Death Sentence

by Sheryl Browne

  Matthew nodded and gulped back hard, ‘Where has he taken her?’ he asked her, his words strangulated, as if he was struggling to contain his emotion.

  ‘Out there.’ She nodded towards the door, where the freak had dragged Becky screaming and kicking, fighting him with every fibre of her being. That’s when Ashley had decided she would keep fighting too, whatever Matthew had done.

  Matthew looked at her as she turned her gaze back to him.

  ‘Ashley,’ he said, holding her gaze, now clearly working to keep his voice calm, ‘he’s lying. You know that, don’t you?’

  Ashley looked uncertainly back at him, searching his eyes. He had nice eyes, dark eyes, but not dark evil, like the freak’s. Matthew’s eyes were kind. They had a little twinkle in them when he smiled. Or they had, before. Now all she could see was deep-rooted fear. There was determination there too, though, Ashley could see, as he continued to study her. She nodded slowly. ‘Trying to mess with my head, you mean?’

  ‘Exactly that.’ Again, Matthew’s relief was obvious. ‘He’s trying to divide us, psychologically. Turn us against each other. Do you understand?’

  Ashley nodded more assuredly. ‘He’s a freak,’ she said, firmly wishing there was a way to loop that leash around his neck, as he had Matthew’s, and yank it until his eyes bulged.

  ‘That he is.’ Matthew nodded weakly and attempted to move, wincing with pain as he did. ‘So do we let him?’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Take me with you,’ the woman said, as Patrick checked the rope around her ankles.

  Surprised, but only briefly, Patrick glanced up to where she was perched on the bumper of the car he’d paid cash for. She wouldn’t get in quietly, he guessed. She could try the patience of a saint, this one. Patrick didn’t consider himself a saint exactly, but she’d be enough to test any man. He’d be glad to get shot of her, drive her off to some secluded spot and dump her. Once he’d gone back and knocked the fight out of the other little bitch, that was. And checked the copper hadn’t snuffed it. He still needed him, for now. No doubt Adams’ bank would have auto-logged him out. Should have made him write his online banking details down. That was short-sighted. Careless. It wasn’t like Patrick to be careless. Mind you, with these two silly tarts messing with his head, acting coy one minute and trying to claw his eyes out the next, it was no wonder.

  ‘Take me with you,’ she repeated. ‘On your boat.’

  Patrick laughed derisorily. ‘You really do think I’m stupid, don’t you?’ Shaking his head, he stood up, now looking down at her bemusedly. She was taking the piss, as bold as brass. She definitely had some bottle though. He had to hand it to her.

  ‘On the contrary, I think you’re very clever,’ she said, meeting his eyes, a determined look in her own.

  Which was supposed to mean what? Mind games, he thought. She was playing with him. Well, he had news for her. He was cleverer than she knew, by far. And he’d had more practice than her. His old man had been the world expert at building people up and then knocking them down, in particular Joe and him. She was wasting her breath, which she really ought to be saving. She was probably going to be in that boot an awful long time before anybody stumbled across her.

  ‘Zip it,’ he said. ‘And stand up, or it’ll be worse for hubby.’

  ‘Hah!’ she spat, as he assisted her non-too-gently to standing. ‘Do you think I care?’

  Feigning interest, Patrick looked at her curiously. ‘Well, do you?’

  Boldly, she notched up her chin.

  Patrick cocked his head to one side, quietly amused, wondering how far she was going to go with this little charade.

  ‘It’s his fault! All of this! The selfish bastard! Always thinking about work, work, work. Even after Lily …’ She stopped, a swallow sliding down her neck. Pretty neck, Patrick thought, slender, white, tempting. Shame about the rope marks.

  ‘He killed her! Him and his bloody job. Do you really think I give a flying fuck what you do to him?’

  Patrick watched on, as she acted her little heart out. She was good. He’d give her that.

  ‘All I ever wanted … after Lily …’ She stopped again, choking back a sob. Very good. Patrick almost felt like applauding ‘… was a warm body up close. Someone to hold me, comfort me. He couldn’t even do that.’ The last was said with bitter-edged contempt.

  Oscar material, definitely. Patrick’s mouth curved into a smirk.

  ‘What? Not so hot in the sack, then, our super-hero detective?’

  ‘He …’ she paused, glancing up at him, her huge saucer eyes all teary and distraught ‘… has other needs.’

