The Grayson Trilogy

by Georgia Rose

  Cavendish said seriously, “I meant what I said, Grayson. I can’t thank you enough for bringing my family back to me safely. I won’t forget what you’ve done for us.”

  I could feel myself getting emotional again and wasn’t sure why I found it so difficult to accept thanks. I tried to brush it off as being what anyone else would have done in the same situation, and thanked Cavendish for his kind words.

  Mrs F arrived pushing a trolley which was loaded with huge pans of rice and chilli, and everyone dived in, eating, drinking and chatting. I looked around because there were a couple of people I particularly wanted to see. I spotted Porter by the fireplace and went over to him, interrupting as he was wolfing down his food.

  “Hi, Porter,” I mumbled, feeling guilty for being the reason he’d been shot, although mystified that he looked so well on it. “I wanted to say thank you for what you did for us, and...I’m really sorry for being the reason you got shot. I hadn’t realised you had no backup at the farm.”

  “No reason why you should’ve known that, and certainly no need to thank me. I was happy to help out.”

  I couldn’t understand why he was so casual about it. “Can I ask? How are you still alive?”

  He guffawed with laughter, before replying, “It was thought that there was unlikely to be much action at the farm, so the rest of my support had been sent up to protect Cavendish at the Manor. When I got your call I knew I was going to be exposed opening the gate, so I put on my bulletproof vest and protective helmet, and gave you as much cover as I could to slow them down. I took a few shots to my broad and, though I say it myself, very manly chest, and fell to the ground as if I was on a West End stage, playing dead. They went straight past me in their eagerness to get after you, and I jumped up, brushed myself off and carried on with my evening.”

  His dramatic telling of the events, complete with actions, was very entertaining for those around him, but I marvelled at the fact that he told the story as if it were an everyday occurrence for him to be shot at. He added in a low voice, more seriously now, “Don’t worry, Grayson, I’ve been in worse situations.” I couldn’t help admiring his nonchalance as I turned to Trent to ask where Turner was.

  Trent frowned. “We’ve tried to get him in here, but he won’t join us.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s been very badly beaten, Em. He’s not spoken much, but we think he feels he’s let us down by getting taken hostage in the first place. He’s embarrassed because Anatoly Polzin and his men made a fool of him in front of everyone, so he’s shut himself away.”

  Trent and I hadn’t talked much about the men that had come here, but I recognised the name and knew Anatoly was the youngest of the Polzin brothers. He had been one of the few, along with Orlov, who had been mentioned in the briefings before all of this had happened. Poor Turner. I hated to think how he must be feeling and said, “I want to go and see him.”

  “I’m not sure it’ll do any good, you know.”

  “I have to at least try. He and I are the odd ones out in this place so maybe I can reach him. I can’t bear to think of him on his own.”

  “Well I can see there’s to be no stopping you, and it’s good to see a little of your normal self coming back.” He grinned. “I’ll come with you because you don’t know where he lives.”

  Turner shared a flat with some of the other boys. Trent produced the key he’d borrowed from Carlton on the way there, and once we were in the flat I knocked on the only door that was closed.

  “Turner, it’s me, Grayson. Can I come in?”

  Silence.

  “Turner, are you awake? I want to see you.”

  I heard movement from behind the door. “Grayson?” Turner’s voice, groggy with sleep.

  “Yeah, it’s me, can I come in?” I listened to the silence. “Please?” More silence. “I’m not leaving until I’ve seen you, Turner.”

  Silence. Then when I’d started thinking I was going to have to come up with another tactic, I heard one word.

  “Okay.”

  I pushed the door open. He was sitting on the bed facing me, staring at the floor. I was shocked at the state of him. He was hunched over and seemed to have shrunk. I sat down next to him. He flinched as I put my arm around his shoulders. Then I saw his face.

  It was a mess of bloody contusions, violently coloured bruises, open wounds to his cheekbones and eyebrows. His lips were split and puffy. I dreaded to think what had been done to the rest of him. He kept his head lowered, as if ashamed by the damage that had been inflicted on him.

  “Oh my God, Turner, what have they done to you?” I whispered as I reached out, placing my hand gently on his cheek. Then, most terrible of all, he lifted his face and opened his swollen, bloodshot eyes. I could see the raw pain inside, the tears on the verge of overflowing, but most worrying was the rage I could feel beneath it all; rage and a potent mix of hatred and fear. My tears came then as I held him to me, feeling his body racked with the release of his own. Over his shoulder I saw Trent turn away, then a murmur from the other room as he made a call. When Turner was calmer I sat back from him, then turned to look at Trent who had rejoined us.

  “Has he had any treatment?”

  “What I ordered him to have, but he accepted the bare minimum. He refused anything else. Stanton’s on his way now.”

  Stanton and Lawson, or Mrs Stanton, or whatever she was choosing to call herself now, arrived within a couple of minutes, by which time I’d told Turner they were on the way to look after him, and as they got to work Trent and I waited in the sitting room.

  Turner was eventually brought out of his room by Stanton, and though he didn’t look much better, his cuts had been cleaned and dressed again, and Stanton told us he’d been dosed up on strong painkillers.

