Sharon hopes the woman’s survival instinct kicks in before depression takes hold. When someone is as devastated as the boy’s mother appears to be, every miniscule obstacle becomes insurmountable as negative thoughts dominate and turn all mental energy into a series of self-doubts and recriminations.

  The boy seems to be a good lad. Where most kids his age are all rolling eyes and snotty hormones, he’s bright and considerate of others. His manners are impeccable and he’s a son any parent would be proud of.

  The Powell girl is a different entity, so far as Sharon is concerned. Every time the girl speaks her voice is laden with disdain. Whether addressing her mother, a member of staff or another customer, she’s been rude and acted as if those she was speaking to were inferior to her.

  Sharon has seen the trait on many occasions. For those who’ve never had to work for it, great wealth often came with a sense of egotistical superiority. Their lives are a succession of having their every whim pandered to, and the deferential treatment received from those hanging on their coat tails gave them an over-inflated sense of worth.

  These people are rude and obnoxious for sport, they threaten people’s jobs to get their own way, and boast about how they bullied a defenceless person who was facing struggles they’ve never had to imagine, let alone comprehend. The girl is like that, and Sharon predicts an unhappy life for her.

  The girl is pretty enough to suggest there will be no shortage of potential suitors when she enters the dating scene. Her family’s wealth will make her question every man’s motives. She’ll wonder if they are interested in her or the trust fund she undoubtedly has. If the girl makes the mistake of falling for someone who’s after her money or social status, she’ll become wary of being hurt again.

  Regardless of how the girl will act when she grows up, and how the boy’s mother will be in the next few hours and days, Sharon wants them to live long enough to find out.

  Since Boulder’s escape she’s noticed that the number of terrorists has decreased – some have gone off and never returned. While it’s possible they have been given other tasks now the hostages are being compliant, the increased stress on the face of the female terrorist, and the way she sought out Fleming to help her identify Boulder, makes Sharon believe that Boulder has taken some of them out.

  The huge explosion will have been his work too. It had shaken the building and added to the woman’s stress.

  As much as Sharon wants Boulder to be unhurt, she knows the odds are against him. She wants to help, and now he’s depleted the number of terrorists, there are fewer guards watching over them.

  She slides the steak knife she’d palmed back inside her sleeve and rises to her feet. Two of the kitchen staff are asking for the toilet and she wants to join them.

  It isn’t that she needs the toilet, it’s more of a way to give herself an opportunity to strike back. The knife in her sleeve isn’t the deadliest weapon she’s ever held, but if she can plunge it into one of the tattoos adorning the guard’s neck, she’ll be able to grab his submachine gun and the pistol on his belt.

  Sharon makes to go for the ladies’ again, which will draw the guard out of sight of the other terrorists. Once he is down she can make her escape and find Boulder. Together they’ll stand a far better chance of beating the terrorists.

  ‘Hey, use the men’s room.’ The guard takes a half step to the side so he is in her line of sight.

  ‘I thought we’d got past that.’ Sharon takes another step towards the powder room. ‘I need to go there.’

  ‘I don’t care. Use the men’s room.’

  Sharon steps a half pace forward until the guard is within striking distance. ‘Please?’

  The guard’s eyes narrow as he assesses her, his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the movement making the wolf tattooed on his throat appear to snarl.

  With them being visible to other guards, Sharon knows if she attacks the guy standing in front of her, she’ll be gunned down in seconds. Rather than provoke the situation any further, she turns to head back to the men’s room. Her plan has failed and therefore she must rethink things and find another opportunity.

  The noise she hears behind her is unmistakeable. Once you’ve heard someone cock a submachine gun, the sound never leaves your memory. The last time she’d heard the sound was in Afghanistan, but those were different times. She was in love with the major and was desperate for both of them to do their tour and return home unharmed. They had, and now she was hearing that metallic snap again.

  ‘Put your hands behind your head and lace your fingers.’

