Run Rabbit Run

by Kate Johnson

  ‘No, that’s it. There are a lot of people crawling all over yer man’s flat, but then there usually are whenever he’s not there. 5 are back watching the place.’

  ‘Fabulous,’ I said, and signed off. I was about to put my phone away and pore over the map in my bag when it rang again.

  ‘I am not shagging you in return for one gun,’ I said.

  There was a short silence. ‘Never asked you to,’ said Jack.

  My face went crimson.

  ‘How did you get my number?’ I demanded, to cover my embarrassment.

  There was a short pause. ‘Ways and means,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Well, don’t be cryptic or anything. Did you call me for a reason, or is this a social thing?’

  ‘I wanted to apologise,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying to get through to you since yesterday.’

  ‘Apol – wow. Let me just call CNN and tell them to put this out as a special bulletin.’

  ‘You’re funny.’

  ‘An apology and a compliment. I may swoon.’

  ‘Look, Sophie. I’m sorry I suspected you of turning me in to MI5. I know you wouldn’t do that. I was just … paranoid. You disappearing off to see your boyfriend and then Harrington turning up like that?’

  ‘Luke has nothing to do with Harrington. For God’s sake, he can barely leave his flat without Harrington’s goons after him. He’s not working for the guy.’

  ‘I know,’ Jack said. ‘And I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well … all right then,’ I said, a trifle deflated.

  ‘You accept my apology?’ He sounded a little disbelieving.

  ‘Yeah.’ Sure, I was suspicious. I kind of wondered if he was planning something. ‘And I’m sorry, too. For lamping you with my handbag and stealing all your money.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks for that. I have a lump the size of an orange on my head and I had to steal some guy’s wallet just to get around. Cops could have found me, you know. That cab driver’s already reported us both.’

  ‘I know. Probably best to lie low for a while.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been doing.’ He paused again. ‘Listen, where are you?’

  I laughed hollowly. ‘Jack, I might have accepted your apology but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.’

  ‘You’re at an airport. I can hear it.’

  ‘World’s full of airports.’

  ‘Sure. How’re you going to fly with your gun?’

  ‘I have a licence for it. Matches my passport.’

  I regretted that as soon as I’d said it. Then I wondered why. I was already risking a lot by flying when Jack knew my alias. He was resourceful enough to find Alice Maud Robinson on a passenger manifest.

  ‘How in the hell did you get a fake gun licence?’ Jack said.

  ‘Ways and means,’ I replied. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Manchester. Getting a flight to New York.’

  It was a good job he couldn’t see me. My face evidently showed enough shock that people around me stared.

  I was taking a flight to JFK. I figured that a hub airport of that size would be easy to lose myself in, and there were so many onward destinations nobody would be able to figure out where I was going.

  ‘And what are you going to do once you get there?’ I asked as steadily as I could.

  ‘Make a connection to Hartford. There’s not much we can do in London at the moment, they’re crawling like flies all over BBC&H.’

  I didn’t need to ask who ‘they’ were. London wasn’t safe for either me or Jack right now.

  ‘So you’re returning to the scene of your own crime?’ I asked. ‘Bit risky.’

  ‘Not my crime,’ Jack corrected. I could feel him reining in his own irritation at having to correct me. He was trying to be nice.

  Bless.

  ‘I left in a hurry before. No time to ask questions or investigate anything. At the very least I want to talk to Shepherd’s maid.’

  ‘Won’t she recognise you?’

  ‘She wasn’t there when I visited. And I can disguise myself.’

  ‘How?’ I asked, because maybe he’d have some tips for me. I’d done the whole spectacles/fake tan/headscarf thing again and I looked like a deranged Amish. The guy who checked my passport had looked at me quite hard, making me sweat.

  ‘I have coloured lenses,’ Jack was saying, ‘and glasses. Stopped short of a fake moustache, but I did pad out my cheeks. Like Brando in The Godfather.’

  Now that was a good idea. I made a mental note to visit a pharmacy and get some cotton wool for the same purpose.

  ‘Listen, Sophie, where are you? We should be working together.’

