Stay Alive (32 page)

SCOPE HAD NO
idea which way Jess – a girl who didn’t know the area – would head, but concluded that there was no way she’d stick to the road. It was too exposed. This meant, in all likelihood, she’d try and head up the hill away from the road and make her way down into the valley that he knew eventually wound its way into Tayleigh.

There’d been an old Ordnance Survey map at the house where he’d rescued Casey and he’d spent a couple of minutes perusing it before he’d left. There was a farm in the valley en route and, if she had any real sense of direction, she’d be heading towards it. Even if she didn’t, and went the other way, it was a good starting point for him to begin looking for her. His plan was to park at the farm, check that Jess hadn’t arrived there, then head back through the valley on foot, since there was no road he could use, and try to locate her that way. He’d found a torch in the house and he still had the gun and three rounds of ammunition, so he was as prepared as he was ever going to be.

A long rutted track, with cattle grids at various intervals, led down to the farm. The hills rose up on either side of him, stark and bleak, and it struck him that the gunmen might have had the same thought as him, and be using the farm as a starting point for cutting off Jess and Amanda’s escape if they chose to come this way.

He switched off the lights on the borrowed Defender and, when he was a hundred yards short of the farm, pulled up on the verge and cut the engine, concluding that it would be safer to continue his journey on foot.

Jess experienced a pure, unrelenting terror like she’d never felt before as she was manoeuvred down the hallway towards the living room, with the gun pressed hard against the back of her head. The gunman told her not to look round, and she didn’t, but then she saw Amanda being pushed out through the kitchen doorway just ahead of her by another gunman, who had an arm round her neck and a gun pushed into the small of her back. She immediately recognized him as the scar-faced man from the house where they’d originally taken shelter.

What really scared Jess was the fact that he hadn’t bothered to disguise himself, even though he had one of those faces that was utterly memorable, which meant that he didn’t care if she saw his face, because there was no way they were going to let her live.

Her legs felt weak and she thought that at any minute she might collapse. She kept telling herself to be strong but it wasn’t working. She was trapped, and at the mercy of men who thought nothing of killing innocent householders and stashing them in a cupboard like discarded rubbish. And soon she’d be joining them. At that moment, she wished desperately that she believed in God. But she didn’t, and never had. No God would let someone kill a mother in front of her young child, but that was what had happened to her, and it had been a hard lesson burned indelibly into her soul.

When they got to the living room, the gunman holding Jess threw her onto the sofa in the corner next to Amanda.

Jess was tempted to lie there with her face buried in the cushion and simply wait for someone to put a bullet in the back of her head, but she forced herself to turn round and sit up, clinging to a tiny hope that she could somehow talk her way out of this. The man who’d been holding her was tall and powerful-looking, with a pudgy baby face that looked out of place on such a big body, and small round eyes set too far apart. There’d be no mercy from this one, she knew that. Her own eyes drifted towards the gun in his hand, with the long silencer attached. It was such a small thing, really, and yet she’d seen all too vividly today the terrible damage it could wreak.

The older man with the scarred face was standing above Amanda, and he turned to Jess, something close to pity in his expression. ‘I’m sorry you had to get caught up in all this,’ he said in an English accent. ‘You were just unlucky.’

Jess was clenching her teeth so hard they hurt. But there was a question she had to ask. ‘My little sister . . . The blonde girl. Where is she?’

The scar-faced man shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She escaped.’

Jess felt a flood of relief that made her shake. If nothing else, at least Casey was okay.

‘Who was that man who helped you?’ demanded Scarface.

‘I don’t know,’ said Jess. ‘Honestly.’

‘Have you ever seen him before?’

She shook her head, unwilling to tell them that he worked for the canoe operators, just in case they tried to get him later. She owed the stranger that.

‘Do
you
know who he was?’ he asked Amanda, pointing his gun down at her.

Amanda shook her head. ‘I never even saw him,’ she said.

‘You’ve been a real pain, Amanda,’ Scarface told her, something close to respect in his voice. ‘If you’d just come quietly, you’d have saved a lot of lives.’

