This wasn't the way he saw his life ending; cold, wet, suffocated, and wishing more than anything that this woman, whom he now trusted, would get his son to safety. If she didn't succeed then he would forever be looking up from the Underworld with nothing but regret. But if Blake was safe and Val had to die for that to happen, then he could die knowing that it was good enough for him.
Val Salinger finally gave in, and water filled his lungs.
Chapter 27
Blake awoke to the rough ridges of cold metal beneath him, and a searing pain in his stomach. It felt as though a hole had been punched right through him. He didn't remember it yet but… it had.
Straining, he opened his eyes. Briefly, he tried rolling onto his side, but that was of no use at all–it only encouraged the writhing agony.
'Don't move. You'll tear those stitches.' A woman's voice, calm and strong.
Blake forced his eyes open, slowly, like pulling apart two pieces of Velcro. 'Where am I?' Blake knocked his head back, saw the faint outline of a figure in the dark. There was a bright, blinding light in front of her, and he wished he had the energy to shield his eyes.
'In the back of my van…' she said. 'I know, it sounds creepy. But you've been shot. I had to patch you up, so you'll pull through if you take it steady.'
'What do you…' Talking hurt like hell, but he needed to understand. To understand where he was and why. To understand why breathing hurt so much, and there was a dry scratching within his throat. What happened on the yacht?
He could feel the floor of the van rocking as she climbed back to hover over him. His eyes were widening now and he could see her face. A pleasant face, with full, pouty lips and giving eyes. In spite of the fact that she had changed her clothes, Blake recognised her almost immediately. 'Police,' was all he could muster. His heart thumped inside his chest. He needed to escape.
She's here to arrest me, was his first thought. She's here to arrest me–we fucked it up. Christ, we fucked it all up! He fidgeted, trying to get up, and then realised it was useless.
'Listen to me.' She put a hand on his skinny chest, but he was still thrashing around. 'Listen to me! You're okay. Everything is okay. You were shot–see.' She pointed down at his stitches, explaining it better than she had the first time.
Blake looked down, realised he had red-stained dressing around his stomach. It all came flooding back to him now; Greg betraying him, the bullet ripping into his stomach. An explosion, too? That part could have been a dream, although it felt real. And then…
'My handiwork,' she said proudly.
As grateful as he was, Blake didn't care too much for gloating. Not right now, anyway. There was something on his mind that couldn't stop niggling. 'My dad?'
Suddenly, the van's back door prised open. The van dipped as a man stepped in. Blake used all his energy to raise his head. When he did, he was happier than he had been in a long time; he had never been so pleased to see anybody in all his life. 'Dad.' The word fell out of his mouth in a singular soft breeze.
Val handed a bottle of water to the police officer and set a carrier bag down beside him. He closed the door as he stooped into the van, keeping his head low. 'You're alright son,' he said with a smile, stating it like it was a fact.
'What–' God, this hurts! 'What happened?'
Val smiled over at the woman, who smiled back. It felt like a teacher-parent meeting. 'That friend of yours put a bullet right through your side. Lucky it didn't hit any organs or major arteries. Then the boat sank, and this young lady came to our rescue.' He sneezed violently, as if from nowhere, cupping his hand over his nose. 'And I'm glad she did.'
The one thing that worried him the most was what had happened to his mentor. 'Greg?' Thinking of his betrayal shot his mood down into a pit. Every time it crossed his mind he could feel the black cloud above him.
'Greg?' Val looked lost, and then opened his mouth and flicked his head back. A look of recollection. A light going on. He cleared his throat. 'He's dead, son. Probably drowned in the Thames. We think so, anyway.' He licked his lips, looking like he was trying not to laugh. 'You know, His real name is–'
'Don't!' Blake cut in, desperately trying to sit up. 'Sorry. I just… I would rather not know.' Blake felt the need to explain himself further. Despite the pain, he cleared his throat. 'We got off to a rough start, he and I. But I was just starting to find a friend in him. Right before I found out that everything I knew about him was a lie. If it's okay with you, I would rather continue to know him as Greg. At least I would have that one truth.'
The officer rested a hand on his leg and gave a look of understanding. Blake didn't think she had any idea of what had happened though. How could she?
Val scratched his temple. 'I understand.'
Blake slumped onto his back again, still not ready to face the world. He huffed, breathing sharp breaths at the ceiling of the van. 'Where are we, anyway?'
'Now?' Val said. 'In a B&Q car park. But we can't stay here. Officer–'
'Barbara Lang,' she offered. 'But call me Barb.'
There was something special about this woman, Blake thought. She seemed competent and independent, and she was now one of them. Like the outsider who didn't want to be. The helper, selflessly lending her efforts.
'Barb took us back to her flat and got us all patched up,' Val said gratefully.
'You should probably know that I had to wash you,' Barb said, her soft cheeks flushing a pale pink.
Blake shuddered. His own body had always embarrassed him.
'The Agency will want to see us dead,' Val went on. I failed to stop Greg, you caused them a lot of trouble, and they would only have ended me after I completed my mission anyway. We're up against a bad bunch, you and me.'
