“What?” Theo roared. “Then get off the fucking phone and call the police! Where is she? What van? What did she say? Is she still there?”
“Calm down,” Rich said, and Theo wrapped his fist around one of the wooden bars of a kitchen chair and squeezed. It was the only way to keep from losing his fucking mind. “I didn’t call the police because I was hoping Lilliana had made the whole thing up!”
“Well I didn’t,” screeched a shrill, plummy voice in the background. “And I called the police. They’re on their way now.”
The spindle of wood in Theo’s hand snapped. He looked down at the ruined chair without truly seeing it, his lips numb as he uttered the words: “I need details. What kind of van? Did she get the plate? Did she see the guy?”
Rich reeled off the questions to Lilliana. Theo heard her voice quite clearly as she said, sounding almost hysterical, “I took a picture of it! I’ll send it to you now. Give me his number. Give me his number and I’ll send it.”
“Alright, alright.” Abruptly, Rich put the phone down. Theo stared at the screen, willing the image to come through.
“What the hell is going on?” Aria said, her voice wavering. “Jen’s been abducted? What the fuck?”
“Stay calm,” Theo said, even though he was anything but. He would keep his cool, though. He had to. He had to find Jennifer.
His phone vibrated, and the picture came through. He opened it, stared at the blurry image of a white van with green and black writing on its side. Then came another, showing its numberplate clearly—thank God.
“Jesus Christ,” Aria gasped.
“Don’t worry. I’ll find her.”
“No,” she said, grabbing hold of his arm. “You don’t get it. That’s Simon’s van.”
“What? Who the hell is Simon?”
She stared up at him in horror. “Simon Wainwright,” she said. “My boyfriend.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jennifer woke to a splitting headache and a sharp, stinging pain on her face, undercut by a deep ache. This was accompanied by a sore neck and back, currently being jolted against the hard floor on which she was curled up, and the irritation of something blunt jabbing into her hip.
Where in God’s name was she?
The low noise assaulting her ears, she slowly realised, was the sound of an engine. She slid slightly to the right as her world tilted, then straightened out again. She was in a vehicle of some kind, she realised. Which was bad. Very, very bad.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. Big mistake. The space around her was barely illuminated by the orange glow of streetlights, filtering in through windows towards the front of the—what? Van? Yes. That seemed right. In the semi-dark, the unidentifiable shapes around her only added to her terror. She seemed to be shoved in the back of a van alongside numerous tools. She wiggled experimentally; the thing digging into her hip, whatever it was, was metal. Heavy, but it moved a little when she pushed, giving her some relief.
Despite the fact that she ached all over, she didn’t think anything was broken. Except, possibly, her cheekbone. Was that a thing? Could cheekbones break? Actually, it was probably best not to think about that too much. The minute she focused on the pain, it became so intense that she thought she might be sick.
Okay. So she’d think of something else.
Her phone. Did she still have her phone? Moving slowly, silently, she tapped at her pockets. Nothing. Then it came back to her—she’d lost her phone. No--someone had swatted it out of her hand, and then they’d hit her…
Simon. It was Simon.
Holy crap. Her best friend’s boyfriend was kidnapping her.
“I can hear you shuffling around back there,” came a familiar, droning voice. How had she ever thought of this guy as boring? Now that she was listening properly, she heard something utterly terrifying in his flat rumble. He wasn’t gormless. He was soulless.
“Simon,” she said, her voice tentative. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”
“I’m kidnapping you, you dumb bitch.” He laughed.
“But why?”
“Because I’m going to kill you,” he said. “Didn’t you get my messages?”
“Your—?“ Oh my God. “It was you. You killed the cat. You wrote my name on the wall.”
“In blood, yeah. Dramatic, wasn’t it?”
“Fake blood,” she said.
