Chapter Twenty

‘Bloody hell, Connor! Hurry up and get the freaking live feed up, can’t you?’ Jasmine hissed, glancing over at Adams’ kid, who’d done nothing but whinge no matter how hard she’d tried to placate her, and was now finally sleeping.

‘I’m trying.’ Connor looked up from the PC he was jabbing at, his brow furrowed in that gormless way it did. Did he have any idea what a complete moron he looked? It was no wonder the kid had bonded with him. His IQ was probably about on a level with hers. ‘Done,’ he announced, leaning back in his chair and wiping the sweat from his face.

Ugh, he was gross, Jasmine thought, curling a lip. Tall and good-looking he might be, but he really needed to do something about his personal habits. He’d sweated bucketfuls since they’d snatched the girl. She would swear he’d almost wet himself when they’d run that stupid woman over, insisting they stop and help her, like everyone was going to just stand around while they enquired after her health and then hopped back in the car. Idiot. She’d be glad to see the back of him, and this totally irritating blonde wig she was forced to keep wearing. Taking it off in front of Connor, she’d realised, would mean she’d have to offer him explanations he wasn’t ready for. The last thing she needed was him freaking out altogether and trying to bail on her.

‘Finally,’ she retorted, turning to go and check out the view on the flat screen TV installed in the other room, the renovation of which had also almost been finished, thankfully, complete with stonewalls and sturdy cellar door. The punishment rooms Tony had decided to call them. Retreats for one of his innovatively planned theme nights: Spank Night, where clients would play master to their servants or vice versa. ‘Insolence won’t be tolerated and bad behaviour will be punished, severely,’ he’d told her, waggling his disgusting caterpillar eyebrows hopefully in her direction. Thus, the punishment rooms, one of each at opposite ends of the arched ceilinged open area, which was meant to be housing the bar plus tables tucked away in cosy niches. Other themed evenings would be based on the naughtiness of the nineteen twenties, he’d informed her grandly, sex, sensations, drugs and debauchery in abundance. The club’s previous clients, most of whom had reputations to consider, would probably hate it. Seventh Heaven had a reputation as a discreet gentlemen’s club, not a bloody whorehouse. Ideas of grandeur, Tony had. They were bound to be his downfall.

Unlike Connor, whose brain cell would probably self-combust if he had a single original idea of his own.

‘I’m doing my best,’ she heard him mutter behind her. ‘I’m not a bloody PC engineer, Jasmine.’

‘Just hurry it up,’ Jasmine muttered. ‘Or you’ll mess everything up.’

At which, Connor sighed audibly, a touch of contempt therein Jasmine detected, for which Connor would suffer if he didn’t watch out. ‘I still don’t know why you’re doing this,’ he mumbled on, now sounding like a sulky six-year-old. ‘I mean what’s she ever done to you?’

She meaning his new fan, Mia. Possibly the only female who would actually like the dickless twit.

‘Because,’ Jasmine whirled back around to face him, ‘her darling daddy is going to make sure you get banged up for murder. Or have you forgotten this trifling little detail, Connor?’

Connor went pale at that, and probably sweated a bit more. Too gross.

‘No,’ he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he gulped back his pungent fear.

Deciding she needed to reinforce his fate if the copper wasn’t silenced, Jasmine folded her arms and cocked her head to one side. ‘Of course, if you’d rather go to prison … for life?’

‘No!’ Connor squeaked, shaking his head vehemently.

‘Right.’ Jasmine nodded, satisfied. ‘Just remember, I’m doing this for you and your poor sick mother, Connor. If you’re having second thoughts, fine.’ She pulled her mobile from her jeans pocket. ‘We’ll just ring the police now.’

‘No, don’t!’ Connor shot to his feet, as her thumb hovered over the keypad.

Wuss. Sighing inwardly, Jasmine attempted to reel in her immense irritation. ‘As long as you’re sure. Because now we have snatched her …’ She let that one hang.

Connor just nodded dumbly, obviously getting her point.

‘It’ll be fine, don’t worry,’ Jasmine said, softening her expression, as Connor looked about ready to throw up. ‘We just get him to sign a confession, and that’s it, job done.’

