The Girl with the Emerald Ring: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 12)

by Elise Noble

  “Actually, it’s better to go through the armpit. Less resistance.”

  “Please, Emmy.”

  “Or through an eye socket to the brain.”

  “Just be quiet and order the damn pizza.”

  CHAPTER 15 - SKY

  THE HEAVENS OPENED as we pulled out of the underground parking garage at Blackwood Security’s fancy office building. If that wasn’t a metaphor for my life, I didn’t know what was.

  The guy driving me—Zander, he said his name was—didn’t seem bothered by the storm, just switched on the blowers to de-mist the windscreen and turned the wipers onto fast. He had a black sports car too. Was it mandatory for getting a job at that company? Probably.

  I didn’t appreciate being summoned across London, but I was so damn hungry, and there wasn’t any food at home. I’d spent Alaric’s money on three different bus fares, and the prospect of going straight to the club and working for eight hours straight in boots that pinched my feet was more than I could bear, especially when he’d offered to give me more cash. The way I felt right now, I’d probably do something stupid like faint in Harlequin’s.

  No, I’d go to Emmy’s place, eat the pizza and the macaroni and cheese, tell Alaric what he needed to know, collect the cash, then get the hell out of there.

  And at least I didn’t have to ride on another bus to get there.

  “Do you know Emmy?” I asked Zander.

  “Yup.”

  “Is she always so demanding?”

  “Yup.”

  “Do you ever say anything but ‘yup’?”

  “Yup.” He glanced at me quickly, eyes crinkling. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. How do you know Emmy? Are you one of the foundation kids?”

  “What foundation?”

  “Guess not, then.”

  “I only met her this morning. We…uh, we had a fight.”

  “Like a slanging match?”

  “No, more of a punch-up.”

  “And you lived to tell the tale?”

  If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of awe in his voice.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  We stopped at a red traffic light, and he turned to take a closer look at me. Why did I feel like I was under a microscope? Finally, he spoke again.

  “Most people who take on Emmy end up with more damage. All you got was a few holes in your jeans?”

  “Those were there already.”

  Zander started laughing. “You’re ballsy, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid. I’m eighteen.” Practically. “Can I borrow your phone?”

  “Why?”

  “Mine broke, and I need to call my brother.”

  Zander reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a slim smartphone, and tapped in the code to unlock it.

  “Here you go. Brothers worry—I know that from experience.”

  If only. When Lenny got high, he forgot I even existed. I punched in his number from memory then cursed under my breath when it rang and rang. Finally, voicemail clicked in, the generic greeting he’d never bothered to change.

  “Lenny, it’s me. I’m gonna be out for a few more hours, and my phone broke so you can’t call me. Please, just go home if you’re out. Please.”

  I passed the phone back to Zander, ignoring his look of concern. Sympathy didn’t help me. Not one bit.

  “Younger brother?” he guessed.

  “Older.”

  “Yet you feel responsible for him?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  Zander waited a beat, then shrugged. “Fair enough. What sort of music do you like?”

  “Whatever.”

  A moment later, the sound of classic rock filled the car, and I leaned back in the leather seat, trying to block out the world for five minutes at least. How much longer could I carry on with things as they were? The last decade had worn me down to the point where I felt like giving up, like closing my eyes and sleeping for eternity, but where would that leave Lenny? Once, I’d thought that if I could just get a decent job, I’d be able to fix the problem, fix him, but now? He needed professional help. I’d got him into two treatment programs, but he’d relapsed after both of them, the second time within days, and now we were right back at the bottom of the waiting list again.

  Meanwhile, I was self-studying to retake the GCSEs I’d screwed up the first time because I was too busy hustling for money and dodging Lenny’s dealers, and I couldn’t remember what it felt like not to be exhausted.

  How much more?

  “We’re here.” Zander shook my shoulder, and I jolted awake. Shit. I’d fallen asleep in a stranger’s freaking car. Last time that happened, I’d woken up with a man groping me, and things had only got worse from there. Bloody hell, Sky. What happened to my sense of self-preservation?

