WILL TIME WAIT: Boxed set of 3 bestselling 'ticking clock' thrillers (47 page)

“So
he could have followed you to Dylan’s house and then to the retreat.” John
scratched his stubbled chin.  “And when those guys killed Alan, took over
his business, this Joe character switched sides and—”

“Yes,”
I said, jumping on his theory.  “Joe was definitely in the scrap yard when
we were held hostage there.  I saw him.  He must have switched sides,
told them I was at the retreat to save his own skin.”

“It’s
also possible that this Joe character was already working for those men,” Steve
suggested. 

“Yes,”
Kerry said, firmly.  “He could be the P.I.”

I
plopped myself back onto the chair.  “But why wouldn’t he mention that
they’d captured John rather than Dylan?”

John
shrugged.  “Only a couple of the guys came into the washroom to check on us,
Jenna.  He might not have seen me.  And if he was there when we
arrived, don’t forget we had bags over our heads.”

“Bags?”
Dylan blurted.  “Jeez.  You two have really been through the ringer.”

I
nodded.  Too true.  How could I ever forget my time at the scrap
yard?

Kerry
slid her chair back.  “Sorry, everyone.  Nature calls.  Back in
a minute.”  She glanced around, pointed at the toilet sign then headed
over there.

Too
wired to sit still, I stood once again and paced between our table and the
serving bar.  Someone had been feeding these guys information, tailing me
for some time.  Perhaps Joe.  But something didn’t quite tally
up.  I massaged my temples, hoping to shuffle my mismatched thoughts into
place.  It did nothing.  If I thought much harder, my mind would end
up frazzled beyond repair.  So I closed my eyes for a moment, took calming
breaths, and then...

It
hit me.  I snapped my eyes open.  “Joe’s not the one who’s been
following me.  He might have given me up yesterday to save his own skin
once he knew that Alan was dead, but not before that.”

“What
makes you so sure?”  Dylan asked.

“Out
of all the heavies who worked for Alan, Joe was the nicest.  He’s got a
soft side.  Besides, crossing me and Alan would mean getting on the wrong
side of Kate.”

“What’s
she got to do with it?” Steve asked.

I
hesitated to answer, stopped next to the table, and then spoke under my
breath.  “Joe’s in love with her.”

“He’s
what?” Steve jumped up from his seat, knocking the table.

“Don’t
worry,” I said quickly, steadying my glass of wine.  “Kate’s far too into
you to be interested.  It’s all one-sided.”

“If
this is true,” John said.  “This Joe guy might only be going along with
these men so that they don’t kill him.  If Joe did see my face at some
point, that could explain why he didn’t tell them they’d captured me by
mistake.  You guys!  He might be someone who could help us.  An
ally.  And that means...” 

Dylan
broke in.  “A different person has been spying on you all month.”

“The
more I think about it the more...  Yes,” I agreed.  “Two spies. 
But who?”  I’d been so careful to ensure my husband never caught me with
Dylan, so surely I’d have noticed if another person was shadowing me? 
Either someone who didn’t look out of place, or a person I would never suspect,
had been on my tail.  Perhaps still was.  “So we possibly have an
ally... and a sleeper.“  Oh boy.

D
ylan and Steve
left the pub to retrieve their cars from his house.  I stayed behind with Kerry
and John, polishing off the last few sandwiches.

“You’ll
have Elliot back in your arms soon, Kerry,” I assured her.  “Take one of
our cars again.”

“Thanks,”
she said, then shot John a brief but hard scowl.  “But if you-know-who
hadn’t borrowed money off Machete then Elliot would be here now.” 

John
kicked the bag of drugs further under the table, and moved away to peer out of
the window.  “Give it a rest, Kerry.  If you hadn’t fallen for a
sexy-voiced scammer on the end of the telephone then we wouldn’t have been
robbed.”

“Shut
up!  And for your information he wasn’t sexy.” She let out a groan. 
“Whatever.  Listen, John, we should phone Machete and arrange to
meet.  His neighbour, you know, Sally who lives on the other side of him,
she’ll know his number.”  Kerry’s eyes fired daggers at the back of John’s
head.  She placed a hand over her stomach, rubbed it and closed her eyes
briefly. 

“You
okay, Kerry?” I asked.

“Fine.” 
She stared at John again.  “If Machete has harmed one hair on Elliot’s little...” 

I
drank the last of my wine then stood up.  I wanted to escape the frosty
atmosphere before the finger got pointed at me.  I felt bad enough already
that all these people had been dragged into my mess.  “I’ll nip to the
ladies’ room.  Shout when they arrive?”

As
I hobbled away from the table, Kerry threw a few more comments John’s way,
goading him into an argument.  In this moment, it was clear her animosity
toward John was not far behind that for Machete.  I understood her anger,
but saw little point in taking it out on John.

I
entered the corridor that led to the toilets.  On feeling a slight twinge
in my ankle, I bent down to tighten the bandage. 

