Daniel had slept badly, contorted into the back seat of a small car, and had woken up with a stiff, sore neck. The temperature had suddenly dropped during the night, and he had spent the last few hours shivering, awkwardly curled up and trying to get warm.
Renton had spent the night in the front passenger seat, the shotgun laid across his lap. He hadn’t seemed to mind the cold. Daniel wasn’t sure if the American had slept at all. The teenager had toyed with the idea of making an escape when, or if, Renton had fallen asleep, but eventually he had abandoned the idea. Renton had chosen the small car with Daniel in mind. There were no rear doors, and the teenager would have had to fold down a front seat and climb over it to open a door and get out of the car. All of which would have made too
