Amber shook her head. “It’s probably halfway down the canal by now.”

Tim sighed. “Okay.”

Amber got up. “Make sure you find the traitor. And make sure to make an example of them.”

Tim grabbed Amber’s arm before she could walk away. “What would you do?”

“You want to ask The Hamlet barmaid or the cat skinner?”

“The one I fell in love with.”

Amber smiled and bent down and kissed him deeply. She pulled away before she bit his lip. “I’d kill them.”

She walked away, leaving Tim to his latte and a little light reading.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

During...

Matthew wound his window down and then the other, relishing the way the wind played on his face. Freedom—it felt so much better than he had even imagined. Mr. Ferringham had done it—he’d kept his word, and now it was time for him to keep his. He thought he knew where his old phone was—all he had to do was charge it up. He knew he’d saved what he needed to find.

Loamfield undid his tie with one hand and threw it into the back next to Matthew. He was driving along the highway, back toward Marsden. They’d be at Matthew’s house in no time at all.

This was really happening.

He was really going home.

“I hope whatever you’ve got to give Robin Ferringham is good,” Loamfield said, looking in the rearview mirror. “That man just saved your arse. Big-time. I couldn’t have done anything like that. If you’d have got into a courtroom, you would have been all kinds of screwed.”

Matthew nodded, but didn’t say anything. A black van came up alongside Loamfield’s car. The windows were tinted and he couldn’t see inside. For some reason, it made him feel incredibly uneasy.

“What’s this idiot up to?” Loamfield said, as the van coasted across the lines into their lane. Loamfield hugged the hard shoulder. “Drunk much?”

The window of the van started to roll down. Loamfield didn’t see, but Matthew did. The person behind the wheel of the van...

But...it couldn’t be...

“Speed up,” Matthew shouted.

The van touched the right-hand side of the car, ever so gently, and then Matthew felt it push the car farther over onto the hard shoulder.

“Shit,” Loamfield said. “What the...?”

“Mr. Loamfield, speed up,” Matthew said. “It’s him.”

The van moved away quickly, swerving back into its lane. Loamfield looked at the van, must have seen who was driving. “Wait—wha...?”

The van swerved back into the car, slamming into it. Matthew felt himself get thrown to the left, his seat belt cutting into his neck. Loamfield’s tie hurtled out of the open window. And then the car was airborne, flying off the highway, careening down the hill into the trees below.

All Matthew knew was the tree coming toward them. And then, black.