He couldn’t find the words. He’d never been able to find them, even just thinking about it alone, even in his darkest moments.
‘I lost someone,’ he whispered. ‘Someone close. Closer than I even knew. Not long ago.’
She bit her lip and sighed. Stroked his hair. ‘I saw the ring.’
He closed his eyes. Nodded slowly.
‘You want to talk about it?’
‘She died,’ he said.
‘What was her name?’
‘Her name was Leigh.’
‘How did it happen?’
He looked up. ‘She was murdered.’
Hearing it like that, the finality of it, the horror of it struck him all over again. Suddenly he was seeing the whole thing in his imagination, like a nightmare film reel that wouldn’t stop turning.
He saw the black blade of the knife. Going in.
Piercing deep inside her, taking away her life.
The last look in her eyes. Things she’d said as she lay dying that would stay with him the rest of his days.
He took a long, deep, slow breath. ‘It was my fault. The man who killed her was someone I was supposed to have protected her from. I failed. He came back, and he took her away from me.’
He was quiet for a long time. Then he whispered, ‘I miss her. I miss her so much.’
Alex laid a hand on his arm. Her touch felt warm and reassuring. ‘You didn’t kill her, Ben. That isn’t a burden you should be carrying.’
He shook his head, feeling the pain rise up. He swallowed it back down. ‘I might as well have,’ he said. ‘Every day I ask God to forgive me for letting it happen. But I don’t think God’s listening to me. In fact I don’t think he ever has, not once in my whole life. He deserted me a long time ago.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Find a better man than me, Alex. I’m not what you need.’
‘You are a better man,’ she said. ‘I hardly know you, but already I can see it.’
He said nothing.
That was when they heard the chopping beat of rotors, and the gunfire churning up the farmyard outside, and Zoe’s scream.
Chapter Fifty-One
Zoe had been wandering idly about the house, bored, listless. After being cooped up for such a long time, she felt full of pent-up energy and hated lying around doing nothing.
Out of the window she could see Ira in the paddock a hundred yards or so from the house. He was training a young horse, the colt that had pulled Riley off his feet and twisted his ankle. The sky was cloudless and blue, and the meadow grass was swaying gently in the breeze. Suddenly she was desperate to be outside, to be out talking to Ira. He was so attractive. She loved the loose, easy way he moved, athletic and supple and toned. She smiled to herself, imagining the feel of his skin.
Ben had told her to stay indoors, she remembered.
She walked out to the paddock, feeling the sun on her face and the breeze in her hair. Ira saw her from a distance, and she approached him with a warm smile. ‘Hi. I’m Zoe. You must be Ira.’
Ira jumped down off the colt’s back, wiped his hands and met her at the paddock fence. ‘Good to meet you, Zoe,’ he said.
Zoe had always liked to flirt, and she was good at it. Ira responded to her quickly – she knew that not many pretty young blonde women turned up on his doorstep like this. Within a few minutes they were laughing and joking comfortably together, lots of eye contact, lots of touches, most of it coming from her. Ira was a little overwhelmed by her attentions, but she could see from the look in his eye that maybe being stuck out here in the wilderness would have its compensations.
‘You like to ride?’ he said.
‘Yeah, I ride. Never used an American saddle before, though.’
‘It’s easy,’ he said. ‘Like a big armchair. Want to give it a go?’
‘Will you give me a leg up?’ She clambered through the fence and she enjoyed the feel of his strong fingers on her leg as he helped her into the saddle. He’d done a good job of breaking the colt in, and she found him responsive as she walked him up and down the paddock, getting the measure of him. Then she put him into a trot.
‘Don’t rise to it,’ he called. ‘Keep your butt down in the saddle. Go with his rhythm.’
She mastered it quickly, then flipped the loose end of the rein left and right to urge the colt into a long-striding canter. Ira stood in the middle of the paddock and she rode round and round him with her hair streaming out behind her, dust flying up from the colt’s hooves.
‘This is great,’ she was about to say. But the look on Ira’s face shut her up and made her turn and look. She gaped in terror at what she saw. The colt wheeled, unsettling her in the saddle.
The shadow passed over her.
The helicopter roared in out of the sun, nose low, tail up.
The colt reared, and Zoe felt herself flying. She tumbled into the dust. Ira was running to her, eyes wide with alarm. The black chopper moved in closer, like an attacking shark, its noise filling the air, hurling up dust and dirt with the wind blast. Zoe scrambled to her feet. The red dot of a laser sight raked across her body. She screamed. The colt was rearing and bucking in a crazed panic.
Then suddenly the ground was whipped up by automatic gunfire.
Ira had Zoe’s arm and was dragging her out of the paddock and back towards the house. The man with the rifle, hanging out of the side of the chopper with one foot on its skid, let off another prolonged burst that kicked stones up in her wake as she sprinted and stumbled. She threw a terrified glance over her shoulder and her eyes met those of the man she’d hoped she would never see again.
Jones grinned at her over the top of the M-16. He fired again, savouring the moment, the rifle hammering in his arms. His heart gave a little jolt as the bitch tumbled and fell. But then the Indian was yanking her back to her feet and he realised that she’d just tripped.
He yelled at the pilot to hold the chopper steady, and brought the gun back up to aim. But the targets had made it to the house, staggering inside, slamming the door shut. He cursed and let off a long blast that strafed the front porch. Windows burst apart and splinters flew as bullets tore through the fabric of the house.
Inside, Ira was dragging Zoe across the floor, covering her body with his own. Glass shards flew around them. The curtains fluttered, ripped to rags by the gunfire that punched through the walls and churned up the floor. Zoe was screaming.
Ben and Alex ran from the barn to see the chopper hovering over the yard, just twenty feet from the ground. Ben drew the Beretta from the back pocket of his jeans and raised it up as the chopper veered round to face them, coming lower, skids almost on the ground.
Ben had recognised the figure with the rifle instantly. He didn’t hesitate to fire. Jones quickly withdrew and scrambled out of sight as he loosed off a string of double-taps that punched holes into the fuselage. Then the chopper veered off suddenly, climbed steeply and roared overhead. Ben put a couple more shots into its underbelly, but 9mm ammunition just wasn’t enough to make an impression. He swore.
They ran to the house as the chopper made its escape. Ben pounded up the porch steps and threw open the door. He saw Ira inside, lying protectively across Zoe’s body. ‘Anyone hurt?’ he shouted. Ira shook his head, dazed, getting up and helping Zoe to her feet. Riley came stumbling into the room, eyes bulging in horror. He was clutching a scarred Ithaca shotgun in his fists.
The dust was settling in the house, silence descending in the aftermath of the attack. Ira helped a weeping Zoe upstairs as Riley paced the wrecked kitchen, still clutching his shotgun and cursing loudly.
