Close My Eyes (43 page)

‘What’s he like?’ I persist. ‘He reminded me of Art when I saw him at his school.’

I can feel Morgan stiffen beside me. She wasn’t expecting anything other than terror from me.

I press on. ‘I just want to know about him. I mean, he’s nearly eight . . . what does he like doing? Who are his friends? He looks like my father, though his colouring is the same as
Art’s, don’t you think?’

‘The same as Art’s and mine.’ Morgan takes a length of rope. I let her bind my wrists behind my back. It’s true, Art and Morgan both share their father’s dark hair,
olive complexion and intense brown eyes.

‘How much time do you spend with him?’ I say. ‘I mean, I didn’t even know you had a home in Somerset. I thought you were based in Edinburgh . . . and you travel all over
the world on business too.’

‘I do travel a lot,’ Morgan acknowledges. ‘But I don’t spend as much time away as you’d think. Maybe ten nights in every month. I’m always here when Art
comes.’

I swallow, hating this reminder of their family life together.

‘Ed’s nanny – Kelly, is it? – looked very young. Has she been with him long? Is he close to her?’

Morgan shoots me a withering glance. ‘Kelly’s got two degrees. She does an excellent job. We’re not talking about this any more.’

She opens the nearside back door of the car and shoves me in, next to Lorcan. Our eyes meet again and I know he is telling me to hang in there. I give him a swift nod, indicating I have
understood.

Morgan gets in the passenger seat in front of me.

‘You should take off Lorcan’s gag,’ Jared grunts. ‘If we pass anyone on the road, they might notice.’

Morgan hesitates a second, then clearly decides he’s right. She nods and Jared reaches round and slices through the cloth around Lorcan’s mouth with a large, steel knife.

I’m icy calm. Okay, so there’s a gun and a knife to deal with. I make a mental note, then store the information away and shuffle closer to Lorcan, ready to put my idea into
action.

As soon as the engine starts he looks at me. His eyes are fierce and strong.

I glance over my shoulder, towards my hands, then gesture with my fingers, trying to simulate the sawing action of his Swiss Army knife.

Lorcan frowns for a moment or two, then his eyes light up. He glances down at his trouser pocket. Keeping one eye on Morgan directly in front of me, I twist round slightly so that my hands can
reach.

Jared drives through the gates and out onto the road as I slide my fingers inside Lorcan’s pocket. Several cars pass us. I stare through the window, hoping to catch someone’s
attention, but nobody notices me.

My fingers light on cold metal. Smooth and circular. Coins. We take a right turn and my hand is pulled away. As the car straightens up, I reach in again, this time deeper. There. My fingers curl
round the panelled side of the Swiss Army knife. I grip the metal between my finger and thumb and withdraw my hand.

It takes a moment to free the lethally sharp edge that I know is there, and another to position it against my rope.

I glance over at Morgan. She’s peering through the windscreen, muttering something to Jared.

‘If it comes to that,’ she says softly. ‘You can get the money from Bitsy.’

I have no idea what she’s talking about. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting myself and Lorcan free. I saw at the rope. It’s hard to hold the knife in position while
my hands are tied, but this is our only chance.

Beside me, Lorcan’s breathing is shallow and tense. He’s trying not to draw attention to what I’m doing, but every few seconds he can’t help but look over to see how far
I’ve carved through my binding.

We drive for a few minutes. I’ve nearly cut the rope. Then we turn off the proper road we’ve been driving along and bump onto a dirt track. Morgan looks around. I stop sawing at the
rope.

Has she noticed?

She shoots me a withering glance, but doesn’t look down at my wrists.

Good. Maybe Morgan’s certainty that she is smarter – that she has had, and always will have, the upper hand . . . maybe that arrogance of hers is my biggest weapon.

I start carving away through the rope again. It’s harder now, the dirt track is ridged and bumpy as hell. Morgan is holding onto the handle above her window to steady herself. Lorcan and I
are being thrown around the back seat. A particularly large jolt jerks me forwards and I almost drop the knife. I’ve broken about half the threads now, but the binding is still tight round my
wrists. I don’t know where we’re going, but I’m guessing it can’t be too far away. There isn’t much time.

‘Down there.’ Morgan points to a right turn.

Jared slows the 4x4, then swings it onto an even bumpier narrower dirt path. Our headlamps cast spooky shadows over the hedges on either side of the road.

