by Elise Noble
“We’re short-staffed today,” Wayne told us, sending a smile in my direction. “Hold on a sec.” He waved at a girl heading for the door. “Hey, Kate! Can you watch the desk?”
“I just finished my shift.”
“Five minutes?”
The girl sighed, then nodded. “Five minutes.”
“Thanks, babe.” Wayne turned back to us. “Okay, I can show you around. You’ve used a gym before?”
Yup. We both nodded, and I returned Wayne’s smile. Why was Alaric’s jaw clenched?
“In that case, follow me.”
Workout World was easily three times the size of my current gym, over a hundred stations, half of them full even at ten in the morning. No swimming pool, no juice bar, no tanning beds. The only spa facilities were a sauna and steam room, both packed with half-naked men, although that wasn’t entirely a negative. The tour took fifteen minutes, and then we were on our own.
“Seen any sign of Ryland?” Alaric asked.
“Not yet.” And I’d been looking, believe me, which was slightly awkward because each time I paused my gaze on a man, they either winked, gave me a top-to-toe once-over, or in one particularly unpleasant case, patted me on the shoulder with a giant sweaty paw. If I did venture back into Workout World, I was never making eye contact again. “Now what? Should we hop on a treadmill or something?”
“Yeah, but take it easy. We might be here for a while.”
“I need to put my bag in a locker.”
“Same. I’ll head upstairs to the weights after. You said Ryland was built, right?”
“I think so. He was wearing a jacket when I saw him, but he was definitely bulky around the shoulders.”
And so was Alaric when he peeled off his sweater to reveal a tight black vest. Surprisingly so. The outline of his torso in the cashmere sweaters he tended to favour had suggested he was no slouch, but in the flesh, so to speak, he was smooth and sculpted. A work of art. Before I married Piers, I’d always had a weakness for good arms. Hell, I’d even dated a rugby player for a while. But my parents had hated him, or rather, they’d hated his family background, his financial status, and his lack of a “proper job.” Back then, I’d been too scared of losing their approval to follow my own path, but the irony was, Johnny had gone on to play for England while Piers was still reliant on his trust fund.
Damn, I missed those arms.
The changing room was basic but functional, the surfaces plastic instead of marble, the lighting harsh rather than tasteful. In short, the place was another reminder of the privileged life I’d led, of the gilded cage I’d now escaped. I picked a locker near the showers and squashed my bag into it, then unzipped my sweater and bundled that in too.
“Hey, I love your top. Where’d you get it?”
Was somebody talking to me? Apparently, yes. I turned to find a pretty Black girl standing there, a year or two younger than me with her hair neatly braided into cornrows.
“Uh, thanks. Yoga Life in Chelsea, I think.”
She made a face. “Bit out of my price range. Are you new here?”
“How did you guess?”
“You’re using one of the small lockers, and they don’t have room for nothin’. Bigger ones are on the other side by the hairdryers. I’m Shereen, by the way.”
A nervous giggle bubbled out of me. This was like the first day at a new school, and my only friend was outside lifting weights. “And I’m Beth. Yes, I’m still finding my way around. Wayne gave me a quick tour of the main floor, but he couldn’t exactly walk in here.”
“Oh, I don’t know—he must’ve seen half the women in this place naked, and most of the rest would invite him in with open arms.” Shereen rolled her eyes. “Workout World is hook-up central.”
I spotted a ring on her finger. “But not for you?”
“Hell, no. I’m just here for the sauna. I already got a man, and he’d kick Wayne’s ass if he looked at me funny.”
I put a mental check in the “negatives” column. Perhaps Workout World wasn’t the right gym for me after all? I didn’t want a hook-up, and I most certainly didn’t want a hook-up with Wayne. I liked men who knew how to use a razor.
Shereen must have noticed my grimace. “Taken? Or just not into Wayne?”
