by Mark Ayre
Cat and Mouse
Mark Ayre
The first six Adam and Eve thrillers are dedicated to my daughter, who turned one while I was writing them, and my wife, who did not.
Grab Your Free Thriller Novel
To sign up for the Mark Ayre Reader’s Group and get your free copy of Hide and Seek, book one in a trilogy of gripping supernatural suspense novels, visit: markay.re/freehideandseek
Contents
By Mark Ayre
Cat and Mouse
Grab Your Free Thriller Novel
Author’s Note
Have You Read?
The Adam and Eve Thrillers
The Hide and Seek Trilogy
The James Perry Mysteries
Standalone
About the Author
By Mark Ayre
The Adam and Eve Thrillers:
Fire and Smoke
Lost and Found
Cat and Mouse
Lock and Key
Cloak and Shield
Hope in Hell
The Adam and Eve boxset: All Six Thrillers
The Hide and Seek Trilogy
Hide and Seek
Count to Ten
Ready or Not (October 2020)
The James Perry Mysteries
The Black Sheep’s Shadow
All Your Secrets
Standalone
Poor Choices
Cat and Mouse
The operating theatre into which they wheeled Eve was dank, grubby, depressing. The team tasked with saving her life looked more like drug dealers than doctors. Given the vile creature who recommended them, they probably were. Adam would have pounded upon a viable alternative, had he thought of one.
In a room across the hall, in a metal chair at a chipped wooden table, Adam waited for news with an untouched coffee. The lead doctor, Doc, had warned the operation would take hours. The shotgun slug had hit Eve’s belly button like a bullseye and shredded her insides. Sleep, he told Adam. They would wake him with news.
Adam could not follow this advice. While Eve was out of action, he was her guard. He feared an attack. Even if he hadn’t, he could not sleep while her life hung in the balance.
Through the door walked Francis, the man who, until that morning, had been charged with capturing the twins. Eve had wanted to kill him. Because he claimed their mother was alive, and that he knew her location, Adam had persuaded her to let him live. If he hadn’t, Adam would have had to surrender to their pursuers to ensure she survived. It might still come to that.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t accept the bed,” said Francis. He took the seat opposite Adam and placed his palms on the table. “She’s going to be okay.”
Adam repressed the urge to grab Francis’ head and smash his face into the table until it was no more than a bloody pulp.
“We’re not friends,” he said.
In surrender, Francis raised his hands. When Adam continued to glare, he rose, crossed the room and filled the kettle.
“Guess you don’t need another drink?”
Adam didn’t answer.
“Doc is brilliant,” said Francis. “You have to look past the exterior. He’ll fix your sister, then my leg. The painkillers are already working a treat.”
The kettle boiled. Francis added three mounds of instant coffee into a mug and poured the water, following this with no milk but three more spoons of sugar.
“Are we safe?” Adam asked. “And for how long?”
“We were careful,” said Francis.
This, Adam knew. Having stolen a tracked company vehicle, they couldn’t drive far. After ten minutes of speeding, Francis had pulled into an abandoned lot where had been waiting an ambulance. They moved Eve into the back where Doc and a helper had begun trying to save her life. Adam sat up front with Francis, who drove.
Ninety minutes later, they arrived at Doc’s base. It should take their pursuers a long time to find them. Unless …
“What about this person tracker? Can’t they find us like that?” He snapped his fingers
“Didn’t Donnelly tell you the limitations?” Francis asked. He came to the table and sipped his coffee, squirming at the temperature.
“It can only be used every couple of days,” said Adam. “But Caldwell must have—”
“Forget Caldwell,” said Francis. “The tracker’s been used since, six hours ago. Best case, for them, the asset is ready after another 36 hours. I propose we stay here thirty, to be safe, then drive North, stopping as infrequently as possible. If possible, we want to be on the road when they next call upon the asset. Again, to be on the safe side, I’d keep moving 12 hours, then bunk down for at least a day to let Eve rest. After that, you might start thinking about going for the tracker. Though Eve still won’t be near peak.”
Adam nodded. He struggled to trust Francis but the delay tallied with Donnelly’s information. As soon as possible, they needed to destroy the tracker. Leaving Eve was out of the question, even if Adam could complete the mission alone, which he doubted. They had to keep moving until she was strong. If they were ambushed any time soon, there was almost no chance they would escape.
Francis rose. “I’m going for a lie-down. These pain killers make me drowsy. Consider resting, okay?” He chuckled at Adam’s look. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. We’re not friends.”
Adam nodded.
“Okay, then.”
Francis left. Adam clutched his cooling coffee and stared at the wall. He tried not to think of the worst that might happen to Eve, but it was impossible.
Losing his mother had been difficult.
Losing Eve would be the end.
He closed his eyes and prayed for the best.
During their years on the run, there had been plenty of waiting. Crouching in dark rooms, in silence, sometimes for hours. As toddlers, their mother had warned them to embrace boredom.
