“Damn it, Neil! Is she at the game?”
Got to be on another floor. And if he wouldn’t tell me, I’d have to hurry up and look for myself. I tried to push past him, but he held me back.
“Tell me where she is, Neil! Please!”
“You’re out of your mind—”
I’d have to hurt him or throw him or something in a moment.
“We’re running out of time! Look, babe, I don’t work for a biotech firm, I’m working for Helena—”
“Working for Helena?”
“You have to trust me, Neil! I knew you were at the police station that day because Carl Norton and I go way back—”
Staring at me like a wax dummy.
“Did anyone pass you a drink tonight?” I asked.
“You passed mine to the floor—”
“Did you get them at the bar?”
“Y—yeah.”
“What about Janet?”
“I don’t know, maybe, I mean—oh, God, this is for real, isn’t it?”
“Yes! Now take me to her!”
I tugged his arm, and then he was running with me down the hall. He led me upstairs, and we hurried to the game room.
Pushing the door open with a rude slam, and it was an absurd scene in front of me. Off in a corner, Vivian, naked, was all but ignored as she had the penis of a certain sportscaster in her mouth on the settee. And at the table: George Westlake clothed, Ayako topless, Cahill clothed, a white girl I didn’t recognise completely nude, and Simon topless. A couple more new faces. By the bar, Janet wore a navy blue evening dress and a paper gold crown that read “Queen Godiva.” Chatting with Daniel Giradeau in a tux with the bow tie undone around his open neck.
Everyone suddenly staring at me. And Neil coming up fast in tow.
“Simon, get your shirt back on,” I snapped.
“Why?” he sang gaily.
“Because I might need you,” I said, my voice grim.
Perfectly quiet. Waiting for me—me who stared at Giradeau. Stepping closer. Then another step, staring at him all the time.
No woman-scorned look, no expression of feeling betrayed on my face, because truthfully, I didn’t feel that at all. I was in The Zone, I think. In case mode. I just stared at him, accusing him and accusing him, mongoose to cobra, wanting to get Janet safely away and really not sure what I would do with him after that.
And now everyone could tell who I had in my sights.
“Where’s your little black bag, doctor?” I said at last.
“Doctor?” asked George. “He’s an architect.”
“No, he’s not,” I said.
Even I didn’t notice Simon dressed now and inching his way close. Without warning, he dropped to the floor and didn’t go for Giradeau—he tripped Janet and yanked her under her arms across the carpet. To safety. She was too bewildered to protest. Then Neil went over to her, nodding to Simon and understanding what he’d done. Neil didn’t know how the guy was involved, but he was appreciative.
“What’s going on?” asked George.
Cahill assumed it was a joke. “We get theatre with striptease now, Westlake?”
“I don’t know what this is about, Gary—”
“Teresa?” asked Ayako.
Her mouth slightly open, covering her breasts and starting to get scared. So was the girl at the table. People began to back away from the confrontation.
Heads turned for answers to Janet and Neil, but the couple didn’t have any for them. Simon was back by my side.
“You sure?” he asked softly.
“Very.”
Giradeau offered a thin smile. Still speaking English like a perfect American, and maybe he’d learned it that way when young.
“Him, I was suspicious of,” he said, indicating Simon. “He drops in out of the blue. And all that soldier of fortune bullshit we kept hearing? But you, sweetheart…I didn’t hear you coming. Oh, wait a minute, yes, I did.”
“I was playing a part,” I replied. “Just like you.”
“Teresa,” said Simon calmly. “Your ‘doctor’ here needs surgery. Surgery like we saw in the Nuba Mountains.”
No. No, no.
I shot him a look.
“Let me take care of it,” he whispered.
I kept an eye on Giradeau as I whispered to Simon, “You said it yourself. This is a different country. Your bosses in Pretoria should know that.”
“I’m not deciding what’s best this time,” he argued. “This white man’s under orders.”
“You think it’s better because of that?” I scoffed.
