Chapter Thirty-Six
Night was falling fast and early over Teach na Loch as the gathering storm rattled the glass in the windows. Sabrina looked out at the black clouds scudding across the sky and the ripples distorting the moon’s glow on the surface of the lake. Then, as she watched, a cloud passed in front of the moon and the water went dark. The gently rolling hills were suddenly black, ominous silhouettes against the even blacker sky.
Not a prick of light anywhere to be seen, not a single person for miles. It made her feel very alone in the isolated house, and she found herself wishing she were back in noisy, cramped London.
The cream floor-length curtains suddenly swished shut without warning, making her jump before she realised that it was the house detecting the sudden change in the light and closing the curtains automatically. Three side lamps came on simultaneously a second later, the eco-bulbs glowing dull at first and then brightening.
‘Would you like the fire on?’ asked the soothing, electronic female voice from somewhere and nowhere.
‘Go screw yourself,’ Sabrina said to it. Every time she came here, Adam had installed some new piece of gadgetry, and it always took her by surprise. Pretty soon there’d be a robot arm in the bathroom waiting to wipe your ass.
She walked over to the big, soft sofa, stretched herself out on it and went back to her thoughts.
Still no word from Adam all day. She’d been hoping he’d at least call her from Edinburgh to let her know when he was coming back. She’d tried calling him, but his phone was always off. And of course it was way too much to expect him to bother to answer the three messages she’d left him.
It was getting harder to know what to do. Why was Adam acting so oddly? Had he stashed Rory away at tennis camp so that he could go off with some woman he’d met? But that didn’t make sense. If he’d met someone, why the furtiveness? It wasn’t like he had anything to hide. Oh, wait, maybe she was married. That would explain a lot. He wouldn’t want to let his little sis know about that kind of thing. Little sis who was pushing thirty but still had to be treated like a kid.
Or maybe Adam wasn’t acting oddly at all, and he was right about Rory’s practical joke, and there was a glitch with the email dates, and Rory had got himself another phone, and she was just winding herself up pointlessly with bullshit delusions. That would make more sense, Sabrina thought – and it was almost certainly what the cops would have said about it all, if she’d been dumb enough to go to them. She’d been tempted a few times that day to call them. Glad she hadn’t.
She jumped up from the sofa, a vision of a gin and tonic in a tall, frosted glass suddenly filling her mind. As she padded down the corridor in her bare feet, the house sensed the movement and turned lights on to guide her way. She walked into the kitchen and it was suddenly a blaze of white light.
‘I am capable of flipping a switch, you know,’ she muttered. ‘Fucking smartass house.’
The house didn’t respond. At least it didn’t ask her, Shall I put the kettle on?
‘Frank Sinatra,’ she called out.
This time the house responded instantly with ‘Come Fly With Me’ from hidden speakers all around the room.
She mixed her drink, sliced a lemon, clinked ice in the glass and took a slurp. ‘Cheers, Frank.’ Then she added some more gin for good measure, left the kitchen and the lights escorted her back down the corridor.
What’s the matter with you? she thought to herself. Why couldn’t she just chill out and enjoy what was left of her vacation?
Well, maybe it’s got something to do with being left all alone in a dark, creepy house that talks to you and makes things happen by themselves, with nobody around for a mile in every direction and a storm blowing outside.
As she thought this, a gust of wind hit the building and she was sure she felt it move.
‘What is this place, Tornado Alley?’ she muttered to herself. Wondering for a moment about what she would do if there was a power cut, she quickly reassured herself that her oh-so-scientifically-minded and supremely clever brother would have a genny down in the basement if it came to it.
She slumped back down on the sofa with her drink, grabbed the remote control, aimed it at the giant wall-mounted TV and pressed a button.
The TV stayed blank. Instead, a bright flame whooshed up to fill the electronically-controlled open fireplace below it.
