by Nic Roberts
“Shh, shh, it’s okay Ella,” Olivia whispered, motioning her head to encourage Lawrence through the door with her. She stayed crouched as she inched forward. “We’re with Devon and Cornwall Police.”
The young woman looked into her eyes, weakly and just about conscious. They had to act fast.
“Do you know where he went?” Olivia mouthed the words more than speaking them, deftly reaching into her pocket to take hold of her multi-tool that she always kept on hand. If back-up didn’t come soon, she’d have to use it to defend herself.
Lawrence appeared by her side and swung around the back of the chair to start untying the ropes binding Ella’s wrists together.
“Bath... room,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes frantically darting down the hallway.
“Good,” Olivia replied, trying her best to muster a reassuring smile. “We’re going to get you out of here, okay? Help is coming.” She did her best to let her hope infuse itself into her words.
“Mmhmm,” Ella whimpered. The poor woman was scared out of her mind—and she had every right to be.
The next moments Olivia would always remember in flashes rather than a continuous series of events. It was almost as if her brain took snapshots of the most important parts, discarding the rest of the memory as it didn’t help to dwell on them.
Ella’s eyes widened.
A scream.
Pain against Olivia’s scalp.
Gruff hands.
“Don’t,” Samuel Mercer growled, his mouth mere inches from the back of her head. Somehow, he’d managed to sneak up on them.
He pulled Olivia to standing by her hair and then gripped her waist tightly. His other arm held the cold blade of her multi tool against her throat. She must have dropped it when he hit her, and it took her a second to fully process the situation as the pain in her head seared its way through her body, but she dared not move as the knife carried enough pressure on her neck to make her worried.
Lawrence rose steadily from behind the chair that held Ella, both hands raised high, the look on his face one she’d never seen before.
“Sam...” he warned gruffly.
“It’s okay,” Olivia exhaled, tears brimming to her eyes involuntarily even as she spoke the words. There wasn’t much that could go worse in this situation. She wasn’t quite sure who she was saying it to: Lawrence, Ella, Sam, or herself. Still, she let the statement echo throughout the basement.
Her partner frowned, and she knew he wasn’t going to take that response because it most certainly wasn’t okay.
“You have to let her go.” Lawrence took a step forward causing the grip to tighten on Olivia, and she put her hands up quickly.
“You loved Ella,” she croaked. “I know you don’t want to hurt her.” Of course, that was a lie, but she had to keep him talking. Keep him thinking until help arrived.
She felt Sam’s grip on her loosen slightly, but just as quickly as it had, he tightened it again.
“Why’d you have to ruin it?” His voice was low and dangerous. “Why’d you have to get involved?”
Olivia’s eyes made contact with Lawrence’s, and he gave her the tiniest of nods, enough for her to know he wanted her to keep drawing Sam out. Keep him focused on what they were doing long enough to stay alive.
“We just want to get Ella home safe to her parents,” she promised, doing her best to keep her voice calm even as her pulse beat frantically against her own knife. How were you so stupid as to let him get advantage over you? she wanted to scream at herself.
“We have reinforcements on the way,” Lawrence blurted out, his eyes shifting from Olivia to Sam. “This doesn’t have to be a bloodbath. I know you were just trying to do what was best for Ella, but look at her! She needs medical help, and fast.”
The young woman started weeping at that comment, and Oliva wanted to reach out and comfort her, but the steel of the blade pressed further into her throat, causing her to grimace.
She felt Sam’s breathing change.
“We’re meant to be together!” he yelled, fury fuelling his voice. It was difficult staying still in his grasp, but Olivia knew that too much squirming could result in a deadly slice.
“Remind him of how you love him, Ella,” she hissed. The blonde-haired woman glanced up at that comment, bewilderment flooding her eyes. “I know you’re weak, but tell him about all of the good times you’ve had together. The special moments. Go on.” Play your cards right, Olivia urged with her tone. If they got Sam to crumble, the chances of all of them making it out alive increased dramatically. As long as the bloody back-up arrived.
