Watching Her: A Gripping Thriller Novel With A Twist

by Emmy Ellis

  “Sutton, is that you?”

  No answer.

  I shoved the file away and pushed at the metal drawer, which creaked then closed with a metallic clunk.

  “Sutton?”

  I stepped over a red-and-black Oriental rug and up to the doorway.

  The hall was still, the front door closed. I glanced left then right. There was no movement in the kitchen or, so it seemed, in the living room opposite. But I couldn’t be sure because that door was only ajar.

  I went up to it and peeked in. The candles still trembled on the mantel, casting gilded light over the room. The sofa Sutton had dozed on held the imprint of his body.

  I beat down a wave of unease. I’d heard something. I was sure of it.

  Perhaps it was a creature outside or in the attic. Maybe just the house groaning under the heat of the day.

  My mouth and lips suddenly dry, I swallowed and swiped my tongue out. Heading into the kitchen, I told myself to stay calm. I was used to rattling around big houses and fancy hotel suites on my own. Being alone didn’t scare me.

  The kitchen seemed bright despite the drawn shutters, likely because of the sheen glowing off the cabinets and the light floor.

  Scooping up one of Father’s crystal tumblers, I made my way to the sink, my bare feet slapping softly on the tiles.

  I filled the glass with soft frothy water and drank deeply.

  “We meet again.”

  “What?” I turned, the glass slipping from my hand. It landed on the floor and shattered, sending fragments of glass scuttling towards the Albino.

  He lounged against the oven, arms folded, one leg crossed over the other.

  “What the fuck?” I said, frozen to the spot, “are you doing here?”

  “Got yourself into yet another predicament, haven’t you, Claudine?”

  Was he talking about standing surrounded by glass or being here with Sutton? I didn’t know. My head spun. The man was huge. Bigger than Sutton, maybe even as broad as Linus had been.

  And in this light, well, he seemed to actually glow, his skin like that of a moth’s wing, luminescent, sheet-white. I could almost believe he was a ghost come to haunt me. Was he the reason Sutton had left the house? Had the Albino created some kind of diversion outside? Was my spy now out there, searching for a man who was in here?

  My heart thudded. A weird roll went through my stomach, the water I’d just drank roller-coastering.

  He pushed away from the worktop and stepped towards me.

  Small snaps echoed around the room as his shoes crushed shards of crystal. He kept on coming, closer and closer still.

  “What do you want?” I managed, stepping back, a splinter of glass puncturing my heel. I bit on my lip.

  “I’ve come to get you.”

  “Get me.” Fuck, where is Sutton? “What do you mean ‘get me’?”

  “Exactly what I said, Miss Claudine.”

  The right side of his mouth twitched, as though he held in a satisfied grin. He’d got me; I could run and shred my feet or I could stand here and see what happened next.

  Fear warred with curiosity, my dislike of pain no match to my inquisitive mind.

  “And where exactly are you planning on taking me?” I asked.

  “You will see when we get there.”

  “And what happens if I say no?”

  His anemic eyes stared down at me. “You won’t.”

  “I might.” I shrugged and tilted my chin. Tried to ignore the danger of my situation. Perhaps if I kept the Albino talking long enough, Sutton would return and save me.

  Sutton. You dozy fucker, where are you?

  “No.” He shook his head. “You are not safe here. Here you will die.”

  A shard of panic went through me. Why did everyone seem so convinced I was going to die? “But I’m protected here. By my father.”

  “By your father?” He frowned. “He cannot protect you here, and his men cannot protect you. I tried to warn you before: Be careful who you trust.” He hooked his index finger beneath my chin. “Now you must trust me.”

  “But I don’t know you.”

  “That is unfortunately the situation we find ourselves in.”

  “I mean, where are you even from? Your accent is—”

  “Russia. I am from Russia.” He thumped his fist against his chest.

  “And why do you want to help me?”

  He glanced at the doorway. “We have no time for this. You must come with me now.”

  Suddenly I was scooped into the air. He’d lifted me, as though I was some damsel in distress, and held me tight against his chest.

  “Hey, put me down?”

  “On the glass?”

  “No, not on the glass. Over there.”

  He crunched to the doorway, but instead of putting me down in the spot I’d indicated, he kept on going through the hall.

  “Get off.” I squirmed. “Put me down.”

  I wriggled harder, but he just clamped me closer to him. I shoved at his shoulders, his chest, but it was like trying to move a boulder.

  I didn’t want to go with this ghostly man from Russia. I wanted to stay here, with Father all around me and Sutton keeping watch.

  “You must be still.” One-handedly, he opened the front door.

  I took advantage of the lessened grip and bucked and thrust. My feet suddenly landed on the ground with a gentle slap. I ignored the pain from the glass in my foot and darted to the left.

  “Stop.” He gripped my upper arms, his tone different now. “I am not playing a game.”

  “Neither am I.” I glared up at him.

  “But you must come with me, to somewhere far from here.”

  “Why? What assurance can you give that you won’t hurt me?”

  “I would never hurt you.” He frowned as though the very thought was bewildering. “I saved you from those men, in the shanty. If I had been intent on doing you harm, would I have done that?”

