The tyres hissed over the tarmac as the Doors sang in her head. She felt the gentle rise and fall of the road beneath the wheels, crossing a bridge, and passing the sign for leaving Bakerstown. She was glancing out of the window and into a long stretch of countryside, until she hit a narrow space and the two cars blocking her route. The vehicle came to a screeching halt as she braked.
She was considering turning around when someone stepped out of the closest car. It was a bare leg stretching from the silver bracelet on the ankle to the edge of the skirt on the thigh. Even the sense of danger couldn’t stop Astrid’s libido from springing into action. It softened when she saw who it was.
Rosie Sawyer.
Sawyer swung out of the vehicle and sauntered over to the unmarked police car. She wore a tight velvet top which left little to the imagination. A glittering necklace caressed her throat as she walked. Sawyer smiled at her, and the night chill vanished in an instant.
‘My father wants to meet you.’
Astrid pushed a fingernail into her thigh. ‘Perhaps later. I’ve got to be somewhere else now.’
Rosie Sawyer removed a Polaroid camera from the silk purse on her shoulder and pointed it at the car. She squeezed the button on the front and took a photo of Astrid, who expected Sawyer to wave the image in the air, but she dropped it into her pocket instead. Then she moved a step closer to Astrid, aimed the camera into her face, and snapped another photo which joined the first one.
‘It wasn’t a request, Ms Snow.’
Sawyer nodded at the cars behind her, one of which spewed out her brother while the other contained two thugs, built like elephants with necks to go with it.
‘I didn’t realise I was this popular.’
Sawyer returned the camera to her purse. ‘I’ll return you when it’s over; I promise.’
Astrid stared at Sawyer’s legs before slipping out of the car. Rosie Sawyer gave her the sweetest smile before heading to speak to her brother.
‘Stop messing around, Rosie,’ Jimmy Sawyer growled.
‘You go with them. I’ll take her on my own.’
He glared at his sister. ‘Father wouldn’t like that.’
She laughed in his face. ‘When has Father liked anything I do?’ She was still laughing when Astrid got into the car and they drove off. ‘Family; such a waste of space, don’t you think?’ Astrid didn’t reply, gazing into the night instead. ‘You’re Astrid Snow, right? I’m Rosie, and that dumb lump of wood is my brother, Jimmy.’
Astrid found her voice. ‘I know who you are.’
Sawyer’s laugh was raucous. ‘My God, I love your accent. I’m a massive fan of everything British. Here, look at this.’ She reached across for the glove compartment just as the car bounced over a rock or a dead animal. Her hand flicked into the air, and then down onto Astrid’s knee. She left it there long enough for a volcano to burst inside Astrid’s veins. Then Sawyer flipped the catch to show the contents: dozens of photos lay next to a collection of David Bowie CDs.
‘You’ve got great taste in music, Sawyer.’
‘My stupid brother laughs at me because I won’t stream any of this, but I like to hold something in my hand, don’t you?’ She took her eyes off the road and gazed at Astrid. ‘To have something real between your fingers and feel the pleasure of it, to lift it to your face and smell and taste it. Is that what you like?’
Astrid coughed as the car lurched forward. ‘My father used to have thousands of records which he’d spend hours with.’
‘Oh, that sounds wonderful; so much better than digital files on a computer or phone. I’ve always known I was born at the wrong time. Does he still have his collection?’
The thought of Lawrence Snow brought Astrid crashing back to earth. Her flesh crawled as she remembered the danger she might be in with this woman and her strange journey.
‘I haven’t seen him in years. He loved my older sister but hated me. So he beat me until I ran away.’
She didn’t know why she said such a private thing to Sawyer. She watched Sawyer’s face turn to ash. There was a slight tremble on her lips, which vanished when the American spoke.
‘If I’d had a gun when I was born, I’d have shot my father and brother on the spot.’
The silence was an abyss around them, a great big gaping void threatening to swallow the car and the world outside. At that moment, Astrid recognised a connection between them that went beyond the sexual tension, a bond forged before they were born into lives neither of them wanted.
Sawyer broke the quiet. ‘Pick out your favourite album; we’ve got a way to go yet.’
Astrid pushed her broken memories aside and selected something more pleasing. She took the disc out of the case and pushed it into the player. The familiar sound of a train huffing and puffing drifted out of the speakers.
‘How’s this, Ms Sawyer?’
‘Station to Station; an excellent choice. I knew we’d get on like a house on fire.’ Sawyer’s grin lit up the car. ‘And call me Rosie.’
