Watching Her: A Gripping Thriller Novel With A Twist

by Emmy Ellis

  “I mean it, Sutton. Stay the hell away from me.” I wanted to add that he’d failed the test, but I didn’t have to, he knew.

  A flash of pain went over his face, then he turned away.

  Clearly, he couldn’t look at me now that I knew the truth. Either he wasn’t really my protector or he was a coward. Regardless, neither one was any good to me.

  “Here.” Marion held out a white bandage. “Let’s sort that out. It isn’t too deep, luckily, but that knife is for gutting fish, not for female histrionics. You’d do well to remember that, love.”

  “Whatever,” I muttered, allowing her to patch me up.

  Once she’d done, I glared at Sutton. He was sitting stooped again, arms resting on his legs. The boat bobbed on the current, and the evening sun glowed golden on his skin.

  “I’m going to my room,” I said. “And I won’t be out till morning.”

  “I think that’s a good plan,” he mumbled.

  I glanced at Linus and raised my eyebrows.

  “Go dry off, Linus, you’re dripping all over the place,” Marion said.

  Linus stepped past me. Disappeared below deck.

  I followed him, through the kitchen area and into my room. Once inside, I flicked the lock, sealing us in.

  The silence pleased me as I leant back against the door, not caring that I was still dripping. The boat shifted, the sails refilling. Soon we’d be speeding our way to Clearwater once more.

  Linus stood before me, smiling, his damp chest rising and falling with his fast breaths.

  “Thank you,” I said, “for saving me.”

  He shrugged.

  A pair of jean-clad lower legs appeared in the window.

  It was Sutton, facing away from me, gazing out to sea.

  Is he going to stand there the whole time?

  Uncaring, I gripped Linus’s hard shoulders and touched my lips to his.

  The terror of moments ago, the images of her that had rushed through my brain when my life had unfolded before me, slipped away, forgotten.

  Chapter Nine

  We arrived in Florida unscathed, but there had been a tempest during the night, the wind and rain sudden and battering the boat. We’d risen on the waves, and I’d stared at the ceiling, my stomach revolting at the undulations. I’d contemplated going to find Linus but decided against it. I’d needed some alone time.

  The boat was now moored at a private pier, a sleek white wooden jetty with one other boat tied to it. We were obviously somewhere exclusive; millionaire row on the riverside. And it was quiet, too, no one around, just a pair of pelicans sitting on posts that rose from the water near the bank.

  Had Father instructed Sutton to take us to this place, away from prying eyes? Or had Sutton come up with it all by himself?

  I stood on deck, waiting for him to join me.

  Linus was busy at the stern, performing some task or other essential to docking. I had no idea where Marion was. For all I knew, she could be below deck giving Sutton the time of his life. A pinch of jealousy griped my insides at the thought of that.

  I stared past Linus and his pumping muscles, into the distance at a bunch of short bushes that reminded me of broccoli. Behind them stood majestic palms, all wavering leaves, and beyond them, a grand house, the roof the colour of over-brewed tea. It seemed that was the style here. Another three rooftops were dotted around, neighbours all sharing the river front.

  I suddenly needed tea. The British kind, with milk and sugar. Hot. The drink that could make everything better, or so they said. Inside that house—if we were even headed inside—I could lick my wounds and try to make more sense of my situation. Perhaps we were to be holed up there, hiding for a while, until Father or Sutton decided it was time for me to return to England.

  A clatter from below deck had me turning to look down the stairs. Sutton appeared, just his hair visible, a shaft of sunlight sneaking down into the depths and landing on one side of his head.

  He climbed the steps without holding on to the rails then came to stand beside me. “That house. Our home for the next week. It isn’t safe to hit the road again yet.”

  “But I thought that was the plan, to hit the road.”

  “Plans change.”

