Shut Your Eyes (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 3)

by Lee, Mandy

  ‘When did this happen?’ he asks.

  I count out the days on my fingers, starting from Friday.

  ‘Five … no six days ago.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Well, it’s too late for the morning after pill. Five days is your limit.’

  ‘Five?’ My mouth hangs open. ‘Shit.’ If I’d had my head out of the stupid sand, if I’d done my research, I could have dealt with this yesterday.

  ‘Five days tops. But it’s best to take the pill the morning after, hence the name.’

  ‘Oh.’

  There’s no denying it. I’m a first-rate idiot. But maybe, just maybe, I’m a first-rate idiot who wasn’t ovulating six days ago. That’s my only hope.

  ‘When is your period due?’ the pharmacist asks.

  When is my period due? I have no idea.

  ‘I don’t know. I had my last period a couple of weeks ago … I think.’

  While my brain descends into chaos, a strange noise escapes from my mouth, something like a cat being strangled. I stare at him, blankly.

  ‘Okay,’ he says at last. ‘I think you might want one of these.’ Disappearing for a moment, he returns with a pregnancy testing kit. ‘It’s sensitive, but best to use it on the first day your period’s due, if you can work it out.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Urgently, I scan the shop. There aren’t many people in here, but any of them could be working for Boyd, or Dan. And I don’t want either man catching a whiff of this. ‘Put it in a bag, quickly.’

  He does as he’s asked, swiping the kit over a scanner and swiftly hiding it.

  ‘Good luck,’ he whispers conspiratorially, handing it over.

  ‘Thanks.’ I thrust the kit into my handbag and pay. ‘I’ll need it.’

  It takes forever to reach Tottenham Court Road, and longer than eternity to force our way onto a Northern Line train. Laden with shopping bags, we ride the Tube back up to Camden, both of us standing, wedged in between strangers and clinging on to the grab handles for dear life. While Lucy examines our fellow travellers, I slip into yet another baby trance, brightly coloured tiny outfits flitting in front of my eyes, the pregnancy testing kit burning a hole in my handbag, and the same two questions pinging about in my brain.

  What if I am pregnant? What do I do?

  I’ll need to tell Dan. Because from now on, we make all decisions together. I swallow hard, realising that for me at least, this particular decision’s already made, no matter how Dan feels about it. I’ve made a mistake and I’ll deal with the consequences, nappies and all. I swallow again. He’ll back me up. I know he will. But it’s a sure-fire certainty he’ll put an end to the charade, hauling me back to the apartment in Lambeth and locking me away like some prize possession. And then what will Boyd do?

  By the time we’ve emerged onto Camden High Street and staggered back to the flat, I’m agitated beyond belief, in need of some certainty, and determined to sit down and work out exactly when I’m due on. Leaving the shopping in a corner of the living room, I withdraw to my bedroom with my handbag, sit on the end of the bed and breathe deeply. I’m about to go in search of pen and paper when Lucy appears in the doorway.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asks.

  ‘Nothing. The crowds. They’ve got to me, that’s all. Go and slob on the sofa. I’ll get us some wine.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘Corner shop.’

  She hesitates.

  ‘I should go. We both know who was behind that rose.’

  ‘And I’m not about to let him know he’s won … because he hasn’t.’ I open the handbag and rummage around for my purse, careful to bury the test away from view. The whole pregnancy issue is going to have to wait. Before I do anything else, I need to deal with Lucy.

  ‘But …’

  ‘Just go and find a film for us to watch. I’ll be fine.’

  I wait until she’s gone before I make a move. Steeling myself for the task ahead, I get up and make my way into the hall.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ I call, opening the front door.

  As soon as I’m outside, the cold makes its move, pouncing on me with a vengeance. I slam the door, fasten up my coat and scan the road. Nobody around. Nothing apart from a couple of parked cars. I check on the row of houses on the opposite side of the street. I still have no idea which one’s being used by my protection team, but there’s no sign of life. All the lights are off.