  Patrick knew it! None of the girls had ever coughed up to it, but he bloody well knew it. The copper had been taking advantage, taking liberties, with his girls. And he’d had the balls to take the moral high-ground? Call him a sick bastard? Patrick wasn’t best pleased. Not pleased at all. That piece of information would earn Adams a more painful death.

  ‘Right.’ Patrick propped his gun on his shoulder. He wasn’t overly pleased with her either, taking him for a complete moron. ‘Yet, here you are, with child,’ he pointed out the obvious flaw in her cunning little scheme.

  Blimey. He looked her over as she dropped her gaze. She blushes like she’s the bleeding Virgin Mary or something. ‘Immaculate conception then, was it, sweetheart?’ He smirked sarcastically.

  ‘Fertility Clinic conception, actually.’ She looked back at him, a hint of embarrassment in her eyes. ‘He doesn’t even know yet.’ Cue more teary eyes. ‘Probably won’t even care.’

  Patrick guffawed at that. He couldn’t help himself.

  ‘You mean the not-so-great detective can’t even get it up?’ Oh, dear, dear, that was an interesting turn of events. Poor Adams. Obviously, he had one or two problems in the bedroom department, which might explain why he was paying for it. Or rather, not paying. Patrick’s humour evaporated. Helping himself is what Adams had been doing. Abusing his position and hiding his dirty little secrets from his wife. Payback time, most definitely.

  ‘I hate him,’ she sniffled.

  ‘Stand in line, darling,’ Patrick drawled. ‘Come on, time to tuck you up.’

  She glared defiantly at him. ‘I hate you!’

  ‘I’m broken-hearted.’ Patrick reached for her arm and pulled her up.

  ‘Bastard!’

  ‘You’re overstepping the mark, sweetheart,’ he warned her, close to losing his rag.

  ‘And I suppose you’re going to keep me in line, are you, great big man that you are?’ she challenged him, which intrigued Patrick, given her current predicament.

  He studied her, noting all that untamed hostility and fire in her eyes. He’d have tamed her, all right. She wouldn’t be bad-mouthing him all over the show, if she was his wife.

  ‘Actually, you’d be surprised.’ He looked her over languidly. ‘I wouldn’t have had to fuck you twice to get you pregnant, let’s put it that way.’

  She looked a bit flustered then, lowering her gaze again, pretending coy. She should go to acting school. She really should. Or, should he say, should have. It was entertaining, though. Patrick was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t play along. He’d pay to see the copper’s face if she spouted that lot in front of him. Adams also didn’t know she was pregnant, it seemed. So why had he come? If relationships were this bad between them, why had the copper come to her rescue? Could it be that it was the girl he was after? Interesting. Very.

  ‘Would you like me to prove it?’ he asked, nudging her chin up with the barrel of his gun and searching her eyes, a definite ‘come on’ therein, he noted.

  Why not? Patrick thought, testing the water and leaning in to taste her. Definitely game, he realised, feeling a rush of excitement as she panted out a soft breath.

  Quid pro quo, copper, he thought, pressing his mouth harder against hers, lingering awhile, tempted, almost, to push his tongue in her mouth. But, no. The bitch might ju
st bite it off. ‘So, what do you say, sweetheart?’ He smirked as he pulled away. ‘Would you like me to show you how it should be done? Or how about we show hubby how, hey?’

  That had called her bluff. She looked flummoxed for a second, then, ‘Why not?’ she said, her huge ocean-blue eyes full of innuendo, causing Patrick to feel a bit flummoxed himself. ‘But why don’t you pass me his phone first, so we can get this banking transaction done?’

  Patrick looked her over narrowly. Now what was she up to? ‘Are you telling me you have his password?’

  ‘Our password,’ she said, with a smug smile. ‘I’m not as stupid as I look either, Mr Sullivan.’

  Obviously she wasn’t. Patrick’s interest was piqued afresh, considerably. Well, well, looked as if fate was on his side, after all.

  ‘Sit,’ he said, decisively. ‘The hands stay tied, until I need you to use them. Any smart moves you’ll be saying goodbye to your baby. Comprendre?’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sullivan’s gaze swept the room as he came back in. Seeing Becky behind him, relief surged through Matthew’s entire body. Her eyes were downcast. Her face deathly pale. Dear God, what must be going through her mind? She’d been dragged into this screaming insanity because of him. He should have got off the force. He should have killed that bastard and done time for it.

