“Do you have the keys to your pickup?” Tom asked him, while helping Amelia to her feet. She felt like she was coming around after a general anesthetic. She was also crazy thirsty again.
“Aye,” Duncan said warily, patting a pocket.
The cold began to sink in through Amelia’s clothes—she’d slept in all of them, even her sneakers. She must have slept soundly, until the nightmare. Had she screamed? Was that how Duncan found them? What if the Pritchards had also heard? She glanced at the door.
“We need to go to the police,” Tom said to Duncan. “You can drive while I cover us. Do you have enough rounds?”
Duncan looked down at his rifle, evidently doing mental calculations. A hunting rifle, Amelia guessed. “I’m almost out,” he said finally.
“So you haven’t seen the Pritchards today—they’re not in the house?” Tom asked, getting down on hands and knees and reaching into the priest hole. He pulled out the shotgun and then his boots, which he began pulling on.
Duncan shook his head. “No sign of anyone. Think you could nip down to the safe and get us more ammo, lad? You’d be quicker on your feet than me.”
Tom nodded, scratching his stubble, which sent a rasping noise around the room. “I can grab another rifle while I’m there—I’m nearly out of shotgun shells. What’s the code for the safe?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Duncan recited it. Amelia got the sense his brain wasn’t working too quickly. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
“I’ll come with you,” Amelia said, stepping to the door, just as Tom said, “Be back in a few minutes.” He turned to her. “Less chance of being spotted if it’s just one of us. That okay?”
“You’ll be all right up here with me, lass,” Duncan said, patting his gun.
Amelia weighed up Duncan’s disheveled state against what Tom had said about his military skills. If Tom trusted him, so could she. She nodded.
Tom squeezed her shoulder. “Sorry I woke you the way I did. It only occurred to me afterwards that?—”
“I’m fine,” she said, crossing her arms and tucking her hands into her armpits.
“Okay, back soon. Then we’ll make a solid plan to get out. With three of us, and proper weapons, we’ll be sweet.” He glanced at Duncan and exhaled heavily, his breath creating a puff of fog. Tom had deep bags under his eyes, and his hair was more swashbuckling pirate than foppish Regency hero, but a weight seemed to have lifted off him.
He left, and Amelia crossed to the window and peeked around the curtain, only vaguely noting its fine crewel embroidery. Outside, the grass was veiled in gray mist, and a fog river shrouded the real one, tracing its path. She shivered. She could just see the incinerator’s chimney, its smoke dissolving into the mist. It was going again? Had the Pritchards stuffed the rug back in?
Why would they burn it if there were no body? Her instinct was tugging at her, as if an answer sat right in front of her that she was failing to decipher. Like when she’d stared at that damn tapestry.
“Anyone know you’re here, love?” Duncan said, concerned. “Would anyone be coming looking for you?”
“Not a soul, sorry. My mom knows generally where I am, but I haven’t been talking to her every day, so she’s not going toworry yet. I don’t think I mentioned going to the abbey. I’ve been avoiding social media and stuff. And I checked out of the village inn yesterday morning. So no, no American cavalry.”
A clunk sounded from a floor below. Duncan tilted his head, listening. Surely not Tom—he’d be taking care to make no noise.
“There’s someone else here,” Duncan said quietly. “We ought to move.”
“Tom said we should stay here and wait for him to get back. We could hide in the priest hole.”
“He can meet us at the cottage.” Duncan nodded fast, like he was convincing himself. “I’m not much for standing about, waiting. We made a bit of noise just now.”
He did look jumpy. Amelia remembered what Tom had said about Duncan rarely entering the house. Claustrophobia? He certainly wouldn’t like the priest hole.
“Come on.” Duncan tipped his head toward the door. “We can head out through the secret passage.” He looked out the doorway, swiftly checking to the left and then the right, his eyes aligned with the barrel of the rifle. Once a soldier, always a soldier, she guessed. He met her gaze and jerked his head to indicate she should go first. “Unless you’d rather stay up here alone?”
She absolutely would not. “I honestly think we should wait here. He’ll think they’ve got us.”
“He’ll know we wouldn’t have gone quietly. He’s smart. He knows me. He’ll figure it out.”
That was what Tom had said about Duncan—he wasn’t the type to go quietly. And Tom had mentioned taking Duncan’s pickup. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to wait a few minutes. She felt secure enough with Duncan and his rifle, but with Tom there too, she’d feel almost bulletproof.
Another clunk, louder and closer, followed by the whine of a door opening.
“Okay, we’re going,” she said, taking a step. They could well be the house’s regular noises, but she was way too jumpy to give them the benefit of the doubt. Better to run than be ambushed. There was nothing at all worse than an ambush. “But you first, please?”
