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“In the garage,” he replied. He was on the opposite side of the house, and I got turned around, finding a different set of stairs to take me to the ground floor. I jogged down them, holding on to the railing as the laptop cable dragged behind me, bouncing off the marble tiles as I went.
With each room I passed, my revulsion grew. A library, a theatre room, an indoor plunge pool, a miniature roller-skating rink—she didn’t need to go anywhere. She’d brought the world to her doorstep.
I rounded the corner into the kitchen and found the garage off it. “Have you got everything?” I asked. “We’re not coming back in.”
“Why would we?” he asked, poking his head into where I was rummaging through the cabinets. “What are you looking for?”
“A lighter. I’m going to burn this motherfucking house down. Not one memory will survive. Or any stray fingerprints.”
He nodded and took the bottle of whiskey I was holding before striding over to the gas cooktop and turning a burner on. “Get in the car,” he ordered.
I hit the button to open the garage door and grabbed the keys to the sleek Jaguar before running straight for the driver’s door.
The moment the garage door started to open, I heard sirens.
“Tris,” I called. “Let’s go.”
I thrust the laptop into his arms before he’d even managed to close the door, and I slammed the car into gear, floored the accelerator, and dropped the brake. Tyres squealed on the slick surface, and we launched forward.
“Stop!” Tris screamed.
Right there in front of the car was the man who’d visited us the day before. He was carrying a duffel bag.
He ran to Tristan’s side and opened it, thrusting the bag onto Tristan’s lap.
“We called the police once we thought you’d left, but I saw lights coming on. You must hurry. Call Ms Holt when it’s safe. Take this bag. Do not leave it behind.” He pointed to the left. “Go that way. I’ll delay the police.”
His words didn’t make a lot of sense, but I wasn’t waiting around to find out what he was talking about. He slammed the door closed, then banged on the roof, and I peeled away.
Before we rounded the corner in the drive, I flicked my gaze to the mirrors and saw flames flickering through the windows and smoke starting to billow out the open garage.
Tristan was trying to pull his seatbelt on when I swerved to the left through the open gate and bounced over the bumpy verge to the left of the drive. I was following on blind faith the loose directions our new friend had given us. I had no idea where I was going or what was ahead of us, but the gate being open was a bloody good start.
I screamed out onto the deserted road, fishtailing all the way past Ms Holt’s house.
The car was responsive, the steering light, and it was fast as fuck. She had decent taste—at least she didn’t rely on a push bike for transport, or Tristan and I would have been shit out of luck.
My hands were shaking and my heart beating at an erratic pace as I drove like a maniac through the quiet streets. I had no idea where I was going, operating on a wing and a prayer that I was at least headed in the right direction. I couldn’t hear sirens anymore, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close—the Jag muffled every noise. Even the engine’s roar was barely a purr.
Finally, Tristan got the navigation system to work, directing us to the airport. I was white-knuckling the steering wheel, constantly flicking between looking at the road and rearview mirror. My breathing was ragged too, and I was on the verge of laughing like a hyena.
“We’re fifteen minutes away,” he breathed. “Slow down. You’ve got this, kitten. I’m right here with you.”
“Fuck, I’m freaking out.” I wasn’t proud of the wobble in my voice, but I sucked in a breath as Tris spoke again.
“They won’t catch us. We have a headst—”
Two police cars rounded the corner close behind us.
Lights flashed. Sirens blazed.
I slowed down. Pulled to the side so they could overtake.
But they weren’t easily fooled.
They slowed too, pulling up beside us.
Fuck, they were readying to box us in.
