by Keane Jessie
Jack took the Jeep and went into the village that morning to get in some food while Belle fed the horses then went down to the coop to let the hens out. They were flapping and indignant at this late start. She topped up their water and scattered feed for them, then started gathering up the eggs, prior to going back up to the stables to muck out and feed Lady and Goldie. Up in the yard at the front of the house, Trix started barking.
‘It’s probably that old dog fox roaming about again,’ she told the chickens. Trix often barked when she sensed the fox moving around the farm, looking for whatever he could find. ‘You want to watch out for him, you lot.’
Up near the house, Trix barked on and on.
131
Nipper was standing in the yard in front of the old farmhouse, eyeing up the dog. It was barking, hackles raised, staring up at him. A low growl rumbling in its throat. Couple of minutes it would be trying to bite. Not that it had a couple of minutes, the dumb fuck.
‘Here, doggie doggie,’ said Nipper with a smile.
He reached down and drew the knife from his expensive handmade boot. He’d left Ludo spying out the land further down the drive, working his way up sideways, covering all the bases so that they didn’t get any nasty surprises. Now he wished he’d taken Ludo’s position instead of this one. Dog bites you, that’s unfortunate to say the least. You got to get a rabies shot straight away. You don’t want to die slathering and snarling like a dog yourself, and that’s what rabies did to a person.
Sure enough, the dog leapt forward.
But Nipper was ready.
Down by the chicken coop, Belle heard Trix give one last coughing bark. Then the dog was silent. Belle stopped moving. Somehow, she hadn’t liked that sound. She put the egg basket down on the ground and turned, listening hard. No more barking. Nothing. Her heart had picked up speed and the sun on her back suddenly forced sweat out of her pores.
‘Trix?’ she said out loud.
Over the clucking of the hens she could hear the wind, sighing through the beeches. No birdsong. The sun dipped behind a fast-moving cloud and as fast as she’d got hot, she shivered.
Something wrong.
She snatched up the egg basket, turned to go back to the house. She took all of two strides and then she was struck from behind, a hard blow that shoved at her shoulders and sent her reeling forward. She landed heavily on her knees in the dirt, dropping the basket, shattering the eggs inside. Yellow goo seeped out of them, pooling on the earth. Belle whirled around, started to get up, but a male voice said: ‘No.’
Gasping to snatch in some air, she looked back to see who or what had hit her. There was a black man of medium height standing there, gold chains at his neck; he was wearing a designer suit that clashed with his muddy Wellington boots. She knew him straight away. Ludo. One of Harlan’s crew. And . . .
oh shit
. . . he was pointing a small snub-nosed gun at her. He gave a grin with startlingly white teeth and shook his head.
‘Well, ain’t you led us a dance, little Belle.’ Then his face scrunched up and he winced as he stared at the scarring on the left side of her face. ‘Oooh, those damned things did tear at you, didn’t they? Did a right job on you, girly.’ Then he shrugged. ‘Not that it’s goin’ to bother you much where you’re goin’.’
‘Ludo . . .’ Belle started to get up again.
He shook his head. ‘Nah, nah, nah. Stay right there, on your knees. Ugly bug like you, this is almost a kindness, wouldn’t you say so? Now, hands behind your head and just keep looking away there, Belle, and soon all this will be over.’
‘Ludo, don’t. Whatever he’s paying you . . .’ said Belle, grasping at straws, at anything, because he was going to do it, he was going to kill her right now.
‘What, you’re offering better? Hard to see how. Nah, Belle. Stay there and stay still. Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be, yeah? I am doin’ you a favour, sending you off to the angels – they won’t care about the scars or anything like that. One minute, and you’ll be out of it.’
‘Wait!’ Belle gasped in a breath. ‘Ludo . . . my mum. What did he do with her?’
Ludo winced. ‘You really want to know that? Well, it was quick. The same way this is going to be quick. I ain’t no Harlan Stone. I’m a nice man. A good clean shot to the head, then it’s done.’
