The Edge

dark blue eyes, and there was something familiar about them. The shape, perhaps, slightly tilted at the corners. They were his sister's eyes, Elaine Tarcher's. He said in a low voice, "My daughter is innocent. She has suffered enough. If I release your friends, will you leave here?"

    "You can hardly expect things to go on as they have."

    "No, once you escape, my job here is over. Then I will deal with what will happen."

    I shrugged. "Your daughter, who is so precious to you-why is she here with you? Have you let her watch you pump drugs into people?"

    "No. We have only been here for a short time. We arrived just before you did. I couldn't leave Marran back home. She needs me. You cannot take me with you as a hostage. You cannot leave her here alone. She would be savaged by these men. She would kill herself. She's tried before. I will do as you ask, Mr. MacDougal."

    He was pleading with me, his expression as raw as his voice. His daughter was more important to him than his pride, certainly more important to him than his own life. "Let me see what kind of shape my friends are in. Then

    I'll decide what to do with you. You try to screw me, Molinas, and you're dead. Just think of your daughter before you decide to betray me. By the way, I speak Spanish."

    Molinas nodded and straightened. As he walked forward, he looked like a man used to command, a man in charge. Laura and I watched him kick one man in the knee. The man cried out. The other two awoke. The man Molinas had kicked scrambled to his feet, excuses tumbling out of his mouth. I understood only that they were excuses. Molinas raised his foot and kicked another man in the ribs. The third managed to jump away.

    He used his hands while he spoke to the men, and his voice was low and angry. If he'd had my gun I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd shot all three of them. He motioned for them to pick up their weapons. He stood there watching them scurry away. He had told them to go outside and stay there. Then, after just a slight pause, he turned and walked back to Laura and me. He held up a key ring, pulled out a long brass key and handed it to me.

    "This is the one."

    I gave the key to Laura. "Be careful. There might be a man inside."

    She nodded. I remained behind with Molinas, the Bren Ten pressed against his neck. "Nice clothes," I said close to his ear while we waited. "I guess dealing drugs to kids lets you hobnob with a lot of Italian designers."

    "I haven't been involved in drugs for five years," he said. "I am doing this for other reasons."

    "Yeah, right. And you keep American federal agents just for the fun of it." I focused on the slowly opening door. Laura eased inside, crouched low. I saw a light come on, then nothing. "Let's go. One try at me and I'll pull the trigger."

    Savich was half-crouched, ready to attack. He looked pale and drawn, his clothes torn and dirty, and there was such rage in his eyes that suddenly I didn't want to know what had been done to him. "I was hoping you'd come," he said, as he slowly straightened.

    I came into the small room, pushing Molinas in front of me. Savich's hands closed around his throat and he shook him like he was a rag. Molinas did nothing to defend himself.

    "Savich, stop it." I tried to jerk Molinas away from him, but Savich was out of control.

    Laura cried out, "Sherlock. Oh, God!"

    Sherlock was the only thing that could have distracted him and Laura knew it. Savich dropped his hands and whirled about, dropping to his knees beside Sherlock. She was unconscious, huddled on her side.

    He gathered her against him and rocked her back and forth, back and forth, kissing her dirty hair. Savich looked up. His face was battered. He'd been beaten. I nearly pulled the trigger. "By God, what have you done to him? You damned bastard. I should have let him strangle you."

    "He is all right," Molinas said, and I knew his throat hurt. Savich was strong, very strong, no matter what they'd done to him.

    I shoved Molinas to the floor and closed the door, then walked to where Savich sat, still rocking Sherlock on his legs.

    "Thanks for coming, guys. I'm glad to see you, to say the least. I did try, but I couldn't get us out of here. I failed. I took out a couple of them but then four others came in and I got the crap kicked out of me for my efforts."

    He was coherent. He was himself.

    "They didn't drug you?" I asked.

    "Not after I woke up when we first got here, wherever here is. They took Sherlock. I guess