by Clare Revell
As if you’ve been truthful with him.
She ignored her nagging conscience. There was a huge difference between what she’d done and this.
And that partner of his. Did she have to be so pretty? And they were as close as she and Patrick once had been. Was he so fickle with his relationships? Did he treat all women alike until he got his way with them? Were they more than just work colleagues?
She knew she was being irrational, but it still hurt to think about the relationship she had thrown away. She bowed her head.
God, I know I don’t have the right to ask You for anything, but help me not to be angry, when I have no right to be. And help me not to feel so jealous. After all, I left Patrick, not the other way around.
****
Patrick chatted with Shay as they ate, trying to compensate for Elle’s sullen demeanor. He didn’t know why she was suddenly sulking like a three year old and acting as if her life had been ripped from her. It wasn’t as if the protection was being foisted on her against her will.
As soon as she’d finished eating, Elle rose and left the room without a word. Patrick sighed and pushed his hand through his hair.
“So she’s your old flame from university, then?” Shay sounded more bored than curious.
“Yeah. But I honestly don’t know what’s gotten into her. It must be me. She’s been a bit frosty the past few times I’ve seen her.”
“Oh, this is beyond frosty, Patrick. It’s more like icy or even beyond icy. I thought she wanted our help?”
“Maybe it’s just my help she doesn’t want. I’ll talk to her.”
Shay stood. “You do that while I go grocery shopping. Think I have the better deal actually.”
Patrick winked at her. “I think you could be right.” He went to find where Elle was sulking. If she was running true to form, she’d be in her room or by the fireplace. Not that she’d admit she was sulking, because she was far too mature for that, but it was as close to sulking as a person could get.
He tapped on her bedroom door and pushed it open not waiting for an answer. She lay on her stomach, reading. She didn’t look up, so he stood between her and the window, blocking her light. “Elle, can we talk?”
“Why?”
“I need the truth, Elle. All of it.”
“My name is Eleanor, not Elle. And talking won’t change anything.”
Not bothering to hide his irritation, he flopped down on the bed beside her. “Look, Eleanor, if you don’t play ball, we can’t protect you. We need to know anything you’ve seen or heard that might have gotten you noticed.”
“You’re MI5. You figure it out.” Again she spoke over the book, not even looking at him.
He caught his breath, his hands curled into fists, and his jaw tightened. This was a mistake. He should never have taken this assignment. And he wasn’t going to start calling her Eleanor either. Reaching out, he snatched the book, closed it, and tossed it to the side in a swift single movement.
“Hey, I was reading that,” came the immediate indignant protest.
“What happened to you, Elle?”
She sat up and glared at him. “Me? What you mean, what happened to me? University was a long time ago. Maybe I grew up. Just like we all did. Grew up and changed. None of us are the same people we were back then. For instance, why didn’t you tell me you were a spy?”
“Need to know,” he snapped back.
“You’ve changed.”
“You too, way more than I expected. You used to be—”
“I used to be what? Innocent?” She tossed her head, sending her hair shimmering over her shoulder. “In answer to your question, you happened to me, Patrick. You made me who I am now.”
He caught his breath, doing a double take. He got her involved in drugs, if indeed she was? “Excuse me?”
She stabbed a finger at him, emphasizing every word. “That last weekend at the house party changed who I was forever.”
He flung his hands up in defense. “Now, wait a minute. That wasn’t all me. You agreed. You didn’t say no or stop or…”
“I should have.”
Patrick stood and stomped across room, shoving his hands through his hair. “So what are you saying? That I forced you to do something you didn’t want to do? Because you know very well that’s not true.”
He grunted in annoyance as his pocketed phone vibrated and rang. “Don’t you dare move. This isn’t finished.”
“I’ll move if I want to.” She scowled at him, and marched over to the window, keeping her back to him. “Answer your phone before they ring off. There’s probably a major terrorist threat you need to save the country from.”
He snatched his phone free and glared at the screen before answering. “Page.”
“It’s Nahum. Abbie Harrison never made it home from school.”
His anger dissipated faster than if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. He fixed his gaze on Elle’s stiff back. His free hand twisted through the hair on the back of his neck. “What? Say that again.”
7
Patrick stood stock still, hardly daring to breathe, waiting for his boss to confirm or deny what he’d just said.
“Abbie is missing,” Nahum repeated. “She left school on time, but never made it home. Is she with you?”
“No, of course she isn’t. No one knows we’re here except you and Shay, and she is out doing the grocery shopping.”
“The police are searching the area between the school and the house. Mrs. Harrison is frantic. For some reason she’s convinced this is Eleanor’s fault. I need you to ask her if she has any idea where Abbie is or where she would go. A friend’s house or somewhere like that.”
“Hold on.” Patrick turned away from the phone. “Abbie didn’t come home from school.”
“What? No…I thought she’d be safe if I did what he…” Elle broke off and spun around. Tears trickled down her cheeks, her skin pale. “You have to let me go and find her. Please…”
“Safe if you did what?” He studied her. Was that guilt? Again, something didn’t ring true.
