TENDER DECEIT (Romantic Suspense Mystery Novel): First Love Series ~ Book 1 (13 page)

Then something sharp jabbed her upper arm.

“No!” Leah gasped, trying to jerk away. Panic seized her and she tried to struggle again, but something was wrong. Her legs and arms felt too heavy to lift. A wave of drowsiness overcame her. The room spun and then the world went black.

Toran shifted restlessly, his eyes flicking every so often through the café window to the hotel across the street.
What was happening with Leah?
He had been puzzled, but not unduly worried when she hadn’t met him at their arranged spot at ten that morning. Perhaps she had overslept; perhaps she had been delayed. He had waited over an hour, then found an internet café to send her a Facebook message. Nothing.

Leah had told him her room number yesterday and he had considered calling her at the hotel. So far, he had avoided contacting her directly because he knew that her calls were probably being monitored, but worry had weakened his resolve. Using a basic prepaid mobile phone, in lieu of his own which he had lost in the yacht explosion, he called the hotel and asked to speak to Leah Fisher. He had been surprised to be connected to Leah’s answer mail and when he checked with the hotel reception, it seemed that Miss Fisher had gone out.

Had Leah gone without him? Toran thought back to the way she had looked at him yesterday, her eyes shining, as she had said, “Together”, and he couldn’t believe that she would have broken her promise to him. But then where had she gone?

Toran had no choice but to wait near the hotel and hope to catch her when she returned. He had called again and left a message for Miss Fisher at reception, saying simply that her “friend was waiting outside” and asking her to come out when she got the message. It was lame and risky, but he was getting desperate. He knew it was a bad idea hanging around near the hotel—any of Warne’s men watching Leah’s movements might see him too—but he didn’t know what else to do. Somewhere inside him, a nagging feeling of fear had started growing—fear for Leah’s safety.

Then finally, a few hours after lunch, he had seen her, looking tired and dispirited as she slowly entered her hotel. That was over two hours ago and she still hadn’t come out. Was she just ignoring his message? There was no reason for her to. She had seemed so happy and trusting yesterday. What was going on?

Toran pushed the plate with his half-eaten sandwich aside. He looked back at the hotel again. Going in would be stupid and crazy—for all he knew, W
arne could have spies planted amongst the hotel staff. He had an advantage now because Warne thought that he was dead—but if Warne realised that he had escaped the yacht, the Australian tycoon would hunt him down.

Toran stood up. His mind was still protesting, but his body wasn’t listening. His feet were carrying him out of the café and across the street. He had to find out what had happened to Leah.

As he neared the hotel entrance, he had a stroke of luck. A mini-bus pulled up and disgorged a group of guests. A convention of some sort, perhaps. They were mostly middle-aged men in polo shirts and chinos, wearing red lanyards around their necks with large badges attached. Toran silently gave thanks that he had decided to wear shirt and trousers today and not jeans and T-shirt. They weren’t quite chinos, but hopefully, from a distance, they would do. Besides, he knew from past experience that body language was everything when it came to tricking the eye.

The driver got out and went round to the back to help unload the luggage from the boot. Toran sidled up to the front passenger door and looked inside. A tangle of lanyards lay on the front seat, next to a clipboard, a couple of pens, and a packet of chewing gum. He opened the door casually, grabbed one of the lanyards, and slipped it quickly over his head. Then he put on his shades and stepped closer to the group. Grabbing one of the wheelie cases, he fell into step with the others, making sure he was in the centre of the group as they entered the lobby.

“This your first time?” he asked the man walking next to him, while his eyes darted around the lobby.

The man looked him in bemusement. “No, I come every year. Funny, I don’t remember seeing you on the bus—”

“No, really?” Toran laughed like the man had said something hilarious and clapped him on the shoulder. The man looked even more bewildered. The others were drifting towards the reception desk now, but Toran kept his hand on the other man’s shoulder and steered him gently towards the lifts. He kept his head down and tilted towards the other man, as if listening intently to what he had to say.

