Joe Country полностью

That was a shed some yards off the path, so nestled in darkness, it looked like one more shadow among many; the kind of place, in a fairytale, that would house a cobbler or troublesome elf. This one, when Louisa forced the door—a padlock hanging from a hasp that had lost two screws—turned out to contain a stack of traffic bollards and collapsible signs warning of men working ahead. Presumably this was a seasonal activity: it didn’t look like men had worked anywhere near here since the clocks went back.

“Is this wise?” Emma asked.

“What’s your better idea?”

Police, Emma’s look repeated, but she didn’t say it out loud.

They gathered inside, and it didn’t get bigger, but once Louisa had shifted the signs, there was room to sit on the floor. Lucas, clearly, needed this—fear had carried him this far, but the fall had knocked the flight out of him, and all he wanted now was to be in the dark, unseen.

“It’s okay,” she told him. “It’s going to be okay.”

He didn’t answer.

Emma said, “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It might be okay. But given I’ve no idea what’s going on, I’m not handing out guarantees.”

“Thanks,” Louisa said. “He needed to hear that.”

“I’m cool,” Lucas said, without sounding it.

She was reminded of Min, and it was sudden and painful.

There was a window, but it was half-obscured by a stack of poles whose function Louisa couldn’t guess at. And it was cobwebbed and filthy, and they were surrounded by trees . . . In the gloom, they were vague shapes, Lucas cross-legged on the floor, Louisa half-kneeling by his side. Emma standing. What little light there was reflected off her hair. It was like sharing a cupboard with a guardian angel. Outside, all seemed quiet; a thought that hadn’t finished forming when something scratched at the window.

“Jesus!”

“It’s a branch,” Emma said, a heartbeat later. “Tapping on the pane.”

Even the trees wanted to come inside. That’s what kind of night it was.

“Are we safe here?” Lucas asked.

Before Emma could respond with the truth, Louisa said, “We’ll be fine for a while.”

“How many of them?” Emma said.

“Last night, three. I put one of them down. He’ll have got up again by now.”

“Three’s not many,” said Emma, half to herself. “Maybe you’re right. We’ll be fine for a while.” And then she had looked down at Lucas. “So. Let’s start with why three men want to kill you.”

. . . That had been last night. It was morning now, and Louisa had woken, which was good news; had fallen asleep in half the space she needed, which wasn’t. Beside her, Lucas slept. Emma was nowhere. Louisa got to her feet, feeling like an origami figure being unfolded, and reached for the door. It was light outside; a thin, watery light that made her want to say gruel. Emma was there. In her long dark coat, her blonde hair loose, she looked like she’d stepped from a trailer, ready for her close-up. And this was after a night in a shed. It wasn’t like Louisa was jealous, but seriously? Fuck.

Emma said, “Get some sleep?”

“A bit. Got a signal?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t got a phone.”

“. . . You what?”

Emma said, “It must have fallen out of my pocket. Probably when I tossed my coat over that wall.”

“Ah, shit.” Louisa looked up the footpath towards town. “Like it or not, you’re a slow horse now. Any signs of life?”

“A dogwalker twenty minutes ago. Are you okay? You’re moving like a crash dummy.”

“I’m too old to sleep in a shed,” Louisa said. “Or too young. One or the other.”

Emma nodded. “What Lucas said. Did his story change since he first told you?”

“Not so I noticed. I think he’s telling the truth.”

“Yeah, well. The whole men with guns bit does add weight.”

Lucas had been staying in a B&B further up the coast, he’d told them. Had thought it wise to be in the area a few days before the arranged handover, “to check things out.”

He’d looked so much like Min, saying that. And if Min had indeed said that, the first thing Louisa would have done was come up with a contingency plan.

“And what was the result of this . . . ‘checking out’?” Emma asked.

Lucas, miserably, said, “I thought it would all be okay.”

“You wanted money for your silence,” Emma had said. “For not telling anyone what you saw.”

Lucas had nodded.

“Okay then. Tell us what you saw.”

So he had.

What Anton had this morning was a sore fucking face.

“You know what’s good for that?” Lars had asked.

Lars. Team medic.

“Not getting stomped on.”

Ha-de-fucking-ha.

Second night running they’d been out in the open, chasing their tails. The kid could be anywhere, but Anton didn’t think so. He thought they were both still in the area, waiting for a clear shot at an exit. The county might as well have locked its doors and put the empties out. The trains weren’t running, and the roads were a joke.

“Besides, she’s Park. A joe in the field survives hostile contact, he calls it in and digs a hole. She, in this case. And waits for back-up.”

“Which is who stomped your face, right?”