This was very bad. Lydia’s senses were firing as her mind panicked. She felt wings beating wildly against a window, could feel feathers in the back of her throat, and a harsh crow call was getting louder and louder, until it was all she could hear. Her feet were off the ground, the giant had lifted her up as easily as if she were a child, and Lydia kicked again and again, hearing a satisfying ‘oof’ of pain as she connected well.
Time was moving oddly, and everything was very sharp and clear. The back of the van was in front of her, now, and the sound of traffic flowing past seemed deafeningly loud. Surely someone would see that she was clearly being abducted and would stop? Surely someone was calling the police right at this very moment?
Lydia felt herself lifted higher, preparatory to being shoved into the bare interior of the van. She tensed her core and lifted both legs, ready to brace against the edge of the door frame, to push back against her captor. Perhaps, with enough leverage, she would be able to topple the mountain. Before she could execute the move, she felt herself abruptly released. She fell, stumbling away as quickly as she could, turning away from the open doors of doom. In that moment, she saw the person who had been holding her. A giant of a man with thinning blond hair and sunburned cheeks and nose. He was looking warily at several figures, all recognisably Fox by both their familial resemblance to Paul, and Lydia’s extra sense screaming that it was so. Maria was nowhere to be seen.
‘Get out while you can,’ Lydia heard one of them say and, surprisingly, the big guy slammed the back doors of the van shut, crossed obediently to the front and drove away. Now that was impressive. Lydia had managed to take several deep breaths, but the shaking of adrenaline and fear had begun in her body. She was in no fit state to deal with what came next. Before she could say ‘thanks’ or, more pertinently, inquire as to how Paul Fox’s brothers just happened to be passing at that moment, she was floored by a punch to the side of the head. A face swam into view, a Fox that Lydia didn’t recognise. Female. Angry. ‘Stay away from us,’ she said. And then aimed a couple of kicks into Lydia’s side and stomach. Lydia curled over, trying to protect her middle, which might have been a mistake as the final kick was to the head. Pain exploded in her ear and the sound of traffic and voices was replaced by roaring. And then nothing.
A voice speaking. ‘Are you all right, love?’
Lydia came to. By the angle of the body arched above her, and the buildings and slice of sky, she knew she was lying down. Her brain was rebooting and she could feel the pieces physically clicking back into place. There was a burst of music from a passing car and the sound of footsteps hitting cement. She was on the ground. It was uncomfortable. She was no longer being kicked, which was good, but she had passed out, which was bad. She felt sick. She hurt in various places she didn’t want to examine too closely at this point in time.
She could smell the tarmac of the road, and the special pavement bouquet of rubbish, urine and day-old takeaway food.
‘Shall I call an ambulance?’ The face resolved into something understandable. An older man, maybe in his sixties. A creased face with kindly wrinkles around his eyes, indicating a person who smiled often. Of course, that wasn’t always good. Maybe he smiled at other people’s misfortune. Finding the world humorous was no guarantee of essential goodness. Lydia was getting side-tracked, she knew, but her brain seemed intent on thinking about physiognomy rather than her current situation. It was painful. And she had been so scared. She couldn’t think about that. She had to answer the kindly/maybe psychotic gentlemen in the Adidas T-shirt who was hovering and looking increasingly uncertain.
‘No, I’m fine,’ she managed. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute.’
The man rummaged in his bag and produced a well-used water bottle. Lydia pulled herself into a sitting position, moving very slowly. She thought she could hear wings beating, but figured her ears were still ringing from the blows. The water was tepid but welcome. Plus, she felt absurdly proud of London for conjuring a helpful stranger. Okay, a stream of people had no doubt walked past, averting their gaze as she took a beating, and who knew how many had stepped over her prone body, but here it felt like a good time to focus the positive. She was alive, after all.
‘If you’re sure,’ the man said. He glanced around and Lydia knew he was wondering at what point his responsibility ended. ‘What about a taxi?’
Lydia didn’t want to shake her head so she said. ‘Nah, mate. I’m all right. I’ll call my uncle in a minute.’ Where had that come from? She must have been kicked harder than she realised.
