Watching Her: A Gripping Thriller Novel With A Twist

by Emmy Ellis

  “Tough.”

  I swallowed a mean retort, relieved that the path to the hotel was ahead. We walked in silence, my feet aching, my stomach wrenched by anxiety. Sutton glanced back every few seconds, which, of course, had me doing the same. No one followed.

  “Will he listen to you and go back to Moscow?” God, I hoped he would. Then I could get on with my life, return to normal.

  “Be quiet.” He frowned, giving my elbow a squeeze. “Your bag…”

  I almost replied with a waspish comment about a listening bug or tracking device. It was becoming more and more apparent that Sutton had been right in the first place—the Albino had put something in my bag. So why hadn’t it set off any alarms at the airports? Why hadn’t security found something when they’d searched it? I asked Sutton these questions, a whisper, my throat dry, and waited for what he had to say.

  I received nothing but a filthy look for daring to speak.

  “Oh, yes. My bag,” I said, holding back the sarcasm.

  How easy it was to forget to stay quiet when I had so many things I wanted answers to. I was used to demanding information from people and having my queries met with satisfactory responses. This mute business was alien and uncomfortable. But I’d hold my tongue for a while longer. The hotel gates were ahead now, and Sutton waved at the security man, who opened up before we got there. Once inside the complex, instead of taking me straight to my room, Sutton directed us to the poolside bar. Surely it was better to search my bag as soon as possible?

  Alberto frowned at me as we sat on the stools. “Are you all right?” He cocked his head and indicated with his eyes that he thought I looked a mess.

  I shrugged. “Just a tussle in the market.”

  “Ah, they can get rowdy there. Bartering can be volatile, no?” He turned to Sutton and winked.

  “Yeah, just a tussle,” Sutton said to him, waving one hand so Alberto made us a drink.

  “Ah, I see.”

  Alberto nodded knowingly, and I got the sense he knew more than he was letting on. Was he working with Sutton? For my father? No, surely not. That was too elaborate a plan, to have someone working in the hotel bar just so they could keep extra tabs on me. But wasn’t that just like Father? Yes, it was. My whole life, as far as I could tell, had been monitored by him. Why, though? He was a powerful man, but for goodness’ sake…

  With our drinks shaken not stirred—I wanted to laugh hysterically at that but held it in—Sutton jerked his head.

  “Go to your room and stay there,” he said. “I need this drink, and I want to drink it alone.”

  He stared at me, then at my bag. Ah, a spy trick? Saying something for the benefit of whoever might be listening to the tracker?

  “Okay. I’ll be glad to get away from you anyway,” I said.

  Then he got up, jerking his head again, and I followed him into the hotel, taking a sip of my cocktail. The liquid soothed my parched throat, and the alcohol swam pleasantly through my limbs. I relished the blessedly cool floor on my soles, and my skin tightened, the AC sucking all the moisture from it. We rode the elevator in silence. Sutton’s reflection in the high sheen of the metal door let me know not to say a word. He looked positively steaming—and worried. The world appeared to be on his shoulders, but that couldn’t be the case because the world was resting firmly on mine. This trip had turned into a nightmare, and for once, I was eager to move on.

  The buckle on my bag caught the light from the overhead strip, and the resulting twinkle flashed. It was like whatever was inside was mocking me, letting me know it was there but that I couldn’t discuss it.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors shushed open. Sutton took my elbow, gentler this time, and, appearing ridiculous with my handbag slapping against his hip, he guided me down the corridor to my room. He raised a finger to his lips, letting me go, and fumbled in my bag for the door key. Once inside, he dumped the contents onto the bed, seizing on my small notepad that I used to jot down flower names and locations. He took the mini pencil from the spiral at the top then started to write. I peered over his shoulder.

  PUT THE SHOWER ON.

  I did so then returned to the bed.

  NOW SING.