“
Wait, don’t we need to check in?” The man looked back towards the reception desk.

“Oh, yes, totally forgot,” said Toran as they stopped by the lifts. One of the double doors opened. He let go of the other man and stepped quickly inside, saying, “You go ahead. I’ll just go up first.”

“But—”

The lift doors shut in the man’s puzzled face. Toran let out a breath as the lift started moving smoothly upwards. He had no idea if that stunt made any difference to him being recognised, but it was the best he could come up with on the spur of a moment.

He stepped out on Leah’s floor and walked quickly down the hallway, his feet making no sound on the plush carpet. Leah’s room was the last one, at the end of the corridor. He slowed as he approached, wondering what to do. Should he knock? He had no idea who might be in the room. He glanced back the way he had come. He was at the end of the dead-end now with no escape except back along the corridor. His muscles tensed. Then he glanced at the room door as he went closer and his muscles tensed even more.

The door was slightly open.

Not ajar, just not square in the frame. As if somebody had let it swing shut, but then forgot to push or pull it all the way, so that it rested propped against the lock. Toran listened. There was no sound from inside the room. He hesitated, then pushed the door gently open. It was heavy, like most hotel doors, with resisting hinges. He stepped inside and listened.

Silence.

There was no one in the room. He could tell that instantly, even though it was in darkness. Stepping forwards, he pulled the string on the tall lamp in the corner, flooding the place with light. The room was in disarray. The bedclothes had been mussed up and things had been knocked off the tables and onto the floors. Leah’s laptop lay on its side on the floor next to the bed and a lamp by the armchair had been knocked over.

Toran’s stomach clenched. What the hell had happened here? It looked like there had been a struggle.
They’ve taken Leah
, he realised, a mix of horror and anger swelling in his chest.

Suddenly, Toran wanted to yell, to swear, to punch something. It was Warne’s men—he was sure of it. What were they doing to her?

The tightness in his chest was pressing in, making it difficult for him to breathe. He had to find her. He looked desperately around the room, trying to calm his mind, trying to think about where they might have taken her.

Warne was a property billionaire. He owned properties all over Singapore. Leah could have been taken anywhere—to a private warehouse, an isolated house, a disused factory… How was he ever going to find her? Toran wondered in despair.

Then his mind seemed to sharpen, like a camera bringing something into focus. Warne wouldn’t want any connection between Leah’s kidnapping and himself, Toran thought. He wouldn’t want to use any of his own properties if he could help it. But there
was
one property which was private and deserted and unlikely to be disturbed any time soon. Leah’s old villa, her father’s house. It was also a natural place for Leah to be, that was unlikely to draw suspicion, in case her body needed to be “found”.

Toran shuddered at that thought and pushed it violently away. No, nothing was going to happen to Leah because he was going to find her first.

Dusk was falling as Toran approached the villa. He had asked the taxi to drop him off on the street corner and then jogged stealthily here, his eyes roving constantly around, on the alert. Just outside the villa, he paused. The front was dark, the blinds drawn, but he could see a very faint halo of light shining around the edges of the blinds, as if a light was on at the back of the house.

He slipped through the side gate into the garden and moved quietly through the shadows. The garden was landscaped, but heavily planted with tropical foliage which provided good cover. It was very quiet, almost peaceful in here, the evening stillness broken only by the chirping of crickets. A pale moon was already high in the dusky sky. It seemed almost ludicrous that something sinister could be happening inside the house, just a few feet away.

Toran slowed as he came round to the back of the property. Light was shining out of a set of large windows on the far side. The windows were uncovered and he could catch glimpses of the room inside. It looked like a living area with a breakfast bar and an open plan kitchen. He heard the rumble of voices. They were in there.

He looked at the side of the house next to him. A wall of folding glass doors looked out onto the gardens here, and they were dark, covered by blinds. Toran stole to the glass doors and put a hand on one of them. He was surprised to feel it move inwards slightly. He looked down. The lock had been damaged. He remembered Leah telling him about her father’s study be
ing ransacked. This must be how they had broken in.

