Storm Child (Dangerous Friends Book 3)

by Jennifer Young

  The bus rounded a corner with a jerk, throwing another passenger off their feet as they tried to make their way up the aisle. My nightmare flared up as the thin hand closed on my arm a second time, and the blonde girl sidled into the seat beside me and stared at me straight in the face.

  ‘Pomóż mi,’ she said, in what sounded like desperation. Then, seeing my blank look, tried again. ‘Hilfe.’

  I knew very little German, but I did know that much. She was asking me for help.

  Chapter 32

  The traffic was slow. Marcus, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he sat in a queue on the way out of Edinburgh, reviewed what he knew, what he could do about the situation in which they found themselves. His priority was Bronte. Once he was sure he had her with him, with a fuller version of her story and descriptions of both the man and the girl, he could speak to Nick Riley again. If that failed to have the desired effect — a near-certainty, since he sensed that Riley’s response to him was now far too deeply rooted in personal dislike to allow him to sacrifice his pride on the altar of professionalism —then he’d have to see if he could get Nerissa to take it up for him.

  He hadn’t seen the blonde girl who Bronte claimed had been following her, but he’d always believed in her existence, and now he was certain he knew who she was. If he got a glimpse of her, she would have the blue eyes and the blonde curls of the teenager in the family photograph that Nerissa had shown him. She could only be Jan’s sister, Celina Kowalska.

  His lip curled in a mixture of distaste and sympathy. No doubt Casimir Janosik, who must be the man in the car, was using her, possibly with fear as his weapon. These people always did. He and Bronte might not have been able to do anything for Jan, but at least they could help his sister.

  He flicked on the radio for the traffic reports and for the football, for company and for distraction. There was no point in worrying when there was nothing it would achieve, but he wouldn’t be happy until he had Bronte safe beside him again. His expression darkened. His fault again. Somehow, no matter how innocent his intentions, he always seemed to lead her into danger. No wonder her family were so hostile to him.

  There must have been some event on in Perth, as the by-pass was solid with two lanes of slow-moving traffic. Impatient to get to Bronte before any harm could come to her, Marcus broke his own rules and started lane-hopping, although he knew it wouldn’t get him there any sooner. When the inside lane slowed, he pulled into the outer one. The car behind him, far too close, did the same.

  The outer lane, in turn, slowed to a crawl. He cut back in, aware it was the kind of behaviour that irritated the hell out of other drivers, but unable to resist the need to keep moving. It was unthinkable than anything should happen to Bronte. Unthinkable.

  The car behind him, a blue Volvo with a mud-spattered windscreen, followed and dropped back a little.

  It was the dropping back that caught his attention, as if the driver was both keen to keep up with him and desperate not to be noticed. At the roundabout where the A9 took off sharply northwards, Marcus tested his theory and drove around the roundabout twice. The car followed him round the first time, and the second disappeared in towards the town.

  He turned off northwards. Playing games, then. His brain ticked over rapidly. There had been two men in the car that rescued Jan Kowalski, and he’d only seen one of them, but the pieces were falling into place. One of those men was Casimir Janosik, and he, with Celina in tow, was keeping tabs on Bronte. The second man, previously unaccounted for, must be in the car behind him.

  His sense of alarm grew. Pulling off into the next lay-by, he tried to call Nick Riley again. ‘Nick, no doubt you’ll think I’m wasting police time, but perhaps you’ll call me. I’m travelling up the A9 and someone followed me as far as Perth. Blue Volvo 90. Old model. I couldn’t get the number. I’ve lost it now, but I expect it’ll be back.’ He waited a moment for Nick to pick up, but there was no answer. He hadn’t expected it.

  Controlling his impatience, he waited for two more minutes until the blue car came past. Its number plate, thick with mud, was illegible. Certain now that there was serious danger, he pulled back out onto the A9. It would be the easiest thing in the world to lose the man — all he had to do was turn off onto one of the twisting side roads while the blue car was still ahead of him, and he’d be instantly invisible in the web of winding lanes, but that would cost him precious time. Whatever the man in the Volvo knew, whatever he wanted, Marcus daren’t lose sight of one thing. Janosik, with Celina Kowalska as his accomplice, was on Bronte’s trail.

