“Unlucky, Rob,” says Mickey Moody with a sympathetic smile. “Not always your day, is it?”
15
Amy is outside, on Rosie’s afternoon-sun terrace. She hangs upside down from an exercise bar, and stares at her phone.
Steve wants to talk to her about Andrew Fairbanks? How can that be?
Something very strange is going on, and Amy is at the heart of it. Perhaps Rosie is right? Perhaps she should be cautious? Amy developed a keen sense of danger from a very young age.
But she also developed a keen sense of whom to trust. And she trusts Jeff.
The supply boat will be here in an hour or so. Amy plans to hitch a ride, and fly to London from Savannah later this afternoon.
She starts doing crunches, the power of her muscles defying the power of gravity.
Who is killing these influencers, and why? If it’s all tied to François Loubet, is it a money-laundering scam? What if Bella Sanchez and Mark Gooch were carrying bags of cash too? How can she find out?
She starts working her body harder, adding a twist to the crunch.
Jeff will have answers, she’s sure of that. She’s sad to be leaving Rosie behind, but she will be in safe hands with Kevin. Amy just needs to get back to London, then she can—
“On the floor, hands on head. If you reach for your weapon, I will shoot.”
Kevin. The man who had so recently brought her an oat-bran porridge with chia seeds now has his gun pointing directly at her head. Albeit upside down.
Amy maneuvers herself off the bar and gets onto her knees, her fingers laced behind her head. What’s happening here?
“Where’s Rosie?” Amy asks.
“I’ve told her to go to her panic room,” says Kevin.
“You think I’m dangerous?” Amy asks. “That’s been your observation, has it? Over the last few days?”
“Yep,” says Kevin. He’s no fool; Amy is dangerous.
Kevin circles behind her, gun still outstretched. Is she being abducted? By whom? Doesn’t Kevin work for Jeff?
Amy weighs up the odds. Kevin is around six two, must weigh upward of 260 pounds. If she can unbalance him, it’s an easy win for her. But Kevin is an ex–Navy SEAL. And Kevin knows that he is six two, and heavy, so Kevin also knows that if Amy can unbalance him it’s an easy win for her. Kevin is therefore keeping his distance and letting the gun do the work. Amy hears handcuffs. The second Kevin reaches for her wrists, he will be doomed. Once she overpowers him, she can worry about what to do next.
But Kevin does not reach for her wrists. Instead he throws the handcuffs down onto the floor next to her.
“Put them on,” he orders. “And I’ll need to hear a click.”
There is usually a way out of any situation, that is, if you really assess every angle. Would a leg sweep reach its target? No, Kevin is standing out of range. Might these handcuffs themselves be a weapon? An improvised nunchuck? She weighs them in her hand. Strong but light. No use. Negotiation, then.
“Did Jeff ask you to do this, Kevin? To take me in? Why the handcuffs?”
“Someone asked me,” says Kevin. “You don’t need to know who. And they said she’ll beat you in a fight. And, if she can’t beat you in a fight, she’ll talk her way out of it instead. Handcuffs on now, or I fire.”
“You don’t need to handcuff me,” says Amy. “I’m going back to London, I promise.”
“You’re not going to London, Amy,” says Kevin. “Sorry. I’ve been given a job to do, and a lot of money to do it. So no fuss.”
“Who gave you the job?” Amy asks. Where is Kevin going to take her? “Was it Jeff?”
“Handcuffs on now,” repeats Kevin.
“You know that Jeff has—”
“If you say the word ‘Jeff’ one more time, I’ll shoot,” says Kevin. “That’s a final warning. Now do me a big favor and click those handcuffs on.”
Of course, sometimes the solution to a situation is that there is no solution. And in those instances you sit tight, shut up, and make sure you find a way of stopping yourself from getting killed. A very familiar feeling for her.
Amy reluctantly accepts that this is where she stands right now. She brings her hands slowly from behind her head.
“Even slower,” commands Kevin.
She reaches down to her left to pick up the handcuffs.
“Behind your back,” says Kevin.
“You think I can handcuff myself behind my back?”
“I do think that, yes,” says Kevin. “If you fumble, I’ll shoot you.”
It is a breeze to handcuff oneself behind one’s own back. Annoyingly easy. Amy places both wrists through the bracelets.
“And click,” says Kevin. He still has a dab of flour behind his ear from making Rosie her pancakes this morning.