‘I’ve never understood that expression. I’ve been inside a house on fire, and it’s not pleasant at all.’ Astrid stared at the back of the CD. ‘Fire is a cleanser, perfect for redemption. Why does your father want to see me?’
Sawyer ignored the road as the car bumped over the potholes. ‘He tells me nothing of what he does, of his operations and schemes. My brother is the favoured child. All I do is my best to annoy them.’
Astrid peered deep into the blue of Sawyer’s eyes and sank below a sea of her own dysfunctional family values.
‘Aren’t you afraid to be with a suspected murderer?’
Rosie’s hand slipped on the wheel as she turned to the windscreen and let out that breathy laugh once more.
‘Oh, Ms Snow; I’m no more scared of you than I am of the wind and the rain.’
The car bounced from side to side as if they were at the dodgems. Their legs brushed together, and Astrid forced her heart to slow down. ‘And I see driving wildly in the dark doesn’t worry you either.’
Sawyer removed a hand from the wheel and reached into her pocket, getting the two photos she’d taken earlier and handing them to Astrid.
‘They should have developed by now. What do you think of them?’
Astrid peered at the first, of her startled face looking like a rabbit in the headlights. The second was more flattering, catching the blue of her gaze and her steely expression.
‘At least you caught my best side.’
Rosie’s laugh shook through her and rattled the wheel.
‘Oh, I don’t think I’ve seen that yet.’ She winked at Astrid. ‘But there’s always later.’
The Thin White Duke sang about throwing darts into lovers’ eyes as she scrutinised her companion.
‘Are you a keen photographer, Rosie?’
Sawyer nodded along to the music.
‘It’s one of my favourite things in the world.’ She pointed at the glove compartment. ‘Put those photos of you with the ones in there for my collection.’
Astrid did as instructed and wondered what this enforced rendezvous was all about.
‘Why am I here?’
Sawyer grinned. ‘Why did you come to our little town?’
She rummaged through her brain to remember, to question why she stepped off that tattered old bus.
‘I was looking for a grave.’
‘Well, we’ve plenty of those.’
The night slipped away as a barrage of lights greeted them; there was enough illumination to guide a plane in as Sawyer stopped the car. Astrid got out and thought she’d stepped onto the set of Gone With the Wind. To describe it as a house would be to do it an injustice. She gazed at a beautiful white-columned mansion that crowned the hill they were striding towards. Enormous trees were on either side of it and nestled at their trunks were large birds. Off to the right stood another building, more modern and functional looking. Sawyer’s brother and four goons waited outside it.
‘I’m not getting a tour of the mansion, then?’ Astrid asked as Sawyer strode beside her.
‘Only presidents and governors get to go in there.’
A fence ran between the two buildings, and as Astrid stared at it, she saw how either end tailed off to circle the whole property. They must have driven through gates she didn’t see in the dark. She followed Sawyer through the door and scanned the area for her bearings. If she had to leave in a hurry, she’d need an escape map ready.
It was built like a warehouse inside, with a top floor containing rows of machinery, boxes and barrels. They made for an office ahead of them.
‘What happens here?’ Astrid said.
Rosie removed an e-cigarette from her purse. ‘We make vapes.’ She cringed as she spoke. ‘Father is wonderful at future projections. He knew before most others smoking was reducing in popularity, which meant there’d be a gap in the market for something else. Always have a backup, is his motto.’ They were nearly at the office door. ‘He told my mother he’d deliberately planted two of his seeds in her, so if the first one failed, he could use the second as a failsafe.’
‘How romantic,’ Astrid said as she walked into the room and stared at old man Sawyer.
Some people walk fast, and they talk fast, their teeth all chattering and jumpy as if they’re going to fall out of their mouths. Benedict Sawyer was the opposite; everything he did was slow and languid. Not because he was old and his skin looked like rhinoceros hide, but because his mind appeared, she guessed, to work at a thousand miles a minute, and he had to force the rest of him to keep his thoughts in check. She recognised it in his black eyes and the way his mouth curled up like slugs sliding across the ground; recognised it in him because she saw it in herself.
‘Sit, Ms Snow.’
It was a command, not an offer, crafted from a voice made from crushed gravel. She had no choice but to do as he said. The goons gathered around him like disciples at the Last Supper, all apart from Rosie who was standing next to the window, twirling a vape between her fingers.
Astrid waited for Sawyer to speak. One of the first things she’d learnt at the Agency was never to volunteer information. Silence didn’t make her uncomfortable, but she knew most people would fidget, mentally and physically, if the vacuum went on for too long. As she waited for him to talk, she scrutinised the men around him: they were all tall, six foot three or four, as if they’d been snatched together from the same incubator at birth, and then stretched out. With arms made from solid beef, they stared at her as if she was the appetiser before the main course.
