“Yeah. He was saying he’s determined to get revenge for Natalia’s death.”
Dylan snorted. “What’s he gonna do? Kill himself?”
Joseph leaned forward in the backseat. “Sarah’s just told me that you think Natalia was a double-agent, and Orlov found out and killed her because of it.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m assuming,” Dylan said. “Because the rest of his little corrupt gang might’ve killed him if he hadn’t put an end to her life, huh?”
Sarah leaned her elbow on the inner-door armrest. “Dylan, why don’t we just tell the police all this information?”
“You think they don’t know already, Sarah? You think that detective doesn’t know about the organisation Natalia was working for? Sure she does. She knows just as we do that Orlov killed her. But she needs to follow the law and find evidence. We need to make sure we stay alive and keep our loved ones safe until she can get him behind bars. I don’t wanna end up like Ivan.”
Sarah reached out and squeezed his arm. “Okay, I trust you. It was just a suggestion.”
He smiled kindly. “I know.”
Sarah allowed herself to relax as Dylan pulled off the freeway and into Essex. The divided highway gave way to the local roads, which soon became a country lane. Sarah had grown up in a little village like this – a suburb on the other side of London – but she hadn’t been back since she’d sold the family guesthouse. It was like stepping back in time – in her own life and in reality. The summer was in full bloom, and a mellow feeling slunk through her like honey. This road was dotted with ancient trees, which had probably been here even longer than this old village. Sarah wound down the window and her nostrils caught the aroma of the seaside – the salty air, the fish and chips… the warmth.
Dylan drove slowly over the bumps and potholes, just managing to squeeze this huge car along the narrowing lane. He drove up a sharply inclined hill, then parked at the end of a track, which overlooked the beach from on high. The sea was calm and inviting, but Sarah knew it would be freezing, even on this scorching July day.
Childlike excitement whirled through her and her worries unwound. She noticed an old cottage up here on its own, secluded from the rest of the village. This resident clearly wanted to keep the world at a distance.
They all clambered out of the car and stretched after their journey. The sweet sound of birdsong filled Sarah’s ears and she realised with joy that she couldn’t hear any traffic. It was such a contrast to grimy London. It was more like being on vacation than on the run.
“Who lives here?” Joseph asked.
Dylan gazed at him pensively for a moment, deciding whether or not to warn him of who he was about to be reunited with. But it would take a lengthy explanation, and he needed get them out of sight as quickly as possible. So instead he gestured for Joseph and Sarah to go to the front door. He lifted the old brass knocker and rapped sharply on the sturdy oak.
Sarah realised – as it stopped – that there’d been music playing softly from within. A masculine voice from inside sounded suspicious. “Who is it?”
“It’s Dylan.”
The door was unbolted and unlocked, then it opened a slither. The man inside stayed in the shadows. With Dylan leading, they all stepped in.
It was dimly-lit, but cozy – smelling of freshly laundered linen and cinnamon. The low wooden beams, the vintage furnishings, and the brick fireplace all made it seem nostalgic. Sarah’s eyes adjusted to the light and took in the six-foot form of Ivan Quinlan. She hadn’t seen him for years, but he looked older than she was expecting. He had a shaggy brown beard, thick-rimmed glasses, and longer hair than the other brothers. This wasn’t just a man in hiding; it was a man who’d given up on life. He’d been shattered from the inside out.
Joseph and Ivan were staring at each other; eyes locked, bodies frozen. Joseph looked confused, but he was holding it in, as if he wanted to be sure that this was actually his dead brother before he made any false moves. Ivan – on the other hand – looked irritated. Sarah guessed Dylan wasn’t supposed to bring people here, particularly not family members who could be at risk.
Joseph didn’t take his eyes off Ivan. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“Ivan faked his own death,” Dylan explained. “Because of an invention he and Tariq made. A perpetual motion device that would’ve meant no more oil. Obviously certain people weren’t happy with that – like the oil barons, for example – so we destroyed everything. And now he’s living here…” He turned his attention to Ivan. “I’m sorry I brought him here, Ivan, but I couldn’t bear to see him in pain anymore.”
Ivan unfroze. “Dylan, you’re a fucking idiot.” His irritated expression morphed into an affectionate grin, then he pulled Joseph’s tense body into his arms. “Jesus, Joseph, I’ve missed you so much.” He slapped him on the back. “You’re much more sensible than your older brothers, huh. You do as you’re told for starters.”
Joseph pulled away and touched Ivan’s face. “Is it really you?”
“It is. I’m sorry I’ve put you through all this shit. But it was for your own safety. Still is. You shouldn’t be here. Dylan, what the fuck are you playing at?”
“Let’s sit down and I’ll explain. Hey, you remember Sarah?”
Ivan inspected her. Then he grinned. “Hell, yeah, Sarah, sure I do!” He thrust out a strong hand and they shook firmly. “You haven’t changed in all these years. You still look twenty-one.”
Sarah smiled shyly. “Thank you. That Quinlan charm runs deep in your veins, I see.”
He laughed tenderly. “Come and sit down. Dylan, you’ve got some explaining to do.”
They all went through to the cramped living room and sat. The downstairs of Ivan’s cottage was snug. The kitchen and living room were essentially the same room, just separated by a half-wall and a step. Sarah sank into the velvet couch and Dylan held her hand. Ivan and Joseph sat on the couch opposite. It smelled musty in here – like a tomb – and Sarah wished someone would open a window.
“So what’s this all about?” Ivan asked.