Sabrina cursed. Why did all the goddamn remotes have to look exactly the same? She killed the fire with another touch of a button, chucked the remote down and picked up the right one to turn on the TV. Flipped through a bunch of channels and landed on a rom-com movie she’d seen years ago but liked enough to watch again.
She settled back against the cushions, getting in the mood and smiling to herself as Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal went through their bickering, fast-talking routine.
Suddenly, lights came on in the corridor. One after another, click, click, click. And stayed on.
She frowned. ‘Adam, is that you?’
She half-expected him to walk into the room, brushing rain off his jacket and putting down his case, calling, ‘I’m ho-ome.’
But there was no reply.
Sabrina muted the TV. ‘Adam?’ she called again. Still nothing. She got up from the sofa, stepped across the room and peered out into the corridor. The lights were already fading again.
‘Is someone there?’ There was a tremulous little edge to her voice that she wished hadn’t come out. Her heart began to beat faster.
Outside, the thunder rumbled, and the rain lashed down harder on the windows and the skylights.
Sabrina was frozen to the spot, staring out into the dark corridor.
Something moved.
She tensed.
Cassini came slinking out of the darkness.
‘Oh, Cass, you almost scared the shit out of me,’ she sighed. ‘Jesus.’ She couldn’t help but chuckle with relief as she scooped the cat off the floor and walked back to the sofa, holding him in her arms. ‘Don’t you ever think about doing that to me again, pal. OK?’
She went back to the sofa, took another gulp of gin and tonic and turned the movie sound back on. Cassini draped himself across her lap, so floppy he felt boneless, and she stroked him absently. She could feel the tiny vibration of his purring resonating through her, relaxing her.
‘I would be proud to partake of your pecan pie,’ said Billy Crystal in a funny voice up on the screen. Sabrina smiled.
And the cat’s body suddenly tightened like a spring on her lap, and his needle-like claws dug through her jeans and stabbed into her skin. She let out a cry of pain. The cat was up on his paws, arched. Then he jumped off her and darted away.
Then Sabrina looked up and saw that the lights were back on in the corridor.
And that there was a man standing there.
Watching her.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sabrina shrieked and took off across the open-plan living room towards the stairs.
Too slow. The man was squat and heavy with muscle, but he was quick on his feet and in two powerful bounds he was on her. She went crashing into a side table, rolling and lashing out at him with her bare feet. A grunt as her heel connected with his eye socket; he let go of her and she scrambled to her feet and made the stairs. Her legs felt ready to buckle under her as she raced up the open treads. His footsteps pounded up behind her. Then she was on the landing and launched herself down the glass corridor.
The first door she came to was the master bedroom, and she grabbed the chrome handle with both hands and jerked it open. Staggered inside just as the man came sprinting down the corridor after her. He shoved his hand inside the door, and she slammed the edge of it hard on his fingers.
He let out a sharp cry. She yanked it open and slammed it again hard enough to sever those damn fingers – but he’d jerked his hand away and was roaring with pain outside the door as she braced her weight against it and remembered the password Adam had told her.
‘Lock!’ she shouted.
Sabrina stood there panting, her hands shaking, doubled over with the pain from the stitch in her side. She looked around her. She’d never been in Adam’s bedroom before. There was a big leather bed, a bookcase filled with science and architecture books, a bureau and a sofa. Next to the sofa was her brother’s prized candy-red Fender Stratocaster guitar, leaning up against an amplifier. Nothing she could use to defend herself. If this had been the States, there’d have been a pistol or a shotgun for home defence.
Calm. Calm. Pull yourself together. She’d read that in these situations, barring a loaded .357 Magnum in the bedside table drawer, the best thing to do was stay out of the way, let the thieves take whatever the hell they wanted and not confront them. She was safe in here. The locks were sturdy. Everything was fine. Stolen TVs and silver were easily replaced.
But how had he got past the security? This place was tighter than Fort Knox. Panic welled up like a tide. Her mobile was downstairs. She was stranded up here.
