Crossfire

by Malorie Blackman

  Liberty Alba.

  The path I’d taken since Callie and I broke up for good and I left school was so different to the one I originally envisaged. It was the new path that had inspired my daughter’s name.

  In the months that followed, for Liberty’s sake, I tried to make it work with Misty, I really did. Misty and Liberty moved in with my family. Less than six months later, it was obvious that Misty and I were water thrown on burning oil – a total disaster. I was at uni and trying to make that work. Misty couldn’t understand why I had no money left from my legacy windfall from Callie’s Nana Jasmine and she hated that I was studying all the time instead of hustling to replace all the money I’d given away. After six months, Misty moved back to her mum’s house, taking Liberty with her. Because I didn’t go running after her, she refused to let me see my daughter. And, I admit, I didn’t put up much of a fight about that. At that time, I had nothing to offer either of them. It wasn’t until years later, when I finally managed to find my feet, that I set up a trust fund for my daughter. And even then Misty still refused to let me see Liberty.

  ‘She doesn’t know you. Your sudden appearance in her life would just confuse her,’ she told me.

  I didn’t argue. Not like I should’ve done. I told myself that Misty was right. One year turned into five, turned into ten. I paid more money into Libby’s trust fund so she wouldn’t go without, but that’s all I did for her. And now my daughter had written to me.

  Dear Dad,

  It feels a bit strange to write that word when I’ve never been able to call you that to your face. I’ve only just learned that you’re my dad. Mum always told me that my dad couldn’t care less about us. I only found out the truth because I intercepted a letter the bank wrote to me about the trust fund you set up for me. Mum has spent all the money, but I don’t even care so much about that, not if it means that you and I can finally meet and get to know each other. I know you’re a very busy man, but I’m hoping you’ll be able to find time for me in your life. My email address is above and my mobile number is below. I’m crossing my fingers that you’ll get in touch.

  Your daughter,

  Liberty

  Daughter …

  That word meant something completely different now than it did when I was still a teenager. Then it had meant worry and despair and fear, and an intense sense of being tethered to the ground. Hell, not just tethered but staked. Now it meant … hope. Hope that I could turn some of my focus without rather than within. Hope that I could grow bigger to meet her expectations rather than shrink and shrivel to fulfil my own. Dangerous word, hope.

  Liberty. She might just live up to her name and set me free. Free of my cynicism and misanthropy. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Of course I’d get in touch with her. What was she like? Did she take after me? Her mum? Both of us? Neither? Was she popular at school? I bet she was. I shook my head, acutely aware in that moment of how little I knew about my own daughter. That bitch Misty had told me Libby wanted nothing to do with me. I’d sent birthday and Crossmas cards and a number of letters over the years. None of them had ever been so much as acknowledged. This email made me think Libby hadn’t received a single one of them. And all the trust-fund money was gone? My lawyers could deal with that and Misty later. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to get to know my daughter.

  I was already in full planning mode. During the next couple of days, I’d get in touch with Libby and arrange a meeting. Then we’d take it from there. I needed to make up for lost time. Almost eighteen years of lost time. But, before that, I had to get through this bullshit evening.

  ‘Would you like me to wait for you, sir?’ asked Ben, my driver, as he pulled up in front of Butler’s Wharf.

  I looked up at the riverside apartment building before me – all twenty storeys of it – and was sorely tempted to say yes. I really wasn’t in the mood for socializing. With less than one week to go before the general election, I had more productive things to do with my time. For Shaka’s sake, I had three interviews – two radio and one TV – lined up for the following morning, all before 11 a.m.

  ‘No, Ben. That’s OK. You go and get yourself some dinner,’ I replied.

  Ben, a Nought in his late fifties with white-blond hair and a trim matching moustache, nodded his head. ‘Just phone when you’re ready to be picked up, sir.’

  How many times had I asked Ben to call me Tobey rather than sir, but I was still waiting for that to happen. Getting out of the car, I made my way to the apartment-block entrance. Dan’s penthouse occupied the whole of the top floor of this exclusive block. In the centre of the city, with the east aspect overlooking the river, it must’ve have set him back several million – conservative estimate! To think that, only a decade ago, I’d been visiting him in prison. Now look where I was visiting him. I pressed the button of the video entry system to his apartment. Almost immediately the tempered glass doors clicked open. I made my way inside.

