by Sofia Grey
Chapter Thirty
Having Marcus living with her already felt normal to Marianne. They could go to work together. Go home together. It was good. And two days in, the sex was still as hot, even without the sneaking around.
On Tuesday morning, there was a knock on the door as they were getting up. Marianne glanced at Marcus, puzzled. It was barely six thirty. It had to be Rico. Marcus tugged on a T-shirt and boxers and went to answer the door, while Marianne pulled on her bathrobe. Coffee was needed. She headed for the kitchen cupboard and the jar of ground coffee.
She heard the sound of the key turning in the lock, then a loud thump. She spun on her toes. The door was wide open, two men barging in. They were dressed in black, with ski-masks covering their faces. Oh God. They carried guns. Her heart lurched. One of the men hit Marcus in the face with his pistol, and then the door slammed shut again. It happened so fast, she could hardly process it.
A scream dying on her lips, she dropped the coffee jar, and the grains scattered in a shower of brown grit. Marcus slumped to the floor, and Marianne leapt forwards. Ignoring the men, she dropped to her knees by his side. His eyes were closed, and blood poured down one side of his face.
She managed to speak. “What do you want? Money? My laptop? I don’t have anything else.” They had to be robbers. “Please, take what you want and go. Leave us alone.” Her voice came out as a croak, her throat constricted with fear.
One man grabbed her by the arm, digging his fingers painfully into the flesh. He hauled her up, but she struggled. She wasn’t leaving Marcus. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lift his head, and that was when the second man kicked him in the stomach.
“Leave him. Please. What do you want?” she asked.
The man holding her spoke, his voice heavily accented. “Where are your phones? Get your phones.”
He released her, and she stumbled into the bedroom. The phones were by the bed, and she scooped them up. The man stood in the doorway, his dark eyes following her every move.
“Here.” She held them out.
“Which is yours?”
“This one.” She touched it.
“Pin?”
She tried to see past him. See what they were doing to Marcus.
“What are your pin numbers?” He yelled the words, and she jumped.
She stammered out the digits to access her phone. She’d never been robbed and had nothing to compare this to. It didn’t feel right, though. Why didn’t they grab her stuff and go?
“His number,” barked the man.
Marianne hesitated. She knew Marcus’s unlock code—she’d seen him type it often enough—but maybe she could feign ignorance. “I don’t know. Use mine. Please go.”
“We need his. Tell me, or I hurt you.”
Marcus groaned on the floor. The sound made her feel sick. What would they do to her? Her knees trembled, but she tried again, putting every ounce of disdain she could manage into her voice. “I told you, I don’t—”
“You’re his mistress. You know everything.” He snatched her hand and pressed it against the wall. Even his hands were covered, she noted. Fine, black gloves. “Tell me, which finger do I break?”
Her heart beat so hard she thought she’d black out. Dear God, she wanted to throw up. “No,” she croaked. “I’ll tell you.” She rattled off the numbers, and the man finally released her hand. Before she could move, he lifted her phone and snapped her picture. The first man was busy snapping pictures of Marcus.
She was right; this was no robbery. Could she shout for help? Who would hear her? Where was Rico? Were there men in his apartment too?
“Get clothes for him. Now.” She didn’t see which one gave the order, but she complied. With shaking hands, she blindly pulled jeans and a hoodie out of the closet. A pair of sneakers. The man snatched them from her. “Now you dress.”
What? While he watched? She clutched the bathrobe more tightly, acutely aware she was naked underneath.
“Or you can go like that.” The man smirked, and she hated him. Hated what he and his accomplice were doing. How scared she was. How worried that Marcus was hurt.
No. She wouldn’t show him how frightened she was. She found panties and her own jeans, and pulled them up her legs. Turning her back, she slipped out of the robe and pulled a turtleneck sweater on. She picked up low-heeled boots.
“Where are you taking us?” Her voice quavered. She knew the bastard was laughing at her.
There was a footstep behind her, something crashed into her head, and the world greyed out.
