Nicole pulled up on a street identical to the one they’d left and knocked on a door almost the same as hers. The woman who opened it looked familiar. An old school friend? Jamie slunk in the seat. He’d warned Nicole not to let on she was with him, but best not take chances. As Nicole shepherded the kids from the car, they pretty much tried to download Samira’s brain.
“I used to play so many games with them,” Nicole said as she pulled away from the curb again, almost to herself. “Kick a ball, take them places, have fun, but it’s been years since I’ve had time. And now that they’re not so little, connecting with them isn’t as simple.” For a change, she didn’t turn it into an accusation against Jamie, which broke his heart a little.
“I can imagine,” he said.
“Stupid, huh? They’re my number one priority but everything else always comes first—earning an income, looking out for Mum, studying. And on the weekends, when I might have time for more than just being cook and taxi driver and household matron and homework supervisor, they’re living it up at their prick of a dad’s and I’m catching up on study. No wonder they prefer being with him—he only has to do the fun stuff. And they’re always having big gatherings there with grandparents and aunts and uncles and an ever-expanding bunch of cousins.”
Jamie’s gut twisted. Had he been so self-obsessed that he’d thought himself the only exile in the family? Somehow Nicole had ended up alone, too. Popular, carefree, easily contented Nicole.
“And then,” she continued, “he goes and gives me some ‘friendly advice’ that I should do more fun stuff with them, too. ‘It’s a matter of priorities, Nicole.’ No fucking idea.”
“Sucks, Nic. Seriously.”
“Stupid thing is, we split up because I was sick of having an uneven relationship and he was sick of having a grumpy wife. Now it’s way more unbalanced and I’m ten times as grumpy while he has a lovely compartmentalized life—though then he complains he never gets a weekend ‘off’ like he thinks I do. Sometimes I want to give him full custody so he can see what it’s like to have to parent alone 24/7 during the week.”
Jamie wanted to say,I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make things better.But he was already sending all the money he could.
“Meanwhile,” she continued, “the kids are turning into bigger wee shits by the month. The more I do for them the less grateful they are.”
“They’ll come right. We were massive wee shits at their age.”
“And look how well we turned out. Teen mum and drug addict. So, aye, maybe there’s hope.”
Jamie winced.Cheers, sis.There exploded any remaining illusions Samira might be under.
“I love them,” Nicole added. “I do.”
“I know.”
He used to envy her uncomplicated life. She’d always seemed content to live well within her comfort zone, within her skill set, to work and marry and breed within a fifty-mile radius of their hometown while he was constantly pushing his boundaries too far, seeking too much, aiming too high.
Now she was at law school, expanding her horizons, while he made sure to operate well within his. He was a trained commando but usually hung back as support. Nobody wanted to risk losing the medic. He was a qualified neurosurgeon but rarely did anything more complicated than dispensing diarrhea remedies.
What an idiot, to let this be the night he slipped. He’d let Samira push him out of his comfort zone, all right—push him to think, to care, to question the path he’d settled for. He’d vowed to stay in the Legion as long as they tolerated him, then retire to the Legion’s vineyard in Provence with the others who had no hope of reintegrating to regular life. But the vineyard option was suddenly looking lonely, now that Angelito and Flynn had jumped tracks to regular lives—not that Flynn’s was going to plan.
Speaking of which...
He picked up Nicole’s phone. First things first. They needed a place to lie low in Edinburgh while they figured out a strategy. The distant future would sort itself out, once he got back to the Legion and banished Samira from his head. But first they had to secure an immediate future, one risk at a time.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JAMIEDIRECTEDNICOLEthrough the Monday morning traffic of the Old Town. She dropped them in a grimy cobblestone lane flanked by the arse-end of blackened stone buildings, roller doors, fire exits and green wheelie bins. He forced a few hundred quid on her and promised to call when it was safe to return home. Hyland probably didn’t even know Jamie’s identity but it wasn’t worth the risk.
He pulled up at a wooden door next to a barred sash window. He’d checked for security cameras on the street view of Nicole’s phone map. There was only one, facing the other way.
“This is us,” he said to Samira, as Nicole accelerated away, giving the car slightly more gas than necessary.
“Where did you find this?”
“Same accommodation site as the cottage. It’s not booked for days and neither are the neighboring apartments. No alarm. Let’s hope the key fits.” He pulled out Holly’s lock-picking kit. He’d studied the street-view photos to figure out the likelihood the door would succumb to his limited skills. “I’ve told Angelito and Holly to come straight here. We’ll lie low until then.”
“I can’t believe this sort of thing has become my life,” she said, keeping watch as he jiggled the lock.
“Don’t worry—we’ve already got housebreaking.”
“They’re crimes, not collector cards.”
“We’ll leave it tidy. They’ll never know. And you’re practically a folk hero—when all this is over the landlords will hike their rack rates on account of the infamy of us having broken in. Bonnie and Clyde indeed.” The lock clicked and he opened the door to a flight of stairs. “Don’t know why I bother to carry a set of keys.”
