James Ryker thanked the shop assistant and picked up the bag of groceries. He’d been going to the same store every other day for nearly twelve months but the assistant – always the same young man, barely out of his teens with an acne-scarred face – never once acknowledged Ryker for the local he was trying to be. Even in this far-flung place, thousands of miles of land and ocean between him and his old life, and where he’d never once caused any trouble, there was still something about Ryker that led others to be wary. At six feet three and with a beefy frame, he could to some extent understand why.
Or perhaps it was all in his mind.
Ryker headed on foot back toward his home, his senses high – as always. He doubted he would ever allow himself to feel truly safe. The one time he dropped his guard would be the one time he was caught out.
As he strode along the road, Ryker’s slate-green eyes swept from left to right and back again, taking in everything and everybody around him. There was no pavement, not in this town, just a single strip of tarmac that ran through the main street, filled with mopeds, cars and pedestrians alike.
The tarmac was a recent addition. It was only present for a couple of miles either side of the town. Beyond that was a simple dirt track that snaked around the coastline and surrounding farmers’ fields. The track was dry most months of the year and would send up plumes of blood-red dust every time a vehicle passed.
The place Ryker now called home was certainly remote, but it wasn’t cut off. The area had running water, gas, and electricity, even a sporadic mobile phone signal. It was about as isolated as Ryker could bare – heading off into the wilds to live a life of solitude would probably drive him insane.
As he walked along the dirt, an open-topped four-by-four slowed as it passed. Ryker instinctively tensed, priming himself for action, even though his immediate thought was that the driver was about to stop to offer a lift. It had happened before. As a general rule of thumb, he’d found the locals to be extremely kind to each other, and on occasion to him and Lisa, the outsiders. He’d never once accepted such an offer of help.
A second later, the four-by-four sped up again and headed off into the distance, a dust cloud billowing out from its rear. Ryker held his breath until the dirt had settled. Perhaps the kindly offer had been hastily withdrawn when the driver spotted who the pedestrian was. That was fine. Ryker was well prepared to give a please and thank you when required but was otherwise happy to be left alone.
A few minutes later, Ryker’s house came into view in the near distance – a simple and secluded beachfront property made of timber and glass. To some it would be a ramshackle hut, but to others, a bohemian rustic retreat.
Set atop a small rocky outcrop, a good two acres of land came with the house. Not that Ryker had any intention of turning it into a real garden of any sort. The beach was right there, a short clamber down the rocks, should he ever need outside space. Instead he left the land to grow freely, providing an extra element of seclusion for the property.
It was tranquil, not extravagant. The house wasn’t a billionaire’s exotic escape but suited its purpose and was in an enviable location overlooking clear waters. Considering where Ryker had come from, the depths he’d plunged to in his previous life, what more could he ask for?
The problem, he knew, was that no matter what mask he put on for the world, no matter how hard he tried to fit in, he could never truly let go of his past – of who he really was. He and Lisa were determined to fashion a life for themselves, but Ryker simply couldn’t ignore the sense of suspense he felt. Not fear exactly, but not far from it. It dominated his mind, nearly every waking minute. Wondering not if they would come for him, but when. No matter how far he ran, no matter what he did to hide, that would be the case for as long as he was still alive.
But whoever came for him, whatever they threw at him, Ryker would take them on.
He would fight. He would survive.
After all, it was what he had always done best.
Some would call it paranoia. But Ryker wasn’t paranoid. He was a realist. And as his gaze passed from the unkempt grounds and up the road, he felt a sudden jolt of vindication.
The twisting road in front of him weaved off towards a metal bridge, about a hundred yards long, spanning the mouth of a small river. On the far side of the bridge, Ryker spotted the same four-by-four that had passed him minutes earlier. It was facing him. Although he couldn’t make out anything of the vehicles occupants, he could tell from the wispy smoke trailing up from the back end that its engine was idling.
At that moment, Ryker was sure of one thing:
Someone had found him.
CHAPTER 4
Exactly who they were, Ryker didn’t know. Really it didn’t matter. No one but he and Lisa knew of their new identities and their location. If someone – anyone – had found them, it was a problem.
A man like Ryker, who had lived in the shadows for so much of his life, always on the move, always looking over his shoulder, had become well used to forever analysing his environment for potential threats. It had formed such an integral part of his training all those years earlier – not to mention the many years subsequent – that it had become second nature. And that was why he didn’t panic now. He simply put into motion a well-laid plan.
Keeping his eyes on the four-by-four in the distance, Ryker picked up his pace as he headed to his home. His brain was whirring. His first aim was clear: get to the house and find out whether Lisa was there. He had to make sure she was okay.
When he reached the front door, Ryker carried on going, snaking around to the back. Regardless of whether or not a threat was already on the inside, he wasn’t going in the front.
He came up against a small frosted window on the side of the house. The window was locked shut, as it had been when Ryker had left earlier. Beyond the window lay the en-suite shower room to the house’s only bedroom. In a small hideaway beneath the panel on the base of the shower tray lay a fully loaded FN Five-seven handgun containing twenty armour-piercing 5.7mm cartridges.
Ryker certainly wasn’t ill prepared. He’d primed several entrance and exit routes to the house should he ever need to move with stealth. Although the bathroom window was locked, he’d fitted it himself to allow the simple yet secure structure to be prised open – should you know how.