Neva explains how she woke to find herself being carried into a huge house.
‘Tell me more about the house.’
Neva describes a large, old building. She tells me about the kitchen and the hot chocolate Tracey made for her.
‘It was the sort of place you could get lost in. A big rambling estate house. After Tracey gave me the hot chocolate, I was taken into a dormitory. There were three other girls of a similar age to me. The eldest told me we were in a boarding school. I asked why we were there and she told me that she’d been told it was because we were all “special”. We’d been chosen. None of it made sense, and I just wanted to go home. I soon learnt that was never going to happen.’
I listen to Neva’s description of her first days at the house. It is a shocking tale of fear, and abuse, and treatments that are tantamount to torture.
‘Do you remember any other people, other than Tracey?’ I ask.
‘The doctor. Mendez. We were all so scared of him. When they told me the first time that I was going down the corridor to see a doctor, I wasn’t afraid. The few doctors I’d seen before had always been kind, there to help you if you were sick. But Mendez was cold. He spoke with an accent, very subtle, not originally English. He ordered me to sit in a chair and then yanked the sleeve of my cardigan up. He stabbed a needle into my arm without even pretending he wasn’t going to hurt me; he just didn’t care. We were cattle to him, you see. He had no feelings for us beyond his medical curiosity as he warped our minds. I think now that he actually got off on it.’
I remain quiet as she speaks. I don’t offer comfort, or show any signs of sympathy, but inside I’m sickened that a child could be treated so viciously.
‘I wasn’t allowed to object to his rough treatment; no one was,’ Neva continues. ‘And tears … I cried that first time. I was scared and shocked, and Mendez slapped me hard across the face. He said my tears were wasted on him. He was going to make me into someone important, worthy, strong. Someone my parents would be proud of. If I was weak, though, they’d call me a failure and then I would never see my parents again. I never cried again and I learnt to show no emotion. That way it was all over with quicker.’
Her eyes are shining when she finishes speaking. I wonder if this is the first time since then that she has allowed herself to be close to tears. As if she knows what I’m thinking, Neva swipes her hand over her face and pushes away any sign of the water that almost leaks out.
‘On my way here, I saw a baby bird in a park. It was on the pathway, chirping for its mother. I looked up at the tree above its head and realised the creature had fallen from its nest. I picked it up and put it back. I don’t know why, but I had to.’
‘You were feeling empathy for the bird,’ I say. ‘You’ve never felt that before?’
‘Since I last saw you, I’ve been picking at the memories. They haven’t all come back. There are so many gaps, but something else has come: emotion,’ Neva explains.
‘Understandable. They tried to take all feeling from you. It’s obvious, though, that you were stronger than they knew, Neva. You’re finding your way back.’
‘I’ve been thinking about you. A lot,’ she says.
Neva stands and walks over to me. She kneels. There is a slight tremor in her hand as she touches my face.
‘What are you doing?’ I say.
‘I want to feel. I want to experience something with you, Michael.’
‘I can’t,’ I tell her. ‘You’re vulnerable right now. I’m not going to take advantage of that.’
‘Then I’ll have to take advantage of you,’ Neva says.
She leans towards me. I try to turn my face away but Neva doesn’t let me.
‘No,’ I say.
She kisses me. I’m a man. She’s beautiful and sexy and so mysterious. I stop speaking and respond. There has always been sexual tension between us, but only Neva is willing to acknowledge it.
‘We can’t,’ I say again, pulling away.
‘We can.’
I get to my feet in an attempt to change the dynamic and get away from her. Neva sees the tell-tale bulge that shows my protests are a struggle.
I help her stand. We stare at each other for a moment, then I pull her to me. I hold her. She lets me embrace her, wrapping her own arms around me. The hug is awkward, but I’m trying to show her that she’s safe. That this is the only touching she should have from me right now.
I step back and look at her again.
‘You know I’m attracted to you. Far more than I should be. But this … it will blur the lines between us.’
