Desire

by Louise Bagshawe

  ‘Tonight. Soon as I get confirmation the next two fifty’s in my account. No, Rich, don’t complain. You need to work with me on this.’ Sam grinned. ‘Have them wire it right now, or we’ll miss next week’s deadline too, won’t we?’

  ‘God, you are a fucking prick.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Guilty as charged.’

  ‘You motherfucker,’ Frank said, and Sam thought he detected a note of admiration. ‘You got me over a fucking barrel. If this story ain’t what you’re cracking it up to be, this’ll be the last payment like this you get, and you’ll never work again, either.’

  ‘You don’t get to make those decisions, Rich, so you can stop beating your chest. Shape you’re in, it’s likely to give you a coronary. Send the cash.’

  Rich Frank grunted and hung up on him. Sam smiled again, and called his bank as he walked back to the car. An obsequious flunky promised to text him as soon as the money landed. Meanwhile, he would start writing; he didn’t need a laptop, it was all in his head. This was important, maybe one of the most important stories he’d ever write. How to keep them guessing, defend Lisa, keep her out of it. It wasn’t just hackery now. Every word would be pored over by the FBI, watching for clues. And not just them. Josh’s killers would be out there, watching. And waiting.

  They wanted to get her. Had done from the moment they set her up. The thought of the killer in that bedroom, looking down on Lisa, made Sam’s heart clench with fear on her behalf. How vulnerable she had been. He must have been sure of himself as he wrapped her slender fingers around the rich ivory handle of the dagger. And he, Sam, had made it easier, hadn’t he? Setting up Lisa Costello as the girl America loved to hate. The perfect suspect. And now he was trying to untangle the mess he’d gotten her into.

  He reached his car, and stepped inside. The article could be written and faxed from the hotel room. The key thing was not to stay away from Lisa.

  The knock. The voice. There was something in that voice. She didn’t have long to analyse; it just hit her in the stomach. An American accent. Did your typical Liechtensteiner, or Swiss-German, speak like that? Was he somebody Frau Vollenhaus had hired from the old brothel days? She had to doubt it.

  Lisa looked around the room, panicked. Fear welled up in her like a swollen river overflowing its banks. But it was no good. Sam wasn’t here, and the other guy was. No point in waiting for rescue. Five minutes from now might be too late.

  She swallowed, hard. She had outrun the combined police operations of Thailand and Hong Kong. Now it was time to run from a killer. She had a couple of hundred euros in her pocket, but no way to get more, and no way to contact Sam. And there was a guy who wanted to kill her mere feet away from her . . .

  That idea concentrated her mind. She shoved the window upwards and looked down disconsolately at the sheer drop below. At least there was nobody outside her window. But the fall would break her legs, if she had the guts to endure that much pain. And he would come to find her, and he would kill her . . .

  She looked to the right and saw the young elm tree spreading below her. It wasn’t substantial, wasn’t hoary. Would it hold her up? The slim branches waved prettily in the wind, their light green leaves attractive against the sun. No comfort for her there. And yet, she instantly processed, it was this or nothing. The angle was bad, and the tree was several feet away from her. But it was her best and only hope.

  She heard a fresh round of banging on her hotel room door.

  ‘Hello? Mr Murray? Ms Costello? I’m afraid we need to come in. We’ll be getting the key; could you let us in instead? Hello?’

  The voice was American, clearly nothing to do with Frau Vollenhaus. It was a man, and a man who was there to kill her.

  Lisa touched the euro notes in her pocket. Sam was gone. She was on her own again. The man was at the door, he was coming. She stepped up on to the windowsill and shifted her body gingerly outside of the frame, holding on with both hands. The tree was still there, and she was still paralysed . . .

  There was a shove on the door. Hard. Lisa saw it shaking in its frame. She turned her eyes to the slim young tree, angled to the left below her. Closed them and murmured an inchoate prayer, then bit the bullet and jumped . . .

  She was grabbing at the branches as she fell, clutching at them. They were too slim to take her weight and her hands were slipping. Scratches ran up her skin, making her gasp with pain as twigs and the trunk hit her. But the tree was slowing her down, breaking her fall; she was still hitting wood and leaves, and then she was on the grass at the back of the hotel. Bleeding. But alive.