“Excuse me, I have no idea what you two are squabbling about,” Giradeau cut in, “but I’m walking out of here right now.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I bet we dig through your pockets we’ll find a hypodermic syringe and maybe a bottle of pills. Drugs you’re not supposed to have. The police will be very interested in that.”
“The police,” groaned Simon, having no faith.
“I am leaving,” said Giradeau.
“Will someone kindly tell us what’s going on?” demanded Cahill in exasperation.
That was when Giradeau made a break for it. Simon was closest, got to him first. Being a spy, however, didn’t make him an acrobat, that nifty manoeuvre to get Janet free notwithstanding. Did show he had imagination. But now the bull tried to wreck the china shop with a clumsy tackle.
Giradeau, more agile than I would have expected, sidestepped him and rammed an elbow into his back. Simon sputtered as he went headfirst to eat carpet.
There were shouts and yells all around and one genuine “Eek!” from that silly naked girl at the table, and Daniel ran down the hall to the fire exit stairs.
I paused all of two seconds to look at Janet, make sure she was all right. I had no idea if Giradeau had got his chance to drug her, but she was already saying, “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Neil must have asked her about her drinks when he rushed to her side.
Neil. Trying to be chivalrous. Or plain enraged at the thought that Giradeau could have killed her. I saw his back getting smaller down the hall. Shouted his name as I broke into a sprint.
As I rammed the bar for the fire exit door, I heard the ping of the elevator arriving and glanced over my shoulder. Simon was back on his feet, getting in and trying to beat us to Giradeau. Shit.
Jumping the last four stairs on every flight. Of course, he still beat me out the door.
Who knows how much of a lead Giradeau had by now with Neil hot on his heels.
As it turned out, not much. I think Neil must have tried to tackle him at some point, Giradeau throwing him off, but Neil had got back up and given chase again. I could see them in the darkness ahead, running south, but I couldn’t spot Simon. Maybe he was trying to cut Giradeau off.
I don’t know how we all did it, but Giradeau was doing the Roger Bannister, leading everyone on a merry chase out of the rabbit warren of side streets behind Trafalgar Square, trying to lose Neil and maybe Simon in Charing Cross Station. No good. He thought better of it and ran down Villiers Street, and I don’t know, maybe he would try to lose us in Embankment Station. Cut off again? Simon? I couldn’t see.
Lungs killing me. I was using all I had to keep up. I’m normally good for short sprints, not long hauls like this, although I can punch it if I have to. Neil obviously ran regularly. I don’t know what Simon’s gym regimen is, but if he got knocked on his ass again like he did in the club, his execution threat was nothing for me to worry about.
I wasn’t fond of him these days, but I didn’t want Giradeau to kill him either.
Or Neil.
Racing up the steps to Hungerford Bridge. Trains squealing and roaring behind it on the elevated tracks as they made their way from the West End to the South Bank. I couldn’t see any tourists taking photos or casual pedestrians crossing the span, and thank God for that because the uphill climb finally took the wind out of Giradeau’s sails.
Neil caught up as our Belgian doctor came in sig
ht of the panoramic view of the Houses of Parliament lit up for the night. He lunged for him.
Giradeau grabbed his wrist in a blur worthy of Sky Sports slow-mo playback, spun him around and dumped him on his ass. Then panting, he stood his ground. Seeing me coming.
Oh, that’s just great. That’s terrific. He knows aikido. I hate guys who know aikido.
Here I am, a girl who likes to punch, and I have to tangle with a lover (make that ex-lover) who can throw me into a wall. Make one more mistake in my timing of a blow or a kick, and he’d swing me around in the air like a lasso.
At the moment, however, he didn’t want to draw me in. He was keeping me well back, and with good reason.
He’d grabbed a syringe out of his inside coat pocket, and now he crouched down to push the needle firmly against the skin of Neil’s neck. Neil was still trying to shake off his rough landing. Giradeau grinned at me.
“There’s a lovely solution in this, just ready to kill your boyfriend here,” he warned.
