WILL TIME WAIT: Boxed set of 3 bestselling 'ticking clock' thrillers (2 page)

It
read: ‘Tick, tock.  My number’s up.’ 

“What
the f…”  My bottle slipped from my other hand and smashed on the floor,
showering my feet with beer and splinters. 

Laura
touched my arm.  “What’s wrong?”

I
didn’t answer. 
Why are the words from my creepy email staring back at
me from some stranger’s phone?

“Is
it broken?”  The brother of the dead guy held his palm out. 

I
stared up.  My mouth part open, I locked my gaze on his chestnut eyes. 
“What’s this message about?”

He
took the phone out of my grip before I could read the rest.  “Wish I
knew.  My brother sent it to me.”  He paused, leaned in and lowered
his voice.  “Just before he died.”

“No
way!”  I flinched, but tried to hide it.  “What does it mean?” 
I wound my ponytail around my fingers, and endured several seconds of extreme
impatience.

“Not
sure.  But I intend to find out.  Something’s amiss.”

I
stopped fidgeting, and fixed my gaze on his, not liking the way he’d said that. 
“Is it a mail shot or something?  Do you know of anyone else who’s
received the same message?”

He
shook his head then shrugged. 

“Who
is your brother?  Where did he get that phrase from?  Was there a—”

“Slow
down.”  He patted the air with his hand.  “I don’t know why I’m
telling you about my problems, but anyway, I came here tonight to question
Daryl’s friends.  Turns out they don’t understand this message
either.  What’s it to you anyway?”

Laura
tugged the back of my dress.

I nudged
her away, hooked my handbag strap over my shoulder, and pointed at the mobile
in the guy’s hand.  “It sounds weird, I know, but I received a message
identical to that, earlier today.”   For him to be discussing this
with me, a mere stranger, there must be weight behind his concerns.  It
put me more on edge.

His
eyes widened with interest.  “You did?”

I
recalled the countdown timer from my email, and the sound as it beat out its
rhythm of ticks through the speakers.
  Maybe I’m just a bit paranoid,
today.  A
fter all, I’d been on tenterhooks for the better part of the
year, worrying about Laura, and was still annoyed about the scratch on my car.
 
This is a misunderstanding. 
“Yes, I did.  But, I’m sure it’s not
the same message.  I mean, that one’s not abusive, right?  Can I read
it again?”

“It
isn’t abusive.”

Relief
washed over me.

“Not
unless you class the word ‘slag’ as insulting.”

“Slag?” 
My wave of relief broke into anxiety.  I squeezed my handbag so tight I
thought I’d crush my mobile.

“Yes. 
That’s why I don’t think the message was
directed
at me.  Daryl
would never call me such names.”  He angled his head my way.  “Are
you feeling all right?”

I
rubbed my temple, wanting to erase this bizarre conversation from my
brain.  “This is all very odd.” I paused to give a little laugh.  How
eerie to end up in the same bar as this guy.  I glanced around and
muttered, “I wish someone would let me in on the joke.” 

A
hot, fevered stare tightened his eyes.  “I don’t see the joke.  My brother
sent me a strange text, and then he wound up dead... only hours later.”

Hours
later?
 
His words caused my breath to catch in my throat.  “Sorry.  That came
out wrong.  It’s just, the word ‘slag’ was also in
my
message.  And to be honest, the only reason I’m asking you about it,
instead of partying with my friends, is because I found the whole thing to be
quite... creepy, after my car got keyed.”  I pointed at his mobile. 
“I mean, that couldn’t possibly have anything to do with—” I broke off, aware that
my question would sound like that of a crazy person.

He
ground his jaw.  “Did you know my brother?”

I
shook my head.  The name Daryl didn’t strike me as familiar.  Laura’s
earlier comments jumped into my mind.  “Does that message mention anything
about a countdown timer?  Could he have been warning you about a computer
virus doing the rounds?  You know, something that kicks in after a time
limit?”

“A
time limit?  You’re not making sense.  Are you drunk?  Breathe
in a second and let this lady pass, will you?”  He slid his hand gingerly
around my waist and pulled me close, jamming the Dictaphone between our
chests.  The lady passed and Lee backed away.  Then he stared down at
my fake reporter badge.  He harrumphed, then clamped his lips
together.  They almost disappeared.  “You’re a reporter?  That
recorder had better not be switched on.”

