by Zoe Sharp
“Tell you what, then, you step inside out of the heat and I’ll have someone come down and give you a ride. Save you the walk. Then if your mom’s stepped out you can have a tour or sit by the pool at the clubhouse and have a soda while you wait for her to come get you, OK?”
My God, I thought. How young exactly do I look? “Cool,” I said out loud, and did as I was invited.
Inside the guardhouse wasn’t air conditioned but the old guy had an oscillating fan set up on the desk right in front of his chair, and it was going full belt. A rake of high-quality security monitors were laid out across the back wall, showing constantly updating views right across the property.
The coverage was impressive and it looked like Walt had been right. If I’d tried to creep in I would have been caught before I’d got halfway across the grounds. This way I didn’t even need to worry about directions.
Five minutes later an electric golf cart zipped up outside and a young man bounced out. He was dressed in designer tan chinos and a dark green polo shirt with the resort logo on the front and he was far too slick a professional to look dismayed by the obvious lack of money suggested by my appearance.
“Hi there!” he said. He stuck out his hand. He had great teeth, a great tan, and a manicure. “I’m Randy.”
I kept my face as straight as I could manage and didn’t inquire if that was an introduction or a declaration of intent.
“Cool,” I said again. “Let’s go.”
As I climbed into the golf cart alongside Randy I realised I could almost see myself as he saw me, a kid with pink hair and an attitude. It was like I had stepped outside my own body, my own mind. Like I was slowly detaching myself in advance from my actions. Hiding from them.
Randy made chatty one-sided conversation all the way along the immaculately tailored drive, going into sales pitch mode as he pointed out the championship golf course, the driving range and the tennis courts, all complete with their own pro instructors. I tuned him out until I realised I’d nearly missed a name I recognised.
“Who?” I said.
“Livingston Brown III,” Randy gushed. “He’s the property developer. Been doing this kinda thing most of his life. Nearly got wiped out a few years ago when we had the last big hurricane – that one nearly wiped out most of the east coast – but he bounced right back. He shoulda retired by now but I guess the guy just loves his work. He built this whole place. Puts us twenty-somethings to shame, let me tell you. Quite a guy.”
“Wow,” I murmured, as though I couldn’t imagine anyone still being able to walk unaided at such an advanced age, but my nerves tightened at this piece of news. If I was likely to bump into him, would Brown recognise me in this get-up? “Is he here?”
“Oh he’s usually around someplace,” Randy said and flashed me a slightly condescending smile. One that said no way was the boss man ever going to come into contact with someone as far down the food chain as me, not if he could help it.
On the way to the villa belonging to my ‘mother’ he took a detour to show me the campfire area near one of the pools. “We organise barbecue nights and sing-alongs round the fire in the evenings that you and your mom can join in on,” he said. “It’s a lotta fun.”
“Oh boy, I can hardly wait,” I said between my teeth. He looked at me a little oddly but I managed to dredge up a saccharine smile that seemed to convince him I’d been expressing genuine enthusiasm.
If it didn’t sound the kind of place I’d want to come and spend my holidays, there were plenty who were willing to be swayed. An army of green polo-shirted staff were leading prospective customers round the lushly-planted pathways, or driving them about the place in golf carts similar to Randy’s.
The staff were all young and good-looking but that only added to the vaguely sinister feel of the place, like they were the identical minions at the chief baddie’s secret lair in a James Bond film.
When I reached the villa Randy indicated I let him knock on the door for me, keeping as far to one side of him as I could, out of sight of the Judas glass set into the centre panel. I had one hand dipped into the bag, but not to reach for the voice activation button on the recorder. That remained switched off. Instead, my fingers curled round the pistol grip of the SIG. I became aware of an ever-expanding bubble of tension somewhere deep in my chest.
“Well, doesn’t look like she’s home,” Randy said cheerfully when his loud knocks produced no movement from inside the villa. “We’ll try over at the clubhouse.”
The clubhouse seemed to be the centre of activity. Raucously carnival-type music belted out of speakers on the outside of the building to whip you into the buying frame of mind. As he led the way inside I caught snatches of other conversations.
“If you’da known five years ago what was going to happen to the price of real estate in this area, would you have bought then?” asked another slick salesman.
“In a heartbeat,” said the fat man following him.
Randy stopped by the main reception desk and explained he was trying to locate my mother. He waited with a touch of impatience while the receptionist tapped something into her computer. “Just checking to see if your mom’s booked in to the health spa, or on any of the courts,” Randy explained.
“If you find her, please don’t, like, tell her I’m here, will you?” I said quickly. “Only, I kinda wanted to surprise her.”
“Sure,” he said, easily enough. Either I was getting very good at telling lies, or these people were abnormally trusting.
