Look Closer

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Will had soothed. ‘It’s been with me all the time. Scout’s honour.’

  She’d nodded, and they’d started running again.

  Now, the motel loomed in front of them, the bright lights of its reception area pooling over the car park. Only six vehicles filled the spaces, the spotlights from the building angled in such a way that would-be thieves would move on to easier targets.

  ‘The room’s round the back,’ Erin murmured.

  They both jumped as the sound of an approaching vehicle reached them.

  Will pulled her back into the shadows with him, holding her close. She trembled under his touch, and he closed his eyes as the vehicle drew closer, tilting his face away from the approaching headlights.

  The car passed them without stopping, its wheels splashing through the puddles on the asphalt. Spray soaked Will’s jeans and he felt Erin relax in his arms.

  He released her, and they smiled.

  ‘Maybe we’re getting a little too paranoid,’ he suggested.

  She shook her head. ‘That’s what’s going to keep us alive,’ she said. ‘Come on.’

  She slipped her hand into his, and they hurried across the road to the motel. She led him down the side of the building and through a smaller entranceway, then along a bright corridor painted in the motel chain’s signature colours.

  At a door halfway along, she stopped, pulled out a swipe card and pushed the door open.

  Warmth radiated from the room, and Will sighed as he let the backpack slide from his shoulders.

  Erin locked the door and padded into the living area, her wet shoes squeaking.

  Will blushed. ‘Look, I, um – without wanting to sound weird – we need to get out of these wet clothes.’

  Erin nodded. ‘You’re right.’ She walked over to a built-in wardrobe and slid the door open, then pulled out matching towels.

  ‘Do you want to get in the shower first to warm up, or shall I?’

  ‘You go first. I’ll find something for us to lay out our clothes on to dry.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Will lowered his gaze as she made her way towards the bathroom, the purr of the extractor fan filling the awkward silence.

  ‘Will?’

  He raised his head. She stood in the doorway to the bathroom, a hesitant look on her face. He raised his eyebrow.

  ‘Don’t leave the room, okay?’

  ‘Sure – we don’t know if we’re safe yet, right?’

  ‘Yes. And I don’t want to be left alone. I need to know that you’re going to be here when I get out the shower. I need to know I’m going to be safe.’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  She nodded, then slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Will waited until he heard the shower taps squeak and water splashing against the tiles, then pulled his jacket off his shoulders and slung it over the back of a chair.

  Bending down, he unzipped the backpack. He reached in and pulled out the hard drive and his mother’s bible, then stood on tip-toe and slid them onto the top of one of the cabinets in the small kitchenette.

  He stepped back to the bathroom door, and then turned, checking the angle. The hard drive and bible remained out of sight.

  His heart pounded in his chest. If Erin looked for the items in his backpack when it was his turn to use the shower, would she question their whereabouts? Or did she trust him so much that she wouldn’t seek them out in the first place? And why didn’t he feel that he could trust her?

  He sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair. The hiss of water from the bathroom stopped, the taps squeaked once, and the shower screen door slammed shut.

  Will pulled his sweater and t-shirt over his head, the sodden material clammy under his fingers. He peeled off his socks, and then rummaged in the back of the wardrobe until he found a clothes rail, which he dragged across to the wall heater, before laying out his clothes.

  He straightened as the bathroom door opened, and Erin appeared. He felt his breath catch in his throat.

  She’d wrapped herself in one of the fluffy towels, her freshly washed hair tumbling into her eyes. She clutched her wet clothes against her chest.

  He swallowed, her vulnerability cutting through him. ‘Are you okay?’ he managed.

  She nodded. ‘A bit better, yes.’ A faint smile reached her lips. ‘I think I even saved some hot water for you.’

  Her gaze travelled over his naked chest, before she blinked, then stepped into the room. ‘I’d better hang these up.’

  ‘Sure.’ Will moved away from the clothes drier, then reached across the bed and picked up the other towel. ‘I guess I’d better warm up too.’

  He hurried towards the bathroom, and shut the door. He exhaled, and tried to ignore the stirring below his waistband.

  ‘Shower,’ he mumbled. ‘Maybe cold.’

  He stripped off his jeans and boxer shorts, kicking them to the floor, then wiped the palm of his hand over the fogged glass of the mirror.

  A gaunt, tired man looked back at him through haunted eyes. Dark circles had appeared under his lids, and he tried to remember when he’d last had a decent night’s sleep.

  He scowled at his expression, turned, and stepped into the shower, turning the taps on full.

  He let out an involuntary groan as the hot water hit his skin, before he made liberal use of the soap and shampoo.

  When he stepped out five minutes later, he was pink, and the room was filled with a light mist.

  The extractor fan continued to purr in its pathetic attempts to clear the fog, and Will pulled the thick material of the towel around his waist. Picking up his clothes, he opened the door and switched off the fan.

  The main room was darker. Erin had switched off the harsh overhead lights and instead, both bedside lights were glowing.

  The clothes drier had bent slightly under the weight of the wet clothes, so Will put his jeans on the back of a second chair and tucked his pants next to them.