  ‘Can’t do it by yourself?’

  ‘Two heads are better than one.’

  I sat back and gazed around the departures lounge. Logically, I knew he was right. Hell, lately I’d been reduced to asking for help from a nine-year-old girl. No matter that said nine-year-old girl was smarter than Stephen Hawking. I needed someone to watch my back, to bounce ideas off. And, yes, I was terrified, trying to do this by myself.

  But was it a good idea? Stubborn pride aside, was it wise to partner up with Jack again? He’d threatened me at gunpoint. Twice. Actually, three times. Volatile was not the word.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ I said coolly. ‘Look, I have to go, they’re calling my flight.’

  ‘Call me,’ Jack said. ‘Or I’ll call you. Whatever.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, and ended the call, frowning.

  The flight to JFK wasn’t long, and I spent most of it thinking. Going round and round the same argument in my head. By the time we landed I was no closer to a conclusion. Even meeting up with Jack could be dangerous. Was he really on my side? Why did he really want to meet up with me again?

  Could I trust him?

  Eventually I made a decision of sorts. I’d find out how much it would cost to get to Hartford, and if I had enough of Vallie’s cash left, I’d go. If I didn’t, then I’d get on a bus into Manhattan and go see Xander.

  I had $380. The nice lady at the Continental desk said she could get me on a flight leaving in a couple of hours for $325.

  Well. That was that.

  I landed in Hartford as it was getting dark, and used up my remaining cash on getting into town. Stood around for a bit wondering what to do next. I needed a hotel room but I had no cash left and no cards that were of any use.

  So I got out my phone – I bloody love this thing – and looked up local hotels. Found one within walking distance and lugged my bag there, contriving to think of the saddest things I could along the way. By the time I arrived I was suitably tearstained, and the woman on reception believed me when I said I’d been mugged at the airport and needed a room until the Embassy could send me a new passport and my bank could forward on a replacement credit card.

  ‘You just pay when you leave, honey,’ she said, and I felt bad for taking advantage of her. I mean, I fully intended to fleece Jack for money to pay, but I still felt dishonest.

  In my small room, I freshened up a bit and changed into clean clothes. It was nearly half-past seven, and I was hungry.

  An idea struck me. I used my phone to look up local restaurants. The receptionist might have told me, but then she’d probably wonder how I’d pay for my meal.

  There was a small pizza place not far away and I texted the address to Jack, wondering if he’d landed yet.

  ‘ETA 9pm,’ he replied. ‘See you there 9.30.’

  I suppose I should have spent the intervening time getting some sleep, but I made the mistake of switching on my other phone. There were eight missed calls, three from Harvey and five from his daughter. I rubbed at my eyes, trying to remember when I’d given either of them my new number, but then I figured if Rachel could put a bug on her dad’s phone and he still hadn’t noticed it, then she could probably find my new number just by my phone being in her house. She’d probably written a new bit of software for it.

  Tentatively, I listened to their messages. If Harv
ey thought I’d endangered Rachel he’d turn half of my body parts into detachable limbs.

  Rachel began by asking where I was, then asking if I was okay, then getting a bit hysterical because I wasn’t replying, then getting angry with me for walking out without saying goodbye, and finally sobbing and screaming that her grandmother was an idiot.

  Harvey had left just one message, and it was icily calm. This in itself was frightening, since Harvey’s usual demeanour is that of a friendly spaniel.

  ‘I just had a call from my daughter. Seems you paid her a little visit. While you’re on the run from the law and, I expect, from someone who’s trying to kill you. While this may be an everyday occurrence in the exciting life of Sophie Green, and make for an interesting story to tell my nine-year-old daughter, it is not something I want her involved in. Rachel tells me Teresa called the cops on you and all I can say is, Sophie, I hope they fucking well catch you. I can’t believe you’d endanger Rachel like that.’

  Whereupon he hung up.

  Wonderful.

  I debated calling Rachel to reassure her I was okay, but for all I knew Teresa had turned her phone over to the CIA and they’d use it to track me. I considered calling Harvey, but to be honest I was too scared.

