Page 29 of Savage Obsession

“What’s she like, this Casey?”

“I don’t know, never met her. What I do know is that she’s bright, one of the foremost experts in the world in her field.”

“Which is?”

“Digital security systems, mostly, as far as I can make out. She was something of a recluse until she married Jed O’Neill, head of the Irish mob. They live between Dublin and New York mostly, and have a daughter, I think.”

“And Ethan Savage is her brother?”

“Half-brother.”

“Are they close?”

“The whole family is tight. There’s Ethan’s wife and their two sons, another brother, his family, some extended relatives as well as the close household staff and crew. A lot of children, as I recall, from the few times I’ve been there.”

“All crammed together on a tiny island?”

“It’s not that tiny. And it’s really well equipped. A pool, a gym, a cinema. There’s an ancient castle converted into apartments and offices, and I seem to recall a basketball hoop in the great hall. It rains a lot, and the kids need somewhere to play.”

“It sounds sort of… nice. What about school, if there are so many children?”

“Search me. I suppose they have to fly them to the mainland every day. There are at least two helicopters in the courtyard and a female pilot who doubles as a nanny.”

I fall silent, imagining this rather odd place we’re headed for, half fortress, half Mafia stronghold, and half kids’ play area.

We drive on, swapping over every couple of hundred kilometres or so. It’s nightfall when we reach the German border which we pass through with barely so much as a cursory wave of our EU passports.

“We’ll need to stop somewhere for the night,” Baz growls.

“We’re about a hundred kilometres from Dresden,” tell him, consulting Google maps on my phone.

“Look for a hotel somewhere on the outskirts,” he instructs me. “Nothing too flashy, we just need a bed for the night, and we can get straight back on the road in the morning.”

“A bed? Don’t you mean twin rooms?” I scroll through likely possibilities.

“We’ll be sharing. We’re sticking together.”

“What? Are you scared I’ll take the car and leave you stranded?”

He shrugs.

“It should be me, worried about you dumping me,” I retort.

More shrugging. “A double room,” he insists.

I find a budget chain hotel that seems to offer ground-floor rooms with patios, which sounds good for Henry. I book ahead, online, telling them we’ll be there in a about two hours.

The hotel is fine. Modest, a little on the small side with no dining room, so breakfast is by way of a bank of vending machines in the reception area. They dispense miniature boxes of cereals, cartons of milk, and pre-packed buttered toast. Baz wrinkles his nose in distaste but still invests in a couple of boxes of cornflakes. We give the toast a miss.

Henry is delighted with his own private garden and scuttles among the shrubbery selecting a suitable place to leave his mark. I’m less impressed with my own sleeping arrangements. I’d hoped at least for a king-sized bed, but no such luck. The divan is a an unassuming little double, best described as cosy.

It’s close to midnight, and we’re both exhausted when we stagger through the door. Baz dumps our bags on the floor and starts to undress at once.

“I’m taking a shower,” he tells me, already half-naked. “You can join me if you like.”

I turn my back. “I’ll pass, thanks.” In truth, I’d have enjoyed a quick shower after a day on the road, but I’ll settle for just crawling into bed. With any luck, I’ll be asleep before he gets in.

I’m not. The bed dips behind me, and he slides under the duvet. I peer at him over my shoulder.

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