  “Turner,” I said, “we’re having a gathering in the office which you need to be at. You’re part of this estate and we need you there, even if it’s only for a brief time.”

  “I can’t go, I let everyone down.” His head dropped again and I could feel his humiliation.

  Trent said, “You haven’t let anyone down, Turner, you were targeted. They took you because of your skills, but if you hadn’t been there they would have found someone else to barter – someone else who was alone.” He looked at me. “It could have been Emma. She was nearest to you in the woods, and she was separated from the others...it could have been her.”

  I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. That hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  Trent continued, “We should have made sure that none of the pilots were isolated, Turner. I’m sorry we let you down.”

  “Will you come with us, Turner?” I asked. “You should be with your friends.”

  The briefest of nods, and I took his hand as I led him from the flat and we went back with Stanton and Lawson to the office.

  The noise that rose to welcome Turner’s entrance was enthusiastic. I hoped he wasn’t going to find it too overwhelming. I stayed close to him while the first few came to greet him, then stood back as he was gradually drawn into the room, making his way to a seat where he remained for the evening surrounded by his friends, although he was quiet and withdrawn.

  “I think we’re going to have some difficulties ahead with him,” Trent muttered.

  It appeared that this meeting was being held as some sort of informal debrief. The children were sent to bed and we all settled down. With Sharpe making notes in the background, Cavendish outlined the set-up for the attack on us which unfortunately drew attention back to Turner, though Cavendish dwelt on this part as briefly as possible.

  Everyone told their bit of the story as it went along, although there were regular interruptions for questions, additions and clarifications. Eventually it became clear that the attack on the Manor had merely been a diversion for the true goal – the kidnap of Grace and the children. The men who had taken Turner had seen that they were at the stables, so from then on everything had moved fast because while the family were divided it
made it easier for the kidnap to take place.

  Carlton and I then started on our part. I explained our escape on the horses, and remembering the man who had intercepted us I thanked whoever it was who had killed him. I looked round to see who was taking the credit, but saw only blank faces. I’d assumed the shot had come from someone on the roof of the Manor, but was told the distance was far too far for that level of accuracy. There was some pondering on this mystery, the consensus being that it must have been some sort of friendly fire incident, but that didn’t rest easy with me. It hadn’t felt like that; it had felt like an execution, but Cavendish concluded that the ballistics report would shed further light on to it when it came back, and we moved on.

  The final part, but the bit which to me was the most important, was an update on the known whereabouts of the organisation’s members. Cavendish had received a briefing prior to this gathering, and intel had been received proving Anatoly and Orlov were already back in their own country. As they were the leaders, it could be assumed the same applied to the rest of the gang. Trent whispered “I told you so” and I smiled in response.

  It was late by the time we got to the end. I was exhausted, drained from the emotion of having to think about it all again, but pleased at the same time that I’d managed to get through it and it was over.

  Though the security level remained heightened, the estate stood down from its high alert status, but this didn’t make me feel any less anxious.

  The week became hotter and more humid as it progressed, making sleeping difficult and the days sticky and uncomfortable. I didn’t want to go riding yet. Well, I did want to ride; but I didn’t want to be out on my own. I tried taking Regan into the arena, but couldn’t concentrate. I jumped at every moving branch that caught the corner of my eye, every noise. Even the rock-steady fellow beneath me became twitchy, so I soon returned to the stables. Trent sauntered over from the cottage as I untacked.

  “That didn’t take long,” he commented. I responded casually that Regan wasn’t going right; obviously the horses needed some recovery time too. Trent didn’t respond, but I felt his eyes following me.

  I resumed the yard routine, thinking that one morning I would get up and find that my anxiety would have subsided, along with the queasiness I felt which I knew was brought on by the nervous energy running through me. When that morning came I knew I’d feel able to ride out again. Ironically my inability to do so only added to my anxiety levels.

  At the end of the week I sat nibbling on my toast, edgy because the back door was open. It was nice to have what little fresh morning air there was in the current heatwave wafting through the door, but I still needed it to be closed. I rose. Trent reached out, placing a restraining hand on my wrist. “Leave it,” he said. I sat, sighing as I pushed the rest of my toast away and picked up my tea instead, not sure I even wanted that. It had been like this all week: Trent opening doors, windows, encouraging me to eat in the garden; me closing and locking the same, and complaining the heat was too much to eat outside.

  When my phone rang, I jumped. It was Carlton who, after asking how I was, casually said, “I thought I might go out for a ride today, wondered if you’d like to join me?” My eyes flicked to Trent’s face as he took his time reading something trivial in the sports section of his paper.

  “Don’t you have something else you should be doing?” I knew full well that, although he enjoyed it, Carlton only rode when he had to.

  “Nope, just kicking my heels, and the idea came to me.”

  Well of course it did. “I’m not sure, Carlton. I don’t think they’re ready to get back into exercise yet.”

  “Oh, come on!” he wheedled as he tried to win me round, and as if to entice me further he added “The first field has been harvested...”, letting that temptation hang in the air between us.

  Sighing deeply, and obviously, I replied with resignation, “Go on then.”