  Instead I wimped out and called Luke, but I got no response. ‘If I don’t speak to you soon, it’ll be because Harvey has had me eviscerated,’ I said to his voicemail, then I switched my phone off and sat there in my hotel room, feeling very alone.

  By the time nine-thirty rolled around I’d discovered the minibar and made good use of it. I needed a little Dutch courage to go ahead and meet Jack. Part of me said I should stay where I was and continue to work alone, but another part of me, a shamefully frightened part, said that I was well and truly alone now, with no help from my strangely silent boyfriend and a strong case of dislike from one of my most potentially useful allies.

  ‘That’s some nice going, Green,’ I said to myself as I put on my boots and left the hotel, swaying just a tiny bit.

  When I arrived at the restaurant, I spied Jack across the room, sitting with his back to the wall. He watched me approach, and I kept my eyes on him. If he did one shifty thing I was out of there.

  I blame this eyes-on-the-target approach for walking into a table or two.

  ‘Hey,’ said Jack as I reached him.

  ‘Hey.’

  He looked up at me from under his dark fringe. ‘Truce?’

  ‘Depends. You gonna threaten me at gunpoint again?’

  ‘You gonna run off to your boyfriend again?’

  I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘I could walk away right now,’ I said.

  Jack held up his hands. ‘Okay. No more cracks about the boyfriend. Sit down.’

  I hesitated.

  ‘I’m not even armed,’ he added.

  I sat down. ‘Just so you know, I could kill you with my fork,’ I said.

  ‘Wine?’ Jack asked, and I smiled.

  ‘Then again, maybe no killing will be necessary.’

  So, all right, maybe I had a little too much to drink. By the time my plate was empty the walls were starting to move all by themselves and I have a slight feeling I was shouting.

  ‘Can we have the bill please,’ I slurred to the waitress, and Jack had to clarify, ‘She means the check.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Cheque. Even if you’re paying in cash. I mean, bills. It’s a stupid language. Stupid, stupid, stupid –’

  ‘Okay,’ Jack said, appearing at my side of the table in a second and hauling me to my feet, ‘I think it’s time to go.’

  ‘Did you leave a tip?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, I left plenty.’

  ‘You always have to tip in America. It’s very important,’ I told him.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Twelve-and-a-half percent. No, double the tax. Like double the tax of Romania,’ I joked, but either Jack hadn’t seen as many Friends episodes as I had, or he’d lost his sense of humour somewhere around that second bottle of wine.

  Or maybe it was the third. It was all a bit blurry.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I stumbled over the restaurant doorstep and Jack yanked me upright, ‘that’s bloody steep. Shouldn’t there be a notice or something? The land of health and safety rules. Like I could sue them. Like on Ally McBeal. D’you ever watch Ally McBeal?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Don’t have much time for TV,’ he said.

  ‘No time for TV!’ I shook my head in pity. ‘What a terrible life you have.’

  I turned left, then swung back round to the right.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Hotel. S’around here somewhere.’

  Jack waited patiently. Then as I reeled off in what looked like the right direction, he followed me.

  ‘Where’re you going?’ I asked.

  ‘Not much point in partnering up with you if you’re going to step off the kerb in front of a Mack truck,’ he said, taking my arm as I stumbled. I didn’t remember my boots having such terribly high heels when I put them on. Maybe they’d grown. Magic heels.

  ‘Jack, am I really drunk?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘But I didn’t drink so much,’ I wailed. ‘And I was eating, too … Man, that was good pizza.’

  ‘What’s your hotel called?’

  ‘Rio. No! Grande. Maybe. Not sure. It’s down here,’ I announced confidently, marching down a side street.

  What seemed like hours later, we found the place, and Jack walked me in. I tripped and stumbled on the doormat, bringing him tumbling down on top of me, and for a long moment he lay there, looking down at me. And heaven help me, it felt nice. It had already been too long since a man had held me.

  ‘So much for keeping a low profile,’ Jack muttered, and hauled me to my feet.

