Читать книгу The Choice - Kerry Barnes - Страница 13

Once Mike had been informed that the boys were safe, he knew he would be able to relax a bit. Staffie and Willie continued to make calls, trying to track down Torvic and anyone linked to him. Shamus and Neil had their men covering the restaurants. They would probably be places that Torvic would likely go to find them. Mike, though, hoped his firm would be one step ahead.

By nightfall, there was no news on Torvic’s or his granddaughter’s whereabouts. There was damn all left to do but sleep. Zara and Mike returned to Mike’s house where they tried to rest, but it proved to be an impossible task. Any noise caused them to sit bolt upright. Zara slept very little anyway: she was tossing and turning, thoughts of what she’d done to Torvic’s sons firmly on her mind.

* * *

It was seven o’clock in the morning when Zara arrived at the hangar, which had now been the focus of two macabre episodes in the last decade or so: the demise of some of the Harman family, and, most recently, the deaths of Torvic’s sons.

She shivered as her eyes fell on the two chairs taking centre stage in the secret back room. There, on the floor, lay the abandoned ropes that had been cut by the mystery person coming to the rescue of Torvic and his granddaughter. Bizarrely, everything else had been left untouched. Even the remote device remained on the worktop.

Shamus stood by her side, his jacket lapels turned up, shielding him from the cold breeze that encircled the large open area. He had his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders were slumped. ‘See what I mean, Zara? It’s as if they’ve just vanished. I don’t like it one bit.’

Zara looked over at Mike who was wandering around the room. ‘Someone must have been hiding back there in the bushes with a pair of binoculars and watching the whole fucking drama. All I can say is they couldn’t have been strong-armed because they waited for us to leave before they came to set Torvic free. Which means one of two things: either he had already planned to have someone there that night, believing that I wouldn’t kill him, or one of our own men went back. Me, I think he was one step ahead of us.’

Neil shook his head. ‘I don’t get it, Zara. How could he have been so cocksure you wouldn’t kill him?’

Zara slowly and deliberately turned to face Neil. ‘Because he’s fucking clever, that’s why. He threw me a line that I would go for, and, stupidly, I took the bait – hook, line, and sinker. He knew I needed information and putting out that Barak was the main supplier was a clever ploy on his part. He shrewdly guessed that name would have me determined for a meeting. He knew about the past; the bastard knows everything, including how to fucking play me. Jesus, how could I have been so gullible? Of course it’s not Barak who supplied him with the drugs. He threw that in there to secure his own life. The man knows too much about me. How the hell he does is a mystery, but the fact is, he does. But I have to hand it to him. He employed the oldest trick in the book. Give your interrogator something that sounds convincing and they’ll buy it. Well, it worked, didn’t it?’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘Okay, now we know that Barak is not behind this, we’d better put out a few feelers and find out as much as we can about this Torvic bloke.’

She paused as she watched Mike’s eyes focus on one of the kitchenette cabinets. Ignoring her, he squatted on his haunches and placed his cheek on the cold concrete floor.

‘What are you doing, Mikey?’

Still ignoring her, he tried to stretch his arm under one of the units that was attached to the back wall. He groaned as he reached further. Then, suddenly, he was on his feet, holding a piece of paper. ‘Zara, your hangar, as you once told Staffie, is always as clean as a surgeon’s scalpel, so what’s this?’ He unfolded the tatty piece of paper as Neil, Zara, and Shamus hurried over to see for themselves. The note was partially printed and in the corner was part of an address. At first, they all looked dumbstruck: no one recognized it for a moment.

‘It may have just blown in with the wind. The back room’s been open to the elements,’ said Shamus.

But then, Zara looked at Mike’s face. He was staring as if what he was seeing meant something.

‘Mike?’

He snapped out of his gaze and slowly turned to face her. ‘I’ve seen this before, but … no, there must be some mistake. I, er …’

‘Mike, spit it out! What’s going on?’ demanded Zara.

He scratched his head. ‘This is mental. When Jackie was at mine, I tipped her bag out. She told me that on one of her court summonses there was an address of the Flakka supplier. It was Number Three, Sycamore Cottage. To me, this looks like the start of that address. And look at the corner of this paper. It has a reference number and serial numbers. That’s an official letter, like a court summons.’

