“What natural human emotions?” He pinched his lips together. “Give me an idea.”
“We talked about unselfish love, remember? Wanting to give to your lover without taking. Wanting to make them happy purely for the joy of it.”
Gnawing at a knuckle, John sank down on to the sofa.
“Is this an innate thing? Can it be learned?”
Mimi raised an eyebrow.
“You would want to learn?”
“Why not? If it gets me what I want.”
She sighed exasperatedly and sat down on the far end of the enormous settee.
“You just don’t get it! It has to be for its own sake. Let me think of some examples. Say I come home after a hard day at work and you run me a bath. You would be doing it because you thought it might lead to sex. The man I want would be doing it because he truly felt it would help me to relax and unwind after my busy day.”
John shook his head. “That man doesn’t exist. All men would do it in the hope of sex.”
Mimi shrugged. “Okay. Maybe. But let’s say the hope for sex might lurk a little way behind his wish to make me feel good.”
“Sex makes you feel good.”
“Christ, just…rein yourself in, will you?”
“I can’t. I want you. You’re there, in that dress, close enough for me to smell you. I could reach out and—”
“Stop.” Mimi stood up, still a little befuddled. “I’m going to bed. Now. Before this goes wrong.”
Across town, Anna lay facedown on Liam’s sofa, sobbing every ounce of heartbreak into its brown velour cushion covering.
Liam hovered on hand, wondering whether to speak, whether to offer her something, whether to…touch her.
“Fuck off!” he rasped under his breath.
Anna looked up, shocked, through red-rimmed eyes.
“No, not you. Was talking to my flatmate. I told him to go out for a few hours. Didn’t I, Kaden? So can you get lost now, please?” He raised his voice for the benefit of the beanie-hatted slacker in the hallway, then lowered it again, looking straight into Anna’s eyes. “But you can stay as long as you like. Seriously. As long as you like.”
Anna swallowed, leaning back against the sofa, gazing hopelessly upward.
“I’ve no idea what to do,” she told the light fitting. “It’s like my life is over.”
“Oh, it isn’t,” said Liam, fighting a feeling of helplessness. “I’ve got half a bottle of Jack Daniels in the cupboard. D’you fancy some?”
“I’m pregnant, Liam.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, uh, cup of tea?”
She shook her head, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes again. Oh no, not more tears. Desperation lent him the courage to cosy up to her on the sofa and put an arm around her, drawing her face into the crook of it so that at least the sobs might be muffled by his T-shirt.
Oh, her hair, her sweet-smelling, nut-brown hair. He bent his head and took a lungful. It made him feel giddy. The warmth of her, the closeness of her, her soft skin, her perfume. He tried to remind himself that John Stone’s child lay within her, putting her beyond his reach, but it was so hard, so very hard…
He brushed the top of her head with his lips.
“Don’t cry, baby,” he murmured. “Don’t cry. I love you.”
Her sob stuck in her throat, mutating into a hiccup.
“What d’you say?”
“I mean, you know, as a friend. I do…love you. Just as a friend.”
She looked up blearily.
“Aww, thanks.” A tiny smile rewarded him, a shaft of sunlight through thundercloud. “That means a lot to me. I feel so alone.”
“You’re not alone.” Liam’s voice was cracking dangerously. “I’m always with you, babe. I’ll take care of you. Whatever happens.”
“That sounds like something John said,” she told him glumly, then she sprang away from him with a hiss of pain, putting a hand to her head.
“What’s up, babe?” Alarmed, Liam tried to get hold of her wrists, to stabilise her.
“Don’t know…something…a pain. It means something.” She stared at Liam, terrified. “I don’t know how I know that. But I do. Something is happening. Something bad.” Instinctively she put her hands to her stomach. “Someone or something is coming for my baby.”
Chapter Twelve
John threw down his spanner with a roar and clutched at his forehead.
From her bed in the corner, Luana groaned and doubled over.
“You felt that, Mother?” her son gasped, holding on to his machine for support.
“They are coming.” Her voice was high and hysterical. “They are here.”
“No, they aren’t here. Not yet. But they’re in this system. We have to move. Fast.”
He took out his mobile phone, stabbing in a number with tense fingers.
“Yes, it’s me. Yes, I know it’s late. This is urgent. I need the ore now. I have the money. It’s going into my account tomorrow. Can you give me the ore? Can I meet you at the hotel, as soon as you can make it? I promise you. Tomorrow the money will be in my account. Yes. A matter of hours. Fine. Fine. I’m coming anyway. I’ll be there in an hour.”
Mimi saw the security light flood her bedroom window with its yellowish glow before she heard John’s footsteps hastening down the path.
She ran across to the sash window and opened it wider, leaning out into the heavy summer night air.
“John! Where are you going?”
“Oh, you care, do you?” His face was contorted, almost evil.
Mimi gripped the ledge, fearfully speechless.
By the time she was able to speak again, he was at the gate, striding away with demonic purpose. She shut the window and grabbed whatever clothes were closest to hand. He needn’t think he was keeping any of this story from her.