I
covered my badge.  “No.  It’s a ploy.  My friend’s attempt at
getting us free drinks.”

His
lips twisted to one side. 

“I
swear.”

He
leaned backwards as though I were breathing out germs.  “We have our wires
crossed.  My brother wouldn’t act in such a way over a computer virus, and
his car’s about the only thing that
is
fine.  The only time limit
round here is your editor’s deadline.  Now, I’d better get back to my
friends.”

“No. 
It’s...  Wait.  Act how?” I asked, realising I’d lost his
interest.  He downed the last of his drink while I thought about
things.  No timer.  Perhaps he was right.  It wasn’t the
same.  How cruel of me to question this poor, grieving guy on a drink-fuelled
whim. 

He
waved his empty bottle at a friend.  On moving away, he said, “Alarmed,
paranoid, jittery.  How’s that for your headline?” 

T
he doorbell
chimed through my house.  I closed my vampire novel, jumped to my feet and
headed down the hall in my dressing gown.  I opened the front door to
Laura.  “Hi.  Come in.  How did the rest of the night go?” 

“Totally
embarrassing.”  Laura rubbed her bloodshot eyes.  “I couldn’t believe
it when I got your text.  I needed you to rescue me from the sleazy
stripper, not desert me.”

“I
really am sorry.  After I came home to change my dress, the taxis were all
booked up and I couldn’t get back into town.”

A
few seconds later, Emma staggered through the front door.  I didn’t need
to ask if they’d stayed out late, their puffy eyes were answer enough. 

Emma
flopped onto the sofa in my dining room.  “You’d have loved it last night,
Chelsea.  It was wild.  My head’s banging this morning though.”

“Give
me a minute.”  I dashed upstairs to wash and dress, then returned feeling
refreshed.

Emma
yawned before speaking.  “Jayne took loads of photos.  I told her to
email them to you this morning.  Print them out and we’ll head to town for
a bite to eat.  I’m starving.” 

“Sounds
great.”  I handed the Dictaphone back to Emma, then booted up the computer
and logged into my emails while my friends sighed and groaned on the sofa
behind me.  “Found them.”  I sent the photos to print, then deleted
all the spam mail without reading a single one.

“Why
did you leave?”  Emma asked.  Her eyes were closed at this point.

“I’d
been chatting to a guy about my strange email, when my dress got totally soaked
in beer for the second time by some lunatic who—”

“What
email?”

While
the printer growled, throwing out photo paper, I opened the old email and
pointed to the screen. 

 “What
is it?” Emma asked, snapping forward from her hangover.  “What’s that
ticking noise?” 

“A
countdown timer.”

Emma
moved and stood behind me, resting her chin on my shoulder.  “
’Your
number’s up.’ 
What on earth does this mean?  Oh my God! 
Who’s calling you a slag?” 

Exactly
what I wondered
. 
“A man in the pole-dancing bar mentioned the same phrase.”  I swivelled my
chair to face Laura.  “Laura thinks it’s a virus.  You heard that guy
talking about his brother’s text message, didn’t you?”

She
shook her head and dug around inside her bag.

“People
have to pay for what they’ve done,” Emma read out loud, pointing at the screen. 
“Look, even your full name’s been included, Chelsea.”

“Yeah. 
I know.”  I stared at Laura, puzzled by her disinterested face.  “You
were standing right behind me Laura.  You must have heard.”

“I
heard music.”  She jangled her keys in the air and said, “Ready to go?”

Something
in her tone sounded unconvincing.

Emma
tapped my shoulder.  “Heard what?” 

I
pointed to the words on the screen hoping to jog Laura’s memory.  “’Tick,
tock. 
My number’s up.  Slag.’
  That’s what the man said
last night.”  When Laura shrugged her shoulders, I raised my voice. 
“Some guy named Daryl died.  He sent a text message to his brother with
those exact words, and that was his last communication.  And I mean his
last…
ever
.  Don’t you think it’s creepy that I got an email with
his final words typed in it?”  I waited for Laura’s memory to
return.  Perhaps the alcohol had erased it. 

