by Joanna Rees
But they still couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t come back, or that he didn’t have someone watching the offices himself. Emma had explained what had happened when she’d been alone with Detroy; they both knew what he’d be capable of if he found them snooping around his office.
Frankie glanced back over her shoulder at Emma, silhouetted in the dusky light of the open doorway. Wind howled down the alleyway that ran along the back of the buildings. A tin can rattled past. Frankie raised her finger to her lips and Emma nodded, quickly stepping inside behind her and heaving the windowless door closed.
Darkness enveloped them; the howl of the wind was cut to a muffled moan. Frankie’s ears strained, listening for signs of life, but all she could hear was Emma’s soft breathing at her back.
Frankie waited another full minute before she decided it was safe to move. Weak light filtered through from somewhere up ahead. The building was dank and smelt of mould. Frankie edged forward, keeping one arm outstretched, praying that whatever she touched, it wouldn’t be warm, wouldn’t be flesh.
Her other arm was raised above her head, gripping the long and heavy metal flashlight Emma had bought in the ship’s chandlery further along the street. It was still switched off. They’d agreed they’d only use it when they needed to: once they reached Detroy’s office upstairs.
The torch had been strong enough to shatter the back door’s padlock. Frankie figured it would do the same for anyone who might be hiding here, waiting to take them by surprise.
Frankie stopped. Her hand had touched something solid. A dark shape loomed ahead of her in the corridor. Her whole body tensed like a fist ready to strike. Information dripped through to her mind. Whatever she was touching was cold and hard. Not alive then, she thought with relief. She breathed out, relaxing her grip on the torch.
As Frankie’s eyes slowly grew accustomed to the gloom, she saw that her path was being blocked by a stack of wooden crates wedged up against the corridor wall. Each one had the words ‘JONES INTERNATIONAL REMOVALS’ stamped on their sides.
Frankie stood on tiptoe and peered at the shipping date on the side of the nearest crate. The pick-up date was tomorrow. Looked like Detroy wasn’t planning on hanging around . . .
Which meant Emma had been right, Frankie thought. They’d had no choice but to break the law and break in. Not that this made what they were doing any less dangerous. She wished Emma had told David what they were planning, but Emma’d insisted on keeping him out of it. He’d never have let them risk it, she’d said. Which meant no one else knew they were here.
Still, it was too late to turn back now. Frankie pressed her back up against the damp corridor wall and edged sideways, squeezing past the crates. She reached the bottom of a staircase. The front door was shut. Still no sign of anyone else inside.
She began to climb, step by step. She hardly dared breathe. It got lighter the higher she got. Noisier too. The storm’s rage was rising, but not as fast as Frankie’s blood pressure. The wooden stairs softly creaked: Emma was following behind. Frankie stopped again to listen when she reached the tiny landing at the top. Then she opened the door to the office and went in.
She felt herself grinning with relief. The office was empty. Detroy hadn’t come back. And he hadn’t left a guard.
Thin shafts of light stretched in through the slats of the closed wooden shutters. Frankie hurried over to the nearest window and peered outside. The street was deserted. Lights glowed iridescent, like a chain of pearls, behind the closed doors and windows of the buildings overlooking the harbour. Boats swayed back and forth like drunks. Palm leaves lurched against the blackening sky. A sudden spattering of rain against the windows made her jump.
‘OK, let’s do it,’ Frankie said, running over to the desk and sitting down. ‘You watch the window and I’ll get digging.’
Frankie switched on the torch, keeping its beam pointed away from the windows, in case anybody of an overly curious nature happened to be passing by outside. She booted up the computer, plugged in her brand-new USB stick and got to work.
Within minutes, she’d accessed Detroy’s hard drive and had started copying across recently accessed files and directories. She had no idea which ones would be useful or how easy their security would be to bypass later on; she just knew she had to get as much information as she could as quickly as she could.
‘Hurry up, Frankie,’ Emma said. ‘This storm is getting really bad. David will be wondering where we are.’