“I… I love you, Sam,” Ella spit out through her sobs. She wasn’t an actress, that was for sure. But before Sam could call her on her bluff, words tumbled out of her mouth, spinning statements into grandiose proclamations, and despite her injuries, she squeezed every last drop of her energy. “Remember that... that night out... in the field? Right when.... we first started dating? The... The stars were so bright and your... embrace was so warm, and I swear, Sam... I, I could have split into a million pieces. I was... so happy.”
Good job, Ella, Olivia wanted to sigh. She kept it in, though, instead letting her eyes drift over to Lawrence. He had returned to some level of composure—that was good. Breathe, goddammit, she internally screamed at herself. You’ve got to get a grip. Stay sharp.
“We swore our love to the stars,” Sam recollected. He was crying, too, though his grip remained steely against Olivia’s torso. Still, maybe his hand wasn’t as prepared. A plan started to formulate in her head. This was do or die.
“Please, Sam,” Ella gasped through her tears. “Please let’s... just go home. I know... I know this was all a mistake, but I don’t want—” She looked to Olivia, who gave her a look of encouragement in response. That’s right, she wanted to urge. Keep him thinking about you. Olivia’s hands drifted just below the level of her chin, her eyes steady on Lawrence. Pay attention.
“I don’t want to... lose you,” Ella confessed. Olivia could feel the hesitation in Sam’s body language; he shifted in his stance against her.
Fight or flight.
Her palms flew up, fingers grasping at Sam’s forearm and the knife, pushing away from him with all of her might. Had he been focused, it wouldn’t have been enough, not by a mile. But Ella’s confession had distracted him. He wasn’t poised for any sort of resistance.
The knife flew from his hand, clattering to a stop in front of Lawrence, who quickly pounced. Olivia barely had time to process it, ducking low with a tuck of her head. She brought her elbow to Sam’s groin, forcing him to double over in pain. A scream of red rage boiled out from him.
“Get her out of here!” her partner growled pointing at Ella, and Olivia made a beeline for her.
She heard Lawrence’s raised voice as she finished the knots he’d been untying and ushered the young woman to stand up.
“We have to go,” she urged to her, ignoring her own pain. “I know you’re weak, but we can’t stay here.”
The back door was partially blocked by the scuffling men; that only left the front door. Damnit.
“Where’s that fucking back-up?” DI Dean Lawrence growled amidst his struggles. “Call it in!”
Olivia manoeuvered the terrified Ella behind her and pulled out her radio.
“Code Red!” she shouted into the device. “This is Detective Austin! Code Red! We need help now!” She called out the address, trying to stop her hands from shaking. It was all too familiar. She never thought she’d have to say those words again so soon, but she couldn’t dwell on that now. Her situation was very real and very present.
She ran over to her partner, but he put his hand out to stop her.
“Get her out of here!” he repeated.
Olivia nodded and turned back to Ella. He was right. Their job was to save Ella. Otherwise, it would all have been for nothing.
“You can’t take her!” Sam cried. “Every minute of my existence has led
me to this moment. I need her!”
He tried to struggle out of Lawrence’s arms, but he held firm.
Ella stood by a cabinet, covering her face with her uninjured hand.
“I can’t do this...” she sobbed. “I... I can’t—”
Olivia gripped her wrist.
“Yes. You. Can.” She hissed back at her. “It’s almost over. Show me where the front door is, and I’ll get you out. We have to do it now!”
She pulled her through the kitchen and away from a howling Sam, into the dark hallway and up a flight of stairs. The further away they got, the slower the young woman became. Her body had been through a lot already. Only a few more steps and—
A heavy weight fell against Olivia’s lower back and brought both her and Ella to the ground. She winced in pain. It was Sam, and before she could turn around, he wrapped his arm around her neck.
