A second cup of cocoa in hand, she trailed back upstairs, intending to sip it cocooned under the quilt, where at least she’d be warm while she watched the hands of the clock go round.
Course, it might have been a good idea to take all of the washing, Joanne. She eyed the clothes she’d discarded on her wicker chair before showering and found herself not caring. It didn’t matter if there was a mess in the bedroom, did it?
No more than slapping moisturiser over her face mattered, which she wandered to the bathroom to do anyway, from force of habit. Or shaving her legs, which she’d also done to pass time. The shaver had certainly had its work cut out. She hadn’t preened and pruned in a long time. Daniel’s shaver. Jo glanced from the mirror to the shelf, where she’d replaced it. He’d forgotten it in his rush to leave.
Sighing, she smoothed some freebie Elizabeth Arden stuff over her hands, sniffed it, then—on a waste not, want not basis, went the whole hog and smoothed it all over. She’d paid lip service to her beauty regime the last few months. It might not hurt to indulge a little. The old Joanne, the person she wanted to be—the person she knew Daniel wanted her to be—would have.
Well, that was that. All out of time-wasting tactics, Jo reached for her toothbrush, turned on the tap, and—nothing, apart from a horrendous metallic clunking, which was a subtle indication the plumbing was acting up.
‘Pants,’ she muttered, reaching for Daniel’s shaving lotion to give the pipes a good thwack, and then … . Good God! … blinked, surprised, as silence ensued. It worked, amazingly. She’d beaten it into submission. That was normally Daniel’s domain.
Dammit, why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Sleep would be out of the question at this rate. Jo dragged the comb through her hair, remembering she hadn’t been to the hairdressers since … she couldn’t remember when.
Maybe she would book that appointment to have it cut. It would be far less trouble. She unhooked Daniel’s shirt from the door and slipped back into it. Kayla and she could go together. Go shopping afterwards. Do the mother and daughter stuff that Jo knew she should have made an effort to do, but just didn’t seem to have the energy for.
She wouldn’t give her a hard time when she got home, she swore. As worried as she’d been, she’d make an effort to listen. And if Kayla wasn’t ready to talk, Jo would give her time, space, whatever she needed.
Anything.
Please God, make her come back home safe. Jo squeezed back a tear, raked her damp fringe from her face, pulled open the bathroom door.
Then froze.
The stranger in her bedroom gave a long, slow wolf-whistle. ‘Oh, darlin’,’ he drawled, appraising her appreciatively from top to toe, ‘I am so glad I dropped by tonight.’
****
‘What the …?!!’ Daniel jolted upright. Cold sweat pooled in the hollow of his neck and saturated the sheet beneath him.
He squinted against the oppressive dark, trying to focus his mind. A car backfiring, that’s all it was. Or thunder? Christ, he needed to get a grip. He ran his hands through his hair and tried to slow his racing heart. He could have sworn it was gunfire. Felt it, almost.
No, it was thunder, all right. Daniel winced as lightning cracked through the room, the skies colliding angrily in its wake. Looked like the mother of all storms. And it was heading his way. Disentangling himself from the bedclothes, he eased his feet to the floor and dragged a hand over his aching neck. He must have dozed. He hadn’t meant to do that. The last thing he remembered was coming from the shower he’d taken in an attempt to cool off.
‘Dammit!’ He covered the floor in three paces as another flash of light bathed the dark shadows white, flicked on the light switch—and the bulb fizzled and died.
Great. Stuck in a stifling shoebox, with a cat-flap for a window and no bloody light. Daniel stayed put as a thunderclap crashed directly overhead. Willing himself to stay calm, he leaned his back against the wall, took several slow breaths, and counted down slowly from one hundred.
At ninety-five the panic started to subside. It still simmered somewhere, but at least he could breathe. Okay. That was good. He’d been way down in the eighties and still counting when he’d hit the street earlier, gasping for air and hating himself for his weakness.
He’d get there though, back in control. He had to. He had a role to play. Not the one he’d envisaged for himself in his family’s future, but a role nevertheless. And France was definitely not on the agenda if he wanted to be hands-on in that role—which he did. Kayla needed him here, not an ocean away. Tonight’s events had brought that hard home. He should have seen it before, instead of burying his head in the sand, effectively being blind to anything but his own pain.