  Erin sat on the small sofa, watching. ‘I figured you wouldn’t fit on here, so you can have the bed, if you want.’

  Will glanced at the double bed, its inviting cotton sheets and blankets and the quilt that covered the lower half. He cleared his throat, and cursed inwardly at the heat he knew rose in his cheeks.

  ‘Look, we’re both tired,’ he began. ‘We both need to rest. Why don’t we just share the bed?’

  She stood then, and crossed the room to him.

  ‘Okay.’

  27

  Ian Rossiter stared at the amber liquid at the bottom of the crystal glass, eyed the bottle of twenty-year-old malt on the corner of his desk, and then changed his mind.

  He pushed the glass away, rested his elbows on the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. He glared at the oak panelled door that led into his office, and waited.

  Ten hours ago, Gregory had slipped into the room, closed the door and confirmed his two hired thugs had located Will Fletcher.

  They had followed him to the church in Bracklewood but he’d escaped. They had let him run, rightly assuming that they could simply follow the GPS tracker fixed to the underside of his car.

  The fact that Fletcher had suddenly become mobile and left the city originally confused Gregory’s intelligence sources, until they had clarified that he’d borrowed the car from a work colleague at the museum before turning up to the press conference.

  Rossiter grunted. He had to give Gregory credit. If he hadn’t arranged for the tracking device to be fitted to the car, they’d have had no way of finding the man. Not without raising suspicion.

  Then, eight hours ago, the two men had contacted them once more.

  Fletcher had arrived at a motel, and they had parked in a side street opposite the car park. They’d watched as he’d locked the car and entered the building via a side door.

  ‘What about his backpack?’ Rossiter had asked.

  Gregory had held up his hand and relayed the question to his contact, before shakin
g his head. ‘No good,’ he’d said. ‘He took it inside with him.’

  They’d agreed the men should wait and watch the motel from their vantage point.

  Gregory had discovered the reception duty manager’s shift changed at four o’clock in the morning and it was decided the two thugs would enter the building fifteen minutes before, while the receptionist was more likely to be distracted by the thought of handing over to the morning shift and getting some sleep.

  Rossiter rubbed at his eyes and glanced at his watch. Only minutes to go now.

  Gregory had urged him to get some rest, his argument being that if Rossiter had to face the news cameras again, he’d better look presentable.

  Rossiter had dismissed the suggestion vehemently.

  ‘No – let them see me looking like shit,’ he’d growled. ‘It’ll make my injury look more realistic.’

  Gregory had shrugged. ‘It’s your choice,’ he’d said. ‘But I’m going back to my office to get my head down. I’ll wake you when we’ve got some news.’

  ‘Make sure you do.’

  Rossiter had waited until the door had clicked shut, then launched himself at the liquor cabinet.

  The first measure had simply served to wash the painkillers down his throat.

  He’d taken his time with the second, larger, measure, adding ice and watching the cubes melt into the alcohol as the night progressed.

  He shifted in his chair and groaned as the stitches in his shoulder protested, and vowed to take it easier, once the election was over.

  He heard Gregory’s voice outside in the hallway a brief moment before the man burst into the room, his phone pressed to his ear, his face pale.

  Rossiter’s heart lurched in his chest as he saw the man’s expression, adrenalin surging through his veins.

  Gregory stumbled across the carpeted floor, then turned and slammed the door shut, before he hastened towards Rossiter, still talking.

  ‘No, no – I understand. What’s that?’ His eyes widened. ‘No! Absolutely not. I repeat, do not pursue that course of action. Not unless I sanction it.’

  Rossiter rose, standing behind his desk, his palms planted on the surface, sweat pooling onto the mahogany under his fingers.

  He longed to take the phone from Gregory, to find out what was happening. The terror in the man’s eyes spoke volumes.

  Either the mission hadn’t gone ahead as planned, or something had gone very wrong.

  He forced air into his lungs, stared at the man in front of him, and waited.

  Gregory ran his hand through his hair, appeared to freeze for a moment, and then sprang into action once more.

  ‘Okay. I’ll tell you what to do. Drive around, check out the other motels in the area. He can’t have gone far without his car. Keep me posted.’

  Rossiter closed his eyes as Gregory ended the call.

  He sank back into his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. He heard Gregory slump into one of the armchairs on the other side of the desk, and opened his eyes.

  ‘What went wrong?’

  Gregory didn’t waste time with detail. The less Rossiter knew about how his people broke into buildings in search of people or property, the more deniable his involvement remained.

  ‘He wasn’t there.’

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘They don’t know.’

  ‘Explain.’

  Gregory sighed. ‘When they got to the room, it was empty. It looks like he left in a hurry. The bed hasn’t been slept in today, but the bathroom had been used.’

  ‘How long has he been missing for?’

  ‘They’re not sure. They didn’t see him leave.’

  ‘Shit.’ Rossiter pushed back his chair and began to pace the room.

  ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘What?’

  Gregory held up his phone. ‘Will Fletcher had a visitor last night, before he disappeared.’

  Rossiter snatched the phone from the man’s grasp and stared at the photograph.

