At night the city stirred. As Amanda lay in bed she could hear the distant drone of car engines occasionally punctured by the shrill shriek of a siren as an emergency vehicle dashed down the streets in a blaze of blue lights. And closer than the sounds of the city, she could hear Shane sleeping. He was on his side, facing away from her, his deep breaths slow and steady. It would be so easy for Amanda to stretch out across the distance between them, to place a hand upon his shoulder, against his back, to wedge herself up close, to feel his body heat press against hers.
She missed Will so much that her body ached. She wanted to curl up in his arms, to rest her head upon his chest, to see his eyes crinkle at the corners when she made him smile. But her husband was gone.
The lies surrounding Will’s death caused her inner wounds to sting. When she thought about who he’d really been – Jake Burton, about how he’d had a son and a wife, her chest constricted as though she was about to be choked by her own despair.
Pushing back the crisp white covers, Amanda got up. She grabbed a hoody that was draped over a nearby chair and pulled it on. After tiptoeing towards the window, she carefully drew the curtains back just an inch and looked out at the city. She felt as restless as the souls that wandered the streets so late at night. Above the towering buildings the sky was a thick black blanket devoid of stars. Amanda leaned her head against the window and released a tense breath which misted the glass. Her gaze dipped and she stared dead-eyed at the white van, parked in the same position at the side of the road. The only vehicle on a busy street. Surely it was illegal to park there? Amanda considered focusing on its presence but couldn’t. This wasn’t her life, how could it be? She was meant to be in her perfect home sleeping beside her perfect husband.
Had anyone even found Will’s body?
In these quiet moments, when most of the world slept, this was the question that haunted Amanda the most. She imagined him still slumped on the damp ground of the forest, the blood which had once flowed freely from his chest dried and congealed around him growing darker by the day.
‘I should never have left him,’ Amanda pressed her fingertips against the window. But she’d had no choice. There had been Ewan and she had to protect the boy. She had to—
‘Amanda?’ Shane’s voice was clotted with sleep as she heard him sit up in the bed behind her.
‘Did I wake you?’ She turned away from the window and let the curtain fall back into place, sealing out the lights of the city that continued to twinkle like a thousand artificial stars.
‘You okay?’ Shane pushed his hand through his messy hair. Amanda noticed that his chest was bare. Her gaze dropped to the outline of lean muscles and when it kept dipping she forced herself to look up, to lock eyes with Shane.
‘I just couldn’t sleep.’
‘You should try and rest as much as you can.’ He got out of bed, revealing the low-slung pair of joggers that he’d been sleeping in, and trod a path towards the bathroom. ‘Sleep deprivation can dull even the sharpest mind,’ he threw over his shoulder before closing the door.
Amanda massaged her temple. She understood the importance of staying sharp. If she lowered her guard, even for a second, she risked McAllister finding her first. And given what she suspected he’d done to Evangeline she doubted he’d show her any kind of mercy. By all accounts the man was a monster, an animal, who deserved to be behind bars.
Or dead.
The vitriol which suddenly bubbled inside Amanda actually scared her. She clenched and unclenched her hands into fists as she went over to the desk. Opening up her laptop, she instantly saw that she had a new message from Turtle. Amanda pressed down hard on her mouse key, overly eager to read the reply.
Rumour has it that you need the right hook.
T
Amanda’s eyes danced over the message as Shane emerged from the bathroom.
‘It’s a little early for that, don’t you think? You should really try and get some rest, Amanda.’ He stood behind her and gestured towards the bed. The smell of his cologne had grown stronger, seemed fresher. ‘I can head down to the hotel gym for an hour or so, if, you know, me being in the bed is making you uncomfortable.’
‘Rumours and Hooked.’ Amanda tapped a finger against her laptop screen.
‘What?’ Shane leaned forward to peer at the message.
‘Those are the two clubs that McAllister frequents.’
