Free Night Magic by Karen Robards

yourself this: would the police turn you over to the FBI or the CIA or any one of the other federal agencies? Yes, they would. In a minute. And in due course you would find yourself facing exactly the same situation we just escaped from. Because there is a Soviet mole at a high level in the U.S. Intelligence service, and until he’s identified and exposed he will be using every bit of his considerable muscle to have us found and eliminated. To the agency we are very likely already the bad guys on the mole’s say-so. We could be killed by our own side just as easily as by Rostov. Do you understand now?” There was a pause. Then Clara said, “You’re exaggerating.” “Am I? Do you really want to risk your life to find out?” He had a point. Clara, glaring impotently out the window into the shifting darkness through which they were driving, conceded it.
    “What exactly did you do to make everyone want to killyou, anyway? If I’m going to die with you, don’t I have a right to know?”
    “I know about the mole, and they mean to see that I don’t have a chance to get the word out. For all they know, I may even have told you.” He was silent for a moment, then, speaking slowly as if he were thinking, he added, “In fact, I will tell you, in case they catch me and you escape.”
    “I don’t want to know!”
    Her horrified protests had no effect. In concise sentences he told her everything that Yuropov had told him. About Bigfoot, and how important it was that this high-level Soviet spy be neutralized. About some kind of plot to murder the secretary of state. About a defector who was being taken back to Russia to be tortured and killed. …
    “If they get me but not you, go to Tim Hammersmith with this,” he concluded. “Tell him what I’ve told you, and also tell him that Natalia didn’t die in Budapest. Don’t forget that part. That’s how he’ll know that what you’re telling him comes from me.”
    “Now they really will kill me!” Clara wailed.
    He half smiled. His voice sounded soothing. “They would have killed you anyway. Now, if you get away and I don’t, at least you’ll be of some use.”
    “Oh my God!”
    “We’re going to have to ditch the van. They’ve probably got a car behind us now. It won’t take them long, now that the chopper has given them our general position. And if we come out of the woods the chopper will be on top of us in a minute.”
    “All right.” There didn’t seem to be anything she could do for the moment but agree. He was calling the shots, and she was stuck with him until she figured out some way to extricate herself from the whole mess. But how? She couldn’teven flee to her mother—what if she brought the thugs down on her? As she knew to her own cost, innocence was no defense.
    “Head up through those trees up there. As far as this thing will go. At least it will be hidden until morning.”
    Not seeing anything else she could do, Clara obeyed. The van bumped and thumped its way over the ground until the trees got too thick for it to pass. She put on the brakes, stopped the motor, and turned to look at him.
    “Now what?”
    “Now we walk. But first I want to take a quick look through this thing to see if there’s anything we can use. Like a pistol.”
    “Oh my God!”
    He gave her a disgusted look.
    “Can’t you say anything besides ‘Oh my God’? You’re beginning to annoy me.”
    “Well, excu-u-u-use me.”
    “That’s better.” He was on his feet before she could turn the full force of her glare on him. Bent almost double, he made his way back through the van. The rear had been stripped of its seats. Only a few tools and a dirty blanket were crumpled together in one corner. As McClain crouched in front of the heap, Clara heard a low, ominous sounding growl. McClain straightened so fast he bumped his head on the roof.
    “Damn cat!” He identified the source of the growl from two glowing golden eyes before Clara had a chance to tell him. Puff