Nowhere to Run

by Jude Watson

  And she didn’t like two rich entitled brats with everything in the world they needed causing trouble wherever they went, either. So. If trading information for cash meant you humiliated people in a handful of tabloids, maybe seriously mess with their lives . . . hey, it was a living.

  They’d hired some expert security control, that was for sure. Walls behind walls. April was almost beginning to enjoy the game.

  The kids weren’t in Mozambique. That she knew for sure. The hacker could send a false chain, but she wasn’t about to pick it up.

  She tapped in another line of code. April leaned forward. This was good news she could pass along to her latest client. The Cahill account was heating up.

  Chapter 18

  Somewhere over the west of Ireland

  Below them, stone walls, green fields, patches of yellow, patches of rust. White puffy clouds in a blue sky. It was a fine day to fly. Pierce’s hands rested lightly on the controls. He loved small planes. He didn’t like highways. He was always in a hurry now that he had someplace to get to. He looked down at his hands. One day soon they’d hold all the power in the world.

  Very soon.

  Every step he’d planned so meticulously had worked.

  Media mogul. Check.

  Millions of followers. Check.

  Financing from secretive billionaires. Check.

  Secret army. On track.

  Stockpile of weaponry. Check.

  Next: the United States presidency.

  And now, the final push. Announce his candidacy. Hire Atlas to start some sort of war somewhere. Detonate a couple of warheads. Then blame the current US president for it.

  Galt and Cara sat in the seats behind him. They looked bored. They wouldn’t be soon enough.

  Such perfect politician’s children — he’d made sure of that. Sporty boy, musical girl. Blond and even-featured like their mother. Cara was pretty — a bit on the bland side, like Debi Ann — but that worked in his favor. Politicians with gorgeous daughters got the wrong kind of media attention. The focus needed to be on him. Handsome Galt, only thirteen and already looking like Pierce. Straight nose, good chin, gray eyes. Killer instinct.

  Thanks to his new regime for the kids, they had shed doubt, defiance, pounds, ethics . . . all those pesky things he used to despise in them.

  “Hey, kids,” he called over the noise of the engine. “How are you feeling since I started you on those smoothies? Stronger, am I right? Maybe even smarter? Quicker?”

  “I feel awesome,” Galt said.

  “Super, Dad,” Cara said. Why did she always sound like she was mocking him? Pierce glanced at her quickly, but she stared peacefully back.

  “What are you thinking right now?” he fired at her.

  “I enjoy the mango flavor best,” she answered promptly.

  “Not a very interesting thought,” Pierce said. “But acceptable.”

  It started as a game when they were young. How they used to squeal with pleasure when he asked them the question! He had invented the game. They had to answer within one second, so that he could be sure they weren’t lying. Little did they know, at three, at four, at five, that he was training them. What was the use of having children unless you could count on their loyalty?

  Every morning he rose early enough to scan the newspapers. He cut out the articles he wanted them to read and placed them by their plates. Evenings were for printouts and magazine articles. He was forming their minds so that they would be just like him.

  Lately he’d been thinking that the web was too vast to control. He was drawing up a plan to delete certain parts of history from it, so that his kids couldn’t access stories unless he approved.

  Cara was reaching for her earphones. He’d lose her to a symphony in a second. He needed her attention.

  “Kids, remember, it’s our secret, right? Your mom — you know how she is. She’d want to protect her babies. She’d still have you on applesauce and mashed carrots if she could.”

  Galt snickered.

  “Are you ready for one last test? Are you up for it?”

  “Yeah!” Galt said, pumping a fist. “Bring it on!”

  “I know you’re loyal,” Pierce said. “I know you’re smart. I know you are in excellent physical condition. What I don’t know — and I need to — is that you can operate independently.”

  Cara looked warily at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I need to know that you can be dropped into a situation — any situation — navigate through it, and deliver results. Are you ready for your assignment?”

  “Ready,” Galt said.