‘Amanda—’
‘We just need to go there and suss him out. Assess how much security he has around him.’
‘Okay, but—’
‘Figure out which night’s he’s usually there. How long he stays for.’
‘Can you even trust this,’ Shane scrutinised the screen with increased intensity, ‘Turtle82?’ His lips curled down with disgust as he stated the username. ‘For all you know they might be working for McAllister. This might all be some kind of trap.’
Amanda shook her head. ‘No way. I’ve known Turtle82 for years. I worked with them when I was a student.’
‘What if their account has been compromised?’
‘Impossible.’ Amanda didn’t even take a second to entertain the idea. ‘Turtle82 is the best there is when it comes to hacking. Their account is an impenetrable digital fortress. Trust me.’
‘You I trust,’ Shane pointed at the laptop, ‘but this Turtle. We don’t even know who the hell they are. They’re just a name on a screen. And why are they even keen on taking down McAllister? What’s in it for them?’
‘Money, probably,’ Amanda shrugged. ‘McAllister must have pissed off the wrong person. Now they want him locked up but for their hands to remain clean. I used to work jobs like this all the time – sort of digital espionage, if you like.’
‘It’s hacking, Amanda, don’t try and dress it up.’ Shane’s nose crinkled with disgust like it always used to whenever the topic of discussion was the darknet.
‘And you devote your life to trying to find justice for dead men.’ Her voice hardened. ‘Talk about a lost cause.’
‘Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?’ Shane took a step towards her, she could see his chest rising and falling with every beat of his heart.
‘This is about more than Will,’ Amanda retorted, raising her chin. ‘This is about Ewan. About his future.’
‘This is about revenge and you know it. McAllister might not even be looking for Ewan.’
‘I’m not going to live my life beneath that shadow of doubt. If McAllister is behind bars then he can’t hurt Ewan.’
‘I’ve seen a man’s reach extend far beyond the walls of his cell.’
‘Then what am I supposed to do? Kill him?’ Amanda noticed that the thought didn’t chill her the way it should have. Disturbed, she moved away from Shane, back towards the bed where she dropped down upon its edge, head pressed against her chest.
‘Jesus, Amanda, no!’
‘Turtle82 has a plan. They know the way to take McAllister down. And yes, they’re in it for different reasons than I am, but so what? We don’t exactly have many people on our side, Shane. At this point I’m willing to take all the allies we can find.’
‘But you’re playing a dangerous game.’ He came and sat beside her. ‘You’re trusting strangers, putting yourself in harm’s way.’
‘If I don’t then who will?’ She peered up at Shane as he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. ‘Ewan deserves to have someone who will fight for him.’
‘And I’ll fight for you. No matter what.’ Shane sounded far away, like he was speaking underwater. Amanda breathed in his cologne, felt the warmth of his body merge with her own as she fell asleep against his shoulder.
*
‘So we go to the club, what then?’ Shane asked the question through the bathroom door. Amanda was staring at her reflection in the large mirror that hung over the sink as she carefully applied a thick layer of mascara. She wore dark skinny jeans, black ankle boots and a silver vest top. Her hair was slightly curled as it tumbled down her back and lazy golden waves.
‘We look around,’ she shouted back before pouting and tackling her other eye.
‘I still don’t know about this.’ Shane was in the centre of the room when she came out of the bathroom, his shoulders raised and his body a coil of tightly wound nervous energy. But he looked good. His black jeans had been matched with a white shirt and grey blazer. He looked handsome, casual. His hair was loosely styled with some gel and his face freshly shaven.
‘You look…’ Amanda froze just beyond the bathroom, feeling like she was fifteen again. She remembered all too well the butterflies which had erupted in her stomach when she saw Shane all dressed up for their school disco. Back then it had been jeans and a Ramones T-shirt, but with his hair styled and a cloud of cologne flanking his every step Amanda had seen her friend for the first time not as the boy she played computer games with and made bonfires but as the man who might one day steal her heart. And that was the man who was looking at her now.