“OK, I’ve located Ms Raybourn,” the receptionist said, smiling at me. “She’s with Mr Brown at the moment, then she’s due for a massage and a facial after lunch.”
Randy glanced at me with something akin to respect. If my mother was important enough to have meetings with the main man, his look clearly said, I’d gone up in his estimation.
“Where’s Mr Brown’s office?” I asked. “I’ll just go and kinda wait until she’s done there.”
“He’s upstairs and I have instructions not to disturb him,” the receptionist said, still smiling but with a touch more steel than before. “If you’d like to wait out by the pool, I’m sure someone will let you know when she’s done.”
I plastered on a cheery smile and cursed inwardly as Randy led me through the clubhouse itself and out to a paved terrace overlooking a curvy pool with a waterfall and a bar in the centre.
Kids were running round the water’s edge, shrieking the way only small children can to signify enjoyment. Their parents were sitting in the water drinking lurid coloured cocktails made with half a fruit salad and half a dozen little paper umbrellas. If drowning their sorrows in drink didn’t do the trick, there was always the real thing to fall back on. Or into.
But this didn’t get me any closer to Gerri Raybourn. And it was much too public for what I had in mind.
Something was folded tight inside now, clamouring to be allowed out. For the first time I was afraid of what might happen if I let it loose. I pushed away that fear.
Randy was making moves to disentangle himself. I could see his greedy eyes flickering over the likely-looking purchasers who were being assigned to other salesmen. I could see him calculating his lost commission with every second he wasted on me. My best hope was slipping away.
As he started to turn I reached out and clasped his arm. He tensed under my fingers instantly, trying to make the most of his biceps. Pride was always a useful vanity to exploit.
I gave him my most wheedling smile.
“You’re not leaving me already, are you?” I said, a little breathless. “Only, it’s kinda hot and crowded out here.” I tugged at the collar of my shirt to demonstrate the effect of the heat and the crowds. I loosened a couple of buttons in the process. His eyes followed for a moment, lingered. Encouraged, I even tried a quick flutter of the eyelashes, ladling on the innuendo. “Isn’t there anywhere, like, quieter we could go?”
Inwardly, I was flinching. Surely nobody would ever fall for such a blatantly awfu
l pickup as this.
For a moment Randy studied me with a slightly narrowed expression. I could almost hear the wheels turning as he made up his mind whether a quick fumble he could boast about in the changing rooms at his local sports club tomorrow was worth missing out on a possible lucrative deal. It only took him a couple of seconds before he decided that it was.
“Well, OK honey,” he murmured, and he’d lowered the pitch of his voice as well as the volume. “I guess I could give you the—” his eyes dipped to my cleavage again, “—personal guided tour.”
I simpered and followed as he led the way back inside. He was hurrying now, his mind totally controlled by some other part of his anatomy.
He hustled me down a short corridor and tried two offices before he found one that was unoccupied, the lights switched off. As soon as the door was locked behind us he had me backed up against a filing cabinet, his hands everywhere. Jesus, here was a boy who didn’t need to be asked twice. He had the bad breath of a smoker, despite those gleaming white teeth.
I locked down my revulsion somewhere round my back teeth, hardly feeling it. Under the surface I was crackling like a high tension power line in the rain. The further into this course of action I got, the less chance there was of turning back. I had to go through with it.
What was more, I wanted to.
I wrenched my mouth free, turning my head away enough to mutter, “Wait. I got something in my bag for you.”
I managed to get my arms inside his and lever him away. Looked like he really did live up to his name. He let go of me with reluctance and watched as I reached into the bag.
“You sure came prepared, huh?” he said thickly, giving me a knowing leer.
“Yep, I sure did,” I muttered.
When my hand came out of the bag again, the SIG was in it. I had to wedge the end of the barrel against Randy’s breastbone and prod him back with it before I finally got his full attention. I wiped his slobber from my mouth with the back of my other hand.
“Hey! What’s going on?” he blustered, too annoyed yet by the sudden interruption to be as frightened as he should have been. “What’s your game, honey?”
“I am not your ‘honey’,” I bit out, dropping all pretence at the American accent. I shoved him backwards and circled so I was between him and the door. For the first time he began to show alarm.
“I want to know where Brown and Gerri Raybourn are,” I said, cold. I made a big show of racking back the SIG’s slide to chamber the first round. The noise alone made him recoil. “If you can’t tell me, I will shoot you and find somebody else who can.”
“I don’t know where they are!” he protested. “Jesus, lady, I’m just a freakin’ time-share salesman, y’know?”
I didn’t speak, just adjusted my grip on the SIG so the business end was centred about on the logo on the front of Randy’s shirt.
His face collapsed and he started to cry. “I just work here,” he sobbed. He reached out towards me with both hands, pleading, then thought better of it. “Hey, I got a wife and a baby.”
I recalled the ease with which he’d been persuaded into the office and the disgust rose.