It had never been a problem. They had each other. On benches or mattresses or concrete floors, they would squeeze shoulder to shoulder, backs to the wall. Hand in hand, they would pass the hours. Together was enough.
“You’re close, brilliant,” their mother had said. “One day, one of you will make a mistake, and the other will be alone. For that, you should prepare.”
Comments like this were the reason Eve hated their mother, even in memory. No matter what the matriarch said, Adam could do nothing but love her.
Watching her die had devastated Adam. His grief had almost got he and his sister captured.
Over nine hours, Adam could not help but become mired in memories of his first seventeen years—the mother years—and the twelve years since. There had been more laughter post-mum. They had more easily come upon contentment during the periods the agents were not hot on their heels. Perhaps hating the woman who belittled and beat him should have been easy. Two key points prevented this.
One, only via her tricks, tactics and lessons had they remained free so long.
Two, she was his mum. Plain and simple.
But she wasn’t Eve.
During those nine hours, Adam occasionally drifted but never slept. Unconsciousness could not claim him before he knew if his sister would live.
At last, the door opened. Doc appeared.
“Yo, invisi-boy, with me.”
Without a word, Adam rose, following Doc to another room. Not the operating theatre. Much smaller. Room enough for a bed, chair, heart monitor, IV drip, and a small chest of drawers. Nothing else.
Eve had always been pale. Suntanning was a luxury never available to the twins. Now she was white as paper. Though she was asleep, she looked weak. Adam could not keep the tears from his eyes.
“She’ll be sweet,” said Doc. “Bullet messed with her insides, but I patched her up. No drama.”
&nbs
p; “Thank you,” said Adam. Doc waved him away.
“I’m an artist, man. That dude with one ear loves to paint. Doc digs stitching people up.”
Adam approached the bed, falling into rather than sitting in the chair. In his hands, he took one of hers. Doc remained by the door.
“Don’t move her no more than you have to,” he said. “Francis tells me it ain’t possible to stay here long. As long as you can, that’s all I’ll say.”
“When will she wake?” Adam asked.
“When she’s ready. Can’t rush her.”
“No,” said Adam. Then, again, “Thank you.”
Doc nodded. “Leave you to it, man. Maybe get some sleep, yeah? You look ragged.”
Doc departed, leaving Adam with Eve, alone in the dark.
He squeezed her hand. Leaning in, he stroked her cheek. Still crying, he had no idea what to say.
“I’m happy you’re alive. Stay that way and I promise I’ll find hope, like you wanted. I promise, okay?”
Peaceful, eyes closed, she remained still. Keeping her hand in his, Adam placed his head on the bed. Only now did he realise how tired he was. How much work his need to know Eve was safe had done to keep him up.
He endeavoured to stay awake at least a little longer, in case she woke. He wanted to keep his eyes open but found it near impossible. Though he fought with all his might, he knew Eve was alive, and could not win the battle.
Within a minute, her hand in his, his head at her side, he fell asleep.
Possessed with mad purpose, Carter had been searching nine straight hours for the escaped twins and Francis.
She felt strange. All her life, she had kept a tight rein on her emotions. She was a rational creature. Never one to be controlled by passion.
Until now.
Little introspective was needed to figure why this was different. Carter lacked McQueen’s workaholism, Caldwell’s natural leadership, Donnelly’s charisma. Head down; she performed any task she was set. Often, her achievements went under the radar. She didn’t mind. Nor did she care that many didn’t consider her a top agent. She wanted only to impress herself.
In failing to capture the twins, she had let herself down. Grendel’s unexpected arrival and McQueen’s demise at the hands of his team were unfortunate, and not her fault. Nor did they absolve her. Adapt or die.
She had adapted, anticipating that the twins would jump from the manor’s roof and that, following this, Eve would be a spent force.
With three of her team, she had rushed to meet them. Her mistake had been to give her inexperienced man the shotgun. Her thought process was sound. The other two were better shots; the shotgun was for show. He was supposed to stand back while the talent took the twins and Francis.
She should have known her guys better. Should have realised Eve would fake power and, when she did, Carter’s shotgun wielder would buy it and fire.
It was Carter’s fault.
She had failed.
She couldn’t let that be the end.
Adapt or die. That meant pursue the twins until she adapted enough to capture them or died in her attempt.
Every favour she was owed, she had now called. She had learned of Francis’ connection with Doc. It stood to reason that was where they had gone. Eve needed medical attention, and they couldn’t take her to hospital. Sandra and the massive resource of the organisation would be all over the official institutions.
She parked a mile from the building and slid from the SUV. Tranquiliser holstered at one hip, knife sheafed at the other, she slid a second tranq gun into her shoulder holster. Despite the damage it had caused, she slung over her back the shotgun. In her shoe, she concealed a second knife.
Fifteen minutes later, she was outside the building. Already, she had memorised the building plans. She didn’t know where Adam and Eve would be, but she knew her route. She knew exactly where she would go and what she would do in every eventuality.
