Angel's Trap
THE SECRET OF THE OXPEN'S ANGEL, Volume 1
Lei R. Tasker
Published by THE WORLD IS SO BIG PUBLISHING, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
ANGEL'S TRAP
First edition. April 19, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Lei R. Tasker.
Written by Lei R. Tasker.
Also by Lei R. Tasker
THE SECRET OF THE OXPEN'S ANGEL
Angel's Trap
Watch for more at Lei R. Tasker’s site.
THE SECRET OF THE OXPEN’S ANGEL
__________________________________
A TOTALLY GRIPPING PSYCOLOGICAL THRILLER
Book1
Angel’s Trap
ALSO BY Lei R. Tasker
Angel’s Lies
Angel’s Game
THE WORLD IS SO BIG
PUBLISHING
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either
PRODUCTS OF THE AUTHOR’S imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by The World Is So Big Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by The World Is So Big Publishing
www.twisb.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and The World Is So Big Publishing are the trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates
ISBN: 9798635926017
ASIN: B086Z228MM
Cover design by Rebecca
PROLOGUE
Angel’s Trap
A FEW METRES ALONG the path next to the river she heard a sound and stopped, expecting to see a dog come out of the reeds along the riverside. No dog appeared and so she continued, having to push hard on the handlebars as her bike stuttered along the grass.
Another noise and then running footsteps.
She froze as she felt a stranger’s arms enclose her. He was breathing hard in her ear as his forearm hooked her midriff. She quivered as she felt metal caressing her throat.
In a split-second decision, she rammed the bike backwards so that it hit her assailant in the leg. He cried out but kept hold of her, the knife at her neck beginning to make a mark.
With a whimper she made another bid for freedom, butting her hips backwards into his and thrusting her left elbow into his side.
Slightly knocked off balance, perhaps shocked by her retaliation, he responded by grabbing her elbow and pulling her backwards so that she fell to the ground.
The warm grass hit Paige in the back of the head with a jarring thud and she struggled to focus on the scene above her for a moment. She was expecting to feel his hands back on her but looking up she noticed that her attacker had paused.
It was only for a second, but as Paige’s dizzy head refocused, they locked eyes, and she saw the most bewildered look on his face. She had half-expected to recognise him, to understand who he was and why he had pushed a blade against her throat. But, even in the dark, she knew she’d never seen him before.
What would the fate of this young and smart Oxford students?
A murderer at large, a suspiciously Oxford’s Professor and a series of anonymous texts: who can Paige trust when everyone around her is hiding something?
Angel’s Trap is a fast-paced psychological thriller that will leave you guessing at every turn.
Attacked at knifepoint, Paige’s seemingly cosy job with a retired university professor leads her deeper into the shady underbelly of Oxford.
Now she is in danger and must seek the help of strangers to untangle the mystery before it is too late.
Readers of Gillian Flynn and S J Watson will be hooked on this addictive and twisting narrative of lies and danger.
CONTENTS
LEGAL NOTES (Copyright notice)
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
BOOK 2 PREVIEWS
CHAPTER ONE
“I’M SO SORRY PAIGE,” Marie’s words of comfort echoed in Paige’s ears as she slid her key into the flat’s front door. “I saw them enter the room together. They were in there about an hour.”
Paige swung open the front door, phone still pressed to her ear, confronted by the sight of Rufus on the sofa, flicking through his phone.
“Paige? Are you still there, sweetie?” Marie asked. Paige dropped her keys and bag to the floor with a purposeful thud, causing Rufus to look up.
“I’m still here, Marie,” she said, “But I have to go now.” Rufus had noticed the look on her face. They locked eyes, a quiet moment a recognition of the fight that was about to ensue, “Thank you, Marie,” Paige added, before hanging up and dropping her phone down onto her things.
“What’s the matter?” Rufus asked, but his eyes betrayed that he already knew what had been revealed to her.
“Marie works at the Premier Inn on Bute Place, in the bay.”
“Ah,” Rufus said, standing up and putting his phone in his pocket, “I can explain.”
“You explained away the girl at the Christmas party too, Rufus. Look me in the eye and say you have an innocent reason for meeting another woman in a hotel room when you’re supposed to be showing properties in the bay,” Paige could feel herself shaking and walked over to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Tea heals all, her mum always said. Not this, she thought to herself as the kettle began to jump with the freshly boiling water.
“No innocent reason, no,” Rufus admitted, “But you are being crazy.”
“Don’t call me crazy,” Paige said, pulling down a thermos from the cupboard and dumping the tea in. She knew exactly where this conversation was leading, and she didn’t have any intention of sticking around to listen to it.
