by Zoe Sharp
‘Should be just past that next bunch of trees up on the left,’ Parker said, tense, reading from the pocket version of the map, which Raleigh had given us. ‘Stop here, Charlie, and we’ll go in on foot. We don’t want to spook him.’
I pulled the pickup a little closer to the shelter of the trees and cut the engine. The sudden silence was broken as Parker pulled out the Glock he carried and racked a round into the chamber.
He glanced across, a question in his eyes, and I realised that this was the first time I’d been into a situation alone with him. On a rational level he completely understood that I was up to the job, but purely on an emotional level, that was another matter.
‘You don’t have to worry about me, Parker,’ I said tightly. ‘Just stay out of my line of fire.’
He nodded, a flicker of a smile lingering around his eyes, and we both climbed out, dropping down lightly onto the grass. Parker reverted to hand signals immediately, indicating we split up round the trees to approach from different angles, then loped away, moving with a stealth and speed that did not fit with his suited attire.
I skirted the copse as fast and quiet as I could, keeping my own SIG out and ready. I could smell fresh earth and wet leaves, hear birds squabbling in the branches overhead, the drip of residual water from the leaves. Apart from that, it was quiet as the grave.
So, into that peaceful background rustle, the crack of a single gunshot somewhere ahead of me was loud and shocking.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I abandoned any attempts at stealth and ran. As I knew from experience, the noise of an unsuppressed gunshot would cause a temporary hearing shift in those at close proximity. It should be more than enough to mask the sound of our approach.
I hoped Parker was taking advantage of that fact, too. And I realised, much as he had reservations about me, I was just as unsure of him. I’d been in so many tight spots with Sean that it was as though we worked by some kind of psychic link, knowing instinctively what the other was thinking, how they would react, what they would or would not do.
Parker, by the very nature of his position, no longer spent much time in the field. Hell, he didn’t even carry his sidearm with a round ready in the chamber …
As I neared the far side of the trees, I slowed, moving at a sideways crouch and leading with the SIG, straining to hear above the pounding of my heart. I took a couple of deep breaths to steady my aim, and edged closer, forcing myself to trust that Parker was mirroring my advance.
And then, beyond the branches, I caught sight of colour and movement. A man, standing in the back of a pickup, shovelling earth through the open tailgate. He was working fast and furtive, head down with the effort of his labours, putting his back into it.
Hunt.
I stilled, eyes sliding around me. Raleigh had said he wasn’t alone, so where was Lennon? And what about the gunshot we’d heard? Had Hunt decided to give Dina the mercy of a quick and relatively painless death rather than the long slow agony of suffocation?
I clamped down hard on that thought. If she was dead, then I had failed utterly.
Soft-footed now, cautious, I moved forward, right arm straight and left locked in to support it, keeping the SIG canted up so the centre of Hunt’s body mass stayed firmly in my sights. He had stripped down to a plain white shirt and rolled back his sleeves. The shirt was glued to his back with sweat, and was thin enough that I could tell he wore no protective armour underneath it.
Mind you – this time, neither did I.
As I cleared cover, I saw that Hunt had backed the pickup down to one end of the ditch element of the obstacle, and was currently filling it in with frantic haste. He bent again, his back still towards me. I reached the first rail part of the fence. It came up to my waist, telegraph-pole thick and forbidding.
And as I looked over it, down the slope, I saw a piece of cloth sticking out of the new earth in the ditch. Not just cloth, but the leg of a pair of trousers. More than that, a half-bent knee. I froze.
Dina?
And as the thought formed, I dismissed it. The leg was the wrong size, the wrong shape. Male …
‘Hello, Charlie!’
Disappointingly, Hunt’s voice did not sound in the least surprised at my sudden appearance. What surprised me about him, however, was the fact that all trace of his British accent had disappeared.
He’d straightened while my attention had been momentarily distracted by the body, and instead of the long-handled shovel, he was now gripping a silvered semi-automatic, probably a Colt, with self-assurance and familiarity. I remembered the almost casual way he’d shot McGregor in the gut during Dina’s abduction. Another good reason to kill him.
