Yet as the lights drew painfully closer, I didn’t move. Because it might be Samuel.
I stayed there, pinned, like the proverbial rabbit, watching the glare, staring right into the source of light, deliberately blinding myself. The car pulled up in front of me and the light instantly died. Not for me, though; spots of colour danced in front of my eyes, and though I heard the door open and the measured footsteps tapping on the road, I couldn’t see who was coming for me.
I started to hyperventilate, torn between panic and terror, knowing it was too late to move but desperate to flee. I was still trapped in indecision when the door wrenched open.
“Lizzie!”
Samuel.
I looked towards the sound of his voice, still blind, and relief welled up in me like vomit. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“Lizzie, come on, let’s go. We need to go.” Samuel’s voice was impatient and clipped, but even its harshness couldn’t rouse me from my traumatised paralysis. All I could do was reach for him, the coloured spots dissolving from my eyes just in time for tears to blur my vision. He sighed, but I felt strong arms wrap around me and pull me from the car. That feeling he gave me, the feeling of complete and utter safety, wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Strangely, though, it only made me cry harder and little sobs hiccupped out.
He carried me across the short stretch of road to his car, somehow managing to get the passenger door open and depositing me awkwardly on the seat. I didn’t want to let go, my arms clinging round his neck, face pressed into the warmth of his shoulder, but he was too strong for me, breaking my grip easily and shutting the door. I curled into myself, drawing up my legs and crying into my knees. Seconds later he slid into the driver’s seat, flicked the lights back on and turned the car in a tight circle, accelerating away from my stolen vehicle.
Samuel didn’t speak until we’d put twenty miles between ourselves and the scene. He didn’t touch me, smile or even look at me. The only concession he made was to turn the heater on full, trying to warm away the shakes wracking my body. Finally, once my sobs had quietened to sporadic sniffles, he opened his mouth.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded jerkily, but he wasn’t looking at me, he was staring straight ahead at the emptiness of the road, so I tried to clear my throat.
“Yes.” My voice sounded hoarse and strangled, the muscles in my throat stretched tight and raw.
I wasn’t, not really. I ached all over, I was exhausted, and the whole ordeal had left me feeling fragile, like glass; but I was alive, and I wasn’t badly hurt. Cameron was back there somewhere with a bullet in his head, so I supposed compared to him…
“Thank you for coming to get me.” I addressed my gratitude to my knees, but it was heartfelt. Tears threatened to gush again, but I swallowed them back.
“You’re welcome.” Samuel’s answering nod was curt.
I bit my lip, uncomfortable in the awkward silence, but not sure what else to say.
Since I’d started making bombs for Alexander, Samuel and I had spent a lot of time together, but I couldn’t say that I knew him. There was a clear chain of command: he told me what to do, and I did it. But then he’d changed the dynamic – he’d lied to cover up for me, and he hadn’t told Alexander about Mark. He’d given me a phone tonight, a phone that called only him, and then he’d come and rescued me. But now, now he was treating me with… if not cold indifference then certainly not warmth. We were back to being soldier and commander, but I couldn’t play my role. I needed… I needed him to hug me. Needed that feeling of safety back, that sense that everything was okay.
Because I was pretty sure it wasn’t.
Confused and spent, I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. The heat and the gentle vibration as the car rumbled along slowly lulled me into a dreamless sleep.
I woke up briefly when cold air slapped my face. The door was open and Samuel was fumbling at my hip, trying to unlatch the seatbelt, but it was like trying to resurface from the depths of the ocean, and my eyes closed themselves without command. I was vaguely aware of being lifted, but I couldn’t concentrate on where I was being taken, and I passed out again as soon as Samuel laid me down. All I cared about was that it was somewhere warm, and soft, and quiet.
When I came to, properly this time, light was streaming in through a large window, tickling my eyelids. I opened them, squinting through the brightness, trying to make sense of where I was. Not in Alexander’s bed, though it was a place I dimly recognised. A living room, clean and sparse and empty. The two-seater leather sofa I was lying on was the biggest piece of furniture in the room, along with its twin.
