In His Wildest Dreams

by Marie Treanor

  Ray stood beside and just a little behind Chrissy, who looked more furious than frightened.

  “Chrissy, I’m so sorry,” Izzy whispered.

  “Not as sorry as you will be if you don’t get me my things,” Ray observed. “Sharply. After which, you and I will drive over to the school, and you’ll fetch Jack. Then we can all go home.”

  Izzy stared at him. “Why? To play happy families?”

  Ray’s eyes glinted ice. “I’ve no intention of letting you be remotely happy. You nearly ruined me.”

  “Fuck me,” Chrissy said flippantly. “It’s a domestic. Can we just get on with this?”

  “You’re quite right,” Ray said to Glenn. “I like this girl better too. Anna, where is my stuff?”

  “Let Chrissy go,” Izzy pleaded.

  “Four stones to the left of the fireplace,” Glenn said in a bored voice. “One row down. You can pull the stone loose.”

  “Okay.” Ray pushed Chrissy ahead of him toward the old fireplace, and Izzy went cold all over again as she finally caught sight of the handgun at her back. “You pull the stone loose,” Ray instructed Chrissy.

  Glenn drew in a breath. “Your funeral.”

  Ray frowned. “What?”

  “She has this really dinky little pistol. In the hidey hole, probably.”

  “Anna does?”

  Izzy supposed it was pretty hard to swallow. She’d never made any secret of her loathing of firearms, or any other kind of violence.

  “She’s been expecting you for a long time,” Glenn said. His hand fell away from her arm.

  “And you?” Ray asked, wondering, presumably exactly what side Glenn was on here. Chrissy looked as if she was wondering the same thing.

  Glenn took a casual step closer, gave a half smile, the kind she hadn’t seen for a while. It stretched the scar under his cheek, whitening the skin. “There’s a bit of business we could do.”

  Ray smiled. “I see.” Ideally, he’d now hand his gun to Glenn while he tried to pull out the stone. But Ray had never been that trusting. He did let go of Chrissy as he drew nearer to the area Glenn described, but he kept the gun trained on her.

  Glenn shifted to his other foot, taking him farther away from Izzy. And somehow, Chrissy was no longer between him and Ray, who, with one hand, was poking and plucking at the fourth stone along from the fireplace.

  “I don’t suppose,” Ray said, “you’ve run across my associate? He was looking for Anna.”

  Glenn shrugged. “It’s a big house. I can get him for you.”

  “You may be a businessman, Mr. Brody, but I like you where I can see you.” He gave a hiss of satisfaction as he finally persuaded the stone to move.

  Glenn looked pleased. His arms hung by his sides, loose and casual. He didn’t seem remotely tense, except that his eyes never seemed to blink. The tightness in Izzy’s stomach twisted. She dragged her attention back to the stone.

  It was just too large for most people to manage easily with one hand, so it was awkward for Ray to manoeuvre. But somehow his gun hand remained steady. A new fear swept over Izzy that in his distraction, his finger would slip or squeeze by accident.

  Finally, the stone fell to the floor in a little eruption of dust. Glenn moved nearer again, as if he wanted to see inside, then appeared to stop himself, as if not wanting to upset his prospective business partner.

  Ray gave a quick glance toward the revealed hole in the wall and then locked gazes with Izzy—who didn’t have to act to look frightened. Ray smiled and thrust his hand into the wall. His smile broadened, and to her astonishment, he brought out some kind of packet. With difficulty, she stopped her gaze flying to Glenn.

  Ray crouched on the floor with his treasure. Izzy desperately tried to hold on to his gaze, to give Chrissy the chance to move out of the gun’s way. Surely he’d need two hands to unwrap it? But it turned out to be drawstring pouch made of leather. He loosened the tie and upended it, and out fell a fat wedge of closely written and folded paper.

  Ray scowled. “What the—”

  “There’s more,” Glenn said impatiently. “The hole’s as deep as the wall.”

  Ray raised himself on his knees and thrust his hand back into the hole, delving deeper and deeper until his arm was lodged up to his elbow. Then two things seemed to happen at exactly the same time.