“Hey! 
Wait up.” 

I
glanced back, spotted John and stood tall.  “Are they here already? 
Wow!  That was quick.”

He
shook his head and approached me.  “I need to get away from Kerry for a
minute, before I... “ He curled his fingers in a fist and squeezed air. 
“...throttle her.  God!  What did I ever see in that woman?”

I
pursed my lips.  “Cut her some slack.  She’s worried about Elliot.”

“Yeah. 
And so am I, but my moods, unlike hers, aren’t up and down as often as a
whore’s knickers.”

I
snorted a laugh.  “And what would you know about that?”

His
face clouded.  He shuffled his feet and then said, “How do you do it?”

I
stared, puzzled.

“After
all you’ve been through you still have a cool head.  You don’t snap,
shout, lash out or...”

“Don’t
be fooled.  I could scream this pub down right now.”  I shrugged and
perched a hand on my hip.  “Know what I think, John?”

He
raised his eyebrows.

“I
think you and Kerry do love each other.  I mean, you wouldn’t get under
each other’s skin this badly if you didn’t, right?  It’s just everything
that’s happened lately that’s bringing out the rough sides.  It’s understandable. 
And don’t forget that Kerry’s not been feeling well.”

“Perhaps
you’re right.”  He hummed, mulling it over.  “But I’m convinced it’s
more than that.  Kerry seems to have this... dark side that I haven’t
noticed before.  Anyway, I shouldn’t even be thinking like this when my
son is missing.”  He rapped his knuckles against his head.  “What’s
wrong with me?”

I
yawned, had a hard moment of fighting sleep.  “It’s the worry. 
Adrenaline.  You’re tired and screwed up.  We’re all feeling the
strain.”  I leaned against the wall, tilted my head back and blew out a
long breath.  Talking about this stuff with John made me feel a little
uncomfortable.  I was in no position to give relationship advice. 

“I
could snooze for a week,” he said.

I
knew I shouldn’t in case I drifted to sleep, but I closed my eyes anyway, and
felt my mind start to spin and float.  “Things will work out.  We’re
not bad people.  Hopefully there’s some... guardian angel up there looking
out for us.”

“Well,
if that’s true, our angel’s called in sick at work.  God, I hope Elliot is
all right.”  John began rumbling off more complaints about his
relationship with Kerry.  “Why can’t Kerry be more like you, Jenna? 
Calmer.  More understanding.”

I
tried to tune him out, while pretending to still listen.  He obviously
just needed to unload, but I couldn’t cope with hearing their domestic troubles
on top of everything else.  My brain was already full to bursting. 
In my drowsiness, I heard the faint shuffle of feet, and then a puff of warm
air caressed my cheek.  I snapped my eyes open.

John’s
face was within an ace of mine, one hand rested on the wall near my head. 
Before anything registered in my mind, he angled his head and dipped to kiss
me. 

“Whoa! 
What the...?”  I flinched, banging my skull on the wall.  When I
turned my dizzy head to keep his face from mine, his lips pressed into the
corner of my open mouth.  It was more like a collision, a cringe-worthy,
teenage-disaster kiss, bar the clashing teeth.

I
squirmed, intending to shout and give him the what for.  Then, hopefully,
the whole thing would be history in under a minute.  Except it wouldn’t
be.  I spotted Dylan over John’s shoulder, entering the corridor.  A
chilling sensation dropped down the length of my body like a lump of ice. 

Oh,
hell! 

I
slapped John’s cheek, shoved him in the chest then stared up.

Dylan
stood in the doorway to the bar.  He dropped the bag he was holding, and
stared with no less than devastation in his eyes.

“Oh,
Jesus,” John said.

Dylan
rushed forward.  He pushed John in the chest and pinned him to the
opposite wall. 

I
reached out to grab Dylan’s shoulder.  “No... wait!  It’s
not...”  Chirpy whistling from nearby caught me mid-sentence. 

The
barman, slinging a towel over his shoulder, strolled into the corridor. 
“Hey!  What’s going on?”  He lurched forward and pulled Dylan off
John.

I
backed away.  “We-we can sort it.  It’s nothing.  We’re fine.”

“Yeah,
right, and I was born yesterday.”  He stood between the two of them,
pressing a palm to each of their chests.  “Come on, guys.  Not in my
pub.”

Dylan
grunted, backed up a step and threw me a hard look.

The
barman lowered his arms then glanced around.  “This yours?”  He
picked up Dylan’s half-filled Morrison’s carrier bag.

Dylan
nodded.

He
held the bag out.  “Take it, go into the toilets and cool off.”

“Look,
Dylan, mate.  I—” John began, back still pressed against the wall.

Dylan
took the bag from the barman.  He kept his gaze fixed on me, but pointed a
finger at John to silence him.  “Here.“  He thrust the carrier bag my
way.  “Thought you might like a change of clothes.”  He clenched his
free hand into a fist, punched the wall at the side of me and hung his
head.  “What the hell did I just see?”

