by Laura Carter
“He is a good man. The best. He can seem a little uptight at work but give him a chance.”
“Of course.” Stuart nods again, seemingly contemplative. “Are you working on my game?” He inclines his head to the open file of papers in front of me.
“Er, yes, I am.”
“So did you stop Nick using the game?”
My head snaps up to meet his.
“Gregory told me,” he adds quickly.
He did?
“Yes. We did,” I say, wondering when that conversation took place and hoping Gregory hasn’t taken out his temper over the whole thing on Stuart again. He swore on his mother’s life he knows nothing about the trouble.
Stuart takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for longer than a blink. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, Scarlett.”
“I know. Don’t worry. We’ll fix it.”
He drags a hand through his hair and slowly rolls his body to stand, looking tired and every inch his nineteen years.
“Have you got plans?” I ask, in a bid to improve his mood.
“No,” he snaps, making me regret the effort. “I don’t really know anyone here,” he adds, in a softer tone. “Microwave meal and biltong for one.”
“We’ll go out sometime. I can introduce you to some people.”
“Thanks but you’re a little old for me, Scarlett.”
My jaw drops open but I’m laughing, happy because finally he’s smiling. “Get out, right now!”
He pauses at the door and turns back to me. “Listen, Scarlett, if...” He stares at the new Blackberry on my desk then down at his feet. “Have a good night.”
“You, too.”
I dim the lights once Stuart leaves, the glare of my computer screen becoming too much against the darkness surrounding the glass office. It’s deathly silent, the entire floor desolate. Perfect for reading and drafting.
I didn’t realise the door hadn’t closed behind Stuart until a dark shadow in my peripheral vision makes me jump and squeal.
“Shit! Paul. You scared the life out of me.”
“Sorry, Scarlett.” He steps into the office in his janitor get-up. He looks bigger than he did just a few weeks ago. He’s eating. “I call in to see Gregory on Mondays, if he’s around. Just, you know, to check in. I like him to see I’m on track.”
“It’s good to see you,” I say as my heart rate returns to normal. “How’s everything going?”
“Good. Really good. Great in fact. I feel like I’ve been thrown a lifeline, you know, and I’m going to make the most of it.”
“Good for you. Well, Gregory isn’t in the office today but I can let him know you called by and you’re not slacking.” I throw him a smile.
“On that note, there are floors to be mopped. I guess I’ll see you around now you’re working here?”
“Sure will.”
I get back to my emails. A two-page rant has dropped into my inbox from Shangzen’s lawyer, trying to negotiate what I’ve already told him is a deal breaker for GJR. I’m immersed in the detail of a reply when my Blackberry rings and this time when I jump, I crash my knee off the underside of my desk. Bastard, that hurt.
I look at the screen, which is pointless because I haven’t programmed any numbers into the phone yet.
“Scarlett Heath.”
“Scarlett, it’s Stuart. I left my fob on my desk. Could you come down to the ground floor and let me in?”
“Erm, yes, sure. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Urgh, I’ll never get anything done.
It’s dark and cold waiting for the lift and I wish I’d pulled on my suit jacket, my blouse and skirt doing nothing to fend off the overzealous air conditioning. As I step into the lift my Blackberry rings again. This time I recognise the number as Gregory’s but my signal cuts out as the lift doors close. By the time I reach the subdued lighting of the ground floor, I have a message announcing a voicemail.
Stuart is outside on the pavement on the other side of the glass doors, his shoulders hunched in the rain. A black limousine is parked by the curb, which strikes me as odd—not uncommon in London but unusual for this part of the city. My heels click on the marble floor as I wave to Paul, in full mopping mode, and hold my phone to my ear.
“Scarlett.” Gregory’s voice sounds panicked on the message. I step into the revolving door. “Stay at the office. I’m on my way. It’s Stuart. He’s involved.”
I drop the phone as I come face to face with Stuart.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I’m yanked backwards.
A hand covers my mouth.
Everything goes black.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gregory
I pull the Lamborghini to a screeching halt outside my office block and fly through the revolving glass door.
“Gregory! Someone took her. They took her!”
“Who? What? Where is she?” I skid to stop in front of Paul, the tramp I hired to stop Scarlett feeding hobos she didn’t know.
“I don’t know. There was a kid, the new one from the twenty-third floor. He was outside. I think she was going to him. Then another guy pulled her. Put something over her head. They put her in a car and they left.”
My gut falls to the floor. My heart races. There’s no air in my lungs.
“Greg!”
Jackson bursts into the building and I’ve never been so fucking dependent on him for my next move.
“Trina was here. They took Scarlett. Three of them. My guys tailed as far as they could but they lost them. They must have switched cars.”
I bite the knuckles of my clenched fist and fight the anger and grief that’s tearing me up. “Jackson, what the fuck do we do?”
“We go home, kid. We get the team together. We fuckin’ find her.”
I rub my hands roughly up and down my face then shake my head. “No. Now. We have to go now.”
“Greg, we don’t know where she is. I know how much you want to lash out. You need to keep your cool.” He’s calmer now, trying to rationalise things.