My imagination fled me. All I could think to say was, “The minute you do I’m going to push you off this bridge.”
“I’m a very good swimmer.”
Getting nowhere.
“I’m not leaving,” I announced quietly. “The police will turn up eventually, and then it’ll be a whole new game. You’ll never make it home. By the way, flawless accent. You had everyone fooled. What I don’t understand is why you simply didn’t pass yourself off as a doctor.”
“With no affiliation to the British medical community?” he shot back. “And no hospital privileges? What would I be doing here? Besides, too close to my regular persona.”
And what ultimately tripped him up with Anthony Boulet. The name alone twigged Anthony to go investigate.
“Just for the record,” said Giradeau. “It’s nothing personal, Teresa. We’re talking billions of pounds here. I’m sure you read a racial factor into it, but it’s not like that. It’s business, and as far as you and I—”
“Please, don’t,” I cut through him. “Just don’t. Spare me any ‘greed is good’ speech. As far as you and I are concerned”—I sighed away some of the tension—“we never pretended to have feelings for each other before. I certainly don’t see any reason to start now.”
“To think I had you all nice and trussed up. I could have…”
“But you didn’t,” I snapped. “Why do you think I let you do it to me, Daniel?”
“You wanted me to do it! To make you feel in danger. That’s why, honey! You—”
“Uh-uh. I was never in any danger.”
“Like you could get free—”
“Never needed to worry.”
“I was one of the thrill rides of your life!” he insisted. “You know you wanted—”
“What I know,” I said, “is your thrill ride comes with its own passenger airbag—that enormous ego of yours. All soft and mushy. That whole ‘mysterious reserve’ of yours? The whole non-involvement thing? You can get that with a dildo. It gives me orgasms, too, Daniel, and I don’t need to flatter it.”
“Shut up. Just shut up.”
I laughed cruelly. It was a dangerous game, but I needed to buy time.
“You think you have an advantage by seeing my tits or making me come? Was that part of the whole ‘international corporate spy’ thing you talked yourself into? Have to be a big stud as well? You got lucky, finding out about the poker circuit. That’s the only real initiative you showed, isn’t it? Dreaming up these little head games for the players. Oh, yeah, besides going around and killing guys to make more waves. Bet your employers loved the extra sniffing around after that! You’re an errand boy, Daniel.”
“I’ll be a rich errand boy. I won’t even need to practice again.”
Again. A hint of a backstory there. I smelled professional misconduct screwing up our good doctor’s life along the way, leading him into the employment of Orpheocon. I didn’t have time to consider that at the moment. The old Hippocratic Oath line of “First, do no harm” had been thrown out the window as he kept that syringe firmly planted against Neil’s neck.
“You’re dreaming if you think you’re going back across the water to a quiet life,” I said.
He arched his eyebrows at me and put on this wolfish leer. “That’s the great thing about working for a multinational. They’ve got corporate apartments all over the world. South America. Africa…”
The notion of this creep spending his fee money on the very continent he helped rape made my blood come to a fresh boil.
Neil had his senses back, fully alert, but confused. I tried not to show him any fear that might increase his own. I met his eyes and silently pleaded: Don’t do a thing. Trust me, babe.
He couldn’t nod. I understood the yes in his eyes anyway.
Better think of something. Giradeau was a sociopath who thought murder solved problems, and at the moment his problem was how to abandon ship. And while he claimed there was no “racial factor” involved, I thought he must enjoy humiliating successful black men—guys like Lionel and Anthony. And Neil. The bastard liked his job. I had to remind him he didn’t have time to indulge himself anymore.
“Daniel,” I said calmly. “I’ll start walking across the bridge. I won’t be able to reach you. I’ll turn my back. You’ll have a head start back into the West End.”
Giggles now. “Oh, marvellous! Will you cover your eyes and count to a hundred, too?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Okay.”
I hesitated. Couldn’t think for a moment.
“Do it!” he barked.
