Sara held her breath, listening, waiting as the boot heels thumped on the wood planking inches above her head. With a faint sigh, she released it as the man moved further along the deck. Then she turned back to the problem in front of her - the large evil-looking spider blocking her path.
"Don't get squeamish on me," MacLeod had said, but he'd meant about killing the guard. It probably never entered his mind that his caution need apply to spiders as well. How could he know that this very capable woman he'd found, playing Sheena, Queen of the Jungle in the wilderness, would dissolve into a mass of quivering gelatin at the sight of even the tiniest house spider?
Spiders terrified her. They always had. She could face off with a bear. She had once bested a cougar in a staring contest. She could even hold her own during a close encounter with a copperhead. But spiders set her feet on a path for the hills every time she saw one.
Gossamer strands of web stretched from the stone wall of the foundation to the post that supported the deck. In the center, the black arachnid waited for dinner to arrive on the fly. It moved a yellow striped leg menacingly. Sara held her ground, but like the venom that paralyzed the spider's victims, fear immobilized her. It rested heavy as a lump of raw dough in her stomach. Its sour taste rose to the back of her throat, while its chilling fingers played along her spine.
She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. "Come on, Sara. Get over it," she scolded. "You're bigger than he is and he's more afraid of you than you are of him."
Even her father's words of wisdom couldn't slow the rapid beat of her heart, nor could they banish the fear. They never had in all those years when she fled to him for protection from spiders past, she didn't know why she thought they would help today.
The boot heels clumped overhead again, reminding her that spider or no spider, she had an assignment to fulfill. An assignment she'd volunteered for - one she'd insisted she could handle. She took a deep breath, then pointed the rifle at the center of the spider's back and called on Clint Eastwood for courage. "'So punk,'" she whispered. "'Do you feel lucky today?'"
She poked the web to the right of the spider with the tip of the barrel. It inched toward the stone foundation. *Got you on the run, eh?* She swept the barrel through the silken threads connecting the web to the support post, and the spider crept closer to the foundation. Still she hesitated, mustering the courage to edge past it. She pictured MacLeod's face as she explained. *Well, you see there was this spider ...* She remembered the sword whistling past her ear and shuddered. Facing his reaction would be far worse than dealing with this spider.
Taking a deep breath and keeping her eyes focused intently on the intimidating creature, she pressed her back into the support post and edged past. The spider slipped into a crack in the foundation and vanished from sight.
Sara released the breath that threatened to burst her lungs, as quietly as she could, then she bent over to rest her hands on her knees and let her heartbeat slow to a normal pace. The white tank top she wore under her vest felt like it had been coated with wallpaper paste as it stuck to her back and breasts, and her hand trembled as she slung the rifle over one shoulder. She wiped the perspiration from both her palms onto her shorts, then duckwalked through the narrowing space to the end of the deck.
Scanning the trees and underbrush near the edge of the house, she picked her spot. She waited for the sound of the boot heels to fade once more, then sprinted on ballerina feet for the cover of a large oak. Leaning back against the tree, she listened for shouts of warning. None came. She had made it safely, spider and all.
Keeping her bare arm against the rough bark, she turned to peer around the edge of the tree. The guard walked his post as though nothing alarming had occurred. *Good.* Now came the test. Could she do as MacLeod had instructed? Could she kill this man - coldly with no motivating anger? Tough call.
Stepping back into the protection of the tree, she took an arrow and fitted the slot onto the bowstring, then she drew the string back halfway and rolled around the tree to face the house again. The guard neared this end of the deck. He paused a moment, surveying the terrain - a perfect target. Sara pulled the bowstring back fully taut. Her mouth went dry, suddenly as though a desert wind had blown through it. Sweat chilled her skin as it trickled between her shoulder blades. Her hands trembled, and they refused to release the string on command. The guard turned and resumed his tour.
*That answers that question.* You can't do it. The Sara who watched from above gloated. She was the real Sara. But the Sara who had just confronted a spider and won disagreed. *You promised MacLeod.* She inhaled deeply as she slumped back against the tree. *You can do this. He's counting on you to do this. Counting on you to help him rescue his friend's family.*
Drawing on the adrenaline rush leftover from the spider encounter, she turned back to the house once more. Girding herself with a band of pure will power, she pulled back the bowstring, and waited.