“Er…”
My self-appointed buddy grasped my wrist and led me across the room. “Because he’s not the only trainer here. Behold…” She waved her arm towards a huge noticeboard. The left half was covered in ads and flyers—dog-walking services, flatmates wanted, stuff for sale—and the right half had neat rows of photos, thirty men at least. “This is the current selection.”
“Wow.”
It was like browsing through model agency headshots, except each picture was accompanied by notes of the classes the man taught.
Gavin Hughes, spinning 7-8 a.m. Mon - Fri.
Jake Mandell, registered personal trainer, works weekends.
A banner at the bottom invited us to “Book at Reception!” Did they not have female trainers? Or were their pictures all in the men’s changing room?
“What do the numbers underneath mean?” I asked. Most of the men had a line of handwritten red digits under their bios. One or two had a black X, and a couple had sad faces.
“Scores out of ten,” Shereen said, and I choked. “What, you think they don’t know? They definitely know.” She tapped one of the sad faces with a red-painted fingernail. “This means they’re gay, and if there’s a black cross, it means they’re spoken for at the moment. Engaged, married, whatever.”
I scanned the photos again. One guy looked kind of plain, but he had tens across the board. My insides clenched just thinking about that achievement, and Shereen gave a throaty chuckle.
“Malcolm has a waiting list, hun. You could try Robbie if you need to loosen up. Nine-point-two average and the stamina to match, by all accounts.”
What on earth had I walked into? I tried to focus on my goal, but my vision went fuzzy as I thought of the last man to “loosen me up.” I didn’t want a quickie with a gym instructor, not in the slightest, but I wouldn’t say no to a mysterious American-slash-Brit who went out of his way to save my shoes from certain death.
“You’re looking at Ryland?” Shereen asked.
“What? No!” Wait a second… “Ryland?”
“Because I’m, like, ninety percent sure he’s got a girlfriend, and he didn’t turn up for any of yesterday’s classes anyway. I reckon they’re gonna fire him.”
I stared at the board, willing myself to concentrate on the job at hand rather than Alaric. The picture next to Robbie popped into focus, a vaguely familiar face framed by dark hair, his lips twisted into a slight sneer. Yes! That was the man I’d seen waiting for Gemma outside the gallery. Ryland Willis, Fat Blaster 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. Sundays, Body Sculpt 8 p.m. weekdays, personal training available. He’d scored half a dozen sevens and three eights before a black X appeared under his name. For Gemma?
“Saturday?” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice. “He hasn’t been here since Saturday?”
“So I heard. How about Saul? A nine-inch—”
“Actually, I have a boyfriend. He’s upstairs waiting for me, but thank you so much for the introduction. At least I know where to find the class details in future.”
Shereen seemed vaguely disappointed, as if she enjoyed experiencing vicarious pleasure through other people’s one-night stands. Or possibly she was just a gossip-monger, albeit a friendly one.
“You’re welcome, hun. And don’t use that shower at the end. The thermostat’s busted, and it’s always freezing.”
“I’ll be sure to avoid it.”
I practically ran out of the changing room. Where were the weights? Upstairs, turn left, oof. Alaric caught me as I ploughed into him not six feet from the door.
“What’s the hurry?”
I steadied myself on his bare arms and forced my gaze upwards, away from his chest to his face. Men shouldn’t be allowed to wear vests in th
e gym. It was far too distracting.
“Beth? Did you forget to get dressed?”
Huh? I glanced down at myself, relieved to find I was still wearing a sports bra and leggings.
“This is what I always wear to the gym.”
Alaric leaned in closer, his lips grazing my ear. “When you’re house-hunting, add a private gym to the list of must-haves.”
“Really?”
“We’re not coming back to this one. They score the women out of ten on the wall of the men’s locker room, and I’m not letting you become a fucking statistic.”
He wasn’t letting me? The ratings thing was horrifying, but shades of Piers triggered me to snap back without thinking.
“What if I want to become a fucking statistic?” I clapped a hand over my mouth almost immediately, but the damage was done. “I’m sorry.”
