“We have to take her with us, Sam.”

He took a deep breath and nudged the girl’s shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

She moaned again, a pitiful sound filled with pain and fear, and her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused as it settled on Remi.

“Sweetheart . . . Do you understand me?” Remi asked quietly.

The girl managed a weak nod.

“We’re going to get you out of here. What’s your name?”

She struggled to form a word, and both Sam and Remi leaned closer in an effort to make it out.

“Lil . . . ly . . .”

Sam stepped away from the bed and Remi joined him. “She’s too sick to walk, Remi.”

“Then we’ll have to carry her.”

“We need to come back for her.”

“I’m not leaving her in this living hell, Sam. Look at the poor thing. She’s skin and bones.” Remi thought briefly. “I’ll ask Lazlo to help me, if you think you can make it on your own.”

Sam winced as he nodded. “I can try.” He glanced back at the shackle. “How do you plan to free her?”

“One of the guards must have keys. Stay with her while I go check.”

Remi returned several long moments later with a key ring. She tried two keys before finding one that worked. The manacle opened with a metallic click and Lilly’s arm fell across her thin body. Sam moved aside as Lazlo approached the bed and, together with Remi, lifted her frail form.

“Will you be able to manage her?” Sam asked.

“She’s light as a feather. Between us, we’ll do it,” Lazlo said, his voice confident.

Lazlo carried Lilly in his arms as Remi walked beside him, helping Sam. Leonid brought up the rear, weapon in hand. As they emerged from the chamber of horrors, Remi moved into the lead, but then stopped short at the passage that connected the chamber with the medical equipment to the entry cave, pausing to glance at the dead islander lying on the ground with a machete buried in his chest before continuing past—evidence of Leonid’s resilience even when injured.

When they reached the entry cave, a blur of motion flew at them from the shadows. Gunfire exploded as Remi and Sam fired at the attackers. Seconds later, four islanders lay dying, machetes and axes no match for quick reflexes and bullets. Remi stood, sweeping the space with her pistol, wary of another attempt—just because these islanders hadn’t had guns didn’t mean there weren’t more gunmen nearby, waiting for their chance.

Sam pointed to the entry, a gap in the stone, with five yards of passageway leading to the outside. Light streamed through the curtain of vegetation that covered it. Remi nodded and moved to the side of the opening, gun at the ready, while Sam crept to the opposite side of the entry and listened for any hint of ambush, his ears still ringing from the gunfire. Lazlo hung back with Lilly as Leonid eyed Sam and Remi, who gestured for him to move into the passage while they covered him.

At the opening, sensing nothing, Sam whispered to them. “There could be more out there, waiting for us to show ourselves. Anyone have any ideas about how to keep from being sitting ducks?”

Remi regarded the vegetation that hid the opening. “We wait them out.”

“We can’t wait here all day,” Leonid said.

“Why not?” Remi asked. “Let time work against them. Assuming there are any of them left.”

They settled in near the entrance, guns clenched in tired hands. Soon they heard the thump of footsteps on stone approaching—faint, but clear. Remi squeezed her body into a depression along one side of the entry, her pistol trained on the gap, as Sam and Leonid took cover behind rocks deeper in the passageway.

The vines rustled and Remi cocked the hammer back on the Beretta, willing her breathing to slow as her pulse pounded in her ears. She relaxed and lowered the gun when Greg’s head poked through the vines and smiled as she called out to him.

“You scared the—”

Sam’s gun bucked in his hand twice, deafening in the confined space. The gunman who had been holding his pistol in the small of Greg’s back fell backward, his skull obliterated as the first shot caught him in the forehead, and Greg dove to the side. Leonid’s pistol barked once and a round tore through the man’s torso and he dropped, dead before he hit the ground.

Remi’s voice had a tremor in it as she regarded Greg. “Was that it?”

“No. One more by the car, but he only has a machete. Might be long gone by now, with all the shooting,” Greg answered, struggling to his feet. She eyed the gash on his head and the dried blood in his hair and nodded. “They ambushed me.”

“Can you make it back?”

“Sure.”

She turned to Sam and Leonid. “Nice shooting.”

“I only have one bullet left,” Leonid complained.

“Hopefully, you won’t need to use it,” Sam said, rising unsteadily.

They moved to the entrance and pushed through the vines into a clearing. A dead islander lay sprawled a few feet from the opening. Greg knelt and retrieved the man’s gun—another revolver easily as old as he was—and then pointed to a trail. “We’re about five minutes south of the logging road.”

“Did you see a woman there?” Remi asked.

Greg nodded. “She’s gone. Left before the fireworks started.”

“Damn,” Sam said.

Remi glared at the trail. “Don’t worry. This isn’t over. She’s not going to get away with it.”

Sam studied her face and nodded grimly. “I believe you.”

CHAPTER 50

Carol Vanya looked up as her assistant entered her office. The heavyset woman’s face was ashen and her hands shook as she fidgeted. Vanya bit back her annoyance and sighed impatiently. The long day patching up islanders injured in the increasing looting was wearing at her nerves. “Yes, Maggie? I thought I left instructions that I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“I know, Doctor. I’m sorry. But the police need to talk to you.”

Vanya put down her pen and gave Maggie a withering glare. “Can’t you deal with anything? What do I pay you for?” she snapped irritably.

The police had left a half dozen officers at the hospital to protect it in the latest round of civil unrest driven by the rebel instigators. The impoverished islanders were easy to manipulate into looting, the class anger like dry kindling for her agents’ sparks. The plan was working perfectly: the violence was increasing throughout the day, and by midnight she expected a vote of no confidence in Parliament for the current administration, creating the opportunity for a swift regime change.

“I think you need to see them,” Maggie repeated, obviously shaken.

Vanya stood up behind her desk and was rounding it when the imposing figure of Chief Fleming filled the doorway, his face impassive. Maggie stepped around him and scurried off as Vanya approached him, her professional smile firmly in place.

“Yes, Sebastian? Another emergency?” She was used to charming the chief of police, as she charmed most of the island males, with a combination of flirtation and flattery. She drew closer but stopped at the hardness of his stare. “What is it?”

“You’re under arrest. Turn around. You have the right to remain silent—” Fleming began, the disgust in his voice barely contained as he held up a pair of handcuffs.

“What? Have you gone mad, Sebastian? What is the meaning of this?”

“Turn around. I’m not going to tell you again.”

Her eyes widened and she clamped her mouth shut, her lips a thin line as she submitted to the indignity. She had no idea what had gone wrong, but she was confident she’d be able to talk her way out of whatever the confusion was. She was, after years of thankless public service, one of the most respected figures on the island, with many allies in the government.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Sebastian—”