‘So, absolutely nothing about you is for real, huh?’ I said. ‘Not even your voice.’
‘Fooled you, though, didn’t I, Charlie? You swallowed that bullshit tale about Oxford and fox-hunting without a flicker.’
I remembered my doubts about his accent, the first time we’d met. I’d put it down to elocution lessons, or snobbery. My mistake.
I focused on him, avoided looking round too obviously. Where the hell is Parker?
‘I don’t suppose you believe for a moment that I’ve come alone,’ I said cheerfully, not lowering my own weapon.
He laughed. ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘You’re certainly arrogant enough.’
‘You’ve room to talk.’
‘Yes, I suppose I have. Is this the point where I’m supposed to ask how you found me?’
‘Ross,’ I said. ‘If you’re going to shoot someone, you really should learn how to make it count.’
He pulled a wry face and gestured towards the body half-covered in earth below him. ‘As you can see,’ he said, ‘I’ve been practising.’
‘Lennon, I assume. Not very loyal to your associates, are you …?’ I paused. ‘What do I call you, anyway? I assume the name Hunter Trevanion is as fake as everything else about you?’
‘It was OK for a while,’ he agreed. ‘I’ve already got something better lined up to step into. A whole new life. Not quite as comfortable as it should have been, but hey …’ he shrugged, ‘… you win some, you lose some.’
‘Why cut and run so early?’ I said. ‘What about the ten million you asked for Dina?’
‘The ten million you told me Caroline Willner hadn’t a hope in hell of raising, you mean?’ he queried, derisive. ‘The secret of gambling is knowing when to fold a losing hand, Charlie, and although I say so myself, I’m a very good gambler.’
‘In that case, you should have held your nerve a little longer before you chucked in your cards, Hunt,’ I said, adding a scornful edge. ‘Mrs Willner might not have the cash, but you told her to tap up Brandon Eisenberg and she did just that. There we were at four o’clock, with the money sitting waiting for you, and you never bothered to call.’
Emotions whipped across his handsome features, from disbelief through rage to a sudden twisted amusement. ‘No shit?’ he murmured. He eyed me cynically. ‘So, are you telling me you still want to make a deal?’
‘No,’ Parker’s voice said from the exit rail of the fence, popping up out of nowhere at the far reaches of Hunt’s peripheral vision. ‘I rather think the time for bargaining is over, don’t you?’
Hunt’s head snapped round, took in the shooter’s stance, the cool gaze, and knew Parker for the professional he was. Then he smiled again, almost to himself. ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s the case at all,’ he said lazily. ‘After all, I still have what you want, and I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that you don’t have much time.’
‘We’ve caught you standing over a half-filled grave, you little bastard,’ I said. ‘Do you honestly expect us to believe she isn’t in there?’
She’s alive. She has to be alive …
Hunt merely smiled at the betraying desperation in my voice. He was still pointing the Colt at me, but when he spoke, it was to Parker.
‘I think I’d put the gun down if I were you, old cock, because not only
can you not take the risk that Dina might be buried somewhere else, but you know I’ll shoot the lady first.’
‘So?’ I challenged, trying to keep his attention on me, to give Parker his chance. What the hell are you waiting for, Parker? Can’t you tell all that shit about Dina is a bluff – where the hell else would she be?
Hunt laughed again, eyes still on me. ‘She doesn’t see it, does she?’ he asked. ‘It was pretty bloody obvious to everyone at the country club do who watched you two dance together that you’re desperate to get into her knickers, but she’s still pining for her vegetable lover and—’
The shot took Hunt in the side, just above his left hip, spun him round and knocked him back onto the pile of earth still in the back of the pickup. The gun went clattering from his fingers and clanged loudly against the metal side of the bed. A scatter of birds took to the air from the trees around us, shrieking their outrage.
We ran forwards. I ducked to retrieve the Colt while Parker kept his Glock firmly trained on Hunt. He had started to moan, hands clutching at the greasy wound.