The guard neared the railing at this end of the deck as he completed another circuit. He paused, glanced over his shoulder, then released his grip on the gun he carried, allowing it to swing from the strap at his shoulder. Sara watched, holding her courage around her to block the nagging voice of her alter ego. She concentrated on the guard's actions.
He reached into his pocket, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Placing one slender tube between his lips, he lit it. Sara stepped out from the tree. Setting her feet wide for balance, she aimed. *Don't you know those things can kill you.*
With an abrupt sweep of his hands, the guard threw the cigarette and lighter to the ground. He reached for his gun, a moment too late. Sara's arrow found its target in the center of his chest. He toppled over the railing and his body hit the ground with a thump.
Sara crouched down behind a bush that didn't offer much cover. Surely his friends heard that thump. The sound still echoed in her head. They probably heard it all the way back in Seattle. She waited a moment, but no one responded. She had given the guard little time to shout a warning.
Staying as low to the ground as she could, she crept over to the body. She checked cautiously for a pulse, found none, then grabbing his feet, she pulled the body under the deck. She covered it with a pile of leaves and a few broken branches. Not a very good camouflage job, but it would have to do. She took a few steps away, then turned back. "And you stay dead," she whispered remembering the last dead man she'd dealt with. "Please, stay dead."
****
MacLeod had assured her that the leader was the only other immortal around. But how could she be sure? How could she be sure of anything, anymore. A quick glance at her watch, confirmed that she was still on schedule. Now, for the next stage of MacLeod's plan. As she worked her way to the corner of the garage, she cast frequent glances over her shoulder to check on the guard. He hadn't moved.
Leaning back against the log wall, she glanced down at the gun she had taken from him. Uzi? AK-47? Though she had done research on assault weapons, she'd never held one in her hand before. This one looked a lot more lethal than any of the pictures she'd seen. Just hanging loosely in her hand, it radiated raw killing power, and spread gooseflesh up her arm.
A wave of queasy repugnance hit her, suddenly, unexpectedly. She had killed a man. Sara MacKensie who wrote about murder and death every day, but who couldn't kill the spiders that terrorized her had killed a man. Bile pushed at the back of her throat and the muscles constricted in a spasm. She fell to her knees and retched. But she had been too busy to eat, so her stomach was empty. That made the retching far worse.
Breathing heavily, she leaned back on her heels and buried her face in her palms. She had crossed an unseen border. There had been no guards, no check points to warn a wandering stranger. She was alone in an unknown land, doing unspeakable things. How could she go on?
MacLeod's deep voice reverberated in her head. "Once we have begun, you can't change your mind," he had said.
"I won't let you down," she had promised.
She'd given her word. He was counting on her to be where he needed her to be - to do what he needed her to do. She stood slowly, and remembered what MacLeod had told her about Danny Chou and his family.
He'd lived in cities all his life. Beijing. Hong Kong. San Francisco. Seattle. Growing up on the far side of the poverty line, he'd resisted the drugs and the street gangs. He'd worked long hours sweeping floors, waiting tables and washing dishes to put himself through college.
Three years ago he'd taken a chance. He'd scraped together every cent he could, borrowed every dollar the banks would allow, and started a small software company. There his brilliant mind and strong work ethic earned him the success and security he'd been seeking all his life. His business thrived, and it enabled him to provide his wife and daughter with an income beyond his wildest boyhood fantasies.
Six months ago, on a business trip to Bellingham, he'd taken a wrong turn and discovered a world he never believed existed. A world he'd heard about, but never had time to investigate. A world brimming with pristine mountain lakes and noble pines, sweet smelling air and broad vistas. Transfixed by the strong image he brought home to Seattle, he longed to share it with Mei Lin and Kim. He planned the camping trip with the fervor of a convert.
MacLeod had tried to temper Danny's enthusiasm. Tried to explain that you couldn't learn the art of living in the woods from a book like you could learn a new computer language. Tried to explain that it was a slow process, but Danny burned with his new found passion. He refused to listen, but he did accept MacLeod's offer to join them. 200 The unexpected arrival of a headhunting immortal had prevented MacLeod from leaving with his friend. The recalcitrant engine of the T-bird had delayed him further. And the evil Danny Chou thought he'd left far behind him in the city had followed him into paradise.