‘I dunno,’ the man was saying. ‘I don’t feel right-’
Lydia closed her eyes and watched the flashing lights for a few seconds. It was less painful than the light of the world, but she couldn’t stay there. Sadly. She forced them open, and was treated with the sight of her good Samaritan hailing a cab. ‘You got cash, love?’
‘I think so,’ Lydia said.
‘Here,’ he shoved a twenty at Lydia and offered an arm to help her into the cab. ‘Take care of yourself, now. Right?’
Tears prickled behind her eyes and it was suddenly hard to speak. ‘Thank you. I can return this,’ she held up the twenty pound note. ‘If you give me your-’
‘Nah, love. It’s fine. Pass it on to someone else in need. Karma, innit?’
He patted the roof of the taxi and disappeared into the throng of people on the pavement.
‘Where to?’ The cab driver was twisted around in his seat and giving Lydia a suspicious ‘don’t you dare throw up in my cab’ look.’
Now that she was no longer lying on the street and was sat in the relative comfort and safety of the cab, Lydia had no desire to get chucked out, so she tried to pull herself together. The words out of her mouth surprised her, though. Fleet’s address.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew why her subconscious had thrown them into the air. She didn’t want to go anywhere familiar. Until she knew who and why she had been attacked, she needed to hide out somewhere safe. Trusting her instincts, she called Fleet and asked if she could go to his flat to clean up.
‘Clean up from what?’
‘I’m okay,’ Lydia said. ‘Just a scuffle. I’m a bit shaken. Just need to get off the street and somewhere different.’
‘You have my key?’ Fleet’s voice was calm and it helped Lydia’s jangling thoughts to settle.
She searched her backpack for her own keys and found Fleet’s, hooked on the keyring, where he had put it. ‘Yeah. But-’
‘Not the time, babe,’ Fleet said. ‘Go. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
He gave her the code for the front door and rang off.
Fleet lived on the fifth floor of a new-build block overlooking Camberwell Green. It was six storeys high and in good condition. Balconies ran around the building and the flat stairwell didn’t smell of piss. It was very upmarket, in other words. And each unit must have cost half a mill. Lydia usually favoured stairs, but knew there wasn’t a hope in hell of making it up them today. She took the lift to the fifth floor and distracted herself by wondering how Fleet afforded the place on a copper’s salary. He was a DCI and there would be London weighting but, still.
Lydia’s head was pounding and her body hurt all over. She could still taste blood in her mouth. Her top lip felt swollen and she knew without looking in a mirror that she would be developing an impressive black eye. She checked that the hall was clear and then unlocked Fleet’s front door, stumbling inside.
There was a short entrance hall leading to an open-plan living space. For a moment Lydia stood still, unable to process what she was seeing. It was, without doubt, the tidiest home she had ever set foot inside. Lydia couldn’t believe that Fleet didn’t perform a full-body wince every second he spent in her messy flat.
It was also, undeniably, decorated . Not just filled with an accidental collection of acquired objects and furniture, there was an actual, thought-out design aesthetic throughout
. From the distressed wood and metal industrial-style sideboard and bookshelves, to the sleek cabinets in the kitchen area, and the cluster of artfully mis-matched photograph frames. A text from Fleet. ‘Make yourself at home. Clean towels in hall cupboard.’
Grateful for the distraction, Lydia proceeded to obey Fleet’s instruction and look over every inch of the place as if it were her own. The master bedroom was painted in neutral shades and had a small en-suite. There was a landscape painting over the bed which was original art and not a print. The built-in closet revealed suit jackets, and a neat row of perfectly ironed shirts, hung according to colour, and shelves of sharply-folded sweaters and T-shirts. If Fleet ever decided to leave the force, he could get a job in Gap. Lydia reached out and touched the sleeve of a charcoal suit jacket. The closet smelled of washing powder and Fleet’s cologne. It was something citrusy with a hint of wood smoke and sea air.
