Scared Yet? (30 page)

41

In the dark silence of the car, the sound felt like an electric shock. She turned, saw Daniel's face centimetres from hers on the other side of the glass and her scalp tingled with a ripple of fear.

Where had he come from? How long had he been watching? He seemed concerned, baffled. Not the look of a man who thought he'd been found out. But then, she'd been fooled for more than a week. He shot a glance over his shoulder into the depths of the car park. Was he checking they were alone? He twirled a finger in the air, signalling her to buzz the window down.

Nope. No way. She flicked her eyes to his other hand, his legs, the concrete at his feet. He'd said he was getting gear. Did he have a weapon? A tool, a stick, a gun? There was nothing but he had pockets and he'd been waiting in the dark.

‘What's wrong?' His voice was muffled through the glass. He put a hand on the roof of the car and bent at the waist to see in.

She wished she could move, make a decision, do something more assertive than sit like a stunned fish. His gaze slid over her shoulder to the back seat and an alarm bell rang in her head. Get the hell out, Liv.
Go
.

She slammed her foot on the clutch, fumbled with the gearstick. Come on, come on. Was that first or third? She hit the accelerator, felt the engine judder for half a second then it stalled. ‘Shit.'

He tapped on the glass again. More a rap this time, a full fist instead of a single knuckle. ‘Open the window.'

She groped for the keys in the ignition, not willing to take her eyes off him. A noise somewhere behind made him straighten up and look over the roof of the car. She saw it then. He didn't need a weapon. He was huge. A massive hand hanging over the edge of the window, bulked-up biceps inside his T-shirt, broad chest, thick neck. His whole body was a goddamn weapon. It had made her feel safe before, made her feel a whole lot of things. Now it felt like a threat. And as he bent to see in again, as he took his hand from the roof and lifted his elbow, she imagined how easily he could smash the pane. How quickly he could slam his forearm into her face or wrap a hand around her throat. ‘Come on, Liv. Talk to me.'

There was urgency and frustration in his voice now and she knew she couldn't start the car and drive off faster than he could reach in and hurt her. She left the keys unturned and hit the button for the window.

As the glass started down, he spoke into the gap. ‘What happened?' When there was enough room, he leaned on the top edge of the pane and put his face into the space.

Instinct made her lean away. Was he asking about the car stalling or about her father? She knew the look in his eyes. He was watching, assessing. That wasn't a con. She wanted to hide her face but she'd played the role of a desperate, frightened victim – and she was done with it.

The centre console was against her hip, the seatbelt tight across her chest. She was hemmed in, unable to move quickly so she unclipped the belt, tried to make the move look decisive, not defensive. Then she shrugged – loose, casual, not panic-stricken. ‘Nothing happened,' she said.

Doubt flickered briefly in his eyes before his expression softened. ‘Liv, look. I just want to talk.'

He dropped to his haunches, not shoulder to shoulder anymore but facing her, their eyes level. He hooked his arm over the window frame, let his elbow drop inside, a mate settling in for a chat. In other circumstances, it might have worked. But it was dark, they were alone, he was muscular and fit – and it felt menacing.

Panic was telling her to dive across the car and escape out the passenger door but she knew she'd never make it. She grabbed the doorhandle, shoved outwards, felt the solid mass of his body as she pushed him back and stepped out onto the concrete. ‘Okay. Let's talk.'

But he didn't, at least not straightaway. They stood either side of the open door, the internal light spilling into the darkness between them. He seemed unsure, a little cheesed off. Then his eyes took in her braced shoulders, her feet ready to move. And he changed his tack, relaxed his body, opened his hands.

‘Can we go somewhere?' he suggested. ‘The pub up the road is open.'

She glanced around. There was traffic noise coming from Park Street, the lights from the main road illuminating the entrance to the laneway but the parking lot and narrow access road were deserted. She didn't like it here but she didn't want to leave the car. It felt safer in its light. Move away and he could kill her quietly and she wouldn't be found until morning. ‘No. We can talk here.'

He wasn't happy about it. He dropped his gaze to his feet, took a breath as he looked up again. ‘If I scared you, I'm . . .'

‘
Scared
me?' She spat the words like venom.

He saw his mistake, held up a palm. ‘What I meant was . . .'

‘You want to know if I'm
scared
? You want to hear that I'm quaking in my boots? That I'm scared stiff? That I'm shitting myself?'

‘What?'

She took no notice of his frown, figured it was bullshit. ‘Would that make your dreams go away?'

‘I don't
know
how to make them go away.'

‘You think scared shitless would do it? Or do you want me to be more scared than that?'

There was surprise in the flush of emotions that crossed his face. ‘You think it's
me
?'

‘How about fucking terrified? Would that satisfy you, you arsehole?'