With a weary sigh, Sara bent to pick up the guard's gun. She slung it and the bow over one shoulder, then gripped her own rifle in her right hand. *I have promises to keep.* Using Robert Frost's lyric lines as a mantra, she flattened herself against the logs and eased around the corner.
Treading softly and praying that no one would look out the glass entrance to the great room, she moved up to the edge of the sliding door just ahead of her. She pressed herself into the wall, and listened to the voice flowing from the guest bedroom.
"Well hey, there little lady," the voice crooned, accompanied by the scrape of heavy shoes shuffling across the wood floor.
Though the muffled voice was unfamiliar, Sara recognized the twangy cadence. This guy was definitely a home grown product. No one responded, but she couldn't chance a look to see who he had spoken to. Could be Mei Lin or Kim. If it was, that meant at least one of them was alive. Sara's relief escaped in a slow exhale.
"Are you behavin' yourself?" the man asked.
No answer. He cackled, briefly, then the scraping clump of his lazy shuffle faded. Sara assumed he'd left the room, but his presence puzzled her.
The three men, she and MacLeod had seen so far, appeared regimented and full of military discipline. The guard on the deck had been a little lax, perhaps - and she was thankful for that - but this guy sounded like an uneducated mountain man. He didn't seem to fit her growing impression of the opposition.
Living up here in the Cascades, she'd come across a few of these enigmatic characters from time to time. Found most of them harmless, but one or two had frightened her more than any wild animal - or spider - she'd ever encountered.
They kept to themselves, living off the land, and if she left them alone, they usually left her alone. But any threat, real or imagined, triggered their animal instincts and they attacked with no thought save protecting their freedom and their privacy. Decidedly anti-social, they trusted no one.
Anti-social. Sara smiled - that was the way her city friends described her. They couldn't understand why anyone would want to live way out here in the woods. Couldn't understand that when the muse struck, it ruled her life with force of a dictator. They constantly questioned why she couldn't go to a show with them, or join them for dinner, or chat idly on the phone. So when the muse moved in, Sara packed her things and moved out. She came up here to the mountains where no explanations were needed.
Anti-social. She had more in common with these mountain men, than she thought. So what was one - possibly more - doing with this gang of Neo-Nazis or whatever they were?
Money? She doubted it. Some appeal to a hidden passion? Could be, she supposed. Obviously they'd found some motivation to enlist his help and his presumed knowledge of the terrain. She didn't know if MacLeod knew how unpredictable these men could be, and she wished there was time to warn him.
*Wishes,* Sara thought as she glanced up at the darkening sky. *They were a waste product of hope, and only fed futility.*
The sun hung low on the other side of the lake - suspended just above the treetops in a symphonic melange of indigo, orange and gold. The lake water mimicked the colors of the sky, yet wore the shimmering imitation without shame. Would MacLeod stop to admire the sunset as he moved in from the other side of the house? Sara smiled as she pictured his handsome face, frozen in rapt concentration. Highly unlikely. *Promises to keep,* rolled through her mind again, and urged her forward. She rested her cheek against the warm glass as she peered in through the grid that gave the door the illusion of separate lites. The sun glare prevented a clear view of the interior, so with a flickering glance at the other door, she lifted her hand to shield her vision.
Most of the room was veiled by shadows, but enough sun streamed through the door to illuminate the end of the bed and a pair of feet, clad in bright pink socks. Ropes coiled around the ankles bound the feet to the spindles of the brass bed.
Sara gripped the curved French-style handle of the door and pushed it. She prayed that it hadn't been latched, and prayed that it wouldn't announce her presence as it rolled open. When it slid to the other side with a only faint murmur, Sara whispered thanks to her father for insisting on quality building materials.
She crouched down, then adjusted all the equipment hanging from various parts of her body to make sure it was securely fastened. She felt naked without her backpack, but MacLeod had insisted she leave it behind. "You won't need all that stuff, and it will only get in your way," he'd argued. Ha! She needed all that stuff that's why she carried it in the first place. The backpack never got in the way, but all these loose items did. 300 She sank to her knees, and paused. None of the weapons, nor anything else clattered to the deck. *All carry on luggage and tray tables safely secured, seatbacks in an upright position. Flight attendants, take your seats, this plane's cleared for take off.* She crept into the house.
