Page 86 of Twisted Enemy
“Barry?” Orla asks, her voice trembling.
He stares at her, panic widening his eyes. “Ograku,” he says with a great deal of effort.
“Barry,” she repeats. “You’re scaring me.”
“Ograku,” he says again, followed by a stream of gibberish.
Kate grabs for the landline on his desk, but Orla slaps her hand away. “He needs help!” Kate shouts at her mother.
“Let’s wait and see.” Orla clutches the handset to her chest.
Barry is slouched in his chair now, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He’s groaning and pawing at his head like he’s trying to dislodge an icepick.
“Call an ambulance!” Kate hollers.
“Don’t youdaretell me what to do in my own house.” Orla shouts. Barry mutters something that doesn’t sound like any human language in history.
A couple of runners burst through the office door. Orla leaps between Kate and Barry, spreading her arms wide as if she’s trying to protect her stricken husband. “If word gets out about what you’ve done,” she snaps at Kate. “I won’t be able to stop the Crew.”
The accusation springs from nowhere. The runners freeze, trying to parse the threat to their captain. Kate takes a step forward, asking, “WhatI’vedone?”
But Orla shouts, “Katie! Not one step closer!”
She’s painted a bright red target across her daughter’s chest. The men by the door respond like well-trained hounds, turning on Kate.
I grab her wrist before she can say another word. “We need to get out of here.” Barry moans. I pull Kate toward the door. “Now,” I insist.
Orla spreads her arms even wider, keeping anyone from getting close enough to help the stricken man.
“I can’t—” Kate argues.
One of the men goes for his shoulder holster.
“Let’s go,” I say, with more urgency than before.
“Mam,” Kate tries one more time, fighting to drag me across the room. Orla screeches as if we’ve doused her in boiling water.
“Goddammit, Kate!” I swear, and this time, she lets me pull her to the door. We take the stairs almost faster than my bruised body can manage. I clutch my side as we tumble down the last few steps. I have the front door open before Kate tugs hard, lurching toward the back of the house.
“Breagha,” she says. “I have to get her out of the basement.”
“We don’t have time.”
The goons have made it out of Barry’s office. They’re scrambling down the stairs as I push Kate toward the Range Rover.
“Let me go!” Kate screams.
“We’ll get her. I promise.” The pain in my gut is sharp enough to make me groan as I shove Kate into her seat. She’s cursing in Irish, snarling like a half-drowned cat, but she lets me close her door.
We clear the gates just as armed men boil out of the house.
35
KATE
One shot takes out the SUV’s back window, shattering the glass with a sound like a million mirrors breaking. Cole’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles as white as his face. He hisses when we take the first corner, then stomps on the accelerator like he’s trying to put the pedal through the floor.
We race through three stop signs before he jerks the car to the right. Four blocks fly past before he turns again, left this time. Another two, and we’re out of Canton, edging toward downtown and the interstate.
