Shiver Sweet (27 page)

Brian was kneeling in front of the laptop, intent on the screen.  “This isn’t like you, Christa.  Why would you do this?” he mumbled.

I hate her!
  Brian is mine.  Claire only answered the phone to prevent Dale driving round and killing Brian if he found out he’d seen the website.  And now Brian was giving Claire the cold shoulder, and glued to Christa on the screen with no clue that
she
was trying to save his ass.  Claire tiptoed back into the kitchen.  But for Dale phoning, Brian would have been slamming her, hard and dirty on the rug right now, just how Claire liked it.  “No.  It’s not like her,” she mumbled to herself.  Bitch.

“It’s not?” Dale replied.  “But hell, I prefer this version.”

A ball of jealousy grew inside her.  “I-I... gonna kill her.”

“I thought you just said don’t joke about stuff like that.”

“I did.”  Claire deepened her voice.  “And I’m not.”

“You being serious, sis?”

“Damn right, I am.”

“But the ratings...  Things with Christa are only just hotting up.”

“I’m your sister,” Claire said, firmly.  “You told me you’d do anything for me.”

“The others will go mental, especially Henry.”

“Since when do you care what anyone else thinks?”

After a long pause, Dale said, “Okay, sis.  You’re sure this is what you want?”

Claire clenched her teeth.  “Yes.  Get rid of her.  Tonight.”

“And Nicola?  She’s in the house too, somewhere.  I’d have killed her last night if it weren’t for you-know-who having a
thing
for her.”

“Does he really?”

“Yep.  I’ve been trying to convince him that it’s only a matter of time before she breaks down and blows everything.  She’s a ticking bomb.”

Claire racked her brain for another reason why Dale should off Christa.  “Those two are like us, they tell each other everything.  I bet Christa knows what’s going on.”

“D’ya think?  We shook her up pretty bad.”

“Is it worth the risk?”

Dale paused a beat.  “Damn.  You’re right.  We’ve been putting the pressure on a bit tonight, letting her know we’re watching, but I knew it was stupid to trust her.  The other guys are too soft.  I should have known better than to go along with them.  Jeez, I don’t know what they’d do without me to clean up their messes.”

“Exactly.  You’re the man, Dale.  The others are too weak and blind.  Go sort it out.”

An engine revved and a horn beeped outside Claire’s house. 

Claire’s brain, sloshing and stirring like the contents of a cocktail shaker, prevented her thinking straight.  She had to keep Brian in her house.

“My lift’s here,” Brian shouted from the lounge.  “Thanks for everything.  And again, I’m really sorry.  I just hope that...  I’ll be seeing ya.”

“Who’s with you?” Dale asked.

Oh, shit.

“Is that Brian?”  Dale’s voice climbed two octaves.  “Brian’s in your house and you’ve been watching the bloody website?”

“No....  I... Dale, just wait a minute.”

“Has he seen it?” Dale shouted.

“No, just me.”  Claire gulped around the lie.  “Forget about him.”  She downed another mouthful of whisky, stared into space and then...  Her pills!  She grabbed a sleeping pill from the cupboard, crushed half of it between two spoons and stirred it into a glass of whisky.   Yes.  That should do the trick.  It wouldn’t knock him out, but he’d be drowsy for several hours, giving her time to erase the website from the laptop and seduce him.

“So,” Dale said.  “What’s it to be?  If I do this, we’ll have to remove all the cameras, all trace.”

Claire’s steeliness didn’t slip.  So long as Christa was breathing, Brian would never be Claire’s.  “Yes.  Do it.  Kill her.  Or I’ll do it myself.”

“No, sis.  You leave it to me.  And you can watch me.  Literally.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll wink at you on camera.”  Dale hung up. 

Claire raced into the lounge, spiked whisky in hand.  Brian turned and slung the laptop bag over his shoulder.  “Thanks for everything, Claire.”  He gave her a small, appreciative smile.

She offered him the whisky.  “Stay and have another.”

He planted a light kiss on her cheek.  “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us.” 

Instinctively, Claire raised her hand and fingered his hair, but he pulled away and stepped into the hall.

“Where are you going?” Claire chased him to the front door.  She had to get that laptop off him.

He stepped outside, waved to Marcus who was sitting on a motorbike with his engine revving, then turned back to Claire.  “Straight to the source.”

“Christa’s house?” she choked out.

“Yep.”