“That girl at the Christmas party was just a friend!” Rufus started, the same line he’d delivered so many times before.
“I watched you kiss her!”
“I was drunk!” Even the predictability of his replies frustrated her. If he was going to lie to her, couldn’t he at least be clever?
“And this girl? Were you drunk in the middle of the workday? Doing shots while showing flats? Or were you not even showing a flat today, was that a lie too?” Paige bit back at him, hating hearing the scorn in her own voice. It was so unlike her to get angry.
“See, you’re being crazy again!” But not incorrect, Paige thought, noticing Rufus’ lack of defence in this case. She headed to the bedroom and began to mindlessly pack clothes and toiletries. “Oh, come on!” He was getting angry now. “Where are you going to go?”
“To my mum, in Oxford.”
“Oxford...” Rufus rubbed his forehead. Paige grabbed her pyjamas from under her pillow and her asthma inhaler from the bedside table and zipped up her suitcase, heading for the door.
“Don’t call me. I will be back for my stuff at some point,” Paige picked up her bag, keys and phone from where she had thrown them by the door and without a look back, left the flat.
CHAPTER TWO
MAY WAS FADING INTO June. The weather greeted Paige like a warm hug as she stepped off the train at Oxford station. The summer air hit her with a nostalgic wave as she pulled her suitcase from the air-conditioned carriage, remembering summer holidays spent with her grandmother here. Although Cardiff was her birthplace, returning to Oxford felt like a homecoming. She could hear her grandmother’s voice in every stranger’s accent and smell her cooking on the hot breeze.
“Honey!” Her mother jogged down the platform to take her in her arms, “I’m so glad you’re here, even if it isn’t for very happy reasons.”
“Thanks Mum,” Paige gripped her tightly before releasing her to take up her bag again, playfully batting away her mother’s hands as she tried to grab something to carry. “I’ve got them Mum, don’t worry.”
They walked together to the car, where Tom, her mother’s new husband, was waiting.
“Afternoon, P,” Tom bobbed his head as she approached the car window.
It was a short drive back to their house, but Paige took in the sites, smiling as she remembered a café or shop as they passed them.
Her mum made dinner – shepherd’s pie, Grandma Cole’s family recipe.
“Now, love, I know you’ve only just arrived, but I have to ask – what is the plan here?” Her mum gently asked.
“What do you mean, Mum?” Paige said, putting down her fork. She had been expecting this line of questioning, but perhaps not so soon.
“Well, you’ve been drifting from job to job in Cardiff since... well, for the past few years-”
“Since Dad died, you can say that, Mum, it’s okay. I haven’t held down a job since Dad died.”
“Well, yes,” Her Mum looked at Tom, sheepishly hoping for some help. Tom was too busy shovelling shepherd’s pie into his mouth by the overloaded forkful. “You’ve been unemployed for a few weeks now, since the... what was it? Garden centre?”
“Yes,” Paige groaned inwardly, but kept her cool against her rising frustration.
“Your mum is just worried, P,” Tom said, finally chipping in.
Her Mum nodded, adding, “Are you going to get a job while you’re here?”
“I don’t know,” Paige admitted, taking up her fork again and pushing a rogue pea from one end of the plate to the other.
“Well, how long are you going to be staying with us?” Her Mum pushed again, offering the gravy jug to Tom who began to drown his dinner.
“Just until I can get back on my feet,” Paige muttered.
“A job would be a good idea,” Tom said, passing the gravy jug to Paige, who shook her head. She was losing her appetite just watching him.
“You’re so bright, Paige,” her Mum added, “You have a degree in English, you’ll never be fully happy in a Tesco or fetching shopping for whatever-her-name-was.”
“Hillary.”
“Yes, Hillary, she was awful.”
“That’s what personal assistants do.”
“You weren’t happy,” the weight of her mum’s worry was starting to grate on her now, and Paige started to regret coming home, “Tom knows this retired professor. Hugh something-”
“Eckland.” Tom piped up, in between mouthfuls of gravy-soaked bread and butter. “I snaked his drain last week.”
Paige grimaced at the unnecessary detail and Tom chuckled.
“Yes, Hugh Eckland. He’s a writer, an academic. He’s looking for someone young and clever to go through his work and make sense of it – a research assistant. It would be a temporary position, I think. Perfect if you want to go back to Cardiff in a few months.”
Paige’s face lightened. “Actually, that sounds perfect.”
“He’s a lovely man,” Tom added. “He tips well.”
“Just go and see him, love,” her mum added, “No harm in meeting the man. He lives in a terrace on Mill Street, right near the station. You could borrow Tom’s bike.”