  I wasn’t about to bloody sing, so I hummed while he sifted through the items on the bed. Lipstick, a packet of tissues, sunglasses case, factor twenty, paperback, my purse. A few coins sat among crumb debris and a tiny ball of fluff. He examined everything, even ruining my new Mac lipstick by ripping off the red and gouging it out of the base. Wiping his hands on tissue then throwing the lippy in the bin, he let out a long, quiet sigh. I continued humming, feeling ridiculous, and stared at him as though asking: What now?

  What now was him turning my bag inside out then checking the pockets. He scribbled another note.

  COUGH. UNTIL I’VE DONE WHAT I’M GOING TO DO NEXT.

  I did so, and he ripped the lining away from the leather. It was only last season Prada, but still. I winced and stopped coughing. He searched on.

  Nothing.

  He shook his head, frustration clear on his face in his deep frown and the brackets either side of his mouth. I stared at him for direction, pointed to my purse. He opened it, throwing each credit card out in turn, and it hit me then. A cold chill swarmed up my spine, and I remembered when I’d thought some of my cards were missing. I’d been wrong, though—they’d just been moved, put back the wrong way round. I jabbed a finger at the slits where the cards had sat, and he dug a finger inside each one. At the third slit down, he paused, his mouth a grim line. He eased his finger out, and sitting on the end was a transparent plastic disc, the metal workings inside it visible. My stomach churned, and I sat heavily on the bed, heart thumping, my muscles weak.

  So he’d been right. Father’s spy hadn’t been prattling on about nonsense. I really had been bugged.

  But who by?

  Sutton wrote another note.

  TURN THE SHOWER OFF THEN RUSTLE SOME FABRIC AS THOUGH YOU’RE DRESSING. THEN MUTTER TO YOURSELF THAT YOU’RE GOING DOWN TO THE POOL.

  In the bathroom, steam had marauded the air and clung to the mirror. I switched the water off then returned to the bedroom, swishing my hand over the bed for a few seconds while Sutton used the notebook again.

  “Totally bored,” I said while yawning. “The pool’s the only place to get some entertainment around here.”

  Sutton nodded. Showed me his new command.

  I’M GOING DOWN TO PUT THE TRACKER IN A PLANT POT. PACK. BE READY FOR WHEN I RETURN.

  He left the room, and I looked at the door for what seemed a long time, flummoxed as to what the hell was going to happen next. While I didn’t want to stay here any longer, I didn’t much like the idea of leaving against my will either. The stubborn part of me wanted to resist, to refuse to obey a man I hardly knew, but a vision of the Albino in my head soon had my feet and hands moving. I gathered my things while shuddering off goosebumps, and once I was done, I put on some light travelling clothes—a floaty white skirt and a pale-blue vest top. I thanked the heavens I’d brought more than one handbag with a matching purse and put all my things inside them. After a quick sweep of the suite, I sat on the bed and waited.

  The lock clicking had me jumping to my feet. Sutton appeared, coming towards the bed in a hurry. I opened my mouth to speak, but he clamped his hand over it, shaking his head. Then he took hold of my suitcase and went back to the door.

  Out on the corridor, we walked to the room beside mine. Inside, Sutton turned the lock and gestured for my bag. I handed it over, and he rummaged inside, pulling out the notebook.

  WE’RE LEAVING VIA THE BACK ENTRANCE. ALBERTO WILL LET US OUT.

  I nodded—what else could I do?

  By the time Sutton had thrown a few items into his holdall and we’d made it down to the checkout desk, I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. I wanted nothing but to crawl into a bed and sleep away the horrors of the day. I hadn’t allowed myself to sieve through what had happened—to relive being trapp
ed by those men then the Albino appearing… No, I didn’t want to remember any of it. After the devastation of my earlier years, life was supposed to be led in a happy fashion, carefree and without rancor.

  It seemed that wasn’t to be the case. If God existed, was this my punishment? For what I’d done? Wasn’t a girl allowed to put the past behind her and move on?

  “Sign out,” Sutton said, wrenching me from my thoughts.

  I went through the motions, glancing inside my passport. The woman in the picture—a woman who was no longer me in many respects—had been happy, making her way around the world without a care. I dreaded to think what I looked like now—my hair a damp mess, my face haggard, showing I was worried and altogether unsettled. All those times I’d been self-assured, arrogant, even. Where had that part of me gone? And, more importantly, would it ever come back?

