Free Crocodile Tears by Anthony Horowitz Page B

tucked up in bed with hot water bottles and soup, being looked after by nurses who had agreed to work through New Year’s Eve and who, Alex decided, really were true angels. The man who had rescued them had left without even giving his name. He had told them he was a supplier—on his way to Kilmore Castle. But what had he been supplying so late into the night? Alex didn’t think it right to ask him, but even now it struck him that something didn’t quite add up. After all, the back of the van had been empty.
    They were released the next morning, Edward Pleasure blaming himself for the car accident, all of them too shaken to discuss it. Between them, they had decided to cut the vacation short. The Highlands and lochs of Scotland held no attraction after what had happened. They needed the reassurance of the city.
    Waiting for the plane that would take them back to London, Alex did wonder if he should tell them what he knew, what he had seen one second before the car swerved and left the road. But in the end he decided against it. He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure. He wanted to believe that he was wrong.
    Just before the car had lost control, he had heard a distant cracking sound. And at the same moment, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he’d seen a tiny flash of light in the darkness, behind them and high up above. He hadn’t imagined it. It had been there. And he understood exactly what it meant.
    A marksman positioned in the battlements of Kilmore Castle.
    Edward Pleasure hadn’t skidded on the ice. One of his tires had been blown out and it had been done quite deliberately by someone who wanted to force them off the road. Anyone else would have thought they were imagining it, but Alex knew better. He had been a target too many times before. Someone had just tried to kill them.
    But who?
    Desmond McCain? Because he had lost at cards? No—that was insane. There had to be someone else. An old enemy perhaps. Alex had plenty enough of them. Or maybe it had nothing to do with him. Edward Pleasure could have been the target. Journalists, too, had plenty of people who wanted to settle scores.
    He said nothing. The last time he had been with the family, in the south of France, they had been attacked. How could he possibly tell them that it had happened a second time? Sabina would never want to see him again. It was much better to persuade himself that he was wrong, that he was tired, that he had an overactive imagination. Anyway, in a few minutes they would be in the air, flying south, leaving it all behind them.
    And yet, secretly, he knew that he was lying to himself. As his flight was called and he picked up his carry-on luggage, Alex gritted his teeth. Trouble never seemed to leave him alone. Well, let it follow him to London. He’d just have to be ready for it when it showed up again.

6
    NINE FRAMES PER SECOND
    ALEX WAS GLAD TO BE HOME.
    First of all, Jack was there, waiting for him, surrounded by presents she’d brought back from America. Alex sometimes wondered what people would make of the two of them, living together the way they did. With her baggy clothes, her wild red hair, and her constant smile, Jack was more like a big sister than a housekeeper. And although she was actually his legal guardian, she never nagged or lectured him. They were really just friends and Alex knew that he couldn’t have gotten through the last twelve months without her. She knew what he was doing. She had tried to talk him out of it. But she had never stood in his way.
    She’d bought him new jeans, two shirts, a Barack Obama baseball cap, and a pair of fake police sunglasses. And over their first dinner together, he had told her what had happened at Loch Arkaig . . . but with no mention of any sniper.
    “I just don’t believe it, Alex!” Jack exclaimed. “You go off for a nice New Year’s Eve party and you end up sixty feet under a frozen loch. Only you could manage that.”
    “It wasn’t my fault,” Alex