by Rebecca Heap
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed at this but he recognized the tactics Sean was trying to employ and laughed. “You think you worry me?” he said “You’re the one who’s talking instead of fighting. Shut the fuck up.”
With that he lunged quickly forward and, before Sean could duck, he’d hit him fully in the mouth. Sean’s head jolted sharply backwards from the force of the blow and his mouth filled with the coppery taste of his own blood. It would have knocked a lesser man to the floor and, whilst he genuinely fought to stay on his feet, he played on this fact. Thinking hard and fast, he feigned virtual collapse, then suddenly pushed up to a half-crouch and ran at Sebastian, head down. He slammed into him with all his body weight.
Sebastian was taken off guard, and they fell to the floor, Sean on top of Sebastian and grappling with him as they went down. However, Sebastian soon recovered and shoved Sean off him, driving a fist into his stomach. He quickly regained his feet and, before Sean could recover his wind, began kicking him unremittingly whilst he remained on the floor.
Sean managed to twist himself so that only some of the kicks made contact. When Sebastian finally tired a little and the kicking began to slow, Sean saw his opportunity. He grabbed one of Sebastian’s upraised feet to unbalance him and then sweeping his own leg out, connected with the ankle of his rooted foot, bringing him down. Sebastian fell sideways, crashing heavily into a small glass side table, splinters showering everywhere.
This time Sean was the one who stood, but he did so with difficulty, breathing hard and with excruciating pain in his ribs, brought on by suspected fractures where Sebastian’s boots had found their target. However, he knew he had no time to waste on rallying himself. Sebastian, not having suffered the same punishment as Sean, would soon be upright again, despite the thundering fall. He grabbed one of the larger splinters of glass from the table debris and approached Sebastian, as he started to raise himself.
Sebastian glared at his competitor. He was surprised at how well this monkey had fought. He’d given him a better game than he’d anticipated, but enough was enough, damn it. He could feel glass fragments stabbing his back and arms and blood seeping from a cut in his forehead. He reached for the taser in his pocket but, as he did so, his hand brushed against something lying next to him that was cold and hard. He smiled.
Sean thought he now had the upper-hand but had unwittingly knocked Sebastian into the table upon which he had deposited his gun. As Sebastian’s hand alighted on that object he lifted it and pointed it at Sean. With smug satisfaction in his voice he said, “I think gun beats glass.”
Sean admitted defeat at the sight of the gun. He reluctantly dropped the piece of glass and raised his hands in capitulation.
Sebastian rose to his feet and said with undisguised humour, “I enjoyed our short skirmish, but I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Barbie over there didn’t have the chance to play hostess.”
Sebastian’s derogatory reference to Angela caused Sean to glance across at her on the bed. His stomach knotted in sympathy and regret at what he saw. She lay there lifeless, gruesomely used and battered. He’d clearly been too late to save her, even had the fight ended in his favour. Had this man been here because of him? He truly hoped not, but his presence seemed too much of a coincidence.
“Rude of you really to engage me in combat when I don’t even know who you are?” continued his antagonist. “Perhaps you need teaching some manners?” he queried, and before Sean could respond, ruthlessly shot him in the thigh. Sean collapsed to the floor in shock, gripping his injured leg, blood pouring from the wound.
“Just thought I’d better test that it works,” chuckled Sebastian, his real reason being that he was considerably pissed at how Sean had caught him unawares, not just when he’d been occupied with the woman, but also during their fight.
“Now, who are you? This time it’s not a rhetorical question so you can answer, and don’t bother lying to me or I’ll shoot you again.”
Sean’s instinct had been confirmed. This man was here for Kate, but he clearly wasn’t a police officer. How the hell had he found them? But he didn’t have time to figure this out. Breathing harshly, he hissed through teeth gritted against the throbbing and intense pain shrieking from his leg, “My name’s Sean Murphy, you fuck.”
He knew it was risky to give this man a false surname. However, he was relying on the possibility that Angela had only remembered or revealed his first name and he was loath to disclose more than he needed to.
“Sean,” repeated Sebastian. “Your ex obligingly told me all about you. That makes things considerably easier for you. I hope you’re grateful to her. Now, no more questions. Take me to Kate.”
Sean was relieved that his ruse had worked but it occurred to him that, once he led this man to Kate, the odds were that he’d be a dead man anyway. He was tempted to affect confusion but realized this would gain him nothing but further suffering and this prick would find her, with or without him. His mind raced but he could see no way out of this. He carefully raised himself to a half-standing position, placing as little weight as he could on his debilitated leg. Blood pounded in his ears, muffling his senses and filling his head with muted thunder. He blinked rapidly, as his vision threatened to dissolve.
Sebastian noticed this and strode towards him. “Don’t faint on me you fucking pussy,” He ordered and pulled him savagely upright, planting the pistol against his head. “Where is she?”
His actions succeeded in putting pressure onto the very injury Sean had been anxious to avoid provoking. The pain, whilst devastating, rocketed through his brain clearing it in a brutal burning burst.
