me a bag of clothes and a bag of money and send me off somewhere? I don’t even know where you’re sending me. I’m not going, you understand? I am not going and you can’t make me!”
Imelda glanced at Milo. “She’s not usually like this.”
“And who the hell is he?” Amber almost shouted. “You’re sending me off with a strange man I don’t even know? How is that a good idea?”
“I trust him.”
“He was going to shoot me earlier! And you want me to get in a car with this guy? For how long? How long will all this take?”
Imelda hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe … two weeks?”
“Two weeks?”
“Or three.”
“What?”
“It’s the only safe way. You’ll have to get yourself some more clothes and things, but that bag will do for now.”
“We really need to get going,” said Milo. “I want to be on the road before dark.”
Amber held up her hands. “Okay, okay, listen to me. Just listen, all right? That’s your idea. That’s the plan you came up with. So now I have a plan. Milo here goes home. He goes home and he plays with his guns and he’s happy. And, while he’s being happy, you and me get in a car and we drive somewhere nice and we never look back.”
Imelda shook her head. “I told you, I can’t go with you.”
“Why? Why can’t you come with me? Jesus Christ, you’re the only person I know who isn’t trying to kill me.”
“It’s better for you if I stay, honey. I can keep an eye on what they’re doing. If they’re close to finding you, I can steer them away.”
“You just don’t want to be around me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Of course it is. The only reason you’re helping me is because you feel guilty. You don’t give a crap about me – if you did, you wouldn’t be handing me over to him.”
Imelda shook her head. “That’s not true.”
“Well, there we have it – we have two plans. Your stupid plan where I go with some lunatic called Milo, and my good plan, where you and me go somewhere far away, with mountains and trees and maybe a log cabin. We’ll go to Montana. It’s cool in Montana. We won’t have to live in this constant heat.”
“Let’s have a vote,” said Milo. “I vote for the stupid plan and so does Imelda.”
Amber glared at him, then redirected the glare at Imelda. “Why him? Who is he? What does he have to do with all this?”
“I have my own history with Demons,” Milo said. “I’m as qualified for this job as anyone possibly could be.”
“So you’ve made a deal, just like my parents did? Bad people make deals with Demons – bad people who like to eat their children. Have you ever murdered anyone, Milo?”
“Amber, that’s enough,” said Imelda.
“You want me to get in a car with this guy—”
“Yes,” Imelda snapped. “I do. Because I can’t be there and he’s the only one I know who’ll be able to protect you. He’s also the only one I know who’d be willing to protect you. Amber, this is messed up. Don’t you think I know that? And don’t you think this is breaking my heart, sending you away? I’ve finally been able to tell you the truth, after years of being too afraid, and instead of showing you all of the love I have for you, love that I’ve had for you since the day you were born, I have to send you away and pretend to be just like the others. I have to pretend to care nothing for you, Amber. I have to pretend to see you as nothing more than our next power boost. This is breaking me, sweetheart. This is ripping me up inside and I don’t know how the hell I’m not falling to the floor in tears, but I’m not. Because I have to be strong. For you. And you have to be strong for me. Because you’re the only person in this world that I love, and if anything happens to you I’ll … I’ll …”
“I’m sorry,” Amber said quietly.
“Oh, honey,” Imelda said, pulling her into an embrace. Amber didn’t know what to do for a moment. This wasn’t the quick hug of Grant or Kirsty, or the picked-up-off-the-ground hug of Alastair. This was something else. This was genuine, and Amber found herself lost as to how to respond.
But she gradually wrapped her arms round Imelda and hugged her back, and she didn’t even notice the tears that were spilling off her cheeks and soaking through Imelda’s blouse. She felt Imelda cry, and realised she was crying herself. This one hug was the warmest, most sincere physical contact she had ever experienced, and she didn’t want it to ever end.
RAIN MINGLED WITH THE tears on her face as Amber got into the SUV.
Milo had parked it round the back of Imelda’s apartment building. They didn’t want Amber in plain view. They didn’t want her walking across the sidewalk for a few seconds because that was a risk they couldn’t afford to take. Their paranoia was affecting Amber. She waited until Milo had the back door open, and then she ran through the heat and the rain, practically dived in. Milo threw a blanket over her and closed the door.
He got in the front, started the engine, and as the SUV was pulling out on to the street Amber realised she hadn’t said goodbye to Imelda, and a sliver of anguish pierced her heart.
She made sure she wasn’t about to cry, and then pulled the blanket back.
The SUV’s exterior may have needed a wash, but the interior was clean and smelled of polish. Milo struck her as the type to maintain his vehicle in perfect running order, and she realised that she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the dirt and the dust on the outside were nothing more than camouflage.
They drove without speaking for five minutes. Amber resisted the urge to speak. She wanted Milo to get uncomfortable in the silence. When the clock on the dash showed 8pm, she sat up, but kept the blanket wrapped round her head like a shawl. To her irritation, he looked perfectly comfortable.
“So where are we going?”
Milo moved into another lane. “We’re going to see a friend of mine. He might be able to help.”
“Help how?”
“We’re hoping he’ll have some ideas on how to evade your parents.”
“You’re hoping? Imelda said there was a plan. Hoping for ideas does not sound like a plan. Who is he, this friend of yours?”
“His name’s Edgar Spurrier,” Milo said as they slowed at the lights. “He used to be a journalist. His investigations took him deeper and darker than any respectable news agency was willing to delve, so now he’s a freelance … something.”
“So he’s unemployed, basically.”
They started driving again. “He prefers the term ‘freelance something’.”
She frowned. “Was that a joke?”
Milo shrugged.
“Where does he live?”
“Miami.”
“That’s, like, three or four hours away. Why aren’t you more organised? Why isn’t he here? Or why can’t you call him? I’d loan you my phone only, oh yeah, you destroyed it.”
“No phone calls, if we can help it,” said Milo,