Free Every Second Counts by Sophie McKenzie Page A

or worried about me. I imagined him helping Julius and Lennox pack up and head off to their
next safe house and I promised myself that I would take the next chance I got to leave a draft email for him telling him I was okay.
    Why not also tell him that you love him?
an annoying voice chirped in my head.
    No way. I felt vulnerable enough, without giving away the depth of my feelings like that. I wished now that I’d pushed Nat to talk more about how he felt about us. But when we’d been
on the run, life had been so hard and we’d both been so preoccupied with survival that it had been easy to withdraw from all the emotional stuff. Safer, somehow. Trouble was that now I
couldn’t be sure that in running off I hadn’t just pushed him away altogether. I thought we’d had something powerful between us, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe Nat didn’t feel
the same about me as I did about him.
    I couldn’t bear the thought of that. Nat was everything to me. The idea that he might not really like me was too terrible to contemplate.
    ‘Nearly there.’ Martina’s voice brought me out of my reverie.
    I followed her pointing finger to the sea, just coming into view across the town laid out to our left. It had been cloudy for most of our journey but as we passed the town and plunged into the
depths of the Cornish countryside, the sun came out, bathing the car in sudden light and warmth.
    ‘How much longer?’ I asked.
    ‘Ten minutes, maybe less.’
    My stomach twisted into a knot as we turned off the main road and travelled through a small village and on to a winding coastal road. The sea was spread out like a sparkling blue sheet beside
us. After another half a mile or so Martina turned up a long drive, lined with tall thin trees. She reached a set of gates, got out and pressed the intercom. As she got back in the car, the gates
swung open to reveal an old man with a stick at the bend of the drive ahead. A male soldier in black jumper and combats with a machine gun slung across his chest stood beside him.
    ‘Out you get,’ Martina said gruffly.
    My heart thumped loudly in my ears. ‘Aren’t you staying?’ The words came out more shakily than I meant.
    ‘Roman’s ex and I don’t exactly get along.’ Martina didn’t meet my eyes. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget your
stuff.’
    I got out, clutching the small bag she’d given me earlier. It contained the few things I’d brought with me from the safe house, plus the pyjamas and toothbrush I’d borrowed at
Riley’s house last night. As I headed through the gate, Martina turned the car and drove off. I gazed up at the drive. The old man was leaning heavily on his cane. Who the hell was he? I
glanced at the soldier beside him. He was probably only a few years older than I was. I summoned up my most recent picture of my dad. Even allowing for the fact that John Stockwell must have aged
at least thirteen years since the pictures I had of him, he should still be recognisable – and he definitely wasn’t either of the two men I was walking towards. So where was he? Was
this all, after all, some elaborate trap?
    I walked, dry-mouthed along the drive. As I got closer, the old man hobbled towards me. He had white hair, slicked back off his lined, weather-beaten face. A long scar cut a deep groove along
one cheek. How the hell did he fit in to all this?
    The soldier kept back, but he was watching me carefully.
    I reached the old man. He was tall, over six foot, but he walked awkwardly, hunched over his cane. He held out his left hand, his right still leaning heavily on the stick. I shook, not knowing
what else to do.
    ‘Charlie,’ he said. He had a London accent, a lot less refined than I was expecting. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve longed for this moment.’
    I stared at his scarred face, my heart thundering as I met his dark, slightly slanting eyes. With a jolt I recognised my own in their shape and colour.
    ‘Who are you?’ I could