Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) (37 page)

Of course,
Cheers!
was yet to be launched, she reminded herself, and so the magazine wasn’t staffed and hadn’t made its investors a penny; nevertheless, you’d think that Mr Ivens — if he were as wealthy as the search engine claimed — could do a bit better than these less-than-impressive surroundings.

Number 310 was located halfway down the hall. She knocked, aware as she did of the distant sound of television laughter. There was no answer. She hesitated, then edged the door open and peered inside. Although she glimpsed a battered desk and a couple of chairs in the small waiting room, there was no sign of a secretary.

There was no sign of anyone.

“Mr Ivens?” she called out, and took a few steps into the waiting room, half poised to leave. “It’s Holly James.”

A moment later a floorboard creaked behind her, and a shadow fell across the floor. A man stood inside the doorway she’d just entered.

“Miss James?”

Holly spun around, clutching the strap of her handbag. “Yes. Are you Mr Ivens?”

He was tall, she realized, and well-dressed. She couldn’t make out his face; it was indistinct with the light from the hallway behind him.

“I am.” He stepped inside the room and shut the door with a quiet click. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms James,” he said, and studied her without offering his hand. “I’ve wanted to speak with you for quite some time now.”

Holly frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand. You only just emailed me.”

“It took a bit of doing to track you down. Your colleague from
BritTEEN
, Kate, refused to divulge anything of real use about you. But Sharon, on the other hand, had no such bothersome ethical standards. She told me exactly where to find you.”

“Sharon?” Holly echoed, confused. “How do you know Sharon?”

“We have a mutual friend in common, you and Sharon and I.”

She flinched as he flipped on the light fixture.

His face sprang into view.
He has blond hair
, Poppy had told her at Gordon Scots the other night,
and cold blue eyes
…

Which was a perfect description of the man standing in front of her now.

“You’re not Sebastian Ivens, are you?” Holly finally managed to choke out past the thick fear in her throat.

“I am, when circumstances require it.” His smile was brief and devoid of warmth. “Like right now. But your friend Poppy — and now you — might know me as Erik.”

Jamie threw two steaks on the grill to sear with a savage motion. He glanced at the order ticket with a scowl. Six steaks, two medium, three medium-rare, one rare — if he could read Sergei’s scrawl properly, that was… Over the hiss and sizzle of the grill he shouted, “Where the hell is Holly?”

“She is not here,” Sergei growled in his Russian-accented English as he arrived at the pass to pick up his plates. “And if she does not show soon, I promise to fillet her with a dull knife when she does!”

Jamie turned away to remove the steaks to finish cooking on the plate and threw on three more. Holly hadn’t shown up for lunch service and they were in the weeds already. “Call her,” he told Sergei. “And then see if Matt can come in and cover.”

Sergei eyed him darkly and muttered something in Russian, but he set down his plates and reached in his pocket for his mobile. He scrolled to Holly’s number and listened. A moment later, he rang off. “Not answering. Voicemail.”

Damn it
. Jamie turned back to the grill and focused his attention on the steaks. It wasn’t like Holly to pull a no-show like this. And on a Thursday, of all days! She knew Thursday and Friday lunch services were the absolute worst.

An hour later, when Jago arrived and the front of the house had calmed down, Jamie marched upstairs, his expression grim.

It didn’t take long to see that the flat was empty. Holly’s handbag was gone, and so was her mobile. He tried to remember if she’d mentioned taking the day off; he was pretty sure she hadn’t.

So where in the bloody blue blazes
was
she?

Chapter 55

Acting purely on instinct, Holly screamed and darted for the door, desperate to escape. But Erik grabbed her arm with one hand and clamped the other over her mouth and cut off her scream.

“Shut up,” he said in her ear as she struggled against him, “or you’ll spend tonight — and all the rest of the nights of your life — working for me.”

Holly went still, frozen by his words. Something cold and cylindrical thrust itself into her ribs.

“Yes, that really
is
a gun in my pocket, Ms James,” he said, and chuckled. “And I’m also very happy to see you.”

“Why?” she croaked, her words muffled against his palm.

“Before I answer your very reasonable question, let me tell you what to expect should you try to escape, or scream again.