  “I’ve got reporters all over the globe looking for Amy and Dan Cahill. Those two drive web traffic like nobody’s business. I have a location where they were, but I don’t know where they are.”

  “Are we heading to London?” Cara asked.

  “Not yet. We’re over the west coast of Ireland now. Your assignment is to find Amy and Dan Cahill and pass along their coordinates to me in time for me to send some paparazzi their way.”

  The two kids looked dubious. Pierce needed them to buy into this. He could hardly send his bodyguards swarming over the Irish countryside. Galt and Cara would be perfect. Nobody paid attention to kids.

  “Just pretend you’re students backpacking around Europe,” he told them.

  “This doesn’t sound very challenging,” Galt said sulkily.

  “I think it sounds fun,” Cara said, peering out the window. “It’s a beautiful country. And as long as I don’t have to sleep outdoors, I’m cool with it.”

  That’s good, because you don’t have a choice, Pierce thought, but he knew better than to say it.

  “Where are the backpacks?” Cara asked.

  “Right behind your seats. With the parachutes. Tony will help you into the gear.”

  The man the kids had assumed was a steward came forward from where he’d been sitting in the back, well out of earshot.

  “P-parachutes?” Cara sputtered. “But we’ve never skydived!”

  “Not to worry. Didn’t I say you were in top physical condition?”

  Tony began to slide a chute over Galt’s shoulders.

  “Dad? I’m not so sure about this!” Galt exclaimed. “Couldn’t you find a nice airport to land in?”

  “Don’t want to leave a paper trail,” Pierce said. “Besides, this will be fun. I’m looking out for you guys.”

  “I don’t want to d-do this,” Cara said as Tony steered her toward the back of the plane.

  “Stop whining,” Pierce said, and Tony opened the cabin door.

  Chapter 19

  When Amy and Dan cycled into the village the next morning, Fiona poked her head out of the grocery and gestured at them frantically. They hurried inside, and she closed and locked the door.

  “I’ve got a message for you from home,” she said. “Your phones are no longer safe. You’re supposed to destroy them. If you need to communicate, you’re to go to an Internet café. There’s one in the next village. And there is a very slight chance your location was compromised. The advice is to stay put for now. I’m supposed to tell you that a pony is checking everything out?”

  “Okay,” Amy said, nodding. She felt her nerves strain at the news.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe. The whole village is on alert. Which is why . . .” Fiona crossed to the window and peered out behind the shade. Then she let it drop. “There’s someone in town asking for directions to Bhaile Anois,” she said. “He checked in late last night at the inn.”

  Amy and Dan exchanged uneasy glances.

  “What does he look like?” Amy asked.

  Fiona narrowed her eyes. “Sneaky, for certain,” she said. “And he’s quite a waster. Good for nothin’ but complaining. Nora over at the inn said he’s never satisfied with the temperature of his tea,
and he asked for a cashmere throw in his room.”

  Amy and Dan exchanged another glance.

  “IAN,” they said together, and sighed.

  “You know the eejit?” Fiona asked.

  “The eejit is our cousin,” Amy said.

  “Distant cousin,” Dan added. “Very, very distant.”

  They strolled over to the front of the inn, where Ian Kabra stood outside arguing with the desk clerk. Their tall, elegant cousin propped a rickety bicycle up with one index finger, as if it would contaminate him. In this rural village, he was dressed in pressed jeans, a navy jacket, and a silky dark T-shirt. He was only sixteen, but he looked older.

  “Are you seriously telling me, my good man, that this is the only transportation in the village? Surely there is a car service. Or a garage, where one might hire a car? Even in this backwater?”

  The red-haired young man put his hands on his hips. “Why don’t you do this, me boyo? Take a flying leap at the nearest garage yourself? And then you can —”

  Dan strode forward and took Ian’s arm. “We’ll take it from here. Thanks.”

  “Dan! Amy! Thank goodness you’re here,” Ian said in his plummy British accent. “The locals have been supremely unhelpful.”

