She turned the fine porcelain in her hands, until something caught her eye. Weird. She squinted. A Made in China stamp? On a genuine Lladro bought in Spain? The ink was faint, as if it had been scrubbed clean. Only it hadn’t been, not quite. Funny that she’d never noticed it before. Then again, she’d never picked it up and looked at the underside before.
She checked the hummingbird beside it. Nothing. Including the stamp that would make it genuine.
Her gaze roamed then latched onto the canvas covering the greater portion of the wall above the sideboard. She took a couple of steps and stopped. She’d never looked at it so closely, always glanced at it across the length of the room from the couch. The oils were vibrant, the strokes precise. A woman, her head and shoulders, blonde hair flowing, her tears a swirl of droplets that sprung from moist blue eyes.
Jayda’s heart pounded so hard she could feel the throb of it behind her temple. The picture had always made her uneasy but there was something more than that now. She moved closer. Funny how she’d never noticed that the tears were works of art in themselves. Tiny ceramic-looking dewdrops, each skilfully painted and unique.
And if she wasn’t mistaken, something about them had changed. Were there more? Her eyes latched onto one with a blue background and burnt orange sunflowers. Van Gogh.
Her vision blurred. The porcelain hummingbird slid from her fingers and shattered at her feet.
At the explosion of ceramic, her dream—her memory—came to her.
‘Run Sammy. Run!’
The girl scuttled out through the jumble of chair legs. As she ran through the living room, she couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the painting on the far wall—a woman crying as if her world were about to end.
Then a scream erupted from the kitchen and the girl belted for the open front door.
Jayda reached for her gun. How ironic she’d finally found him now.
She turned to the sound of fingers cracking. Then pain exploded against the back of her skull and everything went black.
60
Damn, but her head hurt like hellfire.
Jayda stifled a groan and tried to focus through the pain. Her eyelids were crusted shut and the thought of prying them open made the pounding in her head go wild. At first she didn’t try. It was important to get her bearings, to ensure she was alone before letting on that she was awake.
She worked to steady her breathing and remain still. No mean task when she was slumped awkwardly against the metal pole to which she seemed to be tethered. Her shoulders ached from the pull of her hands behind her back, coarse rope cutting deep into her wrists and ankles. The floor was damp and its chill seeped through her jeans and deep into her bones.
The stench of sweat and musty carpet overwhelmed her nostrils and with every swallow, the copper tang of blood struck at the back of her tongue.
Aside from the occasional creak of old pipes and the low hum of an air-conditioning unit, there was no sound.
Continuing to feign lifelessness, she detected no movement, no changes in air pressure or sound. Nothing to indicate she was anything other than alone.
Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes.
Her vision blurred. She blinked. Squinted. A distorted mish-mash of colours and lines slowly merged into focus.
The room’s only lighting came from a blue security lamp. That and three strategically placed skylights ensured it wasn’t so dark that she couldn’t recognise a weights room when she saw one. Equipment haphazardly cluttered the gym floor that she knew extended over most of the building’s second level. Some sections were covered with large white sheets, in others equipment had been pushed and stacked together.
The room didn’t smell of paint, but it did project an air of impending renovations. Any hopes that a die-hard exercise fiend might turn up and save her dive-bombed then died.
She blinked, wishing she could scrub at whatever caked her eyelids. Grime and God knows what. Blood, perhaps. She could smell it, taste it. A red trail stained her t-shirt and no doubt more matted her hair where she’d been struck.
She raised her head and a scalding poker arced through her skull. But nothing came close to the pain in her heart. Her best friend had deceived her. Said he loved her when he’d secretly loathed her for years. She shuddered. He’d murdered Eric. Tumbles. So many women. Bec.
This time when she blinked it was to drive back the tears.
The mountain of hurt threatened to push her towards helplessness. She dragged oxygen into her lungs and shuffled until her back lay flush against the pole and the pull on her wrists relaxed. Her knuckles scraped against something abrasive and she winced. Twisting her neck, she gulped back the nausea that swilled in her throat. She might have been grimy and bruised already, but she refused to chuck and add rancid to her list of offences.
Her fingers stretched out. The roughness they reached felt like textured plaster. Her heart leapt. This was her light, when until now her day had been an endless tunnel. If she could yank the pipe from its brackets, there was a chance she could break free.
She dragged in a deep breath, ignoring the tenderness of her ribs. Using the pole and wall as leverage, she bent her knees and dragged her bound ankles closer to her butt, then pushed her body backwards and up. Muscles burned. Scrapes and bruises she hadn’t felt until now screamed in protest. Her head swam and she almost lost those stomach contents again.
But she was standing, and that brought her one step closer to freedom. Her body felt heavy and stiff. She had no idea how long she’d been lying there tethered like an animal, no idea even of the time.
No idea why she was still alive.
She shuddered. Rather than questioning her bounty she needed to make the most of it.
No sense in waiting for a rescue that wouldn’t come. She’d walked out on the only person who would have realised she was missing. And in case that hadn’t sufficiently cemented her fate, she’d held a gun to his head and threatened to shoot him if he followed.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She smacked her head back and the room swam. She’d botched up royally. Instead of taking off half-cocked she should have stayed, should have talked.