“It
does sound kind of creepy when you put it that way,” Emma conceded.  Then,
a few seconds later, she said, “It’s just a prank, a virus or something. 
It won’t mean anything.  Chill out.  Just reply telling them not to
contact you again, then delete the email.  Shall I do it?”

“The
bar was full of weirdoes,” Laura muttered.  “We shouldn’t have gone
inside.  My mistake.”

“Laura,
do you remember me telling you that my car’s been scratched?”  I raised
myself out of the chair and pushed it over to Emma as a hint. 

“Vaguely,”
Laura muttered. 

“Poor
thing,” Emma said, fluffing my hair.  “You’re not having a very good
weekend, are you?  Hopefully we can change that.”  She winked, sat
down and clicked on reply.  She wrote a message full of profanities,
pressed send and deleted the original email.  She brushed and clapped her
palms against each other.  “All done.”

The
email existed only in my head now.  Shame Emma couldn’t delete my memory,
too.

We
piled into Laura’s black BMW convertible and drove the scenic route to town
with the roof down.  After eating a late breakfast, we laughed at last
night’s photos.  “Jayne needs a new camera,” I said.  “There’s a
scratch on the edge of each photo.  Look.”

“It’s
not Jayne’s.  It’s Paul’s,” Laura said.  “I let her borrow it because
it looked more like the sort a reporter would have.”

I
slid a photo of Laura and me, pressed cheek to cheek, into a slot in my purse. 
Next, we spent countless hours trudging round the shops, then stopped at a café
again late afternoon. 

I
collapsed onto a chair and looked at my friends.  I was worn out, and
wondering why they’d insisted on shopping until either my legs buckled, or I’d
bought a few sexy tops. 

Emma
finished her drink.  She kissed us goodbye, gave me another sly wink,
which puzzled me, then left to continue shopping on her own.  

I
walked back towards the car with Laura.

The
bruised sky began dropping rain, so we picked up the pace.  A man bumped
me from behind as he barged past on the pavement, knocking my shopping bag out
of my hand.  I picked it up off the ground, then faced him expecting an
apology.  My stomach dropped heavily.  The face was familiar. 
It was that of a muscular man struggling to open his umbrella. 

“Sorry,
Ladies,” Carl said, politely.  “Not broken anything, have I?”

I
shook my head.

Laura
nibbled her lip. 

“Do
you know what the time is?” he asked. 

I
shook my head again.  “Nope.  Sorry.”

He
smiled then walked away, almost ran. 

“I’ve
not seen him in ages,” Laura muttered.

“I
have.  I see him around town on my lunch break sometimes.”

Carl
was my date on the evening Laura’s parents died.  Horrific memories of
that night came bulldozing back. 

My
mobile rang from inside my handbag and I was glad of the distraction.  To
escape the rain, Laura and I dipped under the supermarket overhang.  I
answered the call.

“I
may have found you a plus one for Laura’s wedding,” my friend Jayne’s bouncy
voice chimed through the phone.

“A
what?”

“A
date
, silly.  I know you don’t like me using that word. 
You’re meeting Phillip tonight at 7pm at the café bar on Queen Street.”

I
ran a hand through my hair.  “Please don’t set me up, Jayne.  You
never pick the right guys.  Besides, you know I’m not into—”  I
gulped.  “
Dating
.”

“Look,
everything’s arranged now.  You need to get back out there.  I think
you’re ready.”

“I’ll
be the judge of that.”

“Go
on, Chelsea,” Jayne said. 

“No.”

“If
you go, I promise I’ll not set you up again, unless you ask me to.”

This
part sounded tempting.  “Umm…”

“Nice
one.  Seven o’clock.  Have fun.”  She hung up. 

I
stared at my phone, rattled. 
Oh, God.  What have I got myself
into?
  Jayne was wrong.  I wasn’t ready to put myself back into
the dating game.  Not until Laura married Paul on Saturday.  Once
she’d made a fresh start, maybe I could. 

My
gaze shifted to a sheepish-looking Laura.  “Did you know about this?”

She
sucked her lips in.

Of
course you did
,
I thought, as it dawned on me why she’d taken me clothes shopping.  “So
who is he?  Spill.”

We
left the shelter, and made a run for it to Laura’s car. 

She
began reversing.  “Jayne bumped into a guy she knows in the pole-dancing
bar yesterday.  Phillip is one of his friends.  I don’t know him, but
Jayne said he’s great, just needs cheering up.”