‘This used to be the local “lovers lane”,’ Morgan says with a sneer. ‘Very appropriate.’

Jared drives slowly on. At last I slice through the final thread on the rope. My hands are free. Without shifting position, I reach the knife behind Lorcan’s back and fumble with his wrist
bindings. I catch the edge of the blade on my finger and wince with the pain. Then I find the rough edge of the rope round his hands and carve. It’s not the easiest angle, but my movements
are freer now my own wrists aren’t tied. I cut through the first rope in seconds. The second hangs looser. I cut again.

‘This will do.’ Morgan is peering through the windscreen.

I give the rope around Lorcan’s wrists a final slice. The bindings give way. As Jared stops the car, Morgan turns. I whip my hands together, so she won’t see my own rope is cut
through. The knife is jolted out of my fingers. It falls silently to the floor of the car.
Shit
.

Jared turns the ignition off, but leaves the headlamps on full beam.

‘Get them out,’ Morgan orders.

As Jared and she open their doors, I glance at Lorcan. He stares back, his eyes intent.

‘I’ll deal with the man,’ he whispers. ‘You go after Morgan. On my mark, okay?’

I nod, my heart thudding. I’m only going to get one chance to catch Morgan off-guard and I know it. I duck down as Jared pulls Lorcan out of the car.

‘Come on, Geniver,’ Morgan snaps, getting out of the car too.

I scrabble on the dark floor, my fingers desperately searching for the knife.

There
. I clutch the handle, hiding it again in my palm.

‘Out!’ Morgan’s voice is raised.

I scramble out of the car, careful to keep my wrists together, praying Morgan won’t look too closely at the rope hanging limply from my fingers. The knife is sharp and cold against my
sweating palm. I clutch it tightly. The tip pricks my skin.

Morgan peers along the deserted road.

‘Now!’ Lorcan yells.

I hear him thump Jared. Morgan turns to look, her mouth open.

In a second I’m there. I grab her arm . . . wrench it behind her back . . . I bring the knife up against her throat.

All I need to do is press the sharp edge against her skin.

Lorcan yells out. I hesitate. Distracted. Uncertain.

In a flash, Morgan twists away from me. The knife falls to the ground. In the second it takes me to lunge down, clawing for the blade in the dirt, the tables are turned. Jared’s gun is in
Morgan’s hand, the barrel pressed against my neck.

‘Bitch,’ she hisses in my ear.

‘Stop!’ Lorcan shouts. ‘Leave her alone!’

I look over. He is backing away from Jared, hands in the air.

No
. He’s giving up his fight. He’s giving up in order to save me. But I won’t be safe. Morgan will carry out her plan. She will kill us both. That’s why
she’s brought us here. My eyes plead with him, but his gaze is fixed on the gun at my throat, his mouth open in horror.

‘Don’t shoot her,’ Lorcan begs.

Jared grabs his hands and starts tying them behind his back again. Morgan picks up the Swiss Army knife and pockets it. Her gun points at me the whole time. I can feel the panic rising again,
through my guts, tightening my chest and pinching my throat. I struggle to focus.

‘Whatever you’re planning, it isn’t going to work,’ I say quickly. ‘Think about it, Morgan. No one will believe that Lorcan and I would get mixed up in some random
countryside shoot-out.’

‘That’s not what they’re going to think,’ Morgan says smoothly. ‘They’re not going to think you’re dead at all.’

‘Then what . . .?’

‘You and Lorcan are lovers. You decide to leave Art and run away together. Exvept of course you’re really buried here.’ She points at the damp earth at her feet.

I shiver.

‘I was going to get Jared to use his knife, a gun is so noisy – but this thing . . .’ Morgan pats her pocket containing the Swiss Army knife . . . ‘this is much better.
It’s your own weapon, untraceable to me, if anyone ever digs you up, which they won’t.’

I stare at her aghast. This can’t really be happening.

‘So how exactly are we running away?’ Lorcan demands.

‘You use your car, Lorcan,’ Morgan replies smoothly. ‘Currently parked outside my house.’ She smirks at the look of surprise on Lorcan’s face. ‘What, did you
think I wouldn’t spot it?’ Jared is going to leave it at the station later while I use your credit card to buy a couple of tickets.’

I gulp. Morgan sounds like she’s thought of everything. Except . . .