* * * *
Sylvie was convinced something was going to happen to Rico. The nightmares freaked her out and played on her mind during the day. She couldn’t stay up here any longer.
When Tuesday morning came around, she asked Alex if she could go with him to London, but he refused to take her. Instead, he delivered her to Kate’s. Did he think she’d try to stow away in his car or something? She almost snapped at him but saw the tension lining his face.
Monday had been awful. They’d sniped at each other like an old married couple. She found an empty vodka bottle in the garbage and worried he was drinking too much again. He said it was none of her business. She had the nightmare again that night, and woke sobbing and disoriented in the kitchen. Alex was there in seconds, ready to hold her while she wept in his arms.
Sylvie didn’t know how she’d have coped without him. She’d miss him, though he’d only be gone a couple of days. “I’m sorry,” she said, and gave him a hug.
He squeezed her. He had to be nervous about the press conference, even if he refused to admit it. “Good luck today. I’m looking forward to reading about it in the papers.”
“Thanks.” She thought he was about to say something, but then Kate spoke behind Sylvie, and the moment was gone.
Louisa looked brighter, and Sylvie recalled a conversation from a few days ago. “Is that guy from London coming for lunch today?”
“Yes. His name is Dee. He was so kind to me that day my wallet was stolen.”
“What’s he doing up in Wales?”
Louisa peered into the mirror over the fireplace and fiddled with her hair. “He’s in the UK for a conference, and he’s taking a few days vacation before he goes back.” She turned to smile at Sylvie. “Did I tell you he’s from Houston too? It was good to catch up with someone from home.”
“And he’s coming all this way for lunch?”
“No, that’d be silly. He’s doing some research into his family tree and visiting the records office in Bangor, on the mainland. When he mentioned it in his email, it seemed like a great idea to invite him for lunch. I want Marcus to hear about this, okay?”
“I suppose.” The last thing Sylvie felt like was being polite to strangers, but she’d try to play nicely. She didn’t want to take part in Louisa’s charade to make Marcus jealous. She didn’t want to be there at all. Maybe she could go outside and chat with the security team. They served in the marines with Rico and would be far more interesting to talk to than some history fanatic.
She walked a perimeter check with Jack, the friendliest of the three, and he talked about the security firm he ran with Tanner and Rico. Doing a little bodyguard work like this was a nice break from their usual contracts. They implemented a lot of security measures for corporate entities and ran threat assessments. She sensed the deep loyalty that ran between the men.
“That must be Louisa’s friend.” Sylvie pointed at the grey car cruising slowly up the drive at the same time as Jack’s earpiece crackled.
“Roger that,” he replied into the near-invisible microphone. “Yep,” he said to Sylvie. “That’s him. You’d better go and say hello.”
She hung out with Jack a little longer, but when it started to rain, he shooed her back inside the house. She headed for the kitchen, where Kate was setting the table for lunch, and she went to help.
“What’s he like?” she asked Kate. “Lou’s friend.”
“Jeez. I had t
o escape. He’s got the personality of a wet dishcloth, and that’s being rude to dishcloths. He told me in intricate detail every step he took to track down one record. Every. Step. You need to go rescue her. Tell them we eat in fifteen minutes.”
Sylvie walked towards the lounge and wondered how Alex was doing. He should be in London by now, getting ready for the press conference. Her stomach was tied in knots today. Far worse than ever before. She couldn’t wait until Rico and Alex were home again.
She heard the happy buzz of chatter from Poppy and Ted, and paused in the open doorway when she caught a glimpse of Lou’s friend. Yup, exactly as she might imagine. Dee was a dowdy-looking middle-aged man, with a bald patch on top. His side was to her, as he faced Louisa. Sylvie lifted her hand to tap on the door but froze.
“I think you need to see this,” he said in a drawling Texas voice, and passed a phone to Louisa.
“Oh my God.” Louisa clapped a hand to her mouth, her face ashen. “Marcus.”
She looked as though her world just fell apart, and Sylvie knew something was very wrong. Every instinct told her to run. Get help. Tell Jack. She didn’t want to leave Lou alone, though.
