As soon as the engine starts he looks at me. His eyes are fierce and strong.
I glance over my shoulder, towards my hands, then gesture with my fingers, trying to simulate the sawing action of his Swiss Army knife.
Lorcan frowns for a moment or two, then his eyes light up. He glances down at his trouser pocket. Keeping one eye on Morgan directly in front of me, I twist round slightly so that my hands can reach.
Jared drives through the gates and out onto the road as I slide my fingers inside Lorcan’s pocket. Several cars pass us. I stare through the window, hoping to catch someone’s attention, but nobody notices me.
My fingers light on cold metal. Smooth and circular. Coins. We take a right turn and my hand is pulled away. As the car straightens up, I reach in again, this time deeper. There. My fingers curl round the panelled side of the Swiss Army knife. I grip the metal between my finger and thumb and withdraw my hand.
It takes a moment to free the lethally sharp edge that I know is there, and another to position it against my rope.
I glance over at Morgan. She’s peering through the windscreen, muttering something to Jared.
‘If it comes to that,’ she says softly. ‘You can get the money from Bitsy.’
I have no idea what she’s talking about. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting myself and Lorcan free. I saw at the rope. It’s hard to hold the knife in position while my hands are tied, but this is our only chance.
Beside me, Lorcan’s breathing is shallow and tense. He’s trying not to draw attention to what I’m doing, but every few seconds he can’t help but look over to see how far I’ve carved through my binding.
We drive for a few minutes. I’ve nearly cut the rope. Then we turn off the proper road we’ve been driving along and bump onto a dirt track. Morgan looks around. I stop sawing at the rope.
Has she noticed?
She shoots me a withering glance, but doesn’t look down at my wrists.
Good. Maybe Morgan’s certainty that she is smarter – that she has had, and always will have, the upper hand . . . maybe that arrogance of hers is my biggest weapon.
I start carving away through the rope again. It’s harder now, the dirt track is ridged and bumpy as hell. Morgan is holding onto the handle above her window to steady herself. Lorcan and I are being thrown around the back seat. A particularly large jolt jerks me forwards and I almost drop the knife. I’ve broken about half the threads now, but the binding is still tight round my wrists. I don’t know where we’re going, but I’m guessing it can’t be too far away. There isn’t much time.
‘Down there.’ Morgan points to a right turn.
Jared slows the 4x4, then swings it onto an even bumpier narrower dirt path. Our headlamps cast spooky shadows over the hedges on either side of the road.
‘This used to be the local “lovers lane”,’ Morgan says with a sneer. ‘Very appropriate.’
Jared drives slowly on. At last I slice through the final thread on the rope. My hands are free. Without shifting position, I reach the knife behind Lorcan’s back and fumble with his wrist bindings. I catch the edge of the blade on my finger and wince with the pain. Then I find the rough edge of the rope round his hands and carve. It’s not the easiest angle, but my movements are freer now my own wrists aren’t tied. I cut through the first rope in seconds. The second hangs looser. I cut again.
‘This will do.’ Morgan is peering through the windscreen.
I give the rope around Lorcan’s wrists a final slice. The bindings give way. As Jared stops the car, Morgan turns. I whip my hands together, so she won’t see my own rope is cut through. The knife is jolted out of my fingers. It falls silently to the floor of the car. Shit.
Jared turns the ignition off, but leaves the headlamps on full beam.
‘Get them out,’ Morgan orders.
As Jared and she open their doors, I glance at Lorcan. He stares back, his eyes intent.
‘I’ll deal with the man,’ he whispers. ‘You go after Morgan. On my mark, okay?’
I nod, my heart thudding. I’m only going to get one chance to catch Morgan off-guard and I know it. I duck down as Jared pulls Lorcan out of the car.
‘Come on, Geniver,’ Morgan snaps, getting out of the car too.
I scrabble on the dark floor, my fingers desperately searching for the knife.
There. I clutch the handle, hiding it again in my palm.
‘Out!’ Morgan’s voice is raised.
I scramble out of the car, careful to keep my wrists together, praying Morgan won’t look too closely at the rope hanging limply from my fingers. The knife is sharp and cold against my sweating palm. I clutch it tightly. The tip pricks my skin.
