He reached for me, but retreated and bit his lip. With a sigh, he said, “Right, then. No harm done, eh?”
“I really do thank you for helping me out, Mac. It means a lot. You’re a great guy.”
He motioned to Spud returning towards us. “Say no more, Jen.”
Our eyes locked. Sadness cloaked his mood.
Mac counted the money. “I have a hundred and fifty left. I’ll need that for, for, well...”
I finished his thought. “Right. To buy time with Niamh.”
He stared into me. “Only so you can talk with her.”
I jutted my chin. “Of course. Your decision.”
Spud swayed from one foot to another and watched the bantering between us. “Did I miss something?”
We both responded. “No.”
Spud humphed. “Okay. Are we ready to head for the Spotted Snail?”
Mac took charge as we strolled down the sidewalk. “Right, I’ll go in. You wait in the alley with Jen. I’ll open the back door for you.”
Spud hesitated. “How will you, um, excuse yourself from her?”
He nudged Spud in the ribs. “Who says I plan on it, eh? You may have to wait a bit.”
Mac’s eyes shot to mine. I turned away. “Well, you’re paying for it. Never mind that she was shanghaied into that lifestyle. What difference would that make to you?” I clamped my jaw and quickened my pace.
Spud’s voice sounded behind me. “Whoo, boy.”
Mac brushed past me into the pub. His hand grasped the brass door bar, but before he slithered inside, he glared at me.
Spud grabbed my elbow. “This way.”
I gulped back the heat of new tears. Mac wouldn’t dare, would he? My mind didn’t wish to travel there.
In the alleyway, Spud turned to me. “Want to tell me what’s going on between you two?”
I shifted my gaze to the bushes waving gently against the cold night air. I pulled my arms around my waist. “Nothing. It just disgusts me to think he’d…well, you know.”
“He’s a young man with a healthy appetite, Jen.”
“And no morals? Don’t make excuses for him.”
Spud pointed his finger under my nose. “And don’t you go judgin’ him…or me.”
Just then the back door opened. Mac’s silhouette stood in the light. So he hadn’t decided to take advantage of the situation after all. Relief washed over me.
He motioned for me. “Psst. You better come in, Jen. They’re waiting for you.”
I edged towards him, but stopped. A chill zipped up my backbone. “They?”
“Yeah, Niamh.” Mac pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “And another woman. Says her name’s Glenda.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
It was as if Frankenstein’s lightning bolts had jolted me from a coma. “Glenda? Where?”
Mac’s voice became soft. “Sshh. Not so loud. Second room down on the left. Good luck.”
My lips stretched into a smile. “How can I ever repay you?” I planted a wet kiss on his cheek and dashed through the jamb.
I heard him answer, “You just did, luv. You just did.”
Could it really be true? I took in a deep breath, exhaled and tapped on the door. It flung open and there stood Glenda, arms outstretched, bouncing on her three inch heels. “Come in, come in!”
I hugged her tight as we swayed back and forth in friendship. She pulled me away. “My, you are a sight for sore eyes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever find you.”
I laughed. “Nor did I.”
“How did you get away?”
I swallowed. “Through the tunnels under the manor. I read about them in Niamh’s diary. Oh, sorry.” I turned to my look-alike sitting crossed-legged on the bed. She wore a red, leather micro-mini skirt, which of course, revealed her thighs almost to her hips. A tattooed rose decorated one thigh and a sheer leopard-patterned top cascaded off her shoulders over a black, lace bra. Purple and red interlocked hoops dangled from her ears. A diamond stud shone in one nostril. Her eye makeup consisted of black streaks around both lids accented by glittery purple eye shadow. Her ruby lips pouted, but her eyes widened. “Well, she wasn’t kidding. They did make you to look like me.” A sad laugh burst through her lips as she slid her hands down her body. “Well, the way I once did.”
I watched as she uncrossed her long legs and sauntered up to me. Hands on hips, she eyed me from head to toe. “What a joke. Poor grandmamma. She must be near bonkers.”
“That’s the plan. A scheme of my husband’s…”
Glenda gasped.
I nodded. “Yeah, Robert’s here. “ I turned back to Niamh. “With Andrew.”