  Up on the twentieth floor, I stepped out of the lift to find Dan’s door was already open. A deep breath later, I entered his apartment. I wasn’t the first to arrive, but, from the look of it, I wasn’t the last either. Others had already taken up position around his lounge. Kellan Bruemann, the Cross CEO of a worldwide construction company, stood at the floor-to-ceiling window. The view wasn’t the only thing he was drinking in, to judge by the huge glass of cognac in his hand. He was starting early. It was barely seven o’clock. What was he doing here? I knew for a fact that he detested Dan.

  To my surprise, Isabella Monroe, my ex-PA and ex-lover, was also present. Hellsake! What had she been saying to Dan about me? The way we parted meant she wasn’t exactly a paid-up member of my fan club. Not any more. She stood by a lamp where the light could best show off her gold sequined dress. I have to admit, she looked stunning. Bella caught sight of me, held my gaze for a moment, then looked away with a scornful flick of her eyelashes. I sighed inwardly. She was still bearing a grudge, that much was obvious.

  ‘You’re dumping me? You’re actually dumping me?’ Isabella couldn’t believe it when I told her.

  ‘Bella, I told you I’m not looking for anything serious or permanent, but you’re picking out baby clothes,’ I replied. ‘I told you when we started this affair that all I was looking for was occasional companionship. Nothing else. Nothing more. And you agreed.’

  ‘I thought … I hoped what we had might develop into something deeper,’ Isabella admitted.

  I shook my head. ‘I can’t help what you hoped.’

  God, I sounded like a callous bastard, but it was time to nip this in the bud. Tout de suite.

  ‘That’s it? That’s all you have to say?’ Isabella was incredulous.

  I sighed. ‘I’m hoping we can both behave like adults about this. We can still be friends and you’re a damned good PA—’

  ‘You think I’d work for you after this?’ Then Isabella proceeded to tell me where to stick my job and what to do once it was firmly wedged. I know I had it coming, but it didn’t make it any less unpleasant.

  I beckoned for the security guards standing in the office doorway to come forward. Bella left the office with her few possessions and her head held high as the guards escorted her from the building. She finally got the message.

  I hadn’t seen her since. Now here she was – her and my business secrets in Dan’s living room. Should I be nervous? This smelled suspiciously like some kind of set-up – and I didn’t like it. I’d need to keep my wits about me. I headed over to Kellan. Him I’d met before.

  ‘What’s what, Kell? How are you?’

  ‘Good evening, Prime Minister.’

  ‘I haven’t won yet.’

  ‘But you will. Dan’s tied it all up for you with gift wrapping and a pretty ribbon.’

  ‘I like to think that, if I do win, I had a little something to do with it,’ I ventured.

  ‘Maybe not as much as you think,’ said Kellan. ‘Do you know what we call your friend?’

  I shook my head. Kella
n looked me up and down before answering his own question. ‘Mr Stain Remover.’

  I was taken aback. ‘What?’

  ‘Dan Jeavons makes all your problems, all those annoying little stains in your life, disappear.’ Kell unfurled one hand in a sudden explosive movement to emphasize his point. ‘And Dan doesn’t charge money. Nothing as vulgar as money. No, your friend trades favours. He does something for you, and maybe next week, or next month, or next year, he’ll ask you to do something for him. But he only asks once. I learned that the hard way.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ I frowned.

  ‘It means that Dan Jeavons doesn’t like to be disappointed. I didn’t take his threats seriously, and now I’ve lost everything. My wife left me. My children hate me. My friends have deserted me. All I have left in the world are my connections.’ There was barely disguised scorn in Kell’s voice. He might need Dan, but he certainly didn’t like him. I didn’t know Kell’s history and, to be honest, I didn’t particularly care. I already had ninety-nine problems. He wasn’t going to be added to them.