‘Thank you for ridding the town of that irritating woman.’ The words crawled out of his mouth. ‘And I apologise for whoever did that to you.’ He pointed at her hand. ‘When I find out who it was, I promise to make them pay.’
Astrid flexed her injured fingers. ‘You’re happy because a woman and her two kids are dead?’
He placed his fingers on the table. ‘Who am I to judge your actions, Ms Snow?’ His grin curled her stomach.
‘I never touched her or those children.’
‘You mean, apart from inside the bar?’
‘Why don’t you ask your son about that? I recall him being there on the night.’
If only I could remember the rest of what she said to me.
Sawyer shifted in his chair as the son glared at her. ‘It doesn’t matter now, Ms Snow; all I’m concerned about is the future. I’d like you to come and work for me. It would be nice to have a fresh perspective on my team.’
Astrid stood and pushed her chair back, the wood screeching against the concrete floor. The thugs stuck out their chests in unison and flexed their biceps.
‘I work for nobody but myself.’
The son bent his head to whisper into the father’s ear.
‘Ah yes, I’ve heard about you running away from your British spy group. And your family problems. I’m sure you could settle all your issues if you came and worked for me, Ms Snow.’ She gripped the back of the chair. ‘You could even bring your niece here to experience some genuine American hospitality. Olivia; is that her name?’
The blood drained from her flesh as Rosie Sawyer snapped photos of the people in the room. Astrid considered her options, calculating if she could deal with Sawyer’s goons before getting her fingers around his neck. All the maps she’d constructed in her head led only to her demise. She consigned all of them to the bin.
‘I need time to think this over.’
Sawyer’s eyelids crawled over his eyes. ‘Of course, Ms Snow, of course. Such a life-changing decision for you and your family needs careful consideration. My daughter will escort you to your car, and then perhaps you’ll return with good news for me.’ His smile made her skin crawl. ‘And I hope the Campbells are showing you the best Bakerstown hospitality.’
She turned from him, blood boiling in her veins like lava. She left the building and marched out with an ache gushing through her bones. Rosie caught up with her as Astrid drew up a future map where she pummelled Benedict Sawyer against his vape factory. They got into the car and drove away.
‘Would you work for my father?’
The car trundled towards the exit. Astrid saw the gates, ancient-looking metal constructs which slid to the sides as they approached.
‘Why haven’t you left here, Rosie?’
Her laugh wasn’t husky this time, but nervous and low. ‘And where would I go? I have nothing of my own, no money, nowhere to live. I’ve spent twenty-eight years in the Sawyer cocoon, smothered by people who won’t allow me to leave.’
Astrid peered into the night. ‘I ran from home many times, the final one sticking when I was fourteen. Then I lived on the streets before falling in with the wrong crowd and the wrong boy. I broke the law for them, and they abandoned me. Another group came to my rescue; eventually, I left them to be on my own.’ She turned to Sawyer. ‘You can’t stay caged forever.’
They picked up speed, flying over the dirt and heading to the slip road where Astrid had left Campbell’s car. Once she got there, it would be fifty miles before her meeting with Medusa. After an eternity of silence, Sawyer spoke.
‘You don’t miss your family in England?’
Astrid pushed away all thoughts of Medusa, remembering how Benedict Sawyer had licked his lips at the mention of Olivia.
‘I have a niece I haven’t seen for a while.’
Did Sawyer’s reach extend that far he could hurt Olivia in England?
‘It must be nice to have people you love,’ Rosie said.
Astrid wiped the damp from the inside of the window.
‘You don’t know genuine fear until you’ve known love.’
It didn’t matter what she found with Medusa, didn’t matter who’d framed her; she couldn’t leave Benedict Sawyer sitting comfortably in the knowledge he had something over her, not after he’d threatened Olivia. She stared at Rosie’s reflection in the windscreen.
The road bumped a few miles more before they reached the car. They stepped out together, and Rosie took another photo of Astrid as she strode to Campbell’s vehicle.
‘Keep driving, and don’t come back, Astrid.’ Sadness seeped out of her voice.
Astrid had her damaged hand on the door as she turned to Sawyer.
‘You’ll see me again, Rosie; you and your father.’
She got into the car and put the events of the last hour behind her. She drove fifty miles with a playlist of Bowie tunes in her head.
And an image of Olivia in trouble.