"Oh." The man sounded quite taken aback, as well he might. There probably weren't too many people who spoke their mind to the antichrist. More yelling followed, and I grimaced once more as I gave my cell phone a wide berth.
"No, it's official, she still doesn't want to speak to you. She says you called her a bitch last time you spoke to her. She also says that if you don't fuck off, she'll send someone over to take care of the job." The man growled at me menacingly, to make sure I got the message.
Figuring I'd get him on the right track before he hung up on me, I said, "Her daughter's been kidnapped, and I need her on the line now." If that didn't bring Laurel running, nothing would, and then I'd be back at square one with no leads, no ideas, and no hope in hell.
"You have my attention, Mr Matthews." Laurel's formal address was nothing new. She avoided talking to me wherever possible, but when she did have to, she made it clear it was under sufferance.
"Jen went missing from my office just before midday. She hasn't been seen since."
"I see." There was a long pause, which she used expertly to make me feel as small as she possibly could. "How could this have happened with her three-strong security detail?" That was an excellent point. Shit.
"My secretary asked her to go out and get coffee, and Jen did, knowing full well she wasn't supposed to." There was no way I was going to say she'd been sent out to get my lunch. I liked my testicles attached to my body, thank you very much.
"My daughter is very wilful and has a strong personality. One would think you would be aware of this after a year of marriage. Why did you not place one of your security guards on the door to make sure that something like this didn't happen?" I'd been asking myself that same question for the last five hours, but it was always nice to have your nose rubbed in it.
"I should have, but I trusted her to be sensible. It's a mistake I won't make again in a hurry." When I got my wife back - not if - we were going to have a conversation on ditching security guards. It would involve only me speaking, and lots and lots of spanking, whipping, flogging and anything else unpleasant I could think of.
"If she's dead you won't be able to make that mistake again, will you?" Laurel's voice was clipped, and her scathing tone was not lost on me. Yes, I probably deserved that, but there was only so much of this I could take.
"Well, at least I didn't abandon her for the first twenty odd years of her life. So no one's perfect. Are you going to help me or not, Laurel?" Grabbing my tie, I yanked it off and threw it on the floor. The walls around me began to close in, and the room felt suffocating. Though the day had already been an incredibly long one, I was no closer to achieving anything and I couldn't deal with the inactivity. There must be something I could do, but what?
"I'm hardly going to let my daughter die, am I? I'll call in some favours," she said frostily. "If you have any updates, let me know. I'll give you my personal cell number." She reeled it off quickly, but thankfully I had a pen and paper nearby. It did beg the question: who's bloody number had she given me the first time around? We'd discuss that another time.
"Thank you."
"Now, are you going to apologise for your earlier behaviour?"
Was she kidding? Were we back to this? I had the mother-in-law from hell. It was official. "You want me to apologise to you for what happened yesterday morning?" My wife had nearly left me after Laurel's crazy stunt, so I really didn't know what I had to be sorry about.
"Yes. Get to it. We haven't got all day." There was a pad of paper in front of me, and I began stabbing the nib of my pen through it while imagining it was the antichrist. It didn't make me feel any better, but it was a good outlet for a little of my pent-up rage.
Gritting my teeth I said in my sweetest voice, "I'm very sorry for calling you a bitch yesterday morning, Laurel. It was completely uncalled for. I'm also sorry that you came round at all, and I'm doubly sorry that your antics didn't end in divorce, as you probably hoped they would. You need to get used to the fact that Jen loves me, and we are happy together." I took another deep breath. "If that apology results in you not helping me find my wife, then I'm just sorry. Are you happy?"
Laurel's voice was dangerously quiet as she said, "If I don't find Jennifer alive, you are next on my hitlist."
I hung up on her.
After six o'clock had come and gone, I left the office and headed back home. I knew Jennifer wasn't going to waltz back in as the police had suggested, but if she did, Cynthia would be there until eight.
Driving home, all alone in the car, it felt like my world had been blown apart. There on the passenger seat was Jen's handbag, and right now, that was all I had left of her. I was so close to losing it I shouldn't even be driving, but I had not the time or patience to wait for anyone else to do it for me.
What should I do now? The question had been going over and over in my head. I'd already been through Jen's bag, and there was nothing in it that would help me find her. Enraged to discover she hadn't even taken her cell phone with her, I went through it just in case, but she'd received no calls or texts so far today, so it was another dead end. If she'd had it on her I could have had it tracked, or at least tried to call it, but she'd taken nothing with her bar a coat. Please be okay, I begged to anyone that would listen. Please be okay.
When I got home I called Khalil again to see if he'd had an update, but there was nothing new to report. But Laurel had been in touch with him, so at least she was on our side. It annoyed me that she had somehow managed to find Khalil's number, which was not listed anywhere that I knew of, without my help. But I guess I should have been pleased. The more resourceful my mother-in-law was, the more likely it was that we'd find Jen in one piece.
Dumping my briefcase in my home office, I checked my emails and phone for any messages that I might have missed. There was nothing that couldn't wait, so I headed off to the kitchen to get myself a drink. Pulling out a bottle of a twenty-one-year-old malt whisky, I poured myself two fingers and downed the whole lot in one. The resulting burn worked its way through limbs which felt frozen and wooden, helping to warm me up somewhat, but it did little to ease the panic circulating through me. Nothing was going to help with that, bar knowing my wife was safe.
