Chapter Fifty

‘You’re going to round off that nut,’ Alex was saying. ‘Then you’ll never get it loose.’

Streaks of sunlight shone through the gaps in the old wooden slats of the big barn, casting bright stripes across the dirt floor and the farm junk that lay around inside, piles of fencing posts and stacked-up tools and drums of oil, sacks of fertiliser. Some hens were scratching and clucking in the hayloft up above.

Ben peered out from under the chassis of the even more ancient pickup they’d uncovered at the back of the barn. His face was sprinkled with red flecks of rust from where he’d been trying to loosen the bolts holding on the starter motor.

‘Use the chain wrench instead.’ She passed it down to him.

He laid down the spanner he’d been using and took the wrench from her. Looking up at her, her attractiveness struck him for a fleeting moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed it. Her auburn hair was tied back, wisps falling out, tousled and sexy. It was hot in the barn and she’d rolled up her shirt sleeves to the shoulder. There was a smear of oil on the shiny, toned muscle of her upper arm. The check shirt was unbuttoned a long way down. She brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes.

‘You learned this mechanic stuff in the CIA?’

She grinned back at him. ‘Try growing up with four older brothers who were all car crazy.’

Ben got the chain wrench around the stubborn bolt head and it loosened with a crack. He soon had the starter motor free, and pulled himself out from under the truck. He stood up, wincing.

She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch felt soft and warm through the denim shirt. ‘You should take it easy,’ she said. ‘I can do this.’

‘You’ve done a lot already.’

She looked at the starter motor in his hands. It was just a heavy lump of rust, trailing wires. ‘Think it’ll work?’

‘Who knows?’

She took it from his hands. The touch of her fingers on his lingered a little longer than it needed, almost a caress. She looked up at him. ‘I’m glad, though.’

‘Glad about what?’

‘Despite all that’s happened, everything that’s going to happen, I’m glad I met you. Glad you’re OK. Glad to be here with you like this. I’m just scared I might not know you for long.’

He made no reply. They stood there for a few moments. Her blue eyes gazed into his, holding them, letting him look deep into them. Her lips were slightly parted. ‘You’re lonely, aren’t you?’ she murmured. She touched his hand again, firmer and longer, her fingers intertwining with his. ‘I know. I can see it. Because that’s how I feel. Lonely. Alone. Needing someone.’

Feeling his heart pick up a step, he stroked her bare arm. Her skin was warm and smooth. He moved his hand up to her shoulder. Caressed her hair and cheek. His thumb ran close to the corner of her mouth, and she bent her head down to kiss it tenderly. They moved closer. Her hand gripped his more tightly, almost urgently.

When the kiss came, it was hungry and passionate. He pulled her close to him, exploring, feeling her arms around his back, the heat of her body, her hair on his face.

Then he pulled away, with an effort. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why are you afraid to kiss me?’ Her eyes searched his. ‘We both want to. Don’t we?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do want to. But this can’t happen.’

‘But why? Why fight it? We don’t have a lot of time together.’

He couldn’t find the words. He’d never been able to find them, even just thinking about it alone, even in his darkest moments.

‘I lost someone,’ he whispered. ‘Someone close. Closer than I even knew. Not long ago.’

She bit her lip and sighed. Stroked his hair. ‘I saw the ring.’

He closed his eyes. Nodded slowly.

‘You want to talk about it?’

‘She died,’ he said.

‘What was her name?’

‘Her name was Leigh.’

‘How did it happen?’

He looked up. ‘She was murdered.’

Hearing it like that, the finality of it, the horror of it struck him all over again. Suddenly he was seeing the whole thing in his imagination, like a nightmare film reel that wouldn’t stop turning.

He saw the black blade of the knife. Going in.

Piercing deep inside her, taking away her life.

The last look in her eyes. Things she’d said as she lay dying that would stay with him the rest of his days.

He took a long, deep, slow breath. ‘It was my fault. The man who killed her was someone I was supposed to have protected her from. I failed. He came back, and he took her away from me.’

He was quiet for a long time. Then he whispered, ‘I miss her. I miss her so much.’

Alex laid a hand on his arm. Her touch felt warm and reassuring. ‘You didn’t kill her, Ben. That isn’t a burden you should be carrying.’

He shook his head, feeling the pain rise up. He swallowed it back down. ‘I might as well have,’ he said. ‘Every day I ask God to forgive me for letting it happen. But I don’t think God’s listening to me. In fact I don’t think he ever has, not once in my whole life. He deserted me a long time ago.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

He took her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Find a better man than me, Alex. I’m not what you need.’

‘You are a better man,’ she said. ‘I hardly know you, but already I can see it.’

He said nothing.

That was when they heard the chopping beat of rotors, and the gunfire churning up the farmyard outside, and Zoë’s scream.

Chapter Fifty-One

Zoë had been wandering idly about the house, bored, listless. After being cooped up for such a long time, she felt full of pent-up energy and hated lying around doing nothing.

Out of the window she could see Ira in the paddock a hundred yards or so from the house. He was training a young horse, the colt that had pulled Riley off his feet and twisted his ankle. The sky was cloudless and blue, and the meadow grass was swaying gently in the breeze. Suddenly she was desperate to be outside, to be out talking to Ira. He was so attractive. She loved the loose, easy way he moved, athletic and supple and toned. She smiled to herself, imagining the feel of his skin.

Ben had told her to stay indoors, she remembered. Stuff him. Did he think she was stupid? She’d hear a helicopter long before she saw it, or it could see her. She was tired of being treated like a child.

She walked out to the paddock, feeling the sun on her face and the breeze in her hair. Ira saw her from a distance, and she approached him with a warm smile. ‘Hi. I’m Zoë. You must be Ira.’

Ira jumped down off the colt’s back, wiped his hands and met her at the paddock fence. ‘Good to meet you, Zoë,’ he said.

Zoë had always liked to flirt, and she was good at it. Ira responded to her quickly – she knew that not many pretty young blonde women turned up on his doorstep like this. Within a few minutes they were laughing and joking comfortably together, lots of eye contact, lots of touches, most of it coming from her. Ira was a little overwhelmed by her attentions, but she could see from the look in his eye that maybe being stuck out here in the wilderness would have its compensations.

‘You like to ride?’ he said.

‘Yeah, I ride. Never used an American saddle before, though.’

‘It’s easy,’ he said. ‘Like a big armchair. Want to give it a go?’

‘Will you give me a leg up?’ She clambered through the fence and she enjoyed the feel of his strong fingers on her leg as he helped her into the saddle. He’d done a good job of breaking the colt in, and she found him responsive as she walked him up and down the paddock, getting the measure of him. Then she put him into a trot.

‘Don’t rise to it,’ he called. ‘Keep your butt down in the saddle. Go with his rhythm.’

She mastered it quickly, then flipped the loose end of the rein left and right to urge the colt into a long-striding canter. Ira stood in the middle of the paddock and she rode round and round him with her hair streaming out behind her, dust flying up from the colt’s hooves.