The Sicilian's Unexpected Duty(53)

                The journey back passed in a blur. The only thing she saw on the entire journey was those women’s hands touching Pepe as if they owned him.

                When they arrived on Pepe’s street, she got the driver to crawl along until she recognised his distinctive red front door.

                ‘Give me a minute to get my money,’ she said, turning the handle. And then God knew what she would do. The fee was thirty euros.

                To her disquiet, the driver also got out of the cab and followed her up the steps to the front door.

                She rang the bell. And rang it again. Then banged on it. Then rang it again, all the while aware of the driver standing beside her impatiently.

                She banged one last time before she remembered—Monique didn’t work weekends. Pepe had told her just a few hours ago that she would be returning to her own home.

                Despair was almost enough for Cara to hit her head against the unyielding door.

                Eejit that she was, she’d run away to an empty house for which she didn’t have a key.

                Swallowing away the bile that had lodged in her throat, she tried to think. Nothing came. Her mind was a complete blank.

                She didn’t have a clue what to do.

                ‘I can’t get into the house.’

                ‘I want my money.’ The driver’s tone was amiable enough but she detected the underlying menace in it.

                ‘You’ll get it.’ She rubbed a hand down her face. ‘Give me your address. I’ll drop it over to you as soon as Pepe gets home and lets me in. I’ll sign anything you want.’

                ‘You don’t pay?’

                ‘I will pay. But I can’t get into the house, so I can’t get my purse.’

                ‘You don’t pay, I get police.’

                ‘No, please.’ Her voice rose. ‘I promise, I will pay it. I promise. I’m not a blaggard.’

                A meaty hand grabbed her shoulder. ‘You pay or I call police.’

                Her fear rising, she tried to shake him off. ‘I will pay. Please don’t call the police.’

                His hand didn’t budge other than to lock onto her biceps. ‘Come, we go see police.’

                ‘Get off me!’ she cried. All the heat in her skin had been replaced by cold terror. The thought of being dragged into a police station and being accused of criminality was more than she could bear.

                But the driver was clearly furious and had no intention of letting her go. Keeping a tight grip on her, he hauled her back down the steps to the cab.

                Before she could open her lungs to scream for help, a large car sped around the corner, coming to a stop before them in a screech of brakes. The engine hadn’t been turned off before Pepe jumped out of the passenger side and took long strides towards them.

                ‘Take your hands off her now,’ he barked, his anger palpable.

                ‘She no pay,’ the driver said, refusing to relinquish his hold, even though he’d turned puce at the sight of Pepe.

                ‘I said, take your hands off her. Maintenant!’