She pushed the other woman down on the sofa, so deep she thought they were sinking below red ocean waves. Davis was choking, unable to fight against Astrid’s superior strength. Lights invaded Davis’s eyes, the reflection of the anger flowing from Astrid’s face.
Her head was a swirl of contrasting images: her niece with the broadest of smiles; her father with his diabolical smirk; George with his arms outstretched, offering her the emotional warmth she’d never had before; and Courtney grinning at her. A sudden and stinging delight swept through her bones as the life slipped from the woman she’d pressed against the couch. She’d forgotten how good this was.
Hands gripped Astrid’s waist, pulling her backwards, a voice shouting at her, imploring her to stop. It was Laurel grabbing her once more, this time in desperation to save a life. They tumbled to one side, fell to the floor together, reminiscent of their shared passion not so long ago. Astrid gave in, staring towards the tiny lights George had placed around the edge of the ceiling, before returning to the anguished eyes of Laurel Lee.
‘Are you okay, Astrid?’
Laurel looked as grave as a gothic churchyard, her voice solemn and quivering. Astrid wasn’t, but she nodded anyway. Director Davis was prone on the sofa; no more strangled choking noises, only the sound of silence. Astrid had one concern now: making sure Olivia was safe. She needed Davis alive, but was seething about the threat to Olivia’s safety.
‘I’m fine, Laurel. Get me the laptop while I check if Davis is still breathing.’
She’d formulated a plan and was worried she’d killed the director; she needed her fit and healthy if they were to escape from the house. Laurel scrambled across the floor, grabbing the computer and hurrying back across the room.
‘Is she alive?’
Astrid propped Davis against the chair, watching tiny breaths drifting from her mouth.
‘She’s fine, just winded.’
Astrid had her doubts as she noticed the shades of blue and purple forming on the director’s neck, before snatching the laptop from Laurel. She connected to the internet, opened a tab for her secret email account, and one for a social media site she hadn’t used in a decade. She needed the email message to do the trick, but the second option was an emergency measure. Laurel went to the director and checked her pulse as Astrid’s fingers skimmed across the keyboard.
‘What are you doing?’
She continued to type with furious speed. ‘Making sure my niece is safe.’
‘How will you do that?’
Astrid finished her task and searched for the software George had hidden on the machine, which would obliterate everything on the drive and leave it as blank as Davis’s unconscious face. She found it and set its destructive operations in motion: predicted completion was thirty minutes away.
‘We need to wake her up.’ She pointed at the snoring Director Davis.
‘Do you want me to throw a bucket of water over her?’
‘No need.’ She strode over and slapped Davis twice on the cheek, the second time harder than the first. That blow would have been enough to resurrect the dead, and Davis spluttered back into life. ‘You lay a finger on my niece, and I’ll kill you.’
Twenty-nine minutes before the computer was clean.
Davis grimaced, eyes narrowed with lips curled.
‘I guess you’re not as cold and emotional as you’d like to appear, Snow.’ Blood crept over her bottom lip, and she coughed out the words. ‘Strangulation appears to be your weapon of choice.’
Astrid ignored the taunts and concentrated on the computer screen.
Did the messages get through? And if they did, what would be the response?
Astrid picked bits of skin from under her nails and dropped them onto the floor.
‘You’re lucky I let you live.’
Davis wheezed through a damaged throat and brittle lungs. She didn’t give up on the questions.
‘Did you know about your father’s disappearance?’ Davis spat blood onto the floor, her eyes twitching as she spoke. She had Astrid’s attention now and didn’t let go. This was news to Astrid. Or it was misinformation. ‘It happened at the same time as your sister’s pregnancy. It’s in the Agency files, but nobody cared, especially with your attitude.’ Davis brought her arm up and brushed it across her face. ‘The whispers said maybe you’d kidnapped him, payback for what you claimed he did to you when you were a child.’
‘I can tell you’re lying because your lips are moving, Davis.’
‘I knew your father when he worked on the force, did you know that? He was a twenty-year veteran when I joined. Such a shame what happened to him.’ She paused in her taunting, glaring at Astrid but getting nothing in return. ‘Is that what this is all about, Astrid? Did those images you’ve suppressed all these years come back and trigger this killing spree of yours?’ Davis grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Astrid’s face was unmoving, a vast silence creeping behind her eyes. ‘How dire and painful must those memories be which slip from the pale shadows of some dim corner of your mind?’
Davis was enjoying herself. Astrid was impassive, concentrating more on her present than her past. The news about Lawrence was curious, but she couldn’t allow it to distract her from what she needed to do next.
‘He means nothing to me.’
As long as he kept away from Olivia, but she couldn’t trust Courtney to make sure of that.