I feel like I’m outside my fucking body, watching myself break down. My eyes are on fire. “Jackson.” It’s all I can say.
“We’ll find her.”
I can’t lose her. A silent bullet cuts through my chest. I ball my fist and scream out, punching the door of the lift. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the cold metal, thumping the side of my fist against the door, over and over.
“Greg, every second we waste she gets further away.”
He’s right. Pull yourself together. For her.
I rub my face roughly one more time. “Bring him,” I growl, pointing to Paul as I charge out of the building and tear away from the curb in the Lamborghini. As I burn through the dark streets, swerving through traffic, ignoring red lights, I look for her, knowing I won’t find her. Twice I fight back the start of crushing tears.
“Scarlett,” I mumble into the empty car.
Jackson must drive like a maniac too because he pulls into the basement right behind me. We ride the lift together and by the time we hit the apartment, Jackson’s security team are already there and I’ve got my head straight enough to listen to Paul.
I roll up the sleeves of my white shirt and unfasten another button at the neck, then I crank up the air-con. I pace the floor of the lounge as Jackson gets everything he needs out of Paul, vaguely aware of other conversations going on in the room. I know they’re doing everything they can and I’m so fucking grateful for Jackson right now.
“He was about Gregory’s build. Older. Jeans and a polo. He looked, normal, you know,” Paul says.
“Nick Henshaw,” I bite.
Jackson nods. “The guys are pooling everything we’ve got on Tr
ina, Stuart and Nick. Ken is looking for any links to places they might’ve taken her.”
That’s the reality. He’s said it himself, we’ve got no fucking idea where she is. I swear to God, if they touch her. If Nick Henshaw lays a fucking finger on her...
I pick up the first thing I can get my hands on. A crystal decanter. I launch it at the wall with a wail that sounds more like an animal than me, and it shatters, glass and liquor spraying out across the floor.
There are seven other men in the room and they all turn to look at me. “Fucking find her!”
“Greg, get it together, kid,” Jackson says. “We need you with us. Get a drink and pull your shit together.”
I sit onto the edge of the sofa and drop my head into my hands. Come on, Greg, take control. Take. Fucking. Control. Put her out of your head. It’s a game. One big fucking game. Come to the fucking table. I drag air through my teeth and do as Jackson says, I take a bottle of Scotch from the kitchen, swig a mouthful to take the edge off and get ready to play the man.
Two of the guys are on the phone, one of them is Ken. One guy in khakis and a black hoody and built like a brick shit house is on a computer with devices and wires all around his space at the dining table, all connected and linked into the monitor. The other two guys are with Jackson and Paul and they’re in the lounge now, papers spread out in front of them.
“Get Barnes,” I say, eyeing Jackson as I approach them. “If Katrina Martin is involved, she’s looking for a story. She wants the bribes. If Scarlett’s got any sense, she’ll give me up.”
“She won’t do that,” Jackson says, and damn that girl, I hope he’s wrong but I know he’s right.
I nod, not wanting to accept his truth. “She might not talk.”
Jackson stands from the sofa. “Or she’ll do what she thinks is right, she’ll do what you and I both know she’ll do.”
“She’ll confess.”
Jackson nods now. “I’ll get Barnes in.”
“Get his team, Jackson, not just him.”
“Greg, not the bobbies. That’s the wrong move.”
“Jackson.” My words sound defeatist. “Get them. I don’t care about the bribes, I don’t care about me. Get everyone we can. I’ll take whatever comes. Just find her.”
He slaps my arm. “Alright.”
I’m listening, taking in what the team are doing and trying to think logically. Ken shouts us over to the dining table and starts spreading documents. This is everything we have on Stuart Culliton. He pulls up a still on his computer of Stuart and Trina from tonight. The photograph that one of Jackson’s guys emailed to us earlier. A CCTV still taken near my office block that told us Stuart was mixed up with Trina in some way. The image that made me call Scarlett, too late.
The intercom buzzes and I let Jackson deal with it, thinking it’ll be Barnes, but when I turn towards the door, Sandy comes hurtling at me, her arms flailing, landing blows on my face, my chest. Christ, I let her. I deserve it. I failed Scarlett. I failed them both.
“You did this,” she cries. “Ever since she met you. This is your fault. You find my little girl. You find her.”
Jackson moves towards Sandy but I hold up my hand, telling him to stay back, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my chest, accepting two more blows until she relents and breaks down against me. She’s the only other person in the world who has any idea how I feel right now. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” I whisper. “I’ll find her, Sandy. If it’s the last thing I do. I’ll give my life to have her back. I won’t stop. I’ll find her so help me fucking God.”
Lawrence and Williams are here and ask Jackson what they can do. There’s so much commotion I almost didn’t notice my mother. Now I do, and she’s staring at the image of Stuart and Trina on the computer screen, walking towards it with her hands over her mouth and tears in her eyes.
“What is this?” Her words are barely audible. Then she screams. “What is this?”
“It’s two of the kidnappers,” Jackson says.
