As he tosses a box on the bed and I see it’s a brand new iPhone, I can’t think why he’s giving it to me. “I’ve got a phone, Ben,” I tell him, curious. I don’t know how, but I’d had the presence of mind to grab my handbag before leaving the burning house.
“Somehow he’s got your number, Mia. I’d like to keep hold of your phone. If he tries to contact you again, we can try and track him. You can wipe anything you need to do, first, if you like. Oh, and give me the code to get into it.”
I shudder, receiving a text was bad enough, I wouldn’t want to receive an actual call. So I’ve no problem with Ben taking custody of my phone, and there’s nothing on it that I wouldn’t want him to see. I’ve no issue giving him the pin number he needs. I don’t want to be kept out of the loop, though. “You’ll tell me if he makes contact? I need to know what’s going on. Please don’t leave me out of it, Ben; I’d go mad if you kept me in the dark.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll personally make sure you’re kept fully briefed.” His face grows serious, “I’ve been speaking with Detective Coulter. We both believe the fire wasn’t meant to kill you, just get you out of the house. By attacking both front and rear, your only exit was via the lounge windows; he must have been keeping watch for you to come out. And that the bullet was meant to kill your bodyguard.” He rubs his hand over his face, pausing with his fingers resting under his chin. Idly I notice he needs a shave. “He wanted you, Mia. Neither Coulter nor I think this is about money.”
“He was going to take me.” A simple enough statement, but one that fills me with horror.
He moves his hand from his face, and it comes to rest on mine, it doesn’t soothe me like Jon’s touch would have done. “It seems a fair assumption that he wants some up close and personal time with you. But don’t worry, my team will do everything possible to prevent that happening, so that means keeping you out of his way until we’ve caught him.”
I shiver. Deep down I think I’ve always known the stalker wanted me; it wasn’t hard to interpret the notes that way. But if the stalker was one and the same with one of my rapists from seven years ago… Shit! I wouldn’t be able to go through that again. And this time, if he gets me, from the wording of the notes I’m sure he won’t be letting me go.
Ben notices my consternation. “We are going to keep you safe.”
“But how long will it take to find him? It might be weeks, months? I can’t hide forever!” Ten days ago I was living my nice quiet life, no threats, no one after me. Now I’m being forced into hiding.
“We’re working on it, and so are the police. But just as a precaution….” He reaches into his other pocket and brings out a small packet. As he opens it, I see some small buttons. Confused, I try and sit up for a closer look and grimace as the action pulls on my wound. Ben notices, “Don’t move; I’ll bring them over.”
He sits on the bed, careful not to jolt me. “These are GPS devices. I’ve got three here that you can keep with you, in your bag, a pocket, a shoe. In the unlikely event he manages to get through all the security and takes you, we’ll be able to track you. We’re trying to cover all bases.”
Though hopefully, it’s doubtful he’d get through both of my newly assigned protectors, the thought they’d be able to find me fast if he did is a comforting one. “Thank you, Ben. That makes me feel a lot better.”
Just the action of trying to sit up has made me dizzy and ill. All at once everything seems to catch up with me, and a myriad of emotions hit me. Despair, confusion, fear and anger; the mental and physical pain combined with exhaustion hits me. I don’t want to talk anymore. Leaning back on the pillows, I shut my eyes, hoping he’ll get the message. It’s not long before the sound of the door softly closing reaches me.
I sleep for a while and wake to feel a little stronger. I deter Val from coming to visit. I don’t want her or anyone to see me in this state. As I am, I’m struggling to keep it together, with Jon’s desertion going round and round my head. A friendly face offering sympathy would probably make me lose it.
The doctors decided to keep me in the hospital overnight but assess me as fit enough to be discharged the next day. I leave, kitted out with a sling. When I open the bag Sean had given me, I find Vanessa’s bought me a button up sleeveless top that is loose enough to fit over my bandage, and a pair of sweatpants. I’m glad she didn’t go for jeans; I always have to try on a few pairs to get ones that fit properly, tending to hover between a size six and eight, and different shops seem to cater for different builds. The underwear I’ve asked for is there. I went for bikinis; there’s no point suffering an uncomfortable thong if no one’s going to see it. Likewise, the bra is plain and functional. Everything’s brand new, complete with tags.