“Have you ever prostituted yourself?” he asked in conversational tone, and removed his hand from her mouth long enough to thrust a gag inside. “No? I didn’t think so, nice girl like you.” He reached out and withdrew a length of nylon rope from one of the desk drawers. “It isn’t pleasant, I can assure you. Sex for money rarely is.”

Holly stared at him, her eyes huge with fear and revulsion.

“If you don’t do just as I say, you’ll never see your family or your friends again, Ms James, starting from tonight. Do we understand one another?”

Numb, immobile with terror, she managed to nod.

“Good.” He kept his grip on her arm and reached out to drag one of the chairs over. He shoved her down and tied her wrists securely behind her back. The nylon cut into her skin.

“I won’t tie your feet just yet,” he remarked. “Perhaps I won’t tie them up at all, if you cooperate.” He smiled slightly. “You see? I can be reasonable.”

“Now,” he said, more to himself than her as he drew back, “let’s check your pockets and bag for a mobile phone, shall we?”

Holly watched, helpless to stop him, as he rifled through her handbag until he found her mobile. He dropped it in his pocket without a glance. Next, he went through her wallet and counted the notes. “Only eight quid?” he murmured. “How you girls manage on your paltry little salaries, I’ll never know.”

He thrust the money — as well as her Oyster card — in his pocket. “Sorry, but I’ll need to keep these for the moment.”

Pulling up the other chair, he sat across from her, straddling the seat backwards. She shrank away. “I said I’d tell you why you’re here. I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

She glared at him.

“You’re a bright girl, Miss James; I’m sure you’ve already figured out that it’s to do with Poppy. The homeless girl you interviewed.”

Holly waited.

“I want to know where she is,” he went on. “Once I do, I’ll leave to see if your story checks out. If it does — hurrah! You’re a free woman. If it doesn’t—” his amiable expression hardened “—well, you already know what happens if it doesn’t.”

Why didn’t I tell anyone where I was going?
Holly wondered as her lower lip trembled.
This bloke’s a real psychopath…

He stood up and stared down at her. “So? Are you ready to tell me where she is?”

Holly nodded slowly. The minute the gag was out, she choked a bit, dragging in air, then cried, “I don’t know where she is, I swear it! She lives on the streets, she moves around a lot—”

He knelt next to her and grabbed her roughly by the chin. “Let’s try this one more time,” he said, his cold eyes boring into hers. “I know you have a sister, Hannah. She’s in her first year at university. If you don’t tell me where Poppy is, this instant — I’ll grab Hannah off the street—” he paused for effect “—and she’ll spend tonight making her first paying customers very happy.”

Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Poppy
, Holly thought as she began to cry,
but this bloke’s serious. Dead-scary serious
.
I have no choice but to tell him, I have no choice
…

“You’ll find her on Shaftesbury Avenue, in the ABC Publishing tower,” she choked out between sobs. “She works for
BritTEEN
magazine and she goes by the name ‘Zoe’.”

Erik smiled. “Good girl. I
knew
you wouldn’t let me down.”

He went to thrust the gag back in her mouth, but she turned her head aside. “I n-need the bathroom. Please. I haven’t gone since I left my flat this morning.”

It was true. She felt as though her bladder might burst.

He hesitated, then shrugged and pulled her to her feet. “I suppose there’s no harm in it. There’s no window in there, at any rate, if you’re thinking to escape.” He thrust her forward.

Holly stumbled and regained her balance, all too aware as she walked to the bathroom that Erik — and his gun — was just behind her.

At the door, she gathered every ounce of her courage and turned around to face him. “Can you at least untie me? And might I have some privacy?”

“All right,” he agreed after a moment, and untied her hands. “Never let it be said that I’m not a gentleman, as well as a man of my word.” He winked and shut the door.

Working quickly, she grabbed the toilet roll and unrolled it, then shoved a wodge of paper deep into the toilet bowl. After relieving herself, she did up her jeans with unsteady fingers and flushed.

She watched anxiously as the water slowly rose, rose, rose, just to the rim of the toilet…then stopped. Damn it.

“Hurry up in there,” he called out.

