him hurt. I haven't felt this much hatred for anyone since I killed my charming stepfather."

Bastard.

"Did you see him bleed when the bullets hit? There are legends about the Wind Dancer having a fondness for blood. Wars…the guillotine…Do you think there's anything to those tales?"

She didn't respond. Come on, you son of a bitch. Let me see you.

"You really shouldn't have involved yourself. You're not clever enough. It was pitifully easy fooling you at St. Ives."

He was stirring, moving.

Yesl

She could sense him on the other side of the room. Come closer. See the pretty statue. Come and get it.

He was coming. Very cautiously; but he was coming.

Her hand tightened on the gun.

Another shot.

A hot, deep pain in her upper thigh.

Don't scream. Don't move. He had to think she was no threat.

"I heard that bullet hit home. There's nothing that sounds quite like that soft thud. You're either a Spartan or you're unconscious or dead. I wonder which it is. I'll make sure as soon as I get the Wind Dancer." He was closer, though not close enough. She couldn't move quickly and she'd have only one chance. "My God, what a thing of beauty it is. I can see those eyes glittering at me in the darkness. It's almost enough to make a man believe all the stories about it."

Shock surged through her as sudden light illuminated the room. He'd relit the lantern. Christ, he was only a few feet away! She froze and held her breath. Her hand tightened on the gun half hidden beneath her body.

But he gave her only a glance, his attention focused on the statue with total fascination. "Alexander, Charlemagne, the Borgias," he whispered as he gathered the statue in his arms. "And Edward Deschamps. It has a splendid ring, doesn't-Shit!" He clutched the statue as he fell to the floor. "What the-"

Travis had his arms wrapped around Deschamps's ankles and yanked the legs out from under him. There was blood everywhere. Travis's blood. On Travis, on Deschamps. But, sweet Jesus, Travis was still alive!

Deschamps recovered immediately. His gun swung to point at Travis.

"No!" The thirty-eight exploded in Melissa's hand.

One shot.

Two.

Three.

Deschamps jerked as each bullet entered his body. Blood poured from the wounds in his stomach.

He looked down in disbelief.

She fired again and he dropped the gun. " Bitch." Tears ran down his face. He clutched the Wind Dancer with his bloody hands and crawled toward the door. "Doesn't matter. You still won't win. I've got it. That's all that's important. I've got it…"

And he might still get to the helicopter and get away. She didn't know how he was managing to even move. Yes, she did. He was obsessed and Jessica had told her fanatics sometimes seemed to draw on superhuman stores of endurance and strength.

Jessica.

No way was he going to get to the helicopter.

She shot him in the head.

Chapter Twenty-Five

"That…hurts." Travis opened his eyes as Melissa pressed a strip of shirt to the wound in his lower shoulder.

"Shut up. You're lucky to be alive. Where's Galen?"

"I…didn't need him."

"You ran out on him."

"No one knew he was mixed up in this. Andreas…he won't be satisfied with…statue."

"You gave him Deschamps."

"He's dead?"

"Yes, and you did it. Do you hear me?"

He tried to smile. "Strange, I don't remember that. Are you trying to make me a hero?"

"I'm trying to save your neck." She moistened her lips. "I never thought I'd get the chance. I saw you dying, Travis. I saw the wounds in your chest and your face…You were dying."

"But you'd tackled me and pulled me down. The bullet didn't hit my chest."

"You might not have been shot at all if I hadn't been here."

"Or I could have been shot and killed. Who the hell knows?" He closed his eyes. "Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll go to sleep. I'm very tired."

"Just so you don't die on me." Her voice was shaking. "I went to a lot of trouble to keep you alive."