by Amelia Price
“No, I think we should go somewhere more private, don't you? This way.” He jabbed the weapon into her ribs and steered her towards a waiting car. As he opened the door and pushed her inside, she tried to think of his name, but she couldn't. At most, she thought it might begin with a J or a K, but that was the closest she could get to it.
He pushed her over into the farther seat, pointing the gun directly at her now, and got in beside her, shutting the door. With one hand he reached forward and picked up a pile of items on the passenger seat of the car.
“Here, put this in your mouth.” He passed her a slightly squishy plastic ball as he pulled a strip of gaffer tape off a large roll. She hesitated and gulped. “Don't make me ask you twice.”
“You know you don't have to do this,” she said.
With an exaggerated sigh he moved closer to her. She leant back as he came forward, but the seat and edge of the car gave her little room to get away. He grabbed her chin to pull her head closer to his.
“Put it in your mouth.”
Amelia stared at him and then gently shook her head. Pain exploded across her face as he backhanded her, catching her stitched-up eyebrow. A hot liquid welled up and trickled slowly downwards. He grabbed her face again, took the gag from her and held it up to her mouth. This time she cooperated.
As soon as her mouth had closed around it as best it could, he slapped the gaffer tape over the top. Once he'd used more tape to bind her hands together, he strapped her seatbelt over her body and arms, pinning them at her sides. Finally, he pulled a nightmask over her eyes, this time being careful to miss her eyebrow. Her only relief was the knowledge that it would keep the blood out of her eyes for a little while.
“This won't take too long,” he said and moved away. It didn't make her feel any better. The longer this took the more time she had to think of his name, or even better, escape. A shiver ran through her as it occurred to her how this might end if she didn't. It would be ages before Sebastian noticed she was missing, let alone have any idea where she'd gone.
Waves of fear rippled through her as she thought about the words in the letters she'd received. He had somehow convinced himself that there was a spark between them, and the first few moments of him spotting her had shown it wasn't true. His reaction let her know that it wasn't going to go well if she couldn't think of his name or convince him that she knew he existed.
Pinned into her seat with her hands fixed in one position, she slid across the leather with every turn. Just as she'd seen in a film, she tried to remember the direction they drove in, but there were too many lefts and rights for her to remember after only a couple of minutes.
Her stomach tightened into a painful knot when the car drove into a parking space and stopped. A few seconds later, he pulled the mask off her face. She blinked in the parking lot light, but barely had time to look at the area around her before he hooked his arm around her body and hoisted her out of the car.
“Almost there, baby.”
Amelia grunted her response and immediately found herself glad she hadn't been able to say it properly. Calling him names wouldn't help her situation.
As he pulled her through the car park and into a lift, she didn't dare struggle. He had what looked like a gun in his pocket, but it was still pointed at her and she had no idea if he would use it. The lift took them up into the block of flats and he walked her quickly along past several doors, stopping in front of thirty-four.
“Reach into the right pocket of my jeans and hook my keys out,” he said, turning her and holding her up against the doorway. When she didn't move, he pulled a four-inch switchblade out of his pocket and raised his eyebrows at her. She hid her shock at finding it hadn't been a gun but a knife. If she'd known, she'd never have let him take her from outside Baker Street, but it was too late to fight now.
Feeling her heart rate increase, she focused all her effort on her bound hands and slid the fingers of her left hand into the pocket. When they brushed against the cool metal of the key ring, she grasped a hold and pulled them out.
Once she'd opened the door for them, he pushed it open and gave her a shove forward. She tripped over the metal strip that divided the room from the hallway, landing hard on one side. Her hip flared with pain, taking her mind off the dull throbbing on one side of her face.
“Get up,” he said in a low voice. She tried to push herself up with her hands, but his impatience led to him grabbing her shoulder and yanking upwards. A few seconds later, she was stood unsteadily on her feet.
The hallway was empty, and as he walked her through to the living room, she noticed there was very little furniture there as well. Just a camping chair and a small stove with discarded take-away containers scattered here and there.
“Do you like my flat? I rented it especially to be near you.”
Amelia stopped walking when they reached the middle of the room, and almost went sprawling across the floor for a second time when he pushed her again.
“Keep going. I think we should go somewhere more comfortable, don't you?”
This time she managed to refrain from trying to answer him. She knew he didn't want to hear her opinion, and it would be good practice to keep her mouth shut rather than saying what she was thinking.
It didn't take long for him to manoeuvre her through to the bedroom. In here there was a large but low bed, neatly made, and a wardrobe, making it the most furnished room of the flat. He pushed her down onto the bed and she flicked herself over onto her back.
After grinning at her, he locked the door behind them. As he pocketed the key, she noticed it was a newly fitted lock and hadn't been an original feature of the door. It wasn't well done, but it looked sturdy enough to give her problems.
“DIY isn't my strong point,” he said when he noticed what she was looking at. Keeping the blade in his hands, he came closer to her and sat beside her. She didn't dare move away, but felt her heart rate increase even further.
He used one hand to pull the tape off her mouth, making her skin tingle where it had been stuck. She spat the ball out.