“Stop giving me even more reasons to shoot you,” I snapped. I stepped back to one of the desks and picked up the phone receiver. “Just call your switchboard and find out where Brown is.”
“That’s it?” he said, pathetically hopeful now. “That’s all I have to do and then you let me go, right? You don’t hurt me?”
Letting him go was going to be a tricky one. He was the type who would swear on his mother’s grave that he would stay quiet, then scream for security the moment he was out of range.
“Just make the call, Randy,” I said.
I stayed close up behind him while he dialled the switchboard operator. Mr Brown, she told him, was on his usual extension, but he was on a call. Would he hold?
I pressed my finger down firmly on top of the phone, cutting him off, then peeled the receiver out of his hand and dropped it back on its cradle.
“Hey, you promised I could go,” he said. His tears had vanished now, his bravado starting to come back with a touch of belligerence, too.
“Take me to him,” I said.
When he made to argue I brought the gun up a little more firmly into view. This time when his eyes followed it they had a hint of cunning to them, as though he was waiting for his chance. What better way to serve his grasping ambition than to save the boss from some gun-wielding nutcase.
It seemed a shame to disillusion him.
“You watch the news much, Randy?” I asked.
He shook his head, nerves making him babble. “A little, y’know. Mostly I’m a sports kinda guy. I just catch the headlines.”
“Uh-huh. And have you seen any reports about an English girl who’s been shooting people left, right and centre over the last couple of days?”
As soon as I said it, it clicked. I saw it in his suddenly bone-white face. He nodded. I never thought all that bad publicity would come in so useful.
“Just bear that in mind,” I murmured as I pushed my whole hand, still gripping the gun, back into my bag to keep it out of sight, “if you should think about doing anything stupid or heroic on the way to Brown’s office, hmm?”
A lamb now rather than a lion, the salesman led me out of the office, back down the corridor and into a lift across the hallway. We only went up one floor but Randy obviously didn’t like to walk.
All the time I kept the bag close to him, so he wouldn’t be in any doubt. He glanced at it a couple of times while we were in the lift, and I thought I saw him swallow, but he stayed docile. He was lucky that he did.
The energy and the anger inside me was winding tighter and burning brighter with every step. My pulse had started to thunder, beating a harsh tattoo at my temple.
I didn’t have a qualm that I’d lied to Walt and that I was about to disappoint all Superintendent MacMillan’s hopes for me. I’d known it for a while now that I had the ability to take a life. I’d justified it to myself by saying it was only under the most extreme of circumstances. Only when it was a case of them or me.
Well, not this time.
It was almost a relief not to have to hide behind the pretence of civilisation any more.
The lift doors opened and I pushed Randy out ahead of me. In front were more offices, larger this time, their doors more widely spaced. Expensive-looking potted plants livened up the spacious corridor.
At the end was a door with an engraved stainless steel plaque on it which read, ‘Livingston Brown III – President and CEO’. I turned the handle and pushed open the door without knocking.
The man inside was indeed on the phone as the switchboard had claimed. He was sitting behind a huge limed oak desk, leaning back in his executive chair so he could admire the subtly tinted view of his empire out of the floor-to-ceiling picture window that made up one entire wall.
As we came in he sat up abruptly, his expression first one of irritation, then surprise, as he took in his terrified minion. And me.
Sitting in a chair on the side of the desk closest to me was a tiny blonde woman, dressed today in a lavender power suit and lethal-looking white slingbacks. When she caught sight of me the recognition was instant, despite my disguise. Her mouth rounded into a silent O.
Our eyes locked. My target’s and mine. The object of this journey of execution.
“I’m sorry, sir, she made me do it!” Randy gabbled, taking advantage of my distraction to duck out of my grasp and bolt for the door. I didn’t bother to stop him going. He’d served his purpose.
“Hello Gerri,” I said, bringing the gun up straight and level so I had a sight picture that put her scarlet-painted upper lip dead centre stage. “Remember me?”
Twenty
Livingston Brown III was the first one to move. The old boy had some nerve, I’ll give him that. Without taking his eyes off me he said into the receiver, “Something’s come up. I’ll call you back,” and put the phon
e down slowly and carefully. Then he straightened up and sat forwards, linking his long bony fingers together on the desk top. He kept his movements deliberate so as not to alarm me.
I wasn’t alarmed but I couldn’t say the same for Gerri Raybourn. She tried to scramble further back in her chair, the effort knocking loose one of those white shoes. It dropped to the floor and lay on its side next to a lavender handbag that was a perfect match to the suit.
“Charlie! What are you doing?” she said, her voice harsh with fright. “Have you lost your mind?”
Brown frowned at her, as though he considered making such an accusation to someone with their finger on the trigger was not a sensible move. He wasn’t to know it wasn’t going to make any difference.