‘But what about if he retracts it?’ Connor’s wide-eyed panicky look was back, which was about as appealing as the wet patches under his armpits.

‘He won’t. Trust me, he won’t want to put his family in this kind of situation again,’ Jasmine assured him, turning back to the door. The truth as to why Adams wouldn’t be retracting his statement, she fancied Connor might not be ready for yet either, if ever. She was beginning to think he might just be too much of a loose cannon. If he threw a wobbly, this might all go pear-shaped. She might have to dispose of him sooner, rather than later.

‘I’m going to check the live feed out,’ she said. ‘Play the video and make sure the webcam is up and running while I’m gone. Don’t want any last minute hitches, do we? And keep the noise down,’ she added, gritting her teeth as the kid fidgeted on the sleeping bag she’d provided for her. Obviously the drop of Melatonin she’d told Connor to put in the chocolate drink the kid had guzzled and smeared all over her face wasn’t enough. She might have to up the dose, Jasmine considered, experiencing a pang of guilt as she did, but then quickly dismissing it. Precious little Mia might be an innocent in all of this, but she was Adams’ kid. Getting all soft and sentimental where she was concerned wasn’t on, even if she did have huge beguiling brown eyes. She’d reminded Jasmine of a little frightened fawn when she’d first looked at the little girl. Reminded her of all that she’d lost, thanks to that uncaring bastard Adams. He deserved all that was coming. End of. Thankfully, the walls to the rooms father and daughter would be separately occupying were solid stone, so Adams wouldn’t hear her if she kicked off. And if he did, that would be a shame. Heartbreaking really, that he might hear his baby crying and be able to do nothing about it.

It would probably be an added incentive in actual fact, she thought, crossing the half-renovated open space and going into the room reserved for Adams. It would help him come to the right decision that much quicker, she was sure, hearing the daughter he doted on in distress. Watching the video appear on the screen perched high on the wall, the webcam on top of it positioned to give a good view of the room, Jasmine was reminded how much her dad had doted on her. He was doing the typical dad thing, teaching her to ride her bike without the stabilisers. The look on his face, as she’d finally wobbled off under her own steam, was one of sheer pride. Looking at the video, she could actually see the love shining from his eyes.

That selfish bastard, Adams, protector of the innocent – hah! He hadn’t given her a second thought. He’d destroyed her life; sullied everything and left her with nothing, for which he was going to pay, finally. Quid pro quo, copper. Fury simmered impatiently inside her as Jasmine watched the video loop to Adams and his happy little family scene. It looked like a fucking bad Christmas advert. She sneered derisively. Mummy and Daddy and darling little daughter, Lily, she’d learned, all wrapped up in their winter woollies, playing football in the park. And what was the woman wearing? Did she actually think she looked cute in reindeer antlers and flowered wellingtons? She looked like a complete fashion disaster. As for the copper’s Christmas jumper, that was just cruel. A present from the tasteless Rebecca, no doubt, who was now behind the camera amateurishly filming Adams selflessly losing a tackle to his daughter. He would probably have grounds for divorce for being made to wear … ‘Oh, for fu—’ Jasmine sighed as the video froze. ‘What now?’ she yelled, stomping back towards the room where the genius was obviously at work, not.

‘Nothing. I hit stop by mistake, that’s all,’ Connor called back, causing an ear-piercing scream to erupt from the kid.

Jasmine rolled her eyes. He really was last in the queue when they handed out brains, wasn’t he, she thought irritably, and then winced as another distressed scream followed.

‘Oooh, shut her up, can’t you?’ Jasmine shrieked over it. That was seriously going to get on her nerves. Spoilt, that was that kid’s problem. Obviously she’d had her every whim pandered to. Time to phone Daddy, she decided, pulling out her mobile. The sooner she could get shot of them both the better.

Raking a hand through his hair, frustration and fear gnawing away at him, Matthew walked agitatedly to the door and back.

‘She’s playing with us,’ Becky said flatly as he stopped to check the mobile for the umpteenth time.

