Rocks (14 page)

Some sixth sense must have warned him to keep his head low, because the glass that exploded from the rear windscreen went over him—along with the bullet that Lars must have fired. He heard two more shots and glanced in terror at the rear-view mirror, seeing the blond-haired, dark-clad Norwegian receding into the distance.

It was a long time before his heart stopped beating rapidly against his chest, but he drove on grimly towards north London. He knew exactly where he had to go now, and he didn’t need a tracker to guide him.

Karla made her way to the edge of the ship and clutched her bag to her chest. The sky was dark and she could see a few stars overhead between the lights of the ferry as it slowly made its way out of Holyhead port.

The wait had been frustrating. The train journey itself had been fine, and as much as anything she’d responded opportunisticall
y to its presence at Euston. After that, though, she’d had to hang around Holyhead until she could get on the first ship that was leaving. At least this way she would be going straight to Dublin rather than Dun Laoghaire, with Uncle Colin ready to meet her at the other end. She’d forgotten how frustrating it was in North Wales. She’d barely registered the glory of Snowdonia as the train travelled through the mountains, and it had been just long enough since she’d been in Holyhead for her to forget how much of a dump it was until she’d had to sit in some dismal bar, sipping a drink and fending off unwanted attentions from leery strangers.

There was attention she wanted from someone, it occurred to her as she felt the chill wind blowing through her hair. She suppressed that thought immediately. Karla had never been the type of woman to nurture any sense of regret and she had no intention of starting that as a habit now, but as the memory of Hayden Carter, bound to the bed and with
that
thing of his inside her, she couldn’t resist one sigh. Then she thought of the look of anger mixed with lust on his face and she had to giggle. After that, it occurred to her that she’d never see him again and she sighed once more.

Instead, she focussed on the future. She had quickly changed into jeans and a sweater, with a warm coat wrapped around her for travel. She hadn’t bothered with other clothes, merely grabbing one of several passports that Uncle Coilin had arranged for her over the years, as well as a few Euros which she stuffed into a bag along with the Wallenstein, safely zipped up in an internal pocket. The bag was small enough for her to clutch it to her side at all times, and she had
no
intention of losing the diamond again.

Indeed, she had to resist the inclination to keep reaching inside to take it out and stare. She’d looked once, just briefly, on the train when she was sure no-one else was
around. It was the same, large stone she’d seen in Maarten’s hands and her heart had leaped up into her mouth. It was stunning, simply stunning.

With a frown of irritation, she wondered what had become of Maarten. He was a loose end to be tied up lest he cause trouble, but in the end she would forget about him more quickly than Hayden Carter, bastard that
he
was.

She shook her head again. Why did her thoughts keep returning to him? He was her past
—a more than usually pleasant fuck, but for that reason alone a danger to her. She had to keep her mind clear. She had everything she wanted in the Wallenstein diamond. Yet if that was true, why did she feel so melancholy?

Instead she turned her thoughts to Uncle Coilin. He always made her smile. In many respects, he’d been the most steady influence in her life
—which itself was funny considering his own erratic lifestyle. Nonetheless, when she’d threatened to turn into an unruly teenager he was the one who’d kept her steady, ensuring she studied languages, went to university, telling her to learn something useful so that she could do the business like he did.

That was perhaps one of the reasons why she was on this ferry now. He’d taken her across the Irish Sea a couple of times, when he was on business
—his real work, not the idle “business” he performed to keep up appearances. As he’d told her countless times, security was more lax on the boats and it was easier to move things—and people—around. She’d spent many a pleasant day as a teenager with him on this crossing, and she was looking forward to seeing him again when the ferry arrived at Dublin by six o’clock that morning.

She was lost in such musings when she felt someone come up behind her on the ferry. Turning around, she almost fell over the side when she saw who it was who stood in front of her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

Hayden smiled, his eyes on her bag. “Bet I’m the last person you expected to see.”

Karla’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. All her romantic thoughts had been replaced by the need to protect herself: Hayden Carter was a big man, that was for sure, but she’d learned some useful moves from Uncle Coilin. A blow to the solar plexus and a rabbit punch to his throat would deck him, she thought, or perhaps she should give a sharp sideways kick to the back of the knee, watch him drop and then run as fast as she could among the other ferry passengers. If not that, she could just knee him in the balls.

“How did you know where to find me?” she asked cautiously.

“I saw you at Euston, boarding the train. You’re obviously from Ireland, so I just made a lucky guess—very lucky, as it turned out.”

“For you perhaps,” she growled.

“And for you too,” he replied, making her gawp with his sheer audacity. Then she frowned once more. “Wait a minute, how did you get to Euston? I tied you up better than that, I know I did.”

“And there hangs a tale,” he told her, his face twisted into a grimace for a second. “Have you got it?” he asked, nodding towards her bag.

“Why should I tell you?” she retorted, her fingers tightening on the bag and her leg preparing for a swift kick.

“Well, that can wait. I need your phone.”

“Why?” was her suspicious response.

“Don’t ask questions,” he snapped back. “Just give me your phone.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she snarled. “I suppose you think you can just take stuff off me, just because you’re handsome Hayden Carter, and like a little girly I’ll just go, ‘Oh, yes, Hayden. Please, have my phone and if you don’t mind here’s the Wallenstein diamond. How can I resist?’ Well that might work with all your other lady friends, but you’ll find I’m a much tougher nut to crack.”

He had folded his arms and stood there, looking at her, his face showing annoyance. “Have you quite finished?”

This made her bristle again. “For the moment, yes. But I’m sure I’ll think of plenty more to say—especially when you try to get me to hand the Wallenstein over.”

He sighed, letting his arms drop. “I don’t care about that. Please, just give me your phone
—just for a second.”