Rather than fire me, Alaric just laughed. “I’ll give you eleven out of ten. Hell, I’ll even make you a certificate.”
“But we’ve never…”
Shut up, Beth. This was a conversation I definitely didn’t want to be having.
“No, but I’ve got good instincts.” He tugged me closer, and I drew in a sharp breath. “And right now, those instincts are telling me not to set a gazelle loose among the lions. The moment we find Ryland, I’m burning both of our membership cards.”
Shereen walked out of the changing room, and I gritted my teeth as I sagged against Alaric. This undercover thing sure was awkward. She gave me a thumbs-up from behind his back, then headed towards the sauna.
“I already found Ryland,” I mumbled into Alaric’s shoulder.
“Come again?”
Please, no, it was awkward enough the first time.
“His picture’s on the wall in the ladies’ changing room. Ryland Willis. Average score of seven-point-three, currently unavailable. And he hasn’t been to work since Saturday.”
I felt Alaric’s smile as he kissed my hair, and that made me smile too. I’d actually achieved something in my new job, and it felt better than selling the most expensive painting at the gallery.
“Bethany, I love you, in a purely work-related way, of course.” His words were playful, but I still shivered in his arms. The air conditioning was on too high. That was it. “Now that we’ve got a surname, let’s find out where he lives and get the hell away from here.”
Find out where Ryland lived? Sure. Piece of cake. No problem.
“How the heck do we do that?”
CHAPTER 38 - BETHANY
I LIMPED AROUND the corner towards the reception desk, leaning on the wall as I went, hoping to goodness that I looked suitably in pain. Wayne leapt up the instant he saw me.
“Are you okay?”
What do you know? I was a better actress than I thought.
“Fine, fine.” I let out what I hoped was a convincing groan. “I just twisted my ankle on the treadmill, that’s all.”
“Do you need an ambulance?”
“Gosh, no.” I tried a smile. “But if you have a bag of ice…”
“Uh, I’m not meant to leave the desk unmanned. Perhaps someone upstairs could give you a hand?”
“I asked a guy upstairs. Gary? But he said he was right in the middle of a training session and that you’d be able to assist.”
“The freezer’s in the break room, and that’s in the basement.”
“I’ll stay right here. If anyone arrives, I’ll tell them you’ll be back in two minutes.” I put a little weight on my “bad” foot and winced. “I’d be ever so grateful.”
“Two minutes…” Wayne weighed up the options—leave a new member in agony or abandon his post for the briefest of periods. In the end, chivalry won out. Shereen’s friends had him well trained, it seemed. “Just ask anyone who comes in to wait, okay?”
“Absolutely.”
The instant Wayne disappeared down the stairs to the left of the desk, I beckoned Alaric forward from around the corner.
“Did you hear? Two minutes.”
“Got it.”
He gave a hop-jump like a basketball player leaping for a shot and knocked the overhead security camera out of range before sliding into Wayne’s seat behind the desk. The first thing he did was jam a USB drive into a slot on the side of the computer.
“In case we can’t get what we need right now,” he explained. “The stick contains a program that’ll give Naz a backdoor into the system if we need it.”
So Naz was the IT guy, and his activities weren’t entirely above board. Did that bother me? Apart from the parking tickets Piers used to berate me for and the animal-rights-related indiscretion in my teens, I’d always been a law-abiding citizen, but now I realised the rules weren’t entirely black and white. Yes, hacking might be technically illegal, but Naz would only be doing it to find Gemma. And I’d lied my own ass off this morning to help her as well as stealing Ryland’s photo from the noticeboard in the changing room.
I positioned myself by the stairs, thankful they were tiled rather than carpeted so I’d hear Wayne when he came back. My whole body tingled with nervous energy. Fear of getting caught versus the excitement of doing something slightly illicit. Was Alaric worried? He looked cool as a cucumber as he tapped away at the keys.
Oh, shit. The front door swung open, and a guy walked in. Early twenties, walked with a bit of a swagger, and he definitely needed to hitch up his tracksuit bottoms because I could see most of his underwear.
