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She slipped her 9mm Sig Sauer from the glove box, placing it along her right thigh, in case it was needed. The car, however, kept a safe distance, the driver, apparently, content to simply follow—for now.
When they finally neared the motorway, Remi pulled out her phone and accessed the map app, the address of the mechanic already entered. Chad Williams lived in a small village north of London, which meant they still had several hours of driving. And several hours of being tailed. She glanced in the side mirror, noting the car was still behind them. “What’re the chances it’s just someone heading to London like we are?”
“I’d believe it, if I hadn’t seen them watching the house this morning. Same car. The good news is, it’s only one car.”
When Sam hit the motorway, he headed north instead of south. The car followed, matching their speed. After ten or fifteen minutes, Sam pulled alongside a bank of cargo trucks, coasting next to them. “Keep an eye on our tail,” he told Remi, his eyes locked on the rearview mirror. A moment later, he braked sharply, veering the car between two of the trucks.
Unable to squeeze in behind them, the sedan drove alongside their car, the driver glancing over. Remi took a picture with her cell phone. “Looks familiar,” she said, as Sam coasted along between the two trucks, watching for the next exit. When they reached it, Sam suddenly turned off. Their tail, however, was unable to make the lane change in time and continued on down the motorway.
Oliver stirred as Sam braked to a stop. “Something wrong?”
“Took a wrong turn,” Sam said, driving beneath the overpass to get on the motorway going in the opposite direction.
Oliver nodded, sat back, and within a few minutes was asleep again.
“Why that exit?” Remi asked. “Not that I was worried, but there were four other exits before that could have gotten you back on the motorway as quickly.”
“Because his next exit is eight miles from here. Depending on how fast he drives, or if he wants to risk backing up with all that traffic hurtling toward him, that should buy us at least ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Clever, Fargo.” She watched the exit in her mirror, saw nobody else taking it. “Looks like we’re in the clear.”
“For now.”
She enlarged the picture she’d taken, for a better view. “One of our two friends from Pebble Beach.”
“Followed us all the way out here?”
“As entertaining as we are? People just gravitate toward us.”
Sam laughed. “Have you ever considered that we should tone it down a bit? Explore a more sedentary life?”
Remi looked over at him. “Right. You let me know when you’re ready and I’ll start researching our options. What were you thinking of? Gardening? Needlepoint?”
“Worthy hobbies.”
“For someone who enjoys that sort of thing. You? Not in your DNA.”
“Skydiving or spelunking, maybe?”
“Hmm . . .”
He looked over at her as she typed something into her phone. “What’re you doing?”
“Sending that photo to Selma, to go with that video you took on the train. Maybe we can get an ID . . . Done,” she said, pressing the send button. “Now, about your new hobbies . . .”
They passed several small villages, on through rolling green hills dotted with cottages, farmhouses, and scattered sheep. Once they left the motorway, Oliver awoke, surprised to find how far they’d driven. He pointed toward a church spire in the distance. “That’s Chad’s village. First right after the church.”
Sam turned onto a cobblestone street, following Oliver’s directions until they’d reached Chad’s shop.
Oliver directed him around the corner. “Easier to park over here. His aunt lives just down the street. He uses her carriage house to work on one of his classic cars.”
Sam turned, parking about midway between Chad’s shop and his aunt’s carriage house. When the three of them walked up to the shop, they discovered the garage doors locked tight and a Closed sign hanging in the window.
Oliver nodded in the other direction. “Let’s try the office,” he said. “Maybe he’s taking a break.” He led them down a graveled path that led along the side of Chad’s shop. “Ah, yes. See? The door’s open.”
He started forward, but Sam blocked him with his arm. “Wait here,” he said, drawing his gun. Which was when Remi noticed the splintered doorjamb.
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