The Sacrifice

by Donna Collins

  “Was he apprehended?”

  “No.” Here goes nothing. “He entered a property in Orchard Lane but was gone by the time officers arrived. We’re running checks on his car now.”

  Davis looked Billy straight in the eye, his calm expression clearly forced. “I’ll inform your father as soon as I can. I assume you will keep me updated on the situation?”

  “Absolutely.” Billy turned back to his car. He’d been wrong all along. His father wasn’t the guy he was after… It was his butler.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Goddamn it. Billy knew.

  “McKenzie!” Davis stormed the three stone steps that led to the impressive arched mahogany front door. Fury bubbled inside him. He needed to punch something, his first option being to whack the door open with enough force that it would release the frustration that burned like acid inside him.

  However, the weighty door only moved at one speed. Slow.

  “McKenzie!” Davis entered the hall.

  His second option, two original suits of armour, was much lighter. The one on the right held a two-handed sword, and Davis charged it. The stand toppled, and pieces of armour broke free and crashed across the marble floor. Davis waited for the echoing calamity to cease, sucking in breath after deep breath in a bid to calm himself.

  McKenzie appeared from the library. “I heard a commotion. Is everything alright?”

  He glanced at the armour, then back at Davis. “You need another minute?”

  “No, I don’t need another minute.” Davis reached for the bannister and propped himself against it.

  “Has Billy gone?”

  “Yes,” Davis said, his temper lessening slightly. “But he’s close to linking Holbrook to me.”

  “He said that?”

  “No. But it was written all over his face. Make sure he doesn’t get the chance.”

  “You want me to make this a permanent situation?”

  “I don’t care. Just get him out of the way.”

  “And what about Holbrook?”

  Davis knelt and began to gather up the suit of armour. “He’s with Eliza.”

  “I thought he was going to Paris?”

  “So did I.” Davis stood with effort, the armour heavier than he’d anticipated. “Second thoughts, forget the cop. Go find Holbrook, and bring the girl here yourself.”

  McKenzie nodded. “And where will you be?”

  “Checking on the Cross.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Roman didn’t drive all the way to James’ house.

  Instead, he opted for a quiet wooded clearing half a mile out, and cut the car engine. He sat for a while and let his mind drift, wondering if when the time came and things went tits-up, he’d actually go through and hand Eliza over to Davis knowing what was in store for her. Of course, he didn’t really see that he had another option. He needed into Heaven. He needed to see Jane and his son, and if giving up Eliza got him that, then it was a small price to pay. He’d walked away from Jane once before and he’d paid dearly for it ever since. Could he do it again to Eliza?

  He got out of the car and stretched the ache from his legs. Sunlight filtered in through the trees, the rays struggling to reach the forest floor. He shook a cigarette from its packet, lit it, and leaned against the roof of his car. The heat of the metal burned hot through his shirt, but it didn’t bother him. If truth be known, he actually liked the sensation. He dragged on the cigarette and watched the smoke dirty the air. Being holed up in the cabin with Eliza had caused a knot between his shoulders, and a migraine above his right brow. The girl was impossible. That she actually cut herself, risking the Shadow finding her simply as a means to escape, beggared belief. But she had balls, he’d give her that. Unfortunately, her stupidity outshone them.

  Roman rubbed his chin, the new growth itching like mad, the bristles like tiny pins upon his skin. If only he could somehow slow the speed his stubble grew, it’d be one less daily hassle. He dragged on the cigarette until the majority of tobacco had burned away and only the stub of a butt remained, and walked around to the back of the car. The Aston didn’t have a roomy boot, almost non-existent. If he had to be totally honest, he wondered whether cramming Eliza inside had been a good idea after all. The latch clicking shut had certainly astonished him. He ground the cigarette into the dirt and popped open the boot.

  Immediately, Eliza squealed like a nervous pig, the rag that stuffed her mouth surprisingly still in place.