“I won’t let you take her from me!” he spat between gritted teeth. “We were supposed to be leaving Cornwall tonight, and you’re not going to stop me!”
Her first thought was Lawrence. If Samuel was here, then that meant...?
He flung Olivia to the side, bouncing her head off the plasterboard wall as she landed, and he proceeded to crawl toward Ella, but the heavy boot of a uniformed officer came down alongside him, blocking his access to her, and then a tailored Oxford shoe also came into view.
She recognised it instantly.
Detective Dean Lawrence. Goodness, she’d never been so grateful to see him.
“Olivia, are you alright?” he asked, but she couldn’t think about herself now. She used his arm to pull herself to standing and came into contact with a uniformed PC Andrew Shaw fighting off Sam. Back up had arrived.
She pointed at Ella, and Lawrence was already one step ahead of her, making his way over to the young woman who sat slumped against the wall. She opened her eyes to look at him. As long as she was safe and out of harm’s way, they had done what they came to do.
“Unless you want to get tasered, mate, you’re going to have to lay down with your hands behind your back!”
Olivia snapped back to the struggle that PC Shaw, a young officer, was having with their kidnapper.
“And the rest of you?” she asked, joining in to help. Her body ached too, but she pushed that to the back of her mind.
“Coming from another incident, Miss,” he answered. “Are you okay? They should be...”
The sound of sirens filled the silence interrupting him and relief etched its way into her soul, but she wouldn't let that take her mind off the task at hand. She’d known some colleagues who were lulled into a false sense of security thinking back up had arrived and only two had lived to tell the tale.
Sam may have taken her by surprise the first and second time, but this time she was ready. She sidestepped him, wrapping his arm behind his body in a lock before stomping at the backs of his knees, forcing his ridged figure to topple forward.
Her whole body shook as she continued her push downward on him, doing her best to immobilise the bastard. She was peripherally aware that PC Shaw was joining her, helping her secure their brutal attacker. Everything beyond the three of them seemed eons away. Even Ella’s sobs from somewhere outside echoed in Olivia’s mind as if she were underwater.
Time slipped out of her awareness, her sole focus keeping Samuel Mercer shoved into the floor. Some part of her processed that reinforcements had arrived, that Ella was fully freed, that Sam indeed was no longer in front of her. Her focus remained laser sharp on the wood panels. It was only after Lawrence gripped her shoulder, reassuring her it’s done, that she let herself look up.
Is it really over?
19
Back in the confines of her cottage a week later, the doorbell snapped Olivia to attention.
“Shit,” she muttered, springing to life from the lounge. She needed to pull the roast out still.
The ordeal surrounding Ella and Sam had earned her a nasty raised bump on the back of her head and a small laceration to her neck where the knife had been pressed.
She was grateful that it hadn’t cut her deeply, and even the thought of everything that had happened made her shudder.
Detective Inspector Dean Lawrence had been a godsend in the immediate aftermath, and despite dealing with his own concussion from being momentarily knocked out, it had simply made them closer.
“Come in,” she called, arming herself with mittens before braving the oven. “It’s unlocked!”
She peeled open the oven door to reveal its interior. Just as she had suspected—completely burnt.
“Is that dinner I can smell?” Lawrence asked as he entered the threshold of the cottage. Moments later, he appeared behind her and set his coat down on one of her stools and a bottle of something on the worktop.
Olivia glanced back and gave him the sternest look she could muster though barely able to hide the tinge of amused exasperation.
“Oh,” he sighed, looking at her and the smoking dish in her hands. “Let me see, I’m sure we can resurrect it.”
Olivia laughed and put the utterly failed meal onto the hob before closing the oven door.
“I think we’re beyond that now.” She took her mittens off. Not the best start to her partner’s first time at her house and her first time entertaining since being back in Cornwall. “I guess a takeaway would be the just thing to do.”
Dean steadied himself by the cooker to have a look.