  Would he have heard? Would he have heard anything outside that door? She was not sure. She didn’t want to wait to find out. The hotel’s back garden was a piece of scrubby lawn backing on to a road. Immediately Lisa walked across to it, moved between the cars and began to run. She had no idea where she was going, and that seemed important. If she didn’t know where she was going to end up, how could the man who was hunting her? Her cell phone was right there, in her back pocket. In a few minutes she was going to find someplace to hide and call Sam, let him know what had happened. The last thing on God’s earth she wanted was for him to come back now. They were split up, and she was terrified. But she desperately wanted to protect him. Dear God, she thought. I’m in love. And at a time like this . . .

  But the man, whoever he was, could still be coming. It would only take him minutes to head back down the stairs. He’d have a car, and he’d come looking for her, the minute he realised she was gone from the room. Lisa choked back a sob of terror, and tried to put herself into his head. If she was a bastard killer, how would she hunt?

  For now, she just kept running. Down side streets, turning left, right almost at random. Heading into the centre of town. Once she got far enough away she would find somewhere to hide. Not a hotel, not anywhere he might have spies. Somewhere he wouldn’t think of looking. A party place, perhaps. Nightclub, casino . . .

  A Shell garage loomed up ahead of her. Lisa walked across the road, tempted by its bright lights and welcoming display of cigarettes and candy. So nice, so normal. But none of that was for her. Not any more. She walked around the side of the building, and stood in the dark shadows at its back. Not visible from the road; nobody was looking. Behind her was a patch of Tarmac and empty beer cans and water bottles. There was some scrubland beyond, fenced with barbed wire. She looked around her cautiously, but he was not there.

  Lisa breathed out. She was still alive.

  Sam turned the car and saw the hotel looming up ahead of him. He was getting aroused again, just by the thought of Lisa there, waiting. So beautiful. So brave. He almost couldn’t think too much about it. It was hard to say he deserved a girl like her. But they were locked in this together, and he was fiercely glad about it. She needed him, and now he needed her too. His mobile rang, startling him; it was Lisa. He grinned. Impatient, was she? Didn’t like him staying away too long? That was a real good sign for a man. But he was right at the hotel. His finger hovered over the answer button. Maybe he should put her to voicemail, make her sweat for a few more seconds.

  Felix knocked on the door one last time. Nothing. He’d thought there was some slight noise from within. The girl, perhaps, hiding. Under the bed or something. It was really amazing what people thought would help them, the stupid things they did in extremis. Getting into closets or crawling under piles of laundry, as though it was a childhood game of hide and seek, and he would just pretend not to see them. But perhaps you tried anything if there was no other choice. No matter how dumb.

  Still, she wasn’t answering. And he had a corpse downstairs. There was no time for niceties. This was a standard hotel door, shitty lock, zero security. He took out the skeleton key he kept with him for emergencies; tried it. No joy. It worked better in newer hotels. Fine. This would happen the old-fashioned way. Felix pulled out a very thin piece of metal, specially made for him by a guy in Geneva. It was fiddly, and took a few minutes, but could get you most places without a dea
dbolt. He slid it in the lock and jiggled, working quickly. Within two minutes he heard the satisfying tumble and click. The door eased from the hinges. He turned the handle. He was in. He walked inside, his blood pumping, ready to kill, ready to fuck her. He shut the door tight, looked around.

  She wasn’t there. That fucking bitch. The window was open. He didn’t bother checking under the bed, or in the closet. He could hear a target breathing from across the room. This one was empty. He rushed to the window and looked out. It was immediately obvious what she had done. The tree; the shitty little tree. Some of its branches were broken, damaged; he could see the white pith where she’d bent and cracked them. There were footprints on the wet grass, faint, but he was good at spotting that sort of clue. The girl had headed to the road. He cursed aloud and ran the sums in his head. A noise in the room, maybe five, six minutes ago, tops. He’d wasted two minutes knocking. So she’d had five to run. That wouldn’t get her too far, unless she had a car. The journalist hack was in their hire car. Did Lisa Costello know how to boost? He shook his head, disgusted with himself. How come he was even asking that question? She was a trophy wife, a rich bitch, he told himself. Not some fellow pro. And yet . . . he was starting to worry about this woman. Because she was either very lucky, or very good.

