Free Crazy Wild by Tara Janzen Page A

made her feel queasy, and trapped, and like no part of her life was safe.
    It made her feel like getting as far away from him as she could get, even if it meant taking her chances up on the roof with the police.
    “I'm asking the questions, Cody, and what I want is answers,” he said, still so damn calmly. “Like why you changed your name from Dominique Cordelia Stark to Dominika Starkova, and why you came into the country under the name Cordelia Kaplan, and how a brunette from Wichita, Kansas, ends up in Prague, meeting with known terrorists, and looking like this.” He took another photo from inside his coat pocket.
    It was a picture of Dominika, and the answer to all that platinum-blond hair, movie-star makeup, and scandalous dress was really quite simple—but he wasn't going to get it from her. Not when she felt like she was falling apart.
    How in the world had he found out about Wichita?
    “Or we can cut through all this crap and get right to the point,” he continued. “Tell me where the bomb is, the exact location, and maybe we can cut a deal on the rest of your problems. And you've got problems, Cody. Serious problems. Enough of them to put you away for life.”
    That was a threat, and she felt the impact of it right in her gut, but she would never confess to Wichita, no matter what he pulled out of his coat, not the shortened shotgun, the semiautomatic pistol, or her freaking birth certificate. Wichita was the hill she'd die on. It was where her mother lived, and the only way to protect her mother was by never going there, ever again—not in word or deed, and it broke her heart.
    “A deal,” she said breathlessly, trying to pull herself together. She could make a deal. She'd made all kinds of deals in the last few weeks, dozens of deals to get from Prague to Denver, deals for forged papers and deals for silence, deals to start a new life and deals to leave an old life behind. Cordelia Kaplan hadn't come into existence cheaply or easily, but if she had to start over again, she could.
    She didn't have a choice.
    Even maximum-security penitentiary walls wouldn't protect her from Sergei. She'd be a sitting duck in prison, and he wouldn't just have her killed when he caught up with her. He'd want to make an example of her, like he had with Keith O'Connell.
    And he'd get the location of the book out of her. She knew he would. She wouldn't hold up under torture, not to save the world. Her only chance was to never get caught.
    God, she'd been so naive before her father's death—but no more. Reinhard had cured her of her last shred of naiveté in a warehouse on the outskirts of Karlovy Vary in northwestern Czech Republic.
    And that was something she couldn't afford to dwell on, not without getting the shakes. What had happened to O'Connell, what had happened to her—that whole night had been surreally bizarre.
    She tried to push the memory away, but it wasn't easy, and her next breath came a little harder. She silently swore at herself. She was going to blow it, if she gave in to panic. Panic was the enemy.
    “I . . . uh . . . can't tell you the location of any bombs. I swear,” she said. “But you're right. Reinhard is after me, and he's into some pretty bad stuff. I can tell you what I know, but I want some guarantees.”
    That was the deal, and for basically coming off the cuff, she didn't think it was too bad. Everything she'd said was mostly true—an important aspect of any deal. She knew enough about Reinhard to talk plenty without incriminating herself, and she didn't know where the warhead was located.
    She did know where
Tajikistan Discontent
was located—about two floors below them, in the noncirculating stacks of the old library, shelved in the 500s—and if it was up to her, it would rot there. No one ever needed to find that damn bomb.
    Her father obviously hadn't found it before he'd died, or Sergei wouldn't have sent Reinhard and his dogs after her.
    “So what do you think?” she prompted,