True Colours:The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2(44)

'It's not going to happen,' he informs me, taking out his mobile.

'Is that what you think?'

'Absolutely.'

While he presses on with his seemingly urgent phone calls, I slump back  in the seat, watching the skyline as it slips past and silently  resolving not to let this man have his way. Before long, he begins to  speak.

'Bill. I'm good, thank you. Listen, I haven't got much time. We're going  to be joining you a little earlier than planned. Tonight if I can  manage it.' He listens to a voice at the other end of the phone. 'Thank  you. I'll explain more when we get there.'

'I'm not going anywhere with you,' I grumble.

He holds up a hand. 'I'll call you with the details when I have them. Yes. Me too.' He slides his thumb over the end-call icon.

'I said I'm not going anywhere with you,' I repeat.

Ignoring me, he makes another call.

'Wallace? Where's your jet at the minute? I need to get somewhere fast.  Tonight.' He listens intently. 'Bermuda,' he says crisply. 'Call me  back. I need this done quickly.'

'Like everything else in your sodding life,' I complain. And then my brain begins to whirl. He's talking about a jet?
         

     



 
'Tell no one about this, Wallace. And I mean no one. Yes, two people.'

He ends the call, dropping the mobile onto his lap.

'I'm not going on a plane.'

He shrugs and looks out of the window.

'I said I'm not going on a plane,' I repeat, panic surging in my gut. 'Wallace? That's the one with the Lear jet.'

He nods.

'A Lear jet? You think you're taking me on a Lear jet?'

He nods again.

'Wallace owes me a favour. I'm calling it in. We need to get out of London.'

'No  …  no,' I stammer. And now the surge has gone. Retreating for a few  seconds, it gathers force, returning as a full-blown tidal wave of  anxiety, hitting me head-on and knocking everything else clean out of  the way. 'I can't. I just can't.'

'And I don't care if I have to drag you onto that jet, kicking and screaming. It's going to happen.'

Wrestling my heart beat under control, I watch as Lambeth bridge flies  past, listen as he takes another call from Wallace, apparently  confirming a flight that I have no intention of boarding. When we  finally draw up outside Lambeth House, he's out of the car in a flash.  And so am I, utterly determined to go through with my own plan: within  the next hour, I'll be back in my pokey little flat, soaking in a hot  bath and making a few important decisions of my own. In silence, I'm  guided through the lobby and into the lift, back out of the lift and  into the apartment, led straight up the stairs and into the bedroom.  Without hesitation, he opens up the wardrobes, pulls out a pair of  matching suitcases and slings them onto the floor.

'Pack for a hot climate.'

While he unzips both suitcases, I stand my ground. If he thinks I'm simply going to comply, he's got a surprise in store.

'No.'

He strides over to me, takes me by the arm and tugs me in close.

'We haven't got time to mess about.'

'Then you tell me about your wife.'

'When you're on the plane, I'll tell you everything.'

'When you tell me everything, I might just get on the plane.'

'We need to do this my way.'

'Why? Because you think I'm going to run a mile when you tell me?'

He stares at me, all mean and hot and moody, and I realise I've just hit  the nail right on the bloody head. He's not going to tell me anything  until he's got me holed up on a Lear jet at thirty thousand feet. And if  that's the case, it must be one hell of a story.

'Pack your case. I need to get you away from Boyd.'

'You're over-reacting.'

'Am I?' Releasing me, he sets about packing, tugging out shorts and T-shirts, tossing them into his case.

'Yes.' Determined to dig my heels in, I watch as he rifles through his  drawers, adding underpants to the general mess. 'You're dragging me  halfway across the world because of Ian Boyd? Come on. He's not that  much of a threat.'

He stops again and examines me, obviously mulling over what to say.

'Oh, he's a threat, Maya. You'd better believe it.'

'Would you care to elaborate?'

'He's still obsessed with you. He wants you back.'

'And he can't have me. It's as simple as that.'

He laughs. 'And you think that's the way he sees it?'

'Do you know something I don't?'

Running a hand through his hair, he glances round the room and at last,  he seems to make a decision. Slowly, carefully, he begins to pick his  way through the details.

'That night at Slaters  …  You'd passed out. I had my hands full, carrying  you to the car. I left Clive to deal with Boyd. He dragged him outside,  but he didn't go easily. He was ranting like a madman  …  nobody takes  what's his, that sort of shit  …  And he made a few threats.'

