The Devil To Pay (Hennessey.)

by Marnie Perry

  Her haste caused her to almost snatch it from him, ‘thank you, Mr. Lando.’

  Again that short silence until he said, ‘there’s food when you’re ready.’ He said this as though she had been in here for hours instead of mere minutes.

  She said quickly, ‘I’ll just…just change, I won’t be long.’

  He said nothing further and she wondered if he’d gone, she cautiously peeped through the gap between the door and the frame but he was not there. He was very quick and very quiet, but then she supposed living here and hunting as he did he had to be.

  She unfastened the shirt she was wearing and this revealed more cuts and abrasions on her torso and thighs. As she removed the shirt completely she shook her head at the sight, what a mess she looked, how she must have looked to Jonas Lando when he…she stopped.

  She had been so consumed with thoughts of what had happened to her and the fear she had felt, that it had only just occurred to her that to put her in this shirt he must have removed her clothes. The thought of that caused a heat to spread over her entire body and she felt dizzy again.

  She sat down abruptly on the side of the old tin bath that stood against the wall. Oh God, the thought of that man, that taciturn, surly man seeing her semi naked, it was too much, really it was. The heat suffusing her body became a furnace as she realised that not only had he removed her clothes but touched her body when he had bathed and cleansed her wounds. What if he had…oh God, what if he had done other things, touched her most intimate parts, maybe even raped her, after all he had killed his wife so what was a little rape to him.

  Oh now she was being paranoid, of course he hadn’t raped her, but he could have touched her intimately, would she know? Would it feel anything like when Hennessey had touched her that way? But surely she would know wouldn’t she? She put her face in her hands and moaned. The thought sickened her, not so much that Lando may have touched her but that Hennessey had.

  She stood up impatient with herself, what was she thinking? Jonas Lando had saved her, brought her into his cabin, put her in his bed and tended to her wounds. And he had been angry when she had looked at him with fear and suspicion earlier. And maybe he had not killed his wife, how many times had Hennessey lied to her? Too many times to count, and here she was doing what she hated in others, listening to rumour and gossip.

  But could she trust Lando, she had been lied to and deceived so many times and so convincingly that she knew that from now on she would find it hard to trust anyone ever again. No, she would never be sucked in again, never be deceived again. Before all she knew Jonas Lando might be in on the plot with Hennessey, after all how had she got here, why had Hennessey brought her here to Alabama? She reached into her memory and brought out something Hennessey had yelled as he was searching for her, she thought he had said "hammer" but he must have said "Alabama." He had told her where she was but she had not heard correctly. Why had he done that?

  Then she recalled what Lando had said about having to talk, he would expect her to tell him what had happened to her. But she would be very careful what she said, especially about the five million dollars that Hennessey had been offered by Glissando to kill her. That amount of money would tempt even the very best of people, and especially someone who was obviously in dire straits financially as Lando obviously was.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, at the cuts and bruises on her face and neck. Yes, she would be wise to be suspicious of everyone.

  ********

  In the kitchen Lando was making something to eat and thinking about the woman and her reaction when she had seen him at the doorway of the bedroom. She had looked at him as though he was Satan himself and that had made him angry. The last time a woman had looked at him like that, with shock and fear, had been just before she died.

  God, what was he doing, it was that English woman’s fault, she had brought back memories, memories he tried every minute of the day to suppress, and more often than not he succeeded by keeping busy, giving himself no time to dwell or even to think. Maybe he should have asked her if she’d have preferred he left her lying in the barn, or if she would rather he throw her back in the swamp.

  But after he had calmed down he realised how unreasonable he was being. She had just woken up from a fever in a strange place almost naked except for a man’s shirt, so obviously she would be frightened, terrified even, especially after what she must have suffered at the hands of whoever had kidnapped her, not to mention what she had endured in the swamp. And she had probably just realised that he had taken off her clothes and tended to her wounds, touched her body, she must have been feeling very confused and embarrassed. It was a wonder she hadn’t screamed the place down when she realised she was face to face with a convicted murderer. He admired her restraint. He also felt ashamed that he had not offered to carry her to the bathroom, she must have had a lot of difficulty getting there on those cut feet, but he had not wanted to touch her again, the last time he had carried her she had been unconscious so that was different, wasn’t it?

  It wasn’t her fault she was a woman and he shouldn’t have been so abrupt with her in the bathroom, but he wasn’t used to company, at least not since he had been released from prison. Of course there had been too much company in there. He was out of practise with how to communicate with people, especially women, not that he had ever been any good at that.

  He looked down at Dante, ‘you’re better off as you are, Dante, single and free, we both are.’ He refused to admit that sometimes single and free could also mean alone and lonely.

  He didn’t turn as he caught a movement from the bedroom doorway, but caught a glimpse of her head peeping round the door. His recent thoughts made his tone sound even more brusque than usual, ‘he doesn’t bite,’ he nodded down at Dante then turned his head to look at her, ‘although I can’t say the same for myself.’

  From anyone else Adela would have thought that last comment a joke but Lando did not seem the type to make jokes especially with her who he particularly seemed to dislike. She wondered afresh why he had brought her here into his cabin, a place he considered strictly off limits; after all, he had roughly thrown her out of one of his outbuildings.