She leaned forward. “But your eyes are a bit more hazel.”
“They gave me soft contacts to make them appear gray-blue. I ditched them.”
With a hand looped through each of our elbows, Glenda guided us to the edge of the bed. “I already told Niamh about you. At first I thought she was you.” She shrugged. “Well in disguise. But it didn’t make sense, so I cornered Niamh and showed her your photo.”
“That got my attention.” Niamh smacked the gum in her mouth and plopped down on the mattress.
Glenda nodded. “I’d been searching everywhere for you. But they sent you underground so fast. No leads, until a guy said my description of you sounded like a, well”—she glanced at Niamh—“a woman working at the Spotted Snail.”
Niamh re-crossed her legs. “Oh, please. Call a spade a spade, will ya? I know what I am now, don’t I?”
My heart pumped a stinging jolt of dread. “Wait. A guy told you?”
Glenda bobbed her head. “Yes, Mac. The one who brought you here. I paid him well to find you.”
“So, the wad in the canister came from you.” I sat on the bed and stared into her eyes. “This meant he knew all along whom I was. But, why the act? Unless…”
Glenda’s curls bounced back and forth. “What are you talking about?”
I clutched her by both arms. “Glenda. We haven’t much time. We have to get out of here.”
Niamh leaned forward. “Mac, you say? Blond, gorgeous blue eyes, chiseled cheeks? Thirtyish?”
Glenda and I nodded in unison.
She snorted a laugh. “He’s one of my regulars.”
“Oh.” My stomach dropped to my knees.
“Not in here.” She patted the sheets. “He sets the men up for me. Businessmen looking for a rumple away from their prim and pure wives. My ponce pays him well enough to lead them in my direction.”
Swine. These men were all swine. My thoughts returned to Niamh’s voice.
“Yeah, he and Andrew went to college together. Before he fell on hard times.”
Clarity sprang into my head. “Does Andrew know you’re not dead?”
A cruel and sad laugh erupted from her painted lips. “Dead? Is that the story they made up, now?” She repositioned herself. “My dear brother pushed me into this hell hole of a life. All to save our precious manor.” She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into my face. “Andrew gets half what I make. That ponce Mr. Manning hired? Michael? He collects twenty-five percent. Doesn’t leave me much to live on now, does it?”
I turned my attention to Glenda. “Mr. Manning is Robert.”
“Oh, dear. I see.”
Niamh stubbed out her cigarette. “And Robert, as you call him, is…?”
“My estranged husband who traffics girls and drugs in the U.S.”
“And obviously here as well.” Glenda arched one of her perfectly manicured brows.
“Only us higher class toffs who went a bit wild in parochial school. The ones too tainted to land a baron or a minor duke. Like me.” She drew a long purple nail around her mouth. But a deep sadness shadowed her face, which she quickly masked with a hard sneer. “Unless it’s only for the night.” She waved her hand over the crumpled bedclothes. “Then they pay well.”
Glenda and I remained silent.
Niamh shrugged. “Originally it was a kick. Sort of like
your Playboy Bunnies, I guess. Fine clothes, champagne, jewels, meth to keep us skinny and tireless, and downers to help us forget and sleep it off. Rooms on the Riviera and in Paris. But we got too well known, so those billionaires got bored. Our handlers sought out new girls, mostly from Russia and Romania, and shipped us back to the UK for local jollies.” Her eyes clouded for a moment, but with a sigh, she straightened her backbone. “I still generate a fair quid, though. I’ve kept a slim figure. Men especially love these long legs.” She stretched them out like a cat.
My stomach flipped. I think Glenda’s did as well.
Amidst the stifled silence, a thought leaped into my head. “Niamh. We can get you out of here. Come back to the manor and help us expose their plans.” I walked toward her.
“They’ll beat me.”
I held her by the elbows.” No, they won’t because they’ll all be in jail.”
“Andrew, too?”
I nodded. “Probably. He’s thick in this. He faked your death. Now he’s trying to make the baroness thinks she needs to be committed so he can take over the manor. Plus, he’s obviously part of this trafficking ring with Robert.”
