Run Among Thorns (26 page)

Kier was quiet all through supper. Jenny had thrown some sausages under the grill, and some beans in a pan. That and bread and butter was all they needed, and she was content to sit, replete and comfortable, afterward. But Kier was restless and monosyllabic, getting up to stare out the window more often than not, at other times thumbing through a copy of the tide tables, frowning.

“Let’s go down to the shore,” she said, getting to her feet. She had in mind a stroll and a chance to see the view, but she knew perfectly well that Kier nodded and reached for his coat thinking about reconnaissance.

There was no back door. They went out the front, Jenny zipping herself into an old green waterproof of Alan’s that lived on the coat stand, then turned left, across the front of the cottage, and into the lane again, down to the shore.

The bay was an unrepentant expanse of mudflats and shingle. On the far side, the shore stacked up in lines of white, grey, yellow, and green where the dunes marched down to the shingle beach. The tide had abandoned the bay, it was empty.

But no, not quite empty. The mudflats teemed and screamed with bird life, flecks of brown, black, and white that became more distinct towards this side. Redshank, dunlin, and oystercatcher, treading delicately, feeding fast.

To their left, the sun dipped towards the land, starting to show the first hues of gold and orange. The wind played along the shoreline, dancing in the dunes and tugging at Jenny’s hair so that she put up a hand to tuck tendrils of it behind her ear, weaving them into place. The soft sound of the wind lulled her. The wide horizon soothed her.

She breathed in deep, tasting the sea in the air, like a tonic. “It’s so … serene,” she said. “You could almost…” She trailed off, wrapping her arms around her, unable to put her thoughts into words.

Kier spoke behind her, his voice low. “You could almost forget why we were here.”

She sighed softly. He knew. He understood. It was peace, this place. A respite.

He stood at her back, taller, broader, a rock to lean against, if she chose it. It occurred to her, watching a flock of lapwings settle on a sandbank like a handful of black and white grain scattered on a harrowed field, that she wanted him to touch her. But she didn’t want to lean on him.

Even as she thought it, he was moving, shifting around to stand at her shoulder. The wind faded in his lea, and those tendrils of hair drifted down around her face, tickling her cheek. She swept them back again, touched by his consideration, but then saw he wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes, dark under frowning brows, scanned the horizon.

So much for peace and a respite.

Something changed, a shift in the wind, a shiver along the horizon. At the mouth of the bay, a flock of birds took flight, and she knew the tide had changed.

She swallowed. “How long do you think we have?”

He turned his head, but only to look over her head, inland, towards the A1 and civilisation. “How long?”

“Before they catch up with us again?” She hadn’t meant to sound so fatalistic. But, somehow, as long as they were on the move, it felt like a race, a race they could win. Now they’d stopped, in however lovely a place, it just felt like waiting.

It felt like a death sentence.

She shivered, and at once felt Kier’s arm slip around her shoulders, tucking her into his side, into his warmth. She tipped her head up to look at him. He was still studying the bay, a frown of concentration on his face. Preoccupied, remote. And yet still reacting instantly to her distress.

It was warmer out of the wind, up against his side. At least, that was the excuse she was sticking to.

“I don’t know,” he said, eventually. “He may not find us at all.”

“That’s not a solution,” she said, and that made him look at her, ducking his head to see her face. She stared back at him, and the frown faded slowly. A twitch of his lips, an extra line or two at the corner of his eyes, and she knew he agreed. And approved that she’d come to that conclusion.

“No. Running and hiding is never a solution,” he lifted his head again, but his eyes were lighter, and his face more relaxed. “But it bought us time.”

“What are you … are we going to do with that time?”

He took a breath that nearly rocked her off balance, but his arm tightened, and held her secure. “Don’t ask me that, yet. There’s an idea forming, but I don’t have it yet.”

She blinked at him.
Don’t ask me that?
It was progress from silence. It was honesty, in its way.

And it was almost impossible for her to accept.

She pressed her lips closed and thought. But surely sharing that much had been almost impossible for him to do, too? She tucked her head against his shoulder, frustrated with his reticence, with her terror of being excluded. With tiredness, with being bullied by him, abandoned by her brother, abandoned by her own country’s authorities. She closed her eyes, and wished he was really hers.

“When that idea’s formed,” she muttered against his shirt, “let me know.”

He was still. For a moment she thought she’d muttered too low. Then another one of those deep breaths moved him, and her, and his hand was somehow against her cheek, fingers under her jaw, lifting her head.

He was frowning again, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind that kind of frown at all—fierce concentration and focused passion. His thumb was at her mouth, parting her lips already.

“Generous,” he said, gruffly, and kissed her.

But tucked into bed later, draped across him, all pleasure aside, Jenny couldn’t help thinking about their predicament.

“Kier?”

“Hmmm?”