  I tutted. “The thing is, it isn’t safe anywhere. The Albino will find us, I’m certain of it.” I leant across to whisper. “Are you sure you can trust Marion? I mean, Linus, yes, because he can’t tell anyone anything, but is she trustworthy?” I thought about her for a second, then, “She comes across as burly and brash, but most people will cave under pressure. They might get hold of her when she returns and get information from her.”

  “She won’t be returning to St Lucia.”

  His expression darkened, and he swallowed, staring at Linus as though wondering if he had the strength to take the big man down.

  Suddenly he didn’t look like Sutton anymore—the Sutton who sat awkwardly at the pool bar stirring his blue drink and squirming at my shenanigans and teasing.

  “She won’t…?” I raised my eyebrows. My mind churned with possibilities, all of them dark, and I couldn’t quite believe the one that shouted the loudest. It wasn’t possible. Was it?

  “You’re right, we have to be very careful,” he said quietly.

  Dear God…

  “What have you done to her?” I rubbed my fingertips over the pads of my thumbs.

  “Who?” He frowned.

  “Marion.”

  He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

  I felt sick to my stomach. There had to be another avenue. Pay Marion and Linus off. Tell them to go far away. What the hell was going on here? This was more than someone coming after me for kidnapping and ransom. It had to be. Why else would my so-called bodyguard be prepared to murder? And more to the point, what the hell was my father into? “I need more of an explanation, a reason—a reason why this is happening. All of it.”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Convenient,” I whispered, the word a rasp on my throat. “And for the record, I won’t be a party to this.”

  “Party to what?”

  “Don’t treat me like a kid. I’ve got a brain, you know.” I tapped the side of my head. “And eyes.”

  He looked at me as though I were an alien entity, unhinged, hysterical.

  I turned, not wanting his study, his pity, or to be in his company.

  But I would be an accessory in this. Just knowing he’d removed the problem of Marion and Linus made me culpable. Just being here. I’d be guilty by association and have to accept accountability for doing nothing to prevent two people being killed in cold blood.

  Murdered.

  Could I live with that?

  How is he going to kill Linus?

  That thought blustered into my mind, and the nausea that swarmed over me increased.

  I stared at Linus. Wanted to warn him. Tell him to get off the boat and run as fast as he could. Run for his life. Don’t look back.

  I turned to Sutton. The movement happened in slow motion, as though the world had ceased to exist at its usual pace. His attention was on Linus.

  I clasped my hands over my mouth, swallowed down the acrid taste of bile.

  “Get off the boat, Claudine,” he said.

  “I don’t want to. I don’t want you to hurt him.” I spoke through my fingers, and those words sounded wispy, no substance to them. Something very wrong was happening here. Something that had nothing to do with me, yet I was embroiled in it, cocooned by deceit—deceit not of my creation. What was happening was big, bigger than me being a wayward daughter and my father being overprotective. I only knew a fraction of the story; shit, I was still on the first damn page.

  “I wish you would do as you were bloody well told,” Sutton said. “Just once.”

  He left me then, to walk to the stern and stand beside Linus. Said something, no doubt a ruse about payment to trick him into thinking all was okay. He gestured for him to follow, and they walked past me to the top of th
e stairs. I knew what was coming. I could stop it if I wanted to. I could shout, scream, pound on Sutton’s shoulders and tell Linus everything. Once the words were out into the air there’d be no taking them back. But I didn’t make any move to do so. I stood stagnant, my fingers pressed to my lips, holding in words that could save a man’s life.

  Why was I doing nothing?

  Sutton pointed at the stairs.

  Linus went down, and at the bottom, he turned and stared at me. His expression was one of sadness.

  I broke eye contact, feeling selfish and wicked for letting this…this continue. I cared more about myself and my right to live than his. I’d always been self-centered, but to this degree? Clearly, I would do anything to survive, and right now that was all I could think of.

  I moved away once Sutton also went down the stairs. I leant against the railing, glaring out at the water, cringing at the idea of a gunshot. I clamped my teeth, closed my eyes, and waited.

