by M K Farrar
Besides, she had no reason to think Michael was violent. It was only because something had felt a little off that day at Hyde Park that the woman’s face had even stuck in her head. Michael had a few quirks, but didn’t everyone? And he’d only ever been charming and attentive with her.
She was probably over thinking this whole thing.
THE NEXT DAY SHE MET Michael for lunch. She hadn’t slept well the previous night, lying awake until the early hours and then waking up every hour until it was time to get up. The lack of sleep had done nothing for her mental state, and when she had managed to get to sleep, her dreams had been vivid and violent, with some faceless person chasing her in the dark. Her tiredness meant she was struggling to get her thoughts together, and no matter how much coffee she mainlined, she felt as though her mind was a tangle of worry and paranoia.
The place they’d chosen for lunch was a small sandwich bar that looked out onto the Thames. It was tucked away, but still Liv couldn’t help worrying the man from the other day might see her. She felt eyes on her from every direction, and when the feeling got too strong, she whipped around, certain she’d find him standing there, only for the space to be empty.
She arrived before Michael, so she ordered them both a coffee and took a seat at a small round table in the corner. She didn’t think she’d be able to eat anything. Her stomach was in knots.
Within minutes, his familiar tall, dark figure blocked out the doorway. The moment she saw him, some of her nerves eased. He was dressed casually in jeans and a light grey t-shirt. This was Michael. Handsome, respectable, caring Michael. She didn’t have any reason to be nervous of him.
“Hi,” he said, walking over. He leaned down and kissed her, and she did her best not to tense at his touch.
“Hi. I ordered you a coffee.”
“Thanks. What about something to eat? Are you having anything?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m fine, but you go ahead and order something if you want it.”
“Nah, I think I ate my own weight in bacon rolls for breakfast.” He sat down opposite her and ducked his head as he looked at her. “Everything all right, Livvy? You seem kind of quiet.”
She looked down at her coffee, twisting the cup in her hands. “Oh, it’s nothing, really.”
He reached across the table and covered the back of her hand with his much larger palm. “Yes, it is. If something is bothering you, you can tell me.”
He looked into her eyes as he spoke, and she felt the sudden urge to blurt out everything. She didn’t know why he always made her feel that way. All he needed to do was look at her and tell her to do something, and she found herself agreeing.
Her mouth ran dry at the prospect of speaking to him about this, but she knew she was going to. That had been the whole reason she’d asked to see him. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, ready to trip off at their own accord.
“Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when I bumped into you outside Hyde Park?”
“Yes?” There was still a smile on his face, but it was cautious now.
“You were arguing with a young woman, a blonde, who you said had short-changed you.”
“Right?” he said, elongating the word.
She could tell he was trying to prompt her to get to where this was leading.
She picked up her phone and quickly scrolled through to the news article which had the woman’s face on it. “Her name is Holly Newie. She was found dead yesterday.”
He took the phone, the smile gone now, frowning down at the screen. Liv studied his expression, watching for any sign of an emotional reaction towards seeing the dead woman’s face and hearing her name.
“Is this the same woman?
His comment threw her. “Umm, yes, I’m pretty sure it is. She went missing only a few days after I’d seen you, and I recognised her right away.”
His lips twisted and he slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s the same woman. I mean, there’s a lot of blonde twenty-somethings in London.”
Her mind blurred with confusion. “It is her. I’m sure of it.” But was it? He’d already planted doubt in her mind. How well had she seen the girl, really? It had only been a glimpse, and from a distance. The woman had already walked off by the time she’d reached them. Maybe Michael was right, and she’d been worrying about this all completely unnecessarily. After all, Michael must have got a much better look at the woman than she had, and if he said it wasn’t the same woman, then maybe it wasn’t.
Liv gave a long sigh and reached across to take her phone back. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was letting that bother me so much.”
He smiled at her. “You care about people. That’s a good thing.”
She nodded and sipped her coffee. He wouldn’t say that if he knew what she’d done in her past.
“Anyway,” he continued, “when are you going to arrange for me to meet some of your friends?”
“Oh, soon.” She was uncertain as to why a fresh set of nerves had started churning her stomach. “There’s no rush, and Ellen’s just come out of a long term relationship. I’m not sure she’d appreciate me rubbing you in her face.”
He frowned and leaned forward, locking her with his dark gaze. “You promised you’d arrange something, Olivia. You shouldn’t go back on your word.”
“I’m not going back on it. I’ll set something up, I promise.”
“Next week, then,” he insisted.
“Sure, next week.”
She hoped his insistence didn’t have anything to do with the man who’d accosted them in the street. Perhaps Michael thought her friends would know more about her than he did, and wanted to barrage them with questions.
It didn’t matter if he did.
She’d always been good at keeping secrets.
