She looked up slowly, her pleasant features from before replaced with those of spite. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?” She jerked her head to the side. “Going down there to them.”
“We are, yes,” Oliver said. “No offence, like.”
“Lots taken.” She eyed him up and down, stood and advanced towards them. “Get your bags then. Go on, pick them up. You’re not welcome here anyway. Woolly bloody woofters, aren’t you. Should have known when you booked. Did you think I’d have given you a double bed?”
What?
Oliver took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. Langham fought the urge to give her a good talking to about disparaging people’s sexual choices, but Oliver appeared to want to deal with this. Langham gathered some clothing and stuffed it into his bag.
“It’s no wonder people don’t want to stay here.” Oliver disappeared into the bathroom. The sounds of him picking up his toiletries filtered through. “I mean, not only is it filthy, but you’re filthy inside, spiteful, saying shit like that.” He came back out and dumped his things in his bag, then added his clothes.
“Well I never!” She lifted one hand to cover her chest, fingers fluttering over what looked like a couple of dots of blood on her skin.
Langham peered at it, telling himself she’d maybe picked spots and they’d bled. She flattened her hand over it when she copped on to his scrutiny and glared at him with suspicion.
Oliver moved to stand by the door. Langham finished packing and tossed the keys onto the bed. They left the room and strode down the landing then the stairs, and it wasn’t until they got to the bottom and in the pub that Langham chuckled.
“Don’t,” Oliver said, strutting to the pub door, one hand held high. “You know that shit isn’t funny. It pisses me the hell off. And what was she doing in the room? Nosing about or just waiting for us like she was our mother or something? Christ.” He lurched outside.
Langham caught up with him. “The car, Oliver. We need to take the car.”
“Fuck it.”
“Come on. Let her get on with it. She’s old, she’s not living on the same planet, in the same time we are. Think of it that way.”
They got in and belted up. A burst of wind smacked against the windscreen, and the ominous creak of the sign swinging set Langham’s teeth on edge. He shoved the key into the ignition and fired the engine.
“We’re getting the hell away from here.” He reversed and gazed up at that hare. “I never want to see anything that resembles a damn rabbit again.” He swung the car around then glanced back up.
The old woman stared down at them from their room window, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed.
She looked as evil as the hare.
Chapter Seven
That big bald man was in Randall’s office, and Colin the butler didn’t like it.
Jackson. What kind of silly name is that?
Colin had tried to stop Randall from hiring anyone to help him, but of course, things had escalated, and Randall had felt they needed protection. The problem was, Randall had no idea who he really needed protecting from.
Me.
Colin paced his room, asking himself how things had come to this. He was supposed to have sorted things out a long time ago but hadn’t managed it. Besides, Randall hadn’t completed his project, and Colin, when he’d gone snooping, hadn’t found enough information on it to be of any use. What good was Randall’s invention if it wasn’t finished? Colin’s boss, the man who wanted the software, had said he knew people who could take over from where Randall had got to in the programming, but Colin didn’t think any of them had Randall’s genius mind.
Tonight was such a pointless task.
Anything Colin had suggested hadn’t gone down too well. Neither had Colin diving in to stop the last attacker from killing Randall. Colin was supposed to have stayed in his room, claiming to the police, after the deed had been done, that he hadn’t heard a thing, had been dead to the world in bed. But Randall’s project was near useless at that point, and Colin had gone with his instincts—to get rid of the man who’d come to kill Randall so it bought more time.
That Jackson fellow, though, he was going to prove difficult to get out of the way. Although Colin was old, he knew a thing or two about bringing a man to his knees. Knew a thing or two about killing. But despite that, he didn’t think he’d be able to handle the bald man. No, he was too big, too brawny, too young, and from what Colin had gathered when Randall had told him help was on the way, this Jackson was a trained killer who had no boundaries. An assassin who wouldn’t stop until he’d done what he’d been paid to do.
Colin swallowed down a pinch of fear. Things were going to go wrong again, and it was all his fault. If he’d just killed Randall a long time ago like his boss had suggested, he’d be in a hot country sunning himself on a beach by now. And he’d still have both his eyes. But no, he’d been adamant about letting Randall get as close to finishing his project as he could. Stopping the last killer had not just cost him half his sight but also a wedge of his pride. He’d had such a tongue-lashing from his boss that he’d wondered at the time whether he’d ever recover. Now, tonight, he would step in again, out of line, letting Jackson kill the killer. Colin risked his boss
