He couldn’t remember running that fast ever. He felt like Usain Bolt as he shot out from the rear of his hiding place and back to the house in two minutes flat. Charging in through the door, he didn’t pause to catch his breath. There were things to do. Like act calm. Not easy to achieve as his lungs scrabbled for air, his heart pounding and his head full of new, horrifying images.
A narrow miss from a stray bullet.
Mike shot in cold blood.
And a loving embrace between his wife and another man.
Plus, on top of all that: Stevie’s death by his hand.
None of it would be easily forgotten. It had all gone so wrong. He had only wanted the gold to start a new life for his family elsewhere. Ian, Mike and Stevie could always dig for more. He would have packed his family up – though now he suspected Nee might have stayed – and left for Adelaide. Or beyond. Not Kallayee. What had been simple robbery had become much more sinister. He had killed a man. But that had been a tragic accident. Ian had outright executed someone. Why stop there? Why not come after him and Dylan?
Despite his heart and brain working overtime his lungs began to recover. It was time to leave.
Lugging the pulley behind the door he made for the bedroom, yelling for Dylan to get ready to go on a trip. Entering the bedroom he looked behind the bed.
Dylan was not there.
Or in his own bedroom.
Or the kitchen. Or the living room. He wasn’t even outside tending to his mining operation. Dylan was gone.
Had Naiyana and Ian beaten him here and taken him? Surely not. He would have heard the vehicles. So where had he disappeared to?
His thoughts were disturbed by the insistent shove at the front door. Dylan had come back. Lorcan felt a flood of relief. He had gone to find his father but had given up. There was still time to escape.
But the voice was Naiyana’s, not Dylan’s.
Lorcan took a couple of breaths and considered his next move. If he stayed quiet, she would force her way in and immediately wonder where Dylan was. Talking to her might buy him some time. If he could keep it together.
Removing the heavy doorstop, he put his hands in his pockets to mask the persistent shaking. She asked about the pulley and then Dylan. He explained that their son was asleep, exhausted from running after the quad all morning, trying to sell the lie, trying to control himself.
She took a step inside as if going to check. If so, he would have to tell the truth. That Dylan was gone. But she stopped, staring at him, accepting the explanation. Then Ian spoke. Wanting to know when he got back to the house and why the quad tyres were slashed, distrust oozing from every word.
Lorcan was confused himself as to why the tyres were slashed. So he played on it. Taking his quivering hands from his pockets he held them up and told them he had nearly crashed earlier so had given the quad up. By now he felt that he was running out of luck. He didn’t know how long he could continue devising barely plausible stories. His mouth felt like the desert outside.
Then Ian accused him of trying to take the gold. Had he realized that Mike was telling the truth over Stevie’s shooting? But Lorcan had one final play, reversing the accusation and questioning Ian’s whereabouts and who he was with.
That bought a moment’s silence, a flustered Nee glancing at her lover. He felt sick to the core.
Then they left, separately but together, Lorcan waiting until the vehicles disappeared from view before sliding down the wall to stop himself from collapsing. But he didn’t have time to sit around. He needed to find his son.