Zara stepped back and screwed her face up. ‘Aw, come on, Mike. This has to be a coincidence. I mean, Jackie, your fucking ex-wife, in cahoots with Torvic? Give me a break. The bird’s a tent short of a circus, as thick as pig shit, and twice as stupid. No way!’

As Mike stared at the paper, he tried to remember if it was the same one he’d read at his home at the time of finalizing the divorce with his wife.

‘Zara, this is no coincidence. Who writes down addresses in pen these days? In fact, who uses a pen? Nah, this was in her bag, I’m telling ya.’

Stunned by the find, Zara paced the floor. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, removed the cellophane with her teeth, and, after lighting up, she puffed away like a steam train.

‘I’m going to fucking kill her,’ Mike said. ‘Doesn’t the stupid bitch realize what she’s done? My Ricky could be in fucking danger because of her. Right, I’m going to Essex, and I’m gonna burn her fucking caravan down, with the ugly prat in it!’

‘No! Don’t be so reckless. That piece of paper may not confirm she was the one who released Torvic and Tiffany. For all we know, he may have been in her company, and, in some way, that piece of paper ended up with him.’

Mike stood with his hands on his hips and gave her a defiant glare. ‘Give over, Zara. It’s more likely that he’s given her a stash of money, and we all know she’ll do anything for cash. I ain’t gonna stand here and leave her be. I’ve had enough. She’s been the fucking thorn in my side for years now. It ends today.’

‘Mikey Regan, you might just find yourself back in the same position you were thirteen fucking years ago, with you inside and no help to anyone …’ She paused, allowing the words to filter. ‘Listen. Torvic was one step ahead of the game, but we have something now. We have Jackie. We ain’t going in like escaped maniacs, we’re gonna plan this out and find a way to get to Torvic. Jackie can wait. There’ll be plenty of time later to deal with her.’

Mike rolled his eyes and bit his lip. Zara was right, of course, so he had to control his urge to let rip.

* * *

As the Spanish sun dipped beneath the horizon and the cold crept in, Arty went inside. He decided to make a fire. It would give them all something to focus on and they could enjoy time snuggling up on the sumptuous sofas with the big screen on. It was essential, he reasoned, for them to keep their minds firmly on doing things. Otherwise, too much time spent on reflection would bring all their worries to the fore. Poppy and Brooke were fun to be around, the three lads were tight, and all five of them seemed to gel effortlessly.

The screeches and laughing simmered down as they slowly wandered inside. Poppy and Brooke were both huddled in the entrance hall, shivering inside their towels. Their eyes lit up when they spotted see-through bags of what looked like tracksuits, T-shirts, and jumpers. Arty was prodding the logs, stopping them from sliding off the grate.

‘All right, girls. We should be warm pretty soon unless you want the heating on as well.’

Poppy looked tired. The pool was great for the recovery of her leg injury, but she still hadn’t really had enough time to recuperate from her ordeal.

Brooke, however, was still lively and wandered over to the bags. ‘Arty, are these for us?’

Arty was still kneeling on the floor, attending to the fire, but he looked over to see what Brooke was referring to. ‘Oh, yeah. Terrence stopped by. He dropped off some clobber. He doesn’t want us to leave the villa unless it’s an emergency.’

Brooke was trying to see what exactly was in the bags; it wasn’t every day she was given new clothes.

‘Can I have a look? I need to get something warm and clean on.’

Poppy sat shivering close to the fire. ‘Y-e-ss, me-e to-o.’

With the go-ahead, Brooke began opening the bags. To her delight, they were crammed with designer clothing, with authentic labels, no less. Two fleece-lined Nike tracksuits in pastel shades caught her eye and instantly she looked at the size. They were spot-on. ‘Here, Poppy, this will warm you up. They’re lovely, so soft, and, Poppy, they’re Nike. Wow, I love them. Do you think we could keep them?’ she asked excitedly.

Arty stood up and helped Brooke to carry the bags into the lounge. ‘Of course, babe. I don’t think they’ll look much cop on Terrence.’

Brooke giggled and blushed, and then turned to her sister, who, by now, had blue lips and was covered in goose bumps. ‘Hey, are you okay?’

Poppy nodded. ‘I’ve just got too cold, I think. Maybe I overdid it a bit.’

Brooke quickly got her sister to her feet. ‘Come into the other room, get out of those wet bits, and I’ll help you get dressed. You will warm up soon enough.’