I
groaned.  “Cheering up?  Screw this!  I’m cancelling.”  I
lifted my bag to get my mobile, secretly pleased to have an excuse to call the
date off.

Laura
removed her hand from the gear stick and set it on my arm.  “Give him a
chance.  You deserve to find someone wonderful, like I have with
Paul.  You don’t really want to stay single forever, do you?”

I
thought about the question and gave a little shake of my head.

“I
don’t blame you for what happened last year, Chelsea.  I’m not
stupid.  I’m aware that’s why you avoid dating these days, and why you
stopped seeing Carl.”

I
gazed out of the window and didn’t respond.

“It’s
like you’ve put a whole section of your life on hold to punish yourself. 
Bad things happen and sometimes we can’t control them.  You’ve helped get
my life back on track.  It’s time for you to do the same.”

“Carl
wasn’t my type anyway.  Too many muscles and too few brain cells.”

“That’s
beside the point.  Anyway, I would be
so
thrilled if you at least
try to go out with a man again.” 

“I’ve
been on dates this year.”

Laura
rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, but we had to trick you into it.  And then
you refused to answer the poor guy’s phone calls.  At least this guy’s not
one of our friends.”  She glanced at the time.  “It’s too late to
cancel.”

I
dropped my bag in the foot well.  “Fine.  I’ll go if it will stop you
all pestering.”  I didn’t hold out much hope, and I’d certainly never
pictured my future husband to be someone who’d frequent pole-dancing
joints. 

Laura
parked outside my house and we dashed inside. 

“I’ll
wait down here while you change.”  Laura entered my dining room.  “Do
you want me to switch a light on?  It’ll be dark by the time you get
home.”

“I
doubt I’ll be out that long,” I muttered to myself, climbing the stairs. 
“No, thanks,” I shouted down to her.  “I’m saving energy.” 

After
changing into my new pink top, but applying minimal makeup in some kind of
protest, I walked downstairs.  Laura insisted on dropping me off in
town.  She knew I’d be nervous about travelling by car on a date, after
last time.

We
pulled to the curb for the start of my torturous evening.

Laura
practically pushed me out of her car.  “Go on.  You might enjoy
yourself.” 

“Thanks
for the lift.”  I slammed the door shut and guessed she wouldn’t drive off
until I entered the bar.  I was right.  Laura drove away the very
second I pushed the door open.  I smiled, knowing she’d be in the arms of
her fiancé shortly.  Paul would have been missing her all day. 

I
stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window by the entrance and scanned the
room.  The clientele was mixed, the atmosphere classy and relaxed, but not
pretentious.  A short guy with spiked hair, about my age, late twenties,
waved on the approach.  “Are you Chelsea?”  His voice sounded
serious, nervous.

Jayne
must have described my appearance very well. 

With
every step he took nearer to me, my heart thumped with dread.  “Yeah, I’m
Chelsea.  Hi.”

“Thought
so.  Hi.  I’m Phillip.”

For
a second, I thought I recognised him, then moved towards the table I’d seen him
come from, my feet dragging heavily across the floor.  I took a seat and
decided to give this date a chance now that I was here.  

Phillip
ordered our drinks.  Once the preambles were finished, his mind seemed to
drift with every sip.  His face struck me as a solid mask of misery. 
His lips curved downward, and tight lines striped his forehead as he picked at
a coaster.  Striking up a conversation proved difficult to the point of
impossible.  Laura had warned me that he needed cheering up, but this was
off the scale.  Perhaps being out of the dating circuit had caused me to
lose my touch.

“Seen
any great movies, lately?” I asked.  “Or do you know any jokes?  I
could do with a laugh.”

He
shook his head but didn’t speak.

After
counting the bubbles rising in my glass, I racked my brain for excuses to
leave: left bath running, feel sick, need to kill Jayne for setting me
up.  I almost laughed, before realising in a mood such as his, he must not
have wanted to be here either. 

I
put on my best carefree smile, threw my arms in the air and said, “This is
crazy.  We should tell our friends to stop with the match-making.”  I
hoped I’d judged the situation right.  I waited, gnawed the inside of my
cheek, almost regretting what I’d said because he took a while to answer.