  Chrissy stepped back out of the gun’s immediate line, and Glenn leapt forward, smashing Ray’s wrist downward and wrenching the gun from his hand in two brutal yet surprisingly smooth movements. He dropped the weapon on the floor and kicked it. It spun across the floor to Izzy, who crouched and grabbed in both shaking hands, even as Glenn punched Ray ruthlessly to the floor and rammed his foot into her ex-husband’s neck.

  “Don’t kill him,” she blurted, her voice hoarse with reaction. “Glenn, he’s not worth prison. Please.”

  Glenn actually laughed, the sound rare and cold and harsh, chilling the blood in her veins. “I wouldn’t go to prison, would I? I live in a house with eight other convicts. Between us, do you really think we couldn’t hide one body?”

  Chrissy was beside her, taking the gun from her. Chrissy shook too, but she still aimed the gun at Ray’s head. Glenn glared at her, and to Izzy’s surprise, she lowered the gun again, swallowed, and clutched on to Izzy, who hugged her back fiercely.

  Glenn regarded his helpless captive with apparent fascination. “You know the difference between your business and mine, Mr. Kemp?”

  Ray’s eyes were wary, pained, more stunned than afraid. “No,” he said hoarsely. At least he could still speak with Glenn’s boot on his windpipe.

  Glenn smiled, and all the scary, violent turbulence that lurked below the surface of his calm exterior seemed to explode in his eyes. And yet he didn’t even raise his voice. “I’ve never needed anyone else to do my bullying for me. Your man upstairs—the guy who hits the lassies for you—is crap, by the way, and his arm’s broken. You need to take him to the hospital. Only, if you stop driving before Glasgow, we’ll find you.”

  His gaze, although not his boot, lifted from Ray and found Izzy. And until that moment—when she finally understood that this was acting, this was how his teenage self and probably his imprisoned self had won his reputation and defended himself—she hadn’t fully grasped her fear of what he’d seemed to relapse into. Glenn, her Glenn, her lover, wasn’t the lie; he was the core. The rest, this stuff with Mike and Ray, was the pretence, learned and perfected. And bloody useful, as it turned out.

  “Get the others in?” he suggested, still in that bored-with-a-hint-of-insane gangster voice.

  She nodded, sat Chrissy down on the stool by the kitchen table and stroked her hair once in comfort and sympathy, before she ran to the back door. Jim and Archie, Dougie and Charlie had gathered in the back yard, not working but clearly discussing, their anxious gazes turned toward the house. Izzy beckoned them.

  “What’s going on?” Dougie demanded. “You all right, hen?”

  “I’m fine. I think I’d better let Glenn tell you the rest.”

  They followed her in, but their sixth senses were in overdrive, and they moved with purpose. Just like Glenn, they drew their hard-men images back on like masks.

  As she entered, Glenn hauled Ray to his feet by the front of his shirt. A couple of buttons popped off and rolled, but no one else seemed to notice.

  Glenn said, “Jim, if you and Archie go up to my room you’ll find that ‘joiner’ you invited in. Bring him down, will you? If he wakes up, feel free to hit him again.”

  “Who the fuck’s this?” Dougie demanded, looking Ray up and down as Glenn’s prisoner tried to brush down his overcoat and his dignity. Both impossible when Glenn still held one of his arms at such a painful angle behind his back.

  “Some arse from London. He wants to go home now.”

  “Do you want us to—eh—explain how
he’s not welcome to come back?” Dougie asked, his voice thick with fake innocence.

  “No, I think he understands that,” Glenn said. “Just make sure he and the other bawbag find their car okay. He’s not to stop before Glasgow.”

  “On it,” Dougie said.

  Shit, Izzy thought, are they really going to follow him all the way to Glasgow? She didn’t know. More to the point, neither did Ray.

  “I don’t want him anywhere near the school,” Izzy said.

  “He won’t be,” said Dougie. He jerked his head at Ray, and Glenn let him go. Still dazed, Ray staggered slightly as he hurried toward the door. Perhaps he couldn’t believe his luck.

  He was nearly out the back door before Izzy said, “Wait. How did you find me in the end?” She needed to know, for next time. Oh God, was it always to be like this? Always looking over her shoulder? She could live with that, with anything, if she had Glenn. Only…only Ray was getting away again. She was letting him get away with everything. Again.

