Pitch Black: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 1) (29 page)

After Nye signed off, Nate asked, “Are you going to grace us with an explanation yet?”

I sighed. “When Dan’s here, and Mack too. I’m not going through it three times.” It would be painful enough once.

“In that case, I’ll go and track down Mack.”

While he did that, I headed back to the kitchen to see how Dan was doing. She had Luke laid out on the white marble breakfast bar, where the lighting was good, his feet hanging off over the end. His cut looked better now she’d cleaned it up, and she’d almost finished stitching the edges together.

“Nearly done,” she said. “I don’t think the scar’ll be too noticeable.”

“Does she know what she’s doing?” Luke mumbled.

It was a bit late now if she didn’t. “She took a sewing class in college.”

He groaned and tried to get up. I shoved him down again. “I was kidding, okay? Dan’s a trained medic. She’s probably stitched up more people than most doctors. I’d trust her far more than some junior in the ER who’s only awake because his veins are circulating more caffeine than blood.”

When Dan had finished her neat row of sutures, I led Luke upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms and helped him out of his bloodstained clothes.

“What happened in the woods?” I asked him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

He rubbed his temples, remembering too late about the stitches. “Ouch, fuck. I can’t remember.”

“Nothing?”

“It’s all fuzz. There was a guy, I think. Then you came.”

“You said earlier that he spoke to you?”

“I don’t know. He might have.”

“Get some rest. You might recall more in the morning.”

“What about Tia? I need to look for her.”

“You’re in no state to do that right now. Leave it to the professionals.”

“But…”

“Lie down. Sleep. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

His blue eyes were already closing and his arguments ceased, soon followed by soft breathing as he drifted off. Once I was satisfied he wouldn’t do anything stupid, like try to get up again, I headed back to the others.

Nick had made coffee for everyone with decaf for me as I avoided caffeine in the evenings—it made my nightmares worse. Mack appeared on screen next to Nate, and she didn’t look any cheerier than him. Marvellous.

Mack was Mackenzie Fox, a flame-haired ex-CIA agent who’d been with us for almost a decade. She was a year older than me, and certainly saner. I took a seat and leaned back, trying to separate the story I was about to tell from the emotions underlying it. My voice flat, I rehashed the chain of events from the funeral onwards.

When I’d finished, Dan rolled her chair next to mine and hugged me. “You stupid cow, you didn’t have to run away. We’d have been all right.”

I looked up at the others. Nick’s face was blank.

Mack rose to her feet. “I’ve got work to do.” I watched her back as she walked off.

Then Nate took his turn to make me feel worse. “I thought we’d taught you better than to run away from our problems. We’re supposed to be a team. What happened to the old Emmy? The one who faced up to her enemies and never gave up?”

“I don’t know what happened, okay? My head was fucked, and I couldn’t think straight. Nothing made sense. I didn’t want to risk you guys getting hurt, not when I’d already lost my husband. I’m more sorry than I can put into words. Now I’ve come to my senses, I realise how stupid I was.”

“Promise you won’t do anything that dumb again, yeah?”

He seemed to have come round, just a little. The band around my chest loosened infinitesimally.

“I promise. No more running.”

“So, what are you planning to do with the murder investigation now?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? You’re going to let them get away with it?”

Uh oh, he was back to angry again.

“For the moment. My head’s not completely back in the game yet. Going all out to find who was behind it won’t bring the dead back to life, but it may make us lose more. We can’t let a need for revenge blind us so we fail to factor in the possible cost.”

“Well, at least that sounds more like the old Emmy, the one who looked at everything objectively,” he said, far from happy.

The old me. Who was that girl and would I ever find her again? The one who never lost her head. The one who weighed up all the options before selecting the one that would give the most advantageous result, no matter how difficult it may be, or how strange the choice might seem to others. The one who was a dispassionate, cold-hearted bitch.

I channelled her. “That’s my decision.”

He leaned back in his chair, face like a storm cloud on a winter’s day. “We’ll respect it.” Without a doubt those words were hard for him to say. “But you should know everyone hopes you’ll change your mind.”