Neva nods and then as I begin to let go of her, she forces her way back into my arms and kisses me again. I feel a surge of lust as she presses against me. My tentative self-control is slipping. I kiss her back, pushing my tongue into her mouth and then she’s pulling me down again to the sofa.
She tugs at my shirt. White buttons fall on the carpet.
‘Stop!’ I repeat, but my protest is weak.
She kisses me again and my hand cradles her head, pulling her harder to my lips. I’m lost and she knows it.
‘Not here,’ I say when we break again.
‘The bedroom?’ She laughs. ‘How very traditional!’
She stands, holding out her hand to me, and, unable to resist her any longer, I take it and lead her to my bedroom.
We shed clothing at the foot of the bed. I look over her naked body as she lies down beside me. My hand traces a scar along her thigh, but I don’t ask her about it. The truth is, she hasn’t been far from my mind since that day in front of the tube station.
As though Neva fears I will pull away again, she climbs on top of me. Her strawberry blonde hair streams down over her breasts and as she leans over me her silky hair falls on my chest.
Her expression changes as I become buried inside her. She works me and I enjoy the play of emotions that crosses her features. I pull her down, taking her lips again and then I flip us both on the bed until she’s under me.
Neva closes her eyes as I run my hands over her. I know what she’s thinking, as if our minds, as well as our bodies, are joined.
This is pleasure. This is pain. This is what I wanted from the moment we met. I forget everything else. Does it really matter anyway?
Chapter Fifty
Neva
She watches him as he sleeps. Something about his face makes her feel … happy? Sad? She toys with the emotions which are at opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet she wants to experience it all. If she was still working for the Network, this would be the moment she’d pick to kill Michael. She would have to do it, because of what he knows. But the conditioning has broken down, and those urges are gone. Especially the compulsion to protect herself from becoming attached to anyone. Michael has seen her now. Neva wonders what her passion face told him about her.
Michael stirs and turns over, facing away.
Neva fights the urge to run. She lies back down. It is comfortable here, but not quiet. Central London never is. Oblivious to the police siren that screeches past, Michael sleeps on.
Neva knows she should slip away now, before daylight, but she doesn’t want to leave. She’d told herself that she would contact him to help her find her enemies and gain her revenge. But, really, this was always on the cards. She’d wanted him from the beginning; she just hadn’t recognised it for what it was. Because Michael is not a one-night stand. He’s not some anonymous male who can help her relieve some frustration.
But she should leave and let him get on with his life without the risk she brings to it, even though she has nowhere else to go.
She ponders sharing this information with Michael, knowing he will most likely suggest bringing her in under MI5 protection. But her sources told her that Archive is not free of corruption. It’s unfortunate they weren’t more specific. She wishes now she could have been more persuasive, but the informant who told her this had been running scared and no amount of money would secure more than he was willing to revea
l.
The leak at Archive, however, will not be easy to find unless she can convince Michael to act as her informant and such behaviour will put him at further risk. Neva isn’t sure she wants that.
She closes her eyes and tries to go back to sleep. She’s unafraid here, as though Michael’s flat is a safe haven. Yet Michael can’t be off the radar. There are people in the Network whose job it is to watch MI5 and MI6 agents. Especially a taskforce like Archive, whose job is to find them. As such, it stands to reason that they know all about Michael and his colleagues. Her source told her he was being watched by someone close. Any one of his co-workers could be a double agent. It had to be one of them, for Neva knows Michael has no one else in his life.
Her mind begins to drift. Just a small nap and then she will leave before she causes him a problem.
Chapter Fifty-One
Michael
I hear running water. It pulls me up from the comfort of my sleep. I am dreaming about passion, the lover I’ve always craved crushed in my arms. I open my eyes and look at the slit of light peeking above and around my curtains. On the side of the bed is a travel bag. It’s not mine, and for a brief second I wonder why it is there. Then I remember the previous night. Neva.