I flinch at the use of the word but it’s right, that’s what’s happened. Tonight, the woman I can’t live without has been kidnapped.
“Stuart? He—”
I leave Sandy and run to my mother, twisting her by the shoulders, shaking her. “You know who that is?”
Tears stream her face. “Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Everything is blurred. My eyes struggle to focus. The first thing that hits me is the smell. Damp. Decaying. Then the cold. My clothes are wet. Rain. It was raining. A shiver courses through my body and the shudder brings the low-lit room into sharper focus. Blurred but less so.
My head throbs at the base. I try to touch it but my hands are trapped behind my back. I rattle my fists and feel the metal around them with my fingertips. I’m handcuffed to a chair. A metal chair. The kind you’d find in a roadside truck stop.
My feet are bare. My clothes look dirty but intact. A small feeling of relief comes but it’s fleeting. There are heavy bolts on the floor. They secure metal to the concrete ground. I scan the metal, lifting my head to follow what I realise is the leg of a table. A chair like the one on which I sit is on the opposite side of the table, a large horizontal mirror hangs on the wall behind it. I turn my head around the room, wincing as my neck rotates. It’s a small room. One miniscule glassless window looks onto what I think is concrete but the sky is still dark outside. There’s a lamp on the table that gives off a low orange glow. Wireless. Battery powered.
This is an interview room. An interview room similar to the room I sat in to give a statement that Saturday night in November. Except there’s rising damp here. The corners of the room are wet. Green, yellow and black. The plaster is cracked and peeling off the walls.
The large metal door opens in on the room and my heart rate doubles. I hold my breath.
“We’ve been waiting for you to come round.”
Katrina Martin.
Oddly, her familiar face settles my pulse a notch. I watch her move to the chair in front of the mirror. She’s been watching me from behind the wall.
“Like it?” she asks, sitting in her cheap black suit, her legs parted like a man in her flat, scuffed shoes.
I glance at her belt, looking for her badge, and remember that she’s been suspended. Yet, a handgun is holstered on her hip.
“Don’t fret. It’s mostly to let you know how things are going to go,” she says, following my gaze to her weapon. “As long as I get what I need, it stays right where it is.”
She looks tired. Worn. Haggard. Much older than her years. Older than she looked just weeks ago in Dubai.
“Not talking? You usually have so much to say.”
My mind is still processing everything, completely drawing a blank after those words left Stuart’s lips. I’m sorry.
Stuart and Trina?
She stands now, one hand on her hip, the other turning around the room. “This one is a little run down. The building’s been derelict for a long time. But I thought it would be nice to give you a little taster. Once you give me what I want, you’ll be in a much nicer version to make your statement against your boyfriend.”
My throat feels like it’s being grated with glass as I speak. “That’s what you want? That’s why I’m here?”
She sits again now, glaring at me. Unresponsive.
“You want me to tell you something that isn’t true.”
She throws her head back with a deep, menacing laugh that comes from her gut. Then she stops it abruptly.
“Except, you and I both know that it is true, Scarlett. Don’t we?”
She leans forward, resting her forearms on the table between us. Her voice comes low and sinister. “You know what makes me sick, Scarlett? People like you. People like your boyfriend. Gliding through life, e
xterminating anything and anyone who dares to stand in your way. And men. Men thinking women are nothing. Using us, hurting us. Not letting us get to where we fucking deserve in life.” She leans back with a loud, harsh snort. “They say they want to put away the bad guys. Think because they have a dick between their legs, they’re better than us at doing it. But you know what the truth is? They only want to fight the bad guys if the bad guys don’t pay. Bad guys can’t be rich. They’re the scum of the earth if they don’t have money. The dregs of society. If they have money, they pay to be good.”
My shoulders ache when I hold my head up but I do because I can’t tear my eyes away from her venom. Her hatred. I can’t help but wonder what or who made her this way.
“Do you see, Scarlett? Do you see why I have to do this? For us. For women. For the greater good of society. And you can help me. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to set right a wrong?”
I lost my hold on what’s right and wrong a while ago. All I know now is that there are so many wrongs, the only thing to do is what feels right. She’ll never know how much I’d like to go back. To do things differently. But I’m not sorry that bastard is dead. It was right to take him out of this world, to take him away from Gregory and bring him the justice he deserved for everything he ever did. To Gregory. To Lara. To Elsa. To my father. Everything else that’s happened has to be right because it sent that man to hell.
“Let me ask you something, Trina. Where do you stand on doing something that may be wrong in the eyes of the law to put right an evil? To correct something that’s morally repugnant?” Her eyes darken and burn into mine. It resonates. “You think that your plan for the greater good involves putting a man behind bars for serving justice?”
“Justice is what the law is for,” she snarls. “Justice is why police walk the streets. Justice isn’t served by corrupt men.”
“You think kidnapping to uncover a non-existent bribe is serving justice?”
She leans forward and slams the side of her fist against the metal table, the sound echoing in the room. She stands, clashing her metal chair against the mirrored wall. My heart pounds as she moves around the table towards me. She takes her gun from her holster. Air leaves my lungs.
