Blood of the Reich Read Online Free

States
    September 4, Present Day
    F rozen foods guy rolled off Rominy and hauled her upward with arms around her rib cage, breasts lifted, delicacy ignored. “I tried to warn you but you kept moving away,” he said. “I feared they’d try this.”
    “What happened?”
    “You almost died.”
    A contact had popped out. People were beginning to shout and run. In the distance she could hear sirens. Christ, it was downtown Baghdad. Her head, hands, and knees hurt and the bastard had just about crushed her torso. Her purse had spilled. “Who are you?” Rominy’s voice was thick.
    “At the moment, the only friend you have.” He pulled on her arm. “Come on.”
    She shook loose. “Let go of me!”
    He grabbed her again, persistent and impatient. His fingers hurt as they clamped. “Come on , if you don’t want us both to die!”
    “My purse.”
    Holding her by one arm with an iron grip, he stooped to scoop things into her handbag and brought it up, tucking it under his arm. “Good catch. We don’t want to give them more information than they already have.” Then, dragged by his pull, she began to stagger away from the wreckage of her car. People hung back, bewildered. Someone’s cart had spilled and bright oranges spotted the pavement. The air didn’t just have a smoky smell, it had a chemical taste , and she realized her teeth ached from clenching. Her assailant, or savior, was pushing her toward a banged-up Ford pickup that was nothing like her late, lamented dream mobile. She clutched her arms to her aching torso. All her energy had been sapped by the shock of the explosion.
    “Are you abducting me?” she asked dully.
    “I told you, I’m rescuing you.” He shoved her into the cab, pushing on her butt without apology, and the door slammed shut. She looked at it foggily, trying to decide if she should flee. Her body felt sluggish.
    “Rescuing me from what?” she asked as he climbed in the driver’s side.
    He threw her purse into her lap. “Don’t you mean from whom?” He started the engine. The pickup was a stick shift like her MINI Cooper. Everything was a dream.
    “Wait.” She looked outside. Blue lights were coming fast. “Police!”
    He pulled away from the curb. “They can’t help.” He sounded grim.
    The pickup swerved to let a fire truck pass and then accelerated. It was old enough to have locking knobs on the door by the window, but hers was missing. Had he locked her in? She tried the door handle and her heart sank. The lever jiggled uselessly. This was her worst nightmare. She was an idiot, a victim.
    “Listen, I know you’re freaked out,” Frozen Foods said. “I am, too. I didn’t know they’d go this far. This whole thing is a royal mess. I just want to give us a little space in case the skinheads are hanging. Look behind. Are we being followed?”
    Rominy looked out the dirty rear cab window. There was a gun rack behind: classic rural Washington. Was her rescuer, or kidnapper, from some gawd-awful backwoods Deliverance den like Twisp or Mossyrock? There was a chrome toolbox that spanned the width of the pickup bed, and surely there’d be a chain saw inside. Or maybe Leatherface here kept it back home in his creepy cabin.
    “How would I know?” She had a headache.
    “Any tough-looking guys with shaved heads?”
    She looked. Following windshields seemed opaque. No, there was a driver . . . but with big hair, as puffed as a TV anchoress doing a storm report.
    “No.”
    Her head was beginning to clear, and she was in the one place she’d vowed never to be, locked in a vehicle with a stranger hurtling toward god-knew-where. She had no weapon, no clue, no . . . wait.
    She did have her purse again. Frozen Foods guy had made a mistake. Hallelujah. Cell phone, car keys—now useless, she realized with sorrow—Tic-Tacs, a tissue packet, lipstick she rarely used, ChapStick she did, compact with mirror, business cards of her own, business cards of boring software clients she’d