Morgan peers along the deserted road.
‘Now!’ Lorcan yells.
I hear him thump Jared. Morgan turns to look, her mouth open.
In a second I’m there. I grab her arm . . . wrench it behind her back . . . I bring the knife up against her throat.
All I need to do is press the sharp edge against her skin.
Lorcan yells out. I hesitate. Distracted. Uncertain.
In a flash, Morgan twists away from me. The knife falls to the ground. In the second it takes me to lunge down, clawing for the blade in the dirt, the tables are turned. Jared’s gun is in Morgan’s hand, the barrel pressed against my neck.
‘Bitch,’ she hisses in my ear.
‘Stop!’ Lorcan shouts. ‘Leave her alone!’
I look over. He is backing away from Jared, hands in the air.
No. He’s giving up his fight. He’s giving up in order to save me. But I won’t be safe. Morgan will carry out her plan. She will kill us both. That’s why she’s brought us here. My eyes plead with him, but his gaze is fixed on the gun at my throat, his mouth open in horror.
‘Don’t shoot her,’ Lorcan begs.
Jared grabs his hands and starts tying them behind his back again. Morgan picks up the Swiss Army knife and pockets it. Her gun points at me the whole time. I can feel the panic rising again, through my guts, tightening my chest and pinching my throat. I struggle to focus.
‘Whatever you’re planning, it isn’t going to work,’ I say quickly. ‘Think about it, Morgan. No one will believe that Lorcan and I would get mixed up in some random countryside shoot-out.’
‘That’s not what they’re going to think,’ Morgan says smoothly. ‘They’re not going to think you’re dead at all.’
‘Then what . . .?’
‘You and Lorcan are lovers. You decide to leave Art and run away together. Exvept of course you’re really buried here.’ She points at the damp earth at her feet.
I shiver.
‘I was going to get Jared to use his knife, a gun is so noisy – but this thing . . .’ Morgan pats her pocket containing the Swiss Army knife . . . ‘this is much better. It’s your own weapon, untraceable to me, if anyone ever digs you up, which they won’t.’
I stare at her aghast. This can’t really be happening.
‘So how exactly are we running away?’ Lorcan demands.
‘You use your car, Lorcan,’ Morgan replies smoothly. ‘Currently parked outside my house.’ She smirks at the look of surprise on Lorcan’s face. ‘What, did you think I wouldn’t spot it?’ Jared is going to leave it at the station later while I use your credit card to buy a couple of tickets.’
I gulp. Morgan sounds like she’s thought of everything. Except . . .
‘Why on earth would Lorcan and I run away together?’ I say. ‘Nobody will believe we would do that.’
‘Is that so?’ Morgan sniffs disdainfully. ‘You’re having sex with each other. That makes it entirely believable, even to Art.’
I gasp, seeing at last the cleverness of her plan. It fits in with what Art expects me to do. He won’t like me going away with Lorcan, but he will believe it.
‘It will seem odd though, just running away without saying goodbye to anyone.’
‘Not really,’ Morgan sneers. ‘Everyone who knows yo
u, or anything about you, thinks you’re unstable.’
‘No, they don’t.’ I stare at her. The wind rustles the leaves of the nearby hedge, its dark edges silhouetted in the car lights.
‘Yes, they do,’ Morgan insists. ‘Everyone, from your best friend who thinks you’re obsessed with the baby who died, to people who’ve only heard about you or met you once, like Bitsy and Bobs.’
I shake my head. ‘What about O’Donnell?’ Even if people think I’m unstable, no one will believe I’m capable of murder.’
‘For goodness’ sake,’ Morgan snaps. ‘Your prints are on his phone and his clothing. The police hardly needed my tip-off. The taxi driver you used to get to the lock-up will remember dropping you . . . not to mention witnesses to the argument you and Lorcan had with O’Donnell in London.’
My stomach falls away from me as I remember the small crowd watching when Lorcan slammed Bernard against the wall near his house. How does Morgan know about that?
Morgan sees my confusion and smiles. ‘Bernard explained what happened just before he died.’ She pauses, pressing the gun harder against my skin. ‘So you see, they might not understand your motive, but you – and Lorcan – look guilty as hell.’ She turns to Jared. ‘We need to get them through there,’ she orders, pointing to a particularly thick set of bushes.