  Taking my time, I walk towards the shop, aware of the distant rumble of traffic, the clack-clack-clack of my heels, my breath catching against the air. I hear a laugh, glance over my shoulder, note the silhouettes of two men about fifty metres behind, and sense a shiver in my spine. They’ve appeared out of nowhere, and now they’re walking in my direction. My heartbeat accelerates as I round the corner, and stall. Outside the shop, only a few feet away, three more men are loitering by the newspaper sign. One of them lights up a cigarette and eyes me with interest. I look down, quicken my pace, and edge past them into the shop.

  I nod a greeting to the owner and tell myself there’s nothing to worry about. Heading straight down the first aisle, I turn and come back up the second, halting in front of the wine section. I’m searching for Pinot Grigio when I hear the shouts. Muted but vicious, they come from outside. I step back, peer through the meshed window and catch sight of wild-eyed faces, fists thrown in the air.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask.

  ‘Bunch of idiots,’ the shopkeeper replies, as if it’s an everyday occurrence. ‘Looks nasty. I’ll call the police. Stay in here. I’ll lock the door.’

  Great. That’s all I need. Local thugs, tanked up on cheap lager, slugging it out on the pavement. Determined not to let it get to me, I fix my attention on the wine. At last, I reach out and select a bottle.

  ‘I wouldn’t go for that one.’

  The voice grates against my ears. A Scottish lilt. A drunken slur. I’ve heard it all before. A swell of nausea rises in my stomach. My throat constricts. I fight to see straight, to stay upright.

  ‘Turn around, Maya.’

  I can feel him now, his body against mine. It disgusts me. Clutching the bottle tight, I concentrate on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Keep it going, I tell myself. Deep and slow. Fight your way through the shock. Stay in control.

  ‘I said, turn around. Look at me.’

  No. I won’t. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I make no move. I should stay silent too, but I can’t help it.

  ‘I don’t want to look at you. You make me sick.’

  He slides an arm around my waist. I recoil at his touch, but the arm tightens.

  ‘I’m logging it, you know. All the disobedience. You’ll pay for this.’

  I’m sure I will … if he ever has his twisted way. I peek at the shopkeeper, knowing I should scream for help, but my brain seems to have lost touch with the rest of my body. The breathing’s already come apart, and I’ve begun to shake.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’

  ‘Not tonight, but there’ll come a time.’

  I glance at the door, silently begging for help to arrive.

  ‘They’ve been held up, your men. But not for long. I know you’re being protected. I’ve watched for long enough. Had this little plan in place for a while. Thanks for giving me the chance to use it.’ He pauses. ‘How was New York?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Meet someone?’

  ‘I said it’s none of your business.’

  ‘That’s what Mr Watson said.’

  Suddenly, I’m forced round to face him. I clamp my lips together, pushing shallow, jittering breaths through my nose. He brings his face close to mine, dark eyes swimming with venom. I almost retch at the stench of whisky, but I’m quickly distracted by the outcome of his set-to with Clive: a bruise on the chin, a swollen lip, a grazed nose. Totally satisfied, I smile.

  ‘Mr Swanky Pants, was it? Is that why you’re smiling?’

 
; I remain silent.

  ‘He’s out of the country. I wonder where he is.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Perhaps …’ He slides a finger down my cheek and I freeze. The smile takes off. ‘Perhaps he’s been sampling the delights of the Big Apple.’ The finger comes to a halt under my chin. ‘Or maybe he’s been tasting other forbidden fruit.’

  He directs his gaze to my crotch.

  I feel sickened.

  ‘I’ve no idea where he is. You’re wasting your time. I’ve met somebody else.’

  ‘Mr Finn? Oh, I saw the photos. Nicely staged.’

  ‘There’s nothing staged about them. Give up and fuck off.’

  ‘Language.’ The finger moves to my mouth.

  ‘Seriously.’ I pull my head away. ‘I’d fuck off right now if I were you. When the police get here, I’ll report you for harassment.’

  He grabs my chin, giving me no option but to lock eyes with him.

  ‘Oh, no, don’t do that. You remember what I said. I don’t like the police. Nosey bastards. They bring out the worst in me.’ Letting go of my chin, he reaches out, picks up a bottle of wine and examines it. ‘And I’ll tell you what else brings out the worst in me.’ He puts the bottle back. ‘You keep throwing my flowers away.’