  “I’ll remove the gag, but I don’t want you to shout, got it?”

  Eliza obviously didn’t get it because she squealed louder, her body thrashing around as though she had itching powder in her knickers.

  Roman slammed the boot shut.

  He heard Eliza bash against the inside of it. As he’d already called it: she was a nutcase. A minute passed, but Eliza’s ranting from inside the car continued. Doesn’t she ever quit?

  Roman opened the boot again. “How the hell are you finding the room in there to move around so much?’

  Eliza stopped squealing and stared up at him, her eyes glazed, her chest heaving with every breath she panted.

  “Ready to try again?”

  Roman waited for Eliza’s compliant nod, then slowly slipped the gag from her mouth. No sooner had the cloth left her lips than she screamed for help at the top of her voice. Roman thrust the cloth back towards her mouth, but Eliza whipped her head from side to side, making it impossible for him to hit his target.

  “Hold still.” Roman grabbed her head and held it tight, forcing both his fingers and the cloth into her mouth.

  Eliza bit down, and Roman saw his blood redden her lips. He tried to yank his fingers clear, but Eliza bit harder, holding on like a dog refusing to release a bone.

  “You crazy woman. Let go.” Roman pulled his fingers free and examined the damage, but the laceration was already healing.

  Quick as a flash, Eliza swivelled onto her hip and kicked him backwards. She was out of the boot and jumping her escape through the forest within seconds. Roman licked the blood from his finger and watched the last of the skin reseal. The woman was absolutely insane – and my God did he find that a turn-on.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re like a fucking squirrel. Where are you going now?”

  Eliza continued to jump, her legs tied at the ankles, her bare feet almost stepping on each other. Just how far did she really think she would get? A couple of metres? Maybe nine or ten if she was really lucky? Roman let her jump what he reckoned was about twelve metres before he grabbed her around the waist. Immediately, Eliza kicked and screamed, leaving Roman with no other choice. He reached into his pocket for the white handkerchief and bottle of chloroform.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Davis wasn’t as young as he used to be.

  Along with his aging body came his intolerance for the cold, damp passageways his employer’s house had hidden away. He entered the library, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth the room held, then tilted the hardback copy of Henry V back upright on the shelf.

  The bookcase slowly swung shut and secured with a barely audible click. Now he felt calmer, and when he was calm, he thought more clearly. He reached for the brandy glass, but stopped when he saw Roman slouched in the armchair beside the fire; the same chair the deceased Edward Pope had occupied only hours earlier.

  “How the hell did you get in here?”

  “I walked through the front door. How else?”

  Behind Roman, papers and various Cross-related documents covered the mahogany desk. Just how much had Roman seen? Davis forced a smile, and the calm he’d found quickly evaporated. “You should have been back here hours ago. Where have you been?”

  Roman smiled. “Paris, like you asked.”

  Many thoughts swirled inside Davis’ head, not least that Roman had seen how to open the secret bookcase. “Did you get the wood?”

  “Yes.”

  “And? Where is it?”

&
nbsp; Roman checked his coat pockets. “I had it when I left the house…”

  “Don’t mess with me, Roman.”

  Roman straightened down his jacket and settled back into the chair. “You’ll get it tonight. When I know where the other pieces are.”

  “That wasn’t the deal.”

  “Neither was you holding out on the girl.”

  An ache inside Davis’ head started to pulse and he rubbed his temples, forgetting for a moment that Roman watched him. “Mr. Holbrook, where is Eliza?”

  “Tucked away, safe and sound.”

  “And your reason for taking her is…?”

  “Just covering all my bases.”

  Davis reached for another glass and poured Roman a whiskey. “The deal was that you would deliver the wood from Paris. The blood was my responsibility.”

  “Hmm, well I felt that deal was a little one-sided.” Roman uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “See, the thing is, I know what you’re planning to do.”

  “Oh?”