With that parting shot, Nate signed off for the night, saying he’d find Mack and get her to contact the UK team directly to assist. He didn’t need to tell me how upset she was—I’d seen that for myself.

It was time to get some sleep, or at least, to lie down and stare at the ceiling. Dan gripped my hand as we walked upstairs while Nick stomped off in front. Hopefully he’d feel more charitable towards me in the morning.

I yawned as I headed towards my bedroom, which was far from everyone else’s. Part of me wanted to stay up and do something, but Nye had it under control. I was back in a team now. There were enough people working overnight already, and I’d be more use after a few hours’ rest.

I’d be up first thing to sharpen my claws. Bring on tomorrow.

Chapter 29

LUKE TURNED HIS head slowly from side to side, his neck stiff. The pillow was soft, the mattress firm. It smelled different to his room—something floral. He cracked an eyelid open. The duvet tucked over him was pale pink. Nope, definitely not his bed. Where was he?

The curtains were only half closed, and sunlight spilled in between them. He squinted as the brightness assaulted his eyes. Was it morning or afternoon? Luke didn’t even know the day of the week. His mind blurred around the edges.

 
Through the window the tops of nearby buildings, clad in cream stonework with grey slate roofs, stood out against the blue sky. The occasional purr of a car rolling past told him he was within reach of civilisation, at least.

He tried to get up, but his head pounded. A wrecking ball crashed inside, doing its worst. As he sank down in bed again, the events of the previous day trickled back into his brain. That awful walk through the woods with the bagful of money. The brief conversation with the man who took Tia. Then after that, his memory went fuzzy again. He gingerly reached up to his skull, wincing when he felt the knot at the back of it. He ran his hand over his forehead, pausing at the line of stitches on his temple. What happened? Who stitched him up? Had he been to hospital?

A vague picture of Ash floated into his head, her face in shadow, lit only by the moon flickering through leafless trees. Had she been there? In the woods? Why would she have been when he’d sent her away?

Thinking of her made his chest tighten. Partly with sadness, but mostly with anger.

He’d cared deeply for her—he told her he loved her, for pity’s sake—but she clearly hadn’t felt the same way. She was the first woman he’d lived with, the first woman he’d wanted in his bed night after night, and although she’d seemed reluctant to commit, he’d secretly hoped she’d stay indefinitely. She’d been different to the other women he’d dated. Although she had no money, she hadn’t cared for his. She’d even suggested she get a job, for crying out loud. As if he’d let her work for minimum wage when he earned a hundred times that.

Ash had genuinely cared about Tia, too, of that he was sure. Past girlfriends had treated her as an irritation to be avoided at all costs, but Ash connected with her. Tia had become a different person, a much nicer one, since they met.

But Ash had betrayed him.

Who was she, really? Luke had no idea. She admitted she’d lied to him, but what was the truth? He’d kicked her out before she could explain. Maybe, with hindsight, he’d been a little hasty, because now questions were eating away at him.

What did she want with him?

Why had she come to Lower Foxford?

Could she be working with the kidnapper? Was that why she’d been in the woods?

So many unknowns. Thoughts swam round Luke’s head, but his brain felt like quicksand. As soon as he tried to grab onto something tangible, it disappeared deeper into the mire. He struggled, desperate to find his footing.

What was going on?

And why the hell was he in this room?

Had he been kidnapped, too?

He forced himself to get out of bed, headache be damned, and found he was dressed in only his boxer shorts. He spotted the clothes he’d been wearing folded neatly on a chair by the window and shuffled over to it. His jeans were muddy and reddish-brown stains covered his ripped shirt. Blood? He sniffed it, and a metallic tang wafted into his nostrils. Was it his blood? The kidnapper’s? Tia’s? Hell, please don’t let it be Tia’s.

 
The window had a view over a road, and he could see a park opposite. No, not a park. It had railings all around, and the gates were locked. One of those private squares you get in the expensive parts of London? He heard the hoot of a car horn and saw a black cab pull up below to pick up a passenger.

Yes, this was definitely London.