While the girls left to get changed in the games room, Liam and Ricky came into the lounge, still laughing. Both looked like drowned rats. ‘Where are the girls?’ asked Ricky, clearly concerned for them.

‘Getting changed, I believe. Oh, yeah, there are tracksuits for you two. Terrence dropped them off. We ain’t to leave the villa, apparently. He brought us some big steaks an’ all, so we can have a right good feast up.’ He stepped back away from the huge TV screen and fiddled with the remote. ‘There we go, lads. A warm fire, a good film, and you, Liam, ya think ya some kinda naked chef, so you can cook us all dinner!’

Liam rubbed his hands together, beaming. ‘Yep, ol’ Gordon Ramsay has nothing on me.’

Ricky laughed and shook his head. He enjoyed Liam’s sunny personality. He was always so upbeat and funny. In fact, he laughed at everything, including himself, sadly.

As they all sat around the fire, drinking beers, Liam, the joker, dressed in just an apron, came into the lounge holding a frying pan. ‘So, how d’ya like ya steaks?’

They all fell about laughing as he turned around to show his bare backside. Poppy winked and laughed along. ‘If I could get to my feet quick enough, I think I’d slap that arse of yours.’

Her sudden change to a cockney accent made everyone roar, including Liam, who was loving the attention, especially from, as he saw her, the prettiest girl in Spain.

Ricky threw him a tracksuit. ‘Get dressed, or the sight of your two cheeks will put me off me steak.’

Liam dodged the tracksuit as it flew past him and landed in the kitchen. Laughing away, he returned to cook the steaks.

Poppy had stopped shivering and was now curled up sipping her beer, while Arty flicked through the TV channels.

Ricky laid his head back and closed his eyes. With tiredness sweeping over him, perhaps he too had overdone the playtime in the pool.

Brooke chatted away to Arty about the best Marvel movie she’d watched, which impressed Arty because he had a liking for the same film.

After a few minutes, Arty called out to Liam, ‘Oi, chef, are you fucking milking that cow or cooking it? I want mine rare, mate.’ He chuckled, but there was only silence.

Suddenly, the room went quiet. Ricky opened his eyes and held his breath. Brooke looked at Poppy with tremendous fear on her face. Arty silently got up and put his finger to his mouth, telling the others to be quiet. He backed away from the lounge, hurried to the games room, and returned with a gun in his hand. ‘Liam!’

Ricky was now on his feet and behind Arty as they crept towards the kitchen. As they reached the door, Arty cocked the gun and peered in, but the kitchen was empty. The frying pan was sizzling away, but the tracksuit was on the floor, and Liam was gone.

‘What the fuck?’

The side door slammed shut. Arty ran across the marble floor and ripped the door open. Outside, there was no sign of movement, and the air was still, with no obvious sound whatsoever. And no lights could be seen. It was baffling. Liam had seemingly vanished into thin air.

‘Liam!’ screamed Arty.

Ricky ran back to the lounge to check the girls were still there. ‘Liam’s gone. Stay there. Don’t move.’

Poppy grabbed Brooke’s hands, and, instantly, they both held each other. This was so terrifying, like one of those slasher movies.

Ricky ran into the games room and pulled one of the shotguns from its case. He then dashed to the pool, where, immediately, the floodlights came on, lighting up the complete back area. ‘Liam!’ he screamed. But all he could hear was an echo of his own voice.

Arty ran from the side of the villa around to the back where Ricky was standing, now totally flummoxed.

‘Christ, what if they’ve got him? I mean, how the fuck did it happen?’ asked Arty, whose face was deathly white.

‘Are the two cars still there? Maybe, he left to go to the shop to get other stuff for dinner.’

Arty shook his head and peered at the innocent expression on Ricky’s face. ‘The cars are both there, and he wouldn’t go out in just that fucking stupid apron. Ricky, someone’s got to him. Oh, Jesus Christ, they’ve got him …’ He suddenly ripped at his hair and tears filled his eyes. ‘Oh no, no, no!’ he cried.

Ricky could feel his mate’s pain as Arty slumped to the floor, banging his fist like a silverback gorilla.

‘Wait, Arty. We don’t know for sure. Come on back inside. Let’s think.’