  Any hint of normalcy has gone from the guard’s voice. His tone is now cold and business-like, so Sharon does as she’s told. The very fact she has to obey an instruction grates on her, but she knows she must suppress her independent nature, otherwise it’ll get her killed.

  The hard point of a muzzle presses against her spine. ‘Walk to the manager’s office. Make one false move and I’ll shoot you where you stand.’

  As Sharon walks to the office, her mind juggles the risk of taking action and dying, against being handed over to the terrorist’s boss. The woman is a stone-cold killer who no doubt has some vicious punishment in mind.

  She feels the muzzle dig into her back, as a pair of fingers slide the knife from her sleeve. A second later, the point of the knife jabs her in the back – not hard, just enough to break the skin and inflict pain.

  Every step she takes towards the office is accompanied by another jab from the knife. As frightened as she is about what the woman may do to her, Sharon isn’t ready to quit yet.

  Her jaw stiffens as she prepares herself for whatever punishment the female terrorist decides to mete out.

  As she’s pushed through the door, she’s doing everything she can to replace her fear with anger. Terror will see her crumble, rage will strengthen resolve and fortify her determination.

  Chapter 48

  The music is loud and there are throngs of people half her age dancing and hanging out in groups, but that doesn’t stop Ivy Boulder from forging her way through the crowd like an ice breaker.

  She’s leaving a trail of sharp glances behind her from the people she’s jostled or scolded out of her way.

  A drunk man slurs ‘Happy New Year’ at her and spreads his arms wide for a hug. She brushes him aside without a care for his feelings and arrows in on her target.

  Alfonse Devereaux is her son’s best friend, and if anyone knows why Jake hasn’t been in touch with Hogmanay greetings, he will.

  He’s surrounded by a group of people who’re half familiar to her as Jake’s circle of friends, but rather than worry about embarrassing her son, she marches up to Alfonse and demands that he tells her why Jake didn’t call her at midnight.

  From the week they moved to Utah, and Jake had been landed in a new school, he’d been friends with Alfonse. The quiet, bookish lad was an immigrant the same as Jake and, while Ivy didn’t know the full truth, she knew Alfonse and Jake had initially traded protection for academic help.

  The knowledge her son is – and always has been – a fighter, is something Ivy has long since grown to accept as part of his nature. She doesn’t like this facet of his personality, or the amount of time she spends worrying about the day he gets himself into a fight he can’t win, but Ivy can live with the knowledge that one day her son will take a beating so long as it doesn’t leave him with life changing injuries.

  A greater concern for her is, sooner or later, Jake will get himself into trouble with the law. He’s been more than lucky to have avoided prison for the escapades he’s gotten himself into, and she knows in her bones that his luck is due to run out.

  ‘I don’t know, Mrs B. I haven’t heard from him either.’

  ‘What do you think he’s up to?’

  When Alfonse stands and takes her arm, Ivy lets him steer her to a place where they can talk without shouting in each other’s ears.

  ‘He might well be working.’

  ‘What?’ The last time Ivy had heard from Jake, he was working for a fast food chain in Idaho. ‘Flipping burgers at this time of night? Don’t you be giving me none of your bull, Alfonse. You’re a grown man now, tell me what’s going on and don’t think you’re helping Jake by lying to me.’

  ‘Sorry, but I thought you’d know. He’s got a job at a ski lodge. He’s working as a bartender, and as it’s New Year’s …’ Alfonse lets the sentence hang and Ivy understands what he is getting at.

  There is no guile on Alfonse’s face, just bemusement that she didn’t know where Jake is and what he’s doing. Ivy doesn’t really blame Alfonse, it’s Jake’s responsibility to keep her informed of his movements, and he’s failed her. Since he’d left Casperton, his calls were infrequent at best, and he’d been guarded when questioned about how he was.

