Jools woke some time later. For once, she’d slept really, really well. She stretched her arms above her head luxuriously and remembered dreaming something about Alexios.
The thought made her shudder. Must’ve been a nightmare, then. Alexios might be fit, and handsome, but he was definitely strange…and a bit scary, with those sudden mood swings of his.
She thought of Jez. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a boyfriend – smart, funny and handsome in that posh boy way of his. Too bad Felicity had walked in on them when she did.
She hoped her dad would give Jez another chance.
Oh well, Jools reflected as she got up and dragged on one of the T-shirts and a pair of jeans they’d left her, that wasn’t going to happen. I wonder what Jez is doing right this minute?
Had he found someone else, a new girl to hang out with? Had he forgotten her? Moved on? The very thought sent a twist of pain through her, and she was filled with despair.
Not knowing the day, or the time – or indeed, how much time had gone by – filled her with frustration. She missed Mum, her iPod, hanging out with Adesh and, most of all, kissing Jez…she even missed the awkward weekends spent in company with her father and Felicity. Her throat closed. Would she ever see any of them again?
Determinedly, Jools dragged a brush through her hair, thrusting aside any thoughts of home, as well as the fear Alexios’s recent threats had evoked. She wanted out of this place. But she wouldn’t cry. She bloody well wouldn’t.
Jools flung the brush aside. She hated it here. She was sick of waiting, always waiting, not knowing what time or even what day it was. No matter how nice her room might be, or how many HobNobs and pots of tea they brought her, it wasn’t home. It was nothing but a prison.
As she’d done a thousand times before, Jools went to the door and twisted the knob, expecting it to be locked.
To her surprise, it turned easily.
She froze and caught her breath. Of course, she knew the moment she actually opened the door, a bulky, grim-faced guard would scowl at her and shove her back inside.
Nevertheless, Jools eased the door open just the tiniest bit and peered out. There was no sign of anyone. Through the crack she glimpsed a bit of the carpet and part of a straight- backed chair. She saw nothing – and more importantly – no one else.
Growing bolder, she edged the door wider, her heart thrumming and every one of her senses alert. Where will you go if you do manage to get out of here? she wondered as she let herself out into the hallway. You don’t even know where you are.
A Persian carpet ran the length of the hall, thick and plush under her bare feet. Several doors, all closed, were set at regular intervals into the walls. Jools crept past each one, hardly daring to breathe, until she reached the end of the corridor. The hallway intersected with another that continued on to the left and right. Bloody hell but this place was huge! And was that sea air that she smelled?
Jools frowned. More importantly – which way should she go? Left, she decided. She wondered uneasily where everyone was. There were no guards, no servants bearing trays or baskets of clean clothing…it was most peculiar. It was almost as if – she bit her lip as she reached the end of the corridor and peeked round the corner – almost as if they were letting her get away.
But, of course, that was ridiculous.
Her steps slowed as she realized the hall ended just ahead and turned right. The light grew brighter, and – she caught her breath – was that a window she glimpsed, just ahead?
It was! As she reached the window and moved to push the heavy damask drapery aside to have a quick look outside, she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck and heard a light footfall behind her.
“Are you going somewhere, querida?”
With her heart in her throat, Jools turned around to see Alexios, his arms crossed loosely against his chest, his golden tiger’s eyes steady on hers.
Before she could formulate a reply, he gave a sharp command in Turkish, and two men appeared behind him.
Without a word, they stepped forward to grab her arms, one on either side of her. Jools twisted and kicked, but their grips only tightened, and she knew struggle was useless.
They frog-marched her down the hall, moving so quickly she stumbled several times, intent only on keeping pace in the wake of Alexios’ long, angry strides.
Barrow Cottage was empty when Devon and Christa arrived late that afternoon. As they climbed out of the car, Christa leaned against the passenger door and drank in the gently sloping Cotswold hills and pastureland dotted with sheep. The cottage, made of stone and partly obscured by ivy, nestled in the midst of it all.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she murmured.
Devon paused halfway to the house and bent down to lift one of the flowerpots – empty now – lining the path. “Got it,” he said, and produced a key. “We’re in like Flynn.”
“Are you sure your friend won’t mind?”
“I’m sure. He rarely uses the place. I think he mostly just brings his birds here.”
It was Christa’s turn to smile. “Like you’re doing now?” she teased.
“Exactly.” He smiled back, relieved to see the pop singer joking and shed of her defensiveness, at least for the moment.
Christa wandered inside behind Devon and tossed her bag on a settee in the entrance hall. Wood beams supported the ceilings, and the oak floorboards creaked under their feet. Straight ahead, a staircase rose to the second floor; in the sitting room to the left, she heard the ticking of a grandfather clock.
“I love it,” she murmured, and brushed past him to enter the sitting room. “It’s charming. So peaceful.”
“Good. I’ll make sure the water’s turned on, then I’ll check the pantry. I don’t know how much food Jack left in the place, or how old it might be. We can always go into the village and do a grocery shop before I leave.”
“Jack?” Christa asked, trying – and failing – to ignore the pang she felt when Devon had mentioned leaving.
He nodded. “We were partners when I started out at the CID.”
“But you’re not any more.”
“No. Jack moved on to…other things.”
As Devon left to check the water was on and the boiler was working, Christa took her bag and went upstairs. At the top of the landing she paused. The wood frame of the tiny bathroom was splintered and the rough-plastered wall was gouged in a couple of places. Gingerly, she reached out and touched one of the furrows. The damage looked recent.
There were two bedrooms, one on either side of the bathroom. She went into the room on the right, as charmed by the four-poster bed and the blue-and-white toile wallpaper as the glorious view of the countryside from the small, deep-silled windows.
Nothing bad could ever happen to you in a place as beautiful and peaceful as this, Christa thought as she leaned down to look out the window.
“Christa?” Devon called out.
“I’m up here,” she called back. “Top of the stairs, the bedroom on the right.”
A moment later he appeared in the doorway. She was startled to see how he filled the space, with his broad shoulders and his straightforward blue gaze. Why had she never noticed how attractive he was?
“You’re all set,” he said, and laid the key down on the dresser by the door. “Boiler’s working and the water’s turned on. There’s plenty of food in the larder, and all of it fresh; Jack must’ve been here recently.”
She eyed him doubtfully. “You don’t think he’ll come back, do you?”
“No. He’s off on a case, trying to find his missing niece.”
“How awful! I hope he finds her.”
“He will. Jack’s very intrepid. And very determined.” He hesitated. “Well – time I was off. You should be fine. You have my number, call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“I’ll come back and pick you up whenever you’re ready.”
They smiled awkwardly at one another, neither wanting to move.
“Right then. I’m off,” Devon said, and turned to go. “Call me.”
He was halfway down the stairs when Christa hurried after him. “Devon…wait.”
He turned to look up at her.
“Don’t…don’t go.” She bit her lip. “I can’t handle being alone just yet. Please – stay?”
Gemma sat up in bed and checked her text messages as Dominic snored softly beside her. There was nothing from Jack. But there was a voicemail from Devon, left just an hour ago.
She slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Dominic, and listened to the message.
“Gemma – DS Matthews here. Thanks for your concern, but I’m sure Jack’s fine. He often disappears when he’s chasing a lead. I can’t give out the address of the nightclub – it’s a police matter, and far too dangerous for you to get mixed up in.”
She flung the phone aside. He might be sure Jack was fine, but she wasn’t. And she couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.
Screw it, Gemma decided. She’d go out first thing tomorrow…and find that damned nightclub herself.