  What if Becky died, here, now? Panic gripped at Matthew’s insides and wouldn’t let go. What if Sullivan chose her instead of him to punish further, humiliate murder in cold blood, getting his perverse kicks from doing it in front of him? Christ, this could not be happening. Matthew blinked away the sweat from his eyes and tried to focus his thinking. He looked Becky over, attempting to make some kind of contact. Her hands were tied in front of her, Sullivan holding firmly onto her arm. Noting again the blue-black bruise to her cheek, Matthew swallowed back the hatred that was urging him to somehow make a dash for Sullivan. It would do no good. Even if he waited for him to turn his back, with his hands cuffed behind him, Matthew couldn’t hope to bring him down, and that gun would be swinging free. No, no way to do it.

  ‘Becky?’ he said throatily.

  She didn’t look up; didn’t look at him. Probably too petrified by the thought of what Sullivan might do, what he’d already done, the disgusting piece of scum.

  ‘I see your breathing’s less inhibited. Feeling better, are we?’ Sullivan’s gaze flicked from Ashley, who was sitting quietly against the opposite wall, to Matthew.

  Matthew looked him over contemptuously and looked away.

  ‘That was a question, Adams,’ Sullivan warned him.

  Matthew tugged in a breath. ‘Yes,’ he answered tightly, knowing that not to would incite more violence and that this time it might not be aimed at him.

  ‘Your little niece been looking after you, has she, Detective? Tending to your every need?’ Sullivan’s tone was full of its usual nauseating innuendo.

  ‘I’ll bet she has, hey, Becky?’ he went on, when Matthew didn’t respond.

  Not demanding answers this time, then, Matthew noted. Obviously he’d decided to put beating him to a pulp on hold in favour of amusing himself. Matthew waited to see where this was leading. Biding his time until an opportunity presented itself was the only realistic option he had.

  ‘Becky’s come to a decision, haven’t you, sweetheart?’ Sullivan asked then, causing Matthew’s gaze to snap back to her.

  ‘She thinks it’s time to cough up, don’t you, darling? Come on then, Becky. Don’t be shy.’ Sullivan urged her forwards. ‘Tell Matthew the good news.’

  Becky? Realising he was using her Christian name, rather than the choice derogatory names by which he normally referred to women, Matthew looked narrowly back to Sullivan, whose expression was highly amused.

  ‘Confused?’ Sullivan cocked his head to one side. ‘I’ll enlighten you then, shall I, Adams, since your detecting skills are obviously not as sharp as they should be? She’s on to you. Knows you’ve been dipping your wick where you shouldn’t be. So she’s doing something about it, aren’t you, sweetheart?’

  Becky looked at Matthew. Her head high, she looked right at him, her expression … Matthew couldn’t read it. A new kind of panic clutched at his stomach. She seemed to have eradicated all emotion from her eyes. What had he done to her, the sick bastard?

  ‘Well?’ Sullivan looked back at her, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. ‘Are you going to tell him, or am I?’

  Becky kept looking at Matthew, looking almost through him, then, ‘I’m leaving you,’ she announced—causing Matthew’s emotions to collide violently inside him.

  ‘And?’ Sullivan prompted her. ‘Go on. Don’t leave poor hubs on tenterhooks.’ He gazed languidly from Becky to Matthew. ‘The poor bloke looks as if he’s going to have heart failure.’

  ‘I’m going with Patrick.’ Becky’s gaze didn’t falter.

  Patrick? Matthew swallowed back hard. She was lying, playing for time. Obviously she wasn’t going anywhere with him. Clearly the psychopath had coached her, threatened her with God only knew what. She was following instructions, repeating what he’d told her to. But why didn’t she give him some sign, anything? She knew him well enough to know he’d read it. Trying to hold onto his own last shred of sanity, Matthew searched her face, desperate now for some way to touch base.

  ‘You can’t blame her, Adams, for wanting to protect her unborn baby, now can you?’ Sullivan drawled, and let it hang.

  ‘Baby?’ She was pregnant? Oh, Christ … Matthew’s heart slammed against his ribcage. But how did … ? Closing his eyes, he clamped his mind down hard on the ridiculous thoughts ricocheting around in his head. It didn’t matter how Sullivan knew. All that mattered was getting her out of here, away from that sadistic animal.