‘Why on earth would Lorcan and I run away together?’ I say. ‘Nobody will believe we would do that.’

‘Is that so?’ Morgan sniffs disdainfully. ‘You’re having sex with each other. That makes it entirely believable, even to Art.’

I gasp, seeing at last the cleverness of her plan. It fits in with what Art expects me to do. He won’t like me going away with Lorcan, but he will believe it.

‘It will seem odd though, just running away without saying goodbye to anyone.’

‘Not really,’ Morgan sneers. ‘Everyone who knows you, or anything about you, thinks you’re unstable.’

‘No, they don’t.’ I stare at her. The wind rustles the leaves of the nearby hedge, its dark edges silhouetted in the car lights.

‘Yes, they do,’ Morgan insists. ‘Everyone, from your best friend who thinks you’re obsessed with the baby who died, to people who’ve only heard about you or met you
once, like Bitsy and Bobs.’

I shake my head. ‘What about O’Donnell?’ Even if people think I’m unstable, no one will believe I’m capable of murder.’

‘For goodness’ sake,’ Morgan snaps. ‘Your prints are on his phone and his clothing. The police hardly needed my tip-off. The taxi driver you used to get to the lock-up
will remember dropping you . . . not to mention witnesses to the argument you and Lorcan had with O’Donnell in London.’

My stomach falls away from me as I remember the small crowd watching when Lorcan slammed Bernard against the wall near his house. How does Morgan know about that?

Morgan sees my confusion and smiles. ‘Bernard explained what happened just before he died.’ She pauses, pressing the gun harder against my skin. ‘So you see, they might not
understand your motive, but you – and Lorcan – look guilty as hell.’ She turns to Jared. ‘We need to get them through there,’ she orders, pointing to a particularly
thick set of bushes.

Jared has finished binding Lorcan’s wrists again. He shoves him along the road. Morgan drags me after them.

My mind whirls. I can’t focus. What can I do?

‘Why on the other side of the bushes?’ I gasp.

‘It’s where you and Lorcan die.’

Jared and Lorcan reach the row of bushes. Lorcan is straining to turn round . . . to see me.

Tiny dots of light appear on the lane ahead. They’re heading towards us. My heart leaps. It must be another car. We’ll be seen.

We’ll be saved.

‘Shit.’ Still gripping my arm, Morgan turns to Jared. ‘Quick, get him out of sight.’

The headlamps are bigger now, like the eyes of a prowling animal. The car they belong to must be travelling very slowly. Jared drags Lorcan behind the biggest bush. As they vanish from view, I
can see Jared has managed to bind Lorcan’s mouth again. Morgan holds her gun against my ribs. I let her push me out of sight, behind a bush a few metres along the row from the others. She
places her hand over my mouth.

I imagine shoving her away, grabbing the gun, running out in front of the car.

My heart races. I don’t know if I have the nerve to do any of those things with Morgan’s gun pressed into my side.

The car is getting nearer. A slow car is good. It means more likelihood that the driver will notice me if I jump out.

The car’s headlamps grow bigger. The 4x4 is parked to one side of the track, and the car coming towards us will have to drive carefully to get around it. I can’t see the driver but
he or she has obviously clocked the big car in front and has slowed further.

‘Get down.’ Morgan pulls me down beside her.

I’m hunched over, my knees pressed into the mud. Through the leaves of the bush in front of me I can just make out the car travelling towards us. I don’t have much time left if
I’m going to make a move. My heart is pounding in my ears. How can I possibly get away from Morgan without her shooting me? Her gun is right against me.

I have to stop the driver. This is our last chance. The headlights are two moons now. The car is crawling along. So slowly.

And then it stops, just in front of the 4x4.

Yes
. Maybe the driver senses something suspicious. Or maybe he just can’t get past the big car. It doesn’t matter. If he gets out of the car we have a chance.

Beside me I feel Morgan stiffen. I strain my eyes, peering into the darkness. The headlights of the car are so bright I can’t make out the shape of the car, let alone how many people might
be inside.

The car door opens. The engine is still running. The ‘door open’ indicator sounds, punctuating the still night air. The driver emerges into the glare of his own headlamps. I’m
about to leap up . . . to yell a warning . . . to push Morgan out of the way . . . and then I see who it is.

Art.

Immediately Morgan stands, dragging me up beside her. Her gun is in plain sight, pressed against my side. Art and I stare at each other. He walks towards us.