I’m swamped with remorse. How had I let myself be led so easily? I sit up as the shower in the en suite bathroom switches off. There is the gentle rustle as Neva dries herself. My mind sees the towel touch her beautiful and toned bare skin. She is perfection; even the scars tell her story.
She comes out of the bathroom. Her skin is glowing with the blush of heat from the water and the rub of the towel that is now wrapped around her. Her hair is wet. It looks darker, redder, and longer as the water clings to it. She is beautiful. My heart hurts. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.
‘Sorry if I woke you,’ she says.
‘You didn’t. But I have to go to work anyway,’ I say.
‘On a Saturday?’
‘Oh!’ I close my eyes.
I think I must be hungover, but I didn’t drink the previous night. There was no time. We’d had sex and I couldn’t even blame alcohol for my lack of control. I remember now that yesterday was Friday, and as a rule I don’t work weekends unless a case comes up. As if the thought of a work emergency instigates it, my mobile rings. I find it at the side of the bed. At least last night – after – I’d had the presence of mind to put it on charge.
Beth’s number flashes up on the screen.
‘I have to take this,’ I say to Neva.
I get up, take the phone, and grab my robe from the back of the bedroom door. Then I go into the kitchen. I answer the phone as I put the kettle on.
Neva stays in the bedroom.
‘Hey, Mike,’ says Beth. ‘I’m flying to Switzerland. Just wanted you to be in the loop.’
‘Why are you going there?’
‘Ray was contacted by Interpol. Suspicious death in a resort not far from the Swiss border. The victim has been identified as a British resident.’
‘That’s not usually our problem,’ I say, keeping my voice low. I stick my head out of the kitchen and glance across the living room to the bedroom door: it remains shut.
‘True. But we think this is linked to the Network.’
I reach for the tea canister.
‘Ray thinks they cornered the assassin we were looking for,’ Beth continues.
I stop making tea and start paying more attention.
‘Really? You think the assassin killed this person too?’
‘No … the assassin is the victim. Killed by someone else. It’s all very confused which is why I’m heading over there.’
‘Okay. So how long do they think you’ll be there?’ I ask.
‘A few days at least. I’m sure you’ll hear about it all from Ray on Monday. I’ll send you a photo of the dead woman. Then you can let us know if it’s the one you saw.’
‘Sure,’ I say.
Beth hangs up and I continue to make tea. Does Neva even drink it? I make two anyway. Placing the two cups, some sugar, a spoon and a carton of milk on a tray, I take it through the living room to the bedroom. When I enter, Neva is dressed in black jeans, a black sweater and a short black wig.
‘Going somewhere?’ I say.
‘I can’t stay here. It’s not safe for either of us if I do.’
‘Right now, it’s probably the safest place to be. You were in a resort near Switzerland all this time, I take it?’ I say, getting right to the point.
‘How do you know?’
‘Dead body. Want to tell me about it?’
Neva looks at me. She sits down on the bed. I notice that she’s made it.
She sighs. ‘I think that’s unnecessary, don’t you?’
‘They came after you and you killed.’ I put the tray down on the chest of drawers by the window. ‘Tea?’
Neva smiles. ‘Okay.’
The moment is surreal.
‘The thing is, I was careful, yet they still found me,’ she explains.
‘It can’t be easy to live in a constant state of red alert,’ I say. ‘Maybe you did let your guard down. Or maybe you were spotted by someone who was on the lookout for you by pure coincidence. Either way it doesn’t matter.’
‘I have to stay below the radar but it’ll be harder now.’
‘Sugar?’
Neva shakes her head. ‘A little milk though.’
I pour some milk in the tea, stir it, and hand her the mug. Neva sips. The tea is boiling hot and the heat seems to warm and soothe her. Despite her words, she makes no move to leave.
‘Let me help you,’ I say, aware that I’m always offering my help, though she rarely takes it.