  “Excellent, I’ll see you in ten.” And he was gone.

  “Not very subtle,” I said across the table to Trent.

  “What isn’t?”

  “You arranging for Carlton to ring me to go out riding.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  As I got up to go and get ready, I caught the briefest smile on his lips. It only served to irritate me more.

  I’d tied the horses up outside, and as we tacked up I thought I should confront something I was still pretty ashamed about. I’d seen Carlton a couple of times since Trent had carried me down the steps of the plane, but it either hadn’t been the right time or I hadn’t been capable of talking to him. As I finished tightening Monty’s girth I came out with it, not knowing how best to approach the subject.

  “I’m sorry we left you the other night, Carlton. I feel terrible about it.”

  “It was the right decision,” he replied in his typically offhand fashion.

  “You didn’t even question it?”

  “Why would I? You made the right call. It’s not as if there was a spare horse for me, and I bought you some time to get away, so don’t stress about it.”

  I felt foolish worrying about things the people here seemed to take in their stride, but I still didn’t like the thought of someone risking their life for me. It made me feel indebted.

  Carlton only needed to take one look at me to realise how downcast I was, “Oh, don’t look so miserable! Come here.” And he hugged me, good and hard. “I’m still in one piece, Em,” he said as he let me go, “that’s all that matters.”

  I nodded and, moving to Monty’s head to take off his headcollar, looked up to see Trent watching us from the garden.

  Carlton was fortunately in one of his chatty moods, a good thing because I wasn’t. I knew he was doing it to distract me from the route we were taking; to distract me from noticing the churned-up grass where wheels had spun in acceleration as they came for us up the lane only a few nights earlier; to distract me from the fact that we were riding on the exact same paths, leading in the exact same direction.

  “Did we have to come this way?” I interrupted as I tried to calm Monty into walking in a normal manner instead of jogging sideways in an agitated state, caused, I knew, by my own unease.

  “That’s the direction the stubble field is in,” said Carlton. I felt I would have happily forgone that particular thrill if I could have been heading the opposite way right now.

  There was no one about as we went through the farmyard, and the gates stood open as if we were expected, and Carlton led the way through them and across the road. We’d warmed the horses up already, and as their feet touched the stubble Carlton was already geeing Regan up. “Race you!” He drove his heels into Regan’s sides and, needing no excuse, Regan leapt forward.

  In a futile attempt not to rise to the challenge I hesitated, holding Monty back, feeling his muscles bunching beneath me as his energy built. Realising resistance was useless, I relaxed my hands on the reins and leant forward in readiness as Monty exploded in hot pursuit of Regan. Carlton didn’t stand a chance, but he already knew that. Within seconds we were coming up behind, then drawing level. I heard Carlton’s whoop of joy, or encouragement; I didn’t know which and it didn’t matter. I was back where I needed to be, enjoying being in the moment and with adhrenaline pumping through me, feeling pure ecstasy. We galloped flat out, overtaking the others with ease, Monty’s quality surpassing anything Regan could manage. The hot air cooled on our skin and I started laughing, loving the exhilaration and of feeling free. Slowly bringing Monty’s speed down by doing a large circle at the end of the field, I came back up behind Carlton and fell into line with him again as we gradually calmed our snorting horses, before leaving the field and starting our walk back home.

  Still smiling, I felt much better. The tension I’d suffered all week had been blown away. Leaning towards Carlton, I thanked him.

  “No problem, Em, I wish I could cheer up everyone that easily.” I knew he was talking about Turner.

  “No improvement?”<
br />
  “Physically he’s getting better, the external wounds are healing up well, but it’s the internal ones that everyone’s worried about.”

  I’d heard this from Trent. He’d commented on how withdrawn Turner had become as he struggled with the humiliation of having been taken captive, how useless he’d felt at not being able to fight back, ending up being badly beaten before his captors had made him give them access to the estate. He didn’t seem to realise that it would have been the same for anyone taken. Against those numbers, the odds were not in favour of the captive.

  Trent had been encouraging him to talk to someone, to seek some sort of therapy in the form of a counsellor or psychologist, but Turner had so far proved unwilling, and Trent hadn’t wanted to force the situation. “He’ll go when he’s ready,” he’d told me, “there’s no point in ordering him to go, he’s got to want it too.”

  The horses had calmed by the time we returned to the yard, but were still sweating because of the heat, so granting Carlton his freedom for his good deed, I started to wash both of them down before putting them in their stables for the day.

  As Carlton left Trent came out, holding the keys to his truck. He crossed the yard towards me and I looked up, flashing him a smile. I received one in return as he put his arms around me, seemingly oblivious as to how sweaty I was.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Much better, thanks, feels like I’ve blown off some steam.”

  “Been getting your heart racing again, have you?”

  “Yes.” I grinned, knowing he hated me taking, as he saw it, unnecessary risks.

  “Hmm, I guess it’s worth it...although I’m not too happy that it’s another man that has put that smile on your face.”

  “If you could ride you would have been the one to put it there.”

  “Are you going to be all right if I go up to the Manor for a while? I’ve got a few things to do.” I hesitated. He searched my face, then said, “I can stay...it’s not a problem.”