  ‘So, his poor mother is the last to know as always. Sometimes I wonder what I’ve done to deserve being treated the way he treats me. Night after night, I toss and turn, wracked with worry about my only son and what does he do? He moves round the country at will without updating me.’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Alfonse’s words hold no malice but there is a stern look on his face that Ivy has never seen before. ‘Jake is trying to find himself. You saw the mess he was in before he left town, he’ll be working, or doing lord knows what, but what he won’t be doing is getting himself into trouble. He hasn’t told me much about how he’s feeling, but I’ve read between enough lines to know he’s carrying a butt load of guilt. When he does get in touch, do him the courtesy of listening to what he doesn’t say, as much as what he does. And never forget.’ The way Alfonse is wagging a finger under her nose is infuriating her, but Ivy manages to curb her instinct to grab the digit. ‘Jake needs our support right now, not a million and one questions, not a guilt trip every time he calls. If he needs time to find himself before he comes home, so be it, let’s just make sure he wants to come back to Casperton.’

  Ivy pushes her way past Alfonse then turns back. Never, in all the years she’s known him, has he spoken to her with such frankness. In his own, respectful way, he’s telling her to stop nagging at Jake and allow him space.

  Alfonse is a good man, but he’s not a parent, he’s never had to raise two kids single-handed. He’s never had to answer questions about why daddy left, nor has he had to explain a million and one things to a wide-eyed child, and he’s missed out on the all-consuming worry that having children can engender.

  ‘Your words are noted. Now, can you tell me where my son is, please?’ Ivy regrets the ice in her tone, but Alfonse’s lecture has ticked her off, and there’s no way she can let anyone speak to her like that without retaliating.

  ‘He’s at a place in Vermont. Some hyper-exclusive ski resort called RidgeWay, or RidgeTop, something like that.’

  ‘So he’s in a ski resort and he’s working the bar. Tell me, Alfonse, how well do you think that is going to work out?’

  Other than his fighting, the biggest worry Ivy has about Jake is his binge drinking. It’s not often that he drinks, but when he does, she knows he loses days at a time.

  If he’s in constant proximity to alcohol, there’s little doubt in Ivy’s mind that he’ll be faced with a temptation he’s unable to resist. All it will take is for someone to piss him off a couple of times and he’ll be reaching for the nearest bottle. Then he’ll fail to turn up for work and that will lead to one of two scenarios: he’ll be sacked, or his boss will go looking for him. Neither will help Jake’s quest to find himself.

  The idea that Jake hasn’t contacted her or Alfonse because he’s working is a welcome one, as is the idea that he’s hooked up with a woman for the night, but she doubts the latter. Against all his usual instincts, Jake had fallen for someone, and when she died because of his father’s cowardice, Jake’s fury betrayed how deeply he’d loved her.

  ‘Mrs B?’

  Ivy collects herself from her thoughts and looks at Alfonse. His cell phone is in his hand and his expression is grave.

  He holds the phone so she can see the screen.

  It shows a search result for RidgeTop Resort. That is all well and good; like the decent soul that he is, Alfonse has searched for the place Jake is working at so she can see it for herself.

  It is the second listing that explains the look on his face. The listing shows a news report: RidgeTop Resort is the scene of a suspected terrorist attack and the police and FBI are in attendance.

  Ivy presses her thumb against the second listing and waits a few seconds until the page loads.

  So far, there are no confirmed casualties, but initial reports suggest that one of the hostages has broken free and alerted the authorities.

  As she digests the news, she reads the report a second and third time, looking for her son’s name. It isn’t there, but she knows trouble is attracted to Jake the way flies are drawn to dung, and if he is at that resort, he won’t be sitting quiet, hoping for a peaceful outcome. His nature will compel him to fight back, to do whatever he can to scupper the terrorists’ plans, and basically put his mother into an even deeper state of concern than usual.

  Ivy knows she should be proud of Jake and the way he always tries to do the right thing, but she’s afraid he’s bitten off more than he can chew this time, and it’s all she can do not to crumple to the ground in floods of tears.

  As much as she loves her son, a tiny part of her hates him for the way he keeps her in a constant state of worry.