Noting the hopelessness in her tone, Matthew looked worriedly over to where she was standing facing the window, her arms still wrapped protectively about herself. Staring out at nothing, she’d been quiet, still and subdued since the first call, as if all the anger had drained out of her and her will to fight along with it. Cursing silently, Matthew worked to contain his own rage, which was urging him to do something other than stand around uselessly waiting. What though? He had no clue where to even begin if the call didn’t come. Christ, he couldn’t do this. Couldn’t. Matthew drew in a tight breath and turned back to the door.

‘It’s my fault,’ Ashley said behind him.

She sounded tearful, Matthew noted, and cursed himself again. He’d almost forgotten she was there, obviously feeling every bit as devastated and terrified as they were. Slowing his pointless pacing, he walked over to where she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her face half hidden behind her hair, her shoulders slumped under the weight of the guilt she shouldn’t be carrying.

‘You’ve done nothing wrong, Ashley,’ he attempted again to reassure her. ‘None of this is your fault. She used you just as surely as she used me.’

‘Yes, but I let her!’ Ashley looked up at him, her eyes searching his, frantic and full of self-reproach.

‘You and me both.’ Matthew made sure to hold her gaze. Seeing he’d managed to touch base with her in some small way, he moved to sit by her side, and then stopped, his heart freezing as the mobile finally rang, echoing around the walls, shrill, stark and ominous. Quelling his immediate panic, Matthew hit the call receive button, turning away from Becky and Ashley as he did, as if that could protect them from any of this.

‘Adams?’ Jasmine’s voice, almost before he’d clamped the phone to his ear.

‘What do you want?’ Struggling to quiet his raging emotions, Matthew asked the crucial question. He needed to cut to the chase. Now.

‘Go to Reception,’ she said shortly. ‘Dump the phone. Make sure you’re visible when you do. Then walk outside the main entrance and await further instructions. You’re being watched, Adams. You have two minutes.’

‘Not until I know she’s all right,’ Matthew said adamantly. ‘I need to know my daughter …’ He stopped, his heart slamming against his ribcage as he heard her in the background: his baby’s cries, bewildered, raucous sobs, which could bring on an asthma attack in an instant.

Jesus Christ. Matthew’s fury exploded. ‘You need to let her go!’ he shouted, guessing she was holding the phone out, making sure he knew Mia was distressed. ‘You fucking—’

‘Tut, tut, temper, temper, Matthew,’ she cut across him, her tone amused. ‘She’s all right, you’ve gathered. Alive and kicking. If you want her to stay that way, I suggest you shift your arse pronto. Oh, and show a little respect when you talk to me, yes? Or precious little Mia will suffer.’ With which, she ended the call.

Clenching his jaw tight, his chest heaving with impotent anger, Matthew pulled the phone away from his ear.

‘What does she want?’ Becky asked urgently behind him, as he tried to compose himself.

‘Mia’s okay,’ he said quickly, turning towards her. ‘I could hear her, in the background.’ He tugged in a breath and glanced upwards. He wanted to scream.

‘Matthew! Tell me! What does she want?’

Him. She wanted him, Matthew didn’t say. Just as Sullivan had done. Matthew felt a ghost tread chillingly over his grave. Oh, Sullivan had wanted the ransom, or he’d thought he had, but he’d wanted him more. He’d wanted to destroy him so badly it had skewed whatever perspective he’d ever had and tipped his warped mind right over the edge. She hadn’t stated a ransom immediately, which was the usual kidnap case scenario, meaning he was walking that same road again, but this time he wasn’t being asked to deliver anything but himself.

‘I have to meet someone,’ answering truthfully, he wiped a hand over his forehead and looked towards her.

Becky searched his eyes, confusion and palpable terror in her own. ‘Meet someone … where?’

‘Outside the main entrance.’ Matthew gave her all the information he could.

‘But who?’ Becky took a step towards him. ‘Why do they want—?’

‘I have to go, Becky,’ Matthew said, backing away. If the officer with him came back in, he’d be stuffed. He needed to go now. Do everything as instructed until he’d set eyes on Mia. After that, he’d do whatever was required of him. For Matthew it was as simple as that. No negotiation. No time wasting. No risk taking, not with his baby’s life. ‘If anyone asks, I’ve gone to the bathroom. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can,’ he promised.