Arty allowed Ricky to pull him to his feet as he sniffed back a tear. ‘Christ, Ricky, if they have him, it’s my fault. I said he should cook dinner. Fuck. If only I was in the kitchen, not Liam.’

Ricky put his arm around Arty’s shoulder. ‘Listen, we need to think straight, right? Call his phone.’

Arty snapped out of his grief and worry and started to head back inside the villa. He looked at the girls, who had now come outside to see what was going on.

Poppy was as white as a sheet, too afraid to actually know the truth. Brooke could tell it was serious by the look in Arty’s eyes. ‘Someone’s taken him, haven’t they, Arty?’

Arty was too upset to reply. His deflated expression spoke volumes about what he felt inside. He shrugged his shoulders, avoiding her look of concern.

Ricky knew that Arty was going down the road of resignation and needed geeing up to get his act together. ‘Arty, call his number, will ya?’

As soon as Arty dialled the number, a phone began ringing in the kitchen. Liam had gone. They all looked at each other as if an ominous entity had entered the room. ‘He never went anywhere without his phone.’

‘Call Terrence.’

Arty did as Ricky ordered, letting him take the lead. He was in too much of a state to focus properly.

‘Terrence, Liam’s gone. I mean, one minute he was cooking dinner, and then the next, he just vanished. The side door was open, the cars are still here. He ain’t even got clothes on, and his phone’s still on the side.’

There was silence as all three stared at Arty’s expression, praying that Terrence would have some answers, yet the pause was very long.

They couldn’t hear what Terrence was saying, but they got the impression that whatever it was it had knocked the stuffing right out of him.

‘Yeah, will do, mate,’ was all Arty said before he finished the call. ‘He’s coming to get us now. He told us to close the shutters. He’ll ring when he’s outside.’

Poppy felt her breathing quicken. It was instantly noticed by Brooke. ‘Pops, it’s okay. Take deep breaths. Slowly does it,’ she said, as she gripped Poppy’s shoulders.

‘Hey, is she having a panic attack? Because, to be honest, girls, we really need to pull ourselves together.’

Ricky’s tone was gentle, but, nevertheless, the point was a good one. In a flash, he ran up the stairs and snapped into action, and within a few seconds, all the shutters were hitting the floor like guillotines. The only light in the lounge was coming from the fire and the TV.

Brooke decided she needed to join in because sitting around huddled in a terrified state wouldn’t help them one bit. She turned on the lights and went into the kitchen to ensure the shutters were down. Then she noticed on the floor, just abutting the kitchen unit nearest the doorframe, there was a syringe.

‘Arty, come here!’ she yelled.

‘What is it?’ asked Arty, as he rushed into the kitchen, looking anxious.

She bent down and carefully held the syringe by her fingertips. She showed it to Arty. ‘I think someone has taken Liam, unless Terrence is a drug user.’

Arty carefully took hold of the syringe and placed it on the granite worktop. He stared for a moment as Brooke looked at his expression of fear – pure fear. Visions of Liam being drugged and taken to a warehouse, naked, and strapped to a torture table, gave Arty a foul taste of bitterness in his mouth.

‘Are you okay, Arty? What do you think this means?’

Arty wasn’t about to divulge his inner terrors, and so, gently, he shook his head. ‘This could mean anything, but, listen. Let’s just stay put in the lounge and wait for Terrence.’

They didn’t have to wait long before he called – he was outside.

By now, Ricky had similar thoughts to Arty, once he’d been told what was found in the kitchen; however, Ricky wasn’t afraid. He was angry. This was a serious piss-take.

Terrence parked his car in between the two others. His men wasted no time in jumping out from their cars and scouring the perimeter. Terrence bundled the four youngsters into his Bentley and stood for a moment like a bodyguard. After all, as far as he was concerned, he had precious cargo to get to safety.

Once they were away from the villa, Terrence asked them to relay every bit of information before he would make that all-important call. He knew that it would turn Mike’s firm entirely upside down.

And he also knew it would set off a chain of events that would probably lead to a devastating outcome.

* * *

Zara decided it was best if they all returned to her father’s house. She couldn’t devise a plan alone as she needed their input on how they should move forward.

Mike phoned Eric and told him to go to their parents’ place and make sure they were ready to move out for a while. Mike knew what his father was like: it would take more than the threat of Torvic, the Russian, to have him running scared.