The feet she had glimpsed through the door, belonged to a young girl. About fourteen, she guessed. A fall of dark shiny hair spilled over her shoulders, and her almond-shaped eyes enlarged to dark brown ovals as she stared at Sara.
A broad stripe of grey tape over her mouth prevented the girl from making a sound, but Sara held her index finger up to her lips, anyway, then she crawled around to the other side of the bed. If someone came in, at least she would have a place to hide. She stood, then setting her hand on the headboard for balance, she leaned over the girl and cut the ropes that bound her hands.
That task completed, she moved her hand to the girl's shoulder to soothe her. "It's okay, Kim," she whispered, keeping her mouth as close to the girl's ear as she could. "I'm here to help you." The tension in the girl's shoulder ebbed under her fingers.
"Do you know Duncan MacLeod?" she asked hoping the familiar name would alleviate any remaining fear.
The girl nodded, then reached up for the tape holding her mouth shut. Sara grasped Kim's hand gently and shook her head. "That's going to hurt and you can't make a sound. Understand?" Kim nodded again.
Sara outlined her plan, then moved to cut the ropes on Kim's feet. Following Sara's instructions the girl slipped off the bed. The springs creaked when her weight released them. They both sucked in sharp breaths, then froze. They waited a moment, and when no one investigated the sound, Sara nodded to send Kim on her way.
Danny Chou's daughter padded to the door, then looked both ways before stepping through - a city girl trained as a toddler to check for danger before venturing out into the street. Sara smiled at her instinctive behavior, and returned the wave Kim fluttered before she vanished from sight. If only the girl was back home safely on those familiar streets. Sara sighed. If MacLeod had *taken out* the guard at the front of the house, Kim should have a clear path to the truck. Counting on that, and the cover of darkness, Sara had told her to get into the Jeep, and hide under the blanket in the back. She hoped it would be safe enough, but who knew.
Not trusting her hiking boots to be silent on the hardwood floor, she sank to her knees, again, then crept to the door. Once outside, she approached the door to the great room with utmost caution. MacLeod had told her to wait there. He said she would know when he had entered the house because the leader would react to the sense of another immortal. She hoped he knew what he was doing.
"Don't get squeamish on me," MacLeod had said, but he'd meant about killing the guard. It probably never entered his mind that his caution need apply to spiders as well. How could he know that this very capable woman he'd found, playing Sheena, Queen of the Jungle in the wilderness, would dissolve into a mass of quivering gelatin at the sight of even the tiniest house spider?
Spiders terrified her. They always had. She could face off with a bear. She had once bested a cougar in a staring contest. She could even hold her own during a close encounter with a copperhead. But spiders set her feet on a path for the hills every time she saw one.
Gossamer strands of web stretched from the stone wall of the foundation to the post that supported the deck. In the center, the black arachnid waited for dinner to arrive on the fly. It moved a yellow striped leg menacingly. Sara held her ground, but like the venom that paralyzed the spider's victims, fear immobilized her. It rested heavy as a lump of raw dough in her stomach. Its sour taste rose to the back of her throat, while its chilling fingers played along her spine.
She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. "Come on, Sara. Get over it," she scolded. "You're bigger than he is and he's more afraid of you than you are of him."
Even her father's words of wisdom couldn't slow the rapid beat of her heart, nor could they banish the fear. They never had in all those years when she fled to him for protection from spiders past, she didn't know why she thought they would help today.
The boot heels clumped overhead again, reminding her that spider or no spider, she had an assignment to fulfill. An assignment she'd volunteered for - one she'd insisted she could handle. She took a deep breath, then pointed the rifle at the center of the spider's back and called on Clint Eastwood for courage. "'So punk,'" she whispered. "'Do you feel lucky today?'"
She poked the web to the right of the spider with the tip of the barrel. It inched toward the stone foundation. *Got you on the run, eh?* She swept the barrel through the silken threads connecting the web to the support post, and the spider crept closer to the foundation. Still she hesitated, mustering the courage to edge past it. She pictured MacLeod's face as she explained. *Well, you see there was this spider ...* She remembered the sword whistling past her ear and shuddered. Facing his reaction would be far worse than dealing with this spider.
