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His lips twisted. ‘I don’t know. I just did.’ He shook his head as though he still couldn’t figure out how he’d known Sarah was under the hedge.
‘I saw him standing there, listening to the night for a sign of where you were.’
‘You killed him.’
He nodded.
Sarah inhaled and pushed away the rising abhorrence. Alex had saved her again, saved them both. ‘How do you know it wasn’t The Devils?’
Alex took a breath before looking her in the eye. ‘One of them started talking, trying to flush me out. His accent, I knew he wasn’t from Australia. Figured he was a hired gun, they all were. Told me Brian Isobel sent his regards.’
‘What happened?’
‘He liked the sound of his own voice too much, and gave away his position. Now he’s dead.’ He was matter-of-fact.
‘So, Brian Isobel doesn’t know we’re still alive?’ Hope rejuvenated Sarah.
‘He’d know.’
‘How?’
‘They’d have found the bodies by now.’
‘How would he know we weren’t killed as well?’
‘No bodies.’
That stumped her for a minute.
‘Perhaps he won’t want to keep chasing you. I mean, he’s already lost three men. Is it really worth it?’
Amusement played across his eyes for a second. ‘It’s a matter of pride for a man like Isobel. He’ll keep coming.’ Alex stood. ‘He’s decided he must avenge the brother he deserted.’
‘So, what do we do now?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
Sarah knew how guilty Alex felt, how he’d struggled to admit to her he’d killed three more people, even if it was a necessary evil. But there was another question she had to ask. A question that would only bring more pain for both of them.
‘How many more?’
He looked at her.
‘How many more will come after you? After us?’
His jaw clenched simultaneously with his fists. Sarah watched the effort it took for him to contain the emotion coursing through his veins. When he finally spoke, it was in a low, even tone.
‘I don’t know.’
ChapterTwenty-Three
Medieval towns are a maze of meandering alleyways full of lost tourists and mildly annoyed locals. The buildings crowd either side of every street, adding to the sense of disorientation. As was their habit, Sarah and Alex wandered the streets of Avignon, learning where each lane led, getting a feel for shortcuts as well as more complicated routes. If, or more likely when, they had to run, they would have the advantage of knowing where they were going.
They did their best to blend in - not quite tourist, not quite local. They dressed like tourists with their sensible shoes and eyes turned skywards as though taking in the architecture or trying to make sense of the signs directing them to the Palais des Papes or the Pont Saint-Benezet. They left the matching caps and t-shirts with the backpacks worn on the front of their bodies so no one could steal the cash they had strapped underneath to the real tourists. After a few days, they moved like the locals through the streets - faster, clear on their direction and intent.
Sarah grew a little stronger every day. She still felt clunky and slow and certainly wasn’t up to their regular morning run, but tried her best to hide it from Alex. Since their arrival in Avignon, Alex had remained distant, preoccupied with his own thoughts. She’d left him to it for a day or so, letting him work through the guilt or the anger that was weighing him down.
Her focus was on reaching Alex. He’d withdrawn into himself as soon as they’d reached Avignon. But this silence had run its course. They needed to talk. To figure out what next. Alex hadn’t answered her question about who else might come after them, and it was a legitimate question. If they could try and pre-empt future attacks or at least know what they might be up against…