Jo needed him, too, he’d finally realised. Maybe not in the same way as she had before—he swallowed a tight lump in his throat, but she needed him to be a father to Kayla, and a friend to her, if nothing else. And he would. If that’s what Jo wanted, then that’s what Daniel would be, because he couldn’t stop caring about her, no matter what happened, which simply left him no choice. He’d stay around until Jo needed him to do otherwise.
As lightning bathed the room blue-white again, Daniel waited for the heavens to clash, then almost had heart failure as his mobile rang, shrill and stark against the darkness. ‘Shit!’ Bolting back across the room, he located the bedside table and snatched up the phone. ‘Jo?’
‘Hi, Dan. It’s me,’ Jo said lightly. ‘How are you?’
How was he? Daniel frowned.
‘Look, sorry to bother you,’ Jo went on, almost conversationally. ‘I know you’ve had a busy day at work, but—’
Bother him? Busy day at … What? ‘Jo, you are not bothering me,’ Daniel cut in. ‘What’s happening? Is Kayla okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Jo replied. ‘Yes, Dad’s fine, too. Much better now, thanks for asking.’ She paused pointedly, and Daniel’s heart froze. Dad? What fucking dad? Jo’s father was long since dead, and buried in Dublin.
‘It’s just that the lights are on the blink again,’ Jo went on, nonsensically.
Daniel swallowed back a hard knot in his chest. ‘Jo, what’s wrong?’
‘About an hour,’ Jo continued to talk gibberish. ‘And, well, I’m a bit frightened, to be honest. I was wondering if you could come over. I think it’s just the fuse, but you know how hopeless I am with these things.’
What? Daniel dropped onto the bed, disbelieving. Jo, hopeless? She was as practical as he was—more, probably. She could wire a plug blindfold.
‘Jo, what the hell are you talking about?’
‘And with the storm and everything …’ Jo went on, a tremulous edge to her voice, did he detect? ‘Well, will you come?’
‘Of course I’ll come. You know I will,’ Daniel assured her, his mind racing through all kinds of scenarios. Had she been drinking? No, her speech was no way coherent, but it definitely wasn’t slurred.
‘Yes, now would be good, if you wouldn’t mind,’ Jo answered a question he hadn’t asked. ‘I’m not even sure I know where the fuse box is.’
Bullshit. Jo knew exactly where the fuse box was. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said, cold fear settling like ice in the pit of his stomach.
Chapter Eleven
‘Not bad,’ the intruder said. ‘Course, he’d have been here a lot quicker if you’d offered him a shag. I would have been, darlin’. No doubt about it.’
He trailed his eyes approvingly over Jo’s legs. ‘Ask me, the bloke must be nuts, leaving a bird like you.’
Jo pulled her shirt tight.
‘But then, I don’t suppose you’d want his hands all over you, would you, sweetheart?’ The man smiled languidly, looked away from Jo, and strolled around the bedroom. ‘His having murdered your kid, an’ all.’
Jo flinched. She prayed silently that Daniel would come. That he wouldn’t. That her legs wouldn’t give way as the floor shifted beneath her.
The man strolled back towards her. ‘Still, no worries, he is coming, isn�
�t he?’ He inched Jo’s chin up with the barrel of the shotgun. ‘Like a lamb to the slaughter.’
Jo looked right at him, hoping she might see some hint of what drove him, and then closed her eyes against the coldness she saw in his.
He went on with a sneer. ‘And it gives us a bit more time, doesn’t it, sweetheart? Now, what shall we do while we wait?’
Jo’s eyes shot open as he hooked a finger over the top button of her shirt. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, her tone neutral and her gaze steady on his. She willed herself not to do anything to provoke him. Not to give into tears.
What did he want? Her head reeled as her mind screamed the question again. If he was a sick little thief in the night, why didn’t he just take what he wanted and go? It was just so much stuff anyway, not worth a jot compared to what really mattered. He couldn’t take her few precious memories. If it was something else he was intent on, why didn’t the bastard just get on with it?
Why did he want Dan? What was he …? Oh, God, no! Jo’s stomach clenched and curled up inside her.