Taking a deep breath and keeping her eyes focused intently on the intimidating creature, she pressed her back into the support post and edged past. The spider slipped into a crack in the foundation and vanished from sight.
Sara released the breath that threatened to burst her lungs, as quietly as she could, then she bent over to rest her hands on her knees and let her heartbeat slow to a normal pace. The white tank top she wore under her vest felt like it had been coated with wallpaper paste as it stuck to her back and breasts, and her hand trembled as she slung the rifle over one shoulder. She wiped the perspiration from both her palms onto her shorts, then duckwalked through the narrowing space to the end of the deck.
Scanning the trees and underbrush near the edge of the house, she picked her spot. She waited for the sound of the boot heels to fade once more, then sprinted on ballerina feet for the cover of a large oak. Leaning back against the tree, she listened for shouts of warning. None came. She had made it safely, spider and all.
Keeping her bare arm against the rough bark, she turned to peer around the edge of the tree. The guard walked his post as though nothing alarming had occurred. *Good.* Now came the test. Could she do as MacLeod had instructed? Could she kill this man - coldly with no motivating anger? Tough call.
Stepping back into the protection of the tree, she took an arrow and fitted the slot onto the bowstring, then she drew the string back halfway and rolled around the tree to face the house again. The guard neared this end of the deck. He paused a moment, surveying the terrain - a perfect target. Sara pulled the bowstring back fully taut. Her mouth went dry, suddenly as though a desert wind had blown through it. Sweat chilled her skin as it trickled between her shoulder blades. Her hands trembled, and they refused to release the string on command. The guard turned and resumed his tour.
*That answers that question.* You can't do it. The Sara who watched from above gloated. She was the real Sara. But the Sara who had just confronted a spider and won disagreed. *You promised MacLeod.* She inhaled deeply as she slumped back against the tree. *You can do this. He's counting on you to do this. Counting on you to help him rescue his friend's family.*
Drawing on the adrenaline rush leftover from the spider encounter, she turned back to the house once more. Girding herself with a band of pure will power, she pulled back the bowstring, and waited.
The guard neared the railing at this end of the deck as he completed another circuit. He paused, glanced over his shoulder, then released his grip on the gun he carried, allowing it to swing from the strap at his shoulder. Sara watched, holding her courage around her to block the nagging voice of her alter ego. She concentrated on the guard's actions.
He reached into his pocket, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Placing one slender tube between his lips, he lit it. Sara stepped out from the tree. Setting her feet wide for balance, she aimed. *Don't you know those things can kill you.*
With an abrupt sweep of his hands, the guard threw the cigarette and lighter to the ground. He reached for his gun, a moment too late. Sara's arrow found its target in the center of his chest. He toppled over the railing and his body hit the ground with a thump.
Sara crouched down behind a bush that didn't offer much cover. Surely his friends heard that thump. The sound still echoed in her head. They probably heard it all the way back in Seattle. She waited a moment, but no one responded. She had given the guard little time to shout a warning.
Staying as low to the ground as she could, she crept over to the body. She checked cautiously for a pulse, found none, then grabbing his feet, she pulled the body under the deck. She covered it with a pile of leaves and a few broken branches. Not a very good camouflage job, but it would have to do. She took a few steps away, then turned back. "And you stay dead," she whispered remembering the last dead man she'd dealt with. "Please, stay dead."
****
MacLeod had assured her that the leader was the only other immortal around. But how could she be sure? How could she be sure of anything, anymore. A quick glance at her watch, confirmed that she was still on schedule. Now, for the next stage of MacLeod's plan. As she worked her way to the corner of the garage, she cast frequent glances over her shoulder to check on the guard. He hadn't moved.
Leaning back against the log wall, she glanced down at the gun she had taken from him. Uzi? AK-47? Though she had done research on assault weapons, she'd never held one in her hand before. This one looked a lot more lethal than any of the pictures she'd seen. Just hanging loosely in her hand, it radiated raw killing power, and spread gooseflesh up her arm.
A wave of queasy repugnance hit her, suddenly, unexpectedly. She had killed a man. Sara MacKensie who wrote about murder and death every day, but who couldn't kill the spiders that terrorized her had killed a man. Bile pushed at the back of her throat and the muscles constricted in a spasm. She fell to her knees and retched. But she had been too busy to eat, so her stomach was empty. That made the retching far worse.