He stepped up to the car door. She backed off, wishing she hadn't pushed so hard. He was a runner. So was she
but he had height and reach on her. Could she run to the road before he got to her? Maybe she only needed to run around the car, grab her phone off the passenger seat. Then what? Threaten him with it? Wait for him to deck her while she dialled?

‘You've got it wrong, Liv. It's not me. I don't want you to be scared. I want you to be safe. I want this to be over for you.'

The soothing pitch of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Be careful, Liv. There was violence in him. Hidden and contained. She wanted to keep it there. She took a breath, copied his tone.

‘I know why you left Fire Rescue, Daniel. I know about the AVOs. I've seen what the nightmares do to you. You need help.'

‘The AVOs?' He raised his voice. ‘What the fuck have the AVOs got to do with anything?'

She held her calm. ‘You have to stop.'

‘It's not what you think. The AVOs . . . Liv, it's not the same thing. I don't want to hurt you. I want to keep you safe. Christ, it's for my sake as much as yours.'

Yeah, she knew about that. ‘I don't need you to save me, Daniel. I don't
want
you to save me. Do you hear me?'

‘How did you know about the AVOs?'

‘I want you to leave. Now.'

‘Who told you about the apprehended violence orders?' He edged the door forward as he spoke. ‘What else did they tell you?'

‘Enough to figure out the rest.'

‘What rest?'

She didn't say, let him find it in her face.

His voice boomed through the car park. ‘Jesus Christ, you think I hurt those people? You think I threw Teagan off the car park then ran down to see how much damage I'd done?'

‘Is that what you did?'

He dragged his hand back and forth across the stubble of his hair. ‘Who told you about the AVOs?'

She wanted to yell that the cops knew. That it was only a matter of time. That he was going to pay for what he'd done. But Rachel had said she needed evidence to prove it. Would he disappear if he knew they were onto him?

‘It's Rachel, isn't it? What the fuck is she doing? She's got it wrong, Liv. Don't listen to her.' He shoved hard at the door and the barrier between them disappeared with a resounding echo through the car park.

This was it. Just him and her. She jumped back, landing automatically in a guard stance – feet shoulder distance apart, left one forward, weight balanced. Her arms were by her sides but her hands were loosely clenched, ready to form fists.

His eyebrows slid together. ‘You getting ready for a fight?'

‘Stay away from me.'

‘Is this a set-up? Are we waiting for Rachel?'

‘Yeah.' Let him think that.

He squared his chest as he stepped closer. There was derision in his voice. ‘Did she send you to get me to confess?'

‘That's right.' She backed up past the rear door. ‘I was happy to do it, you bastard.'

‘Fucking hell, Liv. What do you think I am?'

The volume of his voice made her lift her fists. ‘I don't know what you are.'

He swapped to his soothing tone. ‘Liv, I would never hurt you. Don't do this.' He reached for her wrist.

She angled away out of his reach, circling backwards and around, keeping the car close, Daniel between it and her now, the darkness behind her. ‘Stay away from me.'

He didn't. He kept talking, moving forward. ‘Liv, come on. Don't be like this. It's not what you think.'

She had two choices. Back further into the dark or change directions. She took a solid step with her left foot, lifted her right and slammed down forward and hard.
Nothing disables faster than a heel smashed into a knee
. He'd told her that. And he was right.

She felt the crunch of bone through her shoe, heard him bellow in pain. He twisted as he went down, a shoulder slamming the driver's door before he landed with a thump on the concrete.
Knock 'em down then run like hell
. She should've taken that piece of advice too but she couldn't, not without a follow-through.

She stood over him. ‘I'm not scared. I'm fucking
sick
of you. Stay away from me. And stay away from the people I love.'

A hand shot out for her ankle.

She ran then, away from him, heart in her mouth, breath coming in gasps.

‘Liv.'

It wasn't Daniel. The voice came from the opposite direction. She swung her head as Ray stepped out from the shadow of the other dark car.

‘Ray. Thank God.'

‘Can I help?'

She pointed. ‘Daniel. It's Daniel Beck. He . . . he's . . .' Her mouth was dry. She swallowed, tried again. ‘I've got to call the police. Have you got a phone?' She wasn't going back to the car for her own.

He patted his pockets. ‘Not on me. It's on my cleaning trolley. I just stepped out for some fresh air. I'm working in the orthodontist's office tonight. It's my Wednesday job.'

She didn't give a shit what office he was cleaning. Daniel was rolling onto his side. Her keys were in the car. The keys to her house. ‘Is the suite unlocked? I need to call the police.'

‘I left the security exit propped open. Does Daniel need help?'

‘No. I do. Stay here with him. Don't let him go anywhere. There's an umbrella in the boot of my car. Use it on him if he tries to leave. He's the arsehole who's been stalking me.'