By the time she was dressed, in her ball gown and ballet flats with a linen blazer buttoned over her upper body, John was climbing into a cab on the road outside.
Through the open window she heard him say, “Park Lane Hotel.”
The cab set off through the midnight darkness, and Mimi ran down towards the Tube station, praying that she would run across a lit taxi before she had to take the dodgy minicab option.
On Haverstock Hill, her luck came in. She leapt into the back of the cab and barked, “Park Lane Hotel,” to the driver, too jaded by his years of ferrying the souls of London to bat an eyelid at her strange attire and wild, unbrushed hair.
The hotel concierge was not so given to turning a blind eye, though, and when she asked him if a man called Stone had been in and if so where was he, he simply stared at her witheringly.
“I cannot give out private information,” he said.
Mimi huffed and tried to get John on his phone but it was switched off. Where’s this psychic link when I need it? How come it only works if he initiates it?
She wandered back outside and stood on the pavement, assessing which windows had lights on. Several were lit, but nothing gave away what might be happening in any of the rooms until a shadow passed across one of the first-floor picture windows. The tense stance of whoever it belonged to seemed to Mimi to be a substantial clue. This was where John had gone. He was meeting somebody about something—but who, and what?
Somehow she needed to get past the concierge and up to the first floor. How was she to do this?
She walked around the corner into a side street, looking for the service entrance or any potential loophole. The heat of the night might lead to a few accessible windows if she was lucky.
She flattened herself to a wall, hearing voices in the darkness, then she discerned a light coming from an open door. Some of the staff were leaving for the night. This could be a chance. In the pocket of her linen jacket was a broken necklace she had been meaning to get mended, an expensive costume piece of green beryl and gold. She hurled it hard towards the side of the open door. It clattered against a window and fell to the ground with a satisfying jingle, distracting the
pair of young men who had just left the building.
“Wossat, Mikey?”
“Come and have a look. A necklace. Where’s that come from then?”
The pair stood scratching their heads and frowning at the jewellery. By the time they were squinting around the yard for the source of the strange token, Mimi was inside the staff corridor, making her way to the service elevators.
Few people were around after midnight. The bar and restaurant staff were on their way out, and the cleaners and maids would not arrive for another six hours. Mimi found the lifts and went up from the lower basement to the first floor, where she had seen that shadow.
Stepping out onto the plush carpeting of the landing, she tried to orient herself. Which room would it be? If the lifts were on the rear left-hand side of the hotel, then she must be close. She estimated that it was either 104 or 105—but she couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
Treading carefully, wishing her heart would stop making that loud bumping noise, she approached each pristine white wood door, putting her ear up against the polished handles. If only they had old-fashioned keyholes instead of these new swipe card arrangements, she lamented. So much better for eavesdropping purposes. Whoever invented the new system wasn’t a journalist, that was for sure.
The whole floor was ominously silent and Mimi began to wonder if she had the right Park Lane hotel when suddenly, something made her stiffen—the sound of a glass, heavy, perhaps a whiskey tumbler, smashing against a wall. Room 105 it was.
She crouched on the floor, trying to get her ear against the minute gap between the bottom of the door and the carpet, and then caught her breath at the sound of John’s voice, filtering weakly through the space.
“Well, that’s how you Russians do things, isn’t it? The vodka glass in the fireplace. Or have I been misinformed?”
“That is not a fireplace.” The man’s accent was heavy, but not incomprehensibly so.
“No. And for a fire you need fuel. Which is what I’m here for, as you know. So?”
“You shouldn’t have come. It’s late, John. We need our sleep. This is bad manners. We thought you British liked good manners.”
There was a silence. Mimi could imagine John’s look of scorn. Manners, indeed.
“I need the ore,” he said quietly. “I have the money. Why wait?”
“Why the hurry?” the Russian countered.
“I don’t want somebody else getting their hands on it. I’ve got the money now, so I want it now. That’s not so hard to understand, is it?”
“It’s easy to understand, John. You want it urgently. You need it. I’m thinking the figure we agreed was too low. You know how the market works, eh, supply, demand? I want another ten thousand.”
“Another ten thousand? Fine, I can make that in an hour on the markets. But give me the ore now.”
“You’re pushy. I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about this right now. Come back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is too late.” John’s voice had risen.
Mimi heard heavy footsteps crossing the room. It seemed he was about to be shown the door.
“Valery, show our guest out.”
“No! Get your hands off me!”
She heard a roar of pain and the heavy thud of a large body hitting the floor.
“What the fuck was that?” The Russian again, cold but obviously rattled. “What did you do to Valery? I can’t let you…”
The speech trailed off and Mimi heard the sounds of a struggle, furniture overturned, things sliding and crashing to the floor. She hammered on the door.
“Open up, open up, it’s an emergency!”
Seconds of silence passed, then the door opened marginally and a wild face framed by unkempt hair peered out at her.
“What?”
“Is John Stone in there? He’s needed urgently. Umm, business. Urgent business.”
The eyes of the wild face narrowed, then, without warning, she found her wrist captured and her body yanked into the room.
John stood, dusting himself off, by an armchair. He glowered at Mimi, looking furious.