“I would assume you’re right,” he answered with a smile, and Olivia hit him with oven gloves.
She looked at him properly for the first time since he arrived and gave him a once over before nodding approvingly.
“You certainly clean up nicely, don’t you Inspector?” she half sang.
He wore a smooth black jumper and grey trousers, accompanied by a tasteful watch and nice loafers. He’d shaved, too, which made a change from his usual stubble. Olivia herself felt slightly underdressed in her dark green knitted dress with tights and fluffy slippers, but her partner didn’t appear to find her out of out place.
“Speak for yourself,” he complimented back, brandishing a bottle of rosé. Olivia clapped her hands together in delight when she saw it. She hadn’t even noticed he’d arrived with it.
“Let’s get that chilled,” she declared, taking it from him. She cleared some space in the fridge and put it in.
“You have a nice home, Liv,” her partner observed.
“Thank you,” she smiled back. “It’s nothing grand, but it’s mine at least. And please, take a seat,”
Lawrence nodded before tucking his taller than average frame into a chair at the dining table. He watched as Olivia retrieved a pile of takeaway leaflets that were stuffed beside the microwave.
“So,” she sighed once she’d arrived opposite him. “What should we order?”
Lawrence eyed the array of different places she’d collected.
“That’s an impressive stash,” he remarked.
Olivia nodded.
“I can only assume word spread through Newquay and every surrounding area that a single, lonely woman was moving into Heartstone Cottage,” she mused. “Most of these came through the letterbox in one day.”
Lawrence shifted in his seat.
“Lonely?” he asked, the only word he’d seemed to pick up and hone in on.
There was silence between them as Olivia pretended to flick through the leaflets, but in reality, she was kicking herself for saying as such.
“Well, you know what I mean...” she diverted. “I don’t exactly... Oh, what about this one? Chinese? My sister said it was quite pleasant.”
She knew the subject change was abrupt and obvious, but thankfully, her partner knew not to press it further. She forced a smile down at him as she settled both hands on the kitchen table. Even though it had been a week since their standoff with Sam Mercer, the wound on her neck was still in the process of healing. She’d been so focused on making sure Ella got out alive that at first, she hadn�
��t noticed she’d been injured until she saw the panic in Dean’s eyes and heard him shout for help.
The outcome could have been so much worse had they not put their heads together and worked as a team, but she didn’t want to dwell on the what ifs. This dinner was supposed to represent that they’d moved on and that their partnership was stronger than ever.
Opposite her, and oblivious to her inner turmoil, Lawrence picked up the Chinese leaflet and opened it.
“Sounds good!” He agreed. “And I’ll get this.”
Olivia shook her head.
“No,” she answered, “it's supposed to be my treat. Besides, can you imagine the rumour mill at work when they hear that a certain detective bought me dinner?”
Dean laughed.
“I can't buy a friend dinner now?”
Those words warmed her. He wasn't just a work colleague or her partner. He was a friend, and that was wildly important. On coming back to Cornwall, she’d made sure to move to a place that wasn’t in the same town she’d grown up in. Something her CoL Police colleagues had always instilled in her. Don’t shit where you eat. And even though what they said was right, it didn’t always stop the realisation that she wasn’t quite near her former Cornwall friends and would have to, in some ways, start over.
DI Lawrence went over to his coat to retrieve his mobile before returning to his seat.
“How about this?” he offered, pointing at the back. “If you like seafood, which I think you do because I saw you eating that sushi for lunch the other week, then we should get this mixed set meal for two?”
Olivia’s eyes scanned over the writing.
“Great idea. You’re a lifesaver, honestly.”
He simply smiled in return and dialled the number. She heard it ringing on the other end.
Dean covered the mouthpiece on his phone and turned to her.
“While I’m putting in this order, why don’t you try and dispose of that... chargrilled bird over there,” he teased with a wry smile. “Or you could call Dr James and invite him to Susan’s 50th.”