  “And killing her when you don’t have to doesn’t sit well with me.”

  Davis handed over the drink. “Mr. Holbrook, I am at a loss as to what you mean. The girl will not be harmed in any way.”

  Roman stared at him. “And how can I trust you’ll keep your word?”

  “My word is my bond, Mr. Holbrook.” Davis walked to the fireplace. He grabbed the poker and prodded the coals. “That, and if you don’t tell me where she is, I will kill you and find her myself.”

  Davis placed the poker back in its holder and turned towards Roman. He leaned over him and smiled. “I could break your bones in the blink of an eye. Where would that leave you then?”

  “And I will re-heal. You cannot kill me.”

  “Oh, I know. Just like I know that the bigger the injury, the longer you take to heal. I can put you out of action for a while, Mr. Holbrook... Maybe just long enough to find Eliza and the wood myself?”

  Roman remained quiet.

  “I thought so.” Davis stood upright. “Now, about our trust issues.”

  Roman sighed. “There’s a cabin up on Bodmin Moor. The wood is there.”

  “And Eliza?”

  “I’ll bring her with me tonight.”

  “Then, Mr. Holbrook, you have a deal.”

  Roman swirled the whiskey around the glass, and it took all of Davis’ willpower to keep from snatching it and forcing the drink down the man’s throat. He walked back to the fireplace, once again picking up the poker.

  “I’ll tell you what.” Davis unfastened a button on his shirt. He loved the open fire, but sometimes this room felt warmer than a funeral home furnace. “Drink your drink, go get Eliza, and tonight we will both be sleeping in Heaven.”

  “You almost sound sincere.”

  “I am.”

  Roman smiled. “You’d better be.” He knocked back the drink in one gulp and placed the empty glass on the desk.

  “One other thing.” Roman got up from the chair. “I know why I want in to Heaven. Why do you?”

  “Because I don’t want to go to Hell, Mr. Holbrook.” Davis stabbed the coals harder. Watching Holbrook swallow the poison was one of those rare and twisted moments in which he found pure happiness, and he didn’t attempt to hide the pleasure. He had the wood’s location, and he knew of Eliza’s whereabouts. Roman had outlived his usefulness. “I’ll call you later with tonight’s location.”

  Roman smiled a cocky smile and turned for the door. Without uttering another word, he left.

  Davis stabbed the poker into the coals, absorbing the heat the enraged flames tossed out. Holbrook annoyed the crap out of him, but in twenty minutes it would all be over, and the man would be out of his hair long enough not to be a nuisance anymore. He called out for Mr. McKenzie, who arrived within seconds. “Follow Holbrook. The girl is with him. Then get over to Bodmin Moor. The wood’s there.”

  Collecting the whiskey glass, Davis left the room.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Roman opened the car boot.

  Sunlight filtered down through the trees and lit Eliza’s sleeping face. Whether a trick of the light or just a yearning desire, Roman found himself utterly besotted by her beauty. Her lips looked so subtle and soft, and he remembered what they’d felt like when he’d kissed her. Now he wanted to kiss her again, to press his mouth against hers properly, to feel her arms wrap his neck and let the strawberry scent of her hair engulf him. It had been an age since those desires had come to him, desires he’d worked so hard to bury. Damn Eliza Hamilton for screwing with his emotions.

  Roman removed his hat and swept his hair back from his face. Only one woman had ever messed with his head as much as Eliza messed with him now: his Jane. A woman who’d stood in the house of God and rightly declared her love for his brother; a woman he couldn’t live without and set out to seduce, only to then abandon while she carried his illegitimate child. But Eliza and Jane were nothing alike. They looked different. They acted different. Jane had been compliant and gentle, whereas Eliza was a pain in his arse. Roman had wanted Jane more than anything in the world, whereas he couldn’t wait to get shot of Eliza. Still, could he really live with handing her over to be sacrificed? The voice in his right ear cheered a ‘hell yes,’ because it wanted to see Jane more than anything. But his heart and his conscience knew different.