  She wanted to say, it’s not the dog I’m afraid of but didn’t of course, instead she very slowly and reluctantly came all the way into the room. She cast her gaze quickly around not wanting to appear curious about his home, she had a feeling he would not like that.

  Directly in front of her was a huge grandfather clock that dominated everything else in the room. It was obviously very old but in good condition and was polished to a bright shine. She noticed it said 12.45.

  To her right was the kitchen in which he stood preparing food, the smell of coffee made her mouth water, how long was it since she had had coffee or tea, or eaten come to that, although the thought of food made her stomach churn. There was a window which overlooked the kitchen but the curtains were closed, next to the window was the front door and she saw the bolts were drawn across, to keep someone out or her in?

  She stood awkwardly by the bedroom door until he said in that abrupt tone she was getting used too, ‘it’d pay you to stay off your feet as much as you can.’

  She took that as an invitation to sit down and looked around for somewhere to sit. She glanced to her left at the small but cosy looking living room area; she thought he might not like her going in there as if she was a guest, a welcome guest at that.

  Straight ahead of her there was a small table against the wall at the far side of the room, she limped towards it but stopped dead and just stared at the chair nearest to her. It was almost identical to the one she had spent God knows how many hours sitting in across from Sterling Hennessey. She knew it was not the same chair, she knew she was being irrational, but the thought of sitting there made her feel sick. She swallowed deeply and almost jumped out of her skin as Lando’s voice came to her, ‘what, what is it?’ His tone was impatient.

  She didn’t look at him but mumble
d, ‘n…nothing, nothing.’

  He stared at the back of her head, a frown between his eyes. Adela knew she had to move or he would think she was crazy, at least crazier than he already did. She noticed that the chair opposite was different; it was dark brown and had a red cushion on the seat. She walked around the table and sat on it, sitting here she was facing the living room area and away from the kitchen for which she was glad.

  She noticed how tidy everything was and the furniture, although old, was well kept and clean.

  She looked straight ahead at the wall which partially separated this side of the cabin from the living area. On the wall was a painting of a small house, there was a garden at the front with flowers of all varieties and colours. The whole house was surrounded by trees and the branches of the trees leaned over the house. Apart from the garden it looked very much like Lando’s cabin.

  She stared at it fascinated, hardly able to tear her eyes away from it, thus she almost had a heart attack as something was slammed down on the table in front of her. She leapt back startled and looked up. Lando stood over her looking irritated and his tone followed suit, ‘I know it’s not up to the standard of the fancy restaurants you probably frequent but it is edible, and I take it you haven’t eaten for a long time and too much food all at once will make you ill.’

  She glanced up at him quickly wondering what he meant by the fancy restaurant part. She looked down at the plate of sandwiches cut into quarters and some salad beside it

  There were also pieces of fruit cut up into small chunks on another plate. It looked nice but that nauseous feeling remained.

  She decided to ignore his comment and said, ‘thank you, Mr. Lando, it looks very nice but I’m really not…

  He cut her abruptly off, ‘if you don’t eat you’ll be ill again and I don’t have time to play nursemaid. So eat.’

  She felt resentful of him telling her what to do but his tone brooked no argument, besides he was right, she would be ill if she did not eat, plus he had taken the time to prepare it. So she swallowed her resentment and picked up a small piece of sandwich and bit into it, suddenly her nausea seemed to disappear and her hunger took over. She swallowed the sandwich almost whole then picked up another and bit into that.

  He sat down opposite her and picked up his own sandwich which was not cut up and he devoured it hungrily. She was halfway through consuming her third piece of sandwich when she looked up and caught him watching her; she stopped chewing embarrassed by his scrutiny. He said, ‘I know what I said, but perhaps you ought to slow down, eating too fast on an empty stomach is as bad as not eating at all.’

  She felt the heat rise from her chest to her face and she lowered the other half of the sandwich to her plate.

  Lando wished he hadn’t said anything, although he was right, he didn’t want her to have an upset stomach on top of everything else, he could have said what he had a little less abruptly; he had embarrassed her…again.

  He pulled himself up sharply, what the hell did it matter if she was embarrassed or not? He was doing her the favour. She wasn’t a date he had invited around for dinner, or even a guest, she had come to him unbidden and unwelcome. But to divert her thoughts…and his he said, ‘you lost a shoe and the other was broken and only just hanging on, so I threw it away. Your jeans were filthy and full of holes but I washed them, they’re drying over there.’ He nodded towards the kitchen.

  She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed that he had mentioned her clothes and therefore that he had had to take them off, or surprised that he had washed her jeans for her. He seemed to guess what she was thinking because he was looking at her red face in a knowing way. She muttered, ‘thank you, Mr. Lando.’

  He gave her a measuring look but said nothing else and she continued to eat not surprisingly rather self consciously. Despite this she ate all four sandwiches and some of the fruit, remembering to eat slowly as per his advice. She sighed with relief when he got up from the table before she had finished and went into the kitchen.

