The 39 Clues: Unstoppable: Nowhere to Run (11 page)

Ian had jumped on a bike and headed in the opposite direction from Meenalappa. It had taken him exactly three minutes to realize the place was a backwater. A pub, a grocery, a church, and a store selling rubber boots and tweed caps. No, thank you. He would head to the larger village of Ballycreel.

He pedaled hard, cooling his hot cheeks. For once he didn’t mind the mist. If it wasn’t raining in Ireland, it was about to or just did.

He probably should have been nicer to Jake. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy. It was just that when Jake and Atticus had showed up, he’d gotten, well . . .

Jealous.

Jealous of the way Amy suddenly had eyes for nobody but Jake and was trying so hard to hide it. How Dan lit up when he saw Atticus.

Nobody lit up for Ian.

He knew he wasn’t the
nicest
person. . . .

Natalie understood him. She had been equally as . . . not nice as he was.

But he was trying! He was learning! People didn’t get nice by accident, did they? They had parents who were nice. Nice to their kids, nice to others. His parents . . . well, they didn’t understand the concept of “nice.”

And they never, ever would have understood the concept of “lonely.”

That word had never been in the Kabra vocab, but it had been bouncing around Ian’s head lately. It was shocking how many times he found himself saying,
“If only Natalie were here . . .”

He had fought with Natalie and been bored by Natalie and sometimes even felt he despised her, but she’d been his best friend. Maybe his only friend.

Losing his sister . . . well, it had turned out to be much harder than he expected. Sure, he no longer had to follow Natalie around Harrods, holding her purchases, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to
do
, exactly. When Nellie had called to say that Amy and Dan needed his help, he had sprung into action immediately. He’d packed a few things and taken off. He hadn’t even pressed his trousers.

Nobody likes you, nobody likes you, nobody likes you.

My sister is dead, my sister is dead. . . .

The bicycle wheels went round and round, slithering on the wet country road. The words in his head revolved.

And suddenly he realized he was far from the cottage, and lost.

The mist was now rain. Ian wanted to kick himself, but he’d probably fall off the bike.

He bumped off to the side to turn the bike around and took out his phone to consult GPS. Then he remembered that Pony had disabled it for safety reasons. The protective cover told him to
KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON
. He snorted at that. Did he really have a choice right now?

At that moment, a Range Rover barreled around the curve, sending him diving into the grass. The car smashed into his bike, which flew after him.

The Range Rover driver slammed on the brakes. With a squeal of tires, it backed up.

“You bloody fool!” Ian shouted.

A girl with red hair stuck her head out of the driver’s side window. “Well,
that
didn’t go well. What were you doing in the middle of the road?” she asked. He heard the lilt of a brogue in her voice. He couldn’t wait to get back to London, where people didn’t have
music
in their voices.

Ian popped to his feet. “I was not in the middle of the road! I was on the shoulder!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, this road doesn’t have a shoulder,” she answered. “It’s a country lane, not much wider than a path, actually. You have to watch yourself on our roads, you tourists.”

Ian bristled at being called a tourist. “Maybe you have to watch your driving!”

She smiled, and Ian suddenly noticed that the girl was ravishingly pretty. She had one dimple in her left cheek. What kind of a girl had only one dimple? Ian didn’t care for asymmetry, but somehow this particular one . . . worked.

“Sure, I suppose I do,” she said. “But it’s my da’s car, and so I like to give it a workout and bring it back muddy. By the way, are you all right?”

“Think so, thanks for the afterthought,” Ian said.

Her smile turned into a grin. She opened the door and jumped out. “Oh, dear, look at your bicycle. I’m afraid it’s rather smashed.”

Ian saw that the front wheel had bent. “This just tops off my day.”

“Don’t fret, I’ve got a nice big car and time on my hands.”

Before Ian could protest, she had lifted up the bike with surprising ease and deposited it in the trunk of the car. “Now. Where can I drop you?”

Normally, this would count as one stellar day. He’d gladly trade a smashed bicycle for a pretty girl in a very expensive car. But not today. He had to get back to Bhaile Anois. The argument with Jake had been petty and stupid.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a criminal. I’m just a girl in her daddy’s car who is willing to rescue you. I’m Maura, by the way.”