She glanced at the window. Rain was lashing on the outside of the glass. Maybe if she could get out onto the balcony and run round the outside of the house, she could scramble down the fire escape and get away.
At that moment she realised the sounds of pain had gone quiet outside the door. Suddenly she heard his voice again, just the other side of the thick wood. He didn’t scream, ‘I’m going to get you, bitch.’ That would have been bad enough, but what she heard was even worse. He spoke one word, in a normal tone that scared her almost to death.
‘Cassini.’
And the lock clunked open.
The lock clunked open and she stared at the handle in horror. Watched it turn, and before she could react or think to shout ‘lock!’ the door opened. And he was in.
She backed away across the bedroom, past the sofa towards the window. He padded in towards her. She could see the fire in his eyes and the bunched muscles under his rain-speckled shirt. The fingers of his right hand were bloody. His teeth were bared in a fierce grin as he stalked across the room.
Her hand brushed something hard. Adam’s guitar, propped up next to the sofa. A big, heavy lump of solid wood, like a musical axe. She wrenched it up in both hands and swung it at his head.
The man stepped back out of the arc of the blow, and the momentum of the heavy guitar almost carried Sabrina off her feet. It smashed into the bookcase. Glass flew everywhere.
The man came at her. She recovered her balance and swung the guitar at him again with a grunt of effort, and this time it caught him hard on the shoulder. She was sure that she’d have shattered a normal man’s collar bone, but with all the muscle on his upper body the blow just glanced off and he pawed the guitar out of her hands as he rushed her like an angry bull. He lashed out and backhanded her across the face, and she shrieked and went sprawling back across the bed. He grabbed her by the hair, hit her again.
Then he clambered on top of her, driving the air out of her with his weight, straddling her hips and pinning both her arms behind her head with one strong hand. She fought back, spat in his face, but he was heavy and powerful and there was little she could do to resist him. With his free hand he started ripping at her clothes, fumbling at the fastening of her jeans and yanking down the hem of her waistband. Started grabbing at his zipper.
No, no, no. Please. Not this.
He had her jeans down past her hips and she was screaming for him to stop when the bedroom door burst open and a woman and a tall man walked in. The woman was holding a stack of plastic CD cases.
Sabrina’s attacker twisted round to look at the two of them, and muttered angrily in a language she didn’t understand. The woman froze, taking in the scene, then stepped across to the bed. Her arm shot out and she grabbed a fistful of the stocky guy’s hair. Jerked his head back harshly, making him cry out in pain, and dragged him off Sabrina.
Sabrina rolled off the edge of the bed, pulling up her jeans and trying to cover herself up. Her hands were shaking so violently that she could barely do up the button of her jeans. Across the bedroom, the woman still had the man’s hair bunched up tight in her fist. His eyes were popping with pain. She wrenched his head back and forth a couple of times in disgust and then let him go.
Cowering by the side of the bed, Sabrina was on the point of thanking the woman for saving her from being raped. But then the woman turned to stare at her, and the cold look in her eyes made Sabrina recoil.
‘Who are you?’ Sabrina asked her.
The woman’s stare bored into her. ‘Shut up,’ she said in English. Then she turned to the men and made a sharp gesture as she headed for the door. The tall man followed.
The stocky guy knew what to do. He scooped Sabrina up in his arms and dragged her out of the bedroom, ignoring her screams. She was powerless in his grip, and could feel the suppressed fury pulsing out of him. The woman led the way down the open-tread staircase, across the glass-roofed rear atrium and through the tall glass doors onto the rear terrace overlooking the lake. Rain was slashing down onto the concrete, driven diagonally by the howling wind and hitting so hard it was bouncing. In the pale light Sabrina could see beyond the terrace and garden to the grassy slope down to the lakeside. The wind was churning up the water, and white-crested waves were rolling up the shore and breaking against the little wooden jetty where Adam kept his rowing boat.
