The sun set. Luke was still inside the house, but he'd paced so much the bottom of his shoes must have worn thin. I covered my mouth as I yawned, out of both tiredness and boredom. There was a good reason I delegated surveillance work whenever possible. I'd much rather be out shooting people.
Relax, I was just kidding.
Maybe.
At six, Luke lay back on the bed and dozed, which meant I got some sleep myself without bloody movement alarms going off. That relief was short-lived, however, because at nine he got up and resumed his now familiar route. Through the hall to the kitchen. Turn. Back to the front door. Turn. In every step, his fear and frustration was evident, and it hurt to watch.
I got out of the car for a stretch and another pee then huddled under the blanket again. The car thermometer said six degrees, and I swore under my breath—the bloody kidnapper could at least have picked the summer to make his move. Throughout his torturous routine, Luke kept glancing at his watch. What was he waiting for?
I found out at midnight when he climbed into his SUV, carrying the holdall. A ransom drop?
I sure hoped so. All that waiting had given me too much time to think, and there were only so many times I could go through things in my head without second guessing myself. I was always happier getting on with things.
With the tracker still on Luke's car, I didn't need to follow too closely. I hung back and watched the other vehicles instead, but I didn't spot anyone else tailing him. The M40 motorway was quiet at that time of night, and it didn't take long for Luke to drive north a couple of junctions before winding his way through the countryside again.
I dropped back further on the narrow lanes. It was either that or turn my lights off, and I didn't fancy crashing. I didn't even know who this car was registered to—sorting out the aftermath of an accident would be a bureaucratic nightmare. Luke was two miles ahead when his car stopped moving. I sped up to catch him, flicking my headlights off when I got close. A three-quarter moon bathed the countryside in a dim glow, and ghosts danced as trees and bushes swayed in the wind.
The only thing pitch-black was my mind.
The tracker put Luke's vehicle in a woodland car park, and I pulled up at the entrance. What was waiting in there? I needed to find out, so I reversed the BMW up an overgrown track further along the lane before returning on foot.
That sodding nursery rhyme came into my head again. If you go down to the woods tonight... The last time I had a surprise in the woods, I'd discovered Tia wasn't actually Satan's daughter. I was certain tonight's wouldn't be quite so pleasant.
The pale moonlight threw long, soft shadows over the waiting forest. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, but it was still difficult to spot anything in the foreboding tangle of tree limbs rising up in front of me, the night-time playground of rabbits, foxes, deer, and of course, little old me.
Luke was nowhere to be seen, and I cursed in my head. I'd have given my Aston Martin to have a tracker in the duffel bag. Ahead of me, paths branched off into the woods, left and right. Which one did he take?
I listened out for a clue. The crack of a twig, maybe, or the soft thunk of footsteps on the humus-strewn ground. Nothing. Just the low hoot of an owl as it whispered through the bare branches overhead.
Messy footprints littered the damp ground—evidently, the place was popular with walkers. Which were Luke's? He wore a size nine, but that didn't narrow it down. Okay, time for infrared goggles. I slipped the slim rucksack off my back, but I'd barely opened it when a shout came from my left. Luke. The words might have been muffled, but I recognised the voice, and the argumentative tone meant I had no time to waste.
I dropped the bag and ran towards the noise. There was enough moonlight for me to leave my torch in my pocket, and I preferred the element of surprise over the assistance of its beam. Throughout the years, I'd become proficient at moving quickly and quietly through difficult terrain, and I doubted they'd hear my approach over the yelling in any case.
I'd almost reached the voices when...nothing. They stopped. I crept forward, and the path opened up into a clearing, beams of moonlight slanting through the trees. A body lay on the ground, sprawled motionless among the rotting leaves. A second figure loomed over it, pointing a gun towards its head. I could tell from the build the standing figure wasn't Luke, which meant it must be him on the ground.
I didn't hesitate.
I flicked on my torch, hitting the stranger full in the face with the beam, careful to hold it at arm's length. That way, if the dude got trigger happy, he'd aim at the light rather than my head. A bullet through the arm I could recover from. Through the brain? Not so much.
My CQC-7 had found its way into my right hand—an automatic reflex. As soon as I'd double checked it was Luke on the ground, I let the knife fly towards the man trying to kill him.
Good to see I hadn't lost my touch. The knife buried itself in the stranger's biceps just as he fired at Luke. His arm jerked, and dirt kicked up a foot from Luke's head.
"Aaaaaah!"
The man's startled yowl cut through the night, and he took off, keeping the hold of his bloody gun. I wanted to go after him, but since Luke hadn't moved, I stopped to check on him first.
