Spirit (Blackwood Security, #10.5) - Elise Noble Page 0,8
could sort out my transport logistics. Plus I’d lost fifty bucks to James myself last month, and revenge would be sweet.
“Deal. We’ll start tomorrow at nine. Don’t be late.”
CHAPTER 5
“WHERE TO FIRST?” Dan asked as we exited Riverley Hall.
“Where’s closest?”
“Closest to here? Or to the donut place?”
“The donut place.”
“That would be UCan. The group meets at a church hall on the outskirts of Ashland Monday through Friday evenings and all day on Saturdays. And Appletree Acres is only a couple of miles farther.”
“Then let’s speak with the team at UCan to start with. We’ll need to get in touch with Kiara’s mom or dad.”
“Want me to drive?” Dan offered.
“No!” I said, a little too quickly. Although, hmm… If I was in the emergency room, would Bradley excuse me from Christmas? No, probably not, because when I’d headed downstairs to use the gym this morning, I’d found a note propped up on the treadmill:
Gone to New York to source materials for Project Mistletoe. Back in 2 3 days. B.
Materials? I’d activated the tracker on his phone, and sure enough, he was speed-walking around Bloomingdale’s. Sometimes, I envied Bradley for his ability to buy happiness. Pretty gift-wrapped packages helped him to sleep at night. Curious, I’d read up on the science and found that shopping apparently released serotonin, the feel-good hormone, which boosted confidence and gave a sense of satisfaction. Or so the experts said.
Not long after I met Bradley—and don’t you dare tell him this—I’d tried it for myself. Call it an effort to act normal. One humid summer’s day in London, I’d trekked around Selfridges and Harvey Nichols and Bond Street, buying shoes and dresses and jewellery and perfume and handbags. My feet hurt. My arms hurt. My head hurt. That night, I’d dreamed I was trapped in Harrods with no way out, and two a.m. saw me running around our London mansion like a blind hamster until I tripped over an ornamental potted plant and got carpet burn on my face. The next morning, I’d gathered up all the unopened bags and dropped them off at the nearest charity shop in an effort to hide the evidence of my stupidity. Because I was never destined to be normal.
In those days, I’d been a weapon. A machine. It was only in the last few years that I’d accepted there was more to life than work, but I still struggled with balance. Hence my overwhelming desire to be on the gun range instead of heading towards the garage with Dan.
“Which car are we taking?” she asked.
“The Stingray?”
“Not enough seats. It’s my turn to pick Caleb up from school today.”
“What time?”
“Three o’clock.”
“I was hoping to be done by lunchtime.”
Dan just shrugged. Brilliant.
“Okay, fine. We’ll take Black’s Cayenne.”
If he wasn’t going to show up and help, the least he could do was lend us his SUV. I grabbed the keys from the lockbox on the garage wall. Time to get this over with.
Kiara Campbell was small for her age, her black hair brushed up into a pair of pom-poms on top of her head that made her two inches taller, and she was grinning from ear to ear. A proper Cheshire cat smile. Her legs swung back and forth as she sat on a table in a small meeting room attached to the church hall. A hundred photos of happy kids pinned to the noticeboard behind her, some faded, some recent, showed what an impact the UCan group had managed to make in the local community over the years. I spotted Dan’s boyfriend playing the guitar in one of the pictures—he helped out here from time to time as well as running his own youth music project.
Dan had called ahead, and both of Kiara’s parents were waiting with her when we arrived. But Mr. Campbell in particular didn’t look pleased to see us. When I smiled, he didn’t return the gesture.
Why not?
I held out a hand. “Emmy Black, and this is Dan.”
Mr. Campbell’s handshake was dry but weak. Hasty. He couldn’t wait to let go. “Jonah Campbell. And my wife, Dorothea.”
Cheer up, dude. It’s meant to be bloody Christmas.
“So…”
“Can I really go in a plane?” Kiara asked. “What kind of plane? When?”
“What kind of plane do you want to go in?”
“A fighter jet.”
I liked this girl. She had ambition.
“That might be a little tricky. The US Air Force has rules on that sort of thing.”
Although there were fast jets in civilian hands. MiGs were the most fun, but they were only available for