He was going to hurt him.
She could see it in his vile, flat eyes. They were swimming with pure evil. It was Daniel he wanted for some reason. Jo was sure of it. She was the bait, that was all. And, God help her, she’d lured Daniel into the bastard’s trap
Charlie’s mouth twisted into smirk as he flicked the button open and trailed his hand down to the next one. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out, darlin’.’
‘You smell nice,’ he said, his mouth twisting into a lewd smile as he pressed his face to Jo’s neck.
****
Daniel scrambled into his shirt, his heart hammering against his chest. Had Jo had some kind of a breakdown? No, she’d sounded calm, considered almost. Something was seriously wrong. But what, that she wouldn’t say? Or couldn’t? Oh, sweet fucking Jesus. Daniel’s blood ran cold. There was someone there, in the house. She was on her own, thanks to him, and some mad bastard had broken in.
Forcing his feet into his half-laced trainers, he clutched up his key, banged out of his room, then half-sprinted, half stumbled down the stairs. Scanning the noticeboard above the payphone, he angrily cursed himself for not having had the courage to get back behind the wheel before … this! Christ! Where were the taxi service cards? He slammed his fist against the wall, scanned the noticeboard again, and his eyes fell on a faded blue-white card tucked in the corner. Relieved, he jabbed out the number, waited an hour-long minute for someone to pick up, only to be told it would be a forty minute wait.
Daniel raked his hand through his hair, feeling sick to his soul as he jabbed out 99 on his mobile, and then hesitated. Shit. What would the police do? Send a patrol car? Ring the house to check out his story? No. They’d treat it seriously, proceed with caution. Wouldn’t they?
They had to.
But what if some screwball psychopath was holding a knife to Jo’s throat, while he stood here uselessly debating? The police turn up and … Jesus, no! Daniel swallowed hard.
There was someone there, he knew it.
And whoever it was wanted him.
Pocketing his mobile, he raced towards the front door wondering whether to flag someone down, hesitated for a split-second in the hallway, and then hammered on John’s lower-floor door.
‘I need your car,’ he said, when John squeaked it open.
John eyed him warily. ‘What for?’
‘John, please. I …’ Daniel sucked in a breath. ‘John, I don’t have time for this. Please, just trust me. I need to borrow your car.’
‘Yeah, right.’ John shook his head. ‘And if I had a girlfriend, I’d lend you her as well. You must be joking, mate.’ He made to close the door.
Daniel blocked it. ‘John …’ He eyed the man levelly. ‘My wife’s in trouble. Please? I’m desperate.’
John arched an eyebrow. ‘What kind of trouble?’
‘Bloody hell! I don’t know! Serious trouble! Now, will you just give me the keys?’
John scratched his head. ‘I’ll drive you.’ He sighed, blinking bloodshot eyes and turning to lumber slowly inside.
Oh, for Pete’s … The guy was so drunk he couldn’t drive a nail home, let alone a car. ‘Forget it,’ Daniel said, turning away. ‘I’ll find another way.’
‘I said I’d drive you,’ John called after him. ‘Just hold your horses.’
Daniel turned back. ‘John, you’re three sheets to the wind. You can’t walk in a straight line. If you want to help, just give me the goddamn keys.’
John came back to the door. ‘I thought you said you didn’t drive?’ He squinted at Daniel suspiciously.
‘I said I didn’t have a car, John. Makes driving a bit difficult. And, right now, I need one.’
John hesitated, searching Daniel’s eyes. ‘All right. All right.’ He reluctantly dropped the keys into Daniel’s hand. ‘Just make sure you look after her.’
Relief flooded through Daniel. ‘I will,’ he assured him, almost out of the building. ‘Cheers, John. I owe you one.’
‘Several, mate. Love of my life, that car is, y’know.’
****
Fifteen minutes at most, Daniel told himself, trying hard to keep his mind on the time it would take him to reach Hadbury from Worcester, rather than the process of actually getting there. He hadn’t considered, never even imagined getting in the driving seat again, except in his nightmares, which left him petrified.
The rain was relentless, bouncing bullet-like off the pavement and soaking his shirt through to his skin as he ran to the car. He wiped a hand over his face, attempted to unlock the car door—and dropped the keys.
