Ian went to the window and tried to get a look at the vehicle without being spotted. If he stood back far enough and off to one side, he could see the entire gravelled area down to the trees. Sunlight glinted off a silver SUV parked about twenty yards from the door. There was nobody in the driver's seat. Then the doorbell rang, and Ian flinched.
If it wasn't Joe, it'd be someone he didn't want to see, maybe even Kinnery. But whoever was down there held their finger on the bell for a determined three or four seconds. Ian tried to remember if he'd locked the back door.
They'll go away if I just stay quiet.
What if this was one of the people Gran had warned him about? The bell rang again, followed by loud knocking. Ian heard a shout.
"Ian?" It was a man. "Ian? My name's Rob. We need to talk, mate. Can I come in?"
He wasn't just a stranger; he was a foreigner. He had an English accent, not the kind Ian was used to hearing on TV, but definitely English. And he'd used Ian's name. Only Joe and Kinnery knew he was here.
Ian did as Gran had taught him. He assumed the worst until proven otherwise. He wasn't going to let this Rob in, but the guy wasn't giving up.
"I'm not from the government, Ian." Rob held his finger on the bell again. "But you need to talk to someone, and it might as well be me."
Ian couldn't even phone Joe for help. He was on his own.
The knocking and ringing stopped and Ian heard a muffled clunk like someone slamming a car door. He could see Rob now. He was standing on the gravel, looking from window to window. Ian estimated that he was in his late 30s; short dark hair, very upright, very fit. He looked casual in jeans and a zipped jacket, but his posture said something else entirely. It was hard to tell if he was armed. But the way he moved said that he was a physical kind of guy who wouldn't take no for an answer.
"Ian? You need somewhere safe to stay. Come and talk to me. I'm Rob. Rob Rennie."
Ian racked his brains for a movie that had played out something like this, anything that would give him a clue about dealing with this man.
Rob Rennie.
Why would he give Ian his name? Maybe he thought Gran had mentioned him, and that Ian should have known who he was.
Shit. If I don't answer, he'll kick the door down. Or even call for backup. I've got to face him.
He leaned over the banister to check if both hall doors were open because the daylight from the kitchen would silhouette him through the glass at the front. At least one internal door was shut, though. He crept down the stairs, edged along the wall to the back room, and slipped through into the kitchen. The door was ajar. Oatie was gone.
Ian put on his baseball cap and went to the front door, aware of every sound around him. Should he go get his rifle? If Rob Rennie had been sent to grab him, he'd have a weapon and he'd use it if he thought Ian was armed. If he wanted DNA, Ian didn't have to be alive to give him what he'd come for.
His tried to control his breathing to stop the rising panic. If he was going to morph again, it would be now.
I've got to run. How close is the truck? Can I get past him?
There was no movement or shadow visible through the glass door panels. Ian finally opened the door and found Rob squatting a few yards along the porch, making a fuss of Oatie.
"Can I help you, sir?"
Rob straightened up. "Hi, mate. Sorry for banging the door down. Can we talk?"
He lowered his chin slightly as if he was looking under the peak of Ian's cap. Ian thought he'd morphed again, but Rob couldn't have known what he should have looked like anyway.
"You're British." Ian couldn't think of anything else to say. He felt like an idiot the moment he the words tumbled out. "Are you a cop? A reporter?"
"I'm English. And no, none of the above. I've been sent to look after you."
It was only a few yards to the truck. The grey car blocked the track, a short sprint away for Rob. Ian moved his hand slowly to his pocket to check for his keys. Rob braced. Ian froze.
Oh Christ, he thinks I'm going for a weapon. He's going for his.
Ian lowered his arm. "Why do I need looking after?"
If he went back inside and locked the door, Rob would probably go around the back, and Ian could cut through the cellar and get out through the crawlspace. He'd be in the truck and away while Rob was still searching the house.
"That reporter you spoke to," Rob said. "There's some stuff about you on the Internet now, and that means you're probably going to get some unwelcome visitors fairly soon."
"Like you?"
"My job is to take you somewhere safe."
That answered the question about what Zoe had done with his story. It took Ian a couple of seconds to join up the dots. Who else knew about her?
Kinnery.
He felt like he was standing in rising water. It was raw fear. He struggled to keep it under control.
"Did Kinnery send you, sir?"
"Don't worry, mate. I don't work for him. Let's sort out your problem."
Ian couldn't move. Rob
knew
, then. He knew Ian could morph. It was an odd relief to find someone who'd talk to him like a regular guy despite knowing what he was. Rob didn't look disgusted or afraid. He just seemed in a hurry. He held his arms away from his sides.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said.
Ian tried to buy time.
Step back slowly. Close the door. Lock it, like I'm holing up in here.
Did Rob have anyone with him? He kept saying "I," not "we."
"I don't want to see Kinnery," Ian said.
"I know, but I still need to get you away from here."
Ian now had no idea who was on his side and who wasn't. The answer was probably nobody.
Run, Ian. Run.
"I'll be fine here, sir." Ian backed away through the open door. "But thank you anyway."
He closed the door and locked it. Rob would hear the key turn. Now Ian had seconds to get clear. The grab bag in the hall was too big to drag through the crawl space without slowing him down, so he'd have to leave it. As he opened the cellar door he almost skidded down the steps in his headlong rush and aimed for the crack of light around the edge of the shutters. If he crawled out through the bushes at the side of the house, nobody would see him until he was a few strides from the truck.
Splinters dug into his hands as he eased the shutters open. He crawled like a frantic animal through the dust and sticky webs and out into bushes that tore his skin, then ran for the truck and jerked the door open. He managed to jam the key into the ignition. There was no sign of Rob.