  “I suppose not.” Oddly, I believed him, despite the fact I’d been running from him at the time.

  “That man…who is with you. He tells you to fear me, no?”

  I nodded.

  “Because he knows that I can help you. I am his enemy but not yours. You I just want to help.”

  “But why do I need help?”

  “You are in grave danger.” He paused. “And so is your daughter.”

  “My daughter?” It was as if a horse had double-barrelled me in the chest. How the bloody hell did this weird Russian man know about Guilia?

  “Guilia,” I whispered. “She’s in danger?”

  “There is no time to talk now.” He reached into his pocket for a pair of black wraparound shades and put them on.

  I glanced over his shoulder, wishing Sutton was walking towards me but also not.

  Was the Albino telling me the truth? Was Sutton not who he’d said he was? I’d had my doubts, of course, but I’d battled those demons. Entrusted myself to him even though he was a cold, calculating killer.

  “Claudine,” the Albino said, tugging me to the right. “We go, now.”

  I found myself trotting along beside him in a strange limping gait. My brain felt mushy, my thoughts disjointed and tumbling over themselves. It was as if my situation was a Jenga tower and someone had pulled out the bottom piece, toppling the whole lot down, just when I’d thought it was stable.

  Now I needed to start figuring out my situation again.

  But one overriding thought won out. Like a beacon, a lighthouse in a storm, it fizzed the surface of my brain, evaporating everything else.

  Guilia. Guilia is in danger, too?

  The Albino seemed to know this; he also seemed more willing to talk than Sutton. And I needed a talker. I needed someone who would fill in the gaps, turn the pages, give me the missing plot details. How the hell was I supposed to figure this mess out if I was met with silence and clipped answers?

  The Albino came to a halt in front of a large black motorbike. A Harley. It had
huge chrome handlebars and a wide black leather seat.

  He passed me a helmet. “Quickly. We do not have much time.”

  “Where are we going? Where is Sutton?”

  “No time for talking. Not now.” He jammed on his own helmet then straddled the bike.

  I stared at him, watching as he withdrew keys from his jeans pocket and set them in the ignition.

  Déjà vu consumed me, flickering and floating, the moment surreal. Had I been here before? With him?

  No. It was simply a gush of the same emotions I’d felt when I’d left St Lucia with Sutton. That second between not committing and committing. When the pier had been within reach and then not. I’d wondered if I was doing the right thing. If I were making a fatal error, a serious lapse in judgment that would cost me my life.

  Instead it had cost Marion and Linus theirs.

  I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting to see Sutton.

  Nothing.

  Seriously, what kind of protector left their client for so long? He really was crap at his job. Unless the Albino had got hold of him and…?

  “Claudine, now.” The Albino gunned the engine.

  Still I scanned the gardens, straining to see down to the water.

  Nothing. Not even the roar of a Harley had caught Sutton’s attention.

  Well, he deserved to lose me. Not just because he wasn’t willing to tell me about my daughter but because he should have an award for world’s worst bodyguard.

  I pulled the helmet on and fumbled for a few seconds clicking the catch beneath my chin. Then, barefoot, I climbed behind the Albino. Locking my arms around his waist, I rested my cheek on his back. His long-sleeved top was slightly scratchy on my skin, and the heat of his flesh warmed mine.

  He kicked at the stand, and the engine vibrated beneath me, tingling against my inner thighs and between my legs.

  I caught my breath and clasped myself tighter to him as he accelerated. He clearly knew he’d announced his presence and wasn’t about to hang around to see what the consequences of that would be.

  He turned out of the drive, a long red-cobbled affair, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  What am I doing?

  Sutton would pop a blood vessel. He’d rant and rage and hurl things about, I was sure of it. I could picture it now. He’d have to tell my father that I’d gone off with the very man I was running from. Father would rant and rage at Sutton.

  “Claudine is such an idiot,” he’d say.

  Well, I might be reckless and impulsive, but deep down I was also a mother, and I was going with this man for the sake of my child.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The ride to our destination didn’t take long, maybe twenty minutes. We were out in the middle of nowhere, something I should have expected, but oddly, I’d thought we’d head to an airport or docks so we could leave Florida. The fact that I didn’t have my passport entered my head, but in this mad game I’d found myself in, I’d entertained the idea of the Albino having fake documents for me. That wasn’t unheard of in movies—and my God, this was one hell of a movie.

  The one-storey house—if it could be called that—stood inside a forest of sorts, a circle of that strange Florida grass surrounding it. A cabin was a better name for it, made of logs, something straight out of a rustic magazine that encouraged off-the-grid living. Everything was bloody off where I was concerned. The windows were hidden behind shiny metal shutters that glinted in the sun. The building appeared abandoned, like some of the boarded-up council housing in England.

  A sudden pang of homesickness gripped me.

  I stared around through the helmet visor, the prickly grass beneath my bare feet digging in. Anyone could be hiding amongst the trees. Watching. Waiting.

  I shivered and lifted the visor.

  “Is this your home?” I asked, feeling stupid for stating the obvious.

  “Not mine, no.”

  Oh.