“There’s something more than meets the eye about all this, isn’t there? You said they want me because of my natural aptitude, but then you said that they must have hidden the fact that I’m a marksman, trained for years. So if I’m a marksman, it’s not natural aptitude, so they can’t want me. Which is a tangled way of saying, what could they possibly want with me?”

“Go to sleep, Jenny.”

Which was a singularly unhelpful answer and very much in the McAllister mould.

“You know them, Kier. What could they want with me?”

He didn’t answer, and she kicked him lightly in the leg.

“You’re my only link with these people, surely …”

He heaved a sigh. “Surely we can talk about this later. Go to sleep.”

She quenched the little flare of anger, resolving to hold him to that “later.” It wasn’t hard to do as he suggested, though. They’d had an eventful day. She smiled at the thought and at remembered pleasure, forgiving him his bout of surliness. How could she not, when her body fairly hummed with contentment and satisfaction?

What could they possibly want with me …

Beside him, Jenny stirred, stretching her supple length against his side, smooth and soft. Kier could feel the contentment coming off her in waves, warm and vital, like a whole-body smile. He frowned, trying to recapture his train of thought, despite his body’s instantaneous reminder that he was never going to be able to get enough of her.

You know them, Kier. What could they want…

She heaved a huge sigh, blowing against his shoulder, shifting the strands of her wild hair against his skin. He swallowed and dug his fingers into the mattress as he struggled to follow the thought before she really woke up, and thought became impossible.

Too late. A languid arm snaked out and found out for itself what her proximity did to him. The feel of her hand moving on him made him want to shout, but in a last desperate rebellion against his surging need he reached out mentally to catch at the tail of that idea as it whipped out of reach.

You’re my only link with these people …

Then it was there, caught and held in his mind. So shockingly clear, he wondered how he’s never seen it before.
Of course!

“Mmmm, anyone would think you found me attractive, Mr. McAllister,” Jenny whispered.

“It’s not you!” Kier almost shouted. He caught her wandering hands and pulled them up to his chest, jack-knifing up to a sitting position.

Jenny bucked away from him so fast she almost scooted right out of bed. With one hand she caught the duvet to her, pushing unruly curls out of shocked eyes with the other. “Wha—what?” she stammered, hurt in every laboured syllable. “What do you mean?”

He caught hold of her again, drawing her back to him, soothing her with a touch. She didn’t pull away, but the lips he kissed were trembling.

“No, that’s not what I mean, Jenny. Don’t you see?” he said. “It’s not you Kendrick and his goons are after, it’s me! This whole thing isn’t even about you, it’s about me. It has to be.”

Even as he said it, even as he knew it to be true, he realised it was a cruel thing for her to hear, and wrapped his arms around her tightly. He dropped a kiss on her head.

Her voice was muffled against his collarbone. “How … why?” She paused, struggling with words, and he waited for her, knowing she needed to articulate how she felt. “Why me, Kier?”

He felt the way her voice shook, bewildered and uncertain, like a sharp, sour pain inside him. She couldn’t even begin to put this whole thing behind her until they found answers to those questions. The uncertainty was flaying the confidence off her, leaving her raw and wounded.

“Oh, love,” he groaned, tucking her head under his chin and leaning back against the headboard. He hated the way she was suddenly stiff in his arms.

She struggled against his hold, and immediately he loosened his grip. She pushed at his chest a little, backing up so she could look up into his face. Her expression was frozen, eyes wide and fixed on his face, almost disbelieving.

He took her head in his hands, cradling her face, thumbs just softly brushing her cheekbones. “That has to be it, Jenny. I know it sounds crazy, but that has to be it, don’t you see? They were too ready for this, too prepared—Kendrick already in the country, already one step ahead … It’s got setup written all over it!”

In the cradle of his hands, she shook her head a little, impatiently. “I believe you, I believe that. It’s just…”

She hesitated, lowering her eyes, and he tried not to frown too hard, sensing she was about to say something that mattered. But then she took a breath and asked, “But that still doesn’t tell us what this is all about. I accept that it’s you they’re after—it makes a sort of twisted sense, but why would they want you dead?”

He got the distinct impression that hadn’t been what she had meant to say, but it was too similar to the way his own mind was going for him to ignore it.

“No, that doesn’t make sense. They don’t want me dead. If they did, I would be dead by now, no need to involve you, no need for this whole charade.”

“Then … what?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. But we are going to find out.”

“We are?”

“Damn straight. I’ve had enough of dancing to their tune. It’s time to change the beat.”

He hadn’t even known he’d said it, Jenny thought, dully. He’d called her “love,” said it with all the emotion she could ever have wished for, but it had only been a slip of the tongue after all. He hadn’t meant it.

She did. Every time she said it in her head, shouted it silently in the throes of pleasure, she meant it. But he wasn’t thinking of love, he was thinking about why they were being chased, what Kendrick wanted with them, why she was involved.