Frankie glanced up. Emma was still at the window. There was a noise downstairs. A crashing sound. Then another.
‘Shit!’ Emma said, rushing to the office door.
‘What’s happening?’ Frankie asked, eyes flickering between the computer screen and the doorway as she desperately continued to copy the rest of Detroy’s hard drive files to her USB.
Another crash. Another burst of adrenalin raced through Frankie’s veins.
‘Frankie, stop!’ Emma hissed. ‘I don’t think it’s the storm. I think someone’s down there.’
Frankie’s fingers slipped on the keyboard, slick with sweat. On screen, the copy icon showed the final data transfer was almost complete. ‘Two seconds,’ she begged. ‘I’m almost done.’
‘No!’ Emma shouted, running to the window. ‘We’ve got to go. Now!’
More crashing, like packing crates being thrown angrily aside. A wave of fear swept over Frankie, but she still didn’t quit her post.
The transfer icon flashed up finished.
‘Yes!’ Frankie hissed in triumph, tearing the memory stick from the back of the computer. She leapt to her feet. That’s when she heard the footsteps. They were pounding up the stairs like an avalanche. She grabbed for the torch but missed it, knocking it over instead. It rolled across the desk, clattering to the floor, sending a beam of light flickering across the room. Frankie rushed to join Emma who was struggling to open the window.
But it was too late. Three huge men with balaclavas over their faces burst into the office.
Frankie screamed as one of the men grabbed her, twisting her arm behind her back and slamming her down on the desk. She watched helplessly as another man grabbed Emma around the neck and pinioned her against the wall.
Frankie tried to break free but the more she struggled, the more fiercely she was crushed against the desk. Her jaw ached with pain. It felt like it was going to crack.
She watched in horror as the man holding Emma leant in close to her. A long knife appeared in his hand, glinting in the torchlight. Emma’s eyes widened as he pressed its curved blade hard against her face.
‘Mr Detroy says hello,’ he said.
Frankie recognized the accent. It was Russian.
And these men had been sent here by Detroy. He must have known they’d been watching him all along.
The man slashed the knife downwards. Fast. Through Emma’s cheek.
Frankie lunged desperately sideways. She had to help Emma. They had to get out. But it was useless. The man holding her laughed. He jerked her upright easily, as if she were a rag doll. He wrapped one arm round her throat. The other pressed something – some kind of cloth – down hard over her mouth and nose. A sickly chemical stink filled her nostrils.
Don’t breathe in! a voice inside Frankie’s head screamed. Breathe in and you’re dead!
She watched helplessly as the third man threw a lighted rag in a bottle on to the desk. It burst into flames.
Frankie gagged. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer. Acrid fumes filled her mouth. She started to choke.
She watched Emma fall to the floor.
Frankie’s eyes filled with tears. The room shifted sideways, as if her legs had been kicked out from beneath her.
Then everything went black.
Frankie came round with a start. She was sitting on a chair, her hands tied behind her. She was naked. The lights were too bright. Startled, her eyes snapped shut. Fear swept over her. She tried to move, but she couldn’t. It was as if the connection bet
ween her mind and body had been cut.
Loud rock music was playing. Too loud. But above the music there were voices too. Men’s voices.
There was a flash. She winced.
Thirsty. She was so thirsty.
She felt a bottle against her lips. Water.
Then it had gone. In the light she turned her face up, groping for more liquid with her tongue.
Flash. Flash.
Then something else. Not the water now. Hot and sticky. Over her mouth and dripping on her chin.
Flash.
‘Suck it, bitch,’ she heard. Her hair was being grabbed. Then something was in her mouth. Something hard. Flesh.
She gagged and tried to scream, but all she heard was a muffled moan. And she realized it was her own. She couldn’t move.
Flash. Flash.
She was blinded by the light now. Closer. Closer. And she was choking.
Again she tried to struggle, but it was as if she were swimming in glue.
