In His Wildest Dreams

by Marie Treanor

  He released Spud, yanked the other guy to his feet by his designer sweatshirt. “Tell Ally I’m not going back. Ever. And get word to Suzy Grant that she’s safe too.”

  To Spud it would sound like the same kind of assurance he was giving Ally. But Suzy would know better, her testimony had been the final nail in his conviction. Only Suzy really knew that the smart lawyer was right. But Glenn had seen her face at the trial. He’d known her shame and her fear would still be his enemies when he got out. He didn’t need that agro now. He’d Ray fucking Kemp to deal with. Spud’s eyes widened as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck. “Aye. Well. Nice…running into you again, Glenn.”

  Glenn watched them slouch down the lane toward the beach, all swagger again, as if they hadn’t just got thumped by the other guy.

  “Spud?” He didn’t raise his voice, but he knew they both heard. “Don’t run into me again.”

  He watched them disappear from view before he left the lane and turned into the post office with a far greater sense of urgency. Nothing had really changed, yet anxiety clawed at him.

  Kemp. Kemp must have been asking questions about him in Glasgow, those questions misread by the local neds as business interest, especially taken in conjunction with Chrissy’s lawyer trying to get Glenn compensation. It had looked like Glenn was going big-league.

  He didn’t really care about that right now. What bothered him was that if Kemp was asking about Glenn Brody, who’d been off criminal radar for ten years, then Kemp definitely knew exactly where Izzy was.

  “That must be the place,” Mike said, pulling up opposite the slightly squint but open wrought iron gates. A drive wound up through overgrown garden toward a big, impressive house that Mike could just make out through the trees.

  “Not bad for a man who’s been inside for ten years,” Ray allowed.

  “Bit of a legend in his own backwater is Glenn Brody,” Mike said, sneering. That was the difference between men like Brody and men like him. Brody got caught.

  “Go up and get her,” Ray said briefly. “Call me when you’re on your way out again.”

  “Why, where are you going?” Mike asked, already opening the car door. He’d been assuming Kemp would want to be there when they finally picked up the bitch, but clearly Ray trusted him implicitly. Which tightened Mike’s heart with pride.

  “Going to spring the kid,” Ray said wryly.

  Mike got out and strolled through the gates while Ray drove sedately down the hill back into the village. Mike smiled just a little grimly. Although he’d been surprised while eating breakfast in the village tea room to learn that Anna was working as a cleaner at the big house, the lady in the post office had been much more forthcoming. Apparently, Anna was screwing the somewhat undesirable laird. She did seem to like her big houses. Although this one was a sad come-down from Ray’s. Should have stayed put, stupid bitch.

  Mike saw no one on his walk up the drive, although he could hear voices coming from somewhere around the back of the house. He couldn’t quite believe his luck that the front door was open. Too good to be true. He slid his hand into his leather jacket, curled his fingers around the firearm he never travelled without. He had no license for it, but he was hardly likely to need one way up here off the beaten track.

  Mike paused on the doorstep, checking for presence, for ambush. A young man ambled toward him from the back of the house, chewing something—a toasted sandwich, judging by the remains still clutched in one hand.

  “Hello,” the guy said without much surprise. Even in one word, his accent was Scotch, very Scotch in a much harsher way than the polite people in the village. “You the joiner guy?”

  Why look a gift horse in the mouth?

  “That’s me,” he said with a winning smile. He’d never been mistaken for a tradesman before. But then he didn’t often wear casual clothes. This was his concession to being in the country.

  “C’mon up, then,” his host invited. “Glenn’s out, but you can still have a look.”

  Even better news. But he warned himself against complaisance. There were other people in the house. He could hear music coming from somewhere, and there were the men outside to consider. Watchfully, he followed the young bloke and his sandwich up two flights of stairs and along to the end of a gracious landing, where his guide pushed open a smaller door than the rest and switched on a light before bobbing back.