“Hey,
hey! Ease off!” the barman said, stepping forward. 

I
shook, hugging the bag.   “D-Dylan... it’s not how it looks.”  

“It
never is,” he replied.

The
barman gripped Dylan’s arm and pulled him away.

I
froze, seeing nothing but torture in the blue eyes of the man I loved.
 “Babe,” I said, reaching out.  “Just l-let me explain what
happened.”

Tight-jawed
and sharp-eyed, Dylan kicked the men’s restroom door open with a hefty
thud.  The barman guided him through it.

Oh
my God!  My knees gave way.  I slid down the wall and closed my eyes,
wishing the ground had opened up and sucked me out of here a few minutes
ago.  Great.  Just great.  The enormity of it hit me.  From
Dylan’s angle the kiss must have looked so bad. 

I
lifted my scowling gaze.  “Screw you, John!  You pig!” I shouted,
astounded to hear my husband’s sharp tone within my own.  John’s seduction
campaign – or whatever the hell it was – was a jump too far over the boundary
line.  I rose to my feet and shoved him in the stomach with the bag. 
“What the hell is going through that pickled head of yours?  Your
todger!  That’s what.  It’s grown legs and taken up residence in your
brain.”

John
kept his eyes downcast.  He leaned back, pulled one knee up in a triangle,
propped his shoe against the wall.  “Maybe it has.  I’m sorry, but I
just thought that you—”

“There’s
no maybe about it.”  I wagged my finger at him.  “Coming onto me is
not the answer to any of this.  And it certainly won’t help get your son
back.  Is that what this is about?  Are you trying to persuade me to
help you get Elliot?  Perhaps it’s not Kerry who has the dark side. 
Perhaps it’s you!”  I shot him my best fierce stare, then swivelled on my
heels and rushed into the ladies’. 

Standing
at the sink, I splashed my face and neck with cold water, and then stripped
naked, impatient to escape my dirty, stinking clothes.  I did not care if
someone barged in and caught me in the buff.  That would be the least of
my concerns.

“Stupid
idiot!” I muttered, thinking about John.  We had enough to deal with
already.  What the hell was he playing at?  And now, I’d have to
convince Dylan that what he saw was... Oh God. 
Someone... Scottie...
beam me up!

I
changed into my fresh clothes and left the washroom.  I had to put Dylan
straight, get back out there in case clumsy
kiss-gate
exploded into
broken-nose-gate.

When
I returned to the bar, Dylan was there.  He hovered near the entrance
door, tapping his foot, stern expression carved onto his sulky face. 

The
barman crossed in front of me and stacked our empty glasses.  He took
longer than needed to wipe our table clean. 

Dylan
didn’t look me in the eye once.  It was like I had become invisible to
him.

I
had to explain, but do it in private so that Kerry wouldn’t hear.  If she did,
in her current mood there’d be fireworks - enough to blow the roof off - and we
had much to organise with little time.  “Listen, I...” I whispered and
reached out to touch Dylan.  But then, the entrance door of the pub flung
inwards and I stood with my hand outstretched unable to finish my
sentence.  It was Steve. 

“Hey!”
he said, waving his mobile in the air.  “Found it.  Slipped down the
side of the car seat.  Everyone ready to go?”  He stepped further
into the pub and started fiddling with his mobile.

Kerry
jumped to her feet and bolted to the door.  “I’m ready.”

John
picked up the bag of drugs and stomped along behind her.

I
stared longingly at Dylan as he nodded at Steve.  More than anything else
in the world, right now, I wanted a hug.  I needed him to hold me tight,
tell me that everything would be okay and no one would get hurt because of
me.  However, it felt like the floor space between us was a long stretch
of steaming coals that I’d have to pass over to reach him.  I took a breath,
put one foot forward imagining myself doing just that.  John was right on
one count; my guardian angel had pulled a sickie today.  As everyone
started through the door, Steve’s voice whipped out, stopping my foot before
touchdown.

“Mother
of God!”

“What
is it?” Dylan said.

“Kate
left me a voicemail.”   Steve looked up from his mobile.  His
steel-hard eyes gleamed with worry.  “She’s not shopping.”

“Where
is she?” Kerry asked.

His
adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and then he met my gaze.  “On her way
to your house to quit her job.”

“Oh
crap!” Dylan said, hijacking the words right out of my mouth. 

My
heart tussled, washing me with panic.  “Oh, no!  That’s where they
shot Alan!”

“Let’s
get over there and stop her,” Dylan said.

Steve
drove his fist into the door.  “We’re too late, bro.  This voicemail
arrived hours ago.  There are no texts, or anything from her since. 
If she’d quit, she’d have phoned me straight away to tell me.”

I
shivered and closed my eyes.

“They
have her.”  Steve’s voice choked.  “I just know it.  The new
hostage is Kate!”