‘I don’t know how you can. I need to get to the top and take them all down. Expose them. Kill them. It doesn’t matter. The Network has to crumble before I can live a normal life. How I’m going to do that without learning who’s behind it all, I just don’t know.’
‘Is that what you really want?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I’m not sure how you can ever live a “normal life”,’ I say. ‘You killed the assassin who came after you, right?’
Neva nods. ‘Of course. They wanted to bring me in. The alternative to agreeing was death. I had no choice.’
‘I agree, but the thing is, you’re always going to be a killer. How do you switch that off?’
‘If I’m not forced to defend myself, I don’t need to kill. I don’t take a life for pleasure…’
‘I already know that,’ I say.
‘You can’t help me,’ she says. ‘I don’t know why I’m here. I know that someone close is watching you. You’re more of a risk to me than anything else.’
‘Someone close? But you don’t know who?’ I ask.
She takes a big gulp of the tea, then she lies back on the bed. Relaxed. ‘I’m so tired.’
I nod. ‘I understand. You’ve been hiding. It’s all too hard for you. No one should live like this.’
I pour a little milk in my drink and stir.
‘No … I mean, I’m really … the tea … don’t…’
The mug falls from her hand and spills on the carpet beside the bed. I look at my own mug and then place it back on the tray.
‘Neva?’ I say, concerned.
I lean over her. Check her pulse. Lift one closed eyelid. Then I glance down at the fallen mug. The drink was drugged! What the hell is going on?
I hurry to the front door of the flat and ensure the security bolts are all in place. Then I check the windows and look out across the cityscape. I examine the building opposite for signs that I’m being observed. I see nothing irregular.
When was the last time I drank this tea? Last weekend. During the week I buy coffee on my way to work.
In the kitchen, I sniff at the canister. The tea smells ordinary, musty. Then I return to the milk and smell it. I’m not sure but I think the milk has an atypical odour. I know it isn’t the sugar, so it has to be the milk. The perso
n who did this must have known that Neva doesn’t take sugar, but always takes milk. Then a terrible thought occurs to me: no one knows Neva is here.
The drug was meant for me!
I take a tea towel from the top drawer in the kitchen and collect a canister of carpet cleaning solution from under the sink. Then I return to Neva. I check her over again. She is sleeping soundly. Drugged but apparently not harmed.
I clean up the spilt tea. Afterwards, I leave Neva on the bed, close the bedroom door and then sit down on my sofa in the living room.
Someone has been in my flat. Neva said that someone close was watching me. But who? And why did they attempt to drug me?
I begin to search the flat. Neva said she had combed it, but I have to make sure she’s right. I know what to look for, though I’m sure I’d have noticed if my home was bugged. I look for an hour, taking out light bulbs, taking apart the phone by the front door, but I come up with nothing. Whoever has drugged my milk is being careful to make sure to leave nothing an experienced MI5 agent would notice. Maybe the plan is to come in as I sleep? I pause, wondering how they would know if I’ve drunk the tea or milk.
I check the front door again. All the locks are in place. I can’t imagine how they’d get inside, short of using something to smash the door in, and then one of my neighbours would hear and raise the alarm.
When I finish sweeping my home, I find Neva standing by the bedroom door. She looks awake, but I soon realise she is walking in her sleep.
I lead her back to the bed.
‘Rest,’ I say. ‘You’re safe here. I’ll get to the bottom of this.’
‘Yes, Doctor Mendez,’ she says.
I encourage her to lie down. She doesn’t object; she is pliable. Once again, I wonder what was in this milk.
‘Sleep,’ I say.
She closes her eyes again.
I search the bedroom for bugs or cameras. There’s nothing to find. After searching the en suite bathroom, I remember that I haven’t had a chance to shower or dress yet. While Neva sleeps, I go into the bathroom, brush my teeth, and shower.
The House of Killers, Book 1 Page 21