  My heart sped up as I blinked a few times, trying to work out where I was. Another underground parking garage, by the look of it. I recognised Emmy’s black sports car next to Alaric’s SUV, and there was a bright red motorbike in the far corner. The other six spaces were empty. Guess everyone else was out.

  Zander walked around to open my door, something I couldn’t recall a man ever doing before, then motioned to the left.

  “Elevator or stairs?”

  “Stairs.”

  I’d been stuck in an elevator once. What a miserable three hours that had been. The intercom didn’t work, the lights went out, and I couldn’t even sit down because some filthy scrote had peed on the floor.

  When Zander opened the door at the top, I expected to see a hallway full of doors, because that was how every other apartment building I’d been in worked, but instead, I found myself in an art museum. An air-conditioned palace. Everything was white—the walls, the floor, the side table, the couch along one wall—except for a huge multicoloured chandelier made from blown glass and a painting of a woman who’d been put together all wrong. I looked around in case there was a pickled shark too, but thankfully no.

  “What is this place?” I whispered.

  “Emmy’s home. Hmm, is that…” Zander stepped closer to the painting.

  “A Picasso?” Alaric’s voice came from behind us. “Yes. Bradley rearranged the art collection.”

  “I heard a rumour they had one, but… It’s impressive. Surprised they’ve put it on display like this.”

  “Art’s made to be enjoyed, not hidden away in vaults.”

  “Alaric. It’s been a long time.”

  “Zander.” The men shook hands. “Life treating you well?”

  “Not bad. I got married.”

  “Congratulations. Your sister okay?”

  “Define ‘okay.’ She’s dating a rock star, and I’m not sure whether to go all big brother or welcome him to the family.”

  “Travis Thorne? I thought the girl in the gossip columns looked familiar. Wasn’t his band involved in some sort of murder investigation?”

  “All resolved now, thankfully. I guess as rock stars go, he’s not such a bad guy.”

  His sister was dating Travis Thorne? Most of the time, I listened to the electronic shit Howie played in the club, but I’d still heard of Travis freaking Thorne. The guy wasn’t just a rock star, he was a rock god.

  A buzzer sounded, and a screen lit up beside what I assumed was the front door. The picture was surprisingly clear, and my mouth watered when I saw the outline of a pizza delivery bag in the caller’s hands.

  “The rest of dinner’s here,” Alaric said. “Good to see you again, buddy.”

  Zander vanished back down the stairs, and Alaric left me alone in the hallway while he went to fetch the pizza. Alone with a freaking Picasso. I was surprised he trusted me not to steal it after the vehicle incident. Incidents. Did he know I’d borrowed the van this afternoon? I figured I’d find out soon enough. If he decided to kick me out, hopefully I’d manage to snarf down most of dinner first.

  When Alaric returned with not one but three pizzas plus a trio of sides, he herded me towards the back of the house. I was basica
lly lost by the time we reached a kitchen bigger than the former pub I lived in. Emmy stood on the far side with a steaming dish in her hands. She cooked as well?

  I tried to look at her nose without being obvious. It didn’t seem to be any more swollen than earlier, but I spotted an ice pack on the marble island in the middle of the room.

  “Eat in here?” she asked. “I can’t be arsed to carry stuff to the dining room and all the way back again.”

  The kitchen table seated twelve. There was a dining room as well? Oh, who was I kidding? Of course there was a dining room.

  “Fine by me,” Alaric said.

  Was I supposed to chime in too? “I’m just here for the pizza.”

  “You’re clearly not, since you showed up at the office before we ordered it.” Emmy set the dish down on a leather mat, and the delicious aroma of cheese drifted in my direction. “And I’m curious—why were you so keen to leave this afternoon that you stole a van, yet you came back?”

  “Because I thought I’d better follow the dude with the painting, and I wasn’t sure I’d have enough cash for a taxi.”

  “Why didn’t you call Alaric?”