  Yes, it would. I straightened my shoulders, refusing to cave in like I had years ago, when things had gone so wrong. I was a different person now, and no amount of Albinos or Nathans would alter me.

  Sutton must have noticed the change because he gave me what I could only describe as a secret smile. He knew—perhaps he’d been in my situation himself at some point, or one very similar. He understood, and that meant more than I thought it would. A day ago, I wouldn’t have cared what he thought of me—except that he fancied me. But now…?

  He linked arms with me, and we walked towards the back of the reception area, Sutton tugging my suitcase on wheels along behind him. Alberto stood at a door, and he pursed his lips as though sorry that I had to go.

  “A postcard,” Alberto said. “To let me know you are okay.”

  I nodded, absurdly emotional, and allowed Sutton to gently push my back so I went through the doorway and into a white-walled corridor. The lights above were harsh and stung my eyes—yes, it was only the lights making them water—then out through another door into a car park. Sutton glanced left then right. He nodded at Alberto then headed for a dirty-white Fiat with an orange rental decal on the side. Maybe he’d chosen it so he didn’t stand out while driving. No one would take any notice of a vehicle that had seen better days, but a newer model? Yes, he’d gain attention in the seedier parts of town.

  I joined him, getting into the passenger seat. He toured the outside of the vehicle, holding out some kind of gadget. Then, when he got in himself, he let out a sigh of relief and started the engine.

  Before he took off, he said, “The car isn’t bugged.”

  I thanked our lucky stars that I wouldn’t have to keep my mouth shut on the journey. It would have been difficult, seeing as so many questions waited impatiently on my tongue.

  Chapter Seven

  Sutton drove with careful precision, his attention unwavering as he gripped the steering wheel.

  I stared out of the window—banana plantations, meagre villages, lush fields, expensive villas—a familiar coastal route to the airport.

  With a sigh, I twisted to look at Sutton. The sun was a white orb sinking towards the horizon, its sharp rays highlighting his profile. His nose reminded me of one of those mathematical instruments I’d used at my six-figure-fee private school for checking triangles—perfectly straight down and then snapping inwards at an acute angle. After that his fuzz of facial hair spoiled the sharp lines of his chin, and his Adam’s apple pot-bellied outwards. He was a handsome man, once you got used to his surly ways and social awkwardness.

  But where was he taking me? Were we staying in the Caribbean? The US perhaps, or maybe farther, into snowy Canada or a trip over an ocean to Asia or Europe?

  And what would we do when we got there?

  ‘How do you know who to trust?’

  The Albino’s words belched back to me.

  Should I be here? Was Sutton really my guardian, my paladin, my knight in shining armour?

  What if he were driving me to my death? Whizzing me to a fate that would include a bullet in my brain, a smiling slit around my neck, or a twisted knife spilling my innards onto the floor?

  I nipped my forearm, small, biting stings, trying to tame my heart rate and wild thoughts. He seemed to be on my side. Had been there at the moments I’d needed him most, in the market and when the Albino had me cornered.

  But would the Albino have really hurt me? Had he been about to set me on a journey to meet my maker, or had a confession about what he was really doing there, following me, been ready to flurry from his lips?

  I had no idea.

  I set my hands on my lap. I had no control over this. Handing myself over to Sutton had been the safest option, the only option. His commanding governing of the situation had swept me along on a tide of gratefulness.

  Now I wasn’t so sure.

  What if he meant me harm? Had he tricked me, fooled me with his placid demeanour?

  “Why are you doing that?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “That.” He nodded at my lap. “I’ve seen you do it before.”

  Without me even realising it, my childish habit of pill-rolling had snuck up on me. The perfect synchrony of both index fingers rotating over the pads of my thumbs meant my red nail varnish flashed in the harsh light. “Sorry.”

  “Doesn’t bother me, just wondered why you’re doing it.”

  I clamped my lips together and clenched my fists, not wanting to reveal that I was anxious, scared, fucked off.

  He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.