Seth isn’t Liam.
And Liam was nothing more than a blip in her past. She’d let him rule her life for too long. She wouldn’t let him rob a second more.
She loved Seth, and God help him, he loved her. He wasn’t responsible for the article. She was sure of it now.
Although, hadn’t recent events showed her gut was less than trustworthy these days? Hadn’t she discounted the wrong suspect when it came to the Night Terror? Dammit that she couldn’t trust her instincts. Her gut was so twisted that it had led her every which way but the right one.
But whatever the reason Seth had for collating that information, her heart told her it wasn’t suspect. She should have known he’d never give a bottom-dwelling rag like On the Inside the time of day, far less every detail of her private life. And she should have given him the chance to explain, instead of allowing blind anger to take over.
Stupid.
First thing she’d do when she escaped this godforsaken hell is tell him so. If she got out. She just had to get out.
She was spiralling again. Running in circles when she needed to think straight.
Get it together, Thomasz. First things first. Free yourself and catch the sonofabitch who hogtied you to this post. Then fix your life.
Wishing things were different wouldn’t change them. Only action could do that.
And while she hoped to heaven that the birth certificate in Seth’s inbox would lead him to search for her, she couldn’t count on it. The only thing she could count on now was herself.
She tugged at her bindings. The pole shuddered, giving her hope. She yanked harder. The knot at her wrists tightened and she gasped, blinking back tears.
Suck it up. No time for histrionics.
She worked her fingers over the knot, hoping to loosen it, and sharp pain sliced ac
ross her knuckles. She bit her lip as a stickiness soaked the back of her hand. The knot refused to budge, but she had another idea. With slow, meticulous movements she dragged the rope up and down against the sharpness jutting from the wall—perhaps a nail?—feeling the friction against the fibres. The noise thundered in her ears. Lucky no one was around to hear it.
Where was he?
Her head swung right and a blur of white and chrome filled her vision. She bit her lip and held her breath. It didn’t stop the room spinning, but it did slow the motion. Gradually this time, she turned the other way and peered into the expanse of mirror that covered the wall to her left. She was sure she was alone. There were places he could stay hidden, but why would he?
Then again, why would he leave her alone with all ten fingers and breath still in her lungs for escape? It didn’t make sense.
Nothing made sense.
Her hand slipped. ‘Ouch!’
The distant crack of knuckles splintered through her body like a snapped whip. Where was he? She twisted her head, searching, but there was no sign of the man she’d called friend.
‘Jayda, Jayda, Jayda. Always fighting, always resisting. Don’t you think it’s time you relaxed and accepted your fate? I know I have.’
There was a movement behind the bench press to her left and she turned to watch as he stepped out from the shadows. His olive skin was unusually pale, and the brown eyes she’d once considered warm now glowered with so much hate she wondered how she’d never guessed.
Even now, with the irrefutable truth before her, she still found it hard to believe.
‘Why, Juz?’
‘Ahh, such a wide-ranging question.’ His grin stretched broadly across his bared teeth. He took a step closer and dipped his head, trapping her gaze in the wild, glassy brown of his. ‘Because it was so much fun.’
His obvious glee made her feel physically ill, but her mind raced through every training manual she’d read. How did you handle someone who’d charged completely off the rails? Who’d perhaps never been on them in the first place. Could anything he’d ever told her be trusted? Doubtful. That meant she had to start from scratch.
Keep him talking until you work out a platform for negotiation. Words from her Crisis Hostage Negotiation trainer. Great in the classroom, but how did you negotiate your way out of madness?
Find a weak spot and exploit it.
Juz’s cold assessment didn’t waver as he stepped closer and his fingers trailed her temple before slowly winding a lock of hair behind her ear. She bit her lip to stop from shrinking away, but couldn’t prevent her body from stiffening.
His nostrils flared, like the beast he was, scenting her fear.
He dropped his hand, skimming it along her arm and down towards her bound wrists. ‘I’m pretty much an expert at knots. Just so you know, this one’s a constrictor. The more you pull, the more it tightens. You’re not going anywhere, my friend.’
His fingers trailed to the tips of hers. An army of cockroaches couldn’t have made her more nauseated.
Her mind latched onto the one thing that hadn’t changed with Juz’s Night Terror transformation—his ego was still colossal. Perhaps she could work this to her advantage.
‘Well done, Juz. You had me fooled every step of the way.’ She nodded in what she hoped looked like admiration and pushed a smile into her stiff lips. ‘But you’re my best friend and feelings that strong aren’t easily turned off. Why don’t we try to figure a way out of this together?’
‘Cut the negotiation bullshit, Jayda. It won’t work with me.’ He slashed his fist through the air and her gaze flew to the blink of metal in his hand. Her body chilled. How had she missed that he carried a knife?
A knife, her gun. How many ways did the bastard have to kill her? She clenched her fists and gasped at the burn of rope against her skin.
She had everything to live for, but that meant she had so much more to lose. And the look in Juz’s eyes said he knew it.
Dammit! No more.