Eve should be out of surgery. Whether awake or asleep, she’d be in no position to use her powers.
Adam was still dangerous, but Carter could handle him.
She would kill Francis, Doc, and anyone else in the building.
Smiling, she approached.
She was Carter. She always got the job done.
As though wakefulness’ hand had grabbed the scruff of his neck and yanked him from slumber, Adam woke with a start.
Courtesy of the bent angle at which he had fallen asleep, his back and neck ached. His hand still held Eve’s. If he had been unable to see her chest rising and falling, he would have feared she had passed while he slept.
It was late, the building silent. Somehow, Adam knew he had not woken because of a nightmare. Somewhere nearby, someone had moved.
This did not have to mean something sinister. Possibly Francis or one of the doctors had risen to go to the toilet and, in opening and closing doors, had woken Adam. With Eve’s hand still in his, he listened for footsteps. Any second, he would hear someone returning from the bathroom.
Nothing.
Always of the opinion that safe is better than sorry, Adam released his sister and rose. Crossing the room, he opened the door as though afraid it might shatter if he applied too much pressure.
It opened inwards. Once the gap was big enough, Adam poked through his head and looked first left, then right.
The corridor was empty. No sounds came from either direction. Adam listened for a couple of minutes, then retreated.
He was about to close the door when he heard feet, coming his way.
Leaving the door open, he pressed his back to the wall and waited. From this angle, he could see one direction down the hall. If the feet came from that way, he could move.
But they were not. Someone entered the corridor at the other end and proceeded towards Adam. In practised silence, he drew from his belt Francis’ heavy handgun. Fully loaded. Six shots. If approached an enemy, Adam would try to kill them without firing a shot. The bullets were a precious resource. The noise would draw the attention of any further enemies in the building.
He would kill anyone to protect his sister.
The walker didn’t slow as they approached. Adam waited, counting down as they drew near.
4-3-2-1—
Past the door walked a man in a huge white hooded jacket and low-slung jeans. Without seeing his face, Adam knew this was one of Doc’s guys.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he let his shoulders relax and took the door. As he prepared to close in him and his sister, Doc’s man stopped.
“Hey, girl, who are you?”
“I’m looking for the twins.”
“Twins?” Doc’s man scratched his head in a way he must have seen on TV and associated with puzzlement. “Nah don’t know no twins, girl. Anything else I can woah—”
Over the hooded man’s shoulder, Adam could not see the newcomer. He knew what had caused Doc’s man’s reaction.
“Who are you?” the guy asked.
“Carter,” she said. “Where are the twins?”
“You know how to use that thing?”
“Care to find out?”
Carter’s eyes must have shown enough to frighten Doc’s man. Stepping back, he started to turn. His bravery was wavering. Any second, he would give Adam up. Fair enough, this was not this fight.
While Carter focused on Doc’s guy, Adam stepped through the door and raised his gun.
She spun. He fired.
Having expected to need no more than the element of surprise, annoyance flashed through Adam as Carter dived back and the bullet pierced the wall, missing her by less than an inch.
Knowing she wouldn’t want to kill him, he took two steps forward, pointing the gun to where she’d fallen while scrambling back.
He fired again.
Already on her feet, she disappeared around the corner.
Furious, Adam ran halfway along the corridor before catching himself. How many agents were with Carter? He could not risk leaving Eve.
Doc’s man fled down the hall. Adam returned to Eve’s room and removed her IV.
“Sorry, Eve. Wish I didn’t have to do this.”
Lifting her with as much care as he could manage, he moved to the door, entered the hall, and began to run.
In anticipation of Adam’s approach, Carter retreated, pointing her gun at the turn. If he came around straight, she would hit him in the chest. If he rolled into sight, she would adjust. Either way, she was confident she could drop him.
Except, he didn’t come. Carter heard his footsteps, but they grew no closer. Fearing a trick, she held her position, only breaking cover when she heard him running in the wrong direction.
Diving around the corner, she raised her gun. Already Adam, carrying Eve, was disappearing into the next corridor.
Gun aloft, she followed. Having memorised the plans, she knew his chosen route was not the quickest way to the exit. By taking a left, instead of right, she could cut him off.
After checking he was gone, she ran, taking a couple more turns before reaching double doors. Through here was a small hall, at the end of which was a turn into the exit corridor. Here she could hide, waiting for Adam to appear. If he ran flat out, she would beat him by thirty seconds.
Carter pushed open the door. She would shoot anyone in sight then cross the room, disappearing through the farther set of doors towards her destination.
Someone had converted the hall into a relaxation space. There were sofas and a pool table. In one corner, a fridge hummed. On a table decorated with bottle rings of parties past were five open drinks. She guessed one had belonged to the white hooded man, who was absent. The other four circled the table.
There was no need to shoot them, though they would have made easy targets.