Sean fought against clutching the arm that now held him and giving voice to the scream that strived to erupt from him. He wasn’t about to give this bastard the satisfaction. Instead, he shrugged off his arm and mustered his few remaining reserves. Turning, he limped from the room, grunting “This way.”
Kate was growing restless. She fidgeted with the metal cuff manacling her to the car door. Why was he taking so long? The clouds had long dispersed and the sun was now beating down unrelentingly. It might have been winter and cold outside but the car was unbearably warm and she was sweating and uncomfortable. She glanced out of the car window again, having done so many times without result. What she now saw had her gaping in astonishment.
She leaned forwards, not sure she could really trust what she was witnessing, thinking at first it was some form of illusion brought on by the refraction of the sunlight on the glass and her over-stressed mind. She squinted so as to adjust her perspective and close out some of the light but the picture didn’t change. Her captor was now the captured, being impelled away from the house, a gun trained on his back. The man holding the gun was large and impressively built. He looked familiar but she couldn’t quite place him. The two figures came nearer.
Seeing first the ruined state of her captor’s face and noticing his limp and the blood soaking his leg, she exhaled in shock and her heart pounded in renewed fear. Was the big man an even greater menace? Then, as Sean walked forward and she was able to observe the man behind him more carefully, she experienced a rush of relief. She did know him. He was one of her father’s men. Sebastian. He must be here to rescue her!
Then a flicker of apprehension returned to sting her. She’d never taken to this brute of a man her father employed. She had always found him uncouth and unattractive, despite his physical good looks. When he spoke to her, he was always polite but he’d stare at her disconcertingly and let his eyes slide over her body. She tried to brush this thought away. What did it matter? He obviously had his uses and had clearly demonstrated his prowess in this situation. He must be here on her father’s instructions. He had found her and would take her safely home. The nightmare was over.
When they reached the car, Sebastian shoved Sean face down on the bonnet of the vehicle, pressing the gun to his head. He looked in at Kate and a grin flashed across his face. He clearly believed he was showing off his
mastery when, if he’d had any consideration for her, thought Kate, he’d have realized this show of brutality was the last thing she needed. She had been right about him. She stared at Sean’s crumpled and bloodied face, as he looked back at her accusingly. Sebastian raised his eyebrows questioningly but she shook her head adamantly. She didn’t want him killed, what was Sebastian thinking?
This was it, Sean thought, undone by a slip of a woman in more ways than one. He had become convinced, on the walk back out to the car, that Kate had somehow signalled her location and persuaded him to return to the house because she knew this man would be here. Now he was going the same way as Brenna and what had he accomplished?
“Sorry, deirfiúr bheag,” he murmured.
But the gunshot never came. Sebastian instead riffled through his pockets to find the car keys. Then the world slipped rapidly away from Sean, as he was clouted viciously over the head with the butt of the gun.
CHAPTER 9
Charles Hughes sat in front of his computer station glaring at the screen in front of him. His spreadsheets were refusing to print. They appeared in the printer queue but then just seemed to freeze there. He sighed, ran a hand through his tawny blond hair, destroying its usually neat appearance, and walked over to the office printer for the fifth time just to check that his print out hadn’t suddenly materialised. He had asked and no-one else in the office seemed to be having the same problem so it couldn’t be a server error. He went back to his desk and decided to do a search for another printer on the network that he could try to connect to.
He found another HP laserjet and set it as his default printer instead. He tried printing the spreadsheets again and the screen seemed to indicate that it was successful. He then checked the location of the alternative printer he had used and was surprised to realise that it wasn’t on his floor and therefore belonged to another company in the building. He traced the printer he had used to the next floor. He would have to get the technical guys to sort things out, as he was obviously linked up to the wrong network. Nevertheless, at least his work should have printed this time.
He walked out of the office and up the stairs to the floor above. “Bespoke Cars – Accounts Section” stated a simple metal plaque next to the double doors where the printer lived. He smiled. Finally he might gain entry into this prestigious company, even if it was just the Accounts Department! He had applied for a job with Bespoke Cars, because of his love of top of the range convertibles, but hadn’t even been offered an interview.
He pressed an intercom and explained what he wanted to the person that answered. He was buzzed in and a slickly dressed, morose-looking man examined his id tag and looked him up and down disapprovingly.
“I can’t see your stuff being here,” he grumbled. “You guys aren’t even on the same server as us.”
“I did seem to manage to connect to your printer though,” Charlie insisted. “Can I just check and retrieve my documents?”
The man frowned at him. “If they have printed out here, I won’t print to it again,” Charlie assured him. “I’ll get our technical people to sort it out, I promise.”
The employee grunted and invited Charlie to follow him to a printer in the corner of the office. He shuffled through the documents in the printer tray, muttering to himself.
His expression changed to one of reluctant astonishment and he thrust some paperwork at Charlie. “Here you are. This must be yours.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said, taking it and turning to leave.
“Hey!”
Charlie pivoted back. “Don’t think you can come up here again,” the fellow warned, his thin lips pursed into non-existence in his saturnine face. “Make sure you get it sorted OK? If anything else prints out that isn’t ours, it’s going in the shredder!”