She’s also bought me a leather jacket, similar to my old favourite which is now probably cinders in the remains of my home. Choking back a sob as I realise how much I’ve lost, I wonder how she knew which one I wore. The suspicion that Jon might have had a hand in choosing it goes through my head. But I dismiss quickly it as wishful thinking. He’d made it plain he wanted nothing more to do with me, however much my heart would like to think he’s there in the background, still watching out for me.
Sighing, I remind myself I’ve pulled myself back from worse things, so when Sean and Ryan open my door to check I’m ready for the off, I even manage a smile as I take my leave of the nurse who’s just been helping me dress.
“Morning, boys.” I succeed in sounding at least part way cheerful.
Sean makes a mock bow, “Your chariot awaits, ma’am.” He grins, while Ryan, the more serious of the two, just acknowledges me with a lift of his chin before stepping forwards to take charge of my meagre collection of belongings. Sean takes my arm, and I exit, with great pleasure, the sterile hospital room. It crosses my mind that I’ve an incredibly handsome man touching me, his hand cupping my elbow. And I don’t feel a bloody thing.
It’s not a long journey to the safe house. It’s small and in the middle of a terrace, with a back and front door, the houses on either side preventing more entry routes. The back garden is plain grass fenced in with six-foot panels—all alarmed they assure me—with no hedges or shrubs to hide behind. Likewise, the front is paved and open. I’m shown so many security gadgets inside I start to suspect Fort Knox could learn a few lessons from this place. The tour helps me feel safe, and the bedroom I’m assigned is comfortable, clean, and fresh albeit stark and utilitarian. I realise I haven’t any personal possessions to made it feel like my own.
After a quick look round and having put away the one other set of clothing Vanessa had bought me, I go back down to the lounge, disoriented and unsure what I’m going to do. There’s a TV, but that doesn’t excite me; having lost everything I suppose I’m relegated to reading books on my phone. So I’m surprised, and pleased to find, sitting on a coffee table, a new laptop still boxed up with a note on it addressed to me. And it’s the same model I lost in the fire. Picking up the paper on top, I read the few words written there: To get you started and help you get back on your feet. I wonder. Did Jon have a hand in this? But whether he did or not, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The ability to work is a normality I need, even if I’m limited as to how much I’ll be able to do at this stage.
My arm’s aching like a bitch, but having internet access will keep me occupied. Impatient to get it up and running, I have to ask Sean to help me get it out of the box, resentful at being so weak and helpless. A feeling I haven’t felt for seven years.
No, I’m not going to think that way again. I’m not the person I was then. Pulling myself together, I plug in the charger and sit with the laptop resting on my knees. Painstakingly I go through the registration process, entering all my details from scratch feeling like I’m beginning my life all over again. I’ve still got all the important stuff held in the Cloud; all my books, completed or in progress stored there along with notes and vital documents. But everything I’d saved locally is lost forever; photos, music,
emails going back years. Suddenly I’m overwhelmed by what’s happened. I have the clothes I stand up in and a change for tomorrow, but that’s all. A sob rises in my throat and the tears well in my eyes and fall down my face. In just a few seconds I’m crying hysterically, and I don’t know how to stop.
I’m not sure quite how long my crying jag lasts, but after a while, a box of tissues magically appears by my side and, wiping my eyes, I see Ryan hunkering down in front of me. He reaches out his enormous hand taking my much smaller one in his; his pained expression, the slight shake of his head conveying sympathy. As he crouches in front of me, staying silent, the fact I’ve got an audience is embarrassing and gives me the encouragement I need to try and stop the flood of tears. As my sobs gradually fade, I start to apologise.