  ‘You want some advice?’ he said, lowering his voice slightly. ‘Walk away. Run away. Get as far away from Dan Jeavons as you can. He’s the devil and he enjoys collecting souls.’

  Dan walked into the room from his study. He made a beeline for us, an easy smile on his face. ‘Talking about me, Kell?’

  ‘I was just telling your friend here to get as far away from you as he can,’ said Kellan.

  His honesty startled me. I expected obfuscation in response to Dan’s direct question. Kell didn’t even try to dissemble.

  ‘Well, Tobey, are you going to take Kell’s advice?’ Dan issued a direct challenge.

  ‘Not today,’ I replied.

  ‘Ah! At least I tried,’ said Kell, taking another sip of his cognac.

  Dan regarded him as he slowly swirled his cognac in its glass. Neither of them took their eyes off each other. Then, without warning, Dan backhanded Kell across the face. The cognac glass went flying, smashing against the adjacent wall and raining glass.

  ‘Just business, Kell,’ said Dan. ‘Just business.’

  Blood trickled from the corner of Kellan’s mouth. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, studying it for a moment before turning back to Dan, his mouth twisting into a facsimile of a smile.

  ‘As you say, Dan, just business,’ he said quietly.

  The tension in the room could’ve been cut with a cotton bud. But then Dan started discussing the latest election-poll figures, and Kell and I joined in the conversation as if nothing awkward had happened. George, Dan’s butler, was already tidying up the glass on the floor. Soon afterwards, Dan and I disappeared into his study for around ten minutes to discuss the finer points of some last-minute campaign strategies. By the time we emerged, more guests had arrived. Most I recognized.

  Jarvis, Dan’s deputy, stood at the window, talking to Dan’s brother, Tom. Jarvis was loyalty personified, as many of Dan’s enemies had found to their cost when they’d tried to buy him off or get to Dan through him. Tom was a completely different proposition. He was young, not just in years but in outlook, and had no poker face to speak of. His every thought, emotion, feeling was writ large on his face. Did he even know how far his brother’s empire had expanded? Did he know all the legal and not so legitimate ways in which Dan had made his vast fortune? I doubted it. Tom looked like a younger, fresher version of Dan, before life had pummelled him and he’d started fighting and hating it right back. How long, I wondered, would it take for Dan to corrupt his younger brother just like he tainted every other person who got too close to him?

  Standing behind the bar, pouring himself a glass of champagne, was Patrix Ellerman, Cross lawyer for hire to the rich and famous – but mostly the rich. I’d never met him but felt as though I knew him, though by reputation only. Patrix was a good-looking man in his early forties, with a ready smile and a keen intellect. He was a very successful lawyer, but, if you lacked the funds to pay his exorbitant fees, you’d best keep moving. It made him easy to bribe and he was as easily bought as a morning cup of coffee. Hell, if I couldn’t find a friendly face, I’d settle for a familiar one. Seated on a bar stool watching him was a middle-aged Nought woman whose hair was more silver than its original colour. This woman was definitely looking at sixty in the rear-view mirror. Patrix said something to her, one eyebrow raised, which immediately had her tilting her head up to laugh. Well, at least someone was enjoying themselves. I continued to look around.

  What the …?

  Was that—? Oh. My. God! It was!

  Persephone Hadley. Callie’s mum. What on earth was Sephy doing here? She was speaking in low but urgent tones to Owen Dowd of all people, who was sitting at the grand piano in one corner of the room. Between them, Alex McAuley and the Dowd family used to run every illegal enterprise in Meadowview. After Callie got shot, I’d made it my business to get revenge on both fraternities. Thanks to me, Alex McAuley had been shot and killed and Gideon Dowd was still languishing in prison. I’d helped Gideon’s younger brother Owen onto the Dowd family throne. The king was dead. Long live the king. And Gideon’s younger sister Rebecca? Her blood was on my hands too. Dan knew all my dirty little secrets. Owen Dowd knew some of them. He ruled Meadowview with an iron fist and his reputation for ruthlessness wasn’t just talk.