“Nothing, I meant nothing. Let me go and find her, please.”
He let it drop for now. “The police are searching for her. Where would she go? Does she have a friend she’d go home with?”
She shook her head. “No, she doesn’t have any school friends. At least not like that. She comes to the library to sit with me or the recording studio or she just goes home. No, wait, it’s Thursday.” She took a deep breath and sank on the bed rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. Was that relief in her eyes? “She has flute lessons on Grosvenor Square. I pick her up at five o’clock and then we go home together.”
“Does your mother know?”
“About the lessons?” She shook her head, pushing upright again. “No, if she did she’d put a stop to them. It counts as enjoying yourself and therefore isn’t allowed.” She crossed over to him. “You have to let me go and find her. What if something’s happened to her?”
He held up a hand needing to silence her for a minute. “What number Grosvenor Square?”
“One two four.”
He turned back to the phone. “Did you get that?”
“One two four Grosvenor Square. We’ll send someone over. Don’t let Eleanor out of your sight.”
“Oh, don’t worry. She’s not going anywhere. Let me know when you find Abbie.” He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket.
Elle crossed over to the door. “I have to find her.”
He grabbed her arm. “No, you don’t. The police will find her.”
“Will they bring her here?”
“No, she’ll be taken home. Your mum is worried about her.”
“Yeah, right.”
“And I want to know what you meant by ‘I thought she’d be safe if I did what he’?”
“I told you, I meant nothing. I say stupid things all the time. What matters is Abbie. Have you any idea how scared she’s going to be when a uniformed
police officer picks her up? She’s going to assume someone’s hurt.” She paused as if something occurred to her. “Look, let me use your phone for one minute. Please.”
“No.”
“Patrick, please. Just one call.”
“Whatever for?”
“Because you took mine away and I need to use it. Abbie has a phone. I bought her one, but Mum doesn’t know. Let me just text her, warn her. You don’t understand.”
His face scrunched and his mind whirled. “You’re right. I don’t understand. She has a phone, but your mum doesn’t know? Along with flute lessons she doesn’t know about either? Why not?”
“It’s complicated. Can I try to contact Abbie or not?”
“One text. I check it before you send it.” He handed over the phone.
Elle snatched the handset from him and glanced at the screen. Her face fell. “I can’t work touch screen.”
He sighed and took the phone back. He tapped rapidly, bringing up the text screen. “Number?”
She hesitated slightly and then gave him what he wanted. “Start the message by saying it’s Ellie. Otherwise, she won’t open it. Then say, Mum freaked out because I forgot to tell her you’d be late. Police coming to get you. My fault. Sorry.”
Patrick hit send. A minute later his phone beeped. He opened the message. “It says great, so she knows. Bye bye flute lessons. Cops just turned up. Blue lights and all. Whose phone you using?” He scowled. “That’s just brilliant.”
“Tell her Patrick from church. She’ll be fine with that. Say I’m staying at yours for a couple of days for work purposes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to lie to her?”
“It’s not a lie. I’m staying with you. You’re working. Please.”
“Fine.”
“Can they bring her here?”
He shook his head, typing rapidly and then hitting send. How many times did he have to answer the same question? “She stays with her mum.”
“That’s idiotic.”
Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he stuck his hands on his hips and eyed her in exasperation. “She’s a child. She needs to stay where she is right now and that’s with her mother.”
Elle straightened, and thrust one hand into her pocket, her left index finger pointing at him. “As I said, you’ve changed.”
He shook his head. How could she flit from one topic to the other so seamlessly? “I have?”
“You never used to be this bossy.”
“You never saw me working,” he retorted. “Shay can tell you how bossy I am when the safety of the nation or a single person is at stake. I have been instructed to keep you safe. Having anyone know where you are, or someone else staying here as well is one more way for this creep to track you.”
She seemingly ignored his last comment. “Are you married?”
“What’s that got to do with anything? No, I’m not.”
“Girlfriend?”
His scowl deepened. “I don’t see how my personal life is any of your business, or at all relevant.”
“Yet mine is?”
“You’re the one in danger here. You came to us for protection, not the other way around.” He took a deep breath as she sat back on the window ledge, almost deflated. His phone vibrated with an incoming text. “Abbie is safe now. The cops will take her home and everything will be fine.”
“Fine, yeah, right.” Elle rubbed her temples. “I’m sorry. I’m acting like a right moody cow. It’s not your fault and I’m taking it out on you as if it is. It’s just I feel like I’ve lost what little control of my life I have. Thank you for finding Abbie.”
He took a deep breath and perched on the edge of the window sill next to her. “Tell me about Foster.”
“Who is this Foster you keep mentioning? I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“The bloke I saw you with the other night in the club.”
“Oh, him—we only know him as Mr. F, but that could stand for anything. Not much to tell, really. He’s been in the club a few times. Seen him talking to Zeke, I’ve spoken to him twice maybe. But Jake Reid manages the club.”
“Zeke is your manager?”
“Yeah. He also manages the club when Jake isn’t around.”
“Explain something to me.” He braced his hands either side of his hips as he leaned against the sill. “How does a Christian end up singing secular stuff in a dive like HC1 every night?”
