Death is Forever

began.
    “I’m not leaving you like a staked goat!” she cried over the sound of the road train’s howling brakes. “Get out!”
    He rolled out of the seat, found his feet, and staggered forward. She caught him and levered him upright with her shoulder. As soon as he was standing he broke into a ragged run, depending on her to guide him through the multiple images of night.
    After a few moments, four became two and then, sometimes, one. His stride lengthened. In the back of his mind, he heard the roadtrain’s brakes shrieking and rumbling, then an ominous silence as the huge mass finally ground to a stop.
    A powerful spotlight began sawing back and forth through the bush like a white sword. It was off to their left, but the next sweep would catch both the Rover and them.
    Without warning Cole yanked Erin off her feet, pulled her down behind a termite mound and completely covered her with his body, praying that his dusty khaki clothes would provide adequate camouflage for both of them.
    Then he realized what he had done—dragged her down and overpowered her just as Hans once had.
    Facedown in the dirt, Erin fought for breath, but she didn’t panic, telling herself over and over again that it was Cole who was pinning her down, Cole who had never hurt her, Cole who had fought for her when she’d been helpless. Cole had never used his strength to humiliate, hurt, or violate her. He’d brought her pleasure, not pain, a wild sharing of bodies that enhanced rather than destroyed all that was human in her.
    As her body relaxed, he let out a long breath and spoke in a soft, low voice. “Don’t move. Don’t look up. Your eyes catch light just like any other animal. Understand?”
    “Yes.”
    Very gently he brushed his lips over her cheek and whispered, “You’re quite a woman. As brave as your photos. Now I want you to be as smart. No matter what happens, stay put. I’d hate to kill you by mistake. Can I count on you not moving?”
    “Yes.”
    She felt his weight slide slowly from her. The forgotten shotgun was eased from her grip. There was the brush of skin against skin, a whisper of cloth against spinifex….
    Then silence.
    Cole belly-crawled away while the spotlight swept the night. An edge of the light touched the Rover, rushed by, then returned, pinning the vehicle in a tunnel of blazing white light. The Rover looked like some primeval outback beast perched on its haunches with its nose pointed into the air. Carefully not looking at the light, Cole crawled closer, knowing that the roadtrain assassin would have to get out to check his handiwork.
    When the searchlight swept toward Cole, he closed his eyes completely to protect his night vision and prevent any flash of his own eyes giving away his position. The searchlight swept on, restoring darkness beyond his closed eyelids. He opened his eyes. After several minutes he saw a shadow flicker off to his left in the pale moonlight. It could have been simply a trick of his eyes, which were still giving him double images.
    And it could have been a man.
    Cole froze, then turned his head very, very slowly. Nothing moved, yet he was certain someone was out there. The man was a creature of the outback, sliding from shadow to shadow, cover to cover, moving with the silence and assurance of a king mulga.
    Cole blinked his eyes, trying to clear them of extra images.
    The assassin disappeared in shadows, then reemerged a moment later, closer to the Rover but too far for any kind of accuracy with buckshot. Night shooting was tricky at best. A short-barreled gun and a head that was ringing like a savagely struck bell weren’t helping Cole at all.
    Suddenly the man was silhouetted against the Rover’s window. Cole came to his feet in a silent rush, threw the shotgun to his shoulder, and fired in one smooth motion. A tongue of orange-white flame bloomed in the night. The blast covered the metallic sound of the pump gun’s action. He fired again just to the right of the place the man had been, racked in another round instantly, and fired to the left of his first shot. As he pumped again he leaped to the side, knowing that his muzzle flashes were a beacon telling the assassin where to shoot.
    The sound of the shots rolled through the night like thunder. Off to the right birds cried their fear. Gradually silence returned to the bush. There was no scream of pain, no return fire, nothing to show whether enough of the buckshot had found a target to make a difference.
    Cole