  “There you go,” he said. “Mind the third step, or you’ll go through it. And watch the floorboards up there. They’re not safe. Which is why we need you.” He threw the last over his shoulder with a grin. He was already striding back toward the big staircase, which he ran down without looking back.

  Mike began to climb the attic stairs, then stopped and listened.

  Izzy was refilling her bucket with the aim of mopping the front hall, when her phone rang. She grabbed it from her jeans pocket and saw with alarm that it was the school calling. Anxiety shot through her. Was Jack ill, hurt?

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Ms. Ross?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh good. It’s Jane Moffat here at the primary school.”

  This wasn’t good. Not the school secretary but the headmistress herself.

  “Is everything okay?” Izzy asked at once.

  “Jack is fine,” Mrs. Moffat assured her. “I just wanted you to be aware that someone has been to the school wishing to remove Jack. The man claimed to be his father. Obviously, I need to speak to you before I do anything drastic like informing the police.”

  Izzy’s ears sang. She grabbed hold of the sink, to stop the panic surging so hard she’d fall over. “You didn’t let him go?” she whispered.

  “No, of course not,” Mrs. Moffat said, affronted. “Jack is safe in his class where he should be. We’re only authorized to release him to you. The man has driven away, but I need to know if he’s the child’s father, or if he’s some threat—”

  “Most definitely a threat,” Izzy interrupted. “Who was it? What did he look like?”

  “Oh, very respectable. A Mr. Kemp—Raymond Kemp?”

  Ray himself. Oh God, it had happened. It had finally happened, and there might not even be time to bolt. “I’ll come down to the school as soon as I can,” Izzy said. “Thanks, Mrs. Moffat.”

  Mrs. Moffat, obviously, had more questions to ask, but Izzy had no time. She broke the connection, knowing the police couldn’t save her from this one. Kemp was legally Jack’s father and she had no legal right as things stood to keep Jack from any contact with him. She could bluster it out for a bit, insist Kemp was nothing to do with her or Jack, but that would hardly work for long. She needed to get out.

  Which meant grab Jack and go, leaving everything behind: Glenn and everyone at Ardknocken House, Louise, Morag, Glenn. Glenn.

  Throwing her rubber gloves on the table, she ran out of the kitchen and leapt upstairs two at a time, praying Glenn was in. She knew he wasn’t in the studio, because she’d just vacuumed down there while it was quiet.

  “Glenn?” she called, pushing his bedroom door open fully. She hurried in, calling his name more loudly, scanning the room for the presence she already knew wasn’t there. She stopped and dragged her hand through her hair.

  “Think, damn you,” she hissed at herself, and reached for her phone, scrolling impatiently for Glenn’s number.

  Someone stepped into the room and closed the door. “Hello, Anna.”

  She knew the voice at once, and it chilled her. Two weeks ago, it might even have brought back all the old hurt and shame of the night Mike had hit her at Ray’s casual request. Not for long, maybe, but enough to debilitate her for a few moments. Now, some of Glenn’s strength must have seeped into her, because she most definitely had the element of surprise when she rushed him.

  “Get out of my way, you little shit,” she said between her teeth as she jerked her knee
between his legs and grabbed the door handle.

  She nearly made it. But she obviously didn’t knee him hard enough. Or perhaps some of Ray’s other women had done the same and he was used to it. Whatever, although he doubled up and crumpled, staggering when she pushed him aside, his fingers closed like a vise around her wrist before she could even turn the handle.

  She lashed out behind with her free elbow, dropping her phone with the force of her thrust, but it never even connected.

  She was yanked back against the wall so hard it drove the breath from her body, and her head struck the wall with a sharp, painful crack.

  “Don’t try me, bitch,” he snarled, shoving his arm across her throat to hold her in place. “There’ll be no rescue after two taps this time. Do you really want the kid to see you with your face beaten to a pulp? I’d like that. I’d like it a lot.”