  A thump, that was all. Just a thumping sound that resembled a cupboard door banging. I swallowed. Swallowed again. And vowed to never, never forgive my father for this if it had indeed been done on his instruction. Linus had committed no crime. Neither had Marion. Yet them helping us had led to their end. And all because they had to be silenced in order to keep me safe. I wanted to be safe, of course I did, and, I admitted, at the expense of someone else, but death? That was a heady cocktail to deal with. I didn’t fancy sipping from that particular crystal glass in the future, but what if I had to?

  Footsteps, steady thuds, eight of them in all. Then more, coming across the deck. I felt him behind me, the murderer, sensed his presence, and my skin prickled. I should hate him. I should fear for my life. But despite him not jumping into the sea after me, he had finally shown me who I must trust. To a degree. He had killed to protect me. Twice. And I had let him. What did that say about me? What did that say about him and who I’d thought he was? I wasn’t going to analyse it, not right now, maybe not ever. Some things were too painful to contemplate. But he’d been prepared to follow extreme orders. The only question remaining was: Had he followed them for my father or someone else?

  Either way, I was alive and they weren’t.

  “We need to get you up to the house,” he said, voice showing no emotion whatsoever. “Then I’ll have to come back to the boat.”

  “To do what?” I spun round to face him. “Mutilate them? Chop them up into tiny pieces? Do you get a kick out of this shit?”

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Seriously?”

  “Do you like it that murder is a part of your job?”

  “I have killed.” He frowned and gripped my shoulders. “And I’m not proud of that fact. But sometimes it’s a case of kill or be killed in this game.”

  “Game. Life is not a game. Once you’re dead you can’t start playing again, from the beginning. Death is death, it’s over.” Funny how my thoughts had changed. I’d convinced myself once that life was a game, but now? I stared at him, into his eyes. I’d thought I was getting to know him, but now he seemed like a stranger.

  “Sometimes it’s better to view my career as a game. It’s easier to live with.”

  “But if you don’t like it, why have this job?”

  He shrugged. Shifted his gaze to the water. “I’m not the type of bloke to sit behind a desk pushing paper.”

  “I agree, but…”

  “Just drop it.” He glanced back up at me. “You don’t know me, or anything about me or what I’m capable of.”

  “Do you care about anyone on this planet, Sutton? Anyone at all?” I flicked my head towards the entrance to the lower deck. “And what about a moral compass, eh? Do you even have one?”

  “My moral compass points dead north.” He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. “Now come on, we’ve been out in the open too long already.” He stepped away and swung his attention around the vicinity.

  “So take me to the house,” I said. Jesus, did he really think he was justified in his actions?

  I picked up my belongings, which had been shoved into a couple of bin liners, then followed him onto the jetty. It creaked as we walked over the slats, and I inspected the other boat, a little one that was probably used for days out. The top was covered in a snug, fitted tarpaulin. Green.

  “Your father’s,” he said.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised but I was. “And the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?” I stared up at it.

  “Why would I make that up?”

  Darkness slithered through my mind. What else didn’t I know about my father? What other properties did he own in different, far-flung places across the globe? Why had we not holidayed here, spent time enjoying the Florida sunshine as I’d grown up? Or had it been a recent purchase?

  So many bloody questions.

  Sutton led the way across a large expanse of grass—thick, needle-straight blades watered by a discreet irrigation system, I imagined. Someone must live here, or at least come every so often to tend to the house and grounds. Were they up there now, spying out of a window, watching our approach? A shiver ripped through me. I was cold everywhere, the sheen of sweat on my body drying up. My hair stood on end when we neared the property, and I couldn’t shake the feeling we were being monitored.

  “We’re alone,” Sutton said. “So don’t panic.”

  “I’m not.” I was relieved no one else was here, but at the same time apprehensive. ‘We’re alone.’ Which meant Sutton could do whatever the hell he liked to me. And now I knew what he was…what he was capable of…

  Am I next on his hit list?

  “I shall be speaking to my father as soon as possible,” I said. If I’d have called him before my phone battery had gone flat, got confirmation that Sutton was his man, I wouldn’t have had to torment myself with whether to trust him.