  Chapter 49

  Try as she might, Sharon can’t prevent her knees from trembling. It’s all she can do to keep her face neutral and the fear from her eyes. Feistiness is in her nature and there’s no way she is prepared to cower before the female terrorist. To do so would give the other woman the upper hand and show her respect.

  Whatever happens, Sharon refuses to give the terrorists even the slightest advantage.

  When she’s pushed into Fleming’s office, there is a couple facing the female across the resort manager’s desk. Beside her, one of her men is sitting in front of a laptop, which has a tablet connected to it by a lead that has multiple tails, each featuring a different type of connector.

  The female terrorist jerks a thumb at the couple and glares at Sharon and the guard with the tattooed neck. ‘This better be good.’

  The guard says nothing until the couple have left.

  ‘I think she’s connected with the guy who’s running around out there.’

  The female terrorist’s eyes narrow as she lifts a pistol from the desk and points it at Sharon. ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘When she went to the can earlier, she insisted on going to the powder room instead of the men’s room. Said she needed sanitary products. I figured that while I was trying to watch over her and the others, I missed one of them going back to where the hostages are. Seems like she was distracting me while he made his escape.’

  ‘I see. So, you’re telling me that you fell for her distraction?’

  ‘I guess so. I couldn’t watch both ways.’

  Sharon sees the pistol’s aim transferred from her to the guard. The look in the woman’s eyes is arctic in its coldness, and Sharon is expecting her to pull the trigger.

  ‘Your mistake has proven costly to the operation. Therefore, it’s only fair it becomes costly to you. Your payment has just been reduced by one third. I trust this is agreeable to you?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ The man’s tone shows disappointment and resignation, but Sharon doesn’t detect even the slightest hint of dissent.

  ‘Leave us now. If you want to redeem yourself, and go back to a full share, bring me Boulder’s head. It doesn’t necessarily have to be attached to his shoulders.’

  The pistol’s aim returns to Sharon.

  ‘I’m innocent. Your man is an idiot who can’t count. This Boulder guy you’re after, I’m nothing to do with him.’

  The bullet that slams into Sharon’s left arm doesn’t strike the bone, but it has enough impact to jerk her backwards. The pain is instantaneous as a series of nerve endings do their job and inform her brain of the injury. She can still move her arm and, while it hurts like hell, she knows the real pain will come later when her body stops dumping adrenaline to deal with the injury.

  When she turns to face the terrorist, she has her right hand clasped over the bullet wound to stem the blood flow.

  ‘Do not lie to me. I find lies incredibly tedious. I have seen Boulder’s file and the picture it contains. He was sat with you before he escaped. My man is probably correct in that you created a distraction so Boulder could escape.’ The terrorist rolls her eyes. ‘Men are weird creatures. If I’d told him to skin you alive, he’d have done it without question, but you intimate you’re on your period and he becomes all awkward.’

  The conversational tone that the female terrorist is using scares Sharon more than the gun that’s pointed at her. It would appear this is the woman’s normal; she’s not angry or showing any of the signs of wanting to exact retribution that Sharon had expected to see.

  The barrel of the pistol points at a chair and bobs twice, so Sharon takes a seat. She wants to protest her innocence further, but doesn’t want to risk catching another bullet. The first had inflicted pain without doing any real damage, but there is no telling where the next one will strike.

  Rather than provoke the woman, Sharon keeps her mouth shut and waits for her to speak again.

  ‘You’re tough. Other than a yelp when I shot your arm, you’ve not made a sound. I dare say I could torture you to get the information I want, but to be frank with you, as much as I would enjoy it, something about the way you’re holding your head tells me you’d rise to the challenge and wouldn’t talk. You’re sitting there, probably expecting to die. I’m certain you’re expecting me to hurt you some more. I’d like to find out just how tough you are, but I don’t have time to waste on you, so we’re going to cut right to the heart of the matter. I have three questions I want answers to: one; who is Boulder? Two; why did you help him? Three; what other plans do you have to strike against me and my colleagues?’