From being relatively hostile at the beginning, as the lesson progressed the women started to smile and they all laughed at Wren’s attempts to learn a few Albanian equivalents to English words. She could have duplicated them better, but she’d learned how effective humor could be to engage students.
The women were bright, had caught on quickly and they were all young, slim and attractive, apart from Ardita’s messed-up face. Wren was sure their manicured nails had never been near cleaning fluid and a mop. A question placed partway through the lesson told her none of them had ever attended Ezispeke, not even Ardita Chani, whose name was definitely on the list.
She took the crumpled paper from her pocket and smoothed it out. Without saying anything she passed it to Danijela and watched her eyes widen. The paper went from Danijela to Tanja, who whispered something in Albanian. At the sound of footsteps in the hallway, Ardita snatched the paper and slid it under her thigh.
“I have a cat, you have a cat, he has a cat,” Wren said quickly.
“I have a cat, you have a cat, he has a cat,” Danijela repeated and stared straight at her.
Wren got the message.
“We have a cat. They have a cat,” Wren said.
“And I have a dog,” said a male voice behind her. Marco leaned against the doorframe. “Forget cats.”
“We’re working on verbs,” Wren said. “They need to learn how to construct a sentence or no one will understand them.”
“I have a cat. I had a cat. I will have a cat,” Jovana said.
“Very good.” Wren smiled at her.
A few minutes of that got rid of Marco, and Ardita retrieved the paper from under her leg. She ripped it up into pieces, pushed them into an empty cigarette packet and crumpled it. Wren grabbed it from the table and shoved it in her pocket.
“Do you know them?” she whispered.
They shook their heads. They had to be lying. Why rip the paper up otherwise? And she hadn’t missed the loaded glances.
She stood. “Maybe I should ask Marco.”
“No,” Ardita blurted.
“What happened to your face?” Wren asked.
“I walk into door.”
“Or a fist?”
That sparked a whispered exchange between Ardita and Jovana in rapid-fire Albanian, before Ardita turned back to her.
“Door,” she repeated.
Wren wondered what she was trying to do here. They didn’t want to learn. They weren’t cleaners. She wasn’t stupid.
Or maybe they were cleaners and she was stupid, because the alternative meant Tomas was involved in this business. Disappointment weighed her down. He’d warned her Marco was a bad guy, told her not to come and even at the door asked her to change her mind.
“How can I help you?” she asked. “What can I do?”
Silence.
“You don’t look like cleaners.”
Jovana snorted. “Is all we can do here. Clean for rich people.”
“Do you know any of the people on the list?” she whispered.
“Where you get names?” Ardita asked.
Wren hesitated.
“You want us trust you. You trust us,” Jovana said.
“They were supposed to be my students at the language school. But I’ve never seen them.”
Jovana spoke in Albanian to the others and then turned back to Wren. “Ardita know two. Tanja know one.”
“How did you get into the country?” she asked but the wall had gone up again.
When Veton walked in a moment later and sat down, she stopped pushing. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She’d walked into a nest of snakes.
* * * * *
Tomas drove like a maniac picking up everything Marco wanted so he’d return in time to take Wren home. When he got back and saw Marco’s car parked behind Veton’s, he swore. As he passed the door of the room where Wren worked with the women, he saw Veton sprawled on a chair watching her. The bastard winked at him. Asshole. Tomas carried on into the kitchen to find Marco with Dragen.
“Get everything?” Marco asked.
“They run out of Veton’s hemorrhoid cream.”
Marco chuckled. “I had a word with Sanjay. He said you misunderstood the situation.”
“I misunderstood knife?” Tomas put the bags on the floor and Marco gestured Dragen to unpack them.
“He wouldn’t have hurt you.”
Tomas gaped. “How I supposed to know that?” And the guy would have hurt him, maybe not with a knife, but with something worse.
“Who was the man who disarmed Sanjay?” Marco asked.
Tomas crossed his arms and leaned against the countertop. “No idea. Never see him before.”
“Was he in the club?”
He shrugged. “Might have been. Dressed for it. Leather, studs, zippers.”
Marco flipped a red Bic lighter back and forth. “What happened?”
“I told you.”
“You didn’t mention this man. Someone who owns you?”
“Apart from you?”
Marco gave a slow smile. “Do you know the guy?”
“I told you, I never see him before. Nor after.”
Marco slapped the lighter flat. “A big favor, taking out a man with a knife when he didn’t even know you.”
Tomas held himself rigid. “The guy listened to no, Sanjay didn’t.”
“And does your pretty girlfriend know you’re bi?”
Dragen reached to stroke his grazed cheek and Tomas knocked his hand away. The moron sniggered.
“Apparently I irresistible even to dickheads.” Tomas glared at Dragen.
Marco chuckled. “How long have you been going out with Wren?”
“First date tonight. Not what I plan.”
When Marco glanced at the door, Tomas turned to see Wren, Veton standing behind her.
“Don’t trust me to drive her back?” Veton fluttered his tongue and it was all Tomas could do not to plant his fist in the guy’s face.