Chapter Eighteen
Present Day
IT HAD TAKEN NUMEROUS fresh buckets of water, which she’d filled from the tap in the small cloakroom, emptying the dirty water down the toilet, before things had started smelling better again. She’d even taken some of the toilet roll and cleaned the sick off the man’s chest, knowing she was probably going to have to get physically close to him again sometime soon.
He was fully awake now and watched her movements with careful intensity. The anger had dulled from his eyes, though, and she was pleased about that. Now she saw wariness, fear, trepidation, and that meant her plan was working. It was better that he was frightened of her rather than the other way around. His fear meant he was starting to understand the lengths she would go to, and that none of this was a joke.
With everything cleared away and the door locked behind her, she stood back in front of the man. She was exhausted, and from the way he hung, his head barely lifted, she thought he was, too. If only he’d just break, and then this would all be over.
“I need you to tell me where she is,” she said.
He lifted his chin. Weariness haunted his eyes, dark coal smudges creating hollowed sockets.
“Tell me,” she repeated, “and this can all end.”
He sucked in a shaky breath through his nose. For a moment, she thought he was going to shake his head again, but then he nodded.
Elation rose inside her, wild and joyful. She resisted the urge to clap or punch the air. “Good,” she said instead. “Good. Let’s do this, then.”
Turning her back on him, she went to her bag and took out the pen and notepad. “This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to free one of your hands, and you write down her location. Once I’ve found her, I will tell the police where you are, and they will come here and arrest you. Understood?”
Something she couldn’t quite read ghosted across his features, unsettling her.
“If you try anything, just remember that no one knows you’re here. If you somehow hurt me, and you’re tied up, you could end up dying down here, with no one the wiser.”
This was dangerous. If she freed his hand to allow him to write, he’d
be able to untie himself. No, she shouldn’t untie his hand fully. She could just loosen it enough to allow him to bend his wrist and hold a pen. Then she’d be able to hold the notebook beneath the pen, which would let him write the location. Even his hand being loose made her nervous. But he looked weak and drained, dangling there. She knew he was a dangerous man, but right now she was the one who had the power. She needed to remember that.
Taking a steadying breath, she stepped forward, closing the gap between them. The bitter tang of his body odour hit her nostrils, but at least the stink of vomit had lessened. She wouldn’t have been able to get this close to him if it hadn’t. She was weak and shaky, but she needed to hide how she really felt. He’d sense the weakness in her and use it to his advantage. She was all too aware of his size compared to hers, and even with his hands tied, and with a concussion and after suffering a beating, he could still overpower her physically.
At the last minute, she remembered the cane. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all she had. She might need to use both hands to loosen the knot around his hands, but if she had the cane close, clamped under her arm or between her thighs, at least it would be on hand to use it if he tried something.
He watched her warily from the side of his eye as she approached, the cane clutched in one hand, the notepad and pen in the other. She just needed to be brave for a little longer. She’d already done the hard part. As soon as he wrote down the location, this would all be over.
Needing her hands free, and realising she wasn’t able to put anything under her arm when she had to reach up high, she stopped at his side and shoved the items she was holding between her thighs. She stood on tiptoes to access the rope around his wrists. He continued to glare at her, but she did her best to ignore him.
Just a little longer, and this will all be over. You will have saved a life.
It was going to be a delicate balance—loosening the rope enough to let him move his hand, without it being so lose that he’d be able to yank himself free. Her fingertips found the knots, and she picked away at the one holding his right hand to the metal hook in the ceiling.
She didn’t want it to come undone completely, terrified he’d swing his arm in a punch and send her flying, but it needed to be loose enough for him to have movement to bend his wrist and hold a pen.
The knot came free, and she allowed it to unravel the smallest amount, before yanking the ends tight again. The man struggled, pulling at his bonds, his body winding, serpentine, but she worked quickly and, as planned, hadn’t given him enough to do anything with. She put her feet flat on the floor then bent to extract the pen and notepad from where they’d been clamped between her thighs.
Adrenaline rushed through her veins, her mouth running dry. Her tongue felt thick and fat against the roof of her mouth, and she hated that she was going to need to get so close to him to get this done. He was already tall, and with his hands pulled above his head, she had to stand on tiptoes in order to bring the notepad into a position where he’d be able to write on the paper it contained. Her breasts pressed against the side of his ribcage, but she leaned back as much as she could, trying to put distance between his head and her own.
She put the pen between his fingers. “Don’t try anything stupid. Just write down where she is.”
From her position, she wasn’t able to see what he was writing, only the underneath of the notepad. But the pen scratched against the paper, the movements slow and deliberate, like a child newly started school, just learning to make lines and curves to create a snaky version of their name.
He stopped writing, though the pen was still gripped between his fingers.
With her heart pounding, she pulled down the notepad so she was able to read what he’d written. Finally, she’d find out what she needed to know.
Her gaze took in the words.
Crazy bitch. Fuck you.
Rage poured through her. “This wasn’t the deal!” she yelled, glaring at him. “Write it down, you fucking bastard. Write down what you did with her!”