Charlie raised his hands in a gesture of acquiescence and then left, shaking his head.
When he got back to his desk, he looked through the documents to check that he had everything. At the back of the pile was a sheet of information he didn’t recognise. After all that griping, the stupid man had given him one of their documents! He glanced down at it and was interested to see that it was an invoice for an expensive sports car. He read through the specifications, resting his hand on his cheek in dreamy contemplation. What he wouldn’t do to own such an incredible vehicle!
As he looked down the list, something jarred but he couldn’t quite grasp what it was at first. He read through the details again. When he realised what he had seen, he suddenly sat back in his chair, a puzzled look on his boyish face. A Porsche Cayman S did not have a folding roof and yet this invoice clearly stated “convertible.”
He assumed it was some kind of mistake. No matter how good these people were at personalizing cars, surely they couldn’t change a structural part of the car like that? In any event, if the buyer wanted a convertible car, all he had to do was buy a Porsche Boxster or similar instead? Charlie knew it was none of his business but it niggled at him. He decided it must be an administrative error of some sort. He had no wish to return to their office to point this out to them in person and doubted he would be permitted entry a second time anyway. Nevertheless, he had no qualms about ratting on the prick he had dealt with in their office. He therefore decided to drop them a quick email explaining how he had obtained the invoice and pointing out the error.
Charlie checked his inbox before shutting down his computer for the day at 4pm. He shrugged. Bespoke Cars hadn’t replied to his email. He got the invoice out again to have a look at it. His eyes fell on the delivery date stated at the bottom. It was yesterday! His gaze moved to the delivery address. The house had a name rather than a number, which suggested that it was an upmarket property, but the area postcode indicated that it was local.
He rubbed a hand across his mouth thoughtfully. It wouldn’t be too far out of his way to make a detour on his way home. The car could be parked on a driveway and, as it had been a clear day and the clocks hadn’t gone back yet, it should still be light enough to see. If the car was out of sight and he felt audacious enough, perhaps he could even impose on the homeowner to let him view it? He might be more than happy to show off his new purchase? Decision made, he stuffed the invoice in his back pocket and left the office, his step a little bouncy and his skin prickling with anticipatory nerves.
“You have reached your destination”, Charlie’s SatNav declared as he pulled up opposite some rather imposing wrought iron gates. All he could see was a glimpse of a driveway through the gates and then his view was obscured by a high stone wall that must extend around the house and grounds. He could see some kind of intercom set into one of the pillars that supported the gates. This was going to be more difficult than he had envisaged. If the owner was as security conscious as it first appeared, he wasn’t going to let some complete stranger come and nosy around his new car.
He dug the invoice out of his bag and looked again at it thoughtfully. Should he pose as a representative of Bespoke Cars? He wrestled briefly with his conscience and then decided to go for it. He had come this far now and what harm would it do? The man could always just turn him away.
He got out of his car and walked confidently over to the intercom; he wanted to look purposeful in case there was also a camera on the gate. He hesitated briefly but then pressed the buzzer. He was committed now. Nothing happened at first and he peered between the bars on the gate, finally catching sight of a large, mansion style house at the end of the long, stony driveway.
There was a sudden gust of wind that shook the trees on either side of the approach, the branches rattling together like loose bones. Red autumn leaves rushed down to lie like dark drops of blood on the wet ground. Charlie shivered and turned up the collar of his jacket. He was about to head back to his car and he jumped in surprise when a loud voice suddenly emanated from the speaker.
“What do you want?” it demanded belligerently.
He started to respond, his voice at first deserting him and forcing him to cough. He then beg
an again in a more assertive tone.
“Hello, Mr Williamson,” he said in greeting, having noted the name from the invoice. “I understand that you have taken delivery of a luxury vehicle recently and I am just following up as part of Bespoke Cars’ customer care service.”
There was a long pause and then the man queried suspiciously, “I don’t remember this being mentioned when the sale was finalised. What is it that you want exactly?”
“I’m just checking that everything is to your satisfaction, Sir. I won’t take up much of your time,” Charlie replied.
“Can’t this kind of thing be done over the phone?” Mr Williamson asked.
“Yes, Sir,” Charlie accepted, “but we prefer to offer a more personal service. I’m sorry if it is unexpected. I was in the area and was asked to drop by.”
“I’m not sure about this. I was promised that this sale would remain very private. You turning up on my doorstep is not exactly what I would call discreet.”
“I assure you Sir, that client confidentiality has been in no way compromised,” Charlie declared, now starting to regret his decision to investigate the car. This joker seemed to be very uptight and he hadn’t thought it would be quite so difficult to gain access. He’d now embroiled himself in a pretence that could prove hard to maintain. What if this guy ended up calling the police?
However, Charlie had never run away from a challenge in his life and, though all his instincts were screaming at him to get out of there, his curiosity was highly aroused. If he didn’t follow this through he would be left forever wondering about the car and castigating himself for being such a coward.
“I am not happy about this. Not happy about this at all,” Mr Williamson said, profound annoyance seething behind his words. There was a very long pause. Charlie almost turned away, deciding that he wasn’t going to be granted admission anyway.