  Since when did Sephy know Dowd? From across the room, I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were obviously doing more than just discussing the weather. Owen shrugged and said something to Sephy that she obviously didn’t like. What the hell could the two of them have to talk about? Whatever it was, it was obvious that, though the volume wasn’t rising, the temperature of their quarrel was. Sephy was getting more and more irate and Owen wasn’t far behind. With a face like thunder, Sephy spoke more earnestly to him. She said something which made Owen leap to his feet, his finger waving in Sephy’s face. Then Sephy hauled back and slapped him so hard my own teeth rattled. Damn! There was obviously some slapping gas or equivalent in the air tonight. The room went deathly quiet.

  ‘Say that again. I dare you,’ Sephy challenged, her quiet words echoing around the room.

  Owen’s eyes darkened with rage, setting his expression like it was carved in stone. Hell! He was going to retaliate. Not if I had anything to do with it. I started towards them, but Dan got there ahead of me.

  ‘Owen and Sephy, I think you’ve forgotten where you are and that you both have an audience,’ he said silkily.

  A moment, then Sephy looked around the room. Her eyes alighted on me and narrowed. I guess I still wasn’t her favourite person.

  ‘Dan, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ve outstayed my welcome. I’ll be leaving now.’ Sephy headed over to one of the cream leather sofas to retrieve her handbag.

  ‘Persephone, please stay.’

  Three words from Dan. Three seemingly innocuous words, but they froze Sephy in her tracks. She turned to look at Dan like they were the only two in the room. What was going on between them? A person with half an eye could spot Sephy’s loathing for Dan, and yet here she was in his apartment, and all he had to do was ask her to stay and it looked like she was actually going to do it. What hold did he have over her?

  ‘Owen, I believe the lady might be more inclined to stay if you were to apologize,’ said Dan.

  ‘Apologize? Are you s-serious?’ Owen spluttered.

  Dan turned to look at him. ‘Apologize. Now.’

  Owen’s eyes narrowed. He turned to Sephy and said, ‘I apologize if my words offended you.’

  ‘If?’ said Sephy with scorn.

  Dan favoured Owen with a hard stare.

  After a petulant huff, Owen said reluctantly, ‘I apologize for offending you.’

  ‘See! We’re friends again.’ Dan was all smiles now, as fake as a wooden credit card.

  Owen and Sephy continued to scowl at each other, before Owen finally sat back down at the piano and started playing a jazz classic. And, to my surprise, he wa
s good. I guess even lowlifes like Owen Dowd needed a hobby. Sephy continued to glare at him. There was something going on here, some subtext that eluded me. It was unexpected enough that Sephy should be at one of Dan’s dinner parties, but that both she and Owen Dowd were here?

  What was Dan up to?

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ announced George, Dan’s butler. ‘Dinner is served.’

  He made a sweeping gesture towards the dining room, indicating that we should all take a seat. The first things I saw when I walked into the dining room were place name cards on the table. Godsake! Who had Dan stuck me next to? As long as it wasn’t Bella. I really wasn’t in the mood for ex-lover drama this evening. I moved round the table, trying to find my place. On one of the place cards was written the word Eva in cursive script. That had to be the elderly Nought woman who’d been with Patrix at the bar. Was this the famous Eva at long last? It had to be. I was finally going to meet her properly. I continued round the table, checking the cards. So Jarvis was going to join us for dinner, was he? Was Dan expecting ructions? He’d arranged the seating so that Jarvis was literally his right-hand man.

  At last I found my place card.

  My heart dropped, then sank even lower. So much for that then.

  I’d been placed at one end of the table, directly opposite Dan, but I had Bella to my right and Owen Dowd to my left. And Bella was already throwing serious shade my way.

  Godsake!

  Something was very wrong with this set-up. Unease wrapped round me like an ill-fitting polyester suit. Dan was playing a very dangerous game, a game where only he knew the rules, but, if he wasn’t careful, someone could end up getting hurt.

  Or worse.

  NOW

  * * *

  sixty-two. Callie

  * * *

  My blood had turned to ice water in my veins. I couldn’t believe it. There had to be some kind of mistake. ‘My mum was there? At Dan’s house?’