  He had to reach her first.

  As he’d expected, he passed the Volvo sitting in a lay-by a couple of miles further north. The side window was down, but the brief glimpse he caught of the driver didn’t trigger any recognition. Pulling out as he drove past, the Volvo sat behind him, past Bankfoot, through Dunkeld, Ballinluig, and Dowally. It wasn’t until they reached the dual carriageway just south of Pitlochry that the traffic, unusually, lightened. The headlights of the Volvo powered up behind him as the driver took advantage of the opportunity, and Marcus found himself isolated and vulnerable.

  Though he’d been expecting it, the speed and audacity of the attack surprised him. He clenched his hands on the wheel and watched in the rear-view mirror as the Volvo drew alongside him, and glancing across he saw a stony face, set in earnest. The car slowed to maintain its speed alongside him for a moment, and began to veer across the road between them.

  Marcus held his position until the car was inches away and he could no longer underestimate the seriousness of his situation. This wasn’t a matter of mere intimidation; this man, whoever he might be, whatever his secret, meant business. He knew, too, that in a contest with a heavy Volvo, his own car would come off worse. A memory flashed across his mind, the thudding and rolling of his car down the snow-covered bank, Bronte’s scream echoing in his head.

  To his left, here, the ground fell away, though not steeply. He’d survive a crash that forced him off the road, as long as the Volvo drove on. He gave way to it, veering as close to the verge as he dared.

  Did he dare trust that the stakes were low enough for the driver to let him live?

  And there was Bronte. If he came off the road, there would be nothing he could do to help her. Trusting in his own reflexes and the car’s acceleration, he slammed his foot down hard on the pedal and screeched ahead. The speedometer touched eighty and the Volvo, caught by surprise, lost ground beside him. Hands tight on the steering wheel, Marcus braked sharply as he approached the turn for Pitlochry sooner than he’d expected, and slid off left down the slip road. Alone. The Volvo drove on safely and within the speed limit, as if nothing had happened.

  So, after all, it wasn’t the plan to take him out at all costs, but only when there was an opportunity to do so unseen. Whoever it was would try again, no doubt. But for now, his priority was to get to Bronte.

  Chapter 33

  ‘Do you need help?’ I said incredulously to the girl, as Perthshire flashed past us. ‘But you’ve been following me. How can you possibly need help?’

  She shook her head, her face indicating terror and her shrug a complete failure to understand. The headscarf slipped away to reveal the familiar blonde curls. ‘Polska. Polish.’

  Oh God. I was never good at languages. ‘Parlez-vous français?’ I asked her in desperation, but her blank look answered me. ‘What’s your name?’ I pointed to myself. ‘Bronte.’

  She understood that, at least. ‘Celina. Celina Kowalska. Polska.’

  Yes. Of course she would need help. It made sense. Marcus and I had been right: Jan Kowalski had been the victim of human trafficking or slavery, and she, his sister, was equally a victim. The man who had been following me must now be following her, too. I curled my hand around my phone. Marcus wouldn’t answer if he was driving, but when he met me in Pitlochry he’d know what to do.

  ‘I don’t speak Polish,’ I said to her very slowly, shaking my head. ‘But I
will help you. I will help you. You must stay with me.’

  She stared, a look of blank desperation on her face, the absence of a shared language an impenetrable barrier between us. Belated inspiration struck me, and I got out my phone and turned on Google translate. I’ll help you, I typed into it. Trust me. And I handed her the phone.

  Her eyes widened, though whether that was because she wasn’t used to the kindness of strangers or whether Google had managed to mangle the translation from one language to another, I couldn’t be sure. She played with the phone, unsure how to use it at first and then, gaining confidence, typed something in and handed it back.

  My brother is dead. She dashed away a tear as if it were a sign of weakness, and turned a defiant gaze on me.

  Jan, dying alone in the snow. Celina, trapped and isolated, forced into God-knew-what. We’d help her, but at that moment all I could do was hug her as best I could in the cramped surroundings of the bus.

