It was late afternoon, and although he’d left several texts and a couple of voicemails, Dominic had heard nothing from Gemma.
He knew she was off shopping with Nat, but hell – couldn’t she manage to return at least one of his bloody calls? Scowling, he punched in Natalie Dashwood’s number.
“Dominic?” she answered, surprised. “Hi.”
“Hi, Nat. Yeah, sorry I haven’t talked to you lately. Been a bit busy. How’s the baby doing?”
“Still only a peanut, but thanks for asking.”
“I’m happy for you, Nat. Truly.” He switched the phone to his other ear. “Now, can I speak to Gemma, please?”
“Gemma?” she echoed blankly. “But – she’s not here.”
“What do you mean, she’s not there? You two went shopping today. I know you’re both on Sloane Street somewhere, spending money hand over fist, and it’s fine. I don’t care. I just want to talk to her for a mo.”
“Honestly, Dom, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m in Waitrose right now with Rhys, doing a grocery shop. You must’ve misunderstood.”
As he apologized for his mistake and rang off, Dominic felt a pinprick of worry. He hadn’t made a mistake. Gemma had definitely said in her note that she’d gone shopping with Nat. But Natalie hadn’t seen her. Which begged the question…
…where the hell was his wife?
“Gemma’s not answering my calls, and she’s not with her mate, Natalie, like she told me. I’m getting a bit worried.”
So saying, Dominic brushed past Gemma’s father into his flat and waited as he closed the door. “It’s not like her to take off without telling me, Milo.”
“She’s a big girl, Dom,” he reminded him. “I wouldn’t worry. You said you two had a row recently, didn’t you? Split up for a bit? She’s probably still mad.”
“No.” Dominic spoke firmly. “We made up, things are good between us. No, something’s wrong. I know it.”
“I hate to mention it, but what about that bloke she was seeing when you two split up? You know – the one she got mixed up with when you were in Corfu with that pop singer? Jack somebody-or-other, weren’t it?”
“Hawkins,” Dominic said, and sat on the edge of the sofa and picked up the Mirror from the coffee table. It was open, not surprisingly, to the racing scores. “His name’s Jack Hawkins.”
“Jack Hawkins? You mean the bloke who’s gone missing, vanished into thin air?”
“Yeah. He’s the one. Bit odd that, innit?”
“Dominic, Jack Hawkins is a bloody arms dealer!” Milo erupted. “It were in the newspaper I was just reading!”
“What?” Dom dropped the Mirror back on the coffee table. “I thought he was a cop.”
“Cop, my arse!” Milo snapped. “If Gemma’s mixed up with that bloke, you’ve a right to be worried, because you can bet she’s up to her ears in trouble, right along with him.” He grabbed up his keys and headed to the door.
“Hold up!” Dominic said as he stood up from the sofa. “Where’re you going?”
“We’re going to the police, we are,” Milo said firmly, “to report Gemma missing.”
“We have your girlfriend, Jack.”
Jack fixed Georgios with a look of pure, unadulterated contempt. “I don’t have a girlfriend. If I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t let her set foot in this place.” He paused and added, “And as ugly as you are, mate, I’m guessing you don’t have a girlfriend, either.”
“Well, she knows you,” the bald man said, unperturbed. “Came to the club looking for you this morning. Name’s Gemma.” His smile was unpleasant. “She’s a nice bit of crumpet.”
All of Jack’s cockiness evaporated. “You’re bluffing. Gemma’s not here.”
“I’m sorry to say she is.” Nikkos, looking well pleased, and not the least bit sorry, entered the room and smiled. “She wandered in off the street, looking for you. She’s very beautiful. Worried about you. And quite a handful…like most redheads, eh? She bit Georgios on the hand and kicked Alessandro in the balls twice before they subdued her.”
“Good on her.” Jack strained against the rope but it held fast. “But not good for you if you hurt her,” he promised, his words grim. “Either of you.” He glared at Nikkos. “When are you taking me to Jools?”
“I’ll take you when I am ready. Not before.”
Gemma scowled. She was trussed up like a Christmas goose and tied to a chair in a small, dank storeroom. A cloth was tied around her mouth and she desperately needed to pee. The two knobs who’d grabbed her in Nikkos’s office had brought her here and left. She’d had nothing to eat, nor any explanation as to why she was sitting in this cellar. As a result of which, she was in a really bad temper.
She tugged uselessly at the rope binding her wrists and tried to cry out, but the cloth muffled her shouts. Bastards! If one of them so much as lays a finger on me, she vowed grimly, they’ll get a stiletto heel straight up their arse…
Footsteps sounded just down the hall. She lifted her head and saw the door swing open. The same two men who’d brought her here came inside, and Georgios bent forward to untie her hands.
“You’re in luck,” the other one, a short, squat man, said. “The boss gave the order for you to be let go. Now,” he added as he leaned down near her face, “will you keep that mouth of yours shut?”
She nodded.
“Okay. But I’m warning you, ginger, one word, and it goes right back.” His eyes roved appreciatively over her body.
“You’re a right looker, you are. I wouldn’t mind a bit of that myself.”
“Keep your gob shut,” Georgios snapped. “You don’t want to piss off Mr A.”
“No.” No one wanted to get on the wrong side of Nikkos Angelos; bad things happened to those who did. He yanked the gag away from Gemma’s mouth. “Now, if you promise to behave, ginger, I’ll untie your feet. Deal?”
She glared at him. She longed to tell this yobbo where to stuff it, and no mistake. “Yes,” she gritted out. “I’ll behave.”
“There’s a good girl.”
“I thought I told you to shut up,” Georgios snapped at the other man. “Let’s go. Nikkos is waiting.”
Together they pulled Gemma to her feet and shoved her roughly before them, out the door.