She pushed the notepad back again, no longer paying attention to her position in relation to his. She was no longer at the side of him, but in front. She was focused on getting the notepad underneath the pen again, and for him to write down what he’d promised.
With a muffled growl, he dropped the pen, and instead of trying to yank his hands free, he reached up, catching hold of the hook he’d been tied to. He hauled himself up, the muscles of his arms and shoulders bunching, and lifted his feet off the ground. It all happened too fast for her to realise his plan, but she reacted, bending to grab the cane from between her legs, intending to hit him with it again, and bring him back into line. But he used the hold on the massive hook to swing his body, and before she could straighten with the cane, his booted feet were in the air and swinging directly towards her face.
Chapter Nineteen
Two Weeks Earlier
OLIVIA SPENT THE WEEKEND hiding away in her flat.
After their coffee, Michael told her he had a lot of work on, and had made his excuses, though Liv couldn’t help feeling like he was trying to avoid her after their strained conversation about the dead woman. She was relieved, in a way. She knew she couldn’t hide forever, but every time she left the flat, she was sure someone was following her, watching her. Whenever she caught a glimpse of a man with blond hair, her stomach lurched into her throat, and she had to grind her feet to the floor, forcing herself not to turn and bolt in the other direction.
She didn’t even want to spend time with Ellen, the secret she was hiding from her friend eating away at her. Every moment they spent together, it was all Liv could think about, the words shouting loud inside her head.
Ryan was cheating on you. His new girlfriend is pregnant.
Still, Ellen seemed to be coming to terms with her separation from Ryan, and, when Liv tentatively mentioned the prospect of a night out to meet Michael properly, Ellen jumped at the chance. Callie, overhearing the conversation, invited herself along, too.
The idea of going into central London made Liv nervous, so she managed to convince the others that a new bar in Shoreditch would be a better option. London was a big place, and she knew the chances of running into the man again were slim, but that did nothing to calm her nerves. If it wasn’t for Michael’s insistence on meeting her friends, she never would have considered a night out. She felt as though she was conducting a balancing act—trying to keep Michael happy while also trying to keep her head down. She hoped he wouldn’t mention the ‘Sarah’ incident to Ellen or Callie. They’d be less likely to let things drop.
Her work week went by without incident. She’d arranged with everyone to go out on the Friday night after work, and had exchanged a few texts with Michael to let him know what the plans were. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been distant since she’d brought up the discovery of Holly Newie’s body. Was he annoyed with her for doubting him? It wasn’t as though she’d accused him of anything—she’d only brought up the woman’s name. She told herself he wasn’t angry with her, or else he wouldn’t be interested in meeting her friends, and he’d been eager when she’d mentioned it.
She was probably just being paranoid.
LONDON HAD THAT ‘END of the week’ vibe, with everyone relieved to be out of the office environment and ready to enjoy the weekend.
Liv, Ellen, and Callie reached the place they’d arranged to meet Michael. Most people were still in their business attire—people in suits hustling each other at the bar, wanting to get served first. Liv scanned the busy space, trying to spot Michael. She didn’t think he’d be here yet, as he had further to travel, but her heart fluttered with anticipation just in case.
There was no sign of him.
What if he didn’t show? She’d be so embarrassed, making such a fuss to her friends about what a great guy he was and then for him to stand her up. No, she was overreacting. She’d known he wouldn’t be here already.
“Oh, quick.�
�� Ellen grabbed her arm. “Looks like they’re going.”
She pointed over to a table where a number of people were rising from their seats. Other individuals standing were circling like sharks around a life raft, but Ellen threw herself into the middle of the throng, plopping her bag down in the middle of the table and loudly announcing, “Oh, good, you’re going!” to the folks who’d barely had the chance to pick up their jackets from the chairs.
Liv ignored the glares of annoyance from everyone else, suppressing her smile at Ellen’s antics. The people originally occupying the seats gathered their things and left, and Liv and her friends slid into their places.
“Right, what’s everyone drinking?” Callie asked.
“Wine,” both Liv and Ellen said simultaneously and laughed.
Callie disappeared into the crowd at the bar, nudging her way through all the shoulders to reach the front. Within a few minutes, she reappeared, holding a bottle of wine in a cooler, and three glasses clutched in her other hand.
Through the people, Liv spotted a familiar dark head, and her stomach fluttered. He’d made it.
She nudged Ellen. “Michael is here.”
“Where?” Ellen peered through the crowds.
He spotted Liv, and she lifted her hand in a wave. “He’s coming over.”
Michael approached the table with a wide smile, exposing those perfect teeth. “Ladies,” he said as a greeting, then leaned down and kissed Liv full on the mouth. She blushed with pleasure.
“Michael, this is Ellen and Callie.”
“Hi, Ellen,” he said, leaning in to take her hand and kiss her cheek. “It’s lovely to finally meet you—properly, I mean. Waving at you across the dance floor doesn’t really count.”