Luke cringed at the thought of putting on his filthy clothes. What other options were there? He opened the nearest of the two doors in the room and found himself in a large bathroom. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, a stranger stared back at him—sunken eyes, a couple of days’ worth of stubble, smudges of dirt on his cheeks. He turned to get a better look at the line of stitches. Fuck, that was a nasty-looking cut. He touched it, jumping as it stung.

How had he got it? Why couldn’t he remember?

A washcloth sat on the marble vanity, and he used it to clean his face up. Next to the basin, there was a collection of tiny toiletry bottles. Who did they belong to? Was this a hotel? If he had indeed been kidnapped, there were certainly worse places to be held.

The cold water helped him to think straight, and he returned to the bedroom. It was expensively decorated, but without any personal touches. Several paintings hung on the wall—an odd collection. A rose in a vase. A pair of dice. Trees hanging over a rippling pool. Luke squinted at the signatures, but didn’t recognise any of the artists. In the wardrobe, he found a selection of clothes, both male and female, some cheap, some expensive. Probably not a hotel, then.

The nightstand held a torch, some tissues and a box of condoms. What were you supposed to do with that lot? Go and find yourself a woman? No, he needed to hunt for his sister.

Finding the other door unlocked, he overcame his nerves and walked out into a long hallway. More doors, more paintings. He peered at the closest, a vibrant abstract in acrylics, a mixture of purples and pinks. Looked original. What was this place?

He counted the doors—five in total, all closed. Both ends of the hallway disappeared around the corner, and apart from the faint sounds of the street outside, silence reigned.

Should he go left or right? He mentally tossed a coin—tails said left. After rounding the corner, he reached a landing, a sweeping staircase on either side leading down to a similar landing on the floor below. In between, a lift door stood closed, and above him, the stairs continued up, seemingly for eternity. The place was a maze. How big was it? Certainly larger than his house.

Luke opted to go downwards, and on the next floor, he paused and listened. No signs of life. He continued his descent until he found himself in a grand atrium. Light and airy, it had a low cream leather couch on one side and a low sideboard, also cream, on the other.

Fresh flowers in a vase on the sideboard indicated recent occupation, and a spectacular chandelier—at least four feet high, made of multi-coloured blown glass—hung above his head. Surely that thing should be in a museum, not a private home? He stopped to marvel at it before reminding himself he had no time to waste.

Three archways led off the hall, and he caught a whisper of sound coming from the left. Voices? Did they have something to do with Tia’s disappearance?

Luke continued in that direction, his stomach fluttering with fear. Some of the doors he passed were open. He peered into a music room. Who played that grand piano? A conference room suggested this house was used for more than just pleasure. And the dining room? He counted the chairs around the table—hell, that seated twenty-four.

This place was worth millions. It made his home look like a shack.

Luke rounded the corner into a kitchen bigger than most people’s entire ground floor. Finally, there was life! Two people he didn’t recall seeing before were sitting at a counter, drinking coffee.

A curvy, dark-haired girl with a New York accent spoke up. “Oh, good, you’re awake. Do you want coffee? Something to eat?”

“Uh, should I know you?”

“Probably not. We met last night, but you were pretty much out of it. I’m Dan and this is Nick.”

Nick was one of those men who made Luke feel inadequate. He looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine whereas Luke had only graced the inside pages.

“Why am I here?” He waved his hand at the kitchen. “This is nice and all that, but I need to get home. I’ve got problems to deal with.” Every time Luke thought about Tia, a ripple of worry went through him and his heart sped up.

“Ash brought you here. She asked us to help with your ‘problem.’” Dan drew little air quotes around the last word.

“How can you possibly help?” If his memory wasn’t playing tricks, things had worsened overnight, and this girl was calmly eating a pastry.

“We’ve investigated kidnappings before.”

Luke stifled a groan. “Are you police?” He’d specifically told Ash not to call them. “The bastard who took my sister said he’d kill her if the police got involved.”

She shook her head. “We work for a private security firm.”

Before Dan could elaborate, Nick broke in. “Nice though this chat is, we have to ask you some questions. We need all the information we can get to find your sister.”