Pirate (Fargo Adventures 8)

“So,” Remi said, ignoring the man, her gaze moving to Sam’s wrists and the zip tie around them, “I was a tad worried about your safety.”

Sam smiled at her, then glanced at Miss Walsh, who was going through the papers, but with a bit more care than Fisk, undoubtedly because she was more worried about preserving history. Or maybe she realized once this item was found, their lives were forfeit.

Fisk held up a yellowed document, then took a step back. “This is it.”

Miss Walsh froze.

Sam had been trying to loosen the plastic tie around his wrists as he kept his eye on Ivan, who was watching Fisk for further instructions. Fisk, though, seemed in awe of his discovery, almost forgetting the others were there. Then, suddenly, he looked up. His gaze met Ivan’s, then Marlowe’s. “Meet me upstairs when you’re done. I’ll send Jak down to help.”

He walked out.

Not good, Sam thought. “You only have two bullets in that gun,” he told Ivan.

“No worries. Got more in my pocket. And Marlowe’s itching to try out his new dagger.”

Marlowe held up the gleaming blade and smiled at Miss Walsh.

She took a step back, her face paling.

Remi took a frustrated breath. “For heaven’s sake, if you’re going to kill us, at least let me put my shoes on and die with dignity. Here,” she said to Sam, holding her clutch almost to his chest so that he had no choice but to reach up with his bound hands and take it from her. She bent over, making a show of putting her high heels on her feet.

Ivan sneered at her as if he couldn’t believe she had the audacity to worry about her appearance at a moment like this. Sam gripped the purse, only then realizing what was hidden under the flap. The brass star. And here he’d been hoping for a knife to cut the zip tie.

Suddenly, Marlowe grabbed Miss Walsh, pushing the dagger against her carotid.

Sam let go of the purse as he rose, then hurled the star. It struck Marlowe’s neck. The man’s eyes widened as he dropped the dagger, then grasped at his throat, unable to breath. He staggered back, crumpling to the ground next to Ivan, who’d just leveled his gun at Remi. Sam rushed forward, shoving Ivan’s gun hand upward as he fired. He struggled with Ivan, straining against the zip tie while trying to get ahold of the gun. Ivan fired again, the shot so close to Sam’s head, he felt the sting of gunpowder on his cheek. Ivan gripped the empty weapon, swung at Sam, then blindly reached behind him, grabbing the maul from the table. Sam jumped back as the sledgehammer narrowly missed him. He ducked as it came down again, then rammed Ivan in the chest with his shoulder. The maul fell from Ivan’s grasp and he tripped, stumbling into the table behind him.

“Run!” Sam said.

Remi pulled Miss Walsh from the room. Ivan grabbed the broken mace, holding the spiked ball in his fist, then came at Sam. Hands still tied, Sam dove for the leather shield on the table. He swung around, bringing it up. The mace skidded across the leather, piercing through it. Sam shoved the shield into Ivan’s face, pushing him back.

Ivan tripped over Marlowe’s body and crashed to the floor.

Sam threw the shield at him, then ran from the room. Remi and Miss Walsh were up ahead, racing down the hall.

They stopped at the intersection, one hall leading back to the museum, the other up toward the emergency exit. “Which way?” Remi asked.

Miss Walsh looked both directions, too shocked to make a decision.

“Exit,” Sam said, hoping that the grounds would be filled with patrons who were waiting outside due to the alarm. Get lost in the crowd.

They raced up the stairs, bursting out the door, only to find they were far from the front entrance and any crowd. Instead, they stood in a dark passage between buildings, used only by maintenance.

They needed to get to the street outside the museum grounds. At the moment, their only choice was to turn left or right. Sam chose left, then stopped in the next doorway, where a shallow stairwell led down to another basement office. “Over here,” he said, urging them into the darkened stairs just as they heard the squeak of the emergency exit door opening, then slamming shut.

Ivan’s booted feet scraped the gravel on the pavement just above them as he came to a stop, looking around, the small pistol in his hand.

Sam drew in a slow, steady breath, pressing tight against the wall, as Remi cut the zip tie from his wrists with his pocketknife. Suddenly, Ivan turned. They froze as he walked in their direction, then stopped, so close that Sam could almost have reached up and grabbed the man’s ankles. Ivan pulled out his phone and made a call. “Marlowe’s dead . . . No. Lost them. I’ll check the grounds. You watch the streets . . . Do not leave here until you find them. The boss wants them—”

A power generator in the next building kicked on, covering the remainder of his conversation. Sam watched Ivan walk off in the other direction, disappearing around the corner.

Satisfied they were safe for the moment, he looked over at both women. “You okay?”

They nodded.

“Good. Let’s get out of here.” He eyed the door behind him. “Does this lead anywhere?”

Miss Walsh, having recovered somewhat, shook her head. “Just the maintenance office. No inside entrance. Shouldn’t we just call the police?”