“Shut up and answer me.” He was having none of her evasive, manipulative banter.
“I’ve been looking for you, Jack, and now I’ve found you. What can I say? I’ve missed you,” she purred.
“You fucking killed me…remember?”
“Ah, yes. That was nothing.” She waved it away with her typical dismissive attitude. “A little misunderstanding. I didn’t mean to.”
“How did you get in here? Surely there are protocols as to who can work here. I don’t think murderers are allowed. Whose arm did you twist? Or more likely, who did you fuck?”
“I’m not a murderer, baby. You committed suicide, didn’t you know? Well…that’s what the Coroner reported.” She played with her hair, twizzling it around her finger, something she used to do when they were together, when she was plotting to get her own way. The memory sickened him. He turned away.
“You have to leave. No way are we working together. Move it along and go find another Unit,” he said, disgusted and fed up with her control.
“Ah, now, that’s where you’re wrong, I read your letter, Jack dear. I’m staying, or I will share your little secret with Miss Goody-Two-Shoes out there. I know what you did. I gather she doesn’t.”
Jack’s eyes flickered with an underlying desire to strangle her. He bit his tongue before a vileness crossed his lips that he’d regret later.
Silence.
“No?”
Silence.
“Just as I expected. Well, let’s just play along nicely, shall we?”
Losing it, Jack slammed into her, pushing her up against the sinks. She fell back against the mirror. Holding her by the throat, he snapped at her.
“There is no way I’m letting you anywhere near her, so help me….”
“I love it when you talk dirty, Jack.” Mara leaned in to kiss him, her mouth touching his.
A polite knock interrupted her.
Amy peered apologetically around the door. Jack backed off from the wall, in disgust, letting Mara go.
Mara gave Amy a conspiratorial smile, leading her to believe she’d caught them in a romantic clinch. Mara neatened her hair, checked her bra straps, and brushed down her skirt.
Amy’s heart sank. She and Jack had been in the same position only ten minutes ago. What the hell?
“Are you guys OK? Jack, what’s happened?”
Jack opened his mouth to reply, but Mara interrupted him.
“Oh, nothing,” she assured with a coy smile. “He just got a little too pleased to see me. We got carried away.” The sexiness in her voice drooled with sappiness.
Amy grimaced. “You guys have a history. I thought that wasn’t allowed up here.”
“I have friends in high places, honey,” Mara announced, winking with a tease. “I just couldn’t keep away from my boy.”
Jack gritted his teeth and stared at the floor, his fists clenched with anger.
Amy looked to Jack for support, but he didn’t say anything. A flush of jealousy washed over her.
“So, you committed suicide, to be with him?”
“In a way…yes.”
“But I thought suicide was not allowed here.”
“Like I said…friends in high places.”
“Great. Well, I’m sure Jack is pleased to see you. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to use the loo…in private.” Amy walked into a cubicle and slammed the door shut for the second time that day.
Jack stood staring at the closed cubicle door, running his hands through his hair, not knowing what to do. Mara watched him, longing for him to touch her. She stepped towards him, standing close.
“I know you want me, Jack,” she uttered, using her stage-whisper just loud enough for Amy to hear.
The arrow struck. Feeling a fool, Amy sat on the closed toilet seat and dropped her head in her hands.
Shaking with anger, Jack spun around, raising his hand, ready to hit Mara. Thinking better of it, he bit his tongue, turned, and marched out of the room. Mara chased after him, not about to let him go.
In the corridor, Jack lifted his fist and shook it in her face.
“You come near me, I will kill you. Do you understand? You are poison. I want nothing to do with you.”
“Does Maggie know about your little naughtiness, your breaking of the rules?” she giggled, loving him when he lost his cool.
She stroked her crimson-nailed fingers gently along his jawline, tracing grooves in his scars.
“Poor little Jack. What are we going to do with him?”
He resisted grabbing her wrist and snapping her hand backwards, breaking every single one of her evil, pointy, taloned fingers. He wouldn’t succumb to her games or fall for her tricks. She wanted him to touch her, but he denied her the satisfaction, the twisted pleasure. He snapped his head away from her grasp and stormed through the office doors to join Pyke.
Mara checked her makeup in a hand-mirror and followed him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alice
Brighton, UK
“So, what can I do for you, young lady?” Dio beamed. “You said in your message you needed help finding someone.”
“Yes, a friend of mine has a daughter. She’s gone missing.”
“Who is this friend?”
“Well, she’s not actually a friend. She lives around the corner from me. We share the same bus and talk sometimes. Her 19-year-old daughter, Maria, has not come home for three days now. Eva, the mother, is very worried and asked me to help her. Eva is Polish and her English is not very good.”
“Why doesn’t she go to the Police?”
“She’s not that comfortable with going to the police because her husband is always in and out of trouble with them.”
“Where do you live?” He knew where she lived; he knew everything about her.
“In Wales, a small village on the coast.”
“You’ve come a long way.”
“Well, the lady asked for help…she begged me. I couldn’t refuse. She is beside herself with worry…and it’s exciting, seeing a new city.”
“Why did you contact me?”