“You can’t.”  Her voice gushed out louder than she wished.  “You’re too emotional.  Come inside and let’s talk.”

He shook his head.  “I know your version of talk.”

“Please, Brian.  Christa doesn’t love you.  She doesn’t know what she wants, hell, a woman who fiddles the books, listens to your loopy sister about the birds and the bees and...”  Oh, heck.  Claire pressed a hand over her mouth.  She’d said way too much.

“Listens about what?”

“C-Christa doesn’t... k-know her own arsehole from her elbow!” she stumbled over her words.

“This...”  He circled his finger at Claire.  “Is exactly why I can’t be with you.  This... dark streak of yours.  It’s not attractive.”  He waved her away and increased his pace to the street.  “Go back inside.”

Claire ran barefoot out of the house, her feet stinging in the snow.  Panic flared anew as the ramifications of him going to Christa’s house rattled around in her head.  “B-but... the roads are still icy!”  She chased him to the street.  “It’s too dangerous.  Please, just wait here with me.”

Marcus handed Brian a helmet.  “He’s in safe hands.  Don’t worry, most roads have been gritted now and I’ll ride real slow.”

“I... I’ll tell Christa what we just did!”  Claire perched her hand on her hip and pouted.  “Think she’ll want you after that?  If it wasn’t for that phone call...”

Brian swung around.  “You wouldn’t.”

Faced with his burning, challenging look, she said in a deathly hush, “Come back inside, or yes, I’ll tell her.  Try me.”

CHAPTER 29

CHRISTA

“Christa!” Nicola shouted, running upstairs.

I shook water from my hair, crossed my arms over my breasts and faced the bathroom door.

Nicola caught her breath and flipped her thumb up.  “I’m finished.  All the photos are... Whoa! 
This
is your distraction?”

I shrugged.  “Didn’t have much time to think.”  Wishing I could forget about the whole thing, I turned the shower off and stepped out onto the floor mat.  “All done?”

“Yes.”  Nicola grabbed a towel off the rail and tossed it to me.

“The photos are gonna stay up?  They’re not swaying?”

“Yes.  Stop worrying.  I think this’ll work.”

“Excellent.”  Keeping my back to the camera, I towelled off and tied my wet hair into a ponytail.  Nice to know we could now move around the house without being watched – well, at least downstairs.  “Let me grab some clothes and then we’ll ring the police.”

Nicola sniffed the air.  “Is that lime?”

“Yeah.  Shower gel I got for my birthday.  You’re welcome to use it.”

Nicola turned to run downstairs, so eager than she tripped and almost fell on the top step.

“Whoa!  Steady,” I said, grabbing her by the wrist.

She looked at me and winced.  “Thanks.”  She flew downstairs and I dashed to my bedroom.  I hurriedly squeezed into faded jeans and tossed my bath towel aside, my mind jumping forward in anticipation of the police arresting everyone.  We’d have a victory buffet tonight.  Yes.  Pizza, nibbles, garlic bread – think I’ve got a ciabatta loaf in the freezer.   “Hey, Nic.  How long d’ya think it’ll take the police to get here?”

Sarah will love a buffet.
  It might put a smile back on her sad little face.  

I flicked the light off and left my room. 

“What did you say?” Nicola shouted up the stairs.

While pulling on a slouchy grey top, my mouth started to water at the thought of food and freedom.  “Fancy making some of your famous cakeballs later?”  I jogged onto the landing. 

Glass shattered downstairs, startling me. 

What the...?  “Nicola?  You okay? I told you to slow down.”  I leaned over the wooden banister.

The rapid thump of feet came from below.  

“Christa, ruuuun!” Nicola screamed. 

Oh, heck.

A man shouted, “Grab her!” and Nicola’s ringing pitch died.

I dropped to my knees on the carpet.  Shock pounded through me in a huge, suffocating wave.  And in a heartbeat, the hope of beating these men died. 

What on earth went wrong?

Muffled yelps and cries warbled up to me, making me tense and shake.  Poor Nicola.  I ached to help her, but... I pressed a hand over my nose and mouth to silence my breath.  I’d be no use if they captured me.  Hide.

“Where’s your friend with the lovely bullet nipples?”  I heard a man say from downstairs.

I scrambled on all fours to my bedroom.  Where to hide?  Wardrobe?  I opened a door and weighed it up.  No.  I shut it and scanned around.  My ensuite had the tiniest of locks that would not even keep a Chihuahua out.  I’d bust my legs if I jumped out of the window.  And the bed...? 

Footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Shit.  Hurry.  I’d messed up coming into this room.

I pulled one of the two full length drawers out from under the side of my bed, raced to the foot of it and started to slither head first into the central gap.  No.  Wait a minute.  The drawer would have to remain pulled out.  Obvious.  What was I thinking?

I slid out and looked around my room on my knees.  The dressing table!  Positioned at an angle in the corner of my room opposite the door, there was a small triangular space behind it.  That would have to do.  I jumped to my feet and hurried over.  I moved the oval free-standing mirror, the silver tree-shaped jewellery stand, and oddments aside, clambered over and dropped into the gap.  Crouching in an uncomfortable ball in the tight space, I reached a hand up to move my jewellery tree and the mirror back in place, then snatched the wrought iron candle holder and gripped it by my chest.  Oh, shit. The jewellery!  I touched the jangling, swaying necklaces with my finger to try to still them, but my shaking hand only made it worse and two fell off a hook.  Then the stomping, coming from the creaky top steps and across the landing, stole my time away.  I slumped down and tucked my chin into my chest.

Floorboards juddered across the landing.  “I’ll check the bedrooms,” a man said.

I shrunk, all balled up like a knot, but shaking and... breathless now.

The man entered the room next door, Nicola’s.  Clangs and banging came through the wall I was pressing my forehead against.

“Anything?” a deep voice shouted from downstairs.

Someone else thumped their way across the landing.  “Where’s the kid?”

“Empty in here,” said the man in Nicola’s room.

A breath of relief escaped my lips.  Thank God.  They didn’t have Sarah.  Please, Sarah, I prayed, please stay out with your friends.

Seconds later, someone clicked the light on and walked through my room.  I heard shoes slap the tiled floor in my ensuite, then a wardrobe door rattled and banged, and a drawer under my bed slid across the carpet.  Thank God I didn’t...

“Can’t find her.  You?”

Someone walked around my bed, past my dressing table.  A floorboard creaked at my door, only metres away. 

He’s leaving!
  I geared up to move.  I’d dart into Nicola’s room and lower myself out of the window onto the wheelie bins. 

“Search the other rooms.”

Oh, shit. 
He’s still in here.

“She’s up here... somewhere.”  He inhaled a long nasal breath and deepened his voice.  “I can smell her.”

Oh hell, the lime.

My anxiety heightened with every tap of a foot around my room.  This was a deadly version of the game hide and seek I did not wish to play. 

“Not in the kid’s room or the junk room,” someone said from the landing.  “I’ll check the rest.  You coming to-” He didn’t finish.

Why?
  I held my breath.

The person in my room made for the door then stopped.  “What?” 

Anxious seconds passed.  Hushed voices accompanied the faint but threatening creep of shoes on carpet.  “Behind ya...  Necklaces,” a man whispered.

I tensed and shook.  The soft whoosh of breath came closer.  A shadow swept over me.  What little light shone down on me in the corner got blocked out.  The dressing table rattled. 

My whole body buzzed with fear.  Oh, shit. 

I popped up and swung the candle holder, whacking a guy on the chest.  

“Ooof,” he cried.  His eyes blazed.  He grabbed my shoulders with a fierce intensity and dragged me over the desk, scraping my ankles, banging my elbows.  I screamed, kicked and flailed as he sent me reeling to the floor.  With a loud clatter, the table tipped.  Everything flew off and crashed around me. 

“No, please.”  I kicked and jerked, then scrambled across the carpet on all fours. 

“Grab her.”  The second man clasped me under my arms from behind.  With a sharp jerk, he hoisted me up and slammed me on my feet. 

Burning with fear, I raised the candleholder to strike the guy, but someone behind grappled for my wrists, knocking my weapon out of my hand.  He bent my arms behind and up my back in a hellish, socket-twisting grip.  I cried out and my body wilted at the deep pain.

“You’ve pissed someone off real bad with your showboating in the shower,” he said against my ear from behind, something hard and pointy pressing into my skull.  “Bet you’re regretting it now, huh?”

My brain swilled.  Horror sparked and flashed like a tangle of light attacking my vision.  I gulped for air.

The man in front stepped closer, his beer-breath breezed over my bowed head.  “Yeah.  You sure have.”  He fingered and sniffed my hair.  “It’s a real shame.  If you showered like
that
every day...”