Plan B

Chapter Fifty-four

Fran had a leisurely shower in the repaired cubicle, revelling in the warmth. When she was sure that she'd got all the muck off her, she stepped out and dried herself off, casting an eye over her chest compressor. She would be going in a short while; would she need to wear it? Most people were still down at the pitches.

Deciding that it was better safe than sorry, she slipped it on and zipped it up. One benefit of a chest compressor in November was that it was an extra layer. It had been freezing outside, but at least it hadn't been as cold for her as it had been for the rugby players.

Whistling to herself, she towelled her hair dry and slipped on a pair of black jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie. It would be good to get off campus. It was always good to get off campus... except when it had something to do with going to hospital. That wasn't so good.

Her phone bleeped at her, reminding her that it needed charging. Absorbed in her thoughts, Fran connected it to the wall charger on her desk and sat down. Her work was still spread all over it from the previous night.

Fortunately, her history teacher hadn't been too annoyed with her for not finishing her homework, but he'd asked her to slip it under his classroom door, completed, before six that evening. Her French teacher hadn't even noticed, because they'd been doing oral practise that lesson. Chances were she'd collect it in on Monday.

A quick glance at her watch told her it was almost five, so Fran reluctantly pulled her history work towards her and reread the half-essay that she needed to finish.

Oh, Russia, you and your five year plans, she grumbled to herself, but she began to write all the same. With any luck, it wouldn't take her that long.

She had only progressed by a single paragraph before the bedroom door was knocked open so violently that it nearly came off its hinges. Startled, Fran turned around. Rico never normally made an entrance that dramatic.

Except it wasn't Rico. The man was young, panting from exertion, and, for the first time since Fran had met him, dressed in plain clothes.

"Pelham," Aidan gasped out. "You need to come with me, now."

Fran's pen dropped from her nerveless grasp, and she just stared.

"H-h-how—?"

He strode into the room and snatched her wrist, hauling her to her feet. "There's no time! We need to get out before we're found."

Frightened, Fran clawed at his hand, trying to get it off her wrist so that she had access to her watch, but his grip was too strong.

"Let go of me!" She kicked at him, but he just clamped a hand over her mouth and began to drag her towards the door.

A second figure suddenly appeared in the doorway, also dressed in plain clothes. Fran's eyes widened with relief as she recognised Malcolm.

Swearing, Aidan came to a halt and whipped his head from side to side, looking for another escape route. There were none.

"Let her go," Malcolm growled, his voice dangerously calm.

Aidan yanked Fran behind him. "Out of my way."

Malcolm appraised him, but his eyes soon flickered back towards Fran, who was still struggling to get out of Aidan's grip.

"I'm not going to stand aside so you can kill her! Let go of Frances, now!"

"Don't listen to him, Frances," Aidan said. "Don't trust him."

"Aidan, I'm warning you. Let her go. I have backup following me. If you let her go and surrender, we won't have to fight."