Chasing the White Lion by James Hannibal (mind reading books .TXT) 📕

away and twisted it back and forth, letting the light bounce off the blade. “By hook or by crook, as it were.”

Talia didn’t like his phrasing. “Let me die?”

“You’ll want to before I’m done.” He pressed the knife against her cheek again. “Now, before I open the first of what could be many, many wounds, I’ll give you one last chance to confess your sins.” He pushed the tip up, not enough to break the skin, but enough for Talia to feel its sting. “Ten.”

The gun. She couldn’t get it to hold still in her vision long enough to make a play.

“Nine.”

Why would God let this happen to her? Had he brought her all this way to fail?

“Eight.”

Talia closed her eyes and opened them again. No change. Where was Tyler? Wasn’t this the moment where he always swept in to save her?

“Seven.”

Her heart began to pound. Her body tingled, going numb. The more she fought to regain control, the more control fled from her.

“Six.”

Maybe she could scramble, go wild. Maybe she would get lucky.

Lucky.

The idea sounded so utterly ridiculous in the urgency of the moment. Talia almost laughed. She no longer depended on luck, right? Her baptism had made that clear to the world. But what then? If a Christian didn’t concern herself with luck, what did she depend on? Herself? That’d been Talia’s answer these last few months, despite what she’d said to Val.

“Five.”

Her own words came back to jab at her—the story of Christ pulling Peter up out of the water. Talia had battled through storms of late with sweat and bullets instead of faith, never once leaning on God, never once taking his hand and watching him calm the seas.

“Four.”

She heard Conrad’s voice from a few nights earlier. You are strong and courageous, my child . . . Joshua, like you, was strong and courageous, not on his own, but because God was with him.

“Three.”

The knife turned. She could feel her captor’s muscles tensing through the steel.

Dear God, I trust in you. Hla Meh and the other children are in your hands, not mine. I trust you have a plan for them. I trust in you, God. I’m leaning on you. Amen.

“Two.”

Something changed.

The dizziness evaporated. Talia opened her eyes. Her vision cleared.

“One.”

A small whisper inside said, Go!

Talia wheeled her left hand up to knock the knife clear—not far, but enough to move. Her right hand went to the gun. She scooped it up by the barrel and lurched clear of a sweeping cut.

The chair fell backward.

The South African lunged, trying to prevent her from turning the gun around. It was a smart move, his only move, and Talia saw it coming. She spun left to dodge the stabbing blade and smashed the butt of the pistol into his temple.

The man collapsed in a heap.

Talia wasted no time in sweeping her tools into the clutch. She stumbled to the door and snuck a look into the tunnel. The utility room where she’d been caught was only two doors down. But before she could make a move, a shadow darkened the corner at the end of the hall.

Talia pulled back and closed the door to barely a slit. The man approaching the utility room looked like a guard. Almost. She pushed out into the hall. “Pell?”

The dizziness returned. Her shoulders fell back against the sharp edges of the obsidian wall.

“Talia.” He ran to her side and put an arm around her waist to hold her up. “I was looking for you.”

“I got . . . delayed.”

“I can see that. You all right?”

She blinked twice. No double vision. At least she could still see. “I will be.” God had answered Talia’s prayer. He must want her to keep going.

Pell helped her off the wall, and the two ducked into the room with the unconscious security man. “Your work?”

“He started it.”

Double rows of folding chairs hung on rolling racks against the wall. Pillar-style obsidian tables were stacked four high in the corner. The room, now that she could see clearly, looked more like a storage room than a holding cell. “I . . .” She touched the bump on the back of her head and winced. Blood darkened her fingers. “I don’t think he told anyone about me. Not yet.”

Pell kicked the fallen chair aside and lowered her into the one still standing. He worked the man’s belt loose. “I take it you never breached the utility closet?”

“Negative. Are we too late?”

“Let’s just say we’re cutting things a mite close. We’d better get cracking.” Pell rolled his unconscious friend over to secure his wrists and found a radio handset had been lying underneath him. He stared at the radio for a moment longer, then looked up at Talia. “This little mishap may work in our favor. Tell me about his accent.”

“South African. I’m sure of it.”

The chameleon’s own accent morphed to match. “That’s a good start, miss, but tell me more. Tell about his inflections, the depth of his tone. Tell me every detail you can remember.”

CHAPTER

FIFTY-

THREE

CLUB STYX

MILOS, GREEK ISLES

11:23 PM

A LIFTCARRIED TALIA up to the eighth-level balcony. On the way, she took a long breath to fight the nausea from the blow to her head. Thirty-seven minutes. She had to endure thirty-seven more minutes and either save Marco or die trying.

With Pell in play and armed with the tools to handle the utility closet, Talia had returned to her original mission—intercept Don Marco and join him on his way to the 11:30 poker game with Jafet. A date with death.

“Jafet plans to kill him,” Tyler had told her. “He’ll do it at midnight, befitting his self-image as a dark lord, at his private table overlooking the club.”

“Why so public?”

“Many moons ago, Marco was Jafet’s biggest rival. A lot of people remember, and Jafet will want an audience of lost souls to witness his final victory and spread the word. But don’t worry. He won’t get a shot off. You’re going to kill him before he gets the chance.”

That would be a