'Such as?'

He meets my gaze. 'He said he'd make me suffer.'

'You?'

'He's already started.'

'You still think  …  You actually still think he poisoned your dog?'

'I know he did. The lab results came back. Strychnine. A massive dose.  We don't use it. None of the local farmers use it. There's only one way  she could have been poisoned, only one person who'd do it.'

'Oh please.'

'You need proof?' Without waiting for an answer, he marches over to a  wardrobe and returns with a little black box in one hand, an envelope in  the other. He hands me the box. 'This was delivered here yesterday.'

'It wasn't the earrings?'         

     



 

He shakes his head. 'Open it.'

I do as I'm told. Inside I find a small silver tag, the name 'Molly' engraved onto one side. I stare at it, horrified.

'A little message.' He says quietly, taking the box from me.

'But why couldn't you just tell me?'

'I didn't want to worry you.'

I shake my head.

'It worries me more when you don't tell me things, Dan. Can't you see that?'

His shoulders slump. Suddenly, he seems exhausted.

'I thought it was for the best.'

'Well, it's not.' I hold his gaze, determined to make my point. 'Don't  try to protect me by keeping me in the dark. I'm not weak. I told you  that. I can deal with these things. Understand?' I wait for him to nod  before I go on. 'You need to call the police.'

'They wouldn't be interested.' He holds up the box. 'This hardly counts as proof in a court of law.'

'But if he delivered it, he'll be on the CCTV.'

'He's not. I've already had it checked. It was some kid in a hoodie. You can't even see his face.'

He presents the envelope to me. Tentatively, I take it, turning it in my hands.

'What he did was a warning shot. He wanted me to know he means business, and he does. The man's screwed up, Maya.'

'What's this?'

'A full report from the private investigators. A few documents they've managed to lay their hands on. Take a look.'

Seating myself on the edge of the bed, I open up the envelope, emptying  out a handful of sheets onto the covers. I take the first one: a  photocopy with a hospital logo at the top.

'A psychiatric report? How did you get this?'

'Don't ask.' He sits next to me. 'He's suffering from schizophrenia.  He's been prescribed drugs to control it but judging by his behaviour,  he doesn't take them. On top of that, he drinks heavily, and I mean  heavily.' He rubs his forehead. 'And on top of that, he's a regular drug  user. Weed and coke, mostly.' Clasping his hands together, he lowers  his voice. 'I've had a private investigator up in Scotland. He managed  to track down a retired detective. He had Boyd in his sights for years  but never got anywhere. He was blocked at every turn.'

'How?'

'It's amazing what money and connections can do for you.' His eyes rest  on mine, gentle now. 'There are plenty of stories, too many of them,  quiet gossip in certain circles: Boyd's hounded other women, and he's  abused them too. But not one of them has ever gone to the police.  They've just run, like you ran. He's always got away with it.'

'But if they all pressed charges  … '

'They won't. They're terrified.' He pauses, swallows. 'He moved in on  you tonight. What happened with Claudine was a distraction. Isaac helped  to set it up.'

'How do you know?' I search his face for a clue, and find it in a flash of guilt. 'You hit him?'

'It did the job. Isaac's the only person I ever told about my marriage. I  have no idea how Boyd found out about the club, but he visited, trying  to sniff out more dirt. And he found it. Claudine's got an axe to grind  with me. It wouldn't have taken much to rope her in. And Isaac? Well,  he'd do anything for that woman.' He takes my chin in his hand. 'Listen  to me, Maya. Ian Boyd banked on you storming out of that place tonight  and it worked. You walked right into his hands. If I hadn't found you,  what do you think would have happened?'

My mouth dries up.

'I was in a public place. I was fine.'

'Get real. Whatever you think of me right now, I'm taking you away for a  few days. To keep you safe. Even if he finds out where we've gone,  there's no way he can get into Bermuda without me knowing.'

'Seriously?'

'Seriously. And while we're there, I'll have him tracked down.'

'And then what?'

'Frightened off.' Releasing my chin, he stands up. 'Now get packing.'

I falter, glancing at the empty suitcase.

'I can't go.'

He freezes. His shoulders tense.

'You lied to me,' I remind him.

'I'll explain. On the plane.'

'I should walk out on you  … '