  Shaking me off, she reached for the phone again, typing furiously into it, turning it towards me with every sentence. Piece by piece, as the bus rolled northwards, she revealed her story in fractured sentences.

  There are four of us.

  They are making us steal.

  My brother is dead.

  He killed a woman.

  I did not know about it until today.

  I want to get away, but not go home.

  I don’t have a home.

  ‘You poor, poor thing.’ My own eyes filling with tears, I seized the phone back and dashed off what reassurance I could offer. My boyfriend is a policeman. Stay with me. He’ll meet us off the bus. It’ll be all right. ‘You’ll be all right. He’ll know what to do.’

  Her turn again, in this silent game of revelations. She took the phone and looked long and hard at what I’d typed. A tear rose in her eye and this time she didn’t try to fight it, letting it roll down her cheek and drop into her lap. Typing slowly with her forefinger, she dragged out what must seem to her, a betrayal. My boyfriend and his friend are making us steal.

  That man was her boyfriend? How did that make sense? You are very brave, I typed back to her, my heart contorting with pity. Very brave. I promise I’ll look after you.

  She lifted her blonde head in defiance, as if she wished she hadn’t told me. But she wasn’t finished. And you are very good. A half-smile. Then again, the sucker punch. I don’t want him to kill you.

  I looked at her, aghast. Again, she was typing furiously, sentence after sentence, before tilting the phone to me. My brain struggled to cope with the flurry of short sentences. He’s following us in the car. They want to kill you. He says you suspect. He says you saw them. He says you know about Jan.

  The almost-empty bus turned off the slip road and rolled down into the town. We passed the police station and it was closed. Saturday afternoon. I just hoped DCI Riley was enjoying his weekend off, because he’d be busy on Monday and one of the things he’d be doing was eating his words. If, that was, he wasn’t dealing with more dead bodies. Did they kill your brother?

  She hesitated over the reply. I think he tried to run away and got caught in the storm.

  Now she was making the break in just the same way, only with the hope that Jan had been denied. Marcus and I would save her, and the others, too. As the bus eased its way from the main street into the bus station, I scanned the car park. Thank God! Marcus was waiting, hands dug deep in his pocket, and a serious expression on his face. It lifted briefly when he saw me, and settled back again after an instant.

  ‘Come on.’ I gestured to Celina. ‘We get off here. Marcus is there. It will be all right. Remember. I promised I’ll look after you and I will.’

  I led the way off the bus. Marcus stepped forward for a quick hug, but cut it short as he spotted Celina. ‘All right. What’s the story?’

  ‘I’ve never been so glad to see you.’ I’d have held onto the hug longer, if I could. ‘This is Celina. Jan’s sister.’

  He nodded. ‘I know. It all makes perfect sense now. How did you find her?’

  ‘They followed me up to Perth. I couldn’t see the car, and I thought he’d given up. But he must have put her on the bus to keep an eye on me, and she came to ask for help.’

  ‘Jesus.’ He kept looking at me and couldn’t stop a smile. ‘What are you like? Always attracting trouble.’

  ‘Oh, Marcus, it’s so awful. Her boyfriend is the man in the car.’ I touched his sleeve. ‘Though I don’t know how much say she has in the relationship. You were right. They’re running a criminal gang up here, and she says they want to kill us, before we tell anyone else.’

  ‘They’ve already tried. Someone just tried to run me off the road. I didn’t recognise him, but I’ll bet that it was the other man in the car, the one you saw and I didn’t.’

  He seemed astonishingly calm about another brush with death. ‘If you were a cat, you’d be running out of lives.’ I placed a hand on his cheek, a quick check to reassure myself that he was real, not a ghost. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘As you see, I survived unscathed. I’m not too worried. They’ve nothing to gain from getting rid of us now. I’ve called Nick Riley and left a message, so it’s out of our hands. But I’ll call him again and update him.’

  ‘There are four of them, Celina said. We have to help them, too.’

  ‘Do you know where they are?’

  ‘No, but it can’t be far away.’ I turned back to Google for the answer, as Marcus reached into his pocket for his phone. This time I called on Google maps and focussed in on Pitlochry, showed Celina the app, scrolling the screen around with a questioning look. Her fingers shaking, she pointed out the spot where a sprawl of farm buildings lay enfolded in the protection of the rigid hills.