  “Because my stupid phone broke.” I slapped it onto the table just in case she didn’t believe me, and another crack appeared in what was left of the screen. “And I couldn’t see him inside. Look, it was either borrow the van or lose the guy. Spare me the lecture on morality, okay?”

  Emmy held up her hands. “No lecture from me.”

  “What dude with the painting?” Alaric asked.

  “Some American guy. At least, I think he had the painting.” I paused to grab a slice of pizza. There was no Hawaiian, but in the gourmet chow stakes, peppers, sweetcorn, tomatoes, olives, and extra cheese came a close second. “He stopped for a cigarette, then drove to the airport. I did what you said—stayed well back and didn’t crowd him—and I’m pretty sure he didn’t spot me.”

  “Why do you think he had the painting? You saw the box?”

  “No, I smelled it. His suitcase whiffed of the body spray that exploded in Bethany’s car. I guess he could just have liked eau de candy floss, but it would’ve been quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “What do I think? I think I want to kiss your feet. Did you see which terminal the man went to?”

  “No, because some arsehole blocked the van in and I couldn’t follow. But the dude got picked up from outside the car hire place by a big black BMW with ‘VIP Service’ on the door. Guess he’s rich.”

  “You’re not wrong there,” Emmy said. “The VIP lounges are hidden away in Terminal Five, and they’re bloody expensive.” But I bet she’d been in them. “If you don’t know they’re there, you won’t find them. The entrance is just a plain white door in a nondescript corridor. Getting the client list won’t be easy, but we can try.”

  “Might be easier to go for the rental agency,” Alaric said. “Did he return a car?”

  “Yup.” I channelled Zander, then took another bite of pizza.

  “Which company did he use? Maybe we can find a name.”

  “London Luxe, and his name’s Stéphane Hegler.”

  Oh, how satisfying. Alaric’s mouth dropped open, and even Emmy looked gobsmacked.

  Finally he asked, “How do you know that?”

  I put my slice of pizza down long enough to root through my handbag and slid the crumpled rental agreement in their direction.

  “Because of this. But I guess he might’ve used a fake passport. Money can buy you anything, right?”

  Sometimes even taste. I wanted to hate Emmy’s home, but if I’d had about a zillion pounds to spare, I’d have picked out furniture just like hers.

  “How did you get this?”

  “Waited until Hegler left, then went up to the counter and pretended I’d left my jacket in a rental car the week before.” The idiot behind the desk didn’t even question why I’d bothered to visit the office rather than phoning like a normal person. Probably because he was too busy staring at my tits. Pervert. “When the guy on duty buggered off to check the lost-property box, I swiped the paperwork and left. And yes, I kept my head down so my face isn’t on camera.”

  The driver’s baseball cap sure had come in handy. Perhaps I should start wearing one more often?

  “Nice move,” Emmy said. “That’ll save us a ton of work.”

  Why was she being nice to me all of a sudden? I didn’t understand her.

  “Where did you leave the van?” Alaric asked.

  “In the car park at the airport. I wiped the steering wheel first. Someone’ll find it, probably a traffic warden.”

  Three slices of pizza down, and I decided to try the macaroni and cheese. How long since I’d eaten the proper stuff and not the dried version that came in a packet? One of my good foster mothers had made it for me, but I’d only been with that family for two months before I got moved on again, everything I owned stuffed into a black plastic bag. Unwanted, like last week’s rubbish.

  Oh boy, this stuff was good. There was bacon in it, which basically made it heaven on a plate.

  “You should’ve become a chef,” I told Emmy, and for some reason, both she and Alaric found that hilarious. He nearly choked laughing. “What? What’s so funny?”

  “The…the idea of Emmy cooking something edible.”

  “Huh?”

  “My housekeeper made this,” she explained. “Cooking isn’t my strong suit. If it’s not microwaved or flambéed, you’re shit out of luck, but I do have an excellent collection of takeout menus. Want me to order anything else?”

  It was tempting. So tempting. But I couldn’t. “Nah, I have to get back to Lenny. I tried calling him from your mate’s phone, but he didn’t answer, and he gets into trouble if I’m not around.”

