It wasn’t often that Ronan heard people say such things. In his world, wealth and power were everything.
He stepped forward and unzipped the bag. Shone his torch inside. Whistled.
‘You’re right. That’s a lot of money.’
‘So my debt’s paid, right?’
Ronan pulled the gun from his waistband. He heard Scott’s sharp intake of breath.
‘Almost.’
‘Almost? What do you mean, almost? We had a deal.’
‘And I’m sticking to the deal. I’m a man of my word, Scott.’
‘So why the gun?’
‘The deal was that if you got the money, I wouldn’t hurt your family. I didn’t say anything about what would happen to you.’
‘That’s just playing with words. Why do you need to kill me? I did everything you asked.’
‘That’s your answer. Only you know the request came from me. Unless, of course, you told your wife what you’ve been up to.’
‘No! She knows nothing about this. Nothing. You promised you wouldn’t hurt her.’
‘And I’ll keep that promise. But as for you, Scott . . .’
Ronan racked a round into the Colt’s chamber. He raised the gun.
The explosion split the night. Ronan saw the spear of flame that jumped between them.
And then he felt the pain. He wondered why something had just punched him in the abdomen, and then he realised that the gunshot wasn’t his, that the flash of light had torn out of Scott’s coat pocket and then jumped across to rip through his guts, and then the pain suddenly increased an order of magnitude and he knew he had to do something to rescue the situation, but even as he brought his own gun up again, he saw Scott advancing on him with new-found energy in his step, and then there was another explosion, another intensely bright spike that found his chest this time, smashing through his breastbone and carving a tunnel through his lung. He dropped to his knees, forgetting about his gun, thinking only about the rapidly increasing possibility of his death right now. He realised that Scott had closed the gap, was standing right over him, and he accepted that yet again he had not planned for all eventualities, and that he must be such a disappointment to his mother.
‘We had a deal,’ Scott said to him.
Such a disappointment.
He didn’t hear the third gunshot – the one that hollowed out his left eye and expelled much of his brain through the back of his skull.
Scott watched as Ronan’s head kicked back, and for a second it was a toss-up as to whether the momentum would fold him backwards or the incline of the hill would topple him forwards. Gravity won out, and the body pitched towards Scott and planted its face wetly in the mud. Scott stood over it, his rapid breathing creating a mist that added a surreal aura to this view of a man with a glistening black hole in the back of his head.
He knew he shouldn’t have left it so late. He had taken too much of a risk in waiting until Ronan was pointing a gun at him. He should have begun blasting away as soon as he was in range.
But he had wanted to allow Ronan the opportunity to do the right thing. Perhaps if he had just taken the money and told Scott that they were all square . . .
But no. That wouldn’t have helped. Scott had already made his assessment. He had come here knowing that Ronan had to die. He couldn’t trust the man to leave him and his family alone.
Waiting until he had no choice but to shoot just made it easier.
I’ve gone from a man who hides dead bodies to one who creates them.
He jumped at the sound of an engine roaring into life. From beneath the huge tree, a pair of dazzling white headlights lit him up. He narrowed his eyes, tried to understand what was happening.
And then the engine was revved even harder, and a huge beast of a vehicle came hurtling out of its lair towards him. Scott fired two shots towards it, but it felt like throwing pebbles at a rhinoceros. He turned and began racing down the hill, but his damaged ankle quickly gave way on the wet ground, and he tumbled head over heels, each bounce sending rockets of pain through his body. He got to his feet again, picked up his pace. To his left, the edge of the field was separated from the path beyond by a barbed wire fence backed up by hedgerow so dense it seemed impassable. Ahead, though, he could see the stile. If only he could get to it . . .
He had no chance. The ancient Land Rover, sure-footed with its four-wheel drive, closed the gap too quickly. He imagined he could almost feel the heat of its engine as it rumbled up behind him.
A split-second before it slammed into his spine, Scott threw himself to the left. He felt a whoosh of air as the Land Rover missed him by millimetres, and then he hit the ground again. He looked up to see the vehicle brake and then twist slowly in the mud, gradually turning to face him again like it was gliding on ice.
They stared at each other for several seconds, man versus machine, each waiting for the other to make a move. Scott saw that his route to the stile was now barred. He’d have to find another way to escape.
He stood up again and started running towards the field’s perimeter. Behind him, the Land Rover growled. Its wheels span in the mud, affording him precious seconds to open up a lead. Every muscle and joint in his body was on fire, but he refused to give up. He’d come too far for that.
In the dim light, his eyes searched frantically for an escape. He was willing to take his chances with the barbed wire, but the hedgerow might as well have been a brick wall.
He glanced behind him. Saw the Land Rover lurch forward as it found traction. It thundered towards him.
And then he saw it. A narrow gap in the hedgerow – just wide enough for him to squeeze through. All he had to do was get over the wire fence. Just one last effort.
But then the monster was on him once more. Knowing he wouldn’t make it to the fence, Scott jinked to the side again, just before the vehicle crushed him.
This time he left it too late. The Land Rover’s wing mirror smacked into his shoulder blade. He heard the bang and the shattering of glass, and his eyes filled with visual static as he went spinning into the barbed wire fence. He felt the stab of its razor-sharp needles, heard it tear his coat to shreds as he rebounded onto the sodden grass.
He lay still, unable to move. His body had given up. He had pushed it beyond its limits.
It took all his effort just to raise his head. The Land Rover had stopped just yards away. He saw the driver’s door open. Someone climbed out. The reflected light from the vehicle’s headlamps was enough to show him some detail.
It was a woman. Dressed in an oversized waxed jacket and green wellington boots, she cut an imposing figure. Her hair was unkempt – wild, even. There was an expression of fury and contempt on her face that could only belong to someone with death on their mind.