‘Stunning,’ Shane’s eyes widened as he took her in. ‘Truly, Amanda, you’re a vision.’
She gave him a nervous smile in gratitude. ‘Well, let’s get this over with, these things are already killing my feet,’ she kicked out one of her boots and playfully scowled at him.
‘Yes, but like I told you, they wouldn’t let you in if you wore your Converse.’
‘Maybe we need to test that theory,’ Amanda teased as together they went out the door.
*
A chalkboard sign on the street, though rain-splattered, told them that it was live band night at Hooked. The Decadent Dominoes were playing. The path was littered with cigarette stubs and discarded pieces of chewing gum. A plastic bag sagged in a nearby drain like a used-up washrag.
‘I think we should try Rumours,’ Shane’s hand was on the small of Amanda’s back as he helped her pick a path along the street. Since leaving the hotel, she’d almost fallen in her heels three times. ‘McAllister doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who enjoys listening to indie bands live.’
When they got there, there was a queue outside Rumours which snaked its way along the street. Women in miniskirts with legs for days giggled in groups as men openly flirted with them. The air was full of excitable, drunken chatter and Amanda felt completely out of her depth. People swore, turning the air blue and then cackled in delight. A litany of words Amanda didn’t even understand tumbled from rouge lips. The laughter was always raucous. Always dirty. The glimmer of smouldering cigarettes lit up the line like cat’s eyes. Amanda almost choked on the cloud of smoke which twisted in a halo around her head. This wasn’t her scene. The second they reached the front of the line the bouncer would take one look at her and know why she was there. They’d read the heartbreak on her face, see the desire for revenge lurking behind her painted eyes.
‘I can’t do this,’ she tried to drift away but Shane held her close to his side as they joined the back of the queue.
‘Yes, you can,’ he told her quietly. Confidently. ‘We’re just going to go in and have a few drinks together. Look around. That’s it.’
‘I don’t know.’ Amanda felt so socially awkward, like a teacup surrounded by champagne flutes. She stood out, seemed misplaced.
‘If you want to go back, say the word,’ Shane’s hand was in hers and their fingers threaded together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Amanda looked down at their palms clasped together. She used to think that she and Shane fit together perfectly, like when she placed her hand in his it just seemed meant to be.
With Will it had been different. In his huge hands her own had almost disappeared and she loved that. He was a giant. Her giant.
She squeezed Shane’s hand. He was right. She wasn’t sure who she was really there for anymore – Will or Ewan. It was probably both of them. And so for the man she’d loved and for boy she’d vowed to protect, Amanda pushed back her shoulders and did her best to look like she belonged. ‘I can do this,’ she whispered to herself more than to Shane.
*
Twenty minutes later and they were in the club. In the dim lighting, Amanda could make out the red-cushioned booths which lined the outer walls. On the far wall there was a long bar where the optics were displayed beneath neon blue lights. Several bartenders darted about, all wearing white shirts and black waistcoats.
In the centre of the club was the dance floor. It seemed to absorb all excess light in the room. Whilst the booths were shrouded in shadows, the dance floor was ablaze with spotlights. Even the chequered floor was lit up.
‘This place feels like the eighties threw up in here,’ Shane said into her ear as he guided her towards an empty booth. Amanda sat down and looked around. There were mainly women on the dance floor, sexually moving their bodies in time with the music as if they knew every beat, could pre-empt every change in tempo. They all looked so at ease, moving with confident fluidity. And they all looked beautiful. Every woman dancing could have been a model. They had long legs and an ethereal, graceful elegance, even when clad in small skirts and wearing too much make-up.
Rumours felt nothing like the clubs Amanda had dared to visit back home. Those had also been full of shadows, but the people who danced within them seemed more… real. The people within Rumours looked like they’d fallen out of the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. They were beautiful, exotic.
‘This is definitely where McAllister will be.’ Shane was still standing, glancing between the dance floor and the bar.