“You stupid girl, what are you doing?”
Ah, so the psychic link was up and running again. Because he wanted it to be.
“Getting you out of here.”
The Russian held Mimi against his chest, his forearm pressing into her throat.
“What’s this, Stone? I didn’t order a whore. But this one will do very nicely now she’s here.”
“Drop her.”
“What’s her name?”
“I’ve no idea. Just let her go and give me my ore.”
“You haven’t told me what you did to Valery.”
Mimi observed a bearlike man, felled and unconscious.
“He’ll be fine. It’s just a trick I learned in the…When I was younger.”
The Russian sniffed. “Well, it’s a good trick. But if you don’t mind, I won’t be getting too close to you. This little honey, on the other hand…”
The Russian put a hand on Mimi’s hip, rubbing it suggestively. She tried to squirm away, but he had her in a stranglehold.
“I need the ore.” Mimi could see that John was struggling to maintain a level of self-control. He swallowed and held out a hand. “Let’s do business like human beings, not animals. I have your money.”
“I have something better than that.” The Russian crooned into Mimi’s reluctant ear. “I’m feeling horny. Hey, John, what about I fuck your girl and then you can have the ore. What do you think?”
Mimi, tense as she was, still felt the Russian’s hand move from her hip and reach behind for something in a drawer against the wall.
“I think give me the ore, let the girl go. I’ll get your extra money.”
“The girl is important to you, eh?”
The Russian’s hand was flexing, his shoulder moving against the back of her head. He had got hold of something.
“No,” said John. “But rape isn’t very nice, is it? I’m not keen, personally. It really is the height of those bad manners you mentioned earlier.”
“Rape?” The Russian chuckled. “It wouldn’t be rape. I’m sure she’d be happy to do it for you. If you asked her to. Go on. Ask her. Ask her if she’ll let me fuck her to get you what you want.”
John’s voice was steel. “Let her go.”
Mimi tried to kick the Russian’s shin, wishing now that she had worn stilettos, but all that achieved was a tightening of his arm around her throat, almost choking her.
His other arm flew forward. In his hand he held a gun.
“Now are you going to get out of here? You can have your ore. It’s in the package behind the trouser press. Take it. But I’m having this girl tonight. That’s the deal. That’s supply and demand.”
“John!” Mimi had to fight to get the word out, her vocal cords crushed by the weight of the Russian’s arm.
John had picked up the package and was heading for the door, but refused to meet her eyes.
“I was stupid, but you aren’t going to leave me with him, are you? Please!”
“You put yourself in this position.”
“John!”
He turned to face the Russian, who still held the gun pointed at his head.
“When you finish with her, call me. I’ll pick her up.”
“Sure.”
John’s hand closed around the door handle. The Russian transferred his gun to the other hand and began to move a palm inside Mimi’s jacket, seeking her cleavage. Mimi heard the door close and crumpled in despair, too bereft to fight the Russian’s explorations of her décolletage. He nuzzled his face in her neck, teeth nipping at the soft flesh.
“You English girls love a good fuck,” he murmured. “Easy meat.”
And then Mimi staggered forward as the Russian’s full weight fell on top of her, pinning her to the floor. She screamed and tried to pull herself out from under him, catching from the corner of her eye some movement at their rear.
A hand appe
ared, a familiar signet ring on one finger.
“John.”
“Come on, get up.”
He pulled her free of the lumbering Russian body and helped her to her feet.
“What…what…?” She had lost coherence now, leaning heavily against John.
“I didn’t leave the room. Dmitri there was too busy pawing you to notice. I gave him a Poltrinjin Surprise.”
“A what?”
“Combat technique from the Forlyxx system. Too complicated to explain.”
“Is he dead?”
“I think he might be. I went in a little harder than I did with his friend. I have a temper, you know.”
He smiled apologetically, as if expecting her to scold him for his naughty murdering ways.
“A temper,” she repeated, all her breath leaving her body at once.
He supported her out onto the landing, the ore parcel under his other arm. They travelled home in silence, Mimi trying to stop shaking, John gripping the ore for dear life.
In the drawing room, they downed large brandies before speaking.
“I thought you were going to leave me there,” Mimi said.
“No. I wouldn’t do that.”
John put the glass down and sat next to her on the sofa.
“You would, though. I don’t understand. It’s exactly the kind of thing you would do. Exchange me for what you want.”
“No, it isn’t. I might be a pragmatist but I do have values, Mimi. Don’t look so surprised. You are mine, and it is my instinct to protect you.”
“Is it? Am I?”
“You know you are. And you’re lucky I’m patient too. I’m waiting for you to acknowledge it. I know you will in the end.”
Mimi’s hand reached for him, wavering in the air before dropping to his forearm.
“You killed a man for me. I mean, I don’t approve of murder, but I’m…impressed…by that.”
“Yes, well, I’m pretty impressive.” The attempt at lightness didn’t quite work. John’s fingers caught Mimi’s, wrapping them round.
“I really think I want to kiss you,” she said.
“You always want to kiss me. You just have this tedious way of blocking your own desires. Shame it took murder to unblock them.”
Under His Influence Page 19