“That doesn't taste very nice,” she said, hoping it would be odd enough to defuse some of the tension in the room. Now it was gone, Amelia also focused on keeping her breathing steady. If she wanted to survive this, she needed to keep calm and get plenty of oxygen to her body and mind.
When he stared at her, she lifted her hands to see if he'd take the tape off those as well, but he must have decided against it because he ignored the gesture.
“Have you remembered me yet?” he asked.
“You work in the shop in Bath. I spent lunch with you and your colleagues.”
“And my name?” He didn't sound impressed with her reply.
“It begins with a K.”
“Well, I suppose it's better than nothing. It's Kevin, although you can call me Dalton if that makes this easier for you.”
“No, it's okay, Kevin is a good name.” She tried to give him a small smile, but it made the pain in her cheek flare up again and she involuntarily winced.
“Hmmm.” He got up and went through to the en-suite bathroom. A moment later he came back with damp toilet paper and dabbed at the cut near her eyebrow. She hissed her breath through her teeth at the sting, but savoured the moment of him being kind. It was impossible to tell how long it would last.
“That's better,” he said and threw the bloodstained wad through the door to land on the bathroom floor.
“Thank you,” she replied. Silence followed as he stared at her. He then reached up with his hand and stroked her cheek.
“I've dreamt of this moment a lot of times. Being your Dalton. Charming you into bed the same way he does your heroines. We're a lot alike, although I think I'm a little more settled. I've settled on you.” He lent forward to kiss her but she pulled back. This needed to slow down.
“Well, why don't we discuss my next book? You can tell me what you think of my idea. I'm struggling with it, and you said you'd always wanted to do that.
” Amelia tried to keep her fear out of her voice but wasn't sure how well she'd managed it when the lines on his forehead deepened.
“Are you trying to slow me down? Dalton doesn't do this sort of thing slowly. He tends to take what he wants.”
“I know, but I prefer to go one step at a time. Even Dalton likes a willing partner. Slower would get us both what we want.” She watched his face for a reaction, hoping she could talk her way out of this or at least buy herself some more time.
“Do you want it?” he stroked her cheek and gazed at her lips.
“I'm not sure yet. I'd like to get to know you a bit. This has been rather... rushed.”
He almost snarled, and she realised she'd said something wrong.
“I already told you, I'm just like Dalton, and I know you like him.”
“You have a different backstory,” she blurted out. He raised his arm to strike her once more, but stopped as she flinched and tried to protect herself with her arms.
“All right, I'll be patient with you. After all, we have plenty of time together. And I'm sure you will make the right decision in the end, and if you look like you'll make the wrong one I can help persuade you.”
“As I said earlier, I'm sure we can both get what we want. As a writer, I know the backstory of all my characters, whether I put it in my books or not. I'd love to know yours. Why don't you tell me where you're from? The sorts of things you liked to do as a kid?”
He moved to sit beside her on the bed and put his arm around her. After giving him another warm smile, she leant back against the headboard and let him talk about himself. Several minutes ticked by as he told her about the village he'd grown up in. Wanting him to talk as much as possible, she asked questions. She even laughed when he told her a funny story about his cat.
She estimated that fifteen minutes had passed while he talked, but it felt like no time at all when he stopped. Immediately, he focused on her again.
“Now, I think I've talked enough. You know everything you need to know. I'm your Dalton and I'm going to protect you. You're safe from that Guy Thomas while you're here with me, and I intend to keep it that way.”
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips tenderly against her stitched eyebrow. If she hadn't been brought there against her will, the gesture and accompanying words would have seemed sweet, possibly even romantic, but in light of what he'd done to her they were more possessive.
As she felt her pulse quicken again, her mind frantically searched for something else that might distract him, but she couldn't think of anything before he crushed his lips against hers. He used his body strength to hold her against the bed and pushed his tongue into her mouth.
Without thinking, Amelia bit down on it. As he pulled away from her, he cried out in a mix of fury and pain. Seizing her moment, she wriggled her body back towards the edge of the bed, pushing with her hands where she could, but Kevin recovered quicker than she expected.
Another explosion of pain and momentum erupted on one side of her face. The force propelled her the rest of the way off the bed and onto the floor.
“Now, that wasn't nice. It seems I'm going to have to persuade you after all,” he said as he pulled the switchblade back out of his pocket.
Chapter 11
A shrill buzzing sound disturbed Mycroft from his afternoon tea. When he saw that it was Sherlock calling he almost didn't answer, but his younger brother almost never phoned him.
“What?”
“Did you just pick up Amelia?”
“Of course not. Why would I want to speak to –”
“Mycroft, she's gone.” The panic in Sherlock's voice was evident.
“Tell him I saw her,” Mrs Wintern's voice came out the speaker pressed to his ear as if she was on the phone instead of his younger brother. Mycroft wasn't sure he could cope with the annoying voice.
“Can't you send her away?” he replied. His younger brother ignored the comment.
“She saw Amelia outside talking to someone as her taxi pulled up, but by the time she'd paid the driver and gathered her bags, Amelia and the man were both gone.”
“Does Mrs Wintern know –”
“No, I'd estimate that it was only four minutes ago, but she can't confirm.”