Jared has finished binding Lorcan’s wrists again. He shoves him along the road. Morgan drags me after them.
My mind whirls. I can’t focus. What can I do?
‘Why on the other side of the bushes?’ I gasp.
‘It’s where you and Lorcan die.’
Jared and Lorcan reach the row of bushes. Lorcan is straining to turn round . . . to see me.
Tiny dots of light appear on the lane ahead. They’re heading towards us. My heart leaps. It must be another car. We’ll be seen.
We’ll be saved.
‘Shit.’ Still gripping my arm, Morgan turns to Jared. ‘Quick, get him out of sight.’
The headlamps are bigger now, like the eyes of a prowling animal. The car they belong to must be travelling very slowly. Jared drags Lorcan behind the biggest bush. As they vanish from view, I can see Jared has managed to bind Lorcan’s mouth again. Morgan holds her gun against my ribs. I let her push me out of sight, behind a bush a few metres along the row from the others. She places her hand over my mouth.
I imagine shoving her away, grabbing the gun, running out in front of the car.
My heart races. I don’t know if I have the nerve to do any of those things with Morgan’s gun pressed into my side.
The car is getting nearer. A slow car is good. It means more likelihood that the driver will notice me if I jump out.
The car’s headlamps grow bigger. The 4x4 is parked to one side of the track, and the car coming towards us will have to drive carefully to get around it. I can’t see the driver but he or she has obviously clocked the big car in front and has slowed further.
‘Get down.’ Morgan pulls me down beside her.
I’m hunched over, my knees pressed into the mud. Through the leaves of the bush in front of me I can just make out the car travelling towards us. I don’t have much time left if I’m going to make a move. My heart is pounding in my ears. How can I possibly get away from Morgan without her shooting me? Her gun is right against me.
I have to stop the driver. This is our last chance. The headlights are two moons now. The car is crawling along. So slowly.
And then it stops, just in front of the 4x4.
Yes. Maybe the driver senses something suspicious. Or maybe he just can’t get past the big car. It doesn’t matter. If he gets out of the car we have a chance.
Beside me I feel Morgan stiffen. I strain my eyes, peering into the darkness. The headlights of the car are so bright I can’t make out the shape of the car, let alone how many people might be inside.
The car door opens. The engine is still running. The ‘door open’ indicator sounds, punctuating the still night air. The driver emerges into the glare of his own headlamps. I’m about to leap up . . . to yell a warning . . . to push Morgan out of the way . . . and then I see who it is.
Art.
Immediately Morgan stands, dragging me up beside her. Her gun is in plain sight, pressed against my side. Art and I stare at each other. He walks towards us.
‘Art?’ Morgan’s voice is brittle. ‘What are you doing?’
Art’s eyes are on the gun. ‘I guessed you’d be here. I came to help,’ he says. ‘You were right.’
I stare at him, horrified.
Morgan frowns. I can tell she’s not sure whether to trust him either.
‘It’s time,’ Morgan says. ‘We can’t wait any longer.’
I want to yell out to Art to save us but my throat is twisted into knots.
‘Give me the gun, then,’ Art says. ‘I’ll shoot her myself.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Art must be bluffing? Surely he’s bluffing?
Morgan gives him a sceptical look. ‘All of a sudden you’re prepared to shoot her? I don’t think so.’
Art keeps his eyes on the gun that Morgan is still pressing against my ribs. ‘There’s no choice and there’s no time.’ His voice is steady. ‘Though we should deal with Lorcan first; he’ll be harder for us to control physically.’
Morgan stares at him. I can see she doesn’t believe him.
‘Jared will do it,’ she says. ‘You wait there.’
A cold sweat rushes over me in a wave. Jared and Lorcan are both, still, on the other side of the bushes. Lorcan’s muffled yells are the only sound in the night air.
‘Fine.’ Art holds out his hand. ‘I’ll watch Gen while you help Jared.’
I stare at him in horror. ‘You can’t do this,’ I breathe.
‘Shut up,’ Morgan hisses.
She gives me a shove. I stumble forwards. Art steps up and grabs my wrist as Morgan half turns back to the bushes.