  But he was Felix, and he was luckier. Assume she had not taken a car. That meant she was somewhere, somewhere close. She didn’t have a damned teleporter; she couldn’t magic herself over the border in under five minutes. She was out there, panicked and running, with no man to protect her.

  Felix withdrew from the window and ran out the door and down the stairs. An old man barked something at him in German, but he wasn’t listening. Lisa was out there. And he was coming.

  Lisa leaned back against the wall of the garage. His phone was ringing, ringing. Her eyes scanned the road again, watching the beams of the car headlights sweep past in the darkness. Any one of them could be carrying the man who’d killed her husband. The man who might now be going to kill her. Goddammit! Answer the phone!

  ‘Couldn’t wait, huh?’

  It was bizarre; even here, even now, he was turning her on. That languid, sexy voice. A dreadful pang of loss, to be away from him. She wanted his protection, his comfort. Just his strong arms round her.

  ‘Sam. Don’t go to the hotel.’

  His tone changed instantly. ‘Lisa, what is it, honey? What happened?’

  ‘He came. The killer. I’m sure it was him. Banged on the door and tried to get in. I jumped out the window. He’s probably after me.’

  ‘Did you break anything? Where are you? I’ll come pick you up. Right now.’

  ‘I shouldn’t tell you.’ She choked back a sob. God, how she longed to say it, longed for him to drive right up in that wonderful, safe little car and come sweep her away from here. ‘He found me. How? Maybe he’s got these phones bugged.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘A long-range transmitter . . . it can happen. Josh was telling me about that stuff. Always warning me about what I said.’ She smiled through the tears. ‘Beware of you reporters.’

  He was quiet a moment. ‘You’re right. Don’t say. Contact me, honey. You know how. Lisa . . .’

  ‘I know.’ She wept to herself, placing one hand over the base of her phone so he would not hear her crying. ‘You don’t have to say it. I think I feel the same.’

  ‘Run safe. You’ll be back in my arms soon.’ He said that with complete confidence, reassuring her. Another pause. ‘And you, guy, if you’re listening to this, you know who I am. My name’s Sam Murray. I’m the man who’s going to kill you.’

  There was an inexpressible chill to his voice. Then a click, and he hung up. She was standing there behind the garage. And she was totally alone.

  Sam swung his car away from the hotel and circled the block. It was important not to let his brain freeze up in a panic, important to think, not become paralysed by thoughts of Lisa, frightened and stranded out there. His target was the assassin. What would the assassin do?

  He wouldn’t stay in the hotel. He would break in to the room and see that she’d run. She had no idea how to cover her tracks, so she’d probably pointed out her direction. And he’d follow. He’d have an area to sweep. He’d be tracking her, trying to climb into her head the way Sam was trying to climb into his . . .

  His phone rang again and he jumped on it. ‘Baby?’

  ‘It’s not your fucking baby, asshole. It’s Craig.’

  ‘Craig.’ Sam had gone around the block again and was approaching the hotel. He needed clues, he needed to see where that guy had gone. He dropped his lights and parked half a block away, across the street in the lot of a small convenience store. Then he slipped out of the car, adrenaline pumping through him. This man had weapons and he had none, but he was under no doubt that he was the hunter, that he was the guy who would be doing the killing. It was intense how visceral and immediate it was. This person was threatening his woman. Lisa Costello was his woman now. He knew it in his gut. And he intended to kill him for it.

  In one phone call, in less than sixty seconds, this mission had stopped being a story proving her innocence. It had become something far more basic. Survival. And revenge. Years of dissipation and selfishness fell away from him. He was the kid who’d applied to the FBI again, the top recruit who’d aced the training. That man he’d buried, who’d crawled right up from the depths of his psyche, and was instantly ready to go.