  “Fiona Marr,” Ray said with a curl of his lip. “Seems you’re just too recognizable.”

  In silence, she sat beside Chrissy. Neither of them spoke while the men were gone. In a few minutes, Glenn came back alone and picked up the contents of the leather pouch discarded by Ray.

  Izzy said wearily, “Thanks, Glenn. I’m so sorry about this.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not. I got to hit the bastard.”

  Annoyed with his shortsightedness, Izzy scowled. “Don’t you see? He knows now. You’re not safe here. His organization is huge, and he’s got so many people in his pocket—”

  “Had,” Glenn interrupted.

  “Has,” Izzy insisted.

  “Oh, I think they’ll all be squabbling over who has the greatest distance from him quite soon.” Glenn walked across the room, dropped the pouch and its contents on the table beside Chrissy’s gun. Leaning his hip against the table, he added, “I met this guy inside. Computer whiz. He got out last month—he’s coming here in January, in fact, so he was glad to do me a favour.”

  “What sort of favour?” Chrissy asked suspiciously. She was, after all, a parole officer to trade, even if she kept a gun that looked pretty illegal to Izzy.

  “An information-sharing favour. Kemp keeps nothing that could damn him. But his associates do, and Frog found any number of trails that led back to Kemp. He’s shared it with every police force in the country—plus a few in Europe and the FBI. And several newspapers, reputable and otherwise. And the BBC, and Genuine TV, copied to Fiona Marr. Just for starters.”

  Izzy picked up her fallen jaw. “That’s brilliant of your friend, but it won’t stick. He’ll still walk, Glenn. He always does.”

  Glenn shook his head. “He thinks he’s careful, never gets his hands dirty. But in fact he’s been relying on no one who matters looking, because his reputation is so squeaky clean. Or at least it was right up until about three years ago—about the time his marriage broke up, coincidentally—when rumours began to circulate. In fact, Frog thinks he’s already under investigation in a minor sort of a way. By the time he gets back to London, I expect the cops’ll be waiting for him. And once he’s in the bag, just you watch the people who’ll turn their backs. Or pounce on him when he’s down.”

  Izzy stared at Glenn, daring to believe. “I will,” she said. “I’ll give whatever evidence I have, so long as I know Jack’s safe.”

  Glenn’s lips quirked. His eyes no longer showed any trace of that chilling wildness, but they were veiled, just a little secretive. “The prosecution may not want you, since you’ve taken up with a criminal.”

  “Ex-criminal,” said Chrissy, standing up and lifting the gun with hands that no longer shook.

  “Chrissy,” Glenn said.

  She closed her eyes. “I know. I could get us shut down. I could have got us all killed when that bastard took it off me. I’m sorry, okay?”

  “One question, before you deal with it.”

  She turned to him with defiance in her face, almost like a child before her scolding father. Only Glenn had never scolded.

  He said, “Is it us you were afraid of?”

  And Chrissy broke into smiles, as if this wasn’t the worst she could have been asked. “Fuck, no,” she said breezily. “I’m a parole officer.”

  “Was a parole officer,” Glenn taunted to her back and won two fingers in response.

  “She’d do anything for you,” Izzy said after a few moments.

  “Works both ways. I’d never have got this off the ground without her.”

  Izzy gazed up at him. “You’ve got all our backs, haven’t you, Glenn?”

  “I’m trying,” he admitted.

  She leaned into his hip, and his big hand covered her head. Tears came then, for the first time in more than three years. She didn’t know why or for whom, just that it felt like release.

  A couple of hours later, Izzy sat on the bed in Glenn’s room. He sat opposite her, and between them were spread out the pages of manuscript from the leather pouch hidden behind the stone in the kitchen.

  “How did you even know it was there?”

  “I dreamed it,” Glenn said ruefully. “I saw someone, a woman, put it there. I didn’t get where it actually was until the other day when we were in the kitchen and I found myself staring at the fireplace wall. I don’t know whether I ever see things for an actual reason, but I’ve found I can still use some of the visions.” He seemed to hesitate, then, “It was how I got to you so quickly earlier too. One of my dreams of you was exactly as I found you with him, in my bedroom with his arm across your throat.”