Gently, he pushed the glass door open, pulled the blinds aside and stepped into the room. He looked quickly around—it
was
the study. The evidence of the break-in was still everywhere, with papers and books on the floor, a vase smashed in the corner. He stepped carefully over the mess on the floor and went to the study door, opening it a crack. Voices drifted down the hallway from the kitchen. 

“…told you it was too much. Look at her! How are you going to question her now?”

“I was just followin’ instructions!”

“Well, you’re not going to be able to get anything out of her for a few hours now. The boss isn’t going to like this. He said to make it quick and sharp.”

“Mebbe if I slap her face a bit, it’ll wake her up faster?”

“No! Jesus. What is your problem? The boss said no marks on her and you go and smack her around.”

“I had to shut her up, didn’t I? The bitch was screamin’ her head off.”

“Why did she get the chance to scream? You had the element of surprise on your side. You should have jabbed her before she had a chance to react. Anyway, we’re wasti
ng time. Listen, I’m going to report now. I’ll be back in a couple of hours and you better hope that, by then, we’ll be able to get some sense out of her.”

“Sonofa—”

“What was that?”

“Nothin’.”

“If she comes round before I get back, see if you can get her to talk—ask her what she did with the data on the USB stick. But
don’t
get violent. You can scare her, but don’t touch her. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Lock the door behind me.”

Toran drew back slightly as two figures came out of the kitchen and moved down the hallway away from him, towards the front of the house. He heard the front door open, then shut again, and the sound of footsteps coming back. Only one set this time. The man went back into the kitchen.

Toran shut the door of the study and leaned against the wall, thinking furiously. He had to act now, while there was only one of them in the house, and get Leah away. Of course, he could simply rush in and tackle the guy—he wasn’t afraid of a fight and his combat training meant that he knew what he was doing—but it was the riskiest option. He had no idea if the other man was armed or what the situation was with Leah. If the man managed to use her as a shield or hostage, it could mean greater danger for her. Getting her out safely was the top priority. Whatever they liked to show in the movies, crazy heroics weren’t the best choice in real life. It usually got people hurt—or killed.

Toran’s gaze fell on the computer on David Fisher’s desk. Brain over brawn, he thought, as he hurried over to the desk and switched the computer on. The welcome screen greeted him, with a cursor blinking over the password entry. Toran sat back.
Damn
. He thought for a moment. He had done an article on password selection a few years ago—it was actually frightening how stupid most people’s password choices were, with the most common ones being people’s own first names, variations of the word “password”, or even sequential keyboard patterns like “abc123”. But he doubted David Fisher had been so naïve or careless. No, Leah’s father would have selected a much more obscure password.

Leah’s father…

Toran’s gaze settled on a framed photo at the edge of the desk, just beside the lamp. It was Leah at fourteen, looking over her shoulder and smiling shyly at the camera.
Leah.
Toran turned thoughtfully back to the keyboard. David Fisher would never use his daughter’s direct name—that was too easy—but perhaps there were other connections… His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Leah was a Hebrew name… it had Biblical connections. She was the first wife of Jacob, sister of Rachel… Toran tried “Jacob”, then “Rachel”, then “first wife”. Nothing. He paused, his mind going back to the meaning of Leah. It had different meanings, such as “weary” and “grieved”, but he doubted those were the meanings people wanted to remember when they named their baby daughter. Then he remembered another meaning for Leah: “gazelle”. He typed that in. Again, nothing.

Toran sighed and sat back in the chair, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His eyes drifted around the room, roving over the bookcases, the Ming vase, the statue of a Tang porcelain horse in a glass display case, and a large, gilt frame on the wall above the horse. Toran narrowed his eyes. The frame seemed to contain a faded, old piece of parchment paper covered with writing. He got up and crossed the room to look at it. It looked like Hebrew script, he realised. An antique Hebrew manuscript.