Page 13 of Save Her from Me

I thanked him and moved on.

If Ariel’s would-be attacker was watching, he’d see the car being taken away. I had the feeling he’d fled the scene once he’d realised she wasn’t in the car, though. He’d missed his chance, and getting caught would throw off his plans.

Still, he could be nearby.

I sent a quick message to my friend.

Jackson: Did Ariel get out of your car when you took her to see the Mini? Could he have seen her?

Raphael: Negative. She stayed inside. Can’t rule it out, though.

I didn’t like that, but even if he followed her brother’s car to the tower, finding her in that huge, ancient, well-protected building was high risk to him. If we could trace the licence plate leaving the area, I’d be a lot happier.

In the village, we entered the cosily lit pub, shucking off our jackets the moment we got inside the warm space. A log fire burned, a group of old boys and their dogs lounging in front of it. Valentine found us a table, pointing out the chalked-up menu on a blackboard across the room while drawing more than one lass’s attention his way. The big man was apparently eye-catching.

“I highly recommend the steak. I’m going to order a couple plus a few of their sides.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “A couple?”

He threaded his way through the tables to the bar, patting his belly with a grin. “Growing boy. I’ll order the same for ye.”

“You’re good on a date,” I called after him.

It earned me a bigger grin, and I relaxed into the wooden seat.

A message pinged in from Raphael. A photo.

It was a painted dragon. A little model.

Raphael: This dude’s cute. How about him?

Once, I’d confided in him that, as a geeky teenager, I’d had a hobby painting characters from movies.

I’d amassed a whole collection, but that was in the past, and it had long been destroyed.

Even in the middle of his family’s drama, he was trying to do something nice for me.

Jackson: I’m ten years on the wrong side of finding dragons cute.

Raphael: No one’s too old for a hobby.

I pursed my lips and shot him back a change of subject.

Jackson: What sound does a 747 make when it bounces?

Raphael: Eye roll. I don’t know.

Jackson: Boeing. Boeing. Boeing.

A reply landed of a fist with the middle finger raised. Each time he offered me dragons, I served him bad pilot jokes. Felt like a fair exchange.

Valentine returned with our drinks.

In an hour, we’d consumed a healthy amount of charred meat, steak-cut chips, and various vegetable and deep-fried dishes. Alongside that, we scoured Ariel’s student’s videos, seeing what else Larson could have gleaned from them.

A locker room, snowboards, snowy slopes, the girl’s Scottish accent, her school badge, identifying the senior school ten miles south of the estate.

Valentine groaned, resting his hands on his belly. “He’s doing the rounds of the snowboarding centres and nearby housing estates at the end of the working day, hunting for Ariel’s car. That’s my bet. Fuck, I ate too much.”

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