‘Matthew, wait!’ Becky was behind him, as he turned to the door. ‘The question I asked. About the … allegation she made. I …’ She faltered, clearly struggling with her emotions.

Hearing her voice catching in her throat, Matthew squeezed his eyes closed. She’d asked because she’d had to. She’d needed to. It didn’t matter, he told himself. Nothing mattered now except getting Mia back. That was his focus. Hesitating for a second, Matthew turned to her, and her expression tore his heart wide open. All her vulnerability, it was right there in her beautiful eyes, and he could do nothing to fix it, nothing to make her world safe.

‘I’ll find her,’ he repeated firmly, and then, not sure what else to say that wouldn’t seem to be searching for some kind of affirmation from her, he reached hesitantly out and pulled her into his arms.

Holding her briefly, not daring to read anything into the fact that she’d allowed him to hold her, he glanced past her towards where Ashley stood behind her, her face deathly pale.

‘Stay strong for me,’ he asked her, praying that she could.

Relieved when she nodded assuredly, Matthew nodded gratefully back. Then, breathing in the scent of the only woman he’d ever truly loved, the woman who in reality had made his world safe, he eased away and turned to step quickly out of the room.

Seeing the officer a way off to his left chatting to a nurse, Matthew turned right, heading diagonally across the corridor for the stairs leading down to the ground floor. No risks, he reminded himself, pausing briefly halfway down. He’d forgotten one major risk. The risk that, once he stepped outside, he might be shot down where he stood. It was possible. Not likely, instinct told him they wouldn’t kill him outright, but possible, and then … Fear and indecision causing his windpipe to constrict, Matthew glanced around for any sign of cameras and then quickly keyed in a text: Main entrance 2 mins. Alone. No time. Dumping phone.

Knowing he had no choice but to, he sent the text to Davies, prayed hard that if he was taken out of the frame Davies would have something to go on, and then continued down.

Stay calm, he cautioned himself, as he headed into Reception. If he seemed to be deliberately drawing attention, Christ only knew what the consequences for Mia might be. She’d said he was being watched. Matthew had no idea if that was so, but from here on in he had to work on the premise that he was.

Nodding a passing acknowledgement at one of the nursing staff, he pulled out the mobile, and then, hoping it was enough for anyone who did have eyes on him, he headed directly for the vending machine, next to which was a bin. Waiting for a second, making sure no one who shouldn’t be was paying him too much attention, he lowered the phone and dropped it in. Staying put for another second, his heartbeat ratcheting up, as someone rose from their seat and wandered in his direction, Matthew made sure the woman was heading past him to the toilets, and then turned swiftly for the exit doors.

Now what? Once outside, he waited again, noting patients in dressing gowns out for a quick smoke, despite the drizzling grey rain, various other people being dropped off on crutches, none of whom were likely to be a point of contact. So, without a phone, how the hell was she intending to … Matthew’s thoughts ground to a halt as a kid on a bike, ten, maybe eleven years old, skimmed millimetres past him.

Using his foot as a brake, the kid skidded to a halt and wheeled his bike around. ‘You Matthew Adams?’ he asked, dragging his coat sleeve under his nose as he squinted up at him.

Matthew nodded, eyeing him questioningly. ‘Who sent you?’ he asked him, debating whether to grab hold of his collar and hang on to him until he coughed up.

The kid wasn’t offering any information, though, it seemed. Fumbling in his jacket pocket instead, he pushed a crumpled up piece of paper at him and then remounted and pedalled off fast. Watching him go, Matthew smoothed out the note. Walk out of the hospital, it instructed. First road left. Halfway along. Red Ford Mondeo. Keys front far side tyre. Do it, Adams, if you value her life.