“Coming.” Holly unrolled another length of paper, cast an anxious glance at the door, and thrust it into the toilet. She flushed again and put the lid down, relieved to see the water beginning to seep out.

As she gave her hands and arms a quick wash she only hoped someone on the floor below noticed the back-up before Erik did.

Holly took a deep breath and opened the door. “Thanks.”

He took her by the arm and propelled her back to the chair and pushed her down. “Now, madam,” he said as he retied her hands and secured her ankles to the chair legs, “sit tight. I’ll be back in two ticks, and if your story pans out—” he took up his sunglasses and keys “—you’ll be back home before you can say ‘Asian brothel’.”

And with that, he grinned and slammed out of the flat.

The moment he left Holly began frantically twisting her hands behind her, trying to loosen the rope that bound them. She had very little time.

She knew — despite his assurances otherwise — that Erik had no intention of letting her go, whether he found Poppy or not. After all, she could ID him to the police.

If she didn’t get out of here before he got back, she’d end up dead…

Or worse. Far, far worse.

Chapter 56

Jamie was about to go back downstairs to start prep for the dinner service when he noticed Holly’s laptop sitting on the coffee table.

Probably a waste of time
, he told himself, but he sat on the edge of the sofa and put his hand on the mouse. Immediately the screen sprang to life.

It was Holly’s email account, replying to a message from someone named — he leaned forward — S Ivens. It invited her to meet at nine-thirty to discuss a job opportunity at a new magazine of some kind; she’d responded to say she’d be there.

Jamie scowled. So she’d ditched her shift to go off on a job interview, had she? The bloody cheek…

Before he shut the laptop, he glanced at the timestamp on the email. 8:11 a.m.

He glanced at his watch. It was nearly three p.m. She’d left for her interview
hours
ago. Where the hell was she?

For the first time, he felt a stab of disquiet. It wasn’t like Holly to just up and disappear like this. Whatever her faults might be, she was always dependable and had never once missed a shift. Something was definitely off.

His mind made up, Jamie hurried back downstairs and found Jago. “Listen, mate,” he said as he flung off his apron, “I hate to do this to you, but an emergency’s come up. Can you manage things until I get back? Sergei and Matt can help you.”

And before Jago could open his mouth to respond, Jamie grabbed up his keys and left.

Forty minutes might have passed, or four hours; Holly couldn’t say. It felt as if she’d been tied to this chair for an eternity. Her wrists burned from trying — unsuccessfully — to loosen the rope lashed around them. Exhausted, her head drooped forward, and she drifted in and out of an uneasy half-sleep.

Jamie would notice when she didn’t show up for her shift, she reassured herself. He’d call the police. He’d tear Erik limb from limb. And as for Alex…

She sighed. Alex was gone. He was never around when you needed him, anyway. A tear slid down her cheek. But oh, God, how she missed him…

Someone rapped sharply on the door.

“Oi, wot’s goin’ on in there? I got water comin’ through my fucking ceiling! Open up!”

Holly lifted her head, wild-eyed, and tried desperately to make herself heard through the gag in her mouth; but all that emerged was a series of barely audible grunts and groans.

“I said, open up in there!” More pounding.

She leaned as far back in the chair as she dared, balancing precariously on the rear legs, then flung herself forward. The chair’s front legs hit the floor with a loud thump.

She did it again, wrenching herself back, then forward in hopes that whoever was at the door would hear the sound and realize something was wrong.

Her breath coming in short gasps, she waited; but the silence, and the fact that the knocking had stopped and the footsteps had receded, told her the man at the door was gone.

Holly began to weep then. She had to get out of here; she
had
to! She couldn’t let that pig Erik get away with this.

A moment later, over the muffled sound of her own sobbing, she heard the scrape of a key in the lock. She lifted her head and stared at the door in mute terror.

Oh, God. It was too late. Erik was back.

But the man who flung the door open a moment later wasn’t Erik. He was a short, heavy-set man with a ring of keys in hand and a look of intense annoyance on his face.

He drew up short when he saw her. “Hold up! What’s this?”

Petrified that Erik would return before he could free her, Holly focused her eyes, swollen from crying, on his, willing him to untie her before it was too late.