“I have his number somewhere, give him a call and let him know you’re coming.” Tom said.
CHAPTER THREE
IN THE FIVE YEARS SINCE graduating from her degree, Paige had worked for and with some very strange characters, not least Hillary August, infamous in her mum’s mind for the time she made Paige buy her fourteen bottles of Prosecco for her dinner party, knowing that Paige would have to lug them back on the bus.
But none of them, not even Hillary August, had adequately prepared her for the awkward eccentricity with which Hugh Eckland conducted himself.
“Ahoy?” His prim Scottish accent only added to the hilarity of his introduction.
“Hello?” Paige queried. Who the fuck says “Ahoy”? she thought, unsure of what to say next, “I am calling for Professor Eckland?”
“Professor H. Eckland or Professor A. Eckland?” He demanded.
“Er...”
“If you are not sure who you called for, I suggest you hang up.”
“Hugh Eckland,” Paige blurted, regretting the call by the second.
“Speaking,” He trilled.
“My step-father, Tom Delford, told me that you are seeking a research assistant.”
“Ah, Tom, a fine man, my windows have never sparkled so brightly as since his visit.”
Does he even know who Tom is? Paige thought. It didn’t seem to matter to Eckland, who was already engaged in his own ideas about the interaction.
“He is correct about the job. I must have mentioned it to him. Should I presume that you are enquiring for yourself?” Eckland asked, a hint of frustration in his voice.
“Oh, yes, sorry, I should have said...”
“It is also polite to state one’s name on the telephone.”
“Sorry, yes, my name is Paige Webb.”
“And what makes you sure that you would be qualified for such a task? Most of my papers are academic, I need somebody who knows the subject.” A noise rattled through at the end of his sentence as Eckland covered the mouthpiece to hide a hacking cough.
“I am university educated.” Paige began to feel her confidence waning.
“And, is the Pope Catholic?” Eckland laughed. In his mind, a university degree was clearly a pre-requisite to this very phone call.
“I studied English. Tom said you write on Shakespeare. My final dissertation was on Macbeth,” Paige offered.
“To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature,” Eckland mused.
“Much Ado About Nothing?” Paige could feel Eckland’s attention slipping from the matter at hand.
“People’s good deeds we write in water. The evil deeds are etched in brass...” Eckland said, as if to himself.
“That’s one of the Henrys, I’m sure...”
“To write is to unfold your mind’s greatest dreams.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know that one.”
“Ha!” Eckland began to laugh to himself.
“Um, so... perhaps, I could meet you and discuss the work further?”
“That was an Eckland quote, not a Shakespeare quote!” He was laughing quite raucously, only adding to Paige’s discomfort, “And did those feet in ancient times...” Eckland started off loudly singing Jerusalem and Paige began to wonder if this phone call would ever end.
“I...” Paige was momentarily frozen in social awkwardness. She cleared her throat and tried again, “I could meet you anywhere in the town centre, if that is easier for you.”
“Oh, no. You will come here to do the work. I have an adequately equipped study.”
“To do the work?”
“Yes, you can start tomorrow. Write this down: The Rectory, Mill Street,
OX2 0AL. Got it? Good. See you tomorrow at 7am, sharp!”
“I...” But he had already hung up.
Staring blankly at her phone, Paige wondered what sort of person Eckland was – clearly intelligent, but somewhat scattered. She wondered if he had always been that way, or if he had grown increasingly bizarre with each year.
Her phone buzzed and she realised she had missed a call while she was speaking to Eckland. She presumed it was Rufus, begging her forgiveness, but unlocking the screen she read:
07764321123 – unknown number
06.34pm
Missed call
How odd, she thought, locking her phone and heading to the kitchen to help her mum wash up. Hardly anyone has this number. She quickly googled the number to see if it was a cold caller but found nothing.
She shrugged it off as a wrong number.
CHAPTER FOUR
THREE DAYS INTO HER employment with Eckland, Paige had rooted through forty articles, most of which were nonsensical besides a paper about The Taming of the Shrew which Paige had started to fine tune.
In the evenings, Eckland insisted on having Paige eat dinner with him and Arlene. Arlene was clearly beginning to drift from reality in her old age and mostly talked about fictitious characters as if they were her friends, but her cooking was sensational. Paige was treated to three course meals of a range of homemade dishes from tortellini to risotto to souffles.
The meals lasted for hours. On her fourth day, after three servings of îles flottantes (after Arlene had adamantly continued to offer plate after plate) it was already 9pm and the June sun was just beginning to set.
“I really must be leaving – thank you for the lovely dinner, Arlene,” Paige started to make her excuses knowing Eckland would delay her departure with his meandering stories.
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