Free Night Magic by Karen Robards Page B

McClain kept relentlessly going, climbing over the hilly woodside as if he were some kind of machine. If she stopped for an instant she feared losing sight of him. And she definitely didn’t want to be left on her own in the woods in the middle of the night with Rostov and his goons on her tail and God knew what in the undergrowth all around her.
    “Wait, please!” They had been walking for what seemed like hours. Clara couldn’t be sure, because she had thoughtlessly not been wearing her watch when she was abducted. But she knew that she was chilled to the bone and thoroughly exhausted. If he had a plan, she wanted to know what it was.
    “The cat’s slowing you down. You’ll have to leave it.”
    She was cold, tired, and fed up. Her normally gentle blue eyes shot sparks as she caught up to him. Even through the darkness she could see his eyes widen at the fury in hers.
    “Listen, James Bond, I am not leaving the cat! Is that clear?” she roared, her very stance challenging him to disagree. To her surprise, he didn’t. Instead he turned away to walk on with no more than a shrug.
    “Wait!” She wailed the word. He stopped, frowning at her over a shoulder.
    “Can’t we rest for a few minutes? My legs are killing me.”
    “All right. Two minutes.”
    He didn’t seem tired at all, she noted bitterly as she sank to the ground where she stood. Puff, released, shot off to cower under a bush. Clara didn’t even care. Puff weighedabout as much as a small elephant, and if she didn’t love the dratted animal so much she would leave him. But he would never find his way home from there … Shivering, she drew her legs up to her chest and, grabbing the blanket, wrapped herself in it. She was freezing.
    “Think you can get these handcuffs off?”
    Clara just looked at him as he crouched beside her. Her dislike for him was intensifying with each passing second. She had not asked to be involved in this mess. It was all his fault!
    “With the screwdriver and hammer,” he explained patiently, as if she were dim-witted. Clara narrowed her eyes at him. Dislike was a mild word for what he made her feel.
    “Hey, are you alive?” The question was impatient.
    Clara, her eyes narrowing still further, shook her head.
    “No.”
    “If you can help me get these handcuffs off I can carry something.”
    At this blatant bribe, Clara pursed her lips. If he would only carry Puff for a while, she might make it a little further after all.
    “How?”
    “Grab the screwdriver and the hammer.”
    She had to get out of the blanket to obey, but she did it. The prospect of having him carry Puff was too alluring. He found a rock and dragged it over, placed his wrists on it. His back was to her, and Clara had to fight an urge to crack him over the head with the flat of her hand. This whole mess was all his fault.
    “Wedge the screwdriver in where the chain meets the cuff.”
    She did.
    “Now whack it a good one with the hammer.”
    She brought the hammer down as hard as she could.
    “Shi-it!” He leaped to his feet, dancing sideways, swearing furiously. Clara watched him. So she had missed with the hammer—big deal. A smashed finger was a small price to pay for the mess he had involved her in.
    He stalked back toward her, still swearing, his eyes narrowed threateningly. To her own surprise, Clara felt no fear.
    “Sorry,” she offered.
    “Yeah,” he said sourly, kneeling and presenting his back again. After his wrists were once again positioned on the rock, and the screwdriver was once again in place, Clara lifted the hammer for another try. His shoulders tightened in anticipation. Clara noted that and brought the hammer down carefully. She didn’t so much as scratch the metal.
    “Try again.”
    She tried again. And again. And finally, on what must have been the twelfth try, she was so tired of trying that she brought the hammer down as though it was going to make contact with his thick skull. And, lo and behold, the link connecting