“I drive her.” Dragen pumped his hips.
The fucking prick.
Veton laughed and slapped Tomas on the back. “She’s prettier than Juno. No problem getting it up for this one?”
Another fucking prick. A chill trickled down his spine. He really wished Wren hadn’t heard that, but more worryingly, what had Juno said?
“Don’t scare Wren off, boys.” Marco took out his wallet. “Come again tomorrow?”
No she’s not.
“I’m teaching tomorrow night,” Wren said. “But maybe you better see if the girls think I’m helpful before you ask me back.”
“I decide whether you teach them. It’s not up to them. You seem a perfect choice to me.” He gave Wren a handful of notes.
“Thank you.” She smiled at him.
Don’t smile at the bastard. He couldn’t let Wren come here again. It was too dangerous. She was too innocent. He’ll use her to keep me in my place.
She put the cash in her purse, looking as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. He wondered if she’d be so eager to take the money if she knew how it had been earned. Plus Marco would no doubt charge the women for Wren’s services, adding it to the sum they owed for transportation into the UK and all their paperwork, food and lodging, further ensuring they were his slaves for as long as he liked.
“Thursday then,” Marco said. “Tomas can hold your hand.”
“Okay.” Wren nodded.
No way was she coming here again.
“Take her somewhere nice.” Marco offered him two fifty-pound notes.
Tomas ignored the money and slid his arm over Wren’s shoulder, mentally begging her not to pull away.
“We’re only going for ice cream,” Wren said. “And it’s my treat.”
What? Tomas’ heart pounded as he escorted her out. When this all went belly-up—as it would, because after all, that was the whole point of his involvement—he didn’t want Wren dragged into the maelstrom. He had to find a way to stop her teaching the women, one
that would convince both her and Marco without raising suspicions.
When they were safely in the car and he’d driven to the top of the road, Tomas exhaled. “Where we get ice cream?”
“I don’t want any,” she muttered.
“I’ll pay.”
“I want to go home.” Her voice was flat.
“Where you live?”
“You don’t need to drive me all the way back. A bus stop on a major road will be fine.”
Tomas let out an exasperated breath. “I take you to door.” And to bed if he got the chance.
Wren sighed. “Beeston. Penfold Drive.”
He tapped it into his navigation system.
“You like something to eat?” he asked. “Not ice cream?”
“No thank you.”
“Drink?”
“No, I’m fine thanks.”
He glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”
Wren’s smile was bright but he was far from dazzled. Anxiety churned his gut.
“Veton do something? Say something? Dragen?” The bastard was sex mad. “Marco?”
She shook her head.
“I done something to upset you?”
“No.”
Her response was much too fast. So he had. What? Well, apart from the obvious of being associated with that fucking bunch of wankers. “Sorry,” he said.
No mistaking the hurt in her big eyes.
“What for?” she asked.
He took a guess. “Being jerk.”
She faced forward again. “Okay.”
“So I was jerk?” What the hell have I done?
“No. You weren’t a jerk.”
Tomas was confused.
She was pissed off about something but he wasn’t sure what. The kiss he’d given her outside Ezispeke? But she’d started to kiss him back and if Marco hadn’t interrupted… And it had been her who’d put her hand on his cock. The clutch at his leg might have been accidental but she’d felt his erection and not pulled away.
Was this about Adam? Was she playing them off against each other?
Was Tomas damned because of the company he kept?
Had she seen him kissing Adam?
Or none of the above.
He opened his mouth to ask her again not to teach the women, but she pointed through the window. “That house at the end.”
She leaped from the car almost before the wheels stopped turning and hurried to the door of number 7. Whatever he’d done, he’d really pissed her off. Tomas watched her messing around with the lock and as he was about to get out and give her a hand, the door opened and she threw herself into the arms of a startled guy. When he hugged her, kissed the top of her head and rubbed his fingers in her hair, “Fuck,” slid from Tomas’ mouth.
After the door closed, he drove away.
When he reached a place he could pull in, he switched off his engine. He took out his phone, called Julia and went through the security procedure.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Couple of names for you to check. Wren Monroe and Adam Kesey.”
“Reason?”
He had to be careful. “Wren’s a teacher at Ezispeke. Marco’s engaged her to tutor a few of his girls. She was at the Headingley house tonight. I just drove her home to Beeston.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I’m worried she’ll get trawled up in this. If Marco had given me any clue he was thinking of hiring a teacher, you could have put someone in. Maybe you still could.”
“True. I’ll have a think about that. And Kesey?”
“He’s moved in next door to me for three weeks. Home is Greenwich, London. Turns out he’s enrolled as a student at Ezispeke. I want to be sure it’s a coincidence.”
“Understood.”
* * * * *
Wren clung to Matt until he closed the door behind her.
“What was that all about?” he asked as he disentangled himself. “And what have you done to your hair?”
“Dyed it.”
“It’s amazing! Where’s your spaceship?”