I was in Samuel’s flat.
Fully dressed, I was sweltering under the thick blankets someone – probably Samuel – had draped over me. I threw them off, then peered at the digital watch I still wore. It was almost lunchtime. With some effort I pulled myself into a sitting position, then groaned. My back and my legs were aching, and my head pounded and spun like I was hungover. The worst pain, though, came from my arm, stabbing the large muscle just below my shoulder. Where I’d been shot, I suddenly remembered.
Gingerly I twisted myself to stare at it, expecting to see a bloody mess of skin and torn fabric, but the sleeve was missing, snipped cleanly away. A huge plaster dressed the wound. Hesitantly, the fingers of my other arm reached round and prodded experimentally.
“Ow!” I sucked my breath in through my teeth as the muscle twitched and a bolt of pain cut right to the core of my arm. I was glad I hadn’t been conscious for the cleaning.
Now what? I sat and stared straight ahead, thinking. I was tempted to stay where I was, hiding in Samuel’s flat, waiting until someone came looking for me, but there were questions in my head that wouldn’t go away. Had the bombing been a success last night? What were the news channels saying about our attack? More importantly, were the GE and the police looking for me? Had they found any of my DNA at the scene? I’d been swabbed when I’d been tattooed, so I knew they had me on file, my fingerprints too. More importantly still, what was Alexander going to say about the bombing, Cameron’s death, my survival, Samuel coming to get me?
Staying here wasn’t going to get me any answers.
I stood carefully, swaying as the blood rushed to my head. I’d been off my feet for too long. How long had I been asleep? I’d no idea what time Samuel and I had arrived the night before. After midnight was the best guess I could make. Grimacing, I limped across the room, making my way to the cool darkness of the stairwell. I paused at the top of the stairs, searching for my courage. Light spilled out from Alexander’s office on the floor below. I frowned at that: it was unusual for him to leave the door open.
If he was in, though, it might give me a chance to sound out how the land lay before I had to face him…
As quietly as possible, I descended the stairs, using the wall and the banister to ease my weight slowly down onto each tread, wincing with every minute creak of the wood as it shifted under me. It was painful, my stiff muscles protested at the slow, careful movements, but it was worth it. I reached the landing without Zane’s white-blond hair poking out. Holding my breath, I inched forward until the sound of voices wafted out of the open door.
Alexander was speaking, his voice low and intense.
“It’s about time we ramped up our actions. After last night, this is the next logical step forward.”
“But why Lizzie?” My eyes widened and I leaned forward. They were talking about me, and Samuel sounded angry.
“Why not?” Alexander purred, unperturbed by the heat of his brother’s response. “It’s what she does.”
“She can make the thing, but why does she have to wear it? You have a hundred other idiots you can use for that. It’s a waste, Alex, pure and simple.”
What the hell were they talking about? What could I wear?
“A waste?” Alexander’s voice had changed. It had a dangerous edge and I dropped the puzzle,
for now, to listen. “Is that the only reason?”
“What do you mean?” Samuel sounded defensive.
There was a prolonged moment of silence, interrupted only by the fierce pounding of my pulse.
“I need her,” Samuel snarled – there was no other way to describe it. “She knows what she’s doing and she gets the job done. That’s it.”
“Is it?”
“Say what you have to say, Alex.”
Samuel’s voice was getting louder and louder, echoing out of the door, but I had to strain my ears to hear Alexander’s quiet response.
“You have a girlfriend.”
I frowned to myself, totally confused by the change of direction.
“You would know,” Samuel had lowered his voice, but not by much. “It’s at your insistence that I’m sleeping with her.”
“Her father’s a man it’s useful to know. But that’s not my point.”
“What is, then?” Samuel’s voice was ice. Someone – Zane? – cleared their throat: a warning.