It didn't seem much of a surprise to Blake, but something didn't add up. 'But why? Don't you work for them? Can't you just say something?' He was getting dizzy, put his head back a little too fast and banged it on the hard floor.
'Son…' Val looked uneasy. 'That's not how it works. They don't like loose ends.'
'Then why try to retire?'
'Because I'm getting on in years. I couldn't continue to work for them, so I had to at least try. What did you expect me to do? Put my hands up and let go?' He shook his head. 'I don't do that. I don't give up. The simple fact is, there are targets on our backs.'
'All of ours,' Barb said.
Val looked at her, confused.
'I couldn't let you die. As soon as they discover that I helped you, they'll be after me too. So if you don't mind the company…'
Blake couldn't take it in. It all seemed to rush at him like a herd of angry bulls. What he had been through over the past few days, no matter how traumatising, felt as though it had all been leading to this. Why, he didn't know exactly, but he was beginning to get the impression that this was his life now, and he would have to adapt to survive. Even if that meant losing everything he loved, or everyone he–
'Rachel.' Blake sat up fast, wincing. 'We need to go get Rachel.'
Val shook his head, strictly saying no. 'We can't go to her house, son. It's not safe.'
'No, you don't understand.' Blake held a hand at his side. He had never been shot before, and it had looked a lot less painful in the movies. 'Greg put her in a safe hiding place. She's at a shipping yard that goes underground, where homeless families live.' It sounded crazy when he said it aloud.
'I know the place,' said Barbara helpfully, and then rushed into the driver's seat.
'You do?' Val had no idea.
'I've been down that way a lot. With the police, I mean.'
'I see. Well, drive slowly,' Val instructed, refusing to leave his son's side.
It would be a wild ride from here on out. Blake knew it, too. But through all that he had suffered, and all that his friends and family had endured, he would commit himself to becoming a better man. More reliable, careful and selfless. Sure, it would be complete hell for as long as he would care to know, but at least he wouldn't be alone.<
br />
And that was something.
Chapter 28
The Boss had seen the whole thing from a distance, up on the mound where the driver had stopped the car. Up where he was safe, ever the silent observer.
Everything had been going so smoothly until Pimms had been gunned down. He'd had to formulate an appropriate story for that, too. Something the police would have been happy to believe. There's nothing quite like an alleyway mugging to stir up the crowd.
Safe and warm in the back seat, the rich leather letting off a pleasant homey scent, he had relaxed to watch the whole show–had even screamed to himself when he saw the boat go down. He could sense his entire plan sinking with the yacht.
He considered his options, every one of them heavily involving vengeance. The Agency was coming apart for as long as the Salingers were around to cause trouble. As he had watched his boat sink into the Thames, he could feel his plan unravelling, and everything falling apart. His luck was taking a nosedive.
He had demanded a scope from the driver, something to enhance his vision. Furious, he watched a police officer dragging a young man - who looked heavier than her - up the bank, the mud giving way under her feet. She had struggled frantically, desperate to save lives.
The Boss admired her determination.
I should get her on the payroll, he had thought to himself.
When the woman made it to the top of the bank, she dived straight back in, and soon emerged with a second person. Were they not caked in mud, he would have seen it sooner, but now, under the delicate brush of the city's lights, it was obvious who they were.
The Salingers.
'Get us down there,' he told his driver. 'Some things you have to do yourself… wait.' Police lights illuminated the distance, getting larger, flickering faster as they got closer to the sinking yacht. By the time they arrived, everybody would have dispersed, and they would have nothing to go on other than what he would say.
He shifted the scope back over to where the woman was, but all three of them had vanished from sight, scurried away to die another day.
'Shit.'
He fiddled with the lens, hoping to find them again, but instead finding nothing other than a crowd of journalists and nosy civilians, every one of them fighting amongst themselves to be the first ones on the scene.
Just then, The Boss saw something amazing.
'Ha.' It was bad luck. Such terrible, un-fucking-relentless bad luck that he simply had to laugh at it. In the distance, on the other side of the bank, the Agent he had known as Greg climbed his way up the bank. His clothes were drenched and he was obviously struggling, which was a mere joy to observe. 'Change of plan.' He leaned into his driver's ear. 'Get to the other side of the river as soon as possible. I want to have a business discussion with an ex-employee.'
He fell back into the seat, peering through the tinted windows. He had always hidden behind modified glass; it was easier to avoid bright lights that way. Luckily, he was wealthy beyond his wildest dreams, and could afford such expenses.
Again, he began to laugh.
It seemed funny to him, what could happen in a day. But when you're the head of an agency full of puppets, you had to stay active in order to work the strings. Every now and then, a string would snap and there was nothing to do then but discard the puppet. But, he thought, if you had a puppet that could do the work for you, the jobs would be completed without you ever having to interfere.
The car slipped off the grass and onto the road, and they drove across the bridge to the other side of the river to begin negotiations. Soon he would be back in control of Greg, and he would use that puppet to kill the Salingers.
Also by Adam Nicholls
RUNNING WITH REBELS
(The Salingers, Book 2)
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Keeping with Killers (The Salingers Book 1) Page 16