Free Thieves Till We Die by Stephen Cole Page A

had turned the car around and burned some serious rubber in his haste to get away. ‘What do we have?’ he demanded.
    â€˜Everything on Kabacra’s hard drive,’ Con told him.
    â€˜Excellent,’ said Coldhardt, steepling his fingers. ‘Well done, both of you.’
    Patch remained miserable. ‘What are we gonna do now? We can’t go back to the hotel, Kabacra will send someone round to do us.’
    â€˜We’re heading straight for the airstrip and a flight to New Mexico,’ said Coldhardt. ‘I’ve had our things sent on. Except for the swords beneath the bed, of course.’
    Con frowned. ‘You’re really giving them to Kabacra?’
    â€˜It will keep him off our backs. With the reasons for Tye’s abduction still unclear, I don’t need any further distractions.’
    â€˜Maybe Jonah and Motti have found out where she is by now,’ said Patch, forcing a little brightness into the car. ‘Yeah, I’ll bet they have. Then we can get her out, wherever she is.’
    Coldhardt nodded vaguely. Then to Con’s secret delight, he leaned forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘That was nice improvisation back there.’
    She glowed at his words of praise, and did her best to imagine his touch had been warm and paternal on her shoulder; not the careless afterthought of a man already lost in dark, unknowable thoughts.

Chapter Six
    â€˜Help me!’ Tye croaked. She couldn’t move. The heat of the sun was like a solid thing, pinning her down. Her mouth felt claggy and dry, and her head was pounding; every thought was a thistle prickling her mind as she waited for the next inevitable wave of nausea to hit.
    Cracking open that second bottle of tequila had been a bad, bad idea.
    Unsurprisingly, both the bottle and the idea had belonged to Ramez.
    â€˜I said, “Help me!”’ she moaned, shifting on the sunlounger and smoothing out her camisole top. ‘I can’t reach my water. Pass me it.’
    â€˜See you ain’t learned no manners since you left Haiti,’ said Ramez. He was sitting by the pool, waving his feet through the clear blue water.
    â€˜Please.’ With an enormous effort, Tye propped herself up on one elbow. The view of Santa Fe from the penthouse roof was incredible, but her smile was just for him. ‘Pretty please?’
    â€˜Better.’ He got up stiffly and splashed over the decking to pass her the drink.
Oh, Ramez, Ramez, Ramez
. The boy was looking fine; his olive skin tautand toned, hair razored, smiling back at her. The years in jail had mellowed his pretty-boy looks, but hadn’t taken any of his charms away; she guessed he’d never been good at letting things go.
    â€˜Thanks,’ she said, as another wave of nausea made her shut her eyes. He hadn’t looked so hot when they’d parted company four years ago. Weird how she’d only been thinking of him just the day before, high over Guatemala. She’d been thirteen and crazy in love, he’d been sixteen, the big shot wannabe. He’d promised her so much – then tried to grab it all for himself by ripping off Haitian drug-dealers. Tye shuddered at the memory of the beating they’d given him; they’d blown off one of his kneecaps right in front of her, and it was only the arrival of the river police that stopped them putting a bullet in his brain. She remembered hiding in the shadows, rocking with silent tears as his bloodied body was dragged away by police. Remembered the way he’d cried and screamed.
    Not for her. For the money he’d hoped to steal.
    She opened her eyes again, watched the distant smile playing round Ramez’s lips. No more tears and shouting. He clearly had the money now, and lots of it. And now he’d come back for her. Just as she’d used to dream he would.
    â€˜Penny for your thoughts, sugar-girl,’ he said.
    She looked away. ‘A penny, with the