“It's a good estimate. They'll be in a car.”
“That's why I'm phoning you. Can you access the cameras?”
“Of course,” Mycroft said, forcing his voice to sound as bored and unconcerned as it usually was when Sherlock asked him to use his powers to help solve some crime. “Not that they'll do any good if we don't know which car. Baker Street is busy enough it could be one of many taxis or private vehicles.”
Silence greeted his statement. Sherlock would know it was true. At this time of day the cameras were focused on the traffic and not the pavement. He could follow a car across the entire city, but he had to know what car to follow. The muffled sound of Sherlock talking to Mrs Wintern started up in the background while Mycroft waited. He knew he still sounded calm and reasonable, but he'd detected the slight increase in muscle tension around his jaw and shoulders as well as the few extra beats per minute of his heart. He felt concern for Amelia. Not as much worry as he'd feel for his brother if his brother was in danger, but he'd known his brother for more than a century and he was the only other person who came close to Mycroft's level of thinking. That many years of companionship made a person fond.
The sound of Sherlock yelling at Mrs Wintern to get out interrupted Mycroft's reflection upon his reactions and brought him back to their predicament.
“She didn't see anything. It could be any car.”
“Not even a colour?” Mycroft asked, knowing women seemed to notice that first when it came to vehicles.
“Wait... Oh... the clue was there all along. Urggh, I'm such an idiot.”
“Sherlock?”
“Amelia mentioned that there was a car that followed her and waited outside her restaurant the night she got the third letter. The one slipped into her handbag.”
“Then I can find it. I'll call you.” Mycroft hung up and immediately dialled the agent who'd been following her that night. Less than five minutes later he had the car registration. A black Audi under the name Kevin Merton. A minute after that his personal assistant was running a check on the name and car registration while he surveyed the video footage of Baker Street.
It didn't take him long to spot the car on screen, and he moved through the camera feeds until he had enough of an idea where Merton was taking her that Sherlock could get going. While watching the next few cameras along the road, he called his brother back.
“He took her north-west, towards Warwick Avenue and Abbey Road.”
“So you're sending me after her, then?” Sherlock said, but Mycroft heard the sound of the flat door slamming shut and Sherlock's feet hammering out a quick step down the stairs.
“Need I remind you that you had offered to take care of her? And you know footwork's not my sort of thing.”
“It never has been, brother of mine.”
Mycroft heard Sherlock get into a taxi and tell the driver to head for Warwick Avenue. Knowing his brother was on the way, he relaxed a little and concentrated on watching the Audi on the CCTV footage.
“Manor House Court, Warrington Gardens,” Mycroft said when the car pulled over. Here the camera was set back far enough that he could see the vehicle drive into the garage underneath the block of flats.
“I'm going to need a flat number,” Sherlock said after relaying the information to the taxi driver.
“I'm aware.”
Although it was normally the sort of thing his brother did, Mycroft searched the database of residents for any who might be related to Kevin but out at work or on holiday. Most were young workers who had no connection to the young man from Bath, but a few raised possible flags. As he was trying to narrow them down, he received an email from his secretary.
Kevin Merton has recently put down a deposit on flat 34 Manor House Court, Warringt
on Gardens. He also recently purchased the car, with cash.
Pleased at the speed of his assistant, Mycroft gave Sherlock the number.
“Good. I'll talk to you later.” His younger brother hung up, leaving him sitting in his study wondering what might be happening. He felt a little disgruntled that he'd been exploring the wrong path of enquiry concerning the likely flat, trying to find it through connections rather than the man himself, but knew he'd asked the assistant to help to ensure no angle was missed. She'd done her job well and he didn't normally have to perform under such pressure.
While he waited for Sherlock to inform him of Amelia's state, Mycroft paced back and forth across the study floor. Each time he came towards his desk, his eyes fixed on the letter Merton had sent Amelia.
The man evidently sought to control Amelia out of his own deep-seated insecurities and desire for power. He was the exact opposite of what a man should be when presented with power, and Mycroft spent almost every day combating men just like him. Admittedly, they normally had significantly more power, but they were the same.
While men of honour, like him, used their control and power to protect people and better society, men like Merton used their control and power to intimidate and get their own desires, bending the will of others until they broke under the strain. Mycroft would see him stopped and Amelia protected.
***
Fear rippled through Amelia as Kevin stepped closer. Her eyes never left the knife in his right hand.
“I'm your Dalton. The man you've always wanted in your life, and you're going to be my Amelia and be a good girl. But you've pushed me too far and right now I need to teach you a lesson. This is for your own good.”
She tried to pull back from him as he came closer, but the wall wouldn't give, no matter how much she dug her feet into the carpet and pushed herself back into it.
The sound of a door crashing open stopped Kevin's advancement.
“In here!” Amelia yelled, hoping it was one of the Holmes brothers. In that moment she didn't care which. Kevin growled and lunged at her with the knife. As she pulled herself to the side, she screamed. A hand clamped down on her shoulder and he used his body to try and hold her still, but before he could do her any harm two strong arms wrapped around his middle and pulled him off.