After sloughing off the worst of the blood in the shower, Lydia wrapped herself in an enormous towel that was as soft as down, and had a look through the cabinet in the bathroom. She told herself that she was looking for Fleet’s brand of aftershave so that she would know what to get him for Christmas, like a normal girlfriend, but that was a lie. She was just snooping.
The bathroom cabinet yielded all the usual suspects, toothpaste and wrapped bars of soap, dental floss and paracetamol. Lydia downed a couple of tablets and moved back to the main living area. The kitchen cupboards were as neat as the countertops and the main thing Lydia discovered was that Fleet didn’t cook a great deal. At least, there they were similar in that way. She located a bottle of whisky and poured a small measure. Now that the shock was wearing off a bit, the pain was increasing.
She sat on the sofa and leaned back, taking shallow breaths and closing her eyes, concentrating on riding out the pain. It would pass. She would be fine. She was fine.
Lydia must have dozed off or entered some kind of trance state as she was startled by the sound of the door opening. She got to her feet, not wanting to be caught lying on his sofa like an invalid.
‘It’s me! Have you been through all my cupboards, yet?’ Fleet’s voice was filled with false cheer, and when he walked into the living room and saw her, his smile fled. ‘Jesus, Lydia. What happened?’
‘This place is so tidy. How do you do it?’
‘I always put stuff away,’ Fleet said, distracted. ‘You’re hurt.’
‘That can’t just be it,’ Lydia tensed as Fleet approached. His expression of anguish and concern was giving her a sharp pain in the chest.
He stopped moving and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. ‘I clean twice a week. What? It’s relaxing.’
‘Cleaning isn’t relaxing, it’s annoying.’ The pain was blooming outward, making it difficult to breathe. That look in his eyes. It made it all real. It brought on something like panic.
‘You don’t surprise me,’ he said lightly. ‘Is there any point in me suggesting a trip to A&E.’
‘None whatsoever.’ Lydia said. ‘But back to my housekeeping. Are you calling me a slob?’
He shook his head, his face serious. ‘I’m letting you distract me. Stop deflecting and tell me what happened.’
Lydia wasn’t ready to do that, so she dropped the towel.
Instead of the instant lust she had been bargaining on, Fleet sucked in his breath and began examining her body with a forensic frown. ‘We have to go to hospital. I’m serious, you need to be checked out.’
‘I’m fine,’ Lydia said, trying not to gasp as his exploring fingers gently touched the bruises on her ribs. She had always enjoyed a high pain threshold, and had once played the second half of a school football match with a broken collarbone, but this was still tender.
‘You are evidently not fine,’ Fleet said, ducking his head to look into his eyes. ‘Please let me look after you.’
Lydia closed her eyes briefly. ‘I want to feel like me again. I need to feel something other than scared.’ Having been so honest she suddenly didn’t want to open her eyes. She couldn’t bear the look of concern in his eyes for a moment longer.
She felt his hand on the back of her head, cradling and then tipping it back before lips were on hers. She responded enthusiastically, diving into the sensations with relief and gratitude.
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Fleet spoke against her mouth, and she pulled him hard against her, wanting all the good feelings and to obliterate the bad.
Having an enjoyable horizontal time with a large, well-muscled copper, while nursing several injuries took a great deal of concentration on Lydia’s part and a goodly dose of skill from Fleet. Luckily, he was blessed in that department and Lydia found that although she was still in physical pain, she was at least thirty per cent more relaxed than before she distracted Fleet. Unfortunately, he was also tenacious. Lying next to her, naked and beautiful, Fleet put a hand very gently on her cheek and turned her face so that he could stare deeply into her eyes. ‘Two choices, Lyds. Tell me what happened. Truthfully and completely. Or I arrest you and take you to the hospital on the way to the station.’
‘You can’t just arrest me,’ Lydia said.
‘Try me.’
His brown eyes were serious and Lydia read the intent clearly enough. She took a breath and then told him. ‘I got jumped. It’s embarrassing.
‘Being attacked is not embarrassing. It’s a criminal offence. And it’s not your fault.’ A quick pause. ‘It wasn’t your fault, I assume?’
