“Wait?”
“Don’t toss it. I have a better idea.” He U-turned the car, backtracked a few blocks and pulled into a fifteen-minute car park outside an orange-brick train station.
“We’re taking a train?” she said.
“Give me the device. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay down.”
He left, with the postcard. Halfway across the parking lot he swiveled, jogged back, opened her door and threw the car key on her lap. “Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“Parking wardens.” He winked and left.
She let her head fall back. This was not her life. She’d dropped through a wormhole into someone else’s world, someone else’s skin. An alternative reality game.No consequences, no tics, no tinea, and an undo button.Jamie dissolved into the gloom inside an arched entranceway.Back in a few minutes.As in three minutes, or ten? What was he doing?
A white car caught her eye, cruising past like a shark—the Peugeot, pulling up into the station’s drop-off zone. Samira slunk in her seat, trying to shrink. If only. The blond guy got out, along with the woman, both of them adjusting something under the waist of their jackets. They headed for the station entrance, the woman swiping at a phone.
Oh God. Samira had no way to warn Jamie.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IFSAMIRABLASTEDthe horn she’d draw attention to herself. What would she do in a computer game if this happened? Use a stun gun? A concealment spell?
An alarm sounded—train doors, about to close. Would they drag Jamie out? Did he have his gun? Would there be a shoot-out? Had he got away, in the train? Was she on her own now? She really didn’t want to be on her own. Crap, she sucked at reality. Too many possibilities, too many options, unknowns, consequences. She was always so kick-ass behind a screen. The train whined. Moving off.
She stared at the clock on the dash. Two minutes passed. Three. Four. Her stomach churned. Should she creep out and try to warn Jamie? Or would she mess up his plan if she showed up? Whatwashis plan? Was it already too late to do anything? At what point should she drive away? Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Breathe.
Nearby, a car door opened, then another. A man’s voice, urgent but indecipherable. A woman replied. An engine started, and moved off. Another couple of minutes and she’d dare to look.
The driver’s door swung open, rocking the car. She gasped. Jamie landed in the seat.
“Oh thank God.”
“Key?” he said, holding out his hand, looking down at her with a half grin. “You okay down there?”
She sat up, gingerly. No sign of the Peugeot. “The blond guy and his driver...did you see them?”
“Aye. As far as they know, we’re en route to Portsmouth. I planted the device on the train.”
She reached for the seat belt. “That’s a long trip. It has to buy us an hour or two.”
“Try nine minutes.”
“Nine?”
“That’s how long it’ll take them to get to the next station, search the train and realize we’re not there.”
“Oh God, you’re right. Here’s me thinking—”
“I was hoping to find an express train but of course it’s a Sunday, off-peak, so nothing’s in a hurry.” He put the car into Reverse, and winced, his jaw tight.
“Your arm is getting bad, isn’t it?”
“We can’t stop now. Let’s get to the next town—in the other direction—and find that Boots.”
The rain had slicked a gloss onto everything—the road, cars, fields. Blue sky spread up from the horizon like an opening portal, rays of sun lighting the grassy hills below. Samira shuddered. All that time she thought she was escaping Hyland and he’d known exactly where she was and where she was headed. They had to have come close to capturing her in Paris. Just as well she hadn’t slept soundly in her car—she’d moved it every hour or two, trying to find a place that felt safer. Sometimes insomnia and paranoia came in useful.