Eric reluctantly agreed to go, as he felt excluded from the decision-making, and he wasn’t happy about that. As usual, he reasoned, big brother Mikey was playing the role of top dog while he – barely ten months younger, for Christ’s sake – was the puppy once again. It was a fucking nightmare. He felt out of it, quite naturally, and it wasn’t as if this was the first time either. However, he wasn’t going down the road of another confrontation. This was serious business, and if he was being truthful, he really was best out of the way.

Sitting behind the desk, Zara looked at the men in front of her. They were all tired, and as much as she wanted to reel off a plan, in her mind, she had nothing that would ease their concerns or even get them motivated.

Mike’s phone rang. It was a distraction that Zara welcomed.

‘What? Go on. I wanna know everything,’ said Mike brusquely to the caller, as the others remained silent.

Zara noticed right away that Mike not only looked deeply troubled, but his eyes were intently focused on Willie. Her skin became covered in goose bumps.

Suddenly, Willie clocked that out of all the people in the room, Mike was looking at him.

With wide, frightened eyes he jumped up. ‘What the fuck’s ’appened?’

Mike ended the call and stepped towards Willie, preparing for an embrace. Yet, Mike’s sombre smile filled with grief and sorrow made Willie jump back.

‘What, Mikey? What’s ’appened? Just tell me, will ya!’

‘Willie, mate, I’m so sorry …’

Willie’s eyes darted around Mike’s face. ‘Nah, nah, not my boy, no way. He ain’t part of this. Fuck me, he’s …’

Mike leaned forward to reach out to Willie, to hold him before the man went nuts. But, to his surprise, Willie suddenly slammed his hand into Mike’s shoulder.

‘Get the fuck away from me! This ain’t my war, or my boy’s fight. It’s yours, Mike, and …’ He spun round and glared with spite at Zara. ‘And yours!’ He stared defiantly, looking Zara up and down. ‘Ya see, don’t ya? This is your fault! Why my boy, eh?’

‘Willie, please,’ said Mike, desperately trying to comfort or even calm a situation that could easily turn nasty. ‘Look, we don’t know what’s ’appened yet.’

‘Well, has he been shot or stabbed? What the fuck’s going on? Tell me! Now!’ he bellowed, as his eyes turned red with rage.

Stupidly, Zara thought that being a woman, she could intervene and somehow calm Willie down, but the moment she was a mere foot away, he viciously flung his arms about and knocked her prosthetic hand. The clanging sound made everyone jolt and prepare themselves for the backlash; either Zara would lose it or Mike would.

Willie’s actions shook him into sanity. Instantly focused, he looked from Zara to Mike, expecting a nasty repercussion.

But Mike held his hand out, still intent on comforting Willie. He knew he was the only man in the room who would know precisely how Willie felt.

‘Willie, don’t assume he’s dead. One minute he was in the kitchen, preparing a meal for them all, and the next, he vanished. Someone has taken him, but …’

He looked at Zara and then back at Willie. ‘But Terrence thinks he was drugged and taken away. Now, before you start jumping to conclusions, right, we don’t know he’s dead.’

Willie could hear Mike’s words but they just wouldn’t register. All he could see was his son being cruelly murdered.

‘Get fucking real, Mike. Look what we did to that cunt Torvic. Jesus, it was sick.’ He glared again at Zara. ‘What you made him do to his own son, it was obscene. And you reckon the bastard won’t do that to mine? What … are you lot fucking delusional?’

Zara felt physically sick because she knew no amount of talking would ever stop Willie from thinking the worst. After all, in his position, she’d feel exactly the same. ‘I don’t think it’s Torvic’s style—’

She didn’t get to finish. Suddenly, Willie was in her face. ‘Style? Style? What the fuck would you really know? ’Cos if you knew so much, he wouldn’t have fucking escaped, would he? And he wouldn’t now be torturing my boy!’

It was Lance who brought Willie back to thinking rationally. ‘Look, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Torvic hasn’t got your son because he couldn’t have got to Spain and set this up all in a matter of hours. The kids were rushed out of the country. He would’ve had to second guess everything. So, there’s no way Torvic’s involved. I don’t believe it was him.’

Willie kicked the chair out of the way, ran his trembling hands through his hair, and then punched the wall. No one said a word as they watched the man collapse to his knees with cries that would set off a pack of wolves.