Sitting down on the sofa in the lounge, I have no idea how long I sat there rocking backwards and forwards, berating myself for not having kept a closer eye on Jennifer. Misery and loathing consumed me, and I didn't know what to do with myself. At the back of my mind I knew I needed to keep it together, but I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to cope. My life seemed to be one big drama after another, and there are only so many times you can work through your wife being tortured, poisoned or kidnapped. Everything inside me felt broken and fragile.
My cell phone chose that moment to bleep, and I picked it up automatically. The number came up as unrecognised, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Most of my work colleagues and associates had access to my number, and they called from all four corners of the globe. Having said that, my fingers still shook as I entered my password. It took me three times to open the damn message, and then when I did, I dropped the phone in horror. That fucking bastard. He'd got her - but how? How did he know where she'd be? Was he watching us? Were there people trained on this house all the time? Or just the office? I was going to kill him.
Standing up, I snatched the phone up from the floor to confirm what I'd just seen. For a second I stared at Jen's face, while trying to ignore the fact that she was tied up and naked. She had an odd expression on her face. It was somewhere between scared and furious.
When I could bear to tear my eyes away from her, I saw the message he'd sent me underneath.
If you want to see your wife again, meet me at Hyde Park at 11pm. We have all the entrances covered. If you are followed, I will kill the girl. If you tell anyone, I will kill the girl. If you don't show, I will kill the girl - but not before I've played with her a bit. You know how that turns me on, Matthews.
Roaring out loud, I flung th
e phone to the other side of the room where it hit the wall with a thud. It clattered to the floor, but I had more important things to worry about. What did I do next? Did I risk telling someone? What if he had the place bugged? Surely that wouldn't be possible with the surveillance I had installed here, but what if it was? He had managed to snatch Jennifer from right under my nose with very little trouble. That alone spoke volumes. Better to proceed with caution than do anything that might leave Jen's life hanging in the balance. Besides, I could be smart about this. While I didn't intend to phone anyone to tell them my whereabouts, I wasn't going to leave them all completely clueless.
Retrieving my phone, and snatching a pen and paper from my office, it didn't take long to jot down this evening's events. Leaving my cell phone on top of the notepad next to my laptop would allow them to try and trace the whereabouts of the caller when the alarm was raised. That wouldn't be until tomorrow when I was expected to go into work, but better late than never. I then picked up the small GPS tracker I'd bought to track Jen's whereabouts but had never used because she never wore the same thing twice. Instead we'd had one installed in her phone, which was also utterly useless, seeing as how she hadn't taken it with her. The device was no bigger than a ten pence coin, and I could easily hide it somewhere. Khalil would be able to track it, so that was one more thing that went in my favour.
A glance at my watch told me I had an hour to kill before I needed to drive back into London. At least the traffic would have died down by now. I shook my head. What the fuck was I worried about traffic for? I was about to drive off to my death, wasn't I? If the poison of last year had been meant for me, then sure as hell death was in my imminent future. That was a friendly thought. I'd just have to hope that Laurel or Khalil managed to find me in time. Fuck. I was placing my hopes of rescue in the hands of my mother-in-law? I must be certifiably insane. There was nothing for it, though. I wouldn't risk Jennifer's life. If that meant mine was forfeit, then so be it. If she'd been prepared to sacrifice her own for mine last year, then the least I could do was return the favour. Besides, she'd been through enough.
Going back to my notepad, I added a message for Laurel at the end. It went something along the lines of If I end up dead please end both Kyle and Michael's life in the most unpleasant way possible. I even put a thank you in there for good luck.
Now, what did one wear to meet one's death? I figured I'd go with jeans, a black sweater, a padded jacket, and a pair of sneakers. Can't beat comfy clothes to die in. The GPS tracker could be hidden in my coat. The hood was stored in the collar, so I just opened the flap and pushed the thing inside. It wouldn't be easily recognisable because there were lots of poppers to keep the fold in place. In any case, Khalil would be able to track my whereabouts until Kyle found the device, and hopefully that would be later rather than sooner.
So, did I have any last requests before I went to meet my maker? The whisky had been done and dusted, but it probably made sense to eat something. When he got me right where he wanted me it was highly likely there would be some form of torture involved, and that always went down better on a full stomach. I suspected he'd surpass Sophia on the pain score unless a miracle happened and someone managed to intervene, but I wasn't overly optimistic. I'd known this was coming for a year now, and quite honestly I just wanted to get it over with. At least I'd finally figure out what Redcliff wanted. Hopefully.
The drive back to London was completed in silence. Only this morning I had been grumping about all the noise on the commute into work, and now I would have given anything to have it back.
Why did Redcliff want me dead? Obviously it had something to do with money, and the fact that Jennifer would inherit mine was probably a driving factor. Did Michael think he could control her after I was gone? Of course he did. I don't think he'd factored on Laurel being in the equation, though. Did he know about her mafia connections? It would be interesting to find out.