Breathing heavily, she leaned back on her heels and buried her face in her palms. She had crossed an unseen border. There had been no guards, no check points to warn a wandering stranger. She was alone in an unknown land, doing unspeakable things. How could she go on?
MacLeod's deep voice reverberated in her head. "Once we have begun, you can't change your mind," he had said.
"I won't let you down," she had promised.
She'd given her word. He was counting on her to be where he needed her to be - to do what he needed her to do. She stood slowly, and remembered what MacLeod had told her about Danny Chou and his family.
He'd lived in cities all his life. Beijing. Hong Kong. San Francisco. Seattle. Growing up on the far side of the poverty line, he'd resisted the drugs and the street gangs. He'd worked long hours sweeping floors, waiting tables and washing dishes to put himself through college.
Three years ago he'd taken a chance. He'd scraped together every cent he could, borrowed every dollar the banks would allow, and started a small software company. There his brilliant mind and strong work ethic earned him the success and security he'd been seeking all his life. His business thrived, and it enabled him to provide his wife and daughter with an income beyond his wildest boyhood fantasies.
Six months ago, on a business trip to Bellingham, he'd taken a wrong turn and discovered a world he never believed existed. A world he'd heard about, but never had time to investigate. A world brimming with pristine mountain lakes and noble pines, sweet smelling air and broad vistas. Transfixed by the strong image he brought home to Seattle, he longed to share it with Mei Lin and Kim. He planned the camping trip with the fervor of a convert.
MacLeod had tried to temper Danny's enthusiasm. Tried to explain that you couldn't learn the art of living in the woods from a book like you could learn a new computer language. Tried to explain that it was a slow process, but Danny burned with his new found passion. He refused to listen, but he did accept MacLeod's offer to join them. 200 The unexpected arrival of a headhunting immortal had prevented MacLeod from leaving with his friend. The recalcitrant engine of the T-bird had delayed him further. And the evil Danny Chou thought he'd left far behind him in the city had followed him into paradise.
With a weary sigh, Sara bent to pick up the guard's gun. She slung it and the bow over one shoulder, then gripped her own rifle in her right hand. *I have promises to keep.* Using Robert Frost's lyric lines as a mantra, she flattened herself against the logs and eased around the corner.
Treading softly and praying that no one would look out the glass entrance to the great room, she moved up to the edge of the sliding door just ahead of her. She pressed herself into the wall, and listened to the voice flowing from the guest bedroom.
"Well hey, there little lady," the voice crooned, accompanied by the scrape of heavy shoes shuffling across the wood floor.
Though the muffled voice was unfamiliar, Sara recognized the twangy cadence. This guy was definitely a home grown product. No one responded, but she couldn't chance a look to see who he had spoken to. Could be Mei Lin or Kim. If it was, that meant at least one of them was alive. Sara's relief escaped in a slow exhale.
"Are you behavin' yourself?" the man asked.
No answer. He cackled, briefly, then the scraping clump of his lazy shuffle faded. Sara assumed he'd left the room, but his presence puzzled her.
The three men, she and MacLeod had seen so far, appeared regimented and full of military discipline. The guard on the deck had been a little lax, perhaps - and she was thankful for that - but this guy sounded like an uneducated mountain man. He didn't seem to fit her growing impression of the opposition.
Living up here in the Cascades, she'd come across a few of these enigmatic characters from time to time. Found most of them harmless, but one or two had frightened her more than any wild animal - or spider - she'd ever encountered.
They kept to themselves, living off the land, and if she left them alone, they usually left her alone. But any threat, real or imagined, triggered their animal instincts and they attacked with no thought save protecting their freedom and their privacy. Decidedly anti-social, they trusted no one.
Anti-social. Sara smiled - that was the way her city friends described her. They couldn't understand why anyone would want to live way out here in the woods. Couldn't understand that when the muse struck, it ruled her life with force of a dictator. They constantly questioned why she couldn't go to a show with them, or join them for dinner, or chat idly on the phone. So when the muse moved in, Sara packed her things and moved out. She came up here to the mountains where no explanations were needed.
Anti-social. She had more in common with these mountain men, than she thought. So what was one - possibly more - doing with this gang of Neo-Nazis or whatever they were?