The comment made Jess bristle, reminding her of Tim and Jean, and the havoc Amanda had wrought on her and Casey’s lives in just a few bloody hours.

‘I don’t even know why
you
want me,’ said Amanda, looking up at him. She looked scared, but still in control, and she wasn’t shivering like Jess was. ‘I have no idea who you are, and I’ve done nothing wrong.’

The scar-faced man gave a mocking laugh. ‘That attitude might work with the police, but it doesn’t wash with us. We know what you did.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘You set up your old man, darling. It was you who had him killed. Now you’d save yourself a lot of pain if you told us who the other killer was.’

Amanda looked totally shocked. ‘Look, I don’t know where you’re getting your information from—’

‘We got it from the best source possible. The Disciple.’

‘Well, he got it wrong. I’m telling you. I had nothing to do with my husband’s death.’

‘Come on,’ growled the big, baby-faced guy, in a thick Scottish accent. ‘The bitch isn’t going to admit anything until we start on her properly. When the laird gets his hands on her, she’ll talk until she’s blue in the face; but, right now, we need to get the fuck out of here.’

‘Rory, mind your language,’ came a voice from the doorway. It was the old lady. She still had the cheery, grandmotherly expression on her ruddy face, except now she was holding something in her hand. Jess looked down and saw that it was a hypodermic syringe.

‘Sorry Ma,’ said the big man. ‘I’m just keen to get on, that’s all.’

‘Aye, you’re right. We need to move, Keogh,’ she said, addressing Scarface as she came into the room. ‘Let me give this little jab to our wee lassie and then we can be on our way.’

Jess felt the fear crashing through her in waves. They were talking as though she wasn’t there. As if she was totally and utterly unimportant.

Which meant she had to talk fast.

‘Please don’t kill me,’ she said quietly, addressing the scar-faced man, guessing that he was the only one likely to have any mercy.

Scarface gave her an uncertain look. It was obvious he didn’t relish the idea, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do it.

‘We could take her with us,’ said the old lady, walking round behind Scarface and inspecting Jess from the other end of the sofa with a malicious glint in her eye. ‘The laird’s been known to enjoy some dark meat. He might appreciate the gift.’

Jess was so scared she couldn’t move. She had no idea what the old lady was talking about but she didn’t care. Anything that kept her alive for a little bit longer was good enough for her.

‘No,’ said Scarface emphatically. ‘She doesn’t deserve that. Let’s just finish it.’

‘Please,’ said Jess, her voice barely a croak.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Scarface, turning away. ‘Do it, MacLean. And be quick.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Jess saw Amanda stiffen in her seat as the old lady bent down towards her with the syringe. Amanda turned and stared up at the big baby-faced man as he raised his gun and pointed it down at her. She looked in his eyes and saw nothing there, and in that moment she suddenly believed in a God who’d be there for her when she died, and a kind of heaven where she’d see her mum and dad again, and even her real mum . . .

And then she shut her eyes as the shot rang out.

BUT JESS DIDN’T
die.

She heard the sound of glass breaking behind her, followed by a grunt of surprise, and, as her eyes opened, she saw the big, baby-faced guy falling backwards onto the floor, dropping his gun in the process.

Everything happened very fast then. A second shot rang out and it was clear from the renewed sound of breaking glass that it was coming from outside, giving Jess a sudden surge of hope. But the scar-faced man – the one called Keogh – was already diving out of the way, knocking the old lady over in the process. At the same time Amanda leapt to her feet, keeping low to avoid any more shots from outside, and made a break for the door. Immediately, Keogh’s arm whipped out, snake-like, grabbing her by the leg and yanking it backwards, sending her sprawling. He was on top of her in a second, shoving the gun into the side of her face before dragging her to her feet, and forcing her round so she was facing the window and acting as his shield. Keeping well hidden behind her, he then retreated towards the front door, switching off the main light in the process, leaving the room only dimly lit by a single lamp in one corner.

For a second no one was taking any notice of Jess. The big man was groaning on the floor in front of her, and she could see that his face was covered in blood. But he was a long way from being dead. One big, gloved hand reached out, patting the carpet as he tried to locate the gun. Before Jess had time to react, he’d found it, his fingers gripping the handle as he started to sit up, his eyes open and alert, even though there was a bloody hole in his cheek where the bullet had struck him.