“What does Natalie say about Elizabeth sharing your bed? Or doesn’t she know? That’s twice now, Samuel.”
What?
“Lizzie isn’t sharing my bed!” Samuel spat the words. “She slept on my sofa. I had to put her somewhere – your bed was full,” he accused.
“Good.” Alexander’s voice had dropped again, and I took another step forward, trying to catch the murmured reply. “Because I’ll kill her before another man touches her. She is mine.”
My diaphragm convulsed, pushing the air out of my lungs. I’d been claimed. But there was no warmth in hearing the words. Does a watch feel warmth for its owner? That’s what I was – a possession. Alexander wouldn’t kill me out of jealousy: just out of spite.
But there was no sense in the threat. Was Alexander trying to say that Samuel… wanted me? Surely that wasn’t right. There were six years between us, and he had a girlfriend. Natalie was beautiful and rich and well connected, none of which I could claim. But then, what had Samuel said? Something about being with her at Alexander’s request?
My head was spinning. The only thing I was sure of was that being caught listening in could only end badly for me. Quietly, I shuffled backwards. I’d go back to Samuel’s sofa, stay there. I turned, my foot reaching for the first step, and caught my toe on the overhanging lip. Losing my balance, I toppled, clattering noisily into the banister.
“Dammit,” I hissed.
I just had time to right myself and turn to face the open doorway when Zane appeared. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, but I tried to make it look like I had just descended. Attempting to gloss over the awkward moment, I smiled at him, realising just a second too late how out of character that was, considering our relationship. His lip curled in distaste, then he turned his back on me.
“It’s just Lizzie,” I heard him say to the room.
That was it, then. I had to enter now. I took one calming breath and tried to assemble a look on my face like I hadn’t heard their conversation for the last five minutes. I couldn’t manage neutral, but nervous was a good enough substitute. It’s how I’d been feeling anyway, before I’d heard whatever it was that I’d heard.
The three of them were sitting on the sofas, and they were all looking at me. I didn’t have to work at the nervous expression now. It formed itself as my empty stomach twisted and flipped. I ignored Samuel and Zane, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on Alexander, looking for a signal as to where he wanted me to go, what he wanted me to do. He just stared straight back, leaving me in a quandary. I wanted to sit, because, hovering in the middle of the floor, I felt like a duck in a fairground shooting gallery, but the only space was beside Samuel. Did I want to sit there, given what they’d just been talking about? What message would that send to Alexander? Then again, if I hadn’t been listening in, if I was none the wiser, would I just have sat there without thinking? Or would I have sat at Alexander’s feet, retreated to the bed, taken one of the hard chairs around the desk in the office area? I was tying myself in knots, spinning round in circles.
Aggravated, I decided the safest thing was just to ask.
“Can I sit?”
Alexander nodded, once.
I realised I hadn’t been specific enough.
“Where?”
With the slightest tip of his head, he gestured to the space beside Samuel. I tried not to grimace, then sat pressed against the sofa arm, as far from the splayed length of Samuel’s thigh as I could get.
I looked up to see Alexander watching me quietly, a strange smile on his face, eyes cold as ice. Samuel, I saw out of the corner of my eye, was staring resolutely ahead, his eyes on Alexander’s bed.
“So you survived again,” Alexander commented. “My little cat-bomber. When will you run out of lives, I wonder?”
The threat was veiled, but it was there. I tried to smile.
“I have a few more, I think.”
“Do you?” He spoke so quietly I might have imagined it.
“What happened to Cameron?” Zane cut across the tense silence.
I shrugged, not sure what Samuel had already said. “He was shot.”
“And why weren’t you?”
I paused to send him a filthy look before I answered. “I dropped to the ground, then I ran.”
“Did you even stop to see if he was dead before you abandoned him?”
“He was dead.” I glowered at Zane.
“Really?” Zane smiled into my furious face. “And how did you manage to phone Samuel?”
“What?” I stuttered, a second too late, trying to stop the shock from showing on my face and only succeeding in flushing bright red. Beside me, Samuel stiffened.