Belle felt his words sink into her like knives. So Mum really was dead. She felt a wail of grief and rage building in her, threatening to escape.
‘And my dad?’ she managed to say.
‘Finished that myself,’ said Ludo.
‘How?’ demanded Belle, her voice cracking with strain.
‘Garotte. It’s quick and it’s clean.’ Ludo thought about that. Well, fairly. There’d been some bleeding from the neck, of course. Cheese wire cut deep. And there’d been a lot of blood when they’d cut the body up in the bath. But he was a nice guy; he would spare her those details. ‘Merciful, see? That’s me.’
The last vestige of hope left Belle then. It was no good. Nothing she could say or do was going to stop this. She knelt there in the dirt, the chickens pecking all around her, and felt a weird sense of peace come over her, nearly stifling the panic. Slowly, she put her hands behind her head. She closed her eyes.
Game over.
‘That’s it, Belle. Easy now and we’ll soon be—’
But Ludo never finished his sentence.
132
There was an explosive boom that rocked Belle as she knelt there. She yelled out and her ears rang with the force of it. Half afraid to, she opened her eyes and looked around, craning wildly to see behind her, her hands dropping to her sides. All the chickens had scattered, shrieking.
Maybe that was it, she thought. Maybe I’m dead and I just don’t know it yet.
What she saw was shocking. Slipping and sliding amid the slime from the broken eggs, she staggered to her feet, trembling, shattered, and properly looked.
Ludo was on the ground – or what was left of him. Above his designer shirt with its sharp two-toned collar, above the gold glint of chains at his throat, there was just a red, seeping hole. There was only blood and grey gore in a long slick where Ludo’s head had been. And Jack was standing over him, holding the smoking twelve-bore that his mum kept for foxes.
As Belle stood there watching, starting to shake with reaction, Jack bent and snatched up the pistol from Ludo’s hand. Then he straightened, looking all around.
‘Any more of them?’ he asked her.
Belle shook her head. But Trix’s bark, cut off. She worked some spit into her mouth and said faintly: ‘He usually works in a pair. Nipper. Tall blond—’
Then she was grabbed from behind. She felt cold steel bite against her throat and she was held up, feet barely touching the ground. Nipper. He was right there. His grip threatened to choke her.
His voice said, right by her ear: ‘Drop those fucking guns or I’ll cut her.’
Jack stared at him.
‘I said, do it,’ roared Nipper. Belle flinched and felt the steel press harder into her neck. He’d do it. She knew he would. They’d come here to kill her, to finish the job Harlan started.
Jack dropped the twelve-bore onto the ground with a thud. At the same time he lifted the snub-nosed automatic and calmly shot Nipper in the head.
Nipper collapsed to the earth, dragging Belle with him.
She wriggled free, horrified, and looked down at the dead man. There was a deep red rose blooming on his temple, a trickle of blood snaking out of it. His eyes were wide open with shock and he was still breathing. Shuddering, Belle stepped away. Jack came over and without a moment’s hesitation made sure that Nipper was properly dead by firing another business-like shot into his right eye at point-blank range. Nipper flinched, once; then he stopped breathing.
‘Will there be more?’ he asked her, not looking at her; just coolly checking out their surroundings.
Belle coughed. She wondered if she was going to be sick. She tried to sp
eak. She managed: ‘No. I don’t think so.’
Then she thought of Mum and Dad, and of Ludo standing there telling her how they’d died. The rage and grief pushed up and erupted in her chest. She strode forward and snatched the pistol out of Jack’s hand and fired three quick shots into Ludo’s corpse. Gasping, shaking, she then stood there staring down at the remains of the dead man. She felt Jack take the gun back off her. Dazedly she looked at him, feeling hot tears wet on her cheeks.
‘Back in the house,’ said Jack. It was an order, not a request.
133
Up in the yard in front of the house there was another horror waiting for them: Trix was laid out on the ground, her throat slit open.
‘Oh no,’ moaned Belle, staggering to a halt.
‘More guts than sense, that dog. I always said it,’ said Jack, but his tone was gentle. But when Belle went to kneel down beside Trix, he shook his head. ‘No. Inside.’