She shrugged. “I need the money.”
“Do you write your own songs?”
“I used to. My first album was all my stuff. Now Zeke does the writing and I just sing what he wants.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I haven’t written anything in a long time.”
“Maybe you should. I’m sure, with a voice like yours, you could get a major record deal without having to lower your standards.” He rolled his shoulders. “In fact I’m surprised you do.”
“Zeke’s been trying to get a recording deal, but no one has been interested. The last album was all him. The new one too—assuming we get it made. Zeke managed to get it bankrolled.”
“Who’s doing it?”
She shrugged. “Some rich bloke. I don’t know. I don’t ask.”
Patrick frowned. “You don’t know who’s funding your career?”
“No,” she said looking down at her hands.
“But, Elle, you said one time you would only sing for God’s glory.”
“I’m not asking you to like what I sing or even join in.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I do.”
“Fine,” she whispered. “Maybe I’m not a Christian anymore, all right?”
He hadn’t been expecting that and straightened in surprise. “Why not?”
“That is none of your business.” She swallowed hard, tossing his own words back at him. “Besides, you’re a fine one to talk about morals and standards unbecoming a Christian. And I don’t just mean in the past.”
“What do you mean, then?”
“I know you own a gun, I’ve seen it.”
He nodded. “Yes. I carry one all the time I’m on duty. I’m an armed officer. It goes with my badge and MI5 ID.”
“And you shoot people? Kill them?”
“I prefer to shoot to wound given the choice, but if I have to, then, yes, I would kill. As a matter of fact, I used my gun this morning, in order to stop a man with explosives strapped to his chest from blowing up a shopping center, and half of Headley Cross along with it.”
“Isn’t there some law against killing people, Patrick? Some commandment or other—the sixth from what I remember. Thou shalt not kill.”
“That is between me and God. I don’t enjoy shooting people, but as it is part of my job if it needs doing then I do it.”
“Same goes for frequenting nightclubs then?”
“Liam wanted me to hear you sing. Not that I knew it was you at the time.” Patrick didn’t elaborate that he was there working. Again, need to know. And until he had all the pieces put together, she didn’t need to know. He didn’t want to believe the girl he fell in love with all those years ago, was still in love with if he were honest, was capable of the allegations laid against her.
“I meant before, must be a few weeks ago. You came into the nightclub. I wasn’t singing that night so you wouldn’t have seen me, but I saw you. I assumed the woman you were with was your wife the way you were all over each other. She was definitely tarty.”
“Excuse me?” He scowled. How dare she talk to him like that? The sweet innocent girl who wouldn’t say boo to a goose he’d fallen in love with, had changed beyond recognition over the years. “I beg your pardon?”
“You couldn’t even begin to call what she was wearing a dress. More like a belt. It barely covered everything.”
His eyes narrowed and he felt his hackles rise. He wanted nothing better than to wipe that smirk off her face.
Help me keep my temper here. Don’t let her get under my skin
the way she is.
“Are you implying I’d only go out with a tart? What does that make you?” He laughed bitterly. “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. That outfit you wear on stage leaves very little to the imagination. Not that I need to imagine—”
He broke off as her mouth opened in a horrified, hurt expression. He shouldn’t have said that. Biting his tongue before he said any more and regretted it, he calmly left the room, and closed the door behind him. He leaned against door, arms tightly folded against his heaving chest, his breathing heavy and labored.
The phone rang. He pulled it out in exasperation. He growled at it, and then slid it open. “Page.”
“It’s Nahum. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. Why shouldn’t it be?”
“You sound stressed.”
“Nothing I can’t deal with. Is Abbie home safely?”
“She is. Mrs. Harrison also asked me to pass on the message that her phone has been confiscated.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“We need you to take Miss Harrison to the club tonight as normal. In fact we need her to simply carry on as usual, so long as you escort her everywhere. Shay will need to go with you as much as possible. Don’t bring the subject up. Wait for it to come from her, then play hard to get. We don’t want her to think we want her there, if that makes any sense at all. The last thing we need is her to think we’re suspicious.”
“I understand. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Good night.” He hung up and slid his phone back into his jeans. Think we’re suspicious? Bit late for that. Red flags weren’t just going up, they were flying loudly in a force ten gale.
What was wrong with Elle? She was acting like—he stopped and shook his head.
She was jealous.
****
Eleanor sat on the bed, head buried in her hands. Tears ran unchecked down her face. She was just a disappointment to everyone. Her mother, Abbie, God, and now Patrick. His words ran rampant through her mind and her answer seemed feeble even to her.
She couldn’t tell Patrick about PJ owning the club. She knew something was going on behind the scenes. The rumors of drugs were rife—why else would the club be raided so many times. But she was on the verge of breaking free. A few more deliveries and she’d have enough money to go far away from this place and never have to sing in clubs again. Or the cops would give her a new name, a new life…her and Abbie. She wasn’t going to go anywhere or do anything without her. And she was too valuable as a singer for PJ to mix her up in anything illegal, right?