“Roger,” Ian said, because while this was an extremely pretty girl, he was still a Lucian, and a Kabra. Any personal information was on a need-to-know basis.

“Hey now, you dropped your phone.” She bent and picked it up and handed it to him. Their fingers touched, briefly, and Ian felt something, some kind of charge from just touching her skin.

He felt his face heat up. That
never
happened. To cover, he dropped the phone in his pocket. “You could give me a lift to Ballycreel.” The village was big enough that it would provide cover. And he could hike back to Bhaile Anois from there.

“Are you staying there, then? At the Arms, or the Pocket of Fish?”

“Pocket of Fish,” Ian said.

“Climb in,” she said. “I know a shortcut.”

Ian climbed in. Maura took off, driving way too fast. Ian tried not to clutch the door handle.

“We live in Dublin, but we have a house down in Doolin. A castle, more like. I prefer an Irish castle to a Scottish one, don’t you? A better sense of scale. The more modern, the better, if you ask me. Those sixteenth-century ones are drafty, no matter how much they pump up the central heating.”

Okay, not only was she pretty but she could compare the merits of
castles.
This was his type of girl.

“I don’t have that much experience with castles,” Ian said. Despite the fact that his father now lived in one.

She gave him a quick once-over. “Don’t be so modest. Your jacket is cashmere from Brioni’s last season. Your shoes are handmade from John Lobb. And don’t get me started on your haircut.”

“Actually, I prefer an estate,” Ian said. “Early nineteenth century, with central heating. You’re right. Castles are drafty.”

She grinned. “Here’s the shortcut.”

She jerked the wheel, and the Range Rover slammed onto a dirt track that was probably for sheep. Over the rattle of the car, Ian shouted, “Is this a
road
?”

“It is if I say it is!” Maura shouted. “I told you I liked to bring it back muddy! I only like my da when he’s fuming!”

She gave a peal of laughter that made Ian join in. He’d heard the term
infectious laughter
before, but he never quite understood it. He rarely laughed, and certainly wouldn’t do it just because someone else did.

But as the Range Rover hit a ditch and his head bumped the ceiling, he didn’t care. He just kept on laughing.

She dropped him on the main street of Ballycreel. Ian hauled the bicycle out of the trunk.

“I’d offer to pay for it, but I know you can afford it,” she said.

A small spot of mud was on Maura’s (undimpled) cheek. Her face was flushed from their wild ride, and her green eyes danced.

It made his heart leap, somehow. Odd feeling.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said. “If you can call it that.”

“Call me sometime,” she said. She tucked a small card into his pocket.

With one last flirtatious look, she hopped back into the car and took off.

Ian stared down at the card.
MAURA DEVON CARLISLE
. There was a number below it. The card stock was smooth and heavy in his hand. The typeface discreet, yet bold. Exactly what he would have chosen.

As soon as the Range Rover was out of sight, he tore up the card and threw it away.

Better not to be tempted. Better to let it go.

Ian left the bicycle in an alley. He started the long walk back to Bhaile Anois, his footsteps on the asphalt road, his pace steady and sure in his expensive handmade shoes.

Lonely. Lonely. Lonely.

Atticus stopped swinging his legs. Jake sat staring at Amy. Dan sat up on the couch. His sister’s green eyes were usually warm, but now they looked as hard as metal. What was she doing?

“What did you say?” Atticus asked.

Amy lifted her chin. “This is a Cahill matter. It’s our problem to solve.”

“Excuse me?” Jake asked. “Atticus just broke the mirror code. Do you realize what you have here in this book? It is an immeasurable gift to scholarship — who knows what it contains about Leonardo!”

“This isn’t a college
seminar
,” Amy said evenly. “This is a
battle.
And it’s not yours. We are grateful for your help. But you should head back to Rome first thing in the morning.”

“But —” Dan started, but Amy silenced him with her
stay out of this
look. Dan snapped his mouth shut, but he felt his blood beginning to boil.