  I clench my teeth, resisting the urge to punch him on the nose. I’d love to add to Clive’s bruises, but I’m not sure I’d make much of an impact.

  ‘That’s because I don’t want your shitty flowers,’ I seethe.

  ‘Ungrateful little bitch. There’ll come a day when you’ll take everything I give you. And I mean everything.’ His eyes flash with threat. ‘You need teaching.’

  ‘I don’t need anything from you.’

  ‘The police are on their way,’ the shopkeeper calls, waving his mobile in the air.

  ‘And sadly, that means I’ve got to go.’ Boyd grimaces. ‘I’ll be watching you, lady. Every single move you make. Don’t forget that. And when the time’s right …’

  He leans in, looking at my lips.

  Instinctively, I draw back.

  ‘We’ll be together again.’ With an empty smile, he leaves, pushing past the shop owner, unlocking the door and disappearing into the night.

  My heart thuds. I’m close to hyperventilating. Staring at the open doorway, I drop the bottle and barely hear the sound of breaking glass. I have to go. I need to be home. The shopkeeper says something, but I can’t focus on the words. Within seconds, I’m through the door and out on the pavement. A police car draws up next to the kerb, but they’re already too late. The fight’s broken up and the men have gone, dissolved into thin air. And I should do the same. If Boyd sees me talking to the police, God knows what he’ll do next. Hastening my step, I half run, half stumble back to the flat. It takes at least three attempts to get the key into the lock, but once inside, I slam the door, lean against the wall and shut my eyes.

  At first, my brain’s fuddled by terror, but then, ideas gradually begin to emerge from the turmoil. He’ll know. There’s no doubt about it. Three thousand miles away in Bermuda, Dan’s bound to have been given the news and he’ll already be working on what to do next. I just have to be patient. But should I tell Lucy? That’s the thing. It doesn’t take me long to decide I should. Boyd’s closed in on our territory, and she deserves to know the truth. When I’ve finally managed to wrestle my body back under control, I stumble into the living room where Lucy’s curled up on the sofa.

  ‘Did you get the wine?’ she asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’ Her eyes widen. ‘What’s up? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

  ‘I have.’ I slump next to her, lean forward and put my head in my hands. It’s only now the tears arrive. ‘Boyd …’

  ‘What?’

  I feel her hand on my back, steadying me. When she speaks again, her voice has softened.

  ‘I told you not to go. What happened, Maya? Tell me.’

  Between sobs, I force out a garbled account of the corner shop ambush. Yet again, Lucy insists on calling the police. I’m only saved from another argument by a ring at the doorbell.

  ‘Wait there,’ she orders. ‘I’ll get it.’

  I’m expecting another bunch of roses. That would be right up Boyd’s alley, scaring me shitless and then ramming his point home. But when Lucy reappears, she beckons Gordon into the room.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just passing. Thought I’d surprise you.’

  ‘And I’ve told him what happened,’ Lucy interrupts. ‘I’ve told him about Boyd, seeing as you probably haven’t got round to it.’

  Moving further into the room, Gordon fixes his attention on me. I’ve never seen him so serious.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t look it.’

  ‘She won’t call the police.’ Lucy complains. ‘Tell her. She’s got to. He’s stalking her. It’s out of control. He’s dangerous.’

  ‘I’m being protected,’ I remind her.

  ‘Oh, really? Well, if you ask me, Dan’s fucked off and taken his protection with him. He’s hanging you out to dry, Maya. He doesn’t give a shit. Go. To. The. Police.’

  ‘No,’ Gordon interrupts. ‘If Maya doesn’t want police involvement, then you need to honour that.’

  ‘But ...’

  ‘Enough, Lucy. I’ll fix this. I’m taking her with me tonight.’

  ‘What?’ I sit up straight.

  ‘You’re coming back to my hotel. I need to know you’re safe.’

  ‘But what about Lucy?’

  The last thing I want is to abandon her again, and the last thing I need is another fall-out.

  ‘I’ll have someone come over and watch this place.’ He glances at Lucy. ‘You okay with that?’

  She gives him a meek nod. Clearly, she doesn’t dare argue with her ‘new boss.’