Blood seeped from a gash across his temple, and although he was unconscious, his breathing was steady and his pulse beat strongly. He'd be fine for five minutes, but would Tia? The best chance of finding her was crashing through the woods ahead of me, and I sprinted off in pursuit.
Muffled curses came from the darkness ahead of me as the arsehole crashed into branches. Either he hadn't brought a torch or he wanted to poke his eye out on a branch. Both good news for me.
I was gaining, but he had a good head start, and a moment of silence was interrupted by the slam of a door and the growl of an engine.
Shit! I reached a second car park just in time to see a transit van spin its wheels out of the entrance. Before it disappeared from view, I burned the registration number into my mind. There was no chance of catching up—my car was half a mile away, and I didn't know the area. With a heavy heart, I returned to Luke.
On my jog back, I almost tripped over the holdall, still heavy and unopened. Now the kidnapper would be doubly pissed—no ransom as well as a damaged arm. What if he took his anger out on Tia? Bile rose in my throat at the thought of it.
Pack it in, Diamond. Emotion only clouded my judgement in situations like this.
When I reached the clearing, Luke was regaining consciousness, flopping from side to side. He tried to get up, but I held him down while I checked for damage.
"He's going to spill the tea," he mumbled.
"Tea? What tea?"
"Kill the tea."
"Tia? Do you mean Tia?"
"Kill Tia."
Great. Tell me something I didn't know.
Before I could help Luke to his feet, he doubled over and puked, reminding me of my first night at his house. Seemed like somebody had a touch of concussion. I gave him a few more minutes on the ground then pulled him to a sitting position. He couldn't stay in the woods all night. Blood was running from his head, and he needed it stitched. I took my jumper off and pressed it against the wound to try and stem the flow.
"Can you try getting up again?"
"I think so."
Between us, we got him to his feet, where he swayed and clutched at a nearby sapling.
"We need to get to the car."
He gritted his teeth. "Okay."
With me half carrying him as well as the bag and pausing on the way to pick up my rucksack, we made our way to the BMW. Slowly. Painfully slowly. The woods closed up behind us, hiding their secrets in the inky blackness. Those trees had seen more than most humans ever would.
When we reached the car, I propped Luke up in the passenger seat and retrieved the first aid kit from the boot—company rules, everybody carried one. Luke's gash was nasty, most likely inflicted by the sight on his assailant's pistol, and I wound a temporary bandage around the cut until I could clean it up properly. He'd be sporting a scar in years to come if he didn't get professional help. And that wasn't his only injury—the back of his head had a cracking lump on it. No wonder he'd ended up unconscious.
Ready to go, I did up his seatbelt. Safety first, right? He was still groggy, his head lolling to one side, but his faculties were returning.
"What are you doing here?" he slurred.
"Currently? Making sure you still have a head on your shoulders."
Although whether he had a fully functioning brain in it was debatable. What the hell had he been thinking, skipping through the woods at night carrying quarter of a mil?
"Where's Tia?"
"Still missing. I'll find her, but I need help to do it. We're doing this my way now."
"No! He said he'd kill her. You can't call the police."
"I'm not intending to, but you're not doing this alone. I'm going to call some friends."
He groaned and slumped back into the seat but didn't argue any further.
Good. It would have been a waste of his breath.
As he was talking and making a certain amount of sense, I decided to steer clear of the hospital and the inevitable questions that would come from a visit there. We both wanted to avoid the police, which would likely be the end result. I'd had enough medical training to believe he wasn't in serious danger. I'd had worse damage myself and still run a half marathon the next day.
The guy who tried to kill Luke was a different story, though. For him, the danger was very real. Boy, I itched to get my hands on him.
I hopped in the driver's seat and started the engine. Before setting off, I shoved the battery back in my red phone and turned it on for the first time in three months. One bar of power. I plugged it into the charger and connected it to the car's Bluetooth system. Seconds later, I was on my way back to Belgravia for the second time that week.
The night was deathly quiet as I sped down country lanes towards the motorway. With the adrenaline of the chase no longer flowing through my bloodstream, the journey back seemed to take twice as long. Or perhaps it was the sense of dread building in my veins that made time slow? What was I going to tell my friends? And Luke? How would I explain my life to him?
I had no words.
At one point, he turned to me and mumbled, "I thought you couldn't drive?"
"Technically, I said I didn't drive, not that I couldn't."
"Do you always go this fast?"
I noticed he was gripping the sides of the seat, and his knuckles had gone a bit white.
"Yes."
He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.
Old life, meet Luke. Luke, meet my old life. I hope you enjoy the ride.