  Frowning, I stared straight ahead. We’d rattled right past the junction to the airport.

  “Where are we going?” I resisted the urge to connect fingers to thumbs again. “We’re on an island, you know. If it’s so imperative that we leave, then wouldn’t the airport be our best bet?”

  Oh God, was he going to murder me here, in St Lucia? Was he going to drive me into the hills, past the waterfalls, then put a bullet in my brain and leave me to the mercy of the forest?

  I swallowed, nausea creeping up on me.

  I’d never be found.

  “The airport is too visible.” Sutton took a right turn. “We’re leaving by boat.”

  “Boat?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, you know, one of those big things that float on water and sometimes have sails.”

  “No need to be a clever dick.” I slipped my hands beneath my thighs and sat on them. “And I hope you can sail, because I can’t. Father always hired crew.”

  “Nah, sailing isn’t my thing.”

  “So we’ll just be at the mercy of the wind and the waves, will we? Hope for the best?”

  “No, your father isn’t the only one who can hire a crew.”

  “You’ve done that?”

  “Believe it or not, protecting you comes with, amongst other things, an expense account.”

  “I’m sure it does.”

  Father never did scrimp on anything. Except when loving me.

  We arrived at a small village—single-storey homes, a neat white church, and a gaggle of school children playing in a yard, their excitable voices drifting into the car.

  “This is Cotton Islet.” Sutton slowed the car. “Marion and Linus will be waiting for us.”

  “Who?”

  “Our crew aboard the Carpe Diem.”

  “Carpe Diem, I like it.”

  “I thought you would.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as though irritated by me.

  “The enjoyment of the pleasure of the moment without concern for the future.” I rested my head back. “Maybe this boat ride won’t be so bad.” I paused. “What’s the skipper, Linus, like?”

  Sutton didn’t answer. I wasn’t surprised.

  I had visions of Linus being big and tall with broad shoulders and a smart white suit. Would he be black with dark, intelligent eyes or would he be ex-navy, white, with a brisk manner and a challenge to tempt into my below-deck lair?

  Sutton parked the car, killed the engine, and stepped out.

  I let him grab my cases from the boot then also got out, swinging my handbag
over my shoulder and tucking my hair behind my ears to prevent the wind smacking it against my cheeks.

  Sutton was weighed down with my cases while we walked to the small harbour. I didn’t offer to help, and he was clearly too proud to ask for assistance.

  There were half a dozen boats docked beside a rickety pontoon, which shifted underfoot when I stepped along it.

  Carpe Diem was the largest boat, at the end. It was about thirty-eight feet, I’d guess, and fairly new. Its masts stood tall and proud, and its white body gleamed. A dark-navy bimini offered shade to whoever was at the helm.

  There was a man, starboard side, Linus I presumed, hoisting a rope up the mast. He was neither black nor white. His skin was the colour of coffee and appeared fit to burst with the effort of keeping his damn fine muscles contained. They swelled and contracted as he put energy into his task. His biceps were bloated balls of strength, his shoulders lined with the sinewy contours of his tendons.

  “Hey, you must be Sutton.” A short, chubby woman appeared from beneath the bimini and stood, hands on hips, staring at us with an assessing glint in her eyes.

  White loafers with black socks. Shorts, covered in vertical navy stripes that bulged outwards. Her large breasts hung low with not nearly enough support, and her skin was weathered and tanned.

  “Marion.” Sutton released one of my cases, and it clunked to the wooden slats.

  “Captain Marion, yes.” She nodded briskly.

  Captain?

  She was the captain?

  “You can’t bring those cases on board,” Marion said. “We have nowhere to stow them. Space is rather limited.”

  “But…” I swivelled to my faithful Louis Vuitton cases that had travelled the world with me.

  “It’s okay,” Sutton said. “Take the minimum of what you need out, and I’ll put the cases in the car. I’ll organise for them to be sent back to England.”

  “But what about when we get to…wherever the fuck we’re going? How will I manage?”

  “We’ll buy more.” He stooped and clicked my case open, lifted the lid.

  “Hey, do you mind?” I slapped his hand away. “That’s private.”