Back in the kitchen, Belle slumped down into a chair. Jack locked the front door and went through and made sure the back was secure. Then he reloaded the shotgun and put it down beside the table. He went to the pantry and came back with brandy in a glass for her. ‘Drink it up, it’ll steady you,’ he said.
Belle took a hefty swig of the brandy. It scorched all the way down, but then its warmth spread out and she started to feel a little better. If he hadn’t come back when he did . . .
‘You came back early,’ she said. Her voice shook.
‘Saw a car along the lane. It’s been here before. Recognized the reg number.’ Now he was at the back door. He turned and looked at her. ‘Got to clean this mess up. Stay in here and don’t answer the door to anyone. I’ll be as quick as I can. The gun’s there, loaded. Use it if you have to.’
Belle nodded. She felt woozy, which she guessed was part aftershock and part strong brandy. But she looked at him steadily. The way he’d reacted in that situation. The cold-blooded taking of two human lives. There was something military in the way he’d moved around out there. He didn’t look shaken; in fact, he didn’t look affected in any way.
‘Jack?’ she said.
He lifted his head. What?
‘What the fuck are you? Really?’
But he didn’t answer. He just left.
134
By the time the sun was sinking into the west, Belle was getting anxious. Jack had been gone a long time. Maybe Harlan had sent more people to search her out. Maybe Ludo and Nipper had reported where she was and there was backup coming right now. Maybe they were here already. Maybe they’d got hold of Jack, finished him, and maybe now they were creeping closer to the farmhouse, coming for her.
When the door finally opened, she leapt to her feet, reaching for the big heavy gun, not knowing what was going to come at her. But it was him. At last.
‘Going for a shower,’ he said, and walked straight past her into his bedroom, emerging moments later with some clean garments. Then he went into the bathroom and started throwing off the soiled ones he was wearing. ‘Burn those, yeah?’
Belle gathered the clothes up, wincing as she smelled on them the iron scent of fresh blood, mingled with dirt and sweat. She took them over to the fire and tossed them on, one item at a time.
Hearing the shower start up, she went back to the table and sat there. She really ought to make them some food, but the thought of it made her want to puke. Her mind kept replaying those minutes before Jack had shown up. Ludo with the gun pointing at her head. She’d been certain she was about to die.
Finally Jack emerged from the bathroom, towelling his hair dry. He came and sat down at the kitchen table. Belle got up, made them both tea, then sat down again. He tossed the towel aside. Then he looked at her.
‘All right?’ he asked.
‘All right?’ She stared at his face. She didn’t know him. She couldn’t pair up the sensuous, almost tender lover with this killer who took life so brutally. He was a stranger to her. ‘Yes I’m all right. I was nearly shot and then nearly knifed, but I’m fine. And now I would like to know what the fuck I’m dealing with here.’
Jack heaved a sigh.
‘Answer my question. Tell me what the hell you are. Because you’re not a farmer.’
Jack picked up his cup. Furious, Belle knocked it out of his hand and he grabbed her wrist, quick as a snake, hauling her half across the table and glaring into her eyes.
‘Tell me,’ she said through gritted teeth.
Jack let go of her wrist and Belle settled back into her chair. He righted the cup and poured in more tea. Added milk. Said nothing.
Belle scraped her chair back and stood there, fuming. ‘Then there’s nothing more to be said,’ she said, and went off to the spare room, slamming the door behind her.
135
Belle awoke in the night, aware of sounds nearby. Not switching on the bedside lamp, she sat bolt upright, listening intently in the deep country darkness.
Had she heard something? Or was it a dream?
There!
Someone was moving about out in the kitchen. She wasn’t imagining it and she wasn’t dreaming either. Carefully, as quietly as she could, Belle pulled on Jack’s mother’s dressing gown and crossed in the faint moonlight that seeped through the thin curtains over to the door that led out into the kitchen.
Probably just Jack, she thought, trying to reassure herself.
But the sounds were stealthy, like someone moving and trying not to let their movements be heard.