“Ha ha.”
The front door opened straight onto the living room. A flushed woman with blonde curls sat on the couch, the buttons of her blouse done up wrong, and Wren cringed. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Jennifer, this is my sister Wren.”
“Hi.” Jennifer waved.
“Hi.”
“You’re here because…?” Matt asked. “Is it a matter of life or death? Man-eating zombies escaped from the cemetery? Aliens landed in the back garden? Found a miniscule spider in your flat—again?”
“It was the size of a dinner plate,” Wren snapped. “And it’s your fault I’m scared of them. I still have nightmares about the one you put in my bed.”
“Anyone could see it was plastic,” Matt said.
“It didn’t look plastic. It didn’t feel plastic.”
They glared at each other.
“So who dropped you off just now and not that I’m complaining about the hug, but why do I have the feeling it wasn’t for my benefit?”
“I needed him to think you were my boyfriend.”
“Who? And why?”
“This…guy insisted on giving me a lift and I didn’t want to lead him to my flat.”
Matt gaped. “You got in a car with a stranger?”
“Well—”
“How could you have been so stupid?”
“I—”
“You could have been dragged off to the Yorkshire moors, tortured, murdered, buried in a shallow grave and never found. I’d have worried for days.”
Wren rolled her eyes.
“Hey, it’s happened before,” her brother said.
“He isn’t a stranger.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Not long.”
“And he’s harassing you?”
“No, but—”
“What’s his name?”
“Matt!” Jennifer snapped. “Try pressing your receive button. You sound like you’re interrogating a suspect.”
Wren bit back her smile. “Tomas hasn’t done anything.”
Just made my heart thump when he squeezed my leg, made my toes curl when he nearly kissed me and broke my heart when he kissed Adam. And she didn’t want to think about what his job might be. “Call me a taxi and I’ll go home. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“Take your sister home,” Jennifer said. “I need to leave anyway. I have to drive to Birmingham tomorrow.”
“Can I make myself a coffee?” Wren asked, thinking she’d give Tomas a chance to get well away from here so he didn’t see her leaving, but her brother was busy examining Jennifer’s tonsils.
Wren slunk off to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. By the time Matt reappeared, she’d made a start on piecing together the bits of paper from the cigarette packet.
“Smoking?” Matt yelled. “What the—”
He went to grab the packet and Wren knocked him away. “Sit down, drink your coffee and listen.”
Matt dropped onto the chair opposite. “This had better be good. Jennifer’s gone until Friday. I’m on nights until Tuesday. Tonight was our last evening together for a week.”
Wren winced. “Sorry.”
“What are you piecing together?”
“I’ll get to that. At work—”
“Want me to help?”
Wren grabbed his wrist as he reached across the table. “Please, Matt. Just listen.”
He exhaled. “Okay. Go on.”
“At Ezispeke we have registers for every class. We mark whether the student attends or not, put in their test results and we’re supposed to sign them at the end of each term—which usually lasts only a few weeks, though it varies course to course. I forgot to sign last term’s, but when I went to do it four names had been added. My boss Olive said it was a mistake, but when she had the chance to correct it, she didn’t. She duplicated it. Or Jolene, her secretary, did. The same four names were added
to several of my classes. I’ve never heard of the students. I asked other staff members and no one recognized them.”
Matt frowned. “You asked all of them?”
“Not all, but most. Olive found out and got shirty with me, told me to drop it.”
“Then drop it. It doesn’t seem a big deal.”
She frowned. “You’re a detective. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
Matt took a sip of his coffee. “Why would they make up names to add to your class lists? Do you get paid more if you teach more?”
“No, and Olive definitely wouldn’t be trying to do me any favors. I thought it might be a tax fraud thing or maybe the academy qualifies for some grant if there are a certain number of students, but tonight I changed my mind. I’ve just come from a house in Headingley. I was paid a lot of money to teach English to five Albanian women. One of them was called Ardita Chani. Her name’s in these scraps of paper and on my register. She’s never been to Ezispeke.”
“Ardita Chani might be a name like Jane Brown.”
Wren glared. “Do you actually know anyone called Jane Brown?”
Matt laughed. “No. Is this private work connected to Ezispeke?”
She shook her head. “Olive doesn’t know anything about it. She doesn’t need to if I’m not teaching Ezispeke pupils. I think.”
“I don’t see the issue here.”
“The women were supposed to be cleaners but they didn’t look like cleaners. They were my age and all of them slim and attractive.”
Matt frowned. “You mean all cleaners are old and fat? I think you’ll find they come in all shapes, sizes and ages.”
“That’s not what I mean. They just…weren’t right.”
“And?”
“I showed the women the extra names. They recognized a couple and then one of them ripped the paper up and stuffed the bits in this cigarette packet. They didn’t want the guys in the house to know I’d been asking questions. I thought you could check for fingerprints.”
Matt stared at the shredded paper. “I don’t think so.”
Wren tsked. “I mean the cigarette packet.”
GirlMostLikelyTo Page 17
