Bardwell recognised the tall redhead as soon as she climbed out of her vehicle in the middle of the farmyard. When he’d heard her approach, he was towelling himself dry from the shower, needing to clean up. Now, his hands faltered.
So, the girl sold me out anyway. It was all for nothing.
He’d certainly expected her to. What rational person wouldn’t go straight to the police after seeing a man stalking with a gun? After being half strangled by him?
Even as the thought formed, the logical side of his brain dismissed it. Edith was far from rational, and if she’d called anyone for help before knocking so boldly on his door, it would not have been this woman. Even from his distant observation, Bardwell knew the redhead was some kind of technician, not a detective.
No, it would have been the heavy mob.
Still watching her, he dumped the towel and shrugged into a fresh shirt, the slide of well-washed cotton soothing against his skin.
The redhead turned a slow circle in the middle of the empty yard, taking in everything with a minute attention that disturbed him. She seemed to stare longest at the byre. He told himself it was the only one showing signs of occupation, not some darker reason. He’d brought the Land Rover out of the barn and left it outside his door, everything normal. Bardwell opened the kitchen door.
“Help you?” he called across the yard, keeping it neutral, neither unfriendly nor encouraging her to linger.
She was frowning as if something bothered her, and swivelled at the sound of his voice, advanced a few steps.
“Hello,” she said, calm and easy, not intimidated by the size of him. “I’m looking for Edith Airey. I understand she works here. Is she about?”
Bardwell shrugged. “Dunno.” He jerked his head towards the farmhouse. “If she’s not up there, she’ll have gone home by now, likely as not.”
She gave him a nod and a brief smile. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll give it a try.”
Bardwell retreated inside while she made her fruitless journey. Motionless, he was still watching when she returned to her vehicle minutes later. She looked around again, nosy, before driving slowly out of the yard.
As she disappeared from view, he took a deep breath. Somehow, disaster had been averted. The gun was secure, the threat neutralised. Now, all he had to do was concentrate on the job at hand.
So why couldn’t he clear that image of the woman with the fox-red hair? The first time he’d seen her was through the scope of his rifle. It forged an intimate connection that would not be broken, whether she was aware of it or not.
Their paths would cross again. The patterns swirled and solidified inside Bardwell’s head. I’ll make sure of that.