"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Heroics" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

leaving him no room to turn on the narrow highway, no escape.
He should have hit them, but he'd been thinking of Sarah. _Is this a
game, Max?_ she asked, her little voice quivering. Even she had known
something was wrong, strapped into the child-seat in the back, watching the
men approach.
At the last minute, he'd decided to hit the cars -- they were all
stopped. He was afraid his airbag would deploy, but he'd deal with it. He had
to.
As he shoved the car into reverse -- a mistake, he knew now, because
they saw the lights -- the men who had gotten out of the car behind him shot
out his tires. The explosions echoed in the afternoon stillness, making Sarah
scream.
The 911 operator answered right at that point, and he was trying to
drive even with the shot-out tires, trying to talk to her, trying to keep the
car between him and the men walking toward it. Sarah was crying by then, and
he couldn't see a mile-marker. He didn't know exactly where he was, and the
stupid operator was trying to figure out jurisdiction of all things, when he
and Sarah might have been shot.
Then they got to the door, used the keyless entry to unlock the door.
It shouldn't have worked but it did, making the little click-click as the
locks rose. Sarah was crying as the smallest man opened the rear passenger
door and pulled her out, car seat and all.
_Noooo!_ Max had shouted, reaching for her, then he felt cold air as
his door opened, and a gun at the back of his head.
Foot, hand, foot. So much pain it was crawling along his back and down
his spine, his injured arm a dead weight. He'd never known his limbs were so
heavy. He was nearly to the top. The thought made him giddy, and he nearly
lost his balance. He clung to the dirt, digging his feet in harder, feeling
the leather of his left shoe giving.
A diesel truck went by, exhaling exhaust, rumbling the road. Didn't
anyone see his shot-up car? Hadn't anyone thought to stop, get out, and help?
Would he have written it that way?
He pulled himself up, saw the reassuring dark blue of his Lexus -- a
rich man's family car, JoAnn had said, laughing -- found himself wishing he
had a new one, with the on-board guidance system, or the Cadillac he'd liked
-- the one JoAnn had hated -- with its night vision and On-Star system. He
would have been pinpointed then. No one would have had to hone in on his phone
signal. They would have found him, quickly and easily.
But despite the Hollywood money, the increased book sales thanks to
three successful Jackson Ross movies, Sobel had still been fiscally
conservative. He'd seen no reason to buy a new car when the old one was paid
off and worked just fine.
How was he supposed to know that it was going to be important?
As he reached the top, he lost his hold and fell forward, catching
himself on his good hand. His bad one brushed the gravel and sent a wave of
pain through him. He blinked against it, feeling it, and not letting it slow
him down. Determination was all he had.
A car rounded the corner -- red, four-door, new. It passed him quickly,
not even slowing down to gawk. A woman's face stared at him from the back
window. She was frowning as if she disapproved. Did she think him drunk? On a