  “Ian —”

  He narrowed his dark eyes. “I was lost on the back roads for hours last night because when I asked some villager if this was Meenalappa, she said no. And I was standing right in the middle of the village! If I ever see that young woman again, I’ll —” Ian’s eyes widened. Fiona was crossing the street to the pub. “Th-there she is!” he sputtered.

  “Hi, Fiona!” Dan said, waving.

  “Hi, Danny boy!” she trilled back.

  “You’re acquainted with that creature?”

  “Relax, Ian.” Dan tried to hide his grin. “She was just trying to protect us.”

  “Did Nellie call you?” Amy asked, irritation spiking her question.

  “Of course she did. And Hamilton and Jonah, too,” Ian said, naming their other cousins. “They’re on alert. Reagan and Madison would come, too, but they’re both training for the Olympics, and Hamilton wouldn’t let them. They’re on reserve, though.”

  Amy gritted her teeth. “I told Nellie not to alert anyone.”

  “Nonsense,” Ian said briskly. “We’re Cahills. We’re in this together. Now, let’s go to Grace’s house. It’s got to be better than that shoddy inn.”

  Ian sniffed at the single bed with the cotton coverlet and plain white sheets. “I spoke too soon. Why, oh why, didn’t Grace know about thread counts?” he moaned.

  “I have no idea what you mean, dude, but if you insult Grace in my presence again you are going to have one very fat lip,” Dan replied cheerfully. “Or two.”

  “I’m not insulting her,” Ian said. “I’m just indicating my preference. If only Natalie were here, she would know exactly what I mean.”

  Suddenly, Ian’s face clouded. Natalie had died only six months ago and she’d been his baby sister. Amy knew the wound must still be so unbearably fresh.

  Ian cleared his throat and quickly turned away. His voice came out higher and constricted. “Since I’m alone in this, I won’t say another word. I will cope with threadbare towels and scratchy sheets like a gentleman.”

  Amy could tell by the way Ian was examining his bedding that he was close to tears. Nobody was that interested in fluffing their pillow.

  “We miss her, too, Ian,” she said gently.

  He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

  It would be like losing Dan, she thought. She had a glimpse into great and unquenchable grief, and if she could have produced a cashmere throw for Ian at that moment, she would have been happy to provide it.

  “We really need your help,” she added.

  Ian’s face brightened, and she knew it had been the right thing to say. He wanted to be needed now.

  Ian followed them down the stairs. “I know you two are going to need some Lucian strategy.” He lowered himself onto the overstuffed sofa. “So relax and tell me how I can solve all your problems.”

  It was almost a flashback to the former arrogant Ian they’d known, but now he ended the remark with a smile that mocked his old self-centeredness. The loss of Natalie had changed him.

  Amy felt her eyes mist. With all her worrying about putting him in danger, she hadn’t stopped to consider that Ian might need them, too.

  They sat outside on the back lawn. Amy had spread out a linen blanket and brought a tray with a teapot and pretty mismatched cups — Grace had always collected mismatched china — and a plate of cookies. The weather had warmed and brightened, and the soft breeze ruffled the pages of Olivia’s book.

  Ian knew more Latin than Amy, so he was able to translate a few things that had stumped her.

  “This dowry reference is puzzling,” Ian said. “She keeps referring to it, but we don’t know what it is. Is it land, or money, or animals, or objects?”

  “It does come up often,” Amy agreed. “Even after Gideon is dead.”

  Amy looked up at him. Their faces were very close. She remembered when those dark expressive eyes would make her quiver inside, when being this close would make her blush and stammer. Not anymore, though.

  A shadow fell over the blanket.

  “Well, well. Aren’t you two cozy.”

  Shading her eyes, Amy looked up and, with a spurt of uncomfortable surprise, saw Jake. Her heart began to pound. He was standing against the sun, and she couldn’t see his expression.

  It was official. She was going to kill Nellie.