Mike hurried to his side and flung his arms around the man, holding him close. ‘Come on, mate, try and stay with us. We all feel your pain. Ya know I do, what with all that happened to Ricky. You were all there for me, and we’ll all be there for you too. We don’t know what’s happened yet, but I swear to God, we’ll do everything to find out. And one more thing: there’ll be fucking murders when we find the fuckers who have done this to one of our own.’

Willie’s chest heaved in and out as the sobs choked the life out of him. But slowly, after he’d calmed down, those words of Mike’s resonated with him. They were all family. Ever since their school days, it had been all for one and one for all. It had served them well in the past. He earnestly prayed it would do so now.

Zara could only watch on, helpless. This was turning into her worst nightmare.

* * *

It was early evening when Shelley parked outside her father’s office. The rush-hour traffic was at its height, and she couldn’t find a parking space for love nor money. In her frustration, she pulled into a reserved parking bay and climbed out of her car, slamming the door shut. The wind was fierce and almost knocked her sideways, forcing her to regain her composure.

Just as she was about to lock the door, a jumped-up traffic warden called after her, ‘Sorry, but you can’t park there!’

Raging, Shelley spun around to face him. ‘Go fuck yaself!’ she hollered back, to the disgust of some passers-by.

‘Madam, those spaces are paid for and—’

‘Aw, fuck off. It’s my father’s building and his parking slots, so mind ya own business.’

The traffic warden looked at the windscreen of her car and grinned. ‘Well, that might be so, but you don’t have a pass on show, so that means you can’t park here.’

Shelley didn’t have time to argue. She took a deep breath and was about to walk away, but the traffic warden wasn’t having any of it.

‘Madam, I said you can’t park here. You’ll have to move.’

Inhaling through her nose, she tried to hold in her anger, but she was on edge and had been for days.

‘I said, go fuck yourself!’

Suddenly, the tall glass doors to the building opened and out stepped Glen Maitland, the security guard, a long-legged black man with a cold, expressionless face. He held up his hand. ‘It’s okay. She has a pass!’

‘Not on the windscreen she hasn’t, and—’

Before the traffic warden could finish, the security guard pulled a card from his pocket and waved it in front of the man’s nose. ‘Yes, she does!’

Glen turned and sneered at Shelley. ‘He’s waiting for you. Give me your keys.’

Shelley wondered if all of her father’s staff hated her, but then her mind cast back to her son, and, instantly, she went into one of her couldn’t-give-a-shit moods. She slapped the keys into Glen’s hand and made her way into the building and took the lift to the top floor.

As usual, her father was dressed impeccably. Anyone who found themselves in this building facing him would only assume he was a successful financier. Underneath the sleek facade was a razor-sharp businessman, with a keen eye for illegal gains. She had admired him as a kid. Then, as a teenager, she’d understood why he was so well off and why he had men kissing his feet. His game had initially been counterfeit money. He’d set up factories all over the country. So good were his copies that it had caused mayhem back in the eighties, severely affecting the banking system. He knew when to call it a day, though, and by the time he was loaded, he reinvested some of the money into property. He had the local MPs and councillors in his back pocket and managed to secure run-down warehouses and disused factories, turning them into luxury apartments for the Russians to purchase as an investment.

Shelley paused for a moment, wondering what mood her father was in. He was seated and staring at a computer screen. She hated it when he didn’t acknowledge her right away; it was one of his trademark management tricks to show those he allowed into his working space had to pay homage to him. It made her think that perhaps that was why she’d run into the arms of his enemy. The thought sickened her because her father was worth a fortune, and since she was the only child, she should eventually inherit the lot. But that wouldn’t be the case now: he’d made that crystal clear.

‘Any news, Dad?’ she asked, in her softest tone.

‘Yes, your brother-in-law will be assigning the house to you.’ His wicked smirk etched its way across his face, and it turned her stomach. She knew what he’d done. It was another one of his euphemisms: Mack would have been tied up and forced to sign the paperwork.

‘I meant, did you make arrangements for Lucas?’

Colin looked away from the computer and sighed. ‘Yes!’ he spat, as his skin tightened around his jaw. Shelley hated that look: she knew it was controlled anger.