  We made it to the small elevator, and I leaned against the wall, lost my balance and slid down to the floor.

  ‘I feel dizzy,’ I moaned. ‘Do lifts make you feel dizzy?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘They make me feel dizzy. See, it’s all my brother’s fault. When I was seven he ran me over with his bike and knocked me out.’

  I looked up at Jack for sympathy, but got none.

  ‘And I was off school for a week, I couldn’t gerrout of bed, I was really ill,’ I pressed. ‘I had a haematoma and everything.’

  ‘They can kill you, can’t they?’

  I nodded seriously and felt even dizzier. ‘Yeah. I had head X-rays and everything. You know they damage tissue? I think they damage brain tissue.’

  ‘No kidding,’ Jack muttered.

  Chapter Eleven

  Evelyn drove him home, which was kind of her, Luke supposed. Especially since she was now sporting several more scratches and developing a nice bruise on her arm. He supposed she’d found Tammy’s box, then. It was a source of entertainment to him every time Sophie tried to wrestle Tammy – who, he was led to believe, actually liked Sophie – into her box. The tiny tabby somehow managed to develop twice as many limbs and seven times as many claws than usual.

  ‘Fight with a hedge-trimmer?’ he asked.

  Her lips thinned. ‘That cat is a menace.’

  ‘She’s a sweet kitten really.’

  ‘She bit me.’ Evelyn indicated the bruise. ‘Had I not been wearing a jacket she’d have drawn blood.’

  Luke hid a smile. Tammy was a rescue cat, and she had a habit of lashing out when she was frightened. He didn’t know if she’d been abused as a kitten or if she was just a bit psychotic, but he admired her spirit. And besides, it was good to see Evelyn’s composure ruffled.

  ‘Your Sophie must be insane to love an animal like that.’

  ‘It’s certainly one theory.’

  The place was immaculate when he walked in. Cleaner than he’d left it, and he wasn’t a messy person. The faintest of dark marks between the floorboards was the only evidence that anyone had been bleeding there.

  That was the Security Service for you. Thorough. Precise. They’
d have searched everywhere and put everything back exactly where they found it.

  ‘More like it was before it was,’ he murmured.

  ‘Sorry?’ Evelyn stood in the doorway, letting cold air in.

  ‘They did slightly too good a job of pretending they weren’t here.’ He wandered over to the bookshelves. No dust marks where the books had been pulled out. Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d dusted.

  ‘I really must get searched by MI5 more often,’ he said. ‘They’re excellent housekeepers.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’ Evelyn asked doubtfully.

  ‘Yep. Look in the cupboard next to the hob, will you? The one with a hole in it.’

  He didn’t look round, but heard her footsteps on the kitchen tiles. He kept searching the shelves.

  ‘It’s empty,’ she said.

  ‘No broken glass?’

  ‘All tidied away. Not a speck of it left.’

  ‘And the bottom cupboard, last on the right?’

  A moment, then, ‘Saucepans. A turkey tray. A wok. Frying pans. What am I looking for?’

  ‘Any cigarettes in there?’

  ‘A packet of Dunhill’s. I thought you’d given up?’

  Thought the bastards might have requisitioned those. ‘I have. Come over here.’

  Obediently she came, standing a little too close to him. Luke pointed to his CDs, neatly lined up.

  Evelyn stared for a moment, then said, ‘I never pegged you as a Crowded House fan.’

  ‘Saw them in Sydney. You’re not looking properly, Evelyn. What’s next to Crowded House?’

  She peered. ‘Led Zeppelin?’

  ‘And next to that?’

  ‘Daniel Barenboim, the Beethoven Sonatas. You have diverse taste, but –’

  ‘Why would I put those three together? They’re completely different kinds of music and they’re not even in alphabetical order.’

  Evelyn stood back and regarded the neat rows.

  ‘They’re …’ she began doubtfully. ‘In colour order?’

  ‘Like a damn rainbow.’ He regarded the shelves with disgust, the gradual fading of white to yellow, through green and blue and a small section of purple – he’d have to pretend that was Sophie’s P!nk album – and on through red to brown and black.