Jake’s mouth hung open. He looked as though he’d just been punched in the head. Or the stomach. Someplace really, really bad.

“This is about family,” Amy said. “The Cahills can take it from here.”

Atticus looked as though he was about to cry. Behind his glasses, he was blinking rapidly.

“Hey,” Dan said, “can we take a vote on this?”

“No.” Amy’s voice was firm. “I’m the head of the family. This is my call.”

“You may be the head,” Dan said furiously. “You’re not a
dictator
!”

Ian walked through the door. “You’re not going to believe what happened to me —” he started, then stopped, his gaze moving from Jake to Amy to Dan to Atticus. He tossed his phone on the desk. “What did I miss?”

His phone landed right next to Jake’s. Dan read the words.
KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON
. How odd that the two boys, so different in temperament, had the same phone case. The well-known phrase bounced around his head. He didn’t feel calm. He didn’t feel like carrying on. He wanted to throw both phones into the toilet for telling him to do such a lame thing when all he wanted to do was yell and change what was happening.

“Nothing,” Jake said. “You didn’t miss a thing.”

“She didn’t mean it,” Atticus whispered to Jake later. “I could tell by her eyes.”

Jake was balling up clothes and shoving them into his pack. “She meant every word.”

“Jake, if you could just talk to her —”

“I’ve talked to her. Listen, little bro, we’re done here. This is the last piece of business we’ll do for the
Cahills.
” He said the last word bitterly.

“She doesn’t really want us to go,” Atticus said miserably. “And Dan definitely doesn’t!”

“Dan is not the boss. Amy is. As she made very clear.” Jake zipped up his pack. “Get your stuff together. I called the village and hired a car. We’re leaving first thing in the morning for the airport.”

First light. Amy heard the faint thud of the door closing. She ran to the window. The dark shapes of Jake and Atticus headed toward a car in the drive. Atticus seemed crushed by the enormous backpack he wore on his shoulders. Jake had slung his pack over one shoulder, and he strode quickly toward the car, as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

She wanted to run downstairs, throw open the door, and beg them to stop. Instead, she looked away.

Her door creaked open. Dan stuck his head in. “You’re awake.” He hovered in the doorway. “That was a really lousy thing to do.”

Amy pressed her forehead against the cold glass. “Dan, do you remember being on that bridge? Do you remember that terror? How can I ask them to risk their lives for us?”

“You’re not
asking
anything of anybody,” Dan said. “We’re all volunteers here. And I know one thing. You’re wrong. Jake and Atticus
are
family. You’re turning into Aunt Beatrice!”

“That’s not fair!” Amy cried. “I
have
to make the decisions. You’re the one who wants to leave the family! Why should
you
get a vote, Dan? You opted out, remember?”

“I’m here right now!” Dan shot back. “Watching you be mean!”

They stared at each other, furious.

They heard an insistent pounding downstairs. She and Dan dove for the stairs.

Amy got to the door first. Fiona’s hand was raised to knock again, her dark hair shimmering with droplets from the dawn mist. “There’s a black SUV in the village,” she said. “They’re looking for you. You’ve got to clear out.”

Amy’s head cleared and she snapped into survival mode. “How?”

“Boat.”

“Give us five minutes.”

Amy and Dan raced upstairs and woke Ian. They threw things into backpacks, wrapped Olivia’s book in a waterproof bag, and within five minutes had locked up the house and run down to the dock.

Fiona stood on the deck of a small motorboat. She reached out a hand to help Amy and Ian aboard. “I’ll get you out, don’t worry. I know every rock and every eddy in that bay. I’ve got some fellas in the village to help — and some donkeys. They’ll block the road. Declan will meet us on the water. Can you cast off that line for me, Danny?”

Dan threw the line in the boat and jumped in. Fiona expertly piloted them through the winding curves of the inlet. “I’ll head north and pull in at Runnybeg Creek. It’s not on the map and we’ve just enough draft to make it,” she called. “It’s just past that turning there.”

Before they reached the turning, a boat exploded out of the gray mist, cutting across the inlet straight toward them.