  ‘I understand, Maya. It’s alright. Go with Gordon. I’ll be fine.’

  Without another word, she retreats to the kitchen, leaving us alone. Gordon takes a seat next to me and slips a hand over mine.

  ‘You’re shaking.’

  ‘Dan sent you, didn’t he?’

  He nods and leans in to me, lowering his voice. ‘The bush telegraph’s mighty quick these days. Got a call and came straight over.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to a hotel.’

  ‘You’ll want to go to this one. I’m in the Royal Suite at The Goring.’

  He lifts an eyebrow, as if he’s just told me the most amazing thing in the world, as if I’m expected to squeal with delight. But I’m not impressed. I have no idea about The Goring, and I don’t care how posh it is. I want to stay here.

  ‘Besides,’ he adds before I can say anything. ‘You’ve got no choice. We’re under orders.’

  ‘Dan?’

  ‘Correct.’ He surveys our tiny living room. ‘Lucy’s safe here,’ he reassures me. ‘I don’t actually need to get anyone to come over. The truth is, Dan’s guys are watching from over the road. As soon as you left your apartment, they followed.’

  ‘And look what happened.’

  ‘Tonight was a mistake. It won’t happen again. They weren’t exactly expecting an ambush outside a liquor store. From now on, we’re stepping up protection, increasing the numbers … and keeping you close.’ He gets up. ‘Now, may I suggest you pack an overnight bag? I’d like to return you to the lap of luxury.’

  I do as I’m told, say goodbye to Lucy and follow Gordon out to a black Bentley waiting at the kerb. The driver opens the rear door and takes my bag. Without a word, I get in.

  ‘Straight to The Goring,’ Gordon orders, settling next to me. ‘Maya, this is Carl.’ The driver installs himself in the front. ‘He works for Foultons, but to the outside world he works for me. Show your face, Carl. Just in case Maya didn’t catch it.’

  The driver turns and nods. I do my best to register his features. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, early thirt
ies perhaps.

  ‘He’s packing,’ Gordon whispers out of the side of his mouth.

  ‘Packing what?’

  ‘You know.’ Like an over-excited little boy, he makes an imaginary gun with his hand. ‘And he’ll be driving you for the foreseeable future. You go anywhere, you ride with him. No public transport.’

  ‘Even to work?’

  ‘Even to work. This is Carl’s number.’ I’m handed a card. ‘Store it on your mobile. Call him whenever you need to travel.’

  The Bentley pulls away and I slip the card into my pocket. Riding in silence, I gaze out of the window, seeing nothing but darkness. It’s everywhere: waiting behind the flash of a headlamp, lurking in the depths of a side street, hovering in the clouds above – an unstoppable, overpowering force. As we push further into Central London, even the glow of streetlights and shop fronts can do little to banish it.

  ‘Dan’s still in Bermuda,’ Gordon says at last. ‘I’m to tell you he knows what happened, and he loves you. But he says you already know that.’

  My lips curve into a smile.

  ‘He’s making arrangements to come home.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  A tremor of excitement passes through me.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Have you talked to him?’

  ‘Not directly. He’s gone through Bill.’ His mobile buzzes. Pulling it out of his pocket, he squints at the screen and holds it to his ear. ‘Talk of the devil. Bill, what’s going on?’ He listens intently for a minute or so while Bill talks incessantly at the other end of the line. ‘Okay. I’ll let her know.’ Dropping the phone back into his pocket, he stares at the back of the driver’s head.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A development.’ He looks at me. ‘I need to fill you in. Boyd got away this evening. He had a car waiting. But we’ve got hold of one of his men. Bill’s contacts are having a little chat with him.’

  I’m flooded with the same sense of unease I felt in New York. In spite of his reassurances, I wonder if Dan’s really taken heed of my wishes.

  ‘Problem?’ Gordon asks.

  Yes, there’s a problem. But how to say this? Bluntness is probably the best option.

  ‘Will they hurt him?’

  ‘Not unless it’s necessary. And I’m sure it won’t be.’ He puts a hand on my knee. ‘Money’s mightier than the sword, Maya, and a damn sight quicker too.’