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‘I only became your fiancée a few days ago. We always said we’d wait for our relationship to become properlyserious before I met Ethan. I was a mess after Yasmin died. You and I were long distance for years, back and forth, will we or won’t we? I didn’t want to come into his life and then disappear again. You didn’t want that either. But now, of course, I want to meet him. As soon as we get back, we’ll do it.’
‘IfIwant that,’ he snaps.
That wounds me. But I let him have it.
Part of why I love Pete is that he’s such a steadfast man. A real doer. He’d drop everything to help his son. I didn’t get that from my dad. And because of that I didn’t know if I could give that kind of parental stability to a child. Now I have to step up, as part of my choice to say ‘yes’ to Pete. I chew my nails – only to realize they’re raw; I’ve bitten them down to the quick. That sick feeling in my stomach is not going away.Dammit, Dad. Why do you always have to be such an enigma?
We go through at least three crates before I find it.
‘Here!’ Thanks to not being touched for over forty-eight hours, the phone still has some residual charge – hopefully just enough for me to find what I’m looking for. I pull up the photograph, feeling Pete’s hot breath on my neck.
‘Look.’ In the top corner the sword logo that had caught my eye jumps out once again. I zoom in on the words underneath the picture.KNIGHT ACADEMY, it reads. There are labels naming each of the people in the photograph.GLENN KNIGHTis on the far left. Then, on the bottom right,MATTHEW KNIGHT.
‘Bottom right, bottom right,’ says Pete impatiently.
I pinch across and zoom in on the face. The colour on the image is faded, so it’s hard to make out eye colour. Onething is clear: it’s very definitely not Emilio. They share a dark mop of hair. But the jaw, the nose – it’s all wrong.
‘So that clears the doctor.’ Pete’s shoulders slump. ‘Unless they’re working together.’
I bite down, hard, on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. I recognize that face.
Pete notices the tension in my grip. Probably because the phone is shaking in my hands. Shit. ‘You know him?’
‘That’s runner 501.’
‘You mean, the fun runner who was with Adri yesterday, the one who has been promoted to the elites –he’sGlenn’s son?’
‘Looks like. Matteo Poddighe, he said his name was. I didn’t make the connection …’
‘Oh my God. That’s the surname of Glenn’s ex-wife. What’s he going to do to Adri? He’s got the perfect opportunity now. She’s all alone out there. And we have no way to track them.’
Bile rises in my throat. Poor Adrienne. Runner 501 had been one of the people I’d interviewed for the Runners for Hope charity. Hadn’t he talked about running for his dad even then?
Matthew is a violent ex-con, who’s come out here despite knowing he’ll be sent back to prison if he returns to the UK.
He’s a man with nothing to lose.
35
Adrienne
In the darkness it’s impossible to tell where Boones is taking me. He marches me out of camp, only a narrow beam of light from his torch to follow, until we reach a group of people huddled together, presumably the other elites. Boones threads a thin stretch of rope between our hands, lining us up in single file – I don’t know exactly who’s in front of me or behind me. I only know that I have to keep moving.
I wonder if the person ahead is Rupert. It’s partly the height, which rules out a few of the others. What convinces me is that he seems so calm. His breathing is regular, his shoulders aren’t squeezed up by his ears like mine are. I’m so tense I feel like that coiled viper I saw yesterday, unsure whether to strike or hide. If Rupert’s relaxed, it can only mean one thing: that he was expecting this. Or something like this. It feels like a real Boones twist now.
When we’re further away from the bivouac, I hear before I see how Boones is planning to transport us even further into the desert. Snuffling and snorting, toes pawing at the sand.
Camels.
My first thought is: Ethan is going to love this.
My second is: what the hell is Boones planning?
I glance around at the others, and now that my eyeshave adjusted to the darkness I can make out the expressions on their faces. Most seem as confused as I am. Some are stoic, revealing nothing.
‘I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve dragged you out of bed in the middle of the night and brought you here. Well, you didn’t think I would go easy on you, did you?’ He waves his index finger at us, scolding us as if we’re his children. ‘These camels are going to take you to your individual starting point. At exactly four a.m. you will each set off, navigating only with a map, my directions and your own compasses if you brought them. You’ll be running the last two hundred miles of this race in one go. No more bivouacs. No more cosy tent at night. You can sleep when you want to, take what shelter you need, eat when you want to, but remember that everything you take, you must carry with you.’
There are several sharp intakes of breath, including my own. Two hundred miles in one go? This isn’t what I trained for.