For fuck’s sake, just do it! Cursing himself, he retrieved the keys from the gutter, fumbled the door open, and threw himself inside.
Do it, he repeated. Don’t think. Just drive. Shakily, he located the ignition and started the engine. Okay. Good. He’d managed that bit. Now all he had to do was concentrate. He took a deep breath, feeling as if his chest was about to explode, rammed the gear-stick into first and floored the accelerator.
****
Charlie was mortally wounded. She’d drawn blood. Actual blood. He dragged his hand across his cheek and examined it. One minute she was standing there, looking as if she was desperate for it—happily obliged he would have, too, had he not been wired up like a telegraph pole on amphetamines and coke—and she’d grabbed hold of his hair and nearly scratched his bleedin’ eyes out.
Charlie was as perplexed as he was annoyed. He’s got the gun, she plays hard to get? She’d got some bottle, he had to give her that. Standing on the other side of the room, she was now, spitting like an alley cat, her big green eyes holding up a challenge.
Charlie quite liked a challenge.
‘Come one step closer and you are going to have to shoot me!’ The woman screamed. ‘I’d rather be dead. You absolute … bastard!’
‘Shut the fuck up,’ Charlie snarled, swiftly skirting the bed.
He couldn’t shoot her, of course, not yet. But one thing’s for sure, he was going to have to shut her up, or someone might hear, and that’d scupper his plans, no messing.
‘You might well rather be dead,’ he mimicked, clutching her face, his fingers digging hard into her cheeks. ‘And dead you will be, if you don’t zip it. But while you’re busy thinking about yourself,’ he snarled, his face close to hers, ‘you might like to spare a thought for your darling daughter.’
Her eyes shot wide. Pupils like saucers, Charlie thought, mildly amused.
‘I see I have your attention.’ He smiled. ‘Now, I’m going to let you go. And when I do, you do not move a muscle. Got it?’
That’s knocked the fight out of her he thought, pleased when she nodded.
Charlie loosened his grip, a snarl twisting his lips.
The woman felt for the wall behind her. ‘Kayla?’ she murmured, disbelieving.
‘Got it in one.’ Charlie grinned, and stepped back. ‘Course, you’ve only got the one now, h
aven’t you? And you wouldn’t want to be responsible for her death, would you?’
Charlie watched satisfied as the colour drained from her face. Pale and pretty she looked. Very interesting. Especially now he’d shut her noise up. Couldn’t have achieved such an instant response if he’d slapped her again, which he’d felt inclined to do, her having marred his good looks.
Charlie wiped his forearm across his bloodied cheek, and sauntered off.
He’d just let her mull that over for a while, see if it didn’t make her a touch less aggressive.
He could feel her cat’s eyes following him as he strolled leisurely around the bedroom, peering in wardrobes and drawers. Casually, he plucked her underwear from the chair. Held it high. Gave her an insinuating glance and a smirk.
‘Is she …?’ She hesitated. ‘Kayla … Is she all right?’
‘As well as can be expected.’ Charlie shrugged, idly flicking a piece of fluff from his shirt. His gun propped on his shoulder, he turned to eye the woman squarely. ‘And if you want her to stay that way you’d better stop pissing about. Got it?’
She nodded slowly, and he watched any thought of resistance evaporate. Any hope that he might take what he wanted and then leave, he watched fade away.
‘Good.’ Charlie smiled, his eyes eating her up. ‘Because, for information, sweetheart, I only do death excruciatingly slowly.’ He aimed the gun, meaningfully belly level. ‘So get over there and sit, very quietly.’
****
Daniel screeched to a halt at the hairpin bend, a flashback hitting him, hard. With gritty determination, he tried to drive through it, though he could taste the petrol fumes thick on the air.
See the oncoming truck.
Feel the impact.
The car hitting head on, his arm instinctively outstretched, trying to stop her thrust forwards.
Failing.
He’d come, at last, face-to-face with it, his unremitting nightmare. But he couldn’t go any further. Past the exact point in the road where …
Damn it! He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, slowed his rapid breathing and reversed sharply. Cursing his inadequacy, he took a detour, to arrive one mile further on, and still one long mile from home.
The Edge of Sanity Page 12