‘Why did you go to Frank Delaney’s house and kill him? Did you hate his sister that much?’
Astrid was poker-faced while smiling on the inside: they didn’t know Frank had planned the escape from the van, continuing to pursue their ridiculous theory she was on a rampage to kill as many agents as she could.
Twenty minutes to go.
She ignored the questions and slipped into the kitchen, touching Laurel on the shoulder as she went. Astrid returned with a large kitchen knife, striding back towards the director as the map inside her mind unfurled to reveal all the escape points.
‘How much value do you place on your life, Davis? More than you do for an innocent child, I’d guess.’
Her eyes burnt volcanic red. Eighteen minutes to go.
‘You want to march me out of here so you and the new girlfriend can disappear hand in hand.’
The disgust in Davis’s voice was palpable; gone was the emotional blankness of before; now, the anger and bitterness seeped through her face.
‘It’s as good a plan as any.’ Astrid nodded at Laurel as she spoke.
‘And how far do you think you’ll get?’
Davis wiped mucus from her nose before touching the expanding bruise below her chin.
‘I’ll get far enough to find the real killer. I may even go to your house in Knightsbridge or the flat you have in Camden.’
Fifteen minutes remaining.
The words spluttered out of Davis’s mouth. ‘How do you know about those?’
Astrid approached her with the knife at her side.
‘You haven’t done your research on me, have you?’
‘You wouldn’t dare harm my family.’
Astrid laughed in her face. ‘I’ve sent all your details to some old friends of mine. Anything happens to Olivia or her parents, and you’ll receive the same but a thousand times worse.’
The threat chilled the air in the room.
‘You’re lying.’
Ten minutes left.
‘Hardly. And you’re correct: the three of us are going to take a walk outside. Then I want your phone from whoever you handed it to before you came in here. Once I’ve checked to see who you have on this covert operation, I want all their communication devices and the keys to all their vehicles.’
She ran it through her mind again to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
‘And if I don’t comply?’
She pulled up the chair opposite Davis, sat in it and crossed her legs, placing the blade on top of her knee.
‘You’ve studied my work, read through the files, correct?’ Davis nodded. ‘So, you know what I’m capable of. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.’
‘This won’t work, Snow.’
‘Let’s go,’ Astrid said to Laurel as she grabbed Davis by the arm and dragged her towards the door. She caressed the sharp steel against the director’s flesh as they went, curious as to what would be waiting for them when they stepped outside.
Five minutes left.
The last one was enjoyable, but it was merely a distraction, something to soothe my new urges on the return home. I’d been away for three weeks and missed my comforts. And of course, there was my guest all alone in the basement.
I’d left enough food and water, plus access to an en suite bathroom; better facilities than most hotels I’d stayed in. Not as nice as the house I’d taken him from, but much better than my original plan. He would have been floating with the others if I hadn’t changed my mind. It would be better if she had to watch him die.
I was surprised he let me into his house when I arrived; his natural caution, his unease at somebody turning up at his secret abode, withered away in a flash when I mentioned the magic words.
‘Astrid Snow is in trouble.’
It wasn’t a lie, and he recognised the truth in my voice. He couldn’t get the door open quick enough to usher me inside. Before he could say anything, I had the syringe in his neck, pushing the ketamine deep into his bloodstream. The effects were immediate, his flesh relaxing as the chemical buzz swept through his body, his legs going weak as his mind slipped down into the abyss which was the K-hole.
I caught him by the arm as he dropped, moving him over to the sofa and laying him down as his eyes glazed over. I’d come prepared, taking out the zips to tie his hands and feet. Once I was confident he was safe and secure, I scoured the rest of the house. It only took an hour to place the cameras and listening devices in each room, then another five minutes to install the spyware on the laptop.
Then I sat as he hallucinated, rambling on about lost loves while I waited for the approaching darkness to spirit him out the house and into the car. Anyone who may have witnessed the kidnapping would assume he was drunk as I propped him in the back seat.
And now he’d been my unwilling guest for three months, a pregnant pause in his new life. He was sleeping when I returned. In the first month of his captivity, he’d kept up a daily exercise routine in his room. But for the last few weeks before I left, he’d given up and resigned himself to sleep and reading books. I slipped in and administered a sedative into his arm, ensuring no resistance while changing the sheets on the bed. He’d lost weight while existing under my strict regime, so it was easy to lift him and place him in the chair in the corner. I was beginning to understand how people felt when looking after an aged or infirm relative.
‘Won’t be long now,’ I said to him as he slept. ‘She’s being led where I want her to be, but I’m still not sure what to do with you.’
There were a few options, none of them pleasant for him. I finished off in his room, leaving fresh food and water, and locked the door behind me.