“Like I’m gonna put my hand in real fucking BLOOD.” He screamed the last word, going from his usual flat, even tone to an ear-shattering screech in the space of a breath. Jennifer froze, suddenly more scared than she’d ever been in her life. Not even on the night her parents died had she been this afraid.
“Why are you doing this?” She asked, and it was only when she heard her own voice that she realised she was crying.
“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,” Simon said. “Have you ever heard that? I think it’s in the Bible.”
She didn’t answer.
“Well I’m making the world blind. Fucking happily. That’s how it works, hm? My dad kills your parents. You lock up my dad and RUIN MY FUCKING LIFE.” Yet again, his voice veered off into a terrible shriek. Then, a second later, he was back to normal. “My dad dies in prison. So I kill you. All nice and neat. Eye for an eye for a fucking eye. And then they’ll lock me up. Just like him. And it’ll all be over. The cycle will be complete. I don’t like the loose ends, you see. It bothers me. Knowing that you’re running around, breathing? It really bothers me. So I’m fixing that.”
“I see,” Jen whispered. Her cheek stung as her tears rolled into her wound, but she couldn’t stop crying. Snot dripped down her face; her chest shuddered as she battled to quiet the sounds. She couldn’t even see anymore. But she couldn’t stop crying.
She was going to die.
Still, she was grateful for one thing. Grandma would be safe and sound, provided for for the next eight years. Even longer, probably. Jen didn't doubt that Theo would look after Grandma for the rest of her life.
Oh, God, Theo. Her heart broke.
The van slowed, and her terror reached its height. But then they sped up again, veering off on a sharp curve. A roundabout, it felt like. The contents of the van shifted around her, various metal implements rolling in the dark. She felt something come to rest against her hand. Reflexively, she grabbed it, tested its weight.
It was a screwdriver. Plastic handle, sharp, flattened edge.
Jen shifted the handle into her fist and held on tight. She would probably die tonight.
But she would go down fighting. Just like her mother.
◆◆◆
Theo sped down the A52, skidding as he overtook a BMW 5 Series. The driver beeped his horn furiously.
“Fuck off!” Aria roared, sticking up her middle finger through the glass. They were gone before the shocked driver could respond.
“You’re sure about this?” Theo asked tightly, for what he knew was the ten thousandth fucking time.
“Yes,” she said. “He talks about this place all the time. He’s obsessed with it. It’s the last place his dad took him, before the arrest.”
“And you really didn’t put two and two together?” Theo gritted out. “Wainwright didn’t ring a bell for you?”
“No! I didn’t know any of the details. It’s not like we talked about it at sleepovers, growing up.”
Theo clenched his jaw on a curse. This wasn’t Aria’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but Simon’s.
And he was going to pay.
“The police are fucking useless,” he spat.
“What else is new? But they seemed to get their arses into gear when Rich started throwing his weight around.”
“His name, you mean.” Theo clenched the steering wheel, pressed his foot down harder.
“Hey. We need to get there in one piece, you know.”
“If we don’t get there in time—“
“If we don't get there at all, she’s definitely fucked.”
Theo ground
his teeth. “Call Rich again, would you?”
Silently, she unlocked her phone and dialled.
Rich’s voice filled the car. “They’re on their way.”
“What does that mean?” Aria demanded.
“It means that they’ve been inspired to take this seriously after checking out the CCTV. I told them what you said, and they’ve contacted the Derby department.”
“We’re here now,” Theo said, swerving off at the next exit. “Aria, where do I go?”
“Ummm…”
“Hurry up!”
“Right. Third exit off the roundabout.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Rich warned. “The police are on their way, and they’re not fucking around.”
“Neither am I,” Theo said darkly. Ignoring Aria’s worried glance, he sped up.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As the van slowed to a crawl, so did Jennifer’s heart.
“We’re here,” Simon sang, sounding more alive than he had in all the time she’d known him. He parked the car and got out, and Jen pushed herself up into a sitting position, tucking the screwdriver behind her wide hips in a pose that she hoped looked unassuming.