  Eliza’s image softened and blurred and he rubbed his eyes, the sting of sweat causing them to glaze over. He patted his shirtsleeve across his forehead and felt his face, his clammy skin hotter than the fires of Hell itself. What in God’s name was wrong with him? Second by second, his body temperature rose. Ripples shuddered through his arms, leaving his hands and fingers almost immobilised. His knees weakened, his legs hardly able to hold him up. The forest around him swirled, with shades of green and autumn brown encasing him inside a murky blur of colour.

  Roman closed the boot and struggled around to the front of the car. He fumbled with the door handle, pulling it open and flopping into the driver’s seat. Breathing became a struggle, and he knew Davis must be at the root of this. He pulled his car keys from his trouser pocket, seeing only distorted shapes of silver. He was sure he hadn’t been followed, but he had to get away from this place in case he was wrong. He had to find somewhere safer to hide.

  He rubbed his eyes again. The first key scratched across the ignition, as did the second and the third. The key ring dropped to the floor. He cursed, reached for it, and started the process again. The first key didn’t fit but the second did, sliding into the hole and sparking the engine to life when he turned it.

  Roman wound down the window and ripped open the top two buttons on his shirt. Although the temperature was cooler beneath the trees, it couldn’t chill the burning sensation creeping across his skin. He tore the rest of the shirt from his body, dropping it on the seat beside him. His semi-nakedness did little to cool him. He stepped on the accelerator, letting the air blow across his face. The car sped forward, bumping over the forest floor until Roman reached the clearing and pulled out onto the smooth tarmac of the A3082.

  The road was quiet, the rush-hour traffic having already been and gone. Roman shook his head clear, and pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. Ahead, just over the hill, he saw a vehicle heading towards him. It looked big, maybe a lorry, but with his vision impaired he couldn’t be sure. It travelled downhill and disappeared behind the incline, and once again he was on his own.

  Fields and trees whizzed past as he raced up the hill. Where he was going, he had no idea. He just had to get as far away from Davis as he possibly could. He had to protect Eliza. His eyelids grew heavy, and his head slumped towards the steering wheel. A car horn screamed and Roman bolted upright, oncoming headlights flashing before him. He twisted the steering wheel and veered the car back to the left-hand side of the road. Tyres squealed, unable to grip the road, and Roman slammed his foot on the brake. The car swerved, the steering pulled left, and the
back end of the Aston Martin spun a complete circle before skidding to a halt in the middle of a T-junction. The engine stalled. Roman didn’t try to restart it.

  Jesus. He checked the rear-view mirror.

  The lorry continued down the hill behind him, its two out-of-focus brake lights eventually fading. Roman rested his head against the steering wheel. Deep breaths wheezed from his throat. Pain pierced his chest, and he clutched beneath his breastbone. Another vehicle hooted, and Roman heard a string of obscenities about his car blocking the road.

  Roman lifted his head and raised his middle finger.

  Then he inhaled and held his breath.

  A slow and controlled wheeze left his lips. He turned the ignition key. The engine moaned. Rage simmered in the pit of his stomach. It wouldn’t take much coaxing for it to boil over. He turned the key again. Another noise groaned from beneath the hood.

  “Bollocks.” He smacked the steering wheel, and turned the key again. Life revved into the engine, and he sped off.

  Another shot of pain tore across his shoulders and pierced into his chest, spasms paralysing his whole body. His fists clenched around the wheel and the car veered towards the roadside, scraping the side of a giant oak and crashing through the makeshift barbed wire fence used to keep cattle in. The vehicle nose-dived into a ditch and the engine shut off. When the back wheels finally stopped rotating, only the sound of the shallow stream that trickled beneath his car could be heard.

  Roman reached for the key, but another spasm ripped into his heart. He had no choice but to clutch his chest and ready himself for the inevitable.