She ran for the lane, hoping Ray was upset enough about the violence on his turf to do the job properly. He didn't have to do it for long. Daniel was moving but he wasn't going anywhere fast.

The security exit was chocked open with a stepladder. She threw the door wide and squinted in the sudden light as she started up the hall. All the offices were dark but she could see Ray's cleaning trolley in the orthodontist's reception area. She tried the handle. It was locked. Shit.

So was the next door and the next. She'd started back down the other side when the security exit swung open. It was Ray.

‘I haven't got a key,' she said at the door of her own office.

‘No.'

She hesitated. There was something wrong. ‘Where's Daniel?'

He pressed his hands together like he was praying. ‘It's all right, Liv. I made sure he was secure.'

She didn't have the time or patience for his earnestness, just hoped he'd found a rope and tied the bastard up. ‘Have you got the key?' she snapped.

He picked up the stepladder that was holding the exit open and set it down in the corridor. The movement was measured, deliberate. She wanted to shout at him, tell him to hurry the fuck up. What was the point? It was Ray. He did everything like that. He waited until the door was easing its way slowly to the jamb on its hydraulic hinge, then turned. She clenched her teeth with impatience, waited for his answer.

‘Are you scared now, Livia?'

42

Liv froze.

The lock on the security exit clicked into place. It sounded like a clap in the silent corridor.

Was it
Ray
?

Mild-mannered, socially inept Ray.

‘I can see for myself that you're scared. At last.' He stood by the door, hands resting on his tool belt, smiling like he expected her to say, ‘Oh, well done.'

‘Christ.' Dread pooled in her chest. Was it Ray
and
Daniel? Or just Ray? She backed away from the door, kept a hand on the wall.

‘I knew you'd come when you understood the danger.' He said it like it was an accomplishment.

Is that what he'd wanted? For her to come here? What the hell for? She was here every day. No, wait. He wanted her to be scared. Maybe if she gave him that, it would be enough. He would have succeeded and they could move on. It was Ray. He was always satisfied with a yes or no. ‘Yes,
I am scared. Actually, scared doesn't cover it. Can you let me into my office?'

‘No.'

‘I left my key in the car. I need to get in.'

‘No, you don't.'

‘But Daniel . . .'

‘Our Mr Beck won't be a problem.'

Liv's mouth went dry. Did he mean Daniel wouldn't be a problem because he and Ray were in this together? Or . . . or . . . ? She'd smashed Daniel's knee, left him in agony on the ground. Left him with Ray. ‘Where's Daniel?'

Ray pushed the handle on the security exit, shoved the door with a shoulder. It didn't budge, didn't make a sound – locked tight. He smiled with satisfaction. ‘Where you left him. I just made sure he won't cause any disruptions.'

Oh God. ‘What did you do?'

‘I didn't have to do much. You did most of it yourself. I can see why you were in denial about the danger. You're quite capable.'

She pressed her back to the wall. Was Daniel dead? Had Ray killed him? There was a huge spanner in his tool belt. You could crush a skull with a spanner like that. Come on, Liv. This was Ray. Genial, ingratiating Ray. Would he wander out from his cleaning job and beat a man's head in?

Oh shit. Daniel was the only person who knew she was here.

She flicked her eyes towards the front entrance and saw headlights flash past. The door was glass. She could break it, make some noise. Make a run for it.

‘Oh, it's okay, Livia. That's high-security glass. The kind they use in prisons.'

He moved towards Anthony's office across the hall, talking as he checked it was locked. ‘I convinced the landlord that we needed it in the street entry after the break-in last week. It wasn't the purpose of all that work but the outcome was useful, I think.'

All that work? Her office had been trashed. She'd thought it was a violent, out-of-control act and he was talking as though it'd been given a fresh coat of paint. She couldn't connect his words – the way he spoke them – with the deed. Maybe she had it wrong. Maybe none of this was what she thought. ‘Did you smash up my office?'

He paused at the orthodontist's door, cocked his head like he'd caught her out. ‘You're such a terrible actress, Livia. Although you were impressive with the police that morning. I thought they might've seen right through you like I do. That's why I stayed around, just in case.' She retreated further down the corridor, keeping her distance as he continued his zigzag path from door to door. ‘But they're as stupid as they always are. They never figure it out.'

He'd done this before? She backed up past the last door, stood in the space between it and the front entrance. What had he done before? Written notes? Smashed property, injured people? Had he trapped someone inside a building, too? He was standing in the centre of the hallway now, watching her, hands on his tool belt. There was no way she could get past him – and the security exit was locked anyway. She glanced at the entry again. It was a dead end but it was the only place she had to go.

The cold glass was against her shoulderblades as he moved closer. She turned her face and peered into the street.