Dee smiled at Louisa. “You’re going to take a little trip with me and bring your son. If you mess with me, even the slightest amount—try to warn your friend or your security team—your husband will die.”
“Who are you? What have you done?” Louisa whispered. “Please don’t hurt him.”
Running for help would take time, and Sylvie had the element of surprise on her side. Dee had no idea she stood a few feet away. She took a deep, calming breath and prepared to launch at him and knock him to the floor, but then he bent down and picked up Ted. The boy squawked at being held by a stranger, and Sylvie’s plan evaporated. She couldn’t risk hurting Ted.
She needed a Plan B. And fast.
****
Alex was exhausted and fed up, but sober. He didn’t drink at all on Monday night, in readiness for the long drive to London. The Beemer flew along the quiet roads, while he listened to Sylvie’s playlist and tried to put himself in the right frame of mind. Alex Hamilton had to recede, while the cocky, arrogant AJ came forward. He sometimes wondered if this was how schizophrenia felt.
He arrived at the Savoy in plenty of time for his meeting with Maz. He didn’t think of it as a lunch date. It was a chance to make a clean break from something he should never have resurrected. What a fool he was, to think he could wipe out the past ten years and pick up where they left off.
She was so different, she could be another person. And he was different too. His reckless, live-fast-die-young attitude was obliterated the day Sam died. The day shit got real.
It nagged at him that he trusted Maz, and she still cheated on him. There was no doubt in his mind that while she promised to start a new relationship with him, she was happily fucking Marcus.
Maybe he was fundamentally incapable of forming a solid relationship with anyone. Christ knew he’d seen enough shrinks over the years. Unresolved issues, they said. Emotional detachment. In other words, he was a selfish bastard.
He climbed out of the car, grabbed his overnight bag, and tossed the keys to the valet parking service. “Good morning, Mr. Hamilton,” said the valet. So much for the anonymity of arriving early.
“Is there a back way in to Reception?” Alex asked.
The guy nodded “We have someone waiting on the door for you, sir.” He pointed to the side entrance, and Alex saw a young woman in hotel livery, clutching a clipboard and wearing a dazzled expression.
“Thanks.” He dug into his wallet and handed over a twenty-pound note as a tip, then shouldered his bag and headed inside.
Five minutes later, he was in the suite he’d booked, and still with two hours to kill before he had to meet the others. He’d left instructions that Maz was to be admitted to his suite on arrival, and she should be here any time now.
The minibar held a good selection of alcohol, and he contemplated whether it was too early to have a drink. It would make it easier to talk with Maz, and relax him for the conference. A memory of Sylvie’s anxious face popped into his head, the moment she found the empty vodka bottle. She worried about his drinking. Worried about him. It made him want to abstain, for the moment anyway.
He dug out his phone and gazed at the screen. Maz would be arriving soon. It had to be half-an-hour journey to the TM-Tech office, but she hadn’t said anything about needing to meet later. Maybe he should text her, to check she was on her way?
He opened the text app and saw Sylvie’s name at the top. She’d sent a message wishing him luck. He hovered his fingers over the screen as he tried not to reply. He didn’t last long.
Thanks. I might go car shopping later. What do you think of the Hummer?
He was sure she’d reply instantly, with some disparaging comment or other, but she didn’t. Odd, but he had to remember Sylvie had a life outside him.
Glancing at the phone again, he saw it was twelve-twenty, and there was no sign of Maz yet. He should text her.
You still coming?
No reply, and according to his phone, it had been read. Perhaps she was downstairs and with the receptionist right now.
What exactly was he going to say to her? He didn’t know. Nothing lame. Nothing along the lines of I thought you loved me. He was above such things.
Still no reply, and it was now twelve-thirty. This was rude. He sighed, dialled Jordan, and lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he said to the voicemail. “I was supposed to be seeing Maz before the conference, but she hasn’t showed. Don’t suppose you know what time she left work? Cheers.”