He’d played his game one step ahead of her. That reign ended here.
Her parents deserved happiness. They wouldn’t lose another daughter. Plus, there was a man out there who loved her and she planned on spending the rest of her days loving him back. Provided he still wanted her.
But there were so many things to do before she could think about winning Seth back.
She stared at the monster in front of her. The bastard who’d broken her heart and left her floundering in self-doubt.
The game started now.
With slow, minimal movements, she continued scraping her bindings against the metal behind her back. ‘You’re right, Juz. I won’t pander to your ego. And you’ve shown me I can’t outsmart you.’
Her voice shook, but if he picked up on it he’d only sense her fear, and that was real enough. It would no doubt make him feel powerful and she could only hope that the headiness of that power would make him sloppy. A long shot, but wars had been won on less.
‘Ahh, Hostage Negotiation 101. Establish rapport.’
‘I assumed rapport was something we already shared. Considering you sang karaoke at my last birthday.’
His lips twisted. ‘And how I hated every minute of it.’
‘Your acting skills really are remarkable. I never once guessed.’
‘Of course you didn’t. You were so desperate for approval, it was pathetic.’ His words were meant to cut and they did, with a surgeon’s precision. But there was no place here for sentiment. Juz wasn’t the only actor in this production.
She blinked back tears she wished were wholly counterfeit and lifted her chin. ‘Why even bother with the ruse of friendship? If you wanted to kill me, why not do it then?’
‘Ahh, well done. I see what you’re playing at now. Encourage me to talk until rescue arrives. It’ll be quite a wait, though, so why don’t we make ourselves comfortable?’
He patted the cushioned seat of a shoulder press machine, then sat down. Dead eyes observed her with calm detachment. His ankle balanced carelessly on his knee and his hands rested in his lap as he fondled the knife with casual ease.
He couldn’t have been less than three metres away, yet she felt the chill of his soul as though he sat right beside her.
A soul that had once warmed and comforted.
‘Relax, Jayda.’ His grin slithered towards a sneer. How had she ever thought his smile warm?
‘I will if you loosen these ropes.’
‘Nice try. It’s good you still have fight left. It’ll make it all the sweeter when I take it from you.’
She suppressed a shiver.
He twirled his blade through the air. ‘There won’t be any rescue, you know.’
She hadn’t expected him to comply, but she’d managed to get him talking, and while he talked he wasn’t using the knife. She bit her lip. Her arms and shoulders ached with the constant cutting movement and her vision was beginning to double. She blinked and forced her eyes to merge the two monsters into one.
‘It’s just you and me, Jayda. No one knows you’re here and the gym is closed until the asbestos crew comes next week to clean it up.’ He gestured towards a jagged opening in the far wall. ‘And I doubt your faithful puppy will follow you after enjoying the feel of your gun at his temple.’
Her head jerked back. She gasped as it hit the pole and pain ricocheted through her skull. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘The same way I know everything. I’m not nearly as computer-illiterate as I’ve led you to believe.’
Her fingers fumbled and pain sliced through her palm.
She drew in a deep breath, fighting the tremble in her nerves that threatened to overwhelm her. ‘It would have taken a tech genius to hack into Seth’s computer and make it look as though he sent that article to On the Inside.’
‘I’m that genius.’
What she’d give to slap the smugness from his face.
Long slender fingers caressed the blade in his lap. ‘The web is
such a glorious mine of information. Did you know there are sites that let you send emails from one address while making it look like they’ve been sent from another? And redirecting incoming emails is even easier.’
He glanced at his watch then returned his cold gaze to her. ‘Everything I wanted was laid out with step-by-step instructions. And for those few things beyond my own capabilities, I enlisted help.’
‘Eric.’
‘Alas, poor Eric, I knew him well.’ He chortled as if his Shakespearean misquote made joke of the year.
She stamped down her anger. Be positive, be calm, be unthreatening. Engage your captor. Plan your escape.
‘What I don’t get is how you persuaded him to help.’
‘I can be quite charming when I want to be.’
‘Much as I agree, it would take more than charm to convince Eric to break the law.’
‘How right you are. Because, of course, you know him. You bewitched him. You made my job so easy.’ He cleared his throat. She thought she detected a flinch, but it was so fleeting she couldn’t be sure. ‘I played to his weakness. You. The poor sap believed he was in love and when he thought you might be in danger from that dreadful Night Terror character, he jumped at the idea of setting up some surveillance.’
‘And then he cottoned on, so he had to die.’
‘Oh, no. No, no, no. I wasn’t the one to let him down. Eric’s death was all on you, my dear friend.’ His lip curled. ‘You signed his death warrant the moment you asked him to recover your generous gift to charity. After all, I couldn’t allow him to blab all his dirty secrets to you in a fit of lovesick guilt.’
Her knees buckled, slamming her back against the pole. This wasn’t on her. It wasn’t. She gasped, then tensed her shoulders to prevent herself from sliding to the ground.
‘Who’s the murderer now, Jayda?’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t murder anyone.’
‘You don’t have to wield a knife to have blood on your hands. Take the old man, for instance.’
Lethal in Love Page 42