  ‘Baby,’ Sullivan repeated, propping his gun on his shoulder and strolling casually towards Ashley.

  ‘There’s some debate as to whether it’s yours, you being, shall we say, challenged in the bedroom department.’ He glanced back at him, the gloating look on his face telling Matthew he intended to push his latest pathetic psychological game as far as he could.

  ‘Becky confided in me, see. Told me you couldn’t even offer her a little comfort after she lost her kid. Selfish that, Adams. Personally, with a good looking woman like her gagging for it, I’d have gone for sexual counselling, but I suppose you were too busy playing macho man, hey? Too preoccupied with your personal vendetta to give a fuck, no pun intended.’

  Matthew’s heart lurched painfully in his chest. He was baiting him, picking mercilessly at wide open wounds. Twisting information he’d somehow managed to get hold of. His gaze flicking back to Becky, who seemed to be looking at him but not seeing him, Matthew tried to keep his breathing steady, his thinking focussed away from the lies that were way too near the truth.

  Sullivan stopped in front of Ashley, whose head was bent, her hair hiding her face, as she picked at the straw and dust on the floor.

  ‘This one thought you were a bit of a disappointment, too,’ he droned disgustingly on, causing revulsion to rise like rancid bile in Matthew’s throat. ‘Told me you couldn’t stay the pace, didn’t you, darling?’

  Ashley didn’t answer. Recoiling further into herself, she kept her gaze fixed downwards.

  Crouching in front of her, clearly revelling in her humiliation, Sullivan attempted to nudge her chin up with his gun. The gun that Matthew was itching to relieve him of and shove barrel first down his throat.

  ‘Not talking, hey? Can’t say I blame you. Becky’s not very happy with you shagging her husband. You’re probably wise to keep schtum.’

  Smirking, Sullivan got to his feet and strolled back towards Matthew.

  ‘Now, the pressing dilemma is, what to do with you two?’ Again he paused, standing over him, sliding the barrel of the gun this time slowly across his cheek. ‘I don’t need you, Adams, any more than she does. Careless of you to share your bank details with a wife you couldn�
��t be bothered to keep happy, don’t y’think?’

  Feeling the cold metal brush his temple, Matthew dropped his gaze, his heart thundering inside him. He didn’t dare look at Becky now, lest he draw the bastard’s attention back to her.

  ‘That …’ Sullivan lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of Matthew’s hair and slammed his head back into the wall ‘… was a fucking question!’ He lowered his face, snarling into Matthew’s.

  Matthew looked into his eyes, eyes swimming with undiluted hatred, those of a raving madman. Don’t react, he cautioned himself. Play the game. Wait for the bastard to make a mistake.

  ‘Extremely careless,’ he confirmed, smiling sardonically as he gave Sullivan what he wanted.

  ‘Correct. But not quick enough.’ Sullivan straightened up, his intimidating expression telling Matthew what was coming next.

  He didn’t use his feet to deliver the blows to his abdomen, as was his wont. Matthew guessed he wouldn’t, not when he had a heavier weapon, a sharper, more brutal weapon. The first blow, well-aimed at his solar plexus, knocked the air out of his lungs and winded him completely. Matthew doubled up, searing pain shooting through him, as the butt of the gun landed heavily again.

  Wiping a hand across his salivating mouth, Sullivan loomed over him.

  ‘Stand up,’ he said calmly.

  Gasping, Matthew couldn’t even look up, let alone stand up. The bastard knew it.

  ‘Are you deaf as well as pig-ignorant? I said stand up!’ Leaning down, Sullivan hooked an arm under Matthew’s and attempted to heave him up.

  ‘Oh for … Useless prat,’ he muttered, as Matthew struggled to find any leverage in his legs.

  ‘You,’ Sullivan gave up and turned to Ashley, ‘help him up. And you … Becky, sweetheart,’ he smiled flatly in her direction, ‘take the weight off your pretty feet and sit on the box, yes?’ Seeing Ashley was doing as instructed, Sullivan took a step back. Heading for his bag, he checked his mobile for coverage, leaving Ashley to it.

  Glancing over her shoulder, making sure his attention was diverted, Ashley leaned quickly in towards Matthew. ‘Be ready,’ she whispered, close to his ear.