‘You getting it?’ she heard a man say. ‘You getting it all? Let’s show Rodokov what this dirty little bitch is really like.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
In the small Road Town hospital, rain hammered against the window. Emma’s cheek ached like crazy, despite all the painkillers she’d been given. She couldn’t stop shaking as the doctor held her chin, pointing her face up to the light to finish the dressing.
Emma had looked at the wound once in the mirror and once was enough. It had nearly made her sick. And even though these temporary stitches were now holding her cheek together, just the memory of her cheek flapping made every nerve in her body scream.
‘You’re being very brave, Lady Emma. All done,’ the doctor said, peeling off his surgical gloves. ‘That’s the best I can do for now. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to get proper plastic surgery, otherwise you’ll have a very bad scar. There’s no one here who can do it. I suggest that you get back to the UK or the States as quickly as you can.’
Emma shook her head. There was no way she was going anywhere until she found Frankie.
Emma knew she’d been lucky to escape Detroy’s building alive. The Russian thugs who’d attacked them had left her bleeding and choking on the floor. Through the swirling madness of smoke and flames, she’d watched them bundle Frankie’s limp body through the doorway. Emma had struggled to her feet and staggered after them, but she’d been too slow. Locked in shock, half asphyxiated, she’d stumbled down the stairs, through the open front door and out on to the pavement. Through the howling wind and driving rain, she’d heard the screech of tyres. A blacked-out BMW raced away from her down the street into the dark.
Now Emma felt racked with guilt and furious with herself for letting them get away. She should have moved faster. Fought back. Not just sat there on the floor. So what if she’d been cut? So what if she’d been choking? She should still have done something and she hated herself for the fact that she hadn’t.
Because it hadn’t been the pain or the smoke that had paralysed her for those precious few moments. It had been fear. She’d played dead and waited for them to go before she’d got out herself. And if she hadn’t . . . if she’d been stronger, braver, she would have got out quicker. In time to see the BMW up close, get its number plate: she’d have had something to tell the police to help get Frankie back.
This was all her fault. She should never have made Frankie break into that office with her. But she’d needed answers. Needed something . . . anything . . . that might throw light on what had happened to Julian. And being with Frankie had made her feel for the first time since Julian’s death that she might get them.
Julian. Her darling Julian. Her heart cried out for him now. For the strength and comfort that he’d always given her in times of crisis. But he’d never be able to kiss her better ever again. He’d never be there to lean on. The knowledge of this felt like a fresh wound far worse than anything a knife could do.
‘Christ, you’re so lucky to be alive,’ David said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. Emma knew how furious he was that she’d broken into Detroy’s office. She could tell that he was biting back a lecture on how stupid she’d been.
‘But if those bastards did this to me, what are they doing to Frankie? And Cosmo?’ she said, her voice muffled and weird from the anaesthetic in her cheek. It hurt to talk but she went on, ‘Oh God, Cosmo. David, you’ve got to get hold of him. You’ve got to warn him. If they catch him sniffing around their business . . . they could do much worse.’ Emma’s stomach churned at the thought. Her little boy. These animals would eat him alive.
‘I’ve done all I can,’ said David, soothing her. ‘I’ve left messages for him on his UK phone and his mobile. And emailed him too. I’ve called Hugo and Victoria. But I’ve heard nothing back.’
‘Oh God,’ she murmured, her mind refocusing. ‘Where the hell is she?’
‘Frankie, you mean?’ David said. ‘Listen, Emma, I was thinking . . . we hardly know her. And you heard it from her yourself, she’s in pretty deep with this Rodokov guy. Why should you trust her? I mean, we have no idea how far she’s involved. I’m not saying that it’s not terrible that those guys took her, but we don’t know all the facts. She could be mixed up in all sorts of stuff. And I think it’s best if you just focus on yourself for now and rest—’
‘No.’ Emma cut David off, her eyes flashing at him, then turned back in misery to stare out of the window. It was now over three hours since she and Frankie had broken into Detroy’s and it would be nightfall soon. Only hours, yet Emma’s whole world had imploded. She’d felt so buoyed up with confidence with Frankie, so full of determination and hope. Frankie hadn’t thought for a second she was being paranoid about Khordinsky. She’d been totally understanding of Emma’s plight and Emma had been grateful. In Frankie she’d seen something of herself: her determination and total conviction about her feelings.
But everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Frankie had been taken and the evidence of the corruption involving Platinum Holdings had disappeared with her. In addition to the injury she’d sustained, Emma was also now in trouble with the police.
When she’d called them to report the fire and Frankie’s abduction, she’d also had to confess being in Detroy’s office. At least she’d had the common sense to claim the back door was already open, which meant the police might not press charges. Unless, of course, Detroy chose to do so himself. Though that seemed pretty unlikely, seeing as he seemed to have vanished off the island.
The police had already searched the dives he usually frequented, as well as his house. They’d found nothing. Apart from a few items in the fridge and a camp bed, the place had been empty. Detroy had obviously been planning this little disappearing act for weeks. And with him gone, there was no way to track down the Russians who’d taken Frankie.
Even if the police did discover whatever rock Detroy was hiding under, they only had Emma’s word that he’d sent the three thugs round to torch the building.
Emma jumped as the door opened and Eli came in.
‘Have you found her?’ Emma asked, desperately searching the policeman’s eyes for a glimmer of hope.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. But we’re still looking. The good news is that because of the storm, the chances are that she’s still on the island. The bad news is it’s a big island and with no means of identifying these men, they could be anywhere by now.’
‘But what about the car?’ David asked. ‘And their accents?’
‘My men are doing what they can, but they’ve got other priorities to deal with as well. The storm’s brought down three apartment blocks and the power lines around the school. We’re getting reports of further damage all the time.’
Emma’s cheeks burnt with shame. The implication was obvious: Eli’s resources were already overstretched. His people had more than enough to deal with without her having added to their load. ‘It’ll be easier in the morning,’ he said. ‘I’ve already notified the coastguard to be on
the lookout for anything suspicious.’
‘But by the morning it might be too late,’ Emma said, her cheek screaming with pain.
‘I’m afraid all we can do now is wait,’ Eli said, his look making it clear that the subject was closed.
Emma bit her lip, all hope now extinguished. Again, Emma saw the knife blade flashing in her mind. Poor Frankie. She was just a kid with her whole life ahead of her.
If she wasn’t already dead.
It wasn’t until the storm had blown itself out and the dawn had broken over the wind-lashed harbour that Frankie showed up. Eli brought her over to David’s house early. He’d had a call from the cab driver, Johnnie, who’d found her wandering around Soper’s Hole, he explained to Emma and David at the door, as a policewoman helped Frankie out of the police car parked on the drive.
‘Oh thank God,’ Emma said, starting to run to hug Frankie, but Eli held her arm.
‘She was pretty disorientated when we picked her up,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We had a doctor check her over at the station. She seems fine. Some bruising around the neck consistent with what happened in Detroy’s office.’
Frankie was walking towards them now, but Eli hadn’t finished.
‘But she’s experiencing some memory loss. From when she last saw you. It’s not unusual for cases of extreme shock to trigger localized amnesia.’ Eli frowned. ‘But it could be something worse.’
‘What do you mean?’ Emma asked.
‘It’s possible she’s been drugged. Rohypnol, for example, or something similar. The doctor took blood tests. We’ll know this afternoon.’
‘OK,’ Emma said, nodding to him in thanks.
‘But I think she’s OK now – aren’t you, Frankie?’ Eli said in his normal voice as Frankie reached the top of the steps.
Emma was so relieved to see her, but now she was worried too. Frankie looked pale and drawn. Emma hugged her, but Frankie seemed to stiffen at her touch and Emma drew back.
