The Lethal Target(4)

He shuddered even now as he thought about it. He’d tried using the excuse that he was drunk, but it hadn’t washed. It hadn’t deserved to. Because of that one stupid act it was over. Lauren told him she never wanted to see him again. And then, afterwards, he’d found out that Robert wasn’t a former boyfriend of Lauren’s but her cousin. They’d been playmates since they’d been small children.

It had been the hidden library of Malichea that had brought them back together again, after three months, during which time Lauren had rejected all his attempts to get in touch with her.

The Order of Malichea. A blessing and a curse. A blessing because, if it hadn’t been for the hidden books, Jake might never have seen Lauren again. But at the same time a curse, because their nightmare experiences after they’d got hold of one of the books — chased by government agents, under threat from mysterious organisations, likely international criminals and terrorists — had led to Lauren stabbing someone to death while defending herself against a deadly attack. And now she was in New Zealand, living under an assumed name, Samantha Adams, and they’d been told that she and Jake must never see one another again. If they attempted to, then Lauren would be charged with murder. The insinuation from Jake’s former boss at the Department of Science was that Lauren would be found guilty, whatever her defence, and put away in jail for life. And Jake would be locked away somewhere secure.

The hidden library of Malichea was a forbidden topic. The British government had decided that its existence must never be allowed to be made public — the sciences the books contained were considered far too dangerous — and Jake and Lauren had posed a major threat to that secret. To make sure they didn’t pose that threat ever again, they were kept on opposite sides of the globe, their phone calls, letters, emails and Skype talks monitored for any hint of discussion about the hidden books.

It had been five months since Jake had last seen Lauren face to face, held her in his arms just before she was put on the flight to New Zealand at Heathrow. Since then he’d seen her face on their Skype calls, heard her voice on the phone, but nothing took away the ache he felt for her. They’d been reunited, only to be torn apart again. And now they were further apart than ever.

The drive to Oban took much longer than Jake had anticipated. The roads twisted and turned round lochs and rivers, in between mountains and high hills. The scenery was amazing. If he hadn’t been in such a desperate hurry to get to Mull, meet this Miss Cooper and find out what had happened to Lauren, the reason for her sudden silence, he would have taken much longer over the journey.

He made it to Oban in time for the 4 p.m. ferry, and an hour later he was rolling off with the other vehicles into the tiny port of Craignure.

For the whole drive from Craignure to Craigmount Guest House on the shores of Loch Spelve, Jake was forced to keep a slow speed: the road was single-track, with passing places to allow oncoming vehicles to get past one another. The road twisted and turned as well, so it was impossible to get up any speed, without having to slow for yet another bend.

Finally he saw a cluster of buildings ahead of him, spread apart. Most were single-storey bungalows and old cottages, but there was one old two-storey house, larger than the rest, with outbuildings and gardens radiating out from it. A large cheerful wooden sign by the side of the road saying Craigmount Guest House 200 metres confirmed his destination.

There were four cars already in the car park, so there were other guests staying here. He wondered if one of them was this Miss Cooper’s. He got out of his car, lifted out his bag, and entered the reception area of the guest house. A man with a big bushy grey beard was behind the desk, sorting through some papers. He looked up and smiled as Jake came in.

‘Good afternoon!’ he said.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Jake. ‘I have a reservation. The name’s Wells, Jake Wells.’

‘Of course, we’ve been expecting you. You spoke to my wife, Jeannie, yesterday on the phone. I’m Alec MacClain, owner of Craigmount.’

He held out his hand in greeting, and Jake shook it. It was a good strong handshake, welcoming.

‘You live in a beautiful part of the world,’ said Jake admiringly.

‘Aye, and we bless ourselves every morning and say the same thing to one another.’ MacClain beamed. ‘I’m sure, after your long journey, you’ll want to get freshened up. Miss Cooper said to send you right up as soon as you arrived.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jake. ‘Where is Miss Cooper?’

‘She’s in your room,’ said MacClain. He reached for a key, attached to a wooden marker on a board and handed it to Jake. ‘Room five. Turn right at the top of the stairs.’