‘You’re not supposed to blame the victim,’ Lydia said, smiling. ‘You must have had training on that.’
‘I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions,’ Fleet said. ‘And I thought you were allergic to the word “victim”.’
Lydia made a finger gun and shot him. ‘You thought right.’
‘So?’
Lydia gave up and told Fleet about her encounter with Maria and her sunburned goon. ‘He was going to put you in a van?’ Fleet’s skin had taken on an ashy tone and he sat up. ‘That’s really bad. I’ve got to call it in.’
‘It won’t help,’ Lydia said.
‘You can’t let them get away with it,’ Fleet argued, he had grabbed his phone and was gripping it tightly. The fear on his face was morphing quickly into anger. Lydia understood. He had felt fear and now he wanted to hit something. ‘How did you get away? You fought off the guy who was trying to abduct you?’
The word ‘abduct’ made Lydia’s flesh crawl. ‘A few members of the Fox family showed up.’
‘I don’t understand. They saved you?’
‘Not exactly,’ Lydia said. She yawned widely, her jaw cracking.
‘They gave me a kicking.’ Lydia stretched gingerly. ‘I should probably send them a thank you note.’
‘I’m going to kill them,’ Fleet said.
‘It’s fine,’ Lydia said. ‘Just a warning shot. And better than the alternative.’
Fleet shook his head. ‘You don’t have to put his tougher-than-nails act on in front of me.’
‘I do,’ Lydia said. ‘I can’t think for a single second that I’m not okay or I’ll break apart. That’s the truth.’
He must have read the honesty of her statement, as he just leaned in and kissed her very gently. ‘We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Get some sleep.’
Now that was a suggestion Lydia could get behind. She took another couple of pain killers and dived into unconsciousness with relief.
Waking up wasn’t as bad as Lydia had expected. For starters, Fleet had got up in the night and put more painkillers and a glass of water next to the bed. Secondly, his bed was extremely comfortable and the sheets deliciously soft and clean. Thirdly, the man himself was sitting up in bed reading files for work and he looked both adorably studious and incredibly hot. And, yes. There was a part of Lydia which found his presence comforting. She blamed her fragile state.
‘Hey.’ He had noticed that she was awake.
‘Morning,’ Lydia said and struggled to sit up. There was a very sharp pain in
her left side which she was pretty sure was a broken rib, but everything else wasn’t too bad. She reached for the painkillers and popped a couple. Lifting the t-shirt she had slept in, she inspected her torso. Impressive black and purple bruises reflected the vigorous attention she had received from the Fox brothers’ boots. They hadn’t done serious damage, though. They might have cracked one rib, but definitely not more than that, and they had miraculously not broken her nose, either. There were two possibilities; either she possessed a kind of super-human skeleton or powers of healing. Or, more likely, they had been out to frighten and hurt, not seriously damage, and they had the skill to execute that desire.
The next question, was whether Paul Fox had set her up for that encounter, or whether his brothers had been acting on their own initiative. She was surprised to realise that she believed it to be the latter. Just because the Families shared a bloodline and a name, didn’t mean they all acted the same, thought the same. Just look at her and Uncle Charlie.
At that moment, Lydia realised that Fleet had put down his paperwork and was regarding her steadily. ‘You really ought to get checked out.’
‘It looks worse than it is,’ Lydia said. ‘I’ve got such pale skin, I bruise like a peach.’
‘I can’t tell if you’re just being stoic.’
‘Honestly,’ Lydia lied. ‘They hardly hurt.’
He changed tack. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’
‘I already did.’ Lydia said. ‘I could murder a cup of coffee.’
‘I’ll make you a tea,’ Fleet said. ‘When you’ve told me.’
‘Hard ball? I like it.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘Okay. Tea, then I’ll talk, and then we have coffee. And food.’ Suddenly, she was ravenous.
Fleet got up and Lydia enjoyed the sight of him in his boxers. He shrugged into a T-shirt and left the room.
The Fox's Curse Page 16