The sudden change of position sharpened the throbbing in her head like a knife. Even more worrying, the pain in her face faded away as her left cheek went numb. Oh, Lord.
The van doors swung open and Simon’s slim form appeared. He was bundled up against the winter wind in a thick puffer coat and scarf, but his legs were protected only by jeans. That was it, then. She’d go straight for his eye if she had an opening, but otherwise, the thigh was her best bet. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Jennifer let herself be dragged up out of the van.
“You’re heavy as shit,” he grunted, heaving her up to a standing position. “Fat bitch.”
“So sorry I’m not easier for you to abduct.”
“Shut up.” He waved his fist at her, and she realised that the he was holding something in his hand. Something that glinted in the moonlight.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Where did you get that?”
He looked smug. “My father was a criminal mastermind. It’s no trouble for a man like me to get a gun.”
She’d wondered why he hadn’t tied her up. Here was her answer. He pointed the barrel at her face and jerked his head to the side. “Walk,” he said flatly.
Tucking her hands beneath the folds of her coat, she did as she was told.
She’d never even seen a gun before. Jen didn’t give a fuck what he said; there was no way in hell a plumber could get a gun. Or was there? She didn’t know shit about this stuff. Maybe he was telling the truth.
Or maybe it was a fake, and he was counting on her not knowing the difference.
Did she dare risk running?
Breathing through the pain piercing her skull, Jennifer considered her surroundings. It was dark, aside from the glow of the moon and stars; little light pollution. The earth was soft beneath her feet. There was a vast blackness to the far right that she thought might be a copse of some kind, and in front of her was a lake.
But in the distance, she could hear the sounds of passing cars. They weren’t far from civilisation, not really.
“To the lake,” he told her. “Keep going.”
“My legs hurt.”
“Keep going, or your head will fucking hurt. When I blow your brains out.”
Bullshit. He was bullshitting. But Jesus Christ, she was so fucking scared.
Only—what was that? In the distance? Had she just heard sirens?
She paused, waited to see if Simon would comment. Instead, she felt the cold butt of the gun as he jabbed it against the base of her skull. Agony arced through her head, a blinding flash.
“Keep going,” he hissed.
Tears slid down her face, the sensation eerily removed as her skin grew numb with cold. She kept walking—slowly.
Sirens. They were sirens. She could hear them loud and clear now.
“Shit,” Simon muttered. He pressed the gun against her neck, harder. “Hurry the fuck up.”
“I’m trying.”
“I WILL SHOOT YOU,” he screamed, and despite her best intentions, terror took over. She sped up, hurrying towards her own doom. Like he wouldn’t shoot her either way. What the fuck was she doing? She was too scared, too scared.
But the sound of the sirens grew, until it was so loud that she thought her head would split open under the pressure. They were just a few steps away from the lake when the first of the police vans pulled up.
Simon grabbed her, swung her around to face the police. He held her against his body in a twisted embrace, one arm wrapped tightly around her chest. With the other, he held his gun to her head.
“Don’t come near me!” He shouted, but his voice sounded small across the open space.
Swarms of police in riot gear formed a threatening wall. Then an officer stepped through their midst in plain clothes, his long coat blowing in the wind.
“Simon,” he shouted. “Don’t worry. Don’t panic. We just want to talk.”
Simon shifted the gun in his hand nervously. Jennifer shifted the screwdriver in hers.
“What do you want?” Simon called back.
“We don’t want you to throw your life away, Simon. You know you don’t have to do this—“
“YES I DO!” He screamed. “I FUCKING DO!”
There was a screech of tires, and then another car appeared in the darkness. A car that Jennifer recognised.
“Theo,” she whispered through frozen lips.
“Shut up,” Simon hissed. “Shut up shut up shut up shut up.”
The car’s doors opened, and Theo and Aria climbed out. At the sight of them, Jennifer felt treacherous hope rise. Their presence cut through her terror in a way the police presence hadn’t.