“Hey, brother. You new here?”
Alaric glanced up. “Yeah, I’m covering for Wayne.”
As usual, his London accent was on point, and how on earth did he stay so composed? I was shaking.
“Look, I know the rules, but I forgot my membership card. Just this once, could you let me in?”
“Aw, man. I’m meant to do things by the book.” Alaric glanced both ways. “Go on. Just don’t tell anyone, yeah?”
The guy gave him a fist bump on the way past. “My mouth stays shut.”
Whew.
Another minute passed, according to the clock on the wall. Every second felt like an hour, and a bead of sweat rolled down my back just as I heard footsteps approaching. Uh-oh.
“He’s coming back.”
“Almost done.”
“Now! He’s halfway up the stairs.”
Move, move, move!
Alaric waited until the last possible moment to leave the desk, utterly unruffled as he strolled in my direction. Me? I was hyperventilating.
Wayne held out a bag of ice. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve gone kinda red.”
“Yes, really. I just need to go and lie down.”
But Alaric helped me over to a chair instead. “Sit here with the ice for a minute, babe. Don’t push things.”
Oh, this was excruciating. We were literally hanging out at the scene of the crime, and Alaric was discussing football with Wayne, not a care in the world. Had he got the address? Please say he’d got the address. Was Alaric in the habit of pulling stunts like this often? Because if I did this more than, say, once a year, I’d have a heart attack before I hit forty.
The pair of them must have discussed half the clubs in the Premier League, and my perfectly mobile ankle had frozen solid by the time Alaric helped me to my feet. I gave Wayne a wave, then limped out the door, which was made far easier by the fact that I couldn’t feel my left foot anymore.
“Nice,” Alaric murmured. “Are you looking for a promotion already, my sweet? Secretary to spy?”
“I think my heart’s about to give out. Did you find Ryland’s details?”
“According to his membership information, he lives in Hounslow.”
Thank goodness. “Can we go straight there?”
“Not without doing some research.”
“But what if Gemma’s being held against her will?”
“If we go in unprepared, the risk to Gemma’s well-being would be greater than the risk of us taking a few hours to plan properly.”
“How do you k
now that?” Alaric hesitated, so I pushed harder. “Please, just tell me what’s going on. I can handle it. The not-knowing is a hundred times worse.”
He waited until we were back in the car until he answered, and with hindsight, I was grateful to be sitting down.
“Acquaintance kidnappings account for twenty-seven percent of abductions, and of those, seventy-four percent of the victims are killed within the first three hours. That goes up to eighty-nine percent after twenty-four hours, and we’re already past that window. Working on the slim possibility that Gemma’s still alive, how do you think Ryland will react if we knock on his door? Based on past experience, he’s more likely to go on the offensive than invite us inside.”
My blood chilled to an icy paste, and I fought for breath as my heart struggled to push the viscous liquid through my veins.
“Oh.”
“At Sirius, we work on the basis of the six Ps.”
“What are those?”
“Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. I want to find Gemma, and we will, but I’m not walking into that building blind. I don’t find getting shot at quite as exhilarating as I used to.”
The icy paste froze solid. “You think you’ll get shot at? But guns are tightly regulated in England.”
Although my father and Piers had shotgun licences, and they were both pillocks. The amount of Scotch they drank before shooting meant they rarely hit what they were aiming at, which was both a good thing and a bad thing, depending on how you looked at it.
“There are more guns around than you’d think, and I don’t particularly enjoy knife fights either.”
“Perhaps we should call the police? If we told them everything we know…”
“It wouldn’t be any faster. They’ve got more red tape, and they rely on warrants rather than breaking and entering.” Alaric reached over to squeeze my hand, and the warmth brought a hint of life to my circulation. “This is our priority, and we’ll move as fast as possible, I promise. Will you trust me?”
For the third time since we met, I nodded in answer to that question. After the number Piers did on me, I barely trusted anyone, but yes, I trusted Alaric.
