Lying in Shadows

by Sofia Grey

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, we’re going to get some wine for lunch. We’ll be back soon.”

  Antoine glanced in the back of the car. “Okay.” He hesitated. Did he sense something was wrong? How could he not?

  Sylvie nodded. “When Rico gets here, tell him I’ll call him later. Thanks.” She dragged her gaze back from the frowning guard and looked at Dee. “Let’s get that wine. We don’t want to be late.”

  Dee gave a friendly wave and drove off, picking up speed as soon as they rounded the corner. Moments later, he swerved off the road and stopped behind a row of houses. Nobody was around. The only other vehicle in sight was a large, white panel van. Sylvie was amped up, and ready to fight. Would she get the chance now?

  Dee climbed out of the car and yanked her door open. She felt strangely calm. She didn’t have her hands, but she could still kick the fuck out of him. She didn’t expect him to haul her out by the handcuff chain. She also didn’t expect him to shove her face down in the dirt. Off balance, she landed badly, her hands under her chest, and knocking the air out of her lungs.

  She hauled in a shaky breath as he twisted a handful of her hair around his fist. He tugged hard enough to make her eyes water. Behind them, Louisa shouted for him to stop, but he ignored her.

  “Two things.” He yelled. “One—you’re not a nanny.” He pulled her hair and bent her head up and back. Her neck and shoulders complained.

  “Yes.” She found her voice. “I’m Ted’s nanny. I work for Louisa.”

  “Liar.” He pulled her hair again, and she swore some of it ripped away from her scalp. It fucking hurt. “And two—you’re Rico’s little slut. Did you think I wouldn’t recognise you, Sylvie Woodrow? I heard you trying to warn the guard. I told you what would happen if you fucked me around.” His words sank in, and fear knotted in her chest. This was bad. Very bad.

  “Phone.” He barked the word. “Where’s your fucking phone?”

  “I don’t have it.” She had to force the words out. “I left it charging in the house. Check my bag, if you don’t believe me.” She felt her tiny shoulder bag being snatched, the strap tearing. The contents tumbled to the ground beside her. Key. Tissues. Lip balm. Then the little leather bag itself. Sylvie hauled in a shaky breath. Did he buy it?

  “Stay here,” he ordered. “Move a muscle, and you’ll regret it.”

  She heard Louisa cry out and Ted wail, and she lifted her head. The kick to her side made her howl. Pain exploded through her, and tears sprang to her eyes. Jesus. She wanted to throw up.

  “I owed you, for two broken ribs, you little bitch.”

  His words didn’t make sense. She wanted to curl in a ball but didn’t dare move. She tried to breathe. To focus on the air going in and out of her lungs. Dazed, she didn’t struggle when he half-carried, half-dragged her into the back of the van and tossed her to the floor. She landed with another thump that jolted the air from her chest.

  Helpless, she watched as Dee snapped a short length of chain to her cuffs. It was welded to the floor of the van and meant she had no room to move. Nearby, Louisa sat on a wooden bench, Ted on her knees. Metal glinting on Louisa’s wrists meant she was similarly restrained.

  Dee stood by the open door. “This is your last warning,” he said. “Try anything, and Marcus will die. And it won’t be quick. Believe me.”

  Seconds later, the van lurched away.

  Sylvie prayed Rico would understand her garbled message and use her phone to track them. As chances went, it was so slim, it could be anorexic, but it was the best they had.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Alex tried not to fidget, while the barber tidied his goatee and trimmed his hair. Frankie’s assistants ran back and forth with one outfit after another, but Alex refused them all. He was sticking with his black jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket. It was the only style he was comfortable with. He wanted to get the conference over and get the fuck out of London.

  He didn’t give a damn that Frankie had lined up interviews and photo sessions later. Rhosneigr called to him, and he could get back this evening. His time with Sylvie was running out, like grains of sand in an egg-timer. He could practically count the days, and he didn’t want to miss any of them.

  He blanked out all the preparations for the conference and allowed himself to be led to his chair on the raised platform. Cameras clicked and flashed, spotlights rained down, and “Another Day” blared in the background. It was the same as the previous thousand conferences. He could do this in his sleep.

