Chapter Sixteen
Jack swore. “When did you last see her, Donnelly?
“A couple of hours ago, sir. I try to check her as much as possible.”
“Thank you, Donnelly.” Jack twisted in his saddle, staring at the rugged land behind the column. With the dust of their passage slowly falling, visibility was poor. “She can’t have gone far in that time. I’ll scout around for her.”
“Yes, sir.” Donnelly pulled his Martini from its bucket holster and checked the lock.
“I’ll go alone,” Jack said. “There’s no need for you to come.”
“No, sir, begging your pardon.” Donnelly’s ugly, squat face twisted in defiance. “The last thing Mrs Windrush said to me, sir, was to look after you. That means I must accompany you. I couldn’t come when I caught the fever in Kabul, but I can now.”
Jack sighed. Donnelly was a