Parking my car at the office, which was another sure-fire way to sound the alarm tomorrow when they found it there without me, I got a taxi to Hyde Park. I knew I was all kinds of crazy for doing this, but I also knew that I couldn't do anything else. Needing to see Jennifer myself, to make sure she was okay, was my number one priority right now.
When the taxi dropped me off at the Queen Elizabeth gate, Sophia sprang to mind. Although it was where we first met, that wasn't what I was thinking about. Jen's obvious jealousy and animosity towards her were uppermost in my thoughts. Although I could understand why she had a problem with what had happened, she knew that I'd instigated it. Sophia hadn't done anything that I'd not asked for, and as such, I was at fault. Things had gone too far, though. Although she'd been reluctant I had encouraged her to do more than she was comfortable with, and as she'd had company, Sophia felt duty-bound to see the session through. It had been a mistake and one I never intended to repeat. Making a promise to myself, I vowed that if Jennifer and I managed to get through this next ordeal in one piece, I would allow her a night of domination. If that put us back on the right track it was a small price to pay. Besides, it would be interesting to see if she could wear the trousers for an evening. Thinking it and actually doing it were two different things entirely. You're getting distracted. Pay attention.
Hyde Park was mostly deserted at this time of the evening, which was probably why Kyle had chosen the location. There weren't too many people who would venture out on their own at this time of night, although I saw a few. Mostly happy revellers who wanted to walk off their dinner, though there was the odd young couple who were out seeking a little privacy for themselves. Walking along the Serpentine lake, watching the moon reflect upon the water in patterns of silvery lace, I scoured the area looking for Kyle. No one was near me, so there was little left to do but amble along and wait for the inevitable.
Stopping at one of the little placards that were dotted around, I discovered that the lake was created in 1730 at the request of Queen Caroline. It also hosted a one hundred yard swimming race every Christmas morning for souls braver than me. The lake achieved notoriety in 1816 when the pregnant wife of poet Percy Bysshe Shelly was found drowned in its depths. I sincerely hoped that wasn't where I was headed.
The sound of footsteps upon gravel alerted me to someone else's presence, and I looked over my shoulder to discover that there were now three gentlemen coming towards me. All of them were wearing dark jeans and sweatshirts, with the hoods pulled down low over their faces. Squinting in the darkness, I just about made out Kyle's features, which meant the theatrics were about to begin.
"Hands out to the side where I can see them, Matthews." The order was barked out, and I complied. The two gentlemen with him came up to pat me down, and they did a thorough job that any airport official would have been proud of.
"He's got nothing on 'im." The cockney accent was unmistakable, so these must have been the hired help.
"Not even a cell phone?" Kyle sounded a little disbelieving, as well he might, but I had plans for my phone.
"You would have only tossed it in the lake, so what was the point?" Looking Kyle directly in the eye I went on, "We're wasting time. Take me to my wife."
"You don't call the shots around here, Matthews. I do. All you need to worry about is obeying every fucking word that comes out of my mouth. Got it?"
The two thugs he'd brought with him flanked me on either side, and we began walking up West Carriage Drive. Kyle stayed behind them.
"Is Jen okay? Where are you keeping her?" I turned my head to get his attention, but the guys in front yanked me forward sharply.
"No questions. Shut the fuck up and do as you're told. If you cooperate you'll see her soon enough."
Kyle was not in a talking mood by the looks of things, and there was no point pushing the issue. All I'd do was delay things and probably get a black eye in the process. Be patient.
Before long we were headed into Bayswater. After no more than ten minutes we ducked into a parking lot where a plain white Ford transit was wai
ting.
"Get in and strip." One of the thugs unlocked the back of the van and ushered me inside. If he thought I was getting naked he was much mistaken. I was just about to protest when three guns were trained on me.
"Now just a fucking minute..." I growled.
Kyle's pistol was in front of my face in a heartbeat. "You want to come with us, you get naked. We are dumping those clothes, Matthews. You could have planted a tracker or transmitter inside something, and I haven't got time to mess about. There are clothes in the truck for you. Get on with it, or I'll knock you out and do it for you."
Kyle waved the butt of his gun about, so I got the message. That was enough of an incentive for me to do as I was told. The thought of Kyle's hands on me had me coming out in a cold sweat. Getting undressed quickly, I tossed my clothes back to him and searched around for what he'd left me. It turned out to be a plain black t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. Great. I wasn't going to be able to conceal much in those, not that it mattered. Kyle had his eyes on me the whole time, so there was no chance I could slip the tracker out and shove it down my pants. Now what? That was one bridge burned. Could Laurel work with virtually nothing to go on? I sure hoped so. She was my last hope, and I wasn't very happy about it. Putting your life in someone's hands is one thing, but putting your life in the hands of someone who openly despises you is another. God help me.
When I'd got dressed, if you could call it that, Kyle told me to turn around and put my hands behind my back. He then used zip ties to fasten my wrists and ankles together. Usually I'd enjoy this kind of kinky stuff, but I just wasn't feeling up to it right then. Hey, you laugh, but my sense of humour was about the only thing I had left because my dignity had just flown out of the window.
The Velvet Collar Page 20