‘You think so?’ Amanda had to shout to be heard over the pulse of the music blasting out from the DJ booth, which was so loud it felt like it was replacing her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.
‘This place seems exclusive.’
Amanda arched an eyebrow at him which made Shane grin. He flashed her a boyish smile and leaned in close. Close enough for his cheek to graze against her as he whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t worry darling, I’ve got eyes for no one but you tonight.’ She knew he was teasing, but as he walked away towards the bar Amanda was still blushing.
The music kept pounding as the beauties danced. The air was thick with the lingering scent of stale beer laced with overpowering perfume. It was the kind of aroma which sunk into your clothes so that you ended up wearing it long after you’d left the club. Amanda drummed her fingertips against the table and waited on Shane. She kept darting her gaze around the club, peering into each shadowy corner. And then she saw him.
It took a second for her mind to catch up with her eyes. But there was no mistaking that the man sat on the other side of the club in what appeared to be a raised VIP area was Gregg McAllister.
He was in the centre of a booth like the one Amanda was sat in, only his had plump purple fabric instead of red. And his booth and two others were higher than any of the others in the club and two burly security men in black suits with earpieces lingered close by, flanking a red velvet rope which one of them occasionally moved away to allow one of the women from the dance floor to sashay over to McAllister.
He was surrounded by women, wearing a dark grey suit and clutching a glass of what looked like whisky in one hand. His black hair was slicked back and when he laughed, which he did often, it was easy to miss the telltale scars which gave him away. But when his face was resting, when he looked thoughtful, the long scars which pulled away from the corners of his mouth and crudely extended up towards his cheeks were obvious, even in the dim light of the club.
There was no doubt that he was handsome in a suave way. He exuded rugged charm, but in his suit he was the picture of old-school elegance, like Cary Grant in old Hollywood movies. He moved with ease, with confidence. The more people around him, the more animated and illuminated he became. He was like a black hole – stealing the light of all those nearby as he drew them close.
Amanda’s heartbeat became too quick, too erratic. She could feel herself growing hot, her palms slick with sweat. This was the man who had hunted down her husband. This was the man who had taken her perfect life and shattered it.
Amanda thought of a snow globe she’d once broken. It had happened during a winter when the snow had come in thick, icy storms and settled waist-deep even in villages along the coast. A cool mist had settled atop the sea and didn’t leave for weeks. The globe had sat on the mantelpiece in her mother’s living room. In it there was a beautifully ornate little gingerbread house and when you turned the globe upside down and then righted it again the house was in the midst of its own snowstorm. You could even wind a gear on the base of the globe to have it play ‘The Christmas Song’. Amanda had loved that globe. But that particularly cold year she’d gotten a Nintendo Wii and during a very boisterous game of tennis with Shane she’d knocked the globe flying off the mantle. It smashed against the dark wood of the floor, its precious liquid seeping out, the beautiful snow clotting in lumps.
‘It’s ruined,’ Amanda had wailed as she scooped up shards of glass and stared down at them in dismay.
‘The house is still okay,’ Shane had knocked any remaining glass off and showed her that the little gingerbread house still stood. But it had lost its protective glass dome, its own personal snowstorm, its magic.
‘Yes, but being just the house isn’t the same,’ Amanda had shook her head woefully. ‘It’s ruined.’
‘One gin and tonic,’ Shane placed her drink in front of her before sitting down. He sipped his Jack Daniels and Coke and then noticed her troubled expression. ‘Amanda, you all right?’
‘He’s here,’ Amanda nodded in the direction of McAllister and the bevvy of beauties who filled up the booth around him. They laughed along with him and seductively stroked their hands up his legs, along his shoulders, as though he were some sort of idol to them. ‘That’s him.’ Amanda reached for her drink and consumed its contents in one single gulp, then she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and continued to stare at the suited McAllister. ‘That’s the man who broke my snow globe.’