Money? She doubted it. Some appeal to a hidden passion? Could be, she supposed. Obviously they'd found some motivation to enlist his help and his presumed knowledge of the terrain. She didn't know if MacLeod knew how unpredictable these men could be, and she wished there was time to warn him.
*Wishes,* Sara thought as she glanced up at the darkening sky. *They were a waste product of hope, and only fed futility.*
The sun hung low on the other side of the lake - suspended just above the treetops in a symphonic melange of indigo, orange and gold. The lake water mimicked the colors of the sky, yet wore the shimmering imitation without shame. Would MacLeod stop to admire the sunset as he moved in from the other side of the house? Sara smiled as she pictured his handsome face, frozen in rapt concentration. Highly unlikely. *Promises to keep,* rolled through her mind again, and urged her forward. She rested her cheek against the warm glass as she peered in through the grid that gave the door the illusion of separate lites. The sun glare prevented a clear view of the interior, so with a flickering glance at the other door, she lifted her hand to shield her vision.
Most of the room was veiled by shadows, but enough sun streamed through the door to illuminate the end of the bed and a pair of feet, clad in bright pink socks. Ropes coiled around the ankles bound the feet to the spindles of the brass bed.
Sara gripped the curved French-style handle of the door and pushed it. She prayed that it hadn't been latched, and prayed that it wouldn't announce her presence as it rolled open. When it slid to the other side with a only faint murmur, Sara whispered thanks to her father for insisting on quality building materials.
She crouched down, then adjusted all the equipment hanging from various parts of her body to make sure it was securely fastened. She felt naked without her backpack, but MacLeod had insisted she leave it behind. "You won't need all that stuff, and it will only get in your way," he'd argued. Ha! She needed all that stuff that's why she carried it in the first place. The backpack never got in the way, but all these loose items did. 300 She sank to her knees, and paused. None of the weapons, nor anything else clattered to the deck. *All carry on luggage and tray tables safely secured, seatbacks in an upright position. Flight attendants, take your seats, this plane's cleared for take off.* She crept into the house.
The feet she had glimpsed through the door, belonged to a young girl. About fourteen, she guessed. A fall of dark shiny hair spilled over her shoulders, and her almond-shaped eyes enlarged to dark brown ovals as she stared at Sara.
A broad stripe of grey tape over her mouth prevented the girl from making a sound, but Sara held her index finger up to her lips, anyway, then she crawled around to the other side of the bed. If someone came in, at least she would have a place to hide. She stood, then setting her hand on the headboard for balance, she leaned over the girl and cut the ropes that bound her hands.
That task completed, she moved her hand to the girl's shoulder to soothe her. "It's okay, Kim," she whispered, keeping her mouth as close to the girl's ear as she could. "I'm here to help you." The tension in the girl's shoulder ebbed under her fingers.
"Do you know Duncan MacLeod?" she asked hoping the familiar name would alleviate any remaining fear.
The girl nodded, then reached up for the tape holding her mouth shut. Sara grasped Kim's hand gently and shook her head. "That's going to hurt and you can't make a sound. Understand?" Kim nodded again.
Sara outlined her plan, then moved to cut the ropes on Kim's feet. Following Sara's instructions the girl slipped off the bed. The springs creaked when her weight released them. They both sucked in sharp breaths, then froze. They waited a moment, and when no one investigated the sound, Sara nodded to send Kim on her way.
Danny Chou's daughter padded to the door, then looked both ways before stepping through - a city girl trained as a toddler to check for danger before venturing out into the street. Sara smiled at her instinctive behavior, and returned the wave Kim fluttered before she vanished from sight. If only the girl was back home safely on those familiar streets. Sara sighed. If MacLeod had *taken out* the guard at the front of the house, Kim should have a clear path to the truck. Counting on that, and the cover of darkness, Sara had told her to get into the Jeep, and hide under the blanket in the back. She hoped it would be safe enough, but who knew.
Not trusting her hiking boots to be silent on the hardwood floor, she sank to her knees, again, then crept to the door. Once outside, she approached the door to the great room with utmost caution. MacLeod had told her to wait there. He said she would know when he had entered the house because the leader would react to the sense of another immortal. She hoped he knew what he was doing.