  Charlie and Mick grinned and joked, and Alex settled on a moody smile. He wasn’t known for saying much. Frankie read the short statement and announced the headlines. Event Horizon were playing a charity gig after Christmas, then embarking on a major reunion tour in the New Year. Britain and Europe were first, then the U.S., and they’d reach Asia and Down Under by the end of the year. There was no decision yet about a permanent replacement on bass.

  Sylvie had been amazing at Kate’s party. What were the chances he could persuade her to join the band full time? A hopeless daydream flashed through his brain, like a series of disjointed images. Sylvie playing on stage by his side. Sylvie marrying him. Having his children. Sharing his life. Yeah, right. She was in love with Rico, and Alex refused to mess with that.

  The reality was that, if Sylvie took Sam’s place on a permanent basis, he’d have to watch her do all those things he dreamed of, but with Rico. A guy he liked and respected. To have her close and yet unattainable at the same time would fuck with Alex’s head worse than anything ever before.

  Lost in thought, he answered the bare minimum of questions, and was taken aback when Frankie announced it was over. They’d been in the conference for an hour. An assistant asked if he was ready to go. Fuck yeah. It was hard work, not sprinting for the exit.

  He bumped fists with Charlie and Mick, and then headed back to his suite. He’d be out of here within ten minutes, and on the way out of the city in the next half an hour. His heart felt lighter than it had all day.

  Had Sylvie replied to his text yet? He dug into his pocket for his phone, and a string of text messages flashed up. He scanned them while striding towards the elevator. Jordan, Rico, Aiden, and Kate. They all said the same message.

  Phone Jordan or Rico – URGENT

  What the fuck now?

  He dialled Jordan, who answered immediately. “I’m at the office. Can you get over here? We have a situation.”

  Jordan refused to tell him anything else. It was easier to leap in a cab than fight through the traffic with no idea where to park. He called home.

  Sylvie didn’t reply, so he tried Kate next. She answered, sounding breathless. “Have you spoken to Jordan or Rico yet?” she asked right away, and dread coiled in his stomach.

  “Yes, but Jordan wouldn’t say what’s wrong. I’m on my way to see him now. What’s going on?”

  It sounded like Kate choked back a sob. “We think Louisa and Ted have been kidnapped. With Sylvie.”

  “Wait—what?”

  “Louisa had a friend come for lunch. A man she met a few weeks back. They all went out, supposedly to buy wine, and haven’t come back yet. That was hours ago.”

  “Why do you think kidnapping?”

  “The security guard on the gate was suspicious and went to search for the guy’s car. He found it abandoned a mile away, and along with heavy tyre tracks in the dirt, he found Sylvie’s little handbag, and a couple of Poppy’s Lego bricks.”

  “Go on.” He had to force the words out.

  Kate swallowed. “When I described Lou’s friend, Rico sent me some images to look at. Rico knows him. He’s the guy they think set fire to Sylvie’s house.”

  “Fuck.” Alex was glad he was sitting down. “Is there a ransom demand?” A hundred movie plots flashed through his head. “If they want money, I can pay. Whatever they ask for.” Christ. The idea of Sylvie being held by the guy that tried to kill her was unthinkable. With Lou and the kid. This was a bad dre
am. It had to be.

  The cab couldn’t get to the Canary Wharf office quick enough. Alex paid the fare and hurried into the lobby. The red-haired P.A. he remembered from his last visit waited for him and escorted him up to the top floor and into Marcus’s office. He glanced around at the people there. Jordan, Rico, and Aiden.

  Rico gestured to a chair. “Sit down, Alex. We have bad news.”

  He didn’t move. Couldn’t. In the minutes since he spoke to Kate, did things get worse? His lungs were too tight to draw breath, but he made himself speak. “Kate told me. Is there news?”

  “You know about Louisa being taken with Ted and Sylvie?”

  Alex nodded.

  Rico’s lips thinned to a narrow line. “Jordan received a text message about Marcus. He was taken too.”

  Marcus? It wasn’t more news about Sylvie. Was that good or bad? It looked as though Rico waited for him to respond, so he nodded again. “Right.”