  “You need a new phone? I’ll get you one.”

  Without another word, she rose from her seat and vanished into the bowels of the house, leaving me to wonder if I’d dropped into an alternate universe. What had happened to grouchy Emmy, and who had spare phones lying around in their house?

  “Is she for real?” I asked Alaric.

  “She always used to break phones with alarming regularity, and I don’t suppose much has changed. She’ll have a stack of spares somewhere.”

  “What do you mean, used to?”

  “We haven’t seen much of each other for a few years.”

  “Why not? Did she piss you off too?”

  Alaric shook his head. “It’s a long story, and not one I’m about to tell.”

  Fair enough. Everybody liked to keep their secrets, especially me. The less I told people about myself, the less shit they had to throw back in my face later on. Anyhow, it only took a couple of minutes before Emmy reappeared with a brand-new smartphone in a box. She slid it across the table in my direction.

  “Here you go. It’s already charged.”

  Bloody hell—it was one of the newest models, and far more expensive than I’d ever be able to buy. I didn’t tend to steal pricey phones either because I hated the feeling of guilt that came with them. I was doubly glad I hadn’t gone to Harlequin’s now. A ton of food and a new toy sure beat traipsing around for hours on aching feet.

  It only took a moment to insert the SIM card from my old phone, and the moment I did, the screen lit up with a dozen text messages and missed calls. Strange. I’d never been that popular.

  Before I could go through them, the phone rang again. Paulius, my housemate, and he only ever called if he wanted something. Shit. Tell me we hadn’t run out of lightbulbs again, because I hated arriving home in the pitch black.

  “It’s Sky. What?”

  “You need to come home. Lenny, he is not well.”

  Ice prickled up my spine. “What do you mean, not well?”

  “He won’t open his door, but we heard him moaning. And now he is quiet.”

  Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Lenny, what have you done? He’d been vaguely coherent when Emmy loaded him into the car earlier, and he’d manag
ed an intelligible text message, which meant whatever it was had happened recently. My guess? He’d taken something, and I dreaded to think what.

  “Okay, I’m coming.” I shoved my chair back and gave the pizza one last longing look. “Gotta go, sorry. Uh, you said you’d give me money for missing work—can I get it?”

  I didn’t have time to mess around with buses and Tubes. If Lenny had OD’d again, I needed to get there fast, which meant taking a taxi.

  Emmy and Alaric looked at each other.

  “Sky, we still have questions,” Alaric said.

  “Then I’ll come back tomorrow or something. My brother’s sick.”

  Emmy raised an eyebrow. “Really? He seemed okay earlier, relatively speaking. Is he hungover?”

  “Nah, it’s not that.” The last thing I wanted to do was spill Lenny’s problems to two relative strangers, but I figured I owed them an explanation. “Sometimes…sometimes, he takes drugs, and he’s not always as careful as he should be.”

  Another glance between them, and Emmy nodded once. “I’ll drive.”

  “Huh?”

  “At this time of the evening, the fastest way to your place from here is by car. I’ll drive.”

  She paused for long enough to grab a green duffel bag out of a cupboard, and then the three of us were running through the house and back down the stairs to the underground garage. Alaric bleeped his SUV open, and we all piled in.

  When Emmy said driving was the quickest way, she wasn’t kidding. By the time we arrived, I was hanging on to the seat belt with one hand and the grab handle with the other, muttering prayers to any god I could think of and Satan as well since the woman drove like a demon. The smell of burned rubber permeated the air as I stumbled out of the back seat on shaky legs.

  Paulius was standing by Lenny’s door on the top floor when we got there.

  “We tried to open it, but it’s stuck.”

  Emmy and Alaric didn’t hesitate, just ran at the door together and shouldered it open. It bounced off the wall, and a chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling and landed on Lenny’s motionless body. I froze for a moment, taking in the scene. He was lying on the floor in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, pale, so pale, and the little collection of items beside him revealed my worst nightmares had come true. A metal spoon. A lighter. A shoelace. A hypodermic syringe. He’d fucked up again, and big time.