wearing a helmet. But I’m saved from having to come up with an answer as to why I’m so stupid when at that moment, his rod jerks in his hands and his eyes sparkle with excitement. Clearly losing all interest in me, he focuses his attention on the lake in front of him.
Limping back to my bike, I decide I’ll ride up to the property, check it out, then head back to base. Should be there in less than an hour. I wonder about calling to check progress on the other locations, but decide to do that when I can confirm I’ve had no success here. If I’m right, they’ll all be focused on the farmhouse. I’m still upset I’m not there with them, but I don’t want my call to distract them if they’re in the process of extracting Swift.
While it’s not a particularly normal thing to do, as the fisherman hadn’t seemed to question my desire to view a property I was thinking of staying in for a vacation, I decide that the same excuse would probably suffice if I’m stopped on the property, or could maybe work if, as a last resort and necessary for the process of elimination, I knock on the front door.
Starting my engine, I continue up the paved track, soon breaking out of the trees and into a more open area. I pull over and park, then continue cautiously on foot. Instead of approaching directly, I keep to the circle of trees, following the tree line. The ground is littered with twigs and fallen logs, and I pick my steps with care. Deliberately dislocating my knee had weakened it. The bandage helps, but it’s still fragile, and I can’t afford to have it pop out now. I could have done with my stick, but hadn’t thought to bring it with me, and the Kawasaki’s not equipped to carry it anyway.
I stop every so often, casting a glance toward the picturesque property innocently sitting in the midst of a clearing. It’s an attractive place and must have cost a fortune to restore as the fisherman had said. It has big glass windows which surely aren’t original, and a wrap-around porch that looks new and sturdy. A swing seat gently swings to-and-fro in the breeze. If I were really in the market for somewhere to spend a vacation, there’d be worse places to choose. If it were anywhere close to my price range, which is doubtful.
I concentrate on my feet once more, tossing up whether to make the full circuit or to just say fuck it and walk up and bang on the front door. I turn for another furtive look—
Fuck! I’m on the ground. My ribs feel like I’ve been kicked by a horse. I try to breathe, then try once more. Christ, my chest is burning.
While I’m still attempting to get air into my lungs, I feel someone turning me over. “Fuck, Saul. He’s wearing body armour. Want me to finish him off with a head shot?”
Opening my eyes fast, I see I’m staring down the barrel of a gun fitted with a silencer and feel hands divesting me of my own weapon.
For an inane moment I want to laugh hysterically, if I was capable of moving at all. I’m in the right place, but instead of rescuing Swift, I’ll be meeting Satan much sooner than I expected.
“No.” I receive a vicious kick to my side. “Get to your fuckin’ feet.”
I try. I honestly try. I roll over, get to my hands and knees and then try to push myself up. It’s not easy. While the Kevlar had protected me, it hadn’t stopped the rib cage over my heart feeling like it’s been smashed to smithereens.
Impatient, Saul—at least the dropping of his name confirms Pip had been right in who had taken Swift—indicates to the other man who takes the hint and pulls me roughly the rest of the way to my feet.
“Take off your shirt.” The terse instruction is accompanied by the jerk of a second gun that’s appeared in the speaker’s hand.
“Look, I was interested in this property, was just looking at it to see whether it was going to suit me for a vacation.” My words tumble out one after the other. If I take off my shirt and the armour I wear under it, there’ll be no hiding who I am. Like all my brothers, I sport a full Satan’s Devils back-patch tattoo.
“Wearing body armour?” If anything, my words