‘No.’ The word sounds strangled, as though all the breath is being squeezed out of me. And then I find my voice. ‘No!’ I scream.
‘Keep her quiet, Art,’ Morgan says, as Jared hauls Lorcan out from behind the bushes.
Art clamps his hand over my mouth.
‘No!’ My cry is a low moan. Unheard. A terrible fear swamps me. Not Lorcan. I can’t lose him. It’s my fault he’s even here. ‘No!’
Art pulls me against him, holding me fast. I watch as Morgan reaches Lorcan and Jared. She points her gun at Lorcan’s chest. His eyes above the gag are wild with fury, but he stops struggling.
I try to pull away from Art but he holds me still. ‘Stop it,’ he hisses in my ear.
I kick out, making contact with his shin
‘Ow.’ Art swears under his breath, then he leans in closer to my face and whispers, ‘For Christ’s sake, Gen. Trust me.’
What? As Morgan fishes in her pocket, Art, still holding me tightly, takes a step backwards, away from her.
I have no idea what he’s doing. I’m transfixed by the sight of Morgan slowly drawing the lethal Swiss Army knife out of her pocket. She holds it out to Jared.
‘Here,’ she says.
Art, his hand still over my mouth, pulls me back another step. We have reached his car, but I barely notice. My whole focus is on Lorcan. Morgan can’t make Jared kill him. She can’t—
Art opens the car door.
‘Get in,’ he hisses.
Morgan turns. Her roar fills the air.
‘Art!’ she yells. ‘What are you doing?’ She points the gun at me.
‘Get in,’ Art orders.
I scramble inside. An empty click sounds as Morgan fires. She runs towards us. I slam the door shut as Art dives across the car, into the driver’s seat. Morgan is still charging towards us. Almost here. The split second that passes lasts an eternity, then Art turns the ignition and the car pulls away.
I look round. Morgan is standing in the middle of the track behind us, her face consumed with rage. I grip the sides of my seat, frozen with sho
ck.
What about Lorcan?
‘I took the bullets out of her gun after O’Donnell,’ Art explains in a low voice, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He glances sideways at me. ‘Gen, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know things would . . . would go this far.’
The car is already travelling at nearly sixty miles an hour, far too fast for the bumpy lane we’re driving along. My breath is coming out in short, jerky gasps.
‘We have to go back.’
Art ignores me and swerves the car onto the main road.
‘Please, Art, she’ll kill Lorcan.’ I turn and look through the back window of the car. The 4x4’s headlights are visible in the distance.
‘Morgan won’t hurt Lorcan. Not until she’s got you back,” Art says. ‘Making sure you don’t get away will be her priority.’
I look round again. The lights in the distance are getting closer, though from the jerky way they’re moving, I’m guessing Morgan hasn’t yet manoeuvred the 4x4 onto the main road.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
‘To Morgan’s house,’ Art says. ‘To get Ed.’
What is he saying? My mind careers about, a million thoughts and feelings colliding with each other.
‘Get Ed?’ I say.
‘You’re going to have to take him away,’ Art says. He glances round at me and I’m shocked by the agony in his eyes. ‘I’ve screwed everything up, Gen. This is the only option now. I see that. I should have stopped Morgan before but . . . but it was impossible.’
My guts twist into a knot. I glance out of the window. The Somerset countryside is zooming past. Is Art really taking me to Ed? My head is a chaos of fears. And yet, bizarrely, there’s something so familiar about the two of us driving along. This could be any night from the thousands we have spent together.
‘God, Art, how could you do . . . what you did with Morgan? How could you have let her take our baby?’
‘I told you.’ Art shoots me a grim glance. ‘Morgan threatened you. She made me choose between losing Ed to her and losing you altogether.’
I don’t believe him. Not now.
‘But I’ve seen the film of you and Morgan,’ I look down at my chewed fingernails. For some reason I can’t explain to myself, I feel utterly humiliated. This is Art’s wrong, I tell myself. Art’s and Morgan’s. And yet I feel shame at the thought of what they did – as if it’s my wrong too. My darkness. ‘Morgan showed me and . . . I saw what you did and it’s obvious she was blackmailing you. I mean, taking Ed wasn’t about protecting me, it was about protecting yourself . . . wasn’t it?’
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