Ryan takes the laptop, which was still on my knees and puts it to one side. “You’ve been shot, Mia. You’re in shock and need to rest.” He looks at me with his serious gaze. “You’ve held it together amazingly up to now. I’m not sure many people would have been as strong as you.”
The gentle words from such a burly, taciturn man help me suppress the last few involuntary sobs from my bout of tears.
Chapter 24
Jon
Six months ago
To get a phone call from Jasim out of the blue, when his greeting was simply his disowned brother’s name, was fucking unreal. And it got worse as I listened to what he had to say. By the time he’d finished, I was hardly capable of forming any words at all, his news hitting me so hard I could barely keep hold of the phone. I managed to stammer out my agreement when infected by his sense of urgency; I agreed to drop everything and leave on the first available flight to Paris.
I met him at Charles de Gaulle airport. Although Jasim had been attending a meeting in Germany, our planes landed only an hour apart. While I’d been waiting I hadn’t stopped pacing; the implications of the little he’d told me so far completely screwing up my head. When I heard the details he’d waited to divulge in person; I was shocked to the very core; the news hit me as hard as a punch to the gut.
As I easily read the guilt written all over his face, I knew his expression only matched mine. If what he told me was the truth, we’d facilitated a grievous wrong. A wrong for which penance was still being paid, three years later. Had we misjudged the situation? Misjudged our brother? His true brother in blood, mine by friendship.
In the middle of the busy airport, we grasped each other’s hands, and I’d felt the slight tremble in his. “Cara may be wrong,” I told him.
He shook his head, “That fucking hole in the wall, Jon. We all missed that. His bruised and grazed hand, his blood on his knuckles, his blood on her.”
“If she was lying…” I start, unable to believe I could have missed the signs. Chantelle, Nijad’s girlfriend, had been so credible.
“She’s lucky she’s a woman,” he growled in response.
Together we trawled the backstreets of the French capital. It took surprisingly little time to track down Chantelle, who we found whoring herself out to survive. And that’s when we discovered everything had been a lie; the scene set up to incriminate Nijad. Orchestrated by her boyfriend who’d appropriated the six-figure payoff she’d received from the Kassis family for himself. A set up that was so cleverly enacted that even Nijad had believed the evidence against him and had spent the last three years in physical exile and mental anguish over a crime he’d never committed.
I should have known my friend wasn’t capable of such an attack, despite the forensic evidence and the unshakeable story the woman had given, I should have realised my blood brother could never have committed such a crime. I should have trusted in him, instead of letting his supposed betrayal get to me. Should have calmly balanced what I knew of the man against what I saw in front of my eyes. But I hadn’t.
It kept me awake at night, the guilt I held inside. My sixth sense had kept my men and me out of danger so many times, my premonitions had warned me of the attack in Paris in time to save many lives, so how could I have judged Nijad so wrongly? His presumed actions had offended me on a deeply personal level; having felt betrayed that I’d given my friendship and love to such a man. If I’d just been his CPO, I might have been able to see through the emotional fog that had clouded my mind, but I’d become more than that.
I’d become his blood brother, and that had made me blind.
Present day
Putting my hand over my mouth, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn, I realise just how long it’s been since I last had more than a couple of hours of sleep. As soon as I close my eyes everything swirls around my head, leaving me feeling like I’m on a never-slowing merry-go-round, missing Mia like I’d miss a part of my body. The errors I’d made were Paris all over again, but this time the my emotions caused the error of judgement that almost got a woman killed. I should have known not to get involved. When I do, I only end up making one mistake after another. I’d underestimated my opponent, and Mia got hurt. On my fucking watch! I’ve no option but to stay away from her; I failed to keep her safe.
Ben’s furious with me, he doesn’t understand; it caused our first ever stand up row. When he demanded I get right off the case and go to the States to oversee a new contract, he was incensed at my refusal. But even now I can’t distance myself completely. I have to know what is going on with Mia, overseeing her safety if only from a distance. After a heated argument, he reluctantly agreed; the threat of having to find a new partner being the final and dirtiest card I played. So that’s why I’m sitting here today, taking the lead in Mia’s case, but remaining firmly in the background.