  The Albino pushed the bike down the side of the cabin, where it seemed to melt into the shadows there. With his helmet still on, he strode to the front door, a black metal thing with studs as a border. Strange, considering the cabin itself was wooden.

  I followed him. “What kind of people need to stow themselves away inside a remote cabin with a metal door?” I asked.

  “People like you. People who need protecting.”

  “I’d love to know what I’m being protected from, but hey, no one seems willing to tell me. I rather thought I’d be told so I could be forewarned and know what to look out for. Who to look out for.”

  He pushed the door open. A yawning cavern of darkness stood beyond, giving no insight as to whether there was a hallway or a living room there.

  “I will do the looking out,” he said. “Stay close to me.”

  I carefully stepped inside with him, all but glued to his back, and closed the door. Fear went through me at the idea of someone lurking, waiting for us to enter. A shuffle sounded, and I could only imagine that he’d pulled out a weapon.

  We checked every room. I didn’t see much except for the murky shapes of furniture. In what I assumed was the kitchen, I removed my helmet, and the scent of recently made pancakes hung in the air. Perhaps this place was used regularly by several different people. Or maybe whoever lived here had been turfed out so we could use it.

  “Everything is in order,” he said, startling me. “Stay there.”

  The kitchen light snapped on. He stalked out into a small foyer, disappearing into a room on the right, then more light spilled from the doorway, casting a skewed rectangle of brightness on the wooden floor. He appeared again only to vanish into another room and, bored of watching him, I placed my helmet on the kitchen table and made my way around the room, being careful not to put weight on my sore heel. A frying pan sat in the sink along with a fish slice. A stout red mug stood on the drainer, half filled with what looked like coffee. I touched the outside of the mug—still faintly warm. My stomach rolled over. What if the person who had so recently been here came back?

  The Albino appeared by my side, the significance of his silent approach not lost on me. I needed to become more alert, to stop relying on others to keep me safe. If ever there came a time when I got away, I had to learn how to keep myself safe.

  “Jesus. You scared me,” I blurted.

  “You should be happy that it is only me then.” He took his helmet off, revealing a frown. “You have no idea of the danger you are in, do you?”

  “You know I don’t,” I snapped. “I said as much just now, didn’t I? Or weren’t you listening?”

  “I listened. I listen to everything. Even the words you do not say.”

  “Someone else has been here,” I said. “This cup—it’s still a bit warm.”

  “Yes, I did not have time to finish.” He dumped his helmet on the side then poured the coffee into the sink.

  “You’ve been staying here?”

  “Yes, well, not exactly staying. I just arrived. As you know, I was in St Lucia yesterday.”

  “So why the creeping through the house business just now?”

  “Anyone could come in while I am gone. I trust no one and nothing.”

  “I see. So do you check your normal home like that? Every time you go back?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said this isn’t your house, so…?” I picked up a stainless steel kettle and filled it for something to do.

  “It is used for…things.”

  “Right. And who owns it?” I expected an evasive answer.

  “My boss.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Someone you do not need to concern yourself with.”

  Of course I don’t.

  I flicked the kettle on then nosed in the wall cupboards in search of mugs and teabags. Everything was well-stocked, and I wondered who was paid to keep it this way. There was clearly some dodgy business going on in Clearwater, what with the visitors to Father’s house and Sutton making them go away. Everything was so bloody crypti
c, leaving me to fill in the blanks.

  “My daughter,” I said, putting teabags into cups. “Guilia. Why is she in danger?”

  He leant against the worktop, which dug into his hip he was that tall. “Because it has been discovered that she is your father’s granddaughter.”

  “So my father has a lot to answer for, does he?”

  “That is true.”

  “And people are going after his relations, yes?”

  “Correct.”

  I blew out a forceful breath. What the hell was Father up to? And how dare he risk my daughter. Putting me in harm’s way—I guessed that went with the territory if he were up to no good, but an innocent child who didn’t even know we existed? “Where do we go from here? Sutton will come looking for me, you know. And if we’re travelling abroad, remember I have no passport. My handbag—” Suddenly I felt decisive, the need to act overwhelming me. I had to grip this situation by the balls before it erupted completely.

  “That will arrive shortly.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your bag. It will come.”

  I shook my head. The urge to scream came on swiftly, but I held it back. I didn’t want him to see me lose control. “What, you have some kind of delivery service on the way?”

  “No. A person who also works for my boss. He will have gone into the house after we left. He had instructions.”

  “Oh. And Sutton?”

  “He will be dealt with if he gets in the way.”

  My stomach sank at that. “Dealt with?”

  “Yes. He will be told to…mind his own business,” the Albino said.

  “You do realise he won’t, don’t you? He’ll follow the person with my bag and come here.”

  “No, he will not. It will not be possible.”

  “Of course it is!”

  The Albino smiled. “Telling someone to mind his own business in my world does not mean the same as it does in yours.”

  “What do you mean? I—” And it hit me all at once. “You’ll have him killed?”

  “If he catches the person collecting the bag, and it is necessary, yes.”

  I lurched away from the worktop towards the table. I sank into a chair, unable to take this in. Sutton be killed? No. No.

  “Did Sutton leave the house just before I arrived for a reason?” he asked.