  ‘It seems Mr Fletcher may have had some help from your niece,’ said Gregory.

  Rossiter ignored the note of smugness in the man’s voice.

  Blood rushed in his ears and he blinked away the tiredness that only moments before had threatened sleep. Fury consumed him as he held the phone closer and glared at the image.

  It was definitely Erin, her long hair wet from the rain that fell in swathes onto the concrete perimeter of the motel.

  The photographer had captured her as she was raising her hand to push open the door of the side entrance to the building, her head turned towards him as she’d checked over her shoulder to see if she was being followed.

  ‘Do they know who she is?’ he asked, his eyes flicking to Gregory before returning to the image.

  ‘No. I haven’t told them, and they’ve never met her.’

  Rossiter threw the phone onto the desk with such force that the screen shattered.

  ‘I’ll kill her,’ he snarled.

  28

  Will woke up with a start, the sun’s rays bleaching the curtains, pooling through the gap between them and over the tumbled sheets.

  He lifted his head, rubbed his eyes, and then swore under his breath at the limbs entangled around him.

  His towel lay twisted under his body.

  Memories of the previous night flooded back, tinged with an overwhelming guiltiness while he tried to remember if anything had transpired.

  He glanced down. Erin’s head rested on his bare torso, her breath tickling the hairs on his chest, while the sheet had peeled back to expose her collar bone, the porcelain skin almost translucent in the morning light.

  He let his head drop back onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

  Now what?

  ‘Well, this is awkward,’ mumbled a voice against his shoulder, before Erin shuffled away from him, the towel discarded, and a grin plastered across her face.

  ‘Um, yeah – it is a bit.’ Will ignored the sensation that swept over him at the sight of her naked body, and hugged the sheets tighter to his chest. ‘Sorry.’

  She shrugged. ‘Don’t apologise.’ She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tossed her hair over her shoulder on the way to the bathroom. ‘It was rather nice.’

  As the sound of water gushing over the tiles reached the bed, Will groaned then got up and pulled on his clothes, rubbing his hand over the rough stubble that covered his jaw. Showering would have to wait.

  He checked over his shoulder that Erin was still in the shower, and then slipped Amy’s mobile phone from where he’d tucked it under the mattress upon arriving at the room the night before.

  He hit the playback button for the voicemail, and listened to Amy’s voice fill the void again, the guilt even stronger. After listening twice, he turned off the phone and dropped it into his jacket pocket, then leaned over and plucked the handset up off the room landline.

  While he waited to be connected to Amy’s specialist, he started to make a mental list of what he and Erin would need to do that morning – starting with coffee. Somewhere in there was a conversation about setting some new ground rules too, if they were going to be anywhere near each other for the foreseeable future.

  ‘Hathaway.’

  ‘Mr Hathaway, good morning – it’s Will Fletcher. I wondered how Amy was doing.’

  Will heard the surgeon sit back in his leather chair, and imagined the man putting his feet up on the desk, harried, overworked and exhausted. The tiredness echoed down the line when he eventually spoke.

  ‘Will, good morning,’ he paused, and Will held his breath before the man continued. ‘Amy didn’t have such a good night,’ he said. ‘We’ve stabilised her for now, but the swelling on her brain hasn’t reduced, and we’ve got her under continuous observation.’

  ‘I’m out of town at the moment,’ said Will. ‘Sorting out some family stuff. Should I come back straight away?’

  ‘I’ll phone you if the situation changes,’ said Hathaway. ‘
I’ll be honest, though, Will, the next twenty-four hours are going to be critical.’

  ‘They are, that’s true,’ Will replied, and disconnected the call. ‘So, what do we do now?’

  Erin stood with her hands on her hips, staring out the window. She turned at his words.

  ‘Only you can answer that, Will,’ she said. ‘I’ve got us somewhere safe to stay. You need to find out why we’re hiding – and fast.’ She pointed at the computer, then picked up her bag. ‘It’s going to take you a while to go through that,’ she said. ‘I’m going to wander down to the café – see if I can find us something to eat.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said absently, lost in thought as she closed the door on her way out.

  Will waited until she’d closed the door behind her before he hurried across to the cabinet where he’d hidden the hard drive and bible the night before.

  He put the hard drive in his backpack, then sat on the edge of the bed and ran his thumb over the worn cover of the decades-old book.

  He rubbed his finger over a faded inscription on the first page, a fleeting recollection of his grandmother’s writing on his birthday cards, before he began to flick through the pages.

  The obvious place to start looking was to search for any passages in the bible that had been marked or highlighted.

  Will sighed. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, except that he’d seen it done in films so it seemed a good place to begin.

  After five minutes, Erin reappeared, padded over the carpet, placed two Styrofoam coffee cups on the desk, and sat next to him.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘My mum’s bible.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Will swallowed, knowing his next decision could very well end his life if his instincts were wrong about the woman beside him.

  ‘Amy hid it – at the church where Colin Avery is buried.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  Will moved to the little desk, and then handed the print-out of the three photographs to her. ‘Someone that Rossiter and Gregory were involved with. I think in Northern Ireland first. He was a mercenary.’