Page 22 of Seal My Fate

He moves to the gleaming kitchen area and opens a massive fridge, neatly organized with sparkling drinks and expensive foods.

“What happened to suffering in the name of science?” Wren teases him, clearly happy to see her old friend again.

Phillip looks bashful, handing her a soda. “It’s a corporate rental, Ashford is footing the bill. They needed me down here in London in a hurry, you see, to take over as head researcher after Valerie… After, well…”

After she died. Potentially murdered.

“Will you be safe?” he asks Wren, suddenly looking concerned. “My god, if Valerie’s death really wasn’t accidental…”

“I’ll be fine,” Wren reassures him. “We’re leaving London right after this, to stash me safely in the country. I’m sure I won’t find any trouble lurking in Farleigh-Under-Lyme,” she adds with a grin, naming the small village where Imogen’s country house is located.

Phillip nods, looking relieved. “Keep me updated. I’ll call you, Tessa, as soon as I have any information.”

“Good.” I nod. “And thank you, Phillip. I know this isn’t easy, but all we’re trying to do is get to the truth.”

He gives a smile, even as I see the conflict in his eyes. “Anything for Wren.”

Saint picksus up from Phillip’s building, and we hit the road, stopping only to pick up groceries and a duffel of Wren’s belongings from the dingy hostel where she was staying.

“I’ve never seen you travel so light,” I tease, as she tosses the bag in the backseat. “What happened to your deep conditioning mask, textbooks, five different novels…?”

“I learned to keep it simple, and move fast,” Wren replies. I catch a glimpse of her distant, haunted look in the rearview mirror as we pull away again. I feel a pang. She’s been running all this time, always looking over her shoulder, hiding in the shadows.

And the hiding isn’t over yet.

“Well, I’m sure Imogen keeps this place fully stocked,” I say warmly. “She strikes me as the kind of woman who has the best of everything. In fact, I bet you ten bucks she has at least five different kinds of face masks and scrubs.”

Saint lets out a snort beside me. “Ten,” he offers.

“It’s a bet.”

We soon leave the city behind and drive out into the open countryside; the highway turning into winding two-lane roads, bumpy with mud, and the sprawl of suburban houses replaced by empty fields, woodland, and a few charming villages. After about an hour’s driving, Saint turns down an even bumpier track, and finally pulls up outside a charming cottage, nestled in the trees. It’s set way back from the road, hidden from view, and in the middle of nowhere.

The perfect place to hide.

We climb out of the car, and even Wren looks more relaxed as she takes a deep breath of country air. “This is great,” I tell Saint with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Imogen sent all the security details,” he says, punching in a code for the door, and leading us inside. The house is decorated in an elegant country style, with lots of overstuffed furniture and floral prints. The rooms are small and cozy, low ceilings and historic wooden beams, but with all the modern touches I’d expect from Imogen. “There are alarms on the doors, and a couple of cameras, too,” Saint explains, as we take a look around. “Although, she warned me that they’ll get tripped by animals sometimes. Foxes and rabbits from the woods. So if you get an alert, don’t panic.”

Wren nods slowly. “I’m afraid I’m pretty much wired to panic, these days,” she says with a wry smile.

“Ooh look, she’s got a flatscreen TV, a nice wood-burning fireplace…” I announce brightly, wanting to lighten the mood. “You can curl up with a glass of wine and watch all the BBC Austen adaptations your heart desires. I’ve half a mind to stay here with you,” I add, meaning it. I don’t like the thought of Wren out here by herself. Or anywhere alone right now.

She’s been on her own for too long.

But Wren seems to pull herself together. “You can’t stay. You need to be back in London, carrying on like normal,” she tells me firmly. “We don’t know how closely they’re keeping tabs on you, especially this close to their big announcement. Tensions will be running high.”

I think of all the warnings I got to back off my investigations into Wren. She wanted me to stop digging around, but she wasn’t the only one. The man who assaulted me in Oxford… The suspicious noises I heard outside Saint’s flat.

The feeling like I was being watched.

“I don’t know,” I reply, still reluctant to leave her. “Saint can cover for me. Wouldn’t I be safer here with you?”

“Annabelle’s hen do is tomorrow,” Saint reminds me. “You know she’ll cause a fuss if you don’t show up. And if you stay, then I’m not leaving either,” he adds, determined.

Dammit. Saint needs to act normal more than any of us—and use his position at Ashford to uncover whatever he can.

“Fine, I’ll come back to London,” I agree reluctantly. “But text me every hour,” I order Wren. “Every half-hour.”

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