Free Bad Boy by Peter Robinson

out his cigarette end and heaved his hold-all out of the back of the car. Tracy wondered what was in it. It certainly looked heavy. “Shall we go in, then?” she said.
    Jaff nodded.
    Tracy felt in her pocket for her keys. She knew that her dad had installed a new security system over the summer, but he had told her the code in case of emergencies. As soon as she opened the front door, she tapped in the numbers she had memorized, the beeping stopped and the green light came on. She shut the door behind them and switched on the lamp on the small table to her left. Tracy had alwaysthought it odd that the front door opened immediately into her father’s small home office, where he worked at the computer or sat quietly to read over files and reports. It used to be the living room, she remembered, until the reconstruction after the fire, when he had the entertainment room added on at the side and a conservatory built at the back. He probably spent more time in those rooms now, reading and listening to music. The builder had cut a doorway in the wall beside the fireplace, over to their left, which led to the entertainment room. Another door, to their right, led to the narrow wooden stairs up to the bedrooms, and the door straight ahead led into the kitchen, which was where Tracy first took Jaff. She knew there would be no food around the place, so they had picked up an Indian takeaway on the road out of Leeds. It would be cold by now, but Tracy could reheat it in the microwave.
    Jaff took out his mobile and checked for a signal, then he turned to Tracy. “Have you got a mobile?” he asked.
    “Course.”
    He held out his hand. “Let me see it.”
    “Why?”
    “Just let me have a look at it. Please.”
    Puzzled, Tracy searched through her bag till she found the mobile. She handed it to Jaff.
    “Got an account with the provider?”
    “Yes.”
    “Thought so. Don’t you know they can trace you through this?” Tracy crossed her arms. “I can’t say I do. It’s not something I’ve ever really had to worry about.”
    Jaff gave her an amused glance. “Well, you do now. We’re both fugitives.” He switched her phone off, then put it in his hold-all.
    “Hey!” said Tracy, reaching her hand out. “Just a minute. I need that.”
    Jaff held the bag behind his back. “No, you don’t. Radio silence. Any emergencies, we’ll use this one I picked up at Vic’s. It’s a burner. Okay?”
    “A what?”
    “Don’t you watch The Wire ?”
    “Well, actually, no. I tried it once, but I don’t like any of the characters. There’s no use watching something if you don’t have someone to cheer for.”
    Jaff laughed. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it, though I can’t say I care, myself. Anyway, it’s disposable, a throwaway, pay-as-you-go. No contract, nothing in my name, or in Vic’s, for that matter.” Tracy felt annoyed about being separated from her mobile—her lifeline, as Erin had always teasingly called it—but there was something rather exciting in Jaff’s talking about radio silence and burners, and the fact that they were on the run, “fugitives,” as he had said, trying to avoid detection. She had never done anything like that before, had always been Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes, more or less. “I didn’t think it mattered,” she said. “There didn’t even used to be any coverage out here.”
    “Trust me. There is now.” Jaff stretched out his arm and traced the line of her cheek down to her chin, which he cupped briefly between his thumb and forefinger and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Your old man got any decent music?”
    “Just old stuff, mostly,” Tracy said, giving a delicious little shudder at his kiss. “You know. Sixties pop. And jazz. Lots of opera, too.”
    “Nothing wrong with a bit of Miles Davis or Puccini. Where does he keep it?”
    Tracy led him into the entertainment room, with its large flat-screen TV at the far end, surround sound and shelves of CDs and DVDs.