Jess had a sudden nightmarish thought that this guy was invincible, like Jason out of the old
Friday the 13th
films – that, whatever happened to him, he would survive and keep hunting her down until she was dead. But then her instincts took over and she leapt forward off the sofa, punching him as hard as she could in the face with one hand, and using the other to try to wrestle the gun from his grip.

The gunman clearly hadn’t been expecting an attack because he fell back, his head hitting the floor with an angry thud. The gun clattered out of his hand and Jess reached over and grabbed it by the barrel, a surge of hope rushing through her.

But then suddenly her head was yanked back by her hair with such force that she felt her neck crack, and the next second her face was being slammed into the carpet and the old lady’s voice hissed very close to her ear.

‘
Bitch. Now you die
.’

As soon as Scope fired the two shots he moved out of sight of the window. He knew he’d taken out the first one with a head shot, because he’d seen the way he’d gone down, but he didn’t think he’d hit the second guy – the one with the scarred face – because, just after the second shot, the main light had gone off inside the room.

He would have preferred not to have opened fire when he did, because he only had a decent view of the big guy. The scar-faced one was partially obscured by a half-pulled curtain. Scope had approached the house carefully – really just a routine reconnaissance, not expecting to see anything untoward – but then, having identified the two gunmen inside, he’d still been in the process of formulating a plan for taking them out when the big guy had raised his weapon and aimed it at one of the two women on the sofa. Even though he couldn’t see either of their faces, he recognized Jess by her short black hair, and he’d fired on instinct.

But now he had a real problem. One bullet left, and at least one gunman still alive.

He moved back round towards the front of the house, keeping to the shadows, before sheltering behind a parked car with a view of the front door.

Almost as soon as he’d positioned himself behind the car, the door flew open and the scar-faced gunman appeared, holding an attractive woman in her thirties in front of him. Scope assumed this must be Amanda, the woman Casey had told him they were after. The gunman held a pistol to the side of her head, and he spotted Scope straight away.

Scope aimed the gun at him, two-handed, but the guy was keeping well hidden behind Amanda, who looked understandably terrified. As Scope watched, the scar-faced man walked sideways, crab-like, away from the door, still using her as a shield. When he was level with Scope, about fifteen feet away, he stopped and took a quick look over his shoulder to check there was no one behind him. Then, satisfied that Scope was alone, he poked his head out a little from behind Amanda.

‘Drop the gun,’ he demanded.

Scope knew there was almost no chance he’d be able to take the gunman down with a clean shot. It was dark, his target was well hidden, the pistol wasn’t accurate over distance and, in the end, he was too out of practice to rely on his shooting skills. But he wasn’t going to disarm himself voluntarily either, knowing this would be as good as sentencing himself to death. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

‘Drop it or I’ll shoot her. Right here. Right now. Do you want to be responsible for that?’

‘I won’t be responsible.
You
will be.’ Scope’s voice was deadly calm, giving no hint of the tension he was feeling inside. One mistake and he was dead. And if there was another gunman in the house, he was dead anyway.

‘I’m going to count to three,’ said the scar-faced gunman, sounding equally calm. ‘Then I’m going to kill her.’ As he finished speaking, he slipped from view behind Amanda.

She was looking at Scope, the expression of fear frozen on her face. Her mouth was open, as if she desperately wanted to say something but just couldn’t quite get it out.

Who is she? thought Scope. What’s she done, that these people want her so badly? She looked like anyone else – an ordinary woman, with painted nails and a pretty face – caught up in a situation far outside of her experience and control. He mouthed the words ‘it’s going to be okay’ to her, but her expression didn’t change.

‘One.’

‘You’re not going to kill her. You need her alive. Otherwise you’d have killed her already. So, why don’t you just let her go, turn round, and you have my word I won’t try and stop you.’ He paused, hoping he was right in what he was saying. ‘It’s over. I called the police half an hour ago. They’ll be here any minute. Leave while you still can.’