True Colours:The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2(58)

'What you did to Jodie was wrong.'

'A teenage pothead. She was an easy target.' He shrugs dismissively. 'So, are you ready to go?'

'I'm not going anywhere with you.'

'I've got a car waiting outside.'

'And I'm not getting into it.'

I glance down at the phone. It's still switched on, and it needs to stay  that way. When I look back at Boyd, he's scowling at me.

'Now don't be difficult, Maya. Just get in the car. Let me take you away and remind you what you had with me.'

I'd laugh if I wasn't terrified. What I had with Boyd was nothing less  than a nightmare, and I'd remind him of that if I thought it would make a  scrap of difference, but arguments and reason seem to bounce off this  man like raindrops on glass. I need to stall some more.

'Okay,' I murmur. 'But first I need a drink.'

'Oh, Maya.' He gives me a disapproving look, as if I'm a child. 'You're  not still knocking it back are you? It's very un-ladylike, you know.  I'll cure you of that.'

Biting back the urge to tell him to get stuffed, I force a smile.

'A drink. For old times' sake.'

He stares at me, perplexed.

'And to steady my nerves,' I add for good measure. 'I wasn't really expecting this.'

He shifts his position on the stool.

'There's wine here  …  and I paid for it.' He picks up Sara's half-finished bottle. 'Cheap shit. No more than she deserves.'

'I need something stronger.'

'A good malt?'

'If you like.'

He rises to his feet and makes his way behind the bar.

I check the door.

'Don't bother,' he smiles. 'You won't get away.' He examines the optics.  'Jesus, this place is the pits.' At last, he pours two glasses of cheap  whisky, takes a sip of one and grimaces. 'How about the South of  France? Fancy that?'

'For what?'

'Our little getaway.' He disappears for a moment, rummaging beneath the  counter. 'Ah, bingo. Dog flavoured crisps!' With a laugh, he straightens  up, shoves a packet of crisps into his pocket and comes back to table,  brandishing the drinks.

I shake my head. 'I don't know.'

'Oh come on, Maya. You'd like France. It's all smelly cheese and strong  coffee.' He puts the whisky down in front of me. 'Before long, you'll  forget Mr Swanky Pants and we'll be happy.' Taking his seat, he opens  the crisps. 'You'll remember that you love me.'

'I never loved you.' It's the wrong thing to say, but the words arrive  too quickly, shooting out of my mouth before I can stop them. 'I can't  force myself to love you. I don't love you and I never will.'

He shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth and chews thoughtfully.

'You're in denial,' he says at last, pointing a finger at me. 'We're  made for each other. We're meant to be together. Now, drink up.'

With a shaking hand, I pick up the glass. Taking a small sip of whisky, I wince as it burns my throat.

'Faster than that, lady. We've got to make tracks.'

Realising that I'm running out of time, I stare at the carpet again.  Perhaps I should just swap stalling for complete non-compliance.

'I'm not coming with you.'

'Oh, yes you are. Drink up.'

'We're not made for each other. We're not meant to be together. I'll  never love you. All I feel for you is contempt. You're a sick man and  you need to be locked up.'

He stares at me, wide-eyed.

'That was some pretty nasty stuff. You've hurt my feelings.'

'It's the truth. Just leave me alone.'

'I can't do that.' Taking a slug of whisky, he goes on slowly, as if  he's trying to convey a simple idea to a moron. 'I'm going to take you  with me, and you're going to learn that you're wrong. I'm going to teach  you that you're wrong. And I'm going to teach Mr Foster a lesson.'

'You need help.'

'You think I'm a nutcase.' He finishes off his drink. 'Plenty of people do. But they're wrong. I'm just a little different.'         

     



 

I look down.

'Why don't you give me the benefit of the doubt, Maya?'

'You don't deserve it.'

'And he does?' He takes a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and  smooths it out on the table top. It's a page from a newspaper. I'm not  entirely sure which one.

'One of London's most eligible bachelors,' Boyd reads, 'is officially  off the market.' I lean forwards, squinting at a creased up photograph,  surprised to find that it's me and Dan outside the Savoy. 'Apparently,  you're getting married. Fiancée, it says here. Fiancée?'

Maybe I should tell him it's all a massive mistake. But then again, maybe I shouldn't.

'You will not marry that man, Maya.'

'I'll do what I like.'

He slams his fist on the table, causing me to jump almost clean off the stool.

'I won't have it.'

