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He closed his eyes and immediately his mind took him back to the outskirts of the village where he’d found Jizzy. A phone call to Mick and some fast-talking had confirmed that Jizzy had not headed in the direction originally suggested to him. Mick had checked, the information may have been useful at some point in the future. Alex followed his instincts and headed in the direction he would have taken, if things had worked out differently for him and Sarah.
It had taken two and half days to locate Jizzy. Intuition and dumb luck were the main contributors to his success. Alex had watched him as he worked, building fences on some kind of farm and then followed him back into town, keeping his distance as Jizzy arrived home. He hadn’t set eyes on Alison or the baby. When he’d eventually approached Jizzy, no invitation into his home had been forthcoming. Probably for the best.
Convincing him to come had been no easy task, but Jizzy still felt like he owed him. For letting him live. For everything he had now. Still, Alex had almost had to threaten him with exposure before he’d finally agreed. There had been next to no conversation as they traveled back to France. What was there to say? He knew this exercise was close to pointless. There was nothing Jizzy could tell Sarah that would change their circumstances.
They’d keep coming after him, he was sure of that. And he’d have to kill them. Kill anyone who came near them. Maybe, eventually, they’d give up. They’d move on. It would take some time though. He wished his plan had worked. That he’d gotten to her, and gotten them both away before The Devils had come looking. She would never have had to know the full extent of his crimes. Certainly, she would never have had to see it with her own eyes.
Exhaustion was slowly winning the battle of his senses. He’d wanted to come up with a new plan. One that she could live with. One that would protect her from having to learn anymore about the world he’d inhabited for so long. Find somewhere safe for them to go. Then maybe… they could truly begin again.
Images of the hurt he’d caused her when he shut down her plan to go to Brian Isobel drifted behind his eyes. Not so long ago, she wouldn’t have stormed out like that. She’d gotten so much stronger and so much braver. She mightn’t have anywhere to run to, but she didn’t need him. A sense of isolation wound its way around his heart and across his body, chaining itself to his hopeless existence as he drifted into welcome unconsciousness.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Sarah idly stirred the spoon in the steaming liquid. She didn’t take sugar, she just went through the motions, trying to look and feel normal as she sat at the small, worn table in the cafe. The window faced onto a busy street, full of ancient charm. She didn’t notice, staring straight ahead, the spoon slowly turning, as she tried to rationalize her recent actions.
An Australian accent set her nerves on edge. A man she hadn’t noticed in the cafe was ordering a macchiato at the counter. The spoon stopped its slow circumnavigation of the cup as she studied him for a moment. Average height, short brown hair, graying at the temples. Sneakers on his feet, yet he didn’t look like a tourist. He appeared to be on his own. She dropped her gaze back to her own cup as he paid for his coffee.
She wasn’t startled when he sat down opposite her at her table. She’d known on some level that he was here for her. His eyes were a deep hazel, set slightly too close together in his otherwise perfectly symmetrical, freshly shaved face. White teeth peered out between parted lips, not a smoker.
The way he held himself made Sarah think he was not an immediate threat, not part of any syndication sent to kill her. But he did want something from her. He was trying not to spook her. She waited.
‘Hello Sarah.’ Deep, masculine, Australian. ‘Is Alex meeting you here?’
Sarah resumed stirring the spoon. She had no weapon and the only exit was behind the man who sat across from her. She waited for him to continue.
‘Name’s Tom Nable. Detective Sergeant Tom Nable.’
This time, the silence stretched across the table. They watched each other with unreadable expressions. Sarah sifted through her thoughts and reactions. She felt calm. Unconcerned. It made sense that he was a cop. He looked like one. The way he held himself, the way he spoke. She didn't ask for proof and he didn’t offer it. Sarah guessed he probably had a gun in the back of his waistband, by the way he sat.
‘How did you find us?’ she asked, more out of curiosity than concern.
‘Patience, Sarah. Patience and following the clues.’
‘Why are you here?’ Disdain crept into the question.
‘Your boyfriend is wanted back home for questioning in relation to a number of homicides. He is complicit in multiple crimes from drug-running to assault. At best he’s a witness, at worst he’s a murderer.’
Sarah held his gaze. So far, he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know.
‘Everyone wants him dead. And now by association, they want you dead too.’ He leaned into the table. His training prevented him putting any real emotion into the speech he’d clearly rehearsed. She waited until he went for the close.
‘We can protect you both if you come back to Australia and help us.’
The spoon chinked the cup and then came to rest at last on the saucer. Sarah sat back in her chair and considered the man sitting opposite her.
‘I still don’t get how you found us. We cover our tracks. We blend in.’
Nable rolled his eyes and sniffed loudly through his nose.
Sarah ignored him and continued her musings. ‘We have no contact with family and friends. I haven't touched my bank account or social media. We don’t know anyone.’
‘No, you don’t know anyone,’ he pinned her final comment down. ‘Alex knows people.’
‘True. But they’re not exactly the kind of people who share what and who they know.’
‘They don’t need to be. They only need to exist.’
Sarah shifted forward, bringing her elbow to the table, her chin resting on her folded hands. ‘I’m genuinely curious.’