  After a few minutes he came back and plonked a cup of coffee down beside her plate. He looked at her almost empty plate and seemed satisfied that she had eaten enough, indeed she did feel a little better.

  He sat opposite her again with his own coffee. The dog sat at his feet, but every time Adela made the slightest movement the dog would back off as though she was about to attack him, but at the same time wanted to remain close to his owner, whether that was for his own or Lando’s protection she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t help it, she smiled at the dog and reached out to touch him but Lando snapped, ‘don’t.’

  She withdrew her hand quickly, ‘I thought you said he didn’t bite.’

  ‘He doesn’t, he’s just frightened of strangers, they make him nervous and he tends to fret.’

  She looked at the dog and smiled reassuringly at him. Lando was surprised she had smiled at Dante, but he noticed that her smile was a tired effort as though she had not done it in a while, he knew how that felt.

  She asked, ‘what’s his name?’

  ‘Dante.’

  ‘Oh, as in the inferno.’ He just stared at her, ‘have you had him long?’

  ‘Four years.’

  As long as he’d been here she thought, or so she’d been told. She said, ‘was he mistreated?’

  His eyes widened slightly and she rushed on, ‘I mean by the previous owner.’

  ‘What makes you ask that?’

  ‘Well, you said he’s nervous and doesn’t like strangers, I just thought…’ She broke off at the look he gave her; he was obviously thinking she was making comparisons between him and his dog.

  He said, ‘yeah, he was mistreated.’

  ‘And you rescued him.’

  It wasn’t a question and her statement surprised him but even more so when she changed the subject completely and said, ‘why haven’t you called the police?’ She had wondered briefly why he had not called the police when she had, as he had put it, fallen in a faint at his feet. But then he wasn’t the sort to involve outsiders no matter what the occasion. Whatever his reason she was glad he had not. But she also wanted to know why he hadn’t.

  He fixed her with his dark eyes and said sharply, ‘I think I’m the one who should be asking the questions don’t you?’

  She lowered her eyes thinking here it comes, the questions, the interrogation.

  But before she could reply he said, ‘I didn’t call the police because I have no phone and I didn’t want to leave you alone here, you were hardly in a fit state to take care of yourself.’ She was surprised that in this day and age someone existed who did not have a phone, but even more so that he had not wanted to leave her, ‘and my friend here isn’t much good at fighting people off. Besides, I don’t want him hurt.’

  She looked up quickly and met his eyes. Any other time she might have thought he meant he rather she was hurt than his dog. But it was the word “friend” that caught her attention it seemed to bounce from his lips ricochet across the table and smack her between the eyes and the realisation of what she was doing hit her like a shock from a taser.

  What was she doing? She was putting this man in danger, if Hennessey was chasing her, and she was sure he was, he might come here; he had talked about Jonas Lando and called him her “friend.” Hennessey might think she had died out there in the swamp, but he was not a man to take chances, he would leave no stone unturned and as far as he was concerned Jonas Lando was a very big stone.

  She cursed herself for a fool, she couldn’t involve him in her problems; she had to get out of here as quickly as possible. He was looking at her speculatively so she took a breath and hugging the cup of coffee tightly in both hands said quietly, ‘I know you want to know what happened to me, how I came to be in the state I was in and why I came here. But I can’t give you an answer to any of those questions because I don’t know, I really can’t remember.’

  There was a wealth of scepticism in the look he gave her, she didn’t blame him, Hennessey was righ
t, she was an awful liar. He said, ‘why don’t you tell me what you do remember.’

  She ignored his sarcasm, ‘Mr. Lando, I really should go. Thank you for what you’ve done for me, but I should get back to…to my hotel.’

  She rose from her seat and made to leave the table, but quick as lightening his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, she winced but he held on.

  His eyes bored into her as he growled, ‘cut the crap, lady. I was a cop for ten years and can spot a liar a mile away, and you’re the worst I’ve ever seen. So sit down and tell me what happened to you, and this time I want the truth.’

  She looked at him then down at his fingers covering her wrist then back at him. He met her stare with his intense dark gaze that she found difficult to look away from. She swallowed hard then sat down.

  He watched her face for a moment as though expecting her to get up and run for the door then abruptly released her wrist. She automatically rubbed the spot where his fingers had been. He cast a glance down at her hands before looking back at her; he did not apologise for his roughness but looked at her expectantly.

  Despite her anger at his intimidating words and his rough handling of her intermixed with her fear for him, she had been surprised that he had mentioned being a cop. She had read many times in her crime novels about “cop’s eyes,” but had never seen it until she had met Leyton and Sullivan and had realised what that meant, and although Lando had not been a cop for a long time she saw that same look in his eyes.

  Now she recalled when she had been lying on the floor in that shack whilst Hennessey lay on top of her and she had prayed for the ability to lie just that once, her prayer had gone unanswered then but it had bought her some time. She prayed to God again for the help to lie again, which was she supposed a bit like asking a policeman to condone a murder but she could not risk telling him the truth and therefore putting him at risk. Hennessey was a persistent and dangerous now desperate man and would destroy anyone who stood in the way of his goal and his goal was Olivia, and woe betide anyone who got in his way.