‘You took your bloody time about that one,’ I said sharply, clicking the safety on the Colt and shoving it into my pocket. Boss or no boss, the adrenaline was surging. ‘Where else would Dina be, for fuck’s sake?’
Hunt, despite the pain, managed a gasping laugh. ‘What did I tell you? Still she doesn’t see it. Tell her, Parker. Tell her that’s not why you hesitated—’
‘Shut up,’ Parker said through his teeth, ‘or I’ll shoot you again.’
I could have told them both that I knew exactly why Parker had hesitated, but I wouldn’t give Hunt the satisfaction of being right. That Parker had been afraid of him getting off a shot at me if he did.
I put the SIG away, jumped up into the back of the pickup, and dragged Hunt closer to the edge of the tailgate. I half expected Parker to lift him down from there, but he just grabbed hold of the injured man’s ankle and yanked.
It was almost a metre to the ground, and Hunt landed with a solid, satisfying thump, but he refused to cry out.
Parker reached into his jacket and brought out a giant plastic tie-wrap. ‘They were in the truck we borrowed,’ he said when he saw my raised eyebrow. ‘I think they use them to hold the fences together. It should do the job.’
He looped the substitute PlastiCuffs round Hunt’s wrists and zipped them up tight, forcing his arms back behind him. The wound, I noticed, continued to bleed steadily, but I didn’t really care much about that. Parker flicked Hunt’s discarded jacket off the corner of the tailgate and packed that roughly under his belt to act as a dressing. An unnecessary kindness, in my view.
I picked up the discarded shovel and jumped down, reaching the half-filled ditch in a couple of strides. When I scraped the earth away from the body I’d seen, a young man was revealed, eyes still open and an expression of hurt surprise on his face. There was a small black hole just under his right eye, slightly deforming his features.
I didn’t recognise him, but I realised I’d never seen Lennon unmasked. When I checked his right arm, I found it had been bandaged, somewhat amateurishly, and had no doubt I’d find a gunshot injury lurking beneath.
When I reached down to drag him clear, he was still warm to the touch.
Parker jumped into the ditch alongside me and helped. With the body shifted, there was only a shallow covering of earth on top of another rough wooden box.
‘Dina!’ I yelled, but there was no reply. I shot Hunt a poisonous glare, but he had drooped over onto his side and his eyes were closed.
Between the two of us, Parker and I scraped the lid clear enough to get to the fastenings. I glanced at him, suddenly fearful, with a bleak rising memory of having been here before, standing over Torquil’s body that day on the beach.
‘Oh my God, have you found her? Is it Dina?’
We straightened sharply to see Caroline Willner approaching at a run across the sodden grass, Gleason and Brandon Eisenberg not far behind her. The noise of Parker’s gunshot, it seemed, had done a similar job of deadening our hearing.
Caroline Willner slithered to a stop at the top of the slope and gripped the rail as she stared down at us. There were splatters of mud on her skirt, and her shoes were ruined. Her face was death-mask white.
Eisenberg arrived, panting, while Gleason barely seemed out of breath. She took one look at the situation, and drew her own weapon to stand guard over Hunt. Maybe Parker would offer her a job, after all.
‘Are there any tools in the truck?’ I demanded. ‘We need a tyre iron or a crowbar – right now.’
It was Eisenberg who obeyed without questions, skirting carefully round Hunt’s body to open the cab door of the pickup. He pulled out a scuffed toolbox and yanked the handles apart. Inside, he quickly found a hammer, long flat-bladed screwdriver and a pry bar and jumped down into the trenches without a thought to his own thousand-dollar shoes.
The three of us attacked the lid of the coffin with a vengeance. It seemed to take for ever before the last of the screws tore loose, and we could finally rip the lid loose.
I took a deep shaky breath, and looked inside.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Dina lay slightly on her side, her knees wedged hard against one side of the box, her back against the other. She was groggy, filthy, bleeding, in shock.
But alive.
Most definitely alive.
We lifted her out with great care. Her whole body was shaking and the tears streamed down her face, leaving tracks through the grime. There was a stained dressing covering the amputated part of her ear and, not to put too fine a point on it, she stank. Infection, I considered, was a very real possibility.