  ‘Okay. Thanks for picking up this time.’ Marcus’s voice was shot through with irritation. ‘We’ve found Celina Kowalska. She came to Bronte for help. There are four people living up at the Janosik farm apparently, and not voluntarily. Maybe you should have sent someone up there?’ He shrugged as if Riley could see him. ‘Yes, I get that. But I think I’d appreciate some action right now, because someone just tried to run me off the road. We aren’t dealing with pussycats here.’

  I turned my back on Celina to watch him, nodding as he listened to the response. ‘Of course. We’ll be fine now. There’s no need to kill us now, is there?’ No thanks to you, his expression warned. ‘No, I understand. Priorities. I can look after myself, and Bronte and Celina, too. But as I don’t know where Janosik and his mate are, if I were you I’d get someone up to the farm sooner rather than later. And make sure you’ve got someone with you who speaks Polish. Those other kids are going to need some help.’

  He ended the call. ‘Of course, I’m not Nick. And I do take his point — there’s been a big pile-up on the A9 ten miles or so north of here, and they’ve got everyone available dealing with that. But I can’t help feeling that his pride has come into play here. I’ll be more comfortable when someone’s been up there to check on those other poor kids, and when Celina is safely in the hands of the social work department.’

  He turned back towards her with a broad smile that turned swiftly to a look of puzzlement, then irritation, and then determination. ‘Where’s she gone?’

  I turned on my heel. Celina, it appeared, had vanished into thin air.

  Marcus, his expression one of urgency, ran a few quick steps out of the car park, up towards the main street. Nothing.

  ‘I’ll go this way.’ I gestured back towards the station where a train was just pulling in. ‘And you—’

  ‘We’ll do nothing of the sort. We stay together.’

  ‘But you can’t just leave her. We need to know she’s all right.’

  ‘I’m not going to leave her. But I’m not going to leave you, either. Now come on. Let’s find the poor kid before someone else does.’

  Chapter 34

  The moment she’d betrayed Cas, Celina knew that it was a mistake.

  Life offered you c
hoices and tormented you with a split second in which to snatch at the right one — choices you were unprepared for, choices you had no idea how to make. They were the kind of choices that you might as well decide by the toss of a coin, because they rarely turned out to be right or wrong, but each one was burdened by a bewilderment of advantages and disadvantages.

  When Cas had dropped her off at the bus station in Perth and told her to keep tabs on the girl — Bronte, as she now knew her — before meeting up with him in Pitlochry, he’d trusted her.

  Fate had tempted her with the chance of breaking away from the uncertainty and fear of the life she shared with him, offering her a slim hope of salvaging any good she could for herself and letting him take the rap for what she now saw were his crimes. She’d taken it, and now she realised that it was a false choice. They probably wouldn’t have killed Bronte, or her boyfriend. Cas was too soft, barely able to bring himself to the edge of the abyss let alone peer over it. And Yer Man, who was anything but soft and, she now knew, capable of life-taking violence, couldn’t have done it without killing them, too.

  If she’d thought it through, she’d have realised that. She’d have stayed silent on the bus, got off it, and then run down to join Cas and told him that they had to give themselves up, and that she wouldn’t help him. Whether he’d have agreed wasn’t clear, but whatever they’d have done, it had to be better than murder — and infinitely better than betrayal.

  Instead, she’d given in to temptation and reached out to someone who, she knew, would help her when nobody would help Cas, who needed it just as much, though in a different way. And now it was too late. Bronte was already guiding her off the bus and into the crowded town.

  She looked around, bemused by the hubbub around her. Cas never took her into town. He was too well known there. The couple, paying more attention to each other than to her, were talking. He got out his phone. Bronte offered her phone again, this time with a map on it. Celina, rather to her surprise, realised that she could read the map, that even though she didn’t know any place names, she could see the farm on the map. And it really wasn’t very far away from anywhere at all. Still keeping half an eye out for trouble, she pointed it out, biting her bottom lip in uncertainty. What about Krystian, and Milek, and Roch? What future had she condemned them to?