  “Bastard,” she whispered in despair. “Bastard, bastard, bastard…”

  It only made him laugh. “Anna,” he mocked. “Anna, Anna, Anna.”

  Glenn ran most of the way back up the hill, even though his thinking self was sure there was no need for such urgency. Spud and his crony were the strangers in town, sent to remind him what it would be like if he tried to shaft his old friends. They were vicious too. If he hadn’t moved first, they’d have had him on the ground and kicked the shit out of him. He’d seen it before, which was how he knew how and when they’d come at him.

  So now they had to be extra vigilant for Kemp, but they had time to prepare. He had time to warn Izzy. In the meantime, as he jogged up the hill, he called Frog. “Do it now,” he said.

  With luck, Kemp would never leave London.

  No cars parked near the gates. No new tire tracks on the freshly cleared drive. Glenn began to breathe more easily as he approached the house. He even wondered if he could entice Izzy into his bed around lunchtime when the upper house was quiet.

  Chrissy—or Izzy—had closed the front door again. Glenn pushed it wide open and left it that way as he walked in and headed for the kitchen. Jim waved at him from the kitchen passage.

  “Haw, Glenn, you should catch the joiner. I think he’s still up there.”

  Glenn halted, suddenly unable to breathe. He turned his head, stared. “What joiner? He came on Friday.”

  Jim frowned. “Well, there’s another one—”

  Glenn didn’t wait for more. He bolted back along the hall and bounded upstairs. However quickly he ate up the distance, it wasn’t fast enough. At least some residual sense prevented him from actually crashing through the attic door. He kept his approach light and silent. He’d always been good at that.

  The attic stair light was still on, which gave him pause. He climbed swiftly. But the attic was empty. There wasn’t even a light on inside. So he hadn’t made it this far. He’d gone back down as soon as Jim’s back was turned. Looking for Izzy, who could be anywhere in the house.

  Glenn drew in a ragged breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, forcing himself to calm thought. He had to use everything to protect Izzy. Everything he knew and everything he had. Observation…

  His fingers stilled on his nose and dropped away.

  His bedroom door had been shut when he ran past it, intent only on grabbing the guy in the attic. He never shut the door except when he was in there and wanted absolute privacy. Izzy knew not to shut it either now.

  Which led him to the visions he’d never had the balls to admit to. Except when it had led him to Tommy’s body. A man who wasn’t Kemp attacked Izzy in Glenn’s bedroom.

  Glenn made his way softly across the attic floor to the window he’d used more than once for assignations with Izzy. Assignations she’d thought were secret, although the guys must have heard them all over the house. They certainly knew, although he’d never got more ribbing than a sly grin or two. Maybe Chrissy or Dougie had had a word. And that was so unimportant right now.

  Climbing out the window, he refastened it to stop it banging in the breeze, and crossed the roof garden to his own door. He had to concentrate hard on silence as he went inside and crept down the spiral staircase to the door at the bottom.

  He heard some kind of scuffle, a sliding of feet and a male grunt of pain. Another scuffling as he eased open the door, and a crack like a head on a wall. Fury surged and was squashed, but he couldn’t slow the thundering of his heart or deny the knowledge that this was the most important thing he’d ever done, the most vital fight he’d ever had to face.

  He heard their voices now and stepped out to see his vision unfold.

  The big guy in the leather jacket stood with his back to Glenn, his arm across Izzy’s throat, laughing as she called him a bastard, and repeating her own name in mocking imitation.

  He was a man who worked out, a fit man with strong shoulders beneath that expensive jacket. The jacket hung slightly heavier at one side, telling Glenn all he needed to know.

  He was so sure of himself, this arse, so enjoying his power over his boss’s ex-wife that he didn’t even look over his shoulder until Glenn forced him by punching his face into the wall and twisting the arm that fell away from Izzy’s neck so far up his back that he screamed. By then, Glenn already had the gun from his inside pocket. He kicked the bastard’s feet from under him and hit him over the head with the gun.

