Page 13 of Donovan Blake: Passion

“Ask and you shall receive,” she exclaimed. “Sponge cake, scones—”

“Of course,” he interrupted with a chuckle. “God forbid we go anywhere without scones.”

“Chocolate cookies, or rather, chocolate biscuits as they say here, and some finger sandwiches,” she added glancing up.

“Finger sandwiches,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve never understood them. One bite and they’re gone.”

“This is true. How many do you want? Uh…Donovan, Jimmy’s slowing to a crawl. He wasn’t exactly going fast to begin with. I thought he’d be in a hurry.”

“He’s probably terrified something will happen to the painting,” Donovan suggested, glancing at the phone. “It will be loose in the back of that old van. If he has to slam on his brakes for some reason it will slide all over the place. That gorgeous antique frame could end up damaged.”

“We’re gaining a lot of ground. That’s weird. He stopped. I wonder if he broke down. Now he’s turning, he’s driving into the woods.”

“There must be a lane there. If he’s having engine trouble he’ll want to get off the road.”

“At this rate we’ll catch him in just a few minutes,” she remarked. “He’s stopped again. You’re right. Engine trouble. How do we handle this?”

“Unless…” Donovan muttered with a frown, easing his foot off the accelerator. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I think something else is going on.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure, but we’re about to find out,” he replied, speeding forward as he spoke.

“The turn-off will be just around this bend,” she exclaimed just a minute later.

Rolling off the road and parking under the trees, he turned off the headlights.

“I hate to say this but you need to come with me,” he said with a heavy frown. “If I’m right and there some bad actors around, you’ll be a sitting duck. But—”

“I know, I know, follow your orders.”

Lifting the center console and lifting out two guns, he checked the chambers and handed her one.”

“Correct, and I never thought I’d say this to a woman, but I’m very glad you know how to handle a gun.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“Turn all the sounds off on your phone,” he continued as lifted his from the holder.

Leaving the SUV and quietly closing the doors, they began creeping through the woods, but suddenly stopped in their tracks and ducked down.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jimmy and Nigel had been in high spirits driving through the dark night. They’d joked about picking up the painting and how easy it had been, and shared stories about the various ways they’d spend their windfall. But as Jimmy had slowed to follow a sharp bend, his headlights had lit up a line of barricades across the road.

“What the hell?” he’d grunted, coming to a stop as a man dressed in a reflective jacket marched towards him.

“Sorry, sir, there’s been a major collision up ahead,” the man had declared as Jimmy lowered his window. “You can’t get through.”

“I have to get to London.”

“You still can, Sir. Just turn down that dirt track leading through the trees. It bends around and will bring you back up.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Drive slowly, there are animals.”

“I will.”

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