'You need to see a doctor.'

'Doctors. Ridiculous. I can sort myself out.' Pushing back his stool, Boyd gets to his feet and extends a hand across the table.

'I'm not coming with you.'

'You don't have a choice.'

'I always have a choice. And I'm choosing not to come with you.'

And now I see the anger rising in his face, the real man emerging from beneath the façade of jokes and laughter.

'Maya, I'm through with the game playing and the warnings. Come on.'

I pick up my glass, slowly.

'I'm finishing my drink.' I take another tiny sip.

He turns his attention to the mobile, his face wrinkling into a smile.

'Oh, I get it.' He picks up the phone. 'Mr Foster's tracking you on this  and you're giving him the time. Clever girl. So, where's he coming  from? The big HQ?' He checks his watch. 'Hmm, not that far. We'd better  get moving.'

'No.'

'Get up.'

I shake my head, fix my eyes back on the carpet.

'You always were a wilful madam.'

It all happens so quickly. I feel his fingers close around my upper arm  and I'm yanked upwards, off the stool. I let out a scream, hoping that  it's loud enough to be heard by a passer-by. Immediately, I'm swung  round, my back slammed against his chest. An arm clamps tightly across  my stomach while a hand covers my mouth. Fear and panic take hold,  flipping me into fight mode. Struggling against his grip, I twist my  head from side to side until finally, I manage to bite his fingers.

'Behave,' he shouts.

I kick at his shins, as hard as I can, over and over again. He tightens  his grip and drags me backwards, out of the bar, through the main door  and onto the street. Still kicking and struggling for all I'm worth, I  note a black car waiting for us at the kerbside, the back door open, a  faceless man standing next to it. And that does it. Full-blown panic. If  he gets me into that car, there's no way anyone is going to rescue me.  I've got to rescue myself. Boyd's hand is back over my mouth now, and I  take my chance. With one almighty effort, I bite clean into his skin.

'Fucking bitch!' He jerks the hand away.

Swinging round in his loosened grip, I bring my knee up to his crotch and ram it home. He lets go of me and doubles over.

And I run.

I'm at the end of the road when I hear the screech of tyres, stopping  just in time to brace my hands on the bonnet of a black Mercedes Benz. I  register Clive's surprised face, hear the driver's door open, catch the  flash of a suit, and then I'm in Dan's arms.

'Where is he?'

I point back up the road.

'There. He's there.'

Only he's not. The car's already pulled away, disappearing out of the road and taking Ian Boyd with it.

And suddenly, I'm overwhelmed. If I'm not very much mistaken, I've just  been almost-kidnapped, and that's ridiculous. Things like that don't  happen in the real world. But then again, ever since I walked into  Daniel Foster's life, the real world seems to have gone crazy. Digging  my head into his chest, I do my best to blot out the madness, without  much success. A sob works its way up my throat, and then another. Before  long, I'm a jittering, weeping shambles.

'My sister. She's in there.' I force out the words between gulps. 'She's in her room. In the bathroom.'

'Which number?'

'I don't know. And Beefy. They got Beefy. I don't know where he is.'

'Clive, go and sort out the mess in there.' Holding me tight with one arm, he motions towards the hotel. 'I'll call Foultons.'         

     



 

I'm guided to the car, gently lowered into the passenger seat and left  for a moment while he makes the call. And then he crouches next to me.

'Did he hurt you?'

I shake my head. 'I hurt him.' I fight back another sob. 'I bit his hand and kneed him in the bollocks.'

He smiles proudly and smooths my hair.

'I wouldn't mess with you.'

I can barely believe he's so calm, but then it strikes me: no matter how  he's feeling now, he's playing down the entire situation, trying to  keep me under control. Pushing himself up from his haunches, he reaches  across and fastens the seatbelt.

'I thought we were going to have no drama today. What happened?'

He crouches back down and watches me, keeping a hand on my arm. Through  more sobs, I tell him everything: from Sara's phone call to Boyd  dragging me out to the car. He listens to it all, occasionally glancing  up the road.

'Listen.' He says quietly when I've finished. 'I need you stay in the apartment for a few days.'

'What are you going to do?'

'I'm not sure yet.'

I'd like to interrogate him further, but Clive returns, holding an overnight bag in one hand and steadying Sara with the other.

'There's no staff around.' He opens the back door and guides my sister  into a seat. I hear a muffled hiccough. 'Should we hang around until  they show up?'