Jordan called him back a minute later. “Hey. We haven’t seen her this morning. Both she and Marcus sent messages to say they were taking the day off. It’s annoying, as we had to reschedule meetings at short notice. She was supposed to be seeing you too?”
“Yeah. I’ll live without her. Thanks, man.”
They confirmed the travel details for tomorrow, and Alex disconnected. With the silent phone in his fist, he walked to the huge picture window and pressed his forehead against the glass. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the peace and quiet of Rhosneigr right now...
* * * *
Every nerve ending chilled, and Sylvie thought fast. She carried the knife, tucked inside her right boot, and now she flicked her phone to silent and shoved it inside the left boot. Rico told her boots were a great place to conceal things. She hoped he was right. She didn’t dare put them inside the tiny bag over her shoulder.
Sylvie plastered a smile on her face and walked confidently into the lounge, knocking on the door as she went.
Ted crowed at her and held his arms out. “Suze. Suze,” he cried, and she had a blast of inspiration.
“Hi, Mrs. Reeve. Kate wanted me to tell you lunch is almost ready.” She turned to Dee and reached for the child. “May I take Ted? He doesn’t like being held by strangers.” With the smile fixed to her face, she tried to sound natural. “I’m Suze, the nanny.” Dee narrowed his eyes, but she stood her ground and pretended that everything was really okay. She daren’t look at the terror on Louisa’s face.
The man handed Ted over. “Suze.” Dee rolled the name around. “You can come too. We’re going for a little drive.”
Shit. Why didn’t she run for the security team? What on earth possessed her to come in here? Another bad decision coming back to bite her in the ass.
Ted clung to her like a limpet, pressing his face against her neck. Poppy carried on playing with her plastic bricks, puzzled but not crying. For the love of God, thought Sylvie, don’t make a noise. Don’t bring Kate in here as well.
As though he read her mind, Dee gazed at Poppy, then snapped his attention back to Louisa. “First we write a note for your friend, Kate.” He handed a cheap notebook and pen to Louisa. “Tell her we went to the stores, back in ten minutes, and not to worry.”
Louisa stared at the pen, as though she didn’t know how to use it.
Her hands shook so much that she dropped the paper, and Dee made an exasperated noise. “Do you want your husband back? Write me that note, Louisa. Now.”
She scribbled wildly, nothing like her usual tidy script, and held out the note to him. He glanced at it and nodded. “Put it on the table, and then walk out of here quietly with me. One noise, one warning, and your husband dies. Got that?”
“Yes.”
If Sylvie was really the nanny, she’d be confused by Dee’ words. She turned a shocked face to him. “What’s happening? Is Mr. Reeve okay?”
“He will be, but if I don’t check in at fifteen-minute intervals, they will kill him. I suggest you both cooperate.”
“I need Ted’s jacket,” said Sylvie. Ignoring Dee, she walked to the sofa, picked up his little hoodie, and scooped up a pile of plastic bricks and cars to stuff in her pocket.
Dee held Louisa’s arm and guided them outside through the French windows, onto the damp grass. His car was a few steps away, and he ushered Louisa into the back seat. “Suze will sit with me in the front. The child can go in the back.”
Sylvie might get a chance to attack now, when Ted was handed to Louisa. Adrenaline flooded her system, and she tensed, ready to strike, but didn’t get the opportunity. Dee shoved her from behind when she climbed into the car. Before she knew it, he’d snapped handcuffs over her wrists and used Ted’s hoodie to conceal them. She gazed at them, stumped. In all the training she’d done with Rico, she always had her hands free. What would Rico do right now?
Dee drove the car slowly towards the gate, and he glanced at Sylvie. “Make this look suspicious, and Marcus is a dead man. Don’t think of trying anything.”
Antoine waited at the gatepost and approached the car as it slowed. Dee pushed a button, and Sylvie’s window rolled down.
She had to say something. Give a message, but make it sound normal. What could she say? She swallowed and sought inspiration. She thought again. What would Rico do?
Antoine bent to the open window. “Everything okay, ma’am?”