Fletch sighed. “Fair enough, but someone needs to buddy up with him. I heard he pulled Goon from his horse and squared up to him. Took a few hits from the crop. Maybe you’re right and it shouldn’t be you—you sound like peas in a pod—but someone needs to run with him. Keep him in check if he’s prone to lash out. I got no qualms giving Goon a hiding, but we all know we’re never that lucky, and I don’t want no one getting hurt.”
Wishful thinking. Getting hurt was part of the life, but I was with Fletch on this one. Cash had been angry today, and fury like that was dangerous in the field if it wasn’t channelled properly. He’d been hurt already by the Goon squad. I couldn’t handle it happening again.
Fletch left. The doorthunkedclosed behind him and seemed to bring with it more doubt and worry. Misery was par for the course after a bad day at the office, but I’d never felt so helpless. My heartachedto reach out to Cash. I sat up and retrieved my phone. A message lit up the screen.
Unknown:We can meet
***
I’d become the king of bad ideas. Some weirdo had somehow got my number, and the lunatic buried deep inside me was active enough to engage them. For a week we messaged back and forth, and I couldn’t deny it kept my mind off texting Cash.
Unknown:I can help
Rae:With what?
Unknown:Taking down the hunt
Rae:???
There was no reply for a while. I had a to-do list a mile long, but I abandoned it in favour of taking my phone to Fletch and Meg and fessing up.
“This is fucked-up.” I said. “I’ve only had this number a month or so. How would anyone off-camp know it was connected to sabbing?”
Phone technology was beyond Fletch. He backed off to scrub his cooking pot, leaving Meg to deal with me. She handed me a mug of hot chocolate and beckoned me to sit on the couch she’d fashioned out of pallets and cushions.
“Start from the beginning,” she said. “I can’t make head or tail of you when you rant at me.”
“I’m not ranting,” I snapped, then checked myself. “Sorry.” I tried again. “I’m just pissed off. These numbers are supposed to be safe. Where did we get the last bunch of SIM cards?”
“One-Stop in Amersham.”
I raised an eyebrow. “But we bought SIMs from there a few months back. I thought we rotated throughout the year?”
“We do, but Drey forgot and we thought it best to make use of the ones we had.”
“Meg, they cost a quid each. Junk them and buy new ones.”
“When?” Meg protested. “And how? I don’t have a car anymore and you’re the only one insured to drive Cash’s van.”
“What’s wrong with the bus—?” I shook my head to clear it. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter now. One way or another, this number is compromised.”
Meg took the phone from me and scanned the message thread. “Do you use the phone for your blog?”
“Only to toggle the data. You think someone’s hacked into my blog and grabbed this number somehow? Is that even possible?”
“I have no idea,” Meg said. “But the alternative is that someone told the Amersham shop owner to look out for us and sell us a certain handful of SIM cards, and that seems a little far fetched. This isn’tThe Wire.”
She was trying for humour, but it was lost on me. Itallseemed fucking far-fetched, but what did we know? None of us were cyber experts. We just knew that whichever way we turned, someone was out to get us.
“The next question is,” Meg went on when I didn’t speak. “Is who’s on the other end? If it was genuinely someone who wanted to join us, there’s easier ways of contacting you.”
“Unless it’s someone with a lot to lose if they get caught associating with us.”
Meg nodded. “That could be it. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has approached us from the inside.”
“You mean from inside the hunt?”
She shrugged. “Why not? Perhaps they’ve seen something they can’t live with. They can’t all be as bad as Goon.”