‘No one will see us through the darkened glass.' His voice was suddenly close, intimate. She looked around, saw him in front of her. A step away. Not a big step.

Her nostrils filled with the smell of his bitter aftershave and sour breath. It felt like he was smothering her with it but he hadn't touched her. He just stood there, a genial smile on his face, hands on his hips, chest puffed up. The way he did when he offered to grab her a coffee.

She forced her lips wide, imitating his smile. It felt like a grimace. ‘So are you going to open it for me?' She made it sound like a joke, like he was having her on and she thought it was a lark.

Something hard and sharp touched her abdomen. She glanced down. It was a screwdriver – as long as a ruler, thick as a finger. The handle was in Ray's fist, the point lodged in the fabric of her shirt. He took half a step forward. That was all there was room for. Far enough to connect the tips of their shoes, to dust her face with his breath. To gently, firmly press the screwdriver into the soft flesh under her rib cage.

‘You're safe here, Livia. No one will break in.' The genial smile on his face didn't change as he slowly wedged the screwdriver under her bottom rib.

It was more pressure than pain but it felt as though a deep breath might push it through her skin. Fear kept her frozen to the spot. But it wasn't all she felt. For a moment, a brief, surprising moment, there was relief. It was him.
Ray was the one. And they were face to face. Then it was gone and a lid was lifted and something hot and steaming, riled up and incensed, spilled into her arteries. Ray wanted to hurt her. He was another arsehole wanting to inflict damage.

‘I'd like you to move down the corridor, please, Livia.' It was said politely. There was no menace in his voice, nothing to match the screwdriver in her chest.

Her jaw tightened as she fixed her eyes on him. ‘I want to leave now, Ray.'

‘I asked nicely, Livia.'

‘Please, Ray.'

The genial smile turned hard and mean and his eyes narrowed as something ugly gathered behind them. Instinct made her cringe. The stiffening of his arm made her brace for pain.

‘
Move down the corridor!
' He yelled it, mouth wide, face contorted.

Her cheeks were covered in spittle. The tip of the screwdriver drove deeper into her chest. She gasped, waited for it to perforate the skin, to puncture a lung like a bicycle tyre. It didn't. The rage lasted only a moment, three seconds at most. Then he pulled it back, like a monster on a leash.

‘Okay, okay,' she whispered.

He dropped his shoulders, found the grin again. Keeping the screwdriver in place, he gave her just enough room to manoeuvre around the corner, her back pressed to the wall.

‘Please keep moving, Livia.'

She skimmed awkwardly, cautiously along the paintwork.

‘I hope you don't mind me calling you Livia now.' Ray was walking side on, right foot sliding out along the carpet, left foot joining it. ‘I know everyone else calls you Liv but Livia is more official. And I think it's important that I remind you of my authority here.'

Like the screwdriver in her ribs wasn't enough?

He was sweating now. Not beads of wetness or trickling droplets. A shiny sheen of perspiration covered his face like a smear of night cream. And small damp spots had appeared on his shirt – under his arms, above his breast pockets. He stopped her beside the door to Prescott and Weeks.

‘Hold out your hands, please.'

She lifted them, palms up, fingertips trembling.

‘Wrists together, thank you.' He waited until she'd done it. ‘Now, I'm going to put the screwdriver in my belt while I tape your hands together. If you move or if you try to attack me, I'll break your nose with my forehead.' He raised his eyebrows at her like a teacher patronising a student.

She thought of his moment of fury and nodded.

A roll of silver tape appeared from behind his back. He teased up the end with a thumbnail, stretched it out with a screech of the sticky surface, laid it on her forearm and wound it around her wrists.

When he was finished, it formed a wide, silver bracelet that bound her from the heel of the palm to above the wrist, tight enough to make a pulse pound underneath it.
The inward pressure on her elbows forced her breasts to swell from the top of her shirt and as Ray's gaze found them, his smile turned to a loose-lipped sneer. She bent her arms, covered herself with them as she looked away, trying to block out the lust in his expression.

‘No, no, no,' he said. ‘You don't have to worry about that with me.' He took her chin in his fingers, forced her to face him. ‘I'm not like that, Livia. Don't get me wrong, I do find you attractive but it's important that I don't let that affect my decisions. Not when my concern is to make sure you're safe.'

‘By shoving a screwdriver in my ribs?'

‘It's for your own good, Livia. You've been defiant and it's made my job harder. I can assure you, it won't help you. Only
I
can do that. Now sit on the floor, please.' He touched the tool at his belt as warning.

She lowered herself to a crouch. Defiant? When? And how the hell did that affect his job? He was a bloody maintenance man.

‘All the way down, please.'

As her butt touched the carpet, he kicked her legs out straight, held her ankles and started with the tape again.