She sighed. “Only because our father left us in debt up to our ears. He had to do something fast. The creditors threatened to…” She swallowed. “I was so messed up over Barry and losing the baby. It didn’t matter to me how we got the money. In a weird way, I figured I’d finally done something to help. I always was a disappointment to Papa.” A solitary tear slipped to draw a white path in her rouged cheek.
I shifted to Glenda. “Barry was her boyfriend, from the wrong side of the tracks. He got her pregnant and they eloped. But Andrew found them and made her have an abortion. Barry died in a car wreck. I suspect Andrew and Robert planned it. They told the family she had died in it, too.”
“So that’s why they never came looking for me.” Niamh’s eyes became distant. “The backstreet quack doctor tore me up inside. I can’t have kids now.” She blinked to focus again on the two of us and gave off another sad laugh. “An advantage in my line of work. They pay extra if they don’t have to wear protection.”
Glenda held her waist. “Oh, dear Lord in heaven.”
I blinked back my own queasy shock and stood up. “Look, Mac said he paid to have an hour with you so we could meet. But you tell me he is in on this whole thing?”
Niamh nodded.
I put my hands to my head and paced. “Then Mac will squeal to Robert. He is probably doing it right now. We have to get out this instant. ”
Glenda jumped up. “Come to my hotel room. Both of you. I can hide you there. We’ll order pizza, and stay up all night scheming until we work this out.”
Niamh shook her head. Her dangly earrings waved wildly back and forth. “No. I told you. They’ll beat me, and kill grandmamma. Mary, too. She was my nanny.” Suddenly her face morphed into one of a small child—helpless, afraid.
“Honey. They won’t get a chance. Interpol will protect you, all of you. My agency, the NCA, works with them, don’t you see?” Glenda’s voice was steady and stern. “You have to come with us. Please.”
“But, I’ll need my meth soon.”
Glenda widened her eyes.
I hugged my twin. “We’ll stay with you. Pray over you. Get a doctor if necessary. We’ll help you beat it.”
She scooted away from us. “I’m scared. Once I tried to kick it, but I got really sick.”
Glenda punched a text into her phone. Within seconds it beeped back. “Right. We’ll get you both to my hotel, and make arrangements to admit you into a special hospital, Niamh. They will guard you, protect you and ease you through this. Trust me. It is where many of the celebs go.”
I scrunched my eyebrows. “Who’ll pay for all this?”
Glenda touched my shoulder. “Our government, dear. They pay for everyone—if you pull the right strings.”
Niamh crumbled onto the bed into a ball. Her crying came in heaves. “I thought God had forgotten about me.”
“Oh, Niamh. I once thought the same thing. Trust me, we aren’t that different. We’ve both been manipulated by the same men. I’ve made some horrible mistakes, too. But God forgave me and He will do the same for you.”
My own words washed over me with the truth as cleansing tears cascaded down my cheeks. I slid onto the bed and hugged her to me. She buried her head into my shoulder as unabashed sobs drenched my neck. I rocked her the way I’d often wanted someone to rock me over the past year.
There a loud, vibrating wham echoed through the room.
The door slammed open against the wall. Robert straddled the width of the jamb. Mac stood behind him holding a bloody-nosed Spud by his shirt collar.
Niamh screamed. Glenda reached for her gun. A battle cry gurgled up from deep within my gut. I dashed for my husband, my fingernails arched, ready to draw blood.
Mac tossed Spud aside and leapt for Glenda. I reached to gouge Robert’s eyes, but he back-slapped me to the floor. My head jammed against something hard.
I heard a gunshot. Niamh screamed again.
Then, everything faded.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
From deep within a tunnel a female voice filtered through my conscience. Next, a man spoke. “I think she’s coming around.”
I squinted into the light as faces blurred into recognizable shapes. My head felt as if a bowling ball had been implanted inside of it.
Mary stood over me with a washcloth in her hand. She bathed my forehead. Dr. Wilson leaned in. Oh, no. Not him. I tried to scoot upright but the room swirled.
“Easy.” His arms pressed my shoulders back into the pillow. “You have a nasty concussion, my dear. Your husband snookered you bloody well.”