She turned the handle and opened the bedroom door a crack. Instantly she was struck by a sudden chill and in the pale wash of moonlight she could see the bare table, the sink, the fridge and . . . the outside door was open. Cool breeze was wafting in. She couldn’t see anyone in the kitchen. Not Jack, not anyone.
She opened the bedroom door wider and stepped out. Steadily, carefully, not making a sound, she crossed on tiptoe over to the back door and forced herself to look out there, into the yard. Nothing. No one. An owl hooted, so close that she jumped. If you believed in ghosts, she thought you might almost expect to see the pale shades of Nipper and Ludo coming, floating over the yard toward the house.
Then Belle’s breath caught in her throat and she felt the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. No. She couldn’t be seeing this . . .
But she did see it.
There was someone coming up from the far end of the mist-shrouded yard, coming toward the house.
Shut the door. Shut it, lock it. Quickly!
She couldn’t. Frozen with fear, she could only stand there and stare as the apparition drew closer, closer . . .
Oh Christ!
She stepped back, forced her frozen muscles to move.
Shut the door, shut the door, shut the door . . .
It was coming closer, moving soundlessly because ghosts didn’t make a sound, did they?
‘Belle?’ it said, whispering.
‘Jack?’ She felt almost faint with relief.
He came up to the door, stepped inside, closed it behind him. Locked it. In the dim light of the moon, he looked at her. As her panic subsided, she started to feel boiling mad. He’d scared her half to death. ‘What the fuck were you doing out there? The door was open, I thought . . .’ Her voice tailed away. She didn’t know what she’d thought. She only knew that he’d scared her, badly.
‘I thought I heard noises down by the stables,’ he said. ‘Nobody there, though.’
Belle clutched her arms around herself, shivering. ‘This is my fault.’
He said nothing. ‘Come on. Let’s try to get some sleep.’ And he went off to his room and closed the door behind him.
Irritated, Belle stood there staring down the hall at his closed door. Thank you very much, she thought. And what did that say? It said fuck you, Belle Barton. Angrily, she went back to his mother’s room and climbed back into bed and tried to sleep. She couldn’t. She tossed and turned for over an hour, then she grabbed the dressing gown and went back out into the kitchen and then down the hal
l and into his room, closing the door behind her. In the faint moonlight, she could see that he was awake, too, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. She went over to the bed and tossed aside the dressing gown and climbed in naked beside him.
‘Can’t sleep?’ he asked, slipping an arm around her.
‘How the hell could I sleep? Now you’re going to tell me not to think about it, but how can I not do that? They came here to kill me.’
‘They didn’t succeed.’
‘I was lucky. Maybe next time, I won’t be.’
He didn’t give her any reassurance on that.
‘You’re an annoying man,’ she murmured against his throat.
‘You’re a spoiled little princess,’ he returned. ‘And a bolshy cow.’
‘Yeah, true enough.’ She kissed his chest, feeling the reassuring heat of him.
Is this love? she wondered. This weird connection she felt to him, she’d never felt that before. The tingle when they touched, the leaping of her heart when he came into the room. Best not to question it too closely. He wasn’t repulsed by her scars, and that would have to be enough. She trailed kisses lower, over his belly and downward.
Jack gasped and bunched his fist into her hair, but Belle pulled back and straddled him, feeling him hard and ready. Greedily she guided him inside her, letting out a long groan of satisfaction.
‘Christ, Belle,’ he moaned, trying to thrust upward while she rode him. But Belle was in charge now, she wouldn’t allow it. She moved languidly on him, driving him demented with lust.
Finally he turned her, tossed her onto her back and entered her again, riding her in turn. At last he came, emptying himself into her. Then he saw to her pleasure until she was screaming, clinging to him, groaning his name.
136
In the morning Jack was up before Belle was even awake. She showered and went out into the kitchen. The door was open and the day was bright. A massive horsebox was backing into the yard in front of the stable block, Jack waving the driver back, back, back . . . there. He slapped the side of the truck. Enough.