But the damn truck wouldn't start. It didn't even turn over. It just kept clicking.
Gran's truck. Try Gran's truck.
Ian prayed its battery wasn't flat. He tumbled out of the driver's seat and ran for the back of the barn, not daring to look over his shoulder as he swung open the doors and climbed into the blue pickup. It fired first time. As he backed out, he clipped the door frame, but now he was clear.
How much gas in the tank?
How much cash do I have on me?
Where the hell am I going?
He realised he'd left the cell phone in the kitchen out of habit. He had a few bucks in his back pocket, but the only place he could think of going was Athel Ridge. There'd be people around, people who didn't know him or what he usually looked like, and Rob wouldn't try to kidnap him or shoot him in front of witnesses.
Ian slammed his foot on the gas and swerved around the Toyota to get onto the track. Suddenly there was a man ahead of him to his left, sprinting out of the trees to intercept, a blonde guy in jeans.
Ian's instinct took over. The man stopped dead in the middle of the track, boots planted, and Ian saw his hands come up. His only coherent thought was
gun
. He drove straight at the guy.
Oh God. I'm dead. Or he is.
Ian shut his eyes for a second, waiting for the thump of body against windshield, but the truck careered down the track. He hadn't hit anything.
Movement in the rear-view mirror caught his eye. The silver SUV was now on his tail. The pickup's tyres squealed as he turned hard onto the road and almost lost control but he recovered from the skid and put his foot on the gas.
So much for following Gran's emergency drill, then. His cash, his phone, and everything he needed to escape were still at the ranch, and all he had was half a tank of gas and no plan beyond seeking refuge in Athel Ridge.
It was never like that in the movies.
TEN MILES OUTSIDE ATHEL RIDGE, WASHINGTON.
A car chase wasn't the best time to remember a road safety ad, but Rob couldn't get the bloody line out of his head.
'Only a fool
Breaks the two second rule.'
It was an old public information campaign, and despite its total absence of slickness it had lodged forever in Rob's memory. Well, he was two seconds behind Ian's blue pickup as its tail swung out on corners, and that still felt way too close. The winding road was mostly downhill and punctuated by warning signs about maximum speed on bends, all of which Ian seemed to ignore. What did cops do when a chase was too risky? They just followed and waited. Rob had seen it on those tedious reality TV shows.
And whatever happened to 'we won't force him'?
"Is he drunk?" This wasn't much like the defensive driving course he'd done. Maybe he should have tried overtaking the little bastard and slammed on the brakes while they were still on a deserted road. "He's all over the place."
Mike still had the other pickup's plug leads in his hand, swishing them like a fly whisk. He was angry. "He's not used to fast driving."
"No shit."
"I should have checked the barn. I'm sorry."
"And I should have taken him down as soon as I saw him."
"We said no kidnapping, remember?"
"So what are we doing now? High speed observation?"
"You want to abort?"
"No. I bloody well want to know who he is."
"Where did he exit? A storm shelter or something? Kinnery never mentioned that."
"He didn't mention the second truck, either."
Mike shook his head. "Christ, he really is just a kid."
"The fuck he is," Rob said. "He nearly ran you down."
"He probably thought I'd drawn a weapon. I just put my hands up to make him stop."
"He can't outrun us. First bloke to stop for petrol loses."
Mike winced as the pickup skidded around the next bend. Kinnery had said Ian was highly intelligent, so maybe he had a plan after all. For all Rob knew, whatever Kinnery or Leo really wanted was still in the ranch house and someone else had already moved in to grab it. But when you didn't have reliable intel, and the briefing sounded like a load of bollocks, you had to pick a fixed point and go for it. Ian was shit-scared and running. Rob was going to stop him. It was the only option.
They were going to hit the main road to Athel Ridge in minutes. Maybe Ian would misjudge the turn or stop for oncoming traffic. The rapid flash of brake lights said he really wasn't confident on bends, and the pickup was probably older than he was. That wasn't a good combination.
"Junction," Mike said.
Rob could see the warning sign. The pickup's brake lights didn't come on. He prepped for Ian to slam on the brakes at the last second and turn either way.
Please let there be some vehicles coming. Slow him down.
"Shall I tail-end him?"
"No." Mike unfastened his seat belt and set off the warning chime. "As soon as he stops, I'm out, and I take him."
"Then what, seeing as he'll drive right over you?"
"I'll be fine. It's all about timing."
The pickup didn't brake soon enough for the junction and screeched to a halt. It was positioned to turn left, but then it whipped right towards Athel Ridge in a brief haze of smoking, squealing tyres. Rob pulled out and shaved within feet of an oncoming truck. Angry horns blared. Mike didn't say a word for a hundred yards.
"Shouldn't have taken your seatbelt off," Rob said.
When Mike finally spoke, it came out in a rush like he'd been holding his breath. "What would you do if you were being chased by someone you couldn't flatten, hide from, or outrun?"
"Get help," Rob said. "Head for a building. Pub. Police station. Somewhere they couldn't touch me."
"You think Ian's worked that out?"
"Christ knows." Rob kept his eyes fixed on the pickup's tailgate. Ian seemed to have maxed out at sixty-five, but then slowed to overtake a tractor. Rob stuck hard on his tail. Did they have traffic drones out here yet? Jesus, that was all they needed. They were now only a few miles from town. "If he keeps going straight, I'd say yes. Where's the next turning?"
"Half a mile on the right." Mike gestured, reading from his phone. "Straight into more farmland. I wouldn't isolate myself like that. It's asking to get rammed or shot."
"I wonder if he's got a phone."