I groaned. He patted my arm in a fatherly manner. “There, there. You’re safe, now.”
A mahogany canopy came into focus. Back in Niamh’s room. In the manor. “Oh, Lord help me.”
“Ssshh,” Mary cooed. “Be quiet and rest. You mustn’t move.”
“Yes.” Dr. Wilson’s voice penetrated through my head. “Stay in bed for at least two more days. Make her use the bed pan, Mary. And be by her side as much as possible. Report any nausea or change in her pupils. The next forty-eight hours are crucial.”
“Then get me to a hospital.” I moaned. Even mouthing words hurt.
“It’s too risky.” A sternness hung in his voice.
I nodded, and then wish I hadn’t. Pain stung through me before easing into a dull throb. I closed my eyes and drifted to a place where time and the depravity of humanity didn’t exist.
* * *
The next few hours—or days?—floated in and out of my awareness. I recall Mary spooning tepid chicken soup into my mouth and me trying to swallow it without much success. Voices emerged from a barrel bottom, but their words were incomprehensible.
With a swoosh, sunlight hit my eyelids. I squinted, my hand over my face. “Who’s there?”
“Ah, she speaks.” The mattress underneath my hips sank. With effort, I turned my head. Robert perched on the edge of my bed, his hands in his lap. “Hello, you.”
I groaned. The last person I wanted to see. “What do you want?”
“To talk, Jen. When you are up to it.” He raised his hand to rub my cheekbone, a gesture of affection I recalled all too well. The touch made my stomach churn. I swiveled my head away, then wished I’d hadn’t. The pain returned in earnest.
“You’re mad at me.”
I sheltered my eyes with my forearm. “You think?”
He sucked in a deep sigh. “I don’t blame you. I’ve put you through hell and back, babe.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What?”
“Babe. As if you still cared for me. As if you ever did.” I gulped angry tears back down my throat.
The sheets rustled as he leaned in next to me, his breath on my chin. “I truly did, Jen. Part of me still does.”
I squinted at him. His face came into focus bearing a contrite
, puppy-who’d-just-piddled expression. I snarled. “Please. Save it for Broadway. I’m tired of your acting.”
He reared back, but the anger I expected to flash in his green eyes didn’t appear. Instead, a deepened sadness emerged. “Can you ever forgive me?”
His question stabbed my heart. Forgiveness. The Lord’s Prayer. Had I not just been praying it? My mind tried to grab the memory, but couldn’t quite grasp hold of it.
As he rose, the mattress pushed against the small of my back. “Okay. Later. You rest, do what they say, and get better. Maybe in another day or two you’ll see deep down, there still can be love between us.”
I wanted to scream, “When you-know-what freezes over, babe.” Instead I clamped my teeth together to keep my thoughts inside my mouth.
His footsteps shuffled across the wooden floor. “Oh, and Jen? Don’t try to escape again, okay?”
The door’s hinges squeaked. It closed with a soft click, but no lock bolt turned.
* * *
Over the next two days I grew a bit stronger. The headaches diminished into a lingering throb, even when sitting up in a chair. I soaked in a warm rose bath and listened to classic music on an iPod someone had laid on my pillow. When my cognitive abilities emerged from the fog, I read more of Niamh’s diary. A deep connection to her emerged as I read of her pre-teen dreams. I’d once had them as well. Those innocent days seemed another lifetime ago.
The events preceding my knock on the head slowly filtered back. Yet, they remained disjointed, like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing. Late one afternoon when the shadows began to deepen across the floor, my mind slipped into a nap. The whole scene came into focus in my dream. The bed. Niamh in her purple and red. Glenda. Glenda!
My eyes flung open. I stared at the mahogany canopy above me. Glenda had found me. Robert had burst in. A shot fired. Had they killed Glenda? Wounded her? Was Niamh still alive?
I crunched the sheet inside my fist. I had to find out. But how? More memories seeped into my brain. I recalled Mac holding Spud. Spud with a bloody nose and swollen eye. Mac. He’d been in on it. Andrew’s friend.
Andrew. If I asked him to come to my room, would he tell me the truth?
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