Hostage by Emlyn Rees Read Free Book Online

nothing any bigger than these. Certainly no people. And Danny was lucky in this at least. Because there could have been campers up here. Hunters too, here to kill pronghorn and elk. He had the weather to thank for the fact that there weren’t.
    As he ran across the wet ground, Danny hardly made a sound. He was in his element now. Even before he’d joined the military, his father had taught him how to hunt at night.
    After a hundred yards, Danny began his loop. First round to the west. Then north. Hurdling fallen branches. Weaving through the bushes and trees. Until the long rectangular silhouette of the Winnebago finally came back into sight. This time from the rear.
    Danny slowed. Thirty yards out now. Moving in.
    Arwin had told him that Ross Dalio was the only one in there. But Danny only ever believed what he saw with his own eyes. He scanned the ground around the back of the Winnebago. Plenty of bootprints. Could be those of Arwin and the dead guys. Or maybe there were more of them inside.
    There was a single door at the back of the Winnebago. A crack of light showed. Which meant the door was either loose or unlocked. Two windows. Blinds down. Danny’s goggles showed a patch of fierce red to the right of the door. Most likely a stove. A lighter patch to the left. Down low.
    Could be someone slumped in a confined space against the back wall. Danny was guessing Mary. Just like in the photo. In the toilet. Limbs bunched up. Most likely gagged and tied. Or drugged.
    Danny ditched his goggles. Dalio had the lights on inside. Bust in there with his goggles on and he would be left blind.
    He checked the luminous hands on his watch. Three minutes left till Dalio was due to execute Mary and clear out.
    Spartak would be out there in the woods just like Danny. Both of them settling into position. Moving with precision. Like two lethal dancers.
    Danny moved in closer to the Winnebago. He waited with his back pressed close against a tree.
    He didn’t need to worry about Spartak. If anything, the Ukrainian was better trained than Danny himself. Ex-KGB and FSB. But like Danny he was a freelancer now. He wasn’t afraid of anything except drowning. And the nearest deep river was three kilometres away.
    Danny trusted Spartak Sidarov with his life.
    Arwin’s voice broke the silence of the cool night air. Round the front of the Winnebago. Beyond Danny’s line of sight.
    â€˜Ross,’ he called out. ‘It’s me, Tony.’
    Silence, then:
    â€˜What about the others?’ another man called back.
    Ross Dalio. The rapist. The one who’d been taking his time with Mary. Again, Danny pictured the bruises on her face and neck. He nodded to himself. Not long now, before the two of them met.
    â€˜They’re back down the trail,’ Arwin yelled back. ‘We blew a tyre. So come on out here. We’re gonna need your help.’
    So far, so good, Danny was thinking. Arwin was doing what he’d been told, drawing his accomplice out.
    But then Dalio shouted. ‘Where’s your bike?’
    â€˜Back there in the trees.’
    â€˜I never heard you coming.’
    Arwin didn’t answer.
    Dalio called out, ‘Come out where I can see you.’ There was a pause. ‘Do it, or I ain’t coming out at all.’
    â€˜OK, man. OK.’
    Another pause, then Dalio’s voice exploded with fury. ‘What the fuck?’ he shouted. ‘What the fuck is wrong with your face?’
    The bruising. Dalio must have spotted it, even in the dark.
    Danny moved quickly. Up to the Winnebago, beneath the window. Using a palm mirror, he searched the curtain for a gap, a way to see in. But he couldn’t even get a glimpse.
    Out front, Arwin shrieked. ‘No. Don’t. It’s not what you think. It’s …’
    Then Danny heard what he’d hoped he wouldn’t.
    A shotgun roared. Once. Twice. It echoed through the night. Its retort sounded like a double barrel to