The Black Isle (Craig Hunter Police Thrillers Book 3) by Ed James

Author:Ed James [James, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

19

Hunter sneaked over to the back door and tried to open it without making a sound. Almost succeeded, just a slight click. He pushed himself against the side wall, clutching the GoPro to his chest, and peered back inside.

The goon was now snooping around Shug’s kitchen. Gloves on, a mask covering his mouth. An expert. How the hell had he found Hunter?

Hunter set off across the garden but the GoPro slipped out of his grasp. He reached down to pick it up. Caked in mud.

Shite and shite again.

He crept through the gate, then darted down the path onto the street. A mid-grey Range Rover was parked a few spaces down. So it was the goon who had been following Hunter and staking out the hotel.

Hunter settled into a casual walk, just a normal guy out for a stroll, carrying a muddy head-mounted camera. Back to the crossing by the Co-op and the Range Rover still hadn’t moved.

He didn’t even take a knife and jab it in the tyres.

Fiona was leaning against Jock’s Passat, sucking deep on a cigarette and messing about on her phone.

‘Get in.’

She looked up. ‘Huh?’

‘In!’ Hunter got behind the wheel, and dropped the camera on Jock’s lap.

‘Well?’ Jock didn’t look up from his paper.

‘I’ll show you later.’ Hunter jabbed the ignition and put it in drive. Fiona was taking an age of man to buckle up. ‘Right now, I need to get away from that guy.’ He pulled off into the slipstream of a tractor, heading towards Cromarty on the road to Rosemarkie.

And he spotted the Range Rover in the rear-view, indicating left at the Co-op.

‘We’re being followed. Buckle up.’ Hunter stuck the Passat into sports mode and floored it, whizzing round the tractor. Another one rumbled towards him and he sneaked in just before it hit. The speedo kept climbing, hitting eighty, ninety.

‘Christ, son, this is overdue a service!’

‘Well, I’m putting it through its paces now.’ Hunter spotted an opportunity up ahead—a walled garden selling plants, followed by a lane signposted towards a brewery. Last place Jock should go, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The Range Rover was stuck back in the convoy, weaving out, but the oncoming traffic stopped it closing.

Hunter swung round a bend and lost it. He took another left and shot down the lane without losing much speed. Seventy, eighty. Another lane at the back of the walled garden. He pulled into it and hit a three-pointer, aiming back onto the road.

Then he waited, window down, listening for a roaring engine.

‘What’s going on, Craig?’

‘Shhh.’

‘Don’t you—’

Hunter reached round and covered Jock’s lips with a hand. ‘Just two minutes’ silence, that’s all I need.’

Jock shook his head.

And there it was, the roar of a heavy diesel engine. The Range Rover shot past, a scream of silver and diesel.

Hadn’t spotted them.

Hunter listened to it disappear, the sound becoming thinner and more diffuse.

‘Who was that?’

‘The arsehole on the oil platform. He was in Shug’s cottage.’

Hunter snatched Fiona’s phone from her.

‘What the hell?’ She clawed at the air. ‘I need to tell Shug—’

‘You’re telling him nothing.

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