My eyes locked on Neil’s, still asking him to trust me. Not that this manoeuvre was guaranteed to work anyway. But hey, from the moment Giradeau stuck the needle close to his skin, I was buying Neil extra minutes of breathing without cardiac seizure. I passed him and began to walk backwards towards the South Bank, taking little steps.
“One…two…three…”
“Very cute, Teresa. You’re supposed to turn your back before you start counting.”
“All right, all right!” I yelled, nerves gone.
I backed up about thirty feet, knowing I had to turn around soon when I spotted the tiny red dot on Daniel’s arm.
I didn’t know what to think. My eyes must have gone wide, the surprise reflected in Giradeau’s expression, and then he suddenly winced and cursed as something went fffft into the hand holding the needle. He let Neil go, muttering, “Fuck!”
Whatever it was, it changed everything. Neil fell forward onto his hands and knees, the syringe flying to the ground but it didn’t shatter. Giradeau was still cradling his wounded hand.
Me? I was running like hell back to them.
Lunge punches aren’t my strong suit. I’m a defensive sparring partner, or so Jiro and other teachers tell me. I think Giradeau had time for coffee at Starbucks by the time my fist approached his chin.
He caught my arm with his good left hand and performed one of those twirly, somersault aikido thingies that if I didn’t know how to roll would have left me winded. And still we’re talking a touchdown on hard cement.
Ow. Big ow.
I heard his size 12 Church shoes clicking past me in a mad dash towards the other end of the bridge. You’re going to lose him, Teresa.
Another set of footsteps past me.
Get up. Get up now. Dolce & Gabbana looks lousy on pavement. First things first. I scrambled over to Neil, grabbing his shoulder.
“Are you all right? Tell me you’re all right!”
I inspected his neck as best I could in the dim light available. So far as I could see, the needle hadn’t punctured his skin at all. He was fine. A little shaken up, but fine.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said.
He looked at me with such complete bewilderment. He’d heard me talk with Giradeau in the private language of culprit and pursuer, heard us refer to things he hadn’t a clue about, and now he didn’t know me. He looked at me like I had grown another
head.
“Teresa…?”
I pulled my sleeve over my hand and very gingerly picked up the hypodermic, depressing it so that the lethal contents squirted harmlessly into the Thames. I had to make a split decision about whether to dispose of it since it was evidence. I couldn’t run after Giradeau with it, and I didn’t want to throw it into the river where it could wash up somewhere and prick some kid. I put it down carefully near the curb.
“Don’t touch that thing,” I ordered. “Stick close to Janet. Did you see Simon? Had to be him. Neil?”
“N—no. No, I didn’t.”
The red dot. And whatever little projectile had struck Giradeau in the hand. Had to be Simon catching up to me. Whatever he had fired, he must have done it from the steps leading up to the bridge.
“Shit,” I muttered. Then I broke into a sprint. I had lost precious seconds, and knowing I would stop to check on Neil, Simon was free to go after Giradeau.
Thames Path? The London Eye looming over me. Or had he gone down Concert Hall Approach, trying to lose Simon and me in the small streets leading towards Waterloo station? Damn it. The guy could have a Eurostar ticket in his pocket right now. Course, I didn’t know what the schedule was for Brussels, but that hardly mattered. He could bugger off to Paris. Or Penshurst. Who knows? Get himself a new passport from his masters to sneak out.
He had to be stopped here. But not Simon’s way, not like that.
There. Yep. Making his way to Waterloo.
Running after him in the darkness, and he stopped all of a sudden, as if he expected to be ambushed by Simon cutting him off. Then he heard my quick heels behind him, and he turned.
I had to slow down my momentum to set up to hit him, but my fist caught him squarely in the sweet spot above his top lip, below his nose. No way you can roll with it.
A dojo’s a lab. Everything’s up for grabs in the street—no perfect technique there. All things being perfect, one hit should have sent him to la-la land. But I was rushed, both of us full of adrenaline, and one millimetre of hesitation in his head movement or my blow meant he staggered but didn’t fall. I had to hit him quick and fast.
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