That last sentence, it might as well have been Sullivan. That’s exactly what the animal had said when he’d ordered him down on his knees. Every hair on his body rising, Matthew reached for his inhaler as he started walking. Taking two sharp puffs, he sucked in the medication and tried to stop thinking. Becky had been perched on the box. The noose around her neck, red stilettos rammed on her feet, she’d been terrified, terrified and pregnant with Mia, and Matthew hadn’t even known she was. ‘Click, clack, crack,’ Sullivan had smirked, intimating what would happen if she fell. His black eyes glinting with pure evil, the sick bastard had loved every minute of it. He’d made him beg, plead, grovel. He’d no intention of allowing her to leave alive. Any of them. He would have killed her in front of him, just for kicks. Would have taken the life of his unborn child.

Mia.

Feeling every painful emotion over again, Matthew attempted to regulate his breathing, to slow his rapid heartbeat. Not coincidence. Planned. All of it, planned. Why? he asked over again. He didn’t bother glancing at the gunmetal grey skies. God wasn’t listening. Even the birds had stopped singing.

Reaching the red Mondeo, parked roughly where she’d said it would be, he skirted around to the driver’s side. The keys were there, right where they were supposed to be. Guessing there would be further instructions inside, Matthew unlocked the car and climbed in. He’d barely closed the door when a phone rang. Glancing around, trying to quash his escalating panic, he scrambled open the glove compartment and grabbed it.

‘Drive,’ she said, as soon as he answered. ‘Take Abbey Lane heading towards London Road. Dump the car at the garage halfway along Abbey Lane and start walking. Got it?’

Matthew hesitated for a second. It was clear now it was him she wanted, nothing else. He would deliver, but what then? If he walked right into her hands, defenceless, no gun, no one to back him up, what incentive would she have to let Mia go? Agonisingly, Matthew debated.

‘That was a question, Adams,’ she said, a warning edge to her voice. ‘I’d appreciate the courtesy of an answer.’

Another sense of déjà vu washing over him, Matthew felt bile rise nauseatingly in his throat. ‘Yes,’ he answered, tightly, Sullivan the cocky playground bully emblazoning himself on his mind. He’d punctuated every taunt, every incomprehensible demand and vicious kick with a question. ‘Comprendre?’ he would ask him, his mocking eyes locked on Matthew’s as the bastard had considered whether he’d learned his lesson or whether he’d needed to reinforce it. Then, ‘That was a question,’ he’d point out, and reinforce it anyway. Later, those threats had been to his family. His wife. Matthew was travelling the exact same road again and he had no idea how he got here.

‘Good,’ she said, forcing him to concentrate on what he had to do. ‘In future, make sure to answer promptly and moderate your tone when you do. Your temper’s showing again, Adams. Might just be little Mia’s downfall that, don’t y’think?’

Question? Uncertain, Matthew closed his eyes. ‘Understood,’ he replied, his jaw clenching.

‘Drive,’ she instructed. ‘Oh, and Adams, make sure to dump the phone before you set off. Out of the window. Do it now.’

‘Wait!’ Matthew said urgently, assuming she was about to end the call.

She didn’t answer, prolonging the agony. Matthew could hear the sick bitch breathing. ‘What?’ she said, at length.

His hand visibly shaking, Matthew reached to wipe away the perspiration from his forehead. ‘My daughter has asthma,’ he said unsteadily. ‘She could die without the right medication.’

Again there was a pause. Matthew waited, praying he’d done the right thing, that Mia was more use to them alive.

‘In which case you’d better make sure you do everything you’re told to, hadn’t you, Adams? I want you. You alone, where you’re supposed to be, pronto. No detours. No driving erratically in hopes of attracting the attention of your uniformed friends. You do, she’s dead anyway. End of. Do I make myself clear?’

Matthew dragged a hand over his neck. ‘Abundantly,’ he said, working to keep any inflection from his voice.

‘Good. The phone, Adams. Get rid of it. And remember, your every move is being watched.’

Was it? Matthew glanced through the rear-view mirror as the call ended. People walking by, he noted. No one out of the ordinary. Cars driving past. None of them unduly slowly. He glanced back to the phone. Should he send a text?

Not knowing which risk was greatest, Matthew made the only decision he could, and then, picturing Mia fighting to draw breath even as he sat here, he steeled himself, opened his window and threw the phone out. God help me. Please keep her safe. Closing his eyes, he prayed hard, despite his cynicism, then yanked the wheel hard right and pulled out.