“Because Eva believes you may know where her daughter is. I have a picture of her. Look.”
She pulled a worn photograph from a side pocket on her backpack and placed it on the table. The face of a beautiful young woman, taking a selfie in front of the Houses of Parliament, smiled for the camera.
He picked up the photograph and examined it, turning the image over, back and forth with strong, well-manicured fingers. Alice looked down to compare her own, nail-bitten, scruffy digits, and slipped her hands out of sight under her thighs.
“She is indeed lovely,” he sighed.
Did she see recognition in his eyes?
“Do you know her?” Alice questioned, hopeful.
He placed the photograph back on the table between his phone and her cup. With acute concentration, and the tips of his fingers, he nudged the two cups, the phone, and the picture left and right until they lay exactly equidistant from each other. When he was satisfied the pieces had equal distance, he looked up at her and frowned.
“What did you say her name was?”
“Maria, Maria Iwanski.”
He studied the image as if trying to recount something.
“Hmmmm.” He shook his head, making up his mind. “No, I’ve never seen her. I’m sorry to have wasted your time, dear Alice. I don’t know this girl.” He sighed, as if genuinely sorry. “How sad it all is.”
“Oh.” She sat back in her chair, disillusioned with the wasted trip.
He glanced at his watch, took a few sips of coffee, and rose to leave. She didn’t want him to go. Her heart sank further.
“If I can be of any further assistance, let me know.” He smiled down at her, pulling the sleeves of his suit in line with his shirt cuffs, smoothing down his lapels.
As Alice glanced at him, she remembered something. She reached into her jean front pocket.
“If you don’t know her, why was
this piece of paper found on her bedside table?”
She produced a piece of lined paper, folded and crumpled. She meticulously smoothed it out on the table in front of her, being careful to line it up with his chess pieces, nudging everything backwards and forwards until the spaces appeared equal.
He smiled at her playing his game, but she hadn’t quite achieved perfection. He deliberately leaned over and added a few nudges himself, then smiled, approvingly.
“Why?” She looked up at him, her arms crossed in front of her, waiting for him to answer.
He moved in closer, bending over to inspect the piece of paper, analysing the text scribbled in black ink. He shook his head with a bemused shrug.
“I don’t know. I don’t recognize the writing. It’s certainly not mine.”
“But it is your name, number, and address.”
A small bead of sweat seeped from the pores along his top lip.
“That’s not a Brighton address.”
“I know. I’ve been there looking for you.”
He sat back in his chair, eyes wide with innocence.
“Anyone could have given her that. But I certainly didn’t.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cloud 9
Amy sat with her head still dropped in her hands, feeling a fool.
Bang, bang, bang.
Pyke’s voice echoed through the door. “Amy, come on. Maggie’s on the war path. We’ve got to get going on this job. Zagan Black is on the move.”
“OK, OK,” she shouted, leaving the cubicle and staring at her face in the broken mirror, her heart mimicking the shattered pieces. “I’m coming. Keep your hair on.” For fuck’s sake.
Holding her head high, she plodded back into the office. Pyke manned his station in front of his screen, sandwiched between Jack and Mara. Both stood as stiff as cardboard cut-outs, their faces sober and strict, ignoring each other.
The room felt different, the energy no longer the same.
Maggie watched her return to the group and waved her hand for Pyke to get started. She was not happy. Tapping her ear, she waited for the call to be answered.
An assistant answered. She was out of luck.
“I don’t care if he’s busy. I want to speak to him now.” She turned her back on her Unit and stared out over the clouds.
“OK, let’s get on with it,” exhaled Pyke. “I’ve been following this guy for a while now.”
Feeling hot, Amy loosened her collar and took off her suit jacket. She focused more intently to concentrate on Pyke’s yammering and the demonstrations he performed on his monitor, but his words droned off in a monotone without syllables. The screen’s cursor streaked like a mindless doodle. She couldn’t concentrate; she may as well have stayed in the washroom. She wondered if Jack were listening.
“You know what?” She rocked nervously, from one foot to the other. “I’m gonna take some time out for a moment. You guys carry on and I’ll catch you up.”
“But…” said Jack
“I need some air.” She hurried out of the office.
“But what about the job?” Pyke called after her. Amy ignored him.
“How rude,” whispered Mara, watching her walk out the door.
“Let her go,” barked Maggie from across the room. “She’ll be back.”
“Oh, well. We’ll start without her.” Pyke tapped code onto the screen.
Jack shuffled uneasily on his toes, watching Amy leave and wanting to catch up with her, not feeling his chipper self. He looked to Maggie for guidance. She peered over her glasses and slowly shook her head with a do-not-dare glare. He obeyed and resumed his duty, listening to Pyke’s briefing.
Mara placed a caring hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off. She smiled and gave him one of her sexy pouts, the ones she used when trying to get her own way. He felt sick—her shit-stirring had started.
Pyke typed in a password and watched the screen burst alive with files, images, co-ordinates, and maps.
“Right, eyes down, here we go,” he grinned with excitement, loving the chase.