I yawn again and rub my tired eyes, forcing myself focus back to the meeting going on.
“That’s three clubs now, and I’ve not come up with anything.” Sean finishes up his report, glancing across at me. He’s spending his days at the safe house guarding Mia; nights he’s trawling round kink clubs looking for something that doesn’t look right. So far he’s come up with zilch. Sean’s a great choice to investigate the clubs, not only is he a switch and happy to either top or bottom, but he’s also bi-sexual. His pretty boy looks have broad appeal.
“Enjoying your work, Sean?” Vanessa grins.
Sean smirks. “It’s dirty work, but someone’s got to do it.”
His response gets a laugh from them all. Going to a club and not playing is like going to a bar and refusing to drink; it would raise suspicions, so I’ve no doubt he’s mixing business with pleasure.
“I’ve made a bit of progress,” Vanessa starts, and my attention swiftly shifts to her. “We’ve got a name from a couple of the partygoers. It seems there was a guy called Miller there, and he was seen leaving with a girl who one person remembered looked pretty drunk. No one knows much about him, though. He sounds like the proverbial gate crasher.”
“Miller the surname?”
Vanessa shrugs. “Could be a first name I suppose, but it would be an unusual one.” She glances down at her papers. “We’re assuming it’s the surname, so we’re going back to the electoral registers for the surrounding areas. A couple of families in a twenty-mile radius were called Miller, but none with a young person of the right age at the time. We know he drove so he’d be seventeen at least, and from what we’ve been told he didn’t stand out from the crowd so was probably not much older. So we’re assuming he had to be late teens or early twenties. Therefore we’re looking for someone in that age group.”
“Keep searching,” I tell her, then, turning to Sean again; I ask a question, not sure I want to hear his answer, “How’s Mia coping?”
After giving me a sharp look, he takes a deep breath in and lets it out before he speaks, as though trying to gather his thoughts. Is he going to censor what he tells me?
“Outwardly, man? She seems to be okay; she’s started working again. Val, her agent, came to visit her yesterday, and she seems happy enough with her new deadlines. But I think she’s struggling. She wants to get on with her life, but can’t unt
il we sort this bastard out.” As he finishes speaking, the look he throws me suggests he wants to add something more but refrains when he catches my glare.
“I asked Nafisa to help her sort out her insurance etc.,” Vanessa breaks in, “It’s one hell of a thing to deal with when everything’s literally gone up in smoke. Just sorting out the utility bills is a pain. Nafisa spent an hour on the phone yesterday. They were insistent they couldn’t do anything without an account number, and all her paperwork was destroyed! Nafisa’s hopefully taking the pressure of the drudgery off her a bit at least.”
“Thanks for doing that, Vanessa. And thank Nafisa for me.” I’m pleased they’re helping Mia out and guilty that I’m not doing anything tangible myself. I couldn’t even go to the clubs with Sean as Mia’s stalker would recognise me. The only thing I’d been able to do was to replace her bloody laptop.
“We’ll continuing trawling the clubs,” Ben broke in, informing us. “Sean’s going to Satan’s Kinks tonight.”
I know of it. It’s a popular club in Soho and would attract a large crowd on a Saturday night.
After throwing a few more ideas around, I close up the meeting, but remain in the room on my own, ostensibly to finish my cup of cold coffee, but in reality using the time to think. We’re making some progress, but it’s all too slow. Too fucking slow! There’s been nothing from the stalker all week—no phone messages or any contact made through her agent or publisher, the only other two ways he could try to get in touch. But as long as Mia’s in the safe house I know she’s out of danger. But she can’t stay there forever. Sean’s right, Mia needs to be able to move on with her life. And then perhaps I’ll be able to move on too.
“Time to call it a day, Jon.”
I start and look over my shoulder to see Ben’s returned. “I’m just going.” I frown, wanting to be alone with my thoughts.
Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2) Page 30
