The Hunt by T.J. Lebbon Page B

with good reason. She’d been here on holiday with Adam, before they were married, when their romance was a dangerous, passionate, exciting adventure, rather than the comfortable friendship it had become. When the kids had come along they’d allowed themselves to turn into parents rather than lovers, although the bond of love was still strong. But when they’d holidayed here together their love had been untamed, as tempestuous and unpredictable as the landscape and climate.
    They’d hiked for six days, wild camping, bathing in streams, sleeping in a small tent and making love under the stars, buying food from farms and small village shops, and by day two they’d both known that they would be with each other for the rest of their lives.
    Adam had been right, at least.
    Keeping one eye on her mirrors, Rose drove the car up towards the ridge. She’d already noted the lack of other traffic. That could simply be down to the remoteness of this place, or it could be that the Trail had set up roadblocks. They’d not want anyone happening across their weekend warriors tumbling from the helicopter in combat gear and bearing rifles.
    The dead man’s phone on the seat beside her started to ring. She ignored it. She’d considered ditching it, but there seemed little point. They’d be able to track it easily, but she had no intention of hiding from them. Not yet, at least. It rang off and went to voicemail. She’d speak to them on her own terms and no one else’s.
    The road opened up on the left into a gravelled parking bay, and she slammed on the brakes and skidded the car around ninety degrees. From that angle she could look back down the valley, and the car’s nose was also pointing at the road, ready to go at a moment’s notice.
    This is it
, she thought.
I’m in the thick of it now
. She almost laughed, because already she was more visible than Holt had told her to ever be. The Trail knew who she was, where she was and what she was driving. Holt would have snorted in disgust.
    But Rose wasn’t a mercenary. She wasn’t even a killer, not like him. Not cold-blooded, someone happy to end a life for a paycheque. Holt had always known that, really, but he’d chosen to ignore it. He had helped prepare her hands for blood. She knew that somewhere in there, unspoken and not acknowledged by either of them, he’d fallen a little bit in love with her.
    This moment was when everything could go wrong. She was exposed and vulnerable here, and though the Trail didn’t exactly have the upper hand, the field was more level than she would have preferred.
    She liked being hidden away below the radar, unknown, unseen, the shadow of a ghost.
    But this part was always going to be this way.
    She could see the helicopter further down the valley, sitting on a wide parking bay beside the road. Clouds of dust were whipped up by the rotors, swirling, dancing and spreading in complex and beautiful patterns. Through the dust she could just see the clumsy figures of the hunters, disembarked and already moving off onto the landscape. She glanced at the outcropping of rocks where Chris should have hidden. Beyond and above was wild country – his sort of territory, a place he was well used to. She only hoped he didn’t fuck up and get himself shot too soon.
    A flash of memory jarred her. They came like this sometimes, especially if her mind was active, the thought of grief and revenge hot.
    She was sitting on a rock on a mountainside, the view laid out before her beyond breathtaking. Adam was beside her. They’d been sharing a flagon of farmhouse cider that they’d bought from a local farmer – potent and cutting, quite vile, but it gave them a warm buzz that drew them even closer together. There were no roads, no houses, nothing manmade in sight. They were intruders here, and if Rose concentrated she could distance herself completely, be part of the landscape and understand just how wild this place really was.
    She blinked and the memory