The older man with the scarred face was standing above Amanda, and he turned to Jess, something close to pity in his expression. ‘I’m sorry you had to get caught up in all this,’ he said in an English accent. ‘You were just unlucky.’

Jess was clenching her teeth so hard they hurt. But there was a question she had to ask. ‘My little sister . . . The blonde girl. Where is she?’

The scar-faced man shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She escaped.’

Jess felt a flood of relief that made her shake. If nothing else, at least Casey was okay.

‘Who was that man who helped you?’ demanded Scarface.

‘I don’t know,’ said Jess. ‘Honestly.’

‘Have you ever seen him before?’

She shook her head, unwilling to tell them that he worked for the canoe operators, just in case they tried to get him later. She owed the stranger that.

‘Do you know who he was?’ he asked Amanda, pointing his gun down at her.

Amanda shook her head. ‘I never even saw him,’ she said.

‘You’ve been a real pain, Amanda,’ Scarface told her, something close to respect in his voice. ‘If you’d just come quietly, you’d have saved a lot of lives.’

The comment made Jess bristle, reminding her of Tim and Jean, and the havoc Amanda had wrought on her and Casey’s lives in just a few bloody hours.

‘I don’t even know why you want me,’ said Amanda, looking up at him. She looked scared, but still in control, and she wasn’t shivering like Jess was. ‘I have no idea who you are, and I’ve done nothing wrong.’

The scar-faced man gave a mocking laugh. ‘That attitude might work with the police, but it doesn’t wash with us. We know what you did.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘You set up your old man, darling. It was you who had him killed. Now you’d save yourself a lot of pain if you told us who the other killer was.’

Amanda looked totally shocked. ‘Look, I don’t know where you’re getting your information from—’

‘We got it from the best source possible. The Disciple.’

‘Well, he got it wrong. I’m telling you. I had nothing to do with my husband’s death.’

‘Come on,’ growled the big, baby-faced guy, in a thick Scottish accent. ‘The bitch isn’t going to admit anything until we start on her properly. When the laird gets his hands on her, she’ll talk until she’s blue in the face; but, right now, we need to get the fuck out of here.’

‘Rory, mind your language,’ came a voice from the doorway. It was the old lady. She still had the cheery, grandmotherly expression on her ruddy face, except now she was holding something in her hand. Jess looked down and saw that it was a hypodermic syringe.

‘Sorry Ma,’ said the big man. ‘I’m just keen to get on, that’s all.’

‘Aye, you’re right. We need to move, Keogh,’ she said, addressing Scarface as she came into the room. ‘Let me give this little jab to our wee lassie and then we can be on our way.’

Jess felt the fear crashing through her in waves. They were talking as though she wasn’t there. As if she was totally and utterly unimportant.

Which meant she had to talk fast.

‘Please don’t kill me,’ she said quietly, addressing the scar-faced man, guessing that he was the only one likely to have any mercy.

Scarface gave her an uncertain look. It was obvious he didn’t relish the idea, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do it.

‘We could take her with us,’ said the old lady, walking round behind Scarface and inspecting Jess from the other end of the sofa with a malicious glint in her eye. ‘The laird’s been known to enjoy some dark meat. He might appreciate the gift.’

Jess was so scared she couldn’t move. She had no idea what the old lady was talking about but she didn’t care. Anything that kept her alive for a little bit longer was good enough for her.

‘No,’ said Scarface emphatically. ‘She doesn’t deserve that. Let’s just finish it.’

‘Please,’ said Jess, her voice barely a croak.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Scarface, turning away. ‘Do it, MacLean. And be quick.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Jess saw Amanda stiffen in her seat as the old lady bent down towards her with the syringe. Amanda turned and stared up at the big baby-faced man as he raised his gun and pointed it down at her. She looked in his eyes and saw nothing there, and in that moment she suddenly believed in a God who’d be there for her when she died, and a kind of heaven where she’d see her mum and dad again, and even her real mum . . .

And then she shut her eyes as the shot rang out.

Forty-nine

BUT JESS DIDN’T die.

She heard the sound of glass breaking behind her, followed by a grunt of surprise, and, as her eyes opened, she saw the big, baby-faced guy falling backwards onto the floor, dropping his gun in the process.

Everything happened very fast then. A second shot rang out and it was clear from the renewed sound of breaking glass that it was coming from outside, giving Jess a sudden surge of hope. But the scar-faced man – the one called Keogh – was already diving out of the way, knocking the old lady over in the process. At the same time Amanda leapt to her feet, keeping low to avoid any more shots from outside, and made a break for the door. Immediately, Keogh’s arm whipped out, snake-like, grabbing her by the leg and yanking it backwards, sending her sprawling. He was on top of her in a second, shoving the gun into the side of her face before dragging her to her feet, and forcing her round so she was facing the window and acting as his shield. Keeping well hidden behind her, he then retreated towards the front door, switching off the main light in the process, leaving the room only dimly lit by a single lamp in one corner.

For a second no one was taking any notice of Jess. The big man was groaning on the floor in front of her, and she could see that his face was covered in blood. But he was a long way from being dead. One big, gloved hand reached out, patting the carpet as he tried to locate the gun. Before Jess had time to react, he’d found it, his fingers gripping the handle as he started to sit up, his eyes open and alert, even though there was a bloody hole in his cheek where the bullet had struck him.

Jess had a sudden nightmarish thought that this guy was invincible, like Jason out of the old Friday the 13th films – that, whatever happened to him, he would survive and keep hunting her down until she was dead. But then her instincts took over and she leapt forward off the sofa, punching him as hard as she could in the face with one hand, and using the other to try to wrestle the gun from his grip.

The gunman clearly hadn’t been expecting an attack because he fell back, his head hitting the floor with an angry thud. The gun clattered out of his hand and Jess reached over and grabbed it by the barrel, a surge of hope rushing through her.

But then suddenly her head was yanked back by her hair with such force that she felt her neck crack, and the next second her face was being slammed into the carpet and the old lady’s voice hissed very close to her ear.

‘Bitch. Now you die.’

As soon as Scope fired the two shots he moved out of sight of the window. He knew he’d taken out the first one with a head shot, because he’d seen the way he’d gone down, but he didn’t think he’d hit the second guy – the one with the scarred face – because, just after the second shot, the main light had gone off inside the room.

He would have preferred not to have opened fire when he did, because he only had a decent view of the big guy. The scar-faced one was partially obscured by a half-pulled curtain. Scope had approached the house carefully – really just a routine reconnaissance, not expecting to see anything untoward – but then, having identified the two gunmen inside, he’d still been in the process of formulating a plan for taking them out when the big guy had raised his weapon and aimed it at one of the two women on the sofa. Even though he couldn’t see either of their faces, he recognized Jess by her short black hair, and he’d fired on instinct.