  She stared at him. “That’s one hell of a gift, Glenn. Maybe you’re right to keep it at a distance, but—”

  “I’m paying attention again.”

  “Again?”

  He took a deep breath. “I didn’t kill Tommy Grant. His wife, Suzy, did. I’d been having an affair with her for months. I guess Tommy found out. He’d have been extra pissed off, because his organization and ours weren’t exactly friends. So I guess he tried to take it out on Suzy, and she shot him. I’d already dreamed it. That’s why I went to Tommy’s that night when Suzy phoned me to say she was in trouble, why I was found with the body.”

  “You took the fall for Suzy?” Just like Chrissy had said when Izzy had been eavesdropping outside the office door. Izzy didn’t know how she felt about having it confirmed. Jealous, a little, that he’d loved someone else that much.

  “Maybe. A bit. I felt sorry for her. But I wanted out, like I told you. Out of all of it. Suzy didn’t.”

  “Did you mind?” Izzy asked when he fell silent. Did you love her?

  He shook his head. “She was ten years older than me. She was exciting—as I think I was for her. But even in another world, we’d have had no future together.”

  Do we? The words seemed to hang between them. Before she said them aloud, Izzy grabbed up the first page from the bed. “So what is this?”

  “I think it’s Mary Ross’s confession of adultery.”

  Izzy blinked. “You’ve read all that? Already?”

  “No, I dreamed it. When I thought I was dreaming of you, I was dreaming of her. Mostly. She cried through guilt. You never cried, and I started noticing the differences. Once I began to know you, you weren’t actually like her at all. I think Mary sent me the dreams of her, let me see them almost as she imagined her lover had seen her, so I’d pay attention, maybe. Like she wanted to confess, to be free of the guilt. Now’s the bit where you tell me I’m insane.”

  “Hey, I’ve seen your gangster face,” she said with a quick half smile. It was all too raw for more right now. “That’s insane. This is…weird. And remember, I’m the one on camera talking to her ghost.” She lapsed into silence, gazing at the page in her hand, written by a troubled woman, possibly her ancestress, nearly five hundred years ago. She sh
ivered, but the feeling wasn’t unpleasant. “Women had it rough in those days. They couldn’t choose. Hell, even now we can make wrong choices. Look at me, I married Ray Kemp.”

  “But you have Jack.”

  She smiled. “Yes, I have Jack. Because of that, I don’t regret Ray anymore. Just that I didn’t wise up quicker. What should we do about this? Do you think Fiona Marr would be interested?”

  He reached for the phone in his pocket. “Let’s see.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  On Friday, Izzy and Glenn made Jack’s day by picking him up from school together. The other parents regarded Glenn with wary eyes, although none of them actually grabbed their kids and ran from him. Jack, hugging him immediately after hugging Izzy, probably helped humanize him.

  “Where are we going?” Jack demanded.

  “To the pub,” Izzy replied.

  Jack straightened, drawing himself as tall as he could. Izzy thought he’d grown again in the last couple of weeks. His school trousers would be too small by Christmas. Damn.

  “Wow,” said Jack in awe. “Am I allowed to go to the pub?”

  “You are with me at this time of the day. Louise and Chrissy and Dougie are there already. And Fiona Marr from the TV, and her cameraman, who’s called Dave.”

  It was only the second time anyone from Ardknocken House had been in the Auld Hoose. According to Dougie, the first time he and Glenn had gone in, the stares of the locals had made it plain they weren’t welcome, and since they’d no desire to piss the village off, they hadn’t gone back. It was Chrissy who’d suggested going in a group that included a local—Louise—and an above-reproach famous person like Fiona.

  And, in fact, the stares were clearly less hostile. Even Harry, whom they met in the doorway on his way out, managed a polite hello. Without discussion, Izzy and Harry seemed to have returned to their pre-Oban relationship of friendly acquaintances.

  When Izzy and Glenn went up to the bar, Lewis Dunn nodded to them both. “Glad you like the estimate,” he volunteered. “We’ll get started in a couple of weeks.”