Sabrina’s bare feet hardly touched the ground as the powerful man hauled her out across the terrace. The woman turned to him, her blond hair plastered across her face by the wind, and issued stern, authoritative commands. He just nodded. Then the woman gestured to the tall man and led him away, up the flagstone path that skirted around the side of the house towards the front yard and out of sight.
The man dragged Sabrina closer to the lakeside. They were on the grass now, and she could hear his boots squelching on the sodden ground. Her hair was in her face and the rain stung her eyes and she could barely see. She writhed in his arms. It was like being clasped by a machine. His hand was pressed hard over her face, muffling her cries of protest. As he walked, half-dragging and half-carrying her, he stumbled on the rough ground and his fingers slipped an inch and she could open her mouth.
She bit hard, felt her teeth break skin and flesh.
He ripped his hand away and slapped her, then again. And again. She could feel his blood on her face. Heard the rasp of his voice close to her ear as he spoke to her in that strange language. Then he laughed.
She knew what the woman had told him to do. His job was to drown her in the lake.
She felt her heels drag on the stones as they neared the shoreline. His feet splashed into the water, and the icy shock took her breath away and made her heart stutter as he dumped her body into the waves. She screamed again, but it turned into a gurgle as he pressed a big flat palm against her face and drove her head down under the surface.
The water roared in her ears and filled her nose. Bubbles streamed out of her mouth. She flailed desperately with her hands, managed to fight free of his grip. Broke the surface and filled her lungs with air before he pushed her back down under the icy black water. She battled to hold her breath as her fingernails raked at his hands and wrists. But he was just too strong.
She knew she couldn’t hold on much longer. In a few short seconds the water was going to come pouring into her lungs and he was going to hold her there until she drowned.
She was going to die. This was it.
Then suddenly she was gasping and wheezing and tasting air as her head burst free of the surface again. The man had let go of her. Through the coughing fit that racked her body she saw him go down on his knees, the water surging up to his neck and over his shoulders.
She blinked the water out of her eyes. A dark figure was standing behind the man, with an arm locked around his throat. A brutal twist, and Sabrina heard the crack over the roar of the wind as the stocky guy’s neck snapped like a branch.
Then a hand was grasping her tightly by the arm and pulling her out of the lake.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ben hauled the coughing, spluttering woman up onto the shore. In his right hand was the automatic pistol he’d taken from her attacker’s belt.
To come to an idyllic lakeside retreat to talk to a retired physics professor and find a gang of armed killers trying to murder a woman – Ben wasn’t even trying to figure it out. The questions could come later, after he’d got himself and her out of this.
It had been on the approach to the house, the Audi’s windscreen wipers batting away the thundering rain on full speed, that he’d spotted the beige Citroen Picasso parked at the gate. Innocuous enough, but a woman’s scream of terror was a sound that could carry a long way, even through a stormy night. He’d killed his lights and engine and coasted the last few yards to the house, left the Audi hidden among the trees and come in over the wall. He could still hear the screaming as he’d sneaked through the grounds. Crouched behind a flowery shrub, he’d wiped the rain out of his eyes and watched the blond female and the tall man walk away around the side of the house and head back towards their car.
He’d been more interested in the woman. Everything about her cool, imperious bearing said that she was the leader. As she walked, she’d kept glancing at something in her hand. Hard to tell from that distance, but Ben had thought it looked like she was holding a pile of CDs.
Then, as Ben had sat watching, his attention was quickly diverted to the second guy, the squat one with the muscles. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he didn’t have good intentions towards the woman they’d dragged from the house.
In situations like that, it was hard to remain a passive observer.
Wishing there’d been time to conceal the attacker’s body, Ben helped the frightened woman up the bank to the cover of the long grass, laid her down and crouched beside her in the shadows. Any minute now, the other two were going to be wondering what was keeping their friend so long, and they’d be back.
The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET Page 153
