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She grabs my hand and almost dislocates my shoulder as she yanks me in the opposite direction to the hysterical screams ringing through the night air.
Screams I caused.
I knew Callen’s gift to Lord McGowan wouldn’t be a teddy bear or a box of chocolates, but a bomb? That bastard knows how to make a statement and owes me big time.
Alaric stops to watch the flames consuming the manor with a thunderous expression. The interior wooden panelling helped the inferno spread, and the entire building is quickly turning into a bonfire. The blaze has thwarted his plans of killing Seb, and he’s torn, weighing up the risks of returning to finish the job.
“Come on, Ric,” Stephanie insists firmly, reading his mind. “We need to go before the authorities arrive.”
Seb may get away, but he knows she’s right. Uninvited guests being discovered at a bombsite would fall under immediate suspicion.
He scowls. “Fine.”
Screeching sirens wail in the distance, growing closer, but we have time to escape. One advantage of Collingsbrook Manor being secluded is the delayed emergency response time.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask as we quicken our pace.
“We’ll talk later,” Alaric snaps in a steely tone that’d make hell freeze over. As well as his murderous rampage being nipped in the bud, it sounds like he’s preparing to give me a lecture. “Just keep fucking moving.”
“This way.” Stephanie points to a hedge at the edge of the rose garden. Of course, they found another entrance. “Over it.”
I raise my eyebrows and swish the skirt of my black ballgown. “Have you seen my dress?”
“Not funny, Ivy,” she warns. “Climb. Now.”
I scale the hedge, tearing the delicate layer of expensive fabrics as I manage to land on the other side without falling. Cinderella didn’t have to deal with this shit.
The narrow country lane is deserted, aside from our Jeep, and there are no cameras in sight. Next to the road, a security guard’s feet poke out from beneath a hedge row where they temporarily stashed his body. Alaric grabs his ankles and heaves him out. A walkie-talkie balances on the dead man’s chest. Panicked voices crackle over the line, strategizing like headless chickens about where to position themselves.
“Position four,” a voice cuts through the chaos. “Can you copy?”
The number four is stuck on the back of the walkie-talkie. We made it here in perfect timing.
Alaric picks up and answers, “Nothing unusual here. The road is empty. No one is getting in or out this way.”
Hiring a private firm for a function has downsides since many guards are employed specially for the occasion. None of them notices one of their team has been swapped for an assassin.
“What’re you both standing around for?” Alaric barks at us as the voice continues to do a roll call. “Get in the car!”
I clamber into the back seat.
“Shame you didn’t bring a horse and carriage,” I murmur sarcastically.
The front doors slam as the other two get in. Their conspicuous judgemental glares sear into me through the rearview mirror. They’re studying my reaction and searching for weaknesses. I bring a wall down over my emotions to collect myself, pushing aside visions of Seb being caught in the blast.
“We’re on the move, Penelope,” Alaric says into his earpiece. “Which route should I take?”
He pauses to listen to her brief response, then he floors it.
“I could sue you for whiplash,” I mumble, massaging my chest.
He ignores me, switching on the radio to tune into the police and ambulance services to avoid any nasty surprise encounters while he continues to follow Penelope’s directions for the best escape route.
Over the hedges, smoke billows into the starry sky. At least Graham will get a free cremation—hopefully, he’ll be charred enough that the coroner won’t be able to discern his actual cause of death.
“If you keep following this road and the signs back to London, you’re in the clear,” Penelope says. “I’ll keep monitoring your route for any changes.”
“I’ll call you back if we need anything else,” he replies gruffly.