This confused Karla. When she mentioned the diamond he hadn’t responded in the slightest. In her confusion, she reached into her bag and drew out her mobile, passing it to him cautiously.

He held it in his hands, not even trying to switch it on. Then, to her horror, he drew his arm back and threw it as far as he could over the side of the boat into the night.

“What’re you doing?” she screamed. “Are you a fucking maniac? That’s my phone!” Without another thought, she launched herself at him, throwing a well-aimed punch to his face that made him stagger backwards. In that instant, she could have caused him considerable damage but instead she rushed to the rail, looking at the dark waves that bobbed up and down. Of her phone there was no trace to be seen.

She whirled around to face him. He hung back a little, rubbing his jaw. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “You sure know how to throw a punch.”

“What on earth were you thinking?” she demanded. “Why did you do that?”

“Look,” he began to say. “I can explain.”

“Explain? Explain? What in all that’s good and holy is there to explain about a madman who turns up and throws my bloody phone overboard? That was the latest model as well.”

“I’m sure the board of Apple will cry hallelujah when you buy a new one. Listen, Karla. Do you know a man called Lars Torkelsen?”

“No, I do not, and I don’t think for one sodding minute that he has anything to do with you acting like a fucking lunatic!”

Hayden began to step towards her, his arms spread wide in a placatory gesture. That infuriated her all the more and she punched him again in the chest, causing him to quickly step back again. Rubbing his chest with one hand, his other raised in a stance that was more defensive this time, he spoke quickly, his face reddening with a mixture of pain and irritation.

“Lars
Torkelsen is a hitman. I think he was hired by Boeckman’s to find the Wallenstein. He found me—just after you left me in a very compromising and, if I may add, very dangerous situation—and—”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with my bloody phone!” Karla yelled impatiently.

“I was just getting to that. Jesus!” Hayden rolled his eyes to the sky in a silent prayer. “Please, I’m trying to explain. Our mutual acquaintance, Maarten—”

“Maarten! Where is he? What did you do to him?”

“I told you, I didn’t do anything. It must have been Lars who broke into his room.”

“This Lars who’s after my phone?” she snapped sarcastically.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” That threw her and finally she stopped to listen. “Maarten had downloaded a tracker onto your phone. How do you think I found you so easily that night at Heathrow? Shit, if I’d have had any wits about me, I’d have been tracking you every moment of the day after I left you—then I’d have had warning before you pulled that crazy stunt back in my apartment.”

The reference to those events made Karla suddenly feel strange in her stomach. “Great,” she added with a sneer, trying to cover her discomfort. “Now I have my own personal stalker.”

“Not me, for heaven’s sake!” Hayden said in exasperation. “Lars!”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” she snapped. “You just want to cover up the fact you can’t keep away from me. This Lars is just a… just a figment of your imagination!” She suddenly remembered what he had said. “And what do you mean
—not you for heaven’s sake? Don’t you want to stalk me?”

Hayden’s face showed utter confusion. “W-what? I didn’t mean… what? No! That’s not what I’m talking about here! Please try and understand. This is important.”

“How do I know you didn’t have Maarten’s phone all the time and you used it to follow me?”

“So, at least you accept that Maarten was tracking you.”

She shrugged, a sulky expression on her face. “S’pose,” she replied. “Anyway, how did you find me?”

“I was at Euston. I saw you boarding a train to Holyhead. You’re Irish, so I reckoned you’d be making your way to Dublin. I stole Lars’s car and
—”

“Oh, wait a fucking minute,” she interrupted with a cynical laugh. “You
stole
a car and came all this way, just on the bloody chance I might be on a ferry to Dublin? And I guess you just happened to have your passport on you.”

“Getting into places where people don’t want me to be is a speciality of mine. Anyway, why the ferry, for god’s sake?”

She shrugged. “It’s easier at times. Security’s not as tight. No-one’s ever tried to hijack a ferry. How else did you think the IRA got back and forth so easily? Anyway, Uncle Coilin wasn’t ready for me, and I needed some time to think.”

“Who on earth is Uncle Colin?”

“
Coilin
. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be, and that’s for sure. Uncle Coilin taught me everything I know.”

“Like how to dress up like a tart and trick your way into stealing what’s
not yours?”

She slapped him for that
—a hard, decisive blow across the face that clearly stunned him. “Don’t you ever—
ever
—say a bad word against Uncle Coilin, or I’ll tear your eyes out and chuck them overboard to go and look for my bloody phone! He’d show you a thing or two if he was here. You may think you’re a big fella, but he can chew up a dozen like you for breakfast.”

“I don’t know,” muttered Hayden, rubbing his face somewhat pathetically. “I keep myself in pretty good shape.”

“You’re a lover, not a fighter,” retorted Karla. “I can tell.”

“How can you tell? You’ve never seen me fight.”

“I can just tell. Your nose isn’t broken, for one thing. And, let’s see, I’ve landed three good blows on you now and you haven’t retaliated once.”

This made him frown. “I’d never hit a woman,” he murmured.

“That’s why you’re not a fighter.” She turned away, watching the wake of the ferry as it ploughed on its way through the Irish Sea. A frown crossed her face and she turned to look at him again, her face becoming increasingly furious.

“A tart, that’s what you’d like, isn’t it.”

“What?” Again he was confused.

“A tart, like that Chantelle. You’re such a pig!”

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about. What the hell has Chantelle got to do with this?”

“You men are all the bloody same!” she hissed, rising to her theme now. “A pair of big tits and nothing between the ears
—that’s all you want from women!”

“Jesus, Karla!” Hayden stared at her in utter disbelief and Karla could feel hot tears beginning to rise in her eyes. That simply made her more furious.

“You just treat us like we’re pieces of meat!” she began to howl. “Just because you’re handsome and you’ve got a big dick, you think you can do whatever you want!”