  ‘I can’t talk to you now. I have a problem,’ Sam said.

  He started to head across the road. There were no extra cars parked out front. Doubtful the killer had come on foot, which meant he knew Lisa had run and was already out there looking for her. It was a gamble, but Sam made the decision instantly. He ran across the road, conspicuous now if anybody was looking.

  ‘You need to talk to me.’

  ‘I really don’t. Bye, Craig.’

  ‘Wait!’ He could hear the surprise in his old partner’s voice, that Sam Murray was no longer seeking his approval. ‘This matters. We went to Thailand and we did forensics.’

  Sam kept moving, but he was no longer about to hang up. The door of the hotel was ajar. He pushed through it. Frau Vollenhaus was not at her desk.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘We found male hair and cells in the bathroom, partial prints, semen on the headboard of the bed. Spray from masturbation, standing position.’

  A shiver of disgust rippled through Sam. He saw the scene exactly as Craig did. No need to ask questions.

  ‘Can you eliminate Josh Steen?’

  ‘It’s real old. Degraded. Fifty-fifty at best, but it’s in the lab. I’ll keep you informed. A good defence attorney would make some nice hay for her . . .’

  ‘Thanks, Craig.’ Even as his eyes scanned the room, part of him thought about the story. Now it wasn’t just Lisa’s testimony. Now it was outside evidence. This would be explosive. Not that he cared about that much. But it would clear his girl. This would be easier if the entire world didn’t hate her. ‘Listen, that killer. He came to find her. I’m running with her.’

  ‘Fucking idiot. What the fuck did I tell you?’

  ‘I don’t give a goddamn, Craig. She’s innocent and I won’t let her be jailed or go to the chair. And I won’t let her be killed, either. Somebody found us in the middle of nowhere, tried to break into her room while I was out filing a story. She ran. I don’t know where she is. He’s here and he’s coming for her. Tying up loose ends.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  Sam moved behind the reception desk. No sign of Marianne. There was an office just behind that area. He walked in, glanced around. The closet was open, very slightly ajar. He could see dark cloth, and knew what he’d find.

  ‘I’m going to kill the guy. He just murdered the owner of the hotel we were staying at.’

  As he spoke, he opened the closet door. Marianne’s body tumbled out, slack, a dark hole in her forehead, dark dried blood ugly on her face. Sam rea
ched down and pressed his fingertips to her neck. The body was still warm. He hadn’t been gone long. He had no wish to be caught with the body. He moved out of the reception area, went upstairs.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shot her dead. Stuffed her in a closet. I just saw the corpse. Lisa doesn’t have a gun, Craig, and nor do I. This is real.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake. Tell me where you are. And don’t do anything dumb. We’ll get local cops down there, pick you up . . .’

  ‘Right. Like a pro like this can’t beat some Keystone Europeans. Come on, Craig. You know I can’t tell you. If I let her be picked up before we’ve proved her innocence, she could be strapped to a gurney in San Quentin waiting the needle.’

  ‘But the semen . . .’

  He was in the corridor now. The door to their room was open. Sam scanned the lock. It had been expertly picked, with little damage. He went to the open window, looked out. She’d used the tree; that was quite a jump. He felt a surge of pride at her bravery.

  ‘A judge could throw that out. You know our legal system as well as I do. It’s a crapshoot. No, she’s been convicted by the tabloids and the great American public and they’re just going to have to acquit her.’

  ‘Jesus, Sam. I give up our evidence to you and you’re not giving me shit.’

  ‘This isn’t trading, Craig. It’s her life. I’m past trading now. All that’s done. Her court is America, and that’s where I’m going to try this case.’

  A heavy sigh. ‘I knew it. You’ve fallen in love with her.’

  He thought about denying it, then realised he couldn’t be bothered. Let Craig think whatever he wanted. ‘Yes. And my judgement isn’t clouded. She’s innocent. You know that now.’

  ‘I’m FBI. You’re aiding and abetting. I have to track you now, buddy. I don’t have a choice.’

  Sam had turned the corner and was running down the stairs, full tilt, back to the lobby.