Chapter Twenty-One
Rurik
Western Carpathian Mountains, Romania
Rurik down-shifted, slowing the calliope truck as it rumbled around a curve. Trees loomed in the headlights, the thick forest beyond them dark and impenetrable.
When the curve straightened out, he jammed the brake pedal down. The air-brakes hissed as the truck swerved onto the shoulder and skidded to a stop.
In a flash, he leaped out and planted himself in the middle of the pitch black road. It was dangerous—probably foolish—but he was pissed off.
A minute later, an RV rounded the bend. Its headlamps glared into Rurik’s face.
Brakes screeched. The large vehicle shuddered, but slowed, and pulled in behind the truck—as Rurik knew it would. He stalked up to the RV’s door, jerked it open, and bounded up the steps.
Four pair
