The Hunt: ‘A great thriller...breathless all the way’ – LEE CHILD. T.J. Lebbon

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СКАЧАТЬ his sweaty shirt over the handle with one hand as he picked up his mug with the other.

      He turned and breathed across the hot tea, steam filming his eyes and warming his skin. The knife was cold against his hip. And just what the fuck am I going to do with that? he thought, trying to imagine himself plunging it into someone’s stomach. He almost puked.

      ‘I’m ready,’ he said. ‘No need to hang about.’ The phone said fourteen minutes.

      Slowly, he sipped at the hot tea and managed to convince himself that everything would be fine. If they’d planned to harm him or his family they’d have done so by now. They wanted something of him, though he couldn’t imagine what. He’d made no enemies in life that he could think of. He’d always been fair in business. He and Terri led a boringly normal life in many ways – loyal to each other, adoring of their children. He vented any need for excitement through his running, triathlons, mountain racing. There are worse mid-life crises, Terri said to him sometimes when he signed up for another extreme race.

      Chris closed his eyes and breathed in the tea fumes, but found nothing approaching calmness. He felt like crying at the memory of seeing his family like that, taken somewhere unknown, bound and gagged. It had been a woman guarding them, but he couldn’t help imagining how vulnerable they were to the men involved in this, too. Terri in what she called her comfy clothing, unconsciously attractive. Gemma, awkward and pretty, just developing into womanhood. Little Megs.

      He opened his eyes, furious, and swigged at his tea. On the fridge door facing him, held on by magnets, were several drawings by Megs, a few money-off coupons for their local supermarket, and a twenty-pound note. Gemma had been due to go to the cinema with her friends that evening.

      He heard a knock from somewhere beyond the kitchen door.

      Holding his breath, Chris put the mug down slowly, mouth slightly open, listening hard. The heating was off now, though the boiler was still warming the water. But he hadn’t recognised the sound.

      It came once more, definitely an impact of some sort. His phone showed nothing so he turned it face-down again. Taking the knife from his belt and holding it down by his side, he walked through into the corridor beyond the kitchen door. Ahead of him the front door was still closed, and there was no sign of movement elsewhere.

      Studio, he thought. To his right a shorter corridor led beneath the staircase to another door, beyond which their converted garage had become his business studio. It was a good size, with computer station, an old-fashioned drawing board, walls lined with pictures displaying his designs, and an informal area for clients with leather sofa and coffee machine. Nothing extravagant, but comfortable. And now there was someone there.

      He thought about edging through the door, moving cautiously, carefully. But that’s what they expected of him.

      And he was angry.

      Gripping the knife hard by his side he surged forward, shoved the door open and stepped quickly into the studio.

      Something tripped him, he fell, one hand out to break his fall, the other twisted painfully as the knife was stripped from his grasp. He struck the timber flooring and tried to roll. A weight bore down on him, trapping him on his side with one arm crushed beneath his body, the other pressed between him and the person attacking him.

      Chris kicked and writhed. A hand clamped down hard across his mouth. Another held his own knife against his throat.

      He strained his neck and looked up into the woman’s face. She looked hard, unflustered, and totally in control.

      ‘I’m here to help,’ she whispered. ‘If you want to live past the next twenty-four hours and see your family again, do everything I say.’ She sat up and slowly took her hand from his mouth.

      ‘Who … ?’ he asked.

      ‘I’m the one that got away. My name’s Rose.’

       Chapter Four

       just begun

      She crept to the door into his studio and crouched beside it, peering out beneath the stairwell and into the hallway. Chris respected poise, economy of motion, litheness, but there was something else about the way this woman moved that disturbed him. Something inhuman. She moved like an animal, and like an animal she seemed ready to strike. She held the knife she’d taken from him as an extension of her arm, aimed forward, ready to slice and stab. Her movements were soundless, and he searched for her shadow. He was happy to find it.

      ‘What are you going to … ?’ he began, and she was back to him between blinks, hand pressed against his mouth once again, eyes wide, head shaking once. She didn’t need to speak. The threat was palpable, radiating from her in powerful waves, even though she made no hint that she wished to hurt him.

      She went to the door again and crept out, until she could look both ways along the hallway – left to the kitchen, right towards the front door. Then she came back and crouched in the doorway. She wore black jeans, a casual jacket with bulging pockets, walking boots. Her dark hair was tied in a ponytail, businesslike, impossible to tell its length. She might have been attractive, once.

      ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

      ‘I told you. Rose.’

      ‘But what … ?’

      ‘Shut up.’ She held up one hand, head cocked, not looking at him. ‘There’s no time now.’

      Chris glanced at his phone. The timer said nine minutes.

      ‘Just listen,’ she said. ‘I’m here to help. I only found out they were going for you yesterday morning. But it was long enough to plan and prepare. They’ll be coming in to get you soon, and then we’ll be leaving. You understand?’

      ‘No,’ Chris said. ‘My wife. My girls.’

      ‘We’ll get to them.’ She tried to smile. It was a sickly expression.

      ‘Where are they?’ he asked.

      ‘Not sure.’ An economy of words, and they explained nothing.

      ‘Why are they doing this?’

      ‘You’re an easy target.’

      He was shivering again. His clothing was soaked with sweat, his body now trying to cool down. ‘I need to go to the police.’

      ‘No!’ she said, looking back at him again. ‘You can’t even try to do that, or they’ll just kill your family and move on.’

      ‘You’re not one of them?’

      She glared at him. ‘Are you stupid?’

      ‘No, not stupid. I’m normal. I’m just a normal person doing normal things, and now my family are—’

      The front door opened. Chris heard the familiar sound of the handle depressing, the catch sliding, and then the sigh as СКАЧАТЬ