A few officers moved to send the pair away, and a ferocious argument ensued. The man in the long coat continued to talk to Simon, and Simon continued to shout back, but Jen barely heard them. Her whole world narrowed down to Theo. He said something to the officers that sent them backing away, and then he stalked forward. Towards the wall of police. Towards her. He was coming to get her.
And she couldn’t let him.
“Simon,” Jennifer mumbled. Her stiff lips slurred the word. “Simon,” she tried again.
This time, he heard. “What, bitch?” The gun pressed hard against her skin.
“I’m glad that your daddy died,” she said. And then she allowed her legs to give out, as they’d been begging to do for the last ten minutes, and became a dead weight.
He stumbled, and for precious seconds, his gun left her head. Jennifer struck out blindly behind her, stabbing the screwdriver deep into his flesh. He screamed like an animal as she twisted the weapon. Then she threw herself forward with all the force that she could muster.
But it was too late. She knew immediately that it was too late. Because the gun went off with a bang and a burst of light, and she heard Theo scream her name raggedly, like someone had torn him up.
The scream went on and on and on. Jennifer lay on her back, the pain in her head so intense that she couldn't even see—not a thing. Not a damned thing. Probably because she was dying.
But then she realised that the screaming wasn’t Theo. It was Simon.
Footsteps and voices grew closer, racing towards her.
“Jenny,” Theo was saying. “Jenny. Holy shit. Jennifer. Get the fuck out of my way! Where are the paramedics? Jenny!”
She should open her eyes—or perhaps they were open?—and smile at Theo and tell him that everything was fine. That dead was an okay thing to be. She supposed she’d see her parents, finally. That was good. She missed them.
With that thought, Jennifer Johnson slipped into the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Ms Johnson? Can you hear me?”
Jennifer blinked. Then she winced. Blinking hurt. So did wincing. So did breathing. So did thinking.
“Ms Jo
hnson?”
She looked at the doctor standing over her bead. He had dark hair and a red beard. Wasn’t that strange?
“Yes,” she said. “I can hear you.” Or could she? She wasn’t sure. Something was different. “I think… I think I only hear you on this side.” She meant to lift her hand to her ear, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have the energy. So she added, “The left. My left side.”
“I see,” he nodded. “That is to be expected. Your eardrum was damaged by the blast.” There is a slim chance that your hearing will recover, but not for a while yet.”
“Oh,” she said. “So I’m… I’m deaf?”
“Partially,” he nodded.
“So I’m alive? I must be alive. To have hearing to lose.”
He smiled, his thick, ginger moustache shifting. “Yes, Ms Johnson, you are most assuredly alive. You suffered a severe concussion, you have several bruises and lacerations, a cracked rib, a head injury, and some minor burns to the back and side of your neck. But you are very much alive.
“Oh,” she said. “Alive. That’s nice.” She thought for a moment. “Is Simon alive?”
“He is, Ms Johnson. He is at another hospital, and in police custody.”
“Oh.” She paused, sad. “I wish he was dead.”
The doctor’s pleasant smile slipped. Oops.
But then she heard a raw chuckle from the corner of the room. “So do I, Princess. So do I.”
“Theo!” She gasped. She tried to sit up, but her body reminded her quite forcibly that this wasn’t a good idea. So she had to lie there patiently as he came into view, leaning over her bedside.
“Hello, love,” he murmured. “How do you feel?”
“Awful,” she said plainly.
“I bet. Does it hurt?”
“A lot.”
He looked at the doctor. “Why doesn’t she have more painkillers?”
“It’s best not to encourage an over-reliance on—“
“Princess,” Theo interrupted. “Do you want more drugs?”
“Yes,” Jennifer said decisively. “I do. Many drugs. Many, many, many drugs.”
Bad for the Boss_A BWAM Office Romance Page 16