  “So I went to check out Marianne’s apartment a short while ago. I’m sorry, Alex. There were signs of a struggle. Blood on the floor. Our best guess is she’s with Marcus.”

  Maz too. Holy fuck. “You called the police, right?”

  Jordan shook his head. “Not after seeing this.” Jordan handed over his phone.

  Alex noted the lines of strain on Jordan’s face, and then stared at the screen.

  Marcus, broken and bleeding, a gun at his head. The accompanying message was unambiguous.

  If you call the police, he dies. Wait for instructions.

  Something didn’t add up. “This can’t be the same person. The others were taken from Rhosneigr, but Maz was in her apartment. What the fuck’s going on?”

  Aiden spoke up. “It looks as though Louisa and the others are on the way to London. They’re connected. We’ve no doubt about that.”

  “How do you know that? Did the kidnapper contact you? I told Kate, I’ll give whatever ransom money they ask for.”

  “Thank you for that. It means a lot,” said Jordan.

  “How much do they want?” Alex asked.

  “They haven’t asked for anything yet. Sylvie managed to leave me a message, of sorts.” There was a hint of a proud smile on Rico’s face. “Her phone is still switched on, and we’re tracking it through the network. If they are coming to London, they should be here in a couple of hours.”

  “That’s great. Can’t you—I dunno—intercept the car? Set up a roadblock or something?”

  “I’m afraid not,” replied Aiden. “We don’t know what vehicle they’re in, and we can only narrow down the location to within a few hundred metres. That’s still a lot of cars. And trucks. We have to wait for them to make contact.”

  * * * *

  Marianne lost track of time. She vaguely remembered a short drive in a van, but with her hands tied and a blanket over her head, it was difficult to be sure of any details.

  She was still with Marcus and they’d been moved to what felt like a basement room. It had the chill of somewhere underground and had no windows. It was small, with stained white tiles on the floor and walls, and a saggy, damp bed in the centre. She and Marcus were handcuffed and chained to the old-fashioned iron frame, with limited movement. They had a bottle of drinking water and a yellow plastic bucket—presumably their toilet. She shuddered at the thought of using it.

  When they first arrived, Marianne thought Marcus was dead. He lay still and lifeless, dried blood caked down one side of his face, and both eyes swollen. With her heart racing so fast she felt faint, she tried to find his pulse or breath. She found a faint trace of his heartbeat, and sagged over his body. He was alive.

  She patted his cheek gently. “Marcus, baby, wake up. Please, wake up.”

  Why were they kidnapped? It made no sense. Neither of them were wealthy or came from a rich family. Could it have something to do with the problems at TM-Tech? But how could this be related?

  Well, duh. They knew she was his mistress. She’d bet anything they were behind the photographs of her with Marcus. And the fake email from Rico. So yes, it was related. Somehow.

  That knowledge didn’t help. This might be the same adversary who set fire to Sylvie’s house, thinking she was asleep there at the time. Dear God. What would happen to them?

  She nuzzled against Marcus and tried to wake him again. If he was concussed, it was dangerous to leave him asleep.

  He groaned and flickered his eyelids. His left eye was swollen shut, but the right one opened. It was bloodshot. “Marianne?” he whispered. “What the fuck happened?”

  Relief washed over her. He was conscious. He could talk.

  “We’ve been kidnapped. I don’t know where we are.” Her eyes filled up, and she kissed him gently on the forehead. “Oh, babe... I thought they killed you.”

  “My head hurts.” He sounded surprised. “Did they hurt you?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Did they say anything?” His words slurred, and Marianne’s fear returned. He might have a serious head injury. The image of the man pistol-whipping him was stuck at the front of her brain.

  “Feel sick,” he mumbled.

  Marianne lunged for the bucket. She got it to him in time, but it was dry heaves. She didn’t know whether that was a good or bad thing.

  “Have a sip of water.” She unscrewed the top from the bottle, lifted it to his lips, and waited until he took a drink.

  There wasn’t anything else they could do. She wrapped herself around him and tried to keep him warm.

  It felt like hours later, when the door opened. Marianne lifted her head, fear pulsing like liquid electricity through her veins. Marcus was unconscious again, lying with his head in her lap.