  The screaming cut off like someone had thrown a switch.

  “Oh, Glenn, you’ve killed him,” Izzy whispered in horror, reaching for Glenn with both arms.

  He hugged her hard, absorbing the warmth, the softness, the vitality that was Izzy. Although he wasn’t ready yet to close his eyes in relief, he did allow amusement to seep into his voice as he said indulgently, “No I haven’t.”

  Which was when the phone on the floor, Izzy’s phone, started to ring. They both stared at it as if they’d never seen it before.

  “It’s Chrissy,” Glenn read, crouching down and picking it up.

  She took it from him like an automaton and pressed receive. “Chrissy, give me—” she began.

  “There’s a man here to see you,” Chrissy’s voice interrupted with clear distaste, loud enough for Glenn to hear. “A Mr. Kemp.”

  Shit…

  Izzy’s wide eyes, suddenly terrified again, lifted to Glenn’s. “Where is he?” she managed.

  “In my office.”

  “Leave, Chrissy. Just leave. Find Dougie and the others—”

  “Fuck off,” came Chrissy’s furious voice.

  Then the man Izzy hated most in the world said, “Anna, Anna, you still think you’re in charge, don’t you?” said the voice she hated most in the world. He sounded amused, indulgent. “Chrissy can’t leave while she’s looking down the barrel of a gun.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Izzy said at once. “You’re not that stupid. You never carry a gun.”

  “No, but Chrissy does. I just found it.”

  Izzy closed her mouth and stared at Glenn. “Chrissy has a gun?” she exclaimed. “Why the hell does Chrissy have a gun?”

  “Probably because she appears to live with a convict and his criminal pals,” Kemp said smoothly. “I want my stuff, Anna. All of it, including Jack, or I’ll kill the girl and let your new—ah—laird?—take the fall for it.”

  Izzy stared at Glenn, who shook his head, thinking.

  “Not Jack,” Izzy said. “I won’t give you Jack, and you know you don’t really need him. I’ll bring you the disk. I’ll even throw in a phone recording you didn’t know I had, of you confessing to your abuse of Rebecca.”

  “Okay, I’ll have that too, but Jack’s the deal breaker,” he said with deliberately false playfulness.

  Use the dream, Brody. After all, it had worked before. He had the dreams for a reason.

  Glenn took the phone from Izzy’s lifeless fingers and spoke into it. “This is Brody. Don’t hurt the girl, and I’ll tell you
where Izzy—Anna—hid her treasures. The stuff you want’s in the kitchen.”

  There was a pause, then, “Bring her.” And the phone went dead.

  “What are you doing?” Izzy whispered.

  He couldn’t tell her that, not yet. “Distracting him,” he said instead, getting his own phone out. “Until I can see where he is, I can’t look out for Chrissy.”

  Izzy glanced doubtfully down at the unconscious bodyguard. “Maybe we could trade Mike for Chrissy.”

  “I suspect Mike’s just been sacked, don’t you? Jim,” he said into the phone. “I need the kitchen. Go and smell the flowers or something. Yes, right now.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  For Izzy, the pressure had eased as soon as she’d laid eyes on Glenn. Well, almost as soon. When she’d first glimpsed him over Mike’s shoulder, her initial emotion had been pure terror, in case Mike hurt him, in case he hurt Mike and ended up back in prison. And then he’d been so quick, so efficient that she barely realized she was seeing Glenn’s brutal side for the first time. So monstrously casual, as if he barely noticed he’d done it before turning his attention to the next problem.

  As they descended the stairs, he slid his hand up from her fingers to her elbow. “Don’t get between him and me for any reason,” he breathed. “He’s got to think you’re a little afraid of me, angry because I’m giving up your leverage in order to save another woman. Look to the left of the fireplace.”

  “Glenn—” There was no time for more. He marched her into the kitchen, where they discovered a scene that was almost a mirror image of their arrival.