Yet, right now, she wasn’t concerned. ‘Oh, Dad, thank you. Oh my God, I’ve been so worried. I feel like …’

‘Shut it!’ he yelled, which made her recoil. ‘I ain’t doing it for you. I’m doing it because it’s what ya dear ol’ mother would’ve wanted. You were right to fuck off with that bastard husband of yours, ’cos you two are cut from the same mouldy cloth. You’re as useless as he is, and as for your son, he fucking got himself into this mess!’

‘Dad, you would’ve done it for me when I was a teenager, wouldn’t you?’

Colin stared straight through her. ‘I’ve bailed your arse outta shit many a time. Having men beaten or buried, I did it to protect your name, when, really, you were nothing but a slut, using my reputation to swan around like you fucking owned the place. I paid your debts, I gave you everything, but you still went off with that bastard. See, that’s where me and you are worlds apart. I know which side my bread’s buttered. You’ve been brainwashed by your estranged husband for so long, you’re not my girl anymore, you’re still his.’

The pulse in her neck felt like a jackhammer, and she wondered if he was actually right. But then the vision of her son came into her head, and she didn’t care what her father thought of her, as long as she got what she wanted.

‘About Lucas. How long will it take, Dad?’

‘It’s happening tonight. And I’ll tell you this much. This has cost me a fucking shitload of money, so once it’s done and dusted, I don’t ever want to see your face again. And when Lucas is sorted, please don’t think for one minute that by sending your son to butter me up, it will in any way change things. It won’t. He’s off limits, as you are. Have I made myself clear?’

‘Dad, he’s a lovely boy. You really should get to know him.’

The flash of anger in her father’s face made her eyes widen.

‘Listen to me, and fucking listen good. I don’t want no fucking needy kid of yours knocking at my door! Got it?’

With a firm nod, Shelley got up to leave. ‘Yeah sure, Dad. Message received. Is there anything I can do?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve everyone and everything in place. I don’t want you interfering, or you’ll fuck things up, and I ain’t going to jail for you, so you stay well away. My private jet will be leaving tonight for Spain, with Lucas on it.’

‘Oh shit! You’re flying him out of the country, then?’

‘Yeah, tonight, so keep away. I have my people on the case, and they know what they’re doing. I’ll have your ticket ready at the airport. You fly separately, though. Understood?’

‘Yeah, sure, but why Spain?’

Colin flared his nostrils in a temper. ‘Shelley, either you want my help, or you don’t. If you have the right bloke, then he is in fucking Alicante. Your dipshit of a son is just lucky I have contacts in Spain to sort out this problem. Now shut up with the fucking questions and piss off.’

She had a million things to ask, but she knew it was her call to leave.

Colin watched as his daughter, dressed in her tight-fitting black tube dress and her short cream leather jacket, toddled out of his office like some Barbie doll on drugs.

He sighed and took out a small bottle of Scotch from his side drawer. It was hard to believe that his daughter, the former love of his life, was now like a looming dark shadow, gnawing away at his conscience. He’d planned to go completely straight and leave all his criminal days behind him, yet Shelley bursting once more into his life was sending him right back to the past where he’d done anything to get to the top. Now he was at his peak, he was annoyed that she’d put him in this position.

All he could do was to thank his lucky stars that he knew many people who owed him, and now he had to call in every single favour. He shuddered; pouring another drink, he gritted his back teeth.

* * *

Amanda Wells, Colin’s personal assistant, had the door to her office partially open, hoping to earwig on his conversation with Shelley. She’d heard Colin on the phone the day before and knew that his daughter was expected around mid-morning. Knowing Colin’s history with Shelley, Amanda felt uneasy that he was even entertaining his daughter. ‘Gold-digger,’ she mumbled, under her breath, as she heard the clip-clop of Shelley’s stiletto shoes recede along the corridor.

* * *

As soon as Shelley stepped outside, where the blustery, cold wind whipped around her bare legs, she felt as though a sudden dark veil of guilt and sadness covered her mind. She did miss her father, if she was being honest with herself, and now there was just him alone, she wondered if he was happy. Would he have still been the same man if she’d not gone down the path she had? It was too late now though – or was it?

Once he met Lucas, he would see that the boy was just like him, his grandfather. Maybe Lucas was not as handsome, but he was tall and smart looking, with the same chiselled face, except his nose was longer and his eyes were piercing blue. Yet she saw her father in him and hoped her father would too.