  Don’t be passive, she told herself. Don’t be a victim. It was difficult to be anything else, but she’d try. “Are you going to release us?” She put as much attitude into her voice as she could.

  “Wake your boyfriend,” said Balaclava Man. “We have something he is to see.” That thick accent again. Middle Eastern?

  “He’s asleep. You hurt him.” She paused to gather her courage. “Show me.”

  A phone was put in front of her, and she stared at the blurry image, trying to make sense of it. That woman was Louisa. The little boy on her lap must be Ted. Marianne blinked and stared again. Louisa sat on a low bench, a chain attaching her wrists to the wall behind her.

  Holy Mary, mother of God. If Marianne thought things were bad before, they were suddenly a whole lot worse.

  “Wake him,” said the man, more loudly, “or I will.”

  She stroked Marcus’s poor damaged face and coaxed him to wake up. It seemed to take forever before he groaned and opened one puffy eye.

  “Marcus, they have Louisa and Ted.” Her voice cracked on the child’s name.

  “If you hurt my wife or my son—so help me—I’ll fucking kill you.” Marcus’s voice came out as a croak. “They haven’t done anything. Take me, but for fuck’s sake, please don’t hurt them.”

  “Why are you telling us?” asked Marianne. She rubbed at the tears that threatened to leak from her eyes. “What the fuck can we do from here? You need to let us go. We won’t go to the police. If you want money, I’ll get it. Whatever you need.”

  “We need him to understand”—Balaclava Man paused and glanced at the phone in his hand, as though reading a script—“this is what retribution looks like.”

  * * * *

  Sylvie couldn’t stop thinking of what Dee said when he kicked her. He owed her for two broken ribs. It made no sense. If she’d injured someone to that extent, she’d remember it. Was he confusing her with someone else? No. He knew her name. She tried not to shudder. He knew Rico.

  Like a lightbulb flickering to life, a memory danced in front of her. A darkened alley. Two men in the shadows. She kicked one of them into the wall. Was this him? Rico said he saw Darius Gibson that night—the man he helped put away for selling TM-Tech secrets last time.

  Darius. Dee. She wanted to smack her forehead. And L
ouisa invited him in.

  “Lou”—she kept her voice low, and hopefully drowned out by the noise of the van on the road—”tell me again how you met Dee.”

  Louisa lifted her tear-stained face and hugged Ted closer. The child dozed, his head against her shoulder. “I was shopping in London, and my wallet was stolen, with my phone inside. I ordered lunch in a restaurant and couldn’t pay the bill. I didn’t know what to do; I couldn’t call Marcus. Dee was sitting at a nearby table. He offered to help.” Her mouth twisted, and fresh tears glistened on her lashes. “We bonded over a cup of Earl Grey. He lent me the money for a cab and gave me his business card. I mailed him back to say thank you, and we mailed a couple of times. He’s from Houston, and I thought he was a friend.”

  “I bet he’s the one who took your wallet in the first place.”

  “I’m such a fool. A stupid, desperate fool.” Louisa blinked furiously.

  “No. He’s clever, and he played you.”

  “What can we do?” Louisa bowed her head. “I’m scared.”

  “I’m scared too, but we’re going to get out of here.” Sylvie shunted herself as close to Louisa as the chain would allow. It wasn’t enough. “Now, listen to me. My phone is inside my left boot, but I can’t reach it. Can you?”

  “But what about Marcus? If Dee finds out, he’ll kill him.”

  “He might kill us all anyway.”

  Louisa gasped, her eyes wide.

  Sylvie could have kicked herself. “I don’t think he is going to. If that’s what he planned, why drive us wherever we’re going?”

  Louisa stretched out, but her fingertips could only brush over Sylvie’s toes. Getting any higher was impossible, with them chained up in these positions.

  “I’ve got a knife as well, in my right boot. It’s held by my sock. When we stop, if you have chance to bump into me, try to grab the knife and get it into my hands. Okay?”

  It was hard to gauge how much time passed, but from how every muscle in her body ached, Sylvie figured she’d been lying on the floor of the van for a few hours. Motorway travel too, since it went mostly at a constant speed, with only gentle bends. The last hour or so was more likely to be city traffic, with lots of stops and starts. How far did they travel?