“How did you call Samuel?” Zane repeated.
I stared at Zane, not sure if this set up was designed to trap me, or Samuel.
“Elizabeth?” Alexander prompted.
A gleam came into Zane’s eye as he waited.
My brain frantically whirled, trying to come up with a lie that would protect the pair of us. I couldn’t tell the truth, couldn’t say that Samuel had slipped me the phone. I owed him that, after the way he had covered for me when I’d gone to meet Mark.
“There… was a phone in the car,” I said.
“Yes. And it was programmed to call me.” Zane leered a smile, a cat about to pounce on a mouse. “But I didn’t receive any phone calls last night, not after the one from Cameron telling me you were there, and that you were headed for the target.”
I decided to brazen it out, while Samuel continued staring into the distance.
“I don’t know Zane. I hit dial, and it went through to Samuel. It must have had the two numbers stored, or maybe you programmed it wrong.” I left that hanging and Zane scowled.
“Where is it?”
“Where’s what?” I knew perfectly well what he meant.
“The phone, Lizzie. Where is it?”
“I dropped it.”
More importantly, where was my jacket? Because the phone Samuel had given me was still in the pocket, and if Zane found it he’d know at once that it wasn’t the one he’d given to Cameron. Surreptitiously I tried to let my gaze wander around Alexander’s spotlessly clean office. My jacket was nowhere in sight. Did Samuel have it? I hoped so.
“You dropped it?” I started at the change in tone of Zane’s voice. He smelled fresh blood.
“Yes.”
“Dropped it with your fingerprints all over it?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“I was wearing gloves.”
All three men looked at me: Zane sceptically, Alexander curiously, Samuel unreadable. I understood the scepticism: I never wore gloves. They made me clumsy, sausage-fingered. But there was no way Zane could catch me in the lie.
He turned to Samuel.
“Was she wearing gloves when you found her?”
I looked to Samuel. This was a much smaller lie than the one he’d told before. Surely he’d back me up. He didn’t.
�
��No.”
“Did you see any gloves?”
“No.”
Zane looked back to me, smiling cruelly.
“I did,” I whispered. “I swear I did.”
My word against doubt. With Zane, at least, I knew my word counted for nothing.
“Well,” Alexander cut off whatever snide remark lingered on Zane’s lips. “The police are not looking for you. Yet. We will see if that changes.”
I nodded, grateful for the temporary reprieve. Zane looked sour. I knew he’d be watching me even closer now, searching for some slip up, something he could make stick. Something to get me out of his way for good.
Alexander sent Zane out for food and the atmosphere in the room was even worse with just the three of us sitting there. Alexander and Samuel kept up a conversation, talking about supplies of US imports – which were getting more expensive and harder to sneak in – and I stared off into nothing, trying to be inconspicuous. They ignored me for the most part, both focussed on the business, but I couldn’t help thinking Samuel looked uncomfortable. Just something about the way he held his body, the tightness in his jaw. Maybe there was truth in what Alexander had said. Or maybe I was just imagining things. I didn’t really know him well enough to tell.
After we ate – fish and chips, the grease soaking into the paper and my stomach lining, making me nauseous – the three of them disappeared, heading to Romford to ‘reassure’ an unhappy supplier, leaving me alone with my curiosity and my conscience. I still had no idea what had happened last night, other than that the bomb had gone off. What were the GE saying? Had I succeeded in blowing a hole in the wall? How had EBC News spun the story? Who was being blamed for the attack? Was there any mention of Cameron’s body and the car? I’d only the empty room to ask.
Frustrated, I uncurled myself from the sofa and strolled around Alexander’s office, swinging my arms, clicking my fingers and looking for something to do. The bed was made, every surface spotless and dust free. I needed to shower, but just as that thought formed in my head, my eyes fell on Alexander’s laptop. It was open, the back of the screen gleaming red, the shiny Dell logo winking at me.
Bombmaker Page 13