“Zagan Black is a conman working out of the Mediterranean. He has a passion for Casinos and ripping off vulnerable punters.”
“I’ve sent you the coordinates, Jack. I’ll forward them to Amy as well. She can catch you up.”
Turning to Mara he smiled. “I’ll give you the next assignment to work on. You can get started over here.” He escorted her to the hot desk area at the back of the room.
“This is your work station. You’ll find files ready for you with action plans attached to each. You need to research, gather intelligence, and issue a target report for Amy and Jack’s next briefing. Any questions, ask. Start reading. Meanwhile, I’ll make us a cup of tea. You do like tea, don’t you?”
“No, honey. I’m a coffee kind of girl...black, no sugar, please.” Mara simpered, nervously eyeing the pile of files on her new workstation. She might actually have to do some work.
Jack shook his head and walked out. Mara disgusted him and Pyke disappointed him, the idiot was allowing himself to be suckered by a pro bull-shitter.
Maggie watched him leave. Tapping her ear, she waited for the call to be put through.
“We need to meet…now.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alice
Brighton, UK
“Oh, well. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Alice ran a frustrated hand through her hair, and turned to stare out the café window. “You were our only lead,” she said with resignation.
Dio followed her eyes, searching the street. Had she come alone?
“Is anyone else helping you with this search? Have you told anyone?”
“No, not yet, but I will when I get home. I think the police need to get involved.”
“Yes, yes, you should. The poor young girl could be anywhere. As I mentioned, the world is a cruel place.”
She stood up to leave, knocking back the rest of her coffee. He placed a ten-pound note on the table to cover their coffees.
“Thank you, but I can pay for mine.” She liked to pay her own way.
“No, I insist. It’s the least I can do. You’ve come all this way.”
It seemed silly to squabble over the cost of a coffee, especially with someone who looked as if they could afford to buy the coffee shop. She backed down and nodded.
“Thank you.”
They headed towards the door.
He put his hand to his head, remembering something.
“Wait a minute. I have an idea.” He grabbed her arm in excitement.
“Maybe she was thinking of applying for the Charity project I’m setting up in Durban. My company supports schools over there. We’ve been recruiting and training up voluntary staff.”
“Her mother didn’t mention anything about charity work.”
“Come with me. I have offices just around the corner. Let’s check the files to see if she has applied. The training takes place here; the applicants are put up in a hostel. If her name is on file, we can find her.”
“Well I don’t know—”
“But it makes sense,” he interrupted. “Why else would she have my name and office number?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Soho, London, UK
“You know you have to be nice to me if you want to succeed here, Sal. I’m just sayin’.”
Amy sat on an empty desk in Sally’s office. The time was 7.00 p.m., and the rest of her team had left for the day.
Amy missed her funny, cheeky, lovable friend and liked to visit from time to time, to check on her. She always liked to share her good and bad times with Sally, and she found it depressing not being able to talk to her now. Sally would know exactly what to do with the Jack situation, but it seemed Sally had acquired a pile of her own troubles. The office bitch, Dartagnia, caused Sal never-ending grief.
A large shiny stone sitting beside the telephone on Sally’s desk caught Amy’s eye. She smiled. Sal had succumbed to her crystal nagging after all.
The stone was a colourful lump of Labradorite Crystal. Good old protective energy…who’da thought? Go girl! You finally believe.
When Amy had arrived at the Unit, she’d been instructed to forget about home and had been advised to say her last goodbye to loved ones and move on. Friends and family needed time to heal and come to terms with their shocking, devastating loss. To keep visiting loved ones would pick at the wound, not allowing it to heal. The bosses had reiterated how everyone benefited by the rule.
An only child, adopted at birth, she’d lost her adoptive parents in a car crash when she was 25 years old. She didn’t think many would mourn her, only a few friends and work colleagues. But when she sat on the church roof and watched her funeral from the side lines—the large turnout, heartfelt speeches, and the tonne of white lilies—the whole sight touched her profoundly. Who sent the lilies?
The tear-jerking speeches astounded her. Who would’ve known people carried such sentiment for her? Why hadn’t they expressed such thoughts when she was alive?
They played her favourite song as the coffin was taken away, ‘Angel’ by Robbie Williams, she held her arms high in the air and swayed side to side in time to the music, shouting all the lyrics out loud, pretending she was at Glastonbury; she missed music and the emotions it could evoke. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
Causing such grief saddened her, but emotions people experienced on earth had no place where she lived now. She had to be tough. If only she could give them a slight understanding of what awaited them. “Please don’t cry for me,” she whispered, but no one heard her. “It’s not so bad up here; no pain, no bills, no struggles, no stress. I’m just doing what I want for once. Please don’t feel bad. I’m free, it’s cool.”
Death was worse for the ones left behind. The Irish had the right idea with a celebration, a wake.
Sally sat ramrod in her chair with Dartagnia holding court over her. The smug office bitch was modelled top-to-toe in tight-fitting, designer gear. Advertising her goods with bright coral talons and matching lipstick, prattling on, full of self-importance. What a bore she is. Amy yawned.
The Deal (The Fallen Angel Series Book 1) Page 12