  Guiltily, she scrambled to her feet. Now she could see his face, his strong nose, brown eyes, dark messy hair. He looked tired. And angry. “What are you doing here?” she asked, flustered.

  “Nellie contacted us and said you needed help.”

  “I told her not to do that!”

  “Yes, I can see why.” Jake’s gaze flicked to Ian. “You already reached out for help, didn’t you? Sorry to interrupt the tea party.”

  “Our network went down,” she said. “We even had to give up our phones. I couldn’t text you.”

  He gave a tense shrug. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t have to hit me over the head. I get it.” His stony gaze moved to Ian.

  “No, you don’t get it,” Amy said.

  Ian rose. “Good to see you, Jake,” he said. “I hope you brought your little brother. There’s some medieval Italian to translate. . . .”

  Just then Atticus bounded up with Dan. Atticus was Jake’s half brother, but they didn’t look much alike. Atticus was wiry and intense, and he’d inherited his African-American’s mother’s thick curly hair, which he wore in shoulder-length dreadlocks.

  “Isn’t this fantastic?” Dan asked. “Jake and Atticus in person!” Dan punched Atticus on the arm. “Professor! You are so busted for showing up without telling!”

  “You don’t have a phone!” Atticus said with a grin. “It was an insurmountable impediment, dude!”

  Although Atticus was a year and a half younger than Dan, he made up for it with a vocabulary that could make a college professor hit the dictionary.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in college?” Dan asked. “How’d you get time off?”

  “Taking independent study,” Atticus explained. “Dad said I should put off Harvard until I was emotionally mature enough to go.”

  “Emotionally mature?” Dan hooted. “Your pop will have to wait about a billion years, dude!”

  “I won’t have to wait as long as you, dude!” Atticus adjusted his glasses as he peered down at the blanket. “Hey, is that the book Nellie told us about?”

  Jake’s eyes flicked to Olivia’s book. “You’ve got it outside in the sun? Are you out of your minds?”

  Amy crossed her arms. “We’re being careful.”

  “It�
�s not about careful, this is a five-hundred-year-old manuscript! You should be wearing gloves — Atticus brought some — and keeping it out of the sunlight.”

  “It didn’t take you long to start barking orders!” Amy exclaimed, her face flushing. “But then you always know best, don’t you?”

  “Somebody has to be mature in this situation,” Jake said, his gaze flashing at Ian, who was now intently trying to brush cookie crumbs off his pants.

  “True. In that case, we’d rather consult your little brother,” Ian said with a smirk. “Medieval manuscripts are his field, am I right?”

  “Technically, it’s early Renaissance,” Jake said.

  “Thanks for the correction, my good man. Amy is right—you do know best.” Ian slipped his arm around Amy. “She’s so perceptive. One of the many things I adore about her.”

  “It’s getting chilly. Why don’t we go inside?” Amy suggested brightly as she tried to step out of the circle of Ian’s arm.

  Ian took the opportunity to rub her shoulder. “You do feel rather cold,” he said. “Let’s sit by the fire. Jake, since you’re so interested in proper handling, why don’t you take the book?”

  Jake snatched up the book and furiously stomped off toward the house.

  “You forgot to wear gloves!” Ian called after him.

  Amy pushed him away. “Really, Ian.”

  “What a touchy guy,” Ian said. “Frankly, I don’t know what you see in him.”

  He winced as the kitchen door slammed, then glanced at Amy’s red face. “Hmmm. It might be a good time for me to take a walk,” Ian said.

  Chapter 20

  The house was suddenly too crowded.

  Within a couple of hours, it had been transformed. The lively, focused curiosity of the Rosenbloom brothers made the air buzz. The living room was now strewn with teacups and wadded-up napkins and plates with half-eaten sandwiches, and shoes on the floor and pencils snapped in half and discarded scratch paper and Atticus’s toothbrush, because Atticus said he got his best ideas while he was brushing his teeth.