I pulled my mobile from my pocket. “Taxi time,” I said as Andy powered down the neons. “I’m beat.” I smirked. “Just not as beat as you.”
“It was nothing,” he lied.
I was scrolling through my contacts list when he held up his keys. “Want a lift?” he said.
“How can a woman turn down an offer like that?”
He flicked off the lights behind us.
Andy’s wince as he lowered himself into the driver’s seat didn’t escape me. I smiled but said nothing, and the silence continued through London until we neared our destination. Only it wasn’t our destination. I’d moved rooms again.
Vincent was persistent. Persistent and organised. He’d call through every guesthouse and hotel in the city if he had to, and I figured my best chance of evading him was to keep my movements erratic.
“Not here,” I said. “You need to turn right and head a couple of streets across. I’m staying at at a hotel called The Poplar.”
I felt his eyes burning into me, but I stared straight ahead out of the window. “Bed too hard this time? Too lumpy? Continental breakfast only? That’s always a deal breaker,” he scoffed.
“Something like that.”
I directed him until he pulled up outside, thanked him for the lift and unclipped my seat belt, but his fingers grasped my elbow, pulling me back inside as soon as I’d opened the door. “It’s him, isn’t it? Is he after you, Faye?”
I shrugged it off. “Just better to be safe than sorry.”
“Sorry for what? Are you scared of him?”
“No,” I said. “It’s complicated.” I pulled away from him. “And it doesn’t matter. Goodnight, Andy. Put some ice on your arse.”
I was away before he could argue, pushing my way through the main doors without even a glance behind. I could do without his questions, and I could definitely do without him sticking his oar in. I climbed the stairs to my room, then hovered with the key in the door, already well aware he was following me. “What?” I said, as he came into view. “Did I forget something?”
He joined me at my door, and had slapped my hand from the lock before I’d even seen it coming. He pushed his way inside, casting his eyes all about the place. I gathered up dirty panties in embarrassment, piling them into my still open case, only to find he was gathering the rest of my shit. He dumped a load of my toiletries on the bed. “You’d better pack these.”
“Pack?” I said. “What the hell are you talking about? I only just got here.”
“You’re not staying,” he snapped. “Not with that sick fucking asshole on the loose.”
I folded my arms. “And what do you propose? I’m not renting a place just yet, I haven’t even worked out which area I want to settle in.”
He ignored me completely, tossing the rest of my clothes on the pile without a hint of slowing down. “Is that everything?” he asked when the case was full.
I scanned the room. “Yes, just about.”
He zipped it shut and hauled it from my bed. “Then you’d better get back in the fucking car, you’re coming to stay with me.”
***
Chapter Eleven
Faye
I was too shocked to object. In truth, of all the probabilities for that particular day with that particular man, I’d have said the likelihood of being in his passenger seat, speeding through the night with my suitcase in the back, was slim to nil. I didn’t quite know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. He wasn’t forthcoming with conversation, either.
The streets grew quiet as we left the heart of the city, and soon we were pulling up in a parking space outside an apartment block on the edge of Hammersmith. He took my case, and I followed without comment, trailing meekly behind as he led the way through the main foyer. The building was plush but sparse, with just the occasional leafy plant marking the way as we climbed the stairs to the third floor. He unlocked the door and held it open for me, ever the perverted gentleman, and I stepped over the threshold with a tingle of anticipation.
I was pleasantly surprised when he flicked on the lights. A short hallway led through to an open plan living area. The ceilings were high, giving a sense of space and opulence, and the walls were decorated in a neutral cream. The kitchen was modern, all steel and granite with an island for extra space. He had few trinkets, with only a well-stocked fruit bowl jumping out for attention. The lounge section was dominated by a huge white leather corner suite, peppered with black scatter cushions. A glass and chrome coffee table bridged the distance between the seating and the wall-mounted TV, and a marble-topped dining table stood to the rear. I caught my breath as I spotted Vincent’s paperback placed face down on the top of it. The splay of the pages told me it was nearly finished.