  “That won’t be possible,” he said, his voice stronger than before, almost unrecognisable from the man he’d been at the hotel. Now he sounded like a person who was used to being obeyed, to being listened to, giving orders maybe.

  “Why not?” I stumbled on nothing, my ankle twisting a little. It was sore, but I continued, not willing to show him any weakness. “It’s not up to you. I’ll use my mobile.”

  “I’ve taken your mobile.” He straightened his shoulders and walked faster.

  All I had was the sight of his back to stare daggers at. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.”

  “So not only have you wrecked one designer bag, got rid of my Louis Vuitton luggage, probably forever, you’ve now taken something that belongs to me? Why, you…” Fucking bastard was what I’d been about to say, but I bit those words off. “Give it back.”

  “No.” He upped his speed.

  The heat returned to suffocate me, the relentless sun plus a spume of blood-boiling anger that roiled like the waves had during the night. Who the hell did he think he was?

  “And why not?” I demanded.

  “I can’t.”

  “At the risk of repeating myself—again, why not?”

  “It’s in the ocean.”

  “I don’t bloody believe this.” I wanted to punch him so hard. “You fed my phone to the fish. That’s got everything on it, all my contacts. I’ve given that damn number out to suppliers, for heaven’s sake. What is the point of doing my sourcing trip if I can’t ring anyone?” I had them all written in my notebook, but I wanted him to feel guilty. The only one I wouldn’t have was the flower lady in the market, but that was okay. I’d hire someone to speak with her—maybe Alberto would do it for me—and get her to call me again. Plus, my service provider would sort out my contact details so I could use the same information on a new phone.

  “If I thought you’d believe me, I’d say I was sorry.”

  “So you’re not?”

  “No, it was for your own good.”

  “How can sinking my phone be for my own good?”

  “Because phones are easily tracka
ble. You may as well have a Belisha beacon over your head telling the world your whereabouts.”

  “What? How?”

  “It’s not rocket science. Anyone criminal with a bit of know-how can hack a phone.”

  Fuck, this man was maddening. I could have just turned the thing off, couldn’t I? Or could the damn things be tracked even then?

  The grass ahead was split in the middle by a gravel-covered path. Sutton stepped onto it, crunching his way closer to the house, which sat perhaps thirty metres away. Broad, two-storeys, and worth a fortune by the look of it. Cream-coloured with black closed shutters. So no one had been staring at us through the windows then.

  “Why do I feel we’re being watched?” I crunched over the gravel myself.

  “Because we are.”

  “Oh, and will whoever is watching be bumped off?” Sarcasm was my friend. It had moved right in with anger and confusion, put on a pair of slippers, rested back, and lit a bloody cigarette.

  “Not unless you plan on killing a surveillance system.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be me doing the killing.” I huffed out a breath, not wanting to put into words that he’d murdered Marion and Linus. My cheeks were raging hot, and I was dying for a shower, not least to get rid of the smell of a dead man that was lurking on me like an apparition. Sweat at the base of my neck meant my hair stuck to my skin, and, for God’s sake, I wanted out of this nightmare. I wanted to go back to flower selecting, not gallivanting off course, sequestered in a sprawling Florida mansion, for want of a better word.

  “So why can’t I contact my father—on another phone?” I prodded. It wasn’t often I wanted to hear my father’s plummy voice and listen to the permanently disappointed tone that ran through his words, but right now I did.

  “Because he doesn’t want to speak to you at the moment.”

  That should have hurt, but it didn’t.

  A lifetime of a father not wanting to speak to you would do that.

  Chapter Ten

  The house was as to be expected. Opulent. It had nuances of Juniper Hall, touches of England that would give an outsider a big clue that someone powerful and rich, possibly titled, owned the place. The sight of a replica painting from the house I’d grown up in sickened me. It hung in the foyer, a bird in midflight, a soaring eagle that had talons and a mean glint in its eye.