Caroline gathered her daughter in her arms and held on tight, rocking her like a child.
‘I’m sorry, Mom,’ Dina kept repeating, an edge of barely contained hysteria slashing through her voice. ‘I’m so sorry. I—’
‘Hush, darling. I know.’ Caroline Willner pressed her face into the girl’s matted hair as if she’d never smelt anything so sweet. ‘It’s all over now.’
I skimmed over Hunt with a dark gaze. His eyes were open, watchful but calm. Rarely had I met a beaten player with such composure.
Parker had his phone out and was already calling in the cops, the FBI, and the paramedics. It would not take long before this whole place was crawling with officialdom.
‘Gleason, I’d like you to go back to the stable yard and wait there for the cops,’ Eisenberg said. There was something in his tone that snatched my attention. It was too polite, too controlled. I turned and found him staring down at Hunt with smouldering intensity.
Gleason saw it, too. She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again, and nodded. She gave me a narrow-eyed stare as she came past, as if searching for something in my face. I’m not sure if she found it, but she walked away up the slope leading from the ditch without looking back.
Parker moved closer, touched my arm. ‘You OK?’
I took a moment to reply. It was as though Hunt had opened a wound between us, and sooner or later we were going to have to swab out the grit or risk it starting to fester. But now was not the time. ‘Yeah, fine.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll go fetch the pickup. The ground’s bad for getting an ambulance up here. We’ll take Dina back to the stable yard.’
I murmured assent and, after only the slightest hesitation, he followed Gleason’s tracks. It was suddenly very quiet out there, with only Dina’s muffled sobbing and the cries of the disturbed birds circling back into the trees.
Eisenberg continued to stare down at Hunt, hands clenched.
‘You murdered my son,’ he said at last, his voice deep and rusty. ‘He was dead before you even tried for the ransom money. Why? Why did you do it?’
Hunt lifted his head up slightly. His face was pale now, bathed in sweat, and his breath came short and shallow. The bullet wound must have been pulsing like hell, but still he managed to talk.
‘What do you care? You
weren’t going to give up those pretty stones anyway. Not your kid, was he?’ he threw back. ‘How was I to know he had the whole of that boat wired for sound, that he’d catch me calling Lennon and realise I wasn’t who I said I was. Little bastard was going to tell everyone. Couldn’t trust him.’
‘So this was all about protecting your false identity,’ I said flatly, ‘and nothing to do with the kidnapping scam?’
He tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace. ‘That was a bonus. These kids were playing at it. There was big money to be made, if it was handled right. They were never going to take advantage of it. So I took advantage of them. Just needed that damn kid to keep his mouth shut. Fortunately, he wanted his moment in the spotlight. Got it, too.’
‘You were never going to let him live, were you?’ Eisenberg said, sounding immeasurably tired. ‘From the moment you snatched him from the beach that day, he was as good as dead.’
The gaze he turned on me was reproachful.
If you’d stepped in … If you’d stopped them …
I looked away. I had enough burden of regrets. ‘And was Dina supposed to die, too?’
Hunt gave a ‘who cares’ shrug that ended in a gasp of pain. ‘I woulda played the game,’ he said, mouth twisting cruelly, ‘if you hadn’t told me there was no chance of winning.’
‘And so you did this to my daughter,’ Caroline Willner said suddenly, her voice cold as steel. ‘You tortured her, and brought her here to bury her with no intention of telling us where to find her. She might never have been found.’ She took a breath. ‘In the name of God … why?’
Hunt’s laugh sounded more like a weak giggle. He was losing it, voice starting to slur. ‘She wanted danger. Excitement. I gave it to her in spades. Enough to last a lifetime, hey Dina?’
Dina shrank back at the sound of her name on his lips. Caroline Willner wrapped her arms more tightly around her daughter and glared at him. ‘I hope you die soon, young man,’ she said. Her tone was perfectly even, her diction clear and precise. ‘And I hope when you do that you are raped by every demon in hell.’
