Chapter 24

“I hear you’ve been bitten.” Ben gives me a cheeky smile over his pint as we sit at the bar in the lounge of Escape later that week. It’s slowly coming together. The woodwork is glossed, the bar installed and stocked, delayed wallpaper hung. It’s all the finishing touches that need to be completed now.

“He’s severely unimpressed. He thinks you’re losing your touch, my friend.”

“He’s not met her yet.” I shrug, unconcerned by Jack’s conclusions. “So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask, raising my own glass to my lips.

“Expansion.” His face lights up as he launches into facts and figures, supporting his case for a further investment in his foodie business.

I sit and listen carefully and study the various sheets of paper as he hands them to me. I can’t deny that his gastropub has done exceedingly well and has already gained a reputation as the place to eat, outside of the city.

“I’ve lined up a potential site. But I won’t go to see it unless you think it’s a goer. I’m bound to fall in love with it. It’s right on the water.”

“Sounds pricey.” I reach for the property particulars as he hands them over, a wistful look in his eyes.

I swallow the cider I’ve just sipped and place the property details in my hand on the bar precisely. “You want to buy it? Outright?”

I sit back on my stool and regard him, facts and figures whirring through my brain. How many nights he’d have to sell out in a year, and if that’s possible. How much staff he would need. The increase in overheads. The inflation rate of London property. Particularly waterfront property. If all else fails, the building itself would be an investment.

“Yeah?” he squeaks, his forehead wrinkling and his eyes screwing up to almost closed.

“Yes. Go take a look at the pile of bricks you want to spend five and a half million quid of my money on.” I smile and he finally lets out his breath.

After I’ve seen Ben out, I make my way back to my office. As I close the door, a notification sounds. Not mine.

I rush to the desk, circle it quickly and rip open the drawer. Eva’s phone is alight with notifications. WhatsApp. There is a whole raft of them.

Eva. I need to see you. D xx

Evie, I need to see you. I still love you.

I know now that the baby was mine. That I have a daughter. We have a daughter.

Evie, we can be a family. Just like you wanted. Please give us that chance. Give our daughter that chance.

You have to forgive me, baby. I’m sorry.

And the last one is a photograph of the two of them. Eva is lying with her head on a man’s bare chest. In a bed. She has a shy smile on her face. The half of her face I can see. She’s trying to hide from the camera, up against him, and he’s grinning like a guy who just won the lotto. She looks so young. He looks a lot like Gary, except his hair is short and spiky.

Remember this? You said yes.

She said yes? This is after he proposed? Christ! That is an image I never wanted to see. My girl agreeing to marry another man. And a man who hurt her. My stomach turns over and churns like a stormy sea.

We were so good together, baby. I still dream about you. I still want you. There’s never been anyone else, Evie.

No one can do it like you. You know how to turn me on.

Never going to happen.

Even as I hit send, I know I shouldn’t have done it. It was impulsive and rash, but fuck! He’s never going to speak to her like that again.

You said that once before, Evie. Less than a year later, you were my wife. Let’s not pretend now. I know you still love me too. I remember how much you wanted me in the end. I can still taste it.

I can’t stop my fingers from tapping out a response. My teeth are close to disintegration with the pressure I’m exerting on them. My muscles bunched, and my arms and neck corded. I can feel that I’m close to my breaking point. My heart rate is accelerating faster than my car does. Adrenaline is flooding my system.

I’m with someone else.

I know that’s not true. I know the fling you were having ended recently.

One night. Give me one night to change your mind. You know I can. Just like I did then.

BTW, I notice you didn’t deny it. You know why? Because we both know it would be a lie.

You also didn’t say that you love him, the guy you were seeing. Admit it. You still love me as much as I still love you.

I scroll through the pictures on my own phone and stop at the perfect image: the selfie of Eva and me on her sofa.

I forward the photo to Eva’s phone and caption it ‘Loved,’ before I forward it again to De Luca and place the phone on the desk. And wait. My elbows are bent on each side of the device, my fingers steepled above it, like it’s in its own little church of truth.

After several minutes of watching the second hand on the clock rotate and getting nothing from De Luca, I open up my computer to get on with some work.

There’s an email from the IT guy titled ‘test.’ I open it and reply ‘received,’ and ready myself to plough through the emails from my Rome, Paris and Mexico hotels.

There are a lot! I notice the dates. They range from January to this morning. I’m reaching for the phone to call IT when it rings.

“Craig. Good timing. I was just about to call you. What was the problem with the emails?”

“They were hacked. I’ve restored all of the deleted items, but your entire system has been infected with an array of malware: a keylogger, a worm, and although I haven’t found it yet, I suspect a rootkit.”

“The hacker may have access to every keystroke made on every company computer, every file, every password, every email...We need to shut down the entire company’s IT system—”

“I have a basic backup in place, but I need to determine the extent of the breach, the damage and any data leaks. And then I need to know how they were able to get past our security. It is extremely robust, as you’re aware.”

“I’m pulling the plug right now. Everything is backed up to an off-site server and again to a cloud, so we shouldn’t lose any data.”

“Thanks, Craig. It sounds like it’s going to be a long day. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

I’ve spent the whole day firefighting. One problem after another. Some just small annoyances, like the stock delivery. And some major issues, like work visas being delayed or denied because of correspondences that have gone awry.

When I make my way to the car later that evening, I’m physically and mentally drained. Eva has taken Mae to The Nook for the weekend, and I’m looking forward to getting to my girls for some R & R.

I fall into the driver’s seat and briefly close my eyes. We’ll sort it. Whatever the problem is, we’ll sort it. I have my guys on it. I have the SAS on it for fuck’s sake. It’ll be okay.

I need to get to my girls. I twist the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. I crank up the aircon and ease the car out of its parking spot towards the gates.

When I pull off the motorway to Eva’s junction twenty minutes later, I turn off the aircon and open the windows, telling myself to relax. To let it go. Just for the weekend. Deal with it Monday, my brain whispers.

My shoulders start to relax as I get nearer to The Nook, and by the time I see a 4x4 pulled over on a grass bank several hundred feet in front of me, I’m almost smiling.

Until it swings out, blocking the road. I stomp on the brakes, gritting my teeth and bracing for impact. My arms are rigid, elbows locked, and my weight is pressed back into the seat. My heart rate and breathing are frantic as the breaks squeal and judder.

My body is thrown forward, restrained by the seat belt, and slammed back into the seat again as my head snaps against the headrest.

The driver door of the Range Rover swings open and a man gets out. Jeans. Black T-shirt. Dark glasses. Built like a brick shithouse. And I know this is an ambush.

I know what I need to do. I immediately remove a company tracker from my keyring—every member of Cactus staff has one for safety—stick it to the end of my index finger on my left hand (it’s no more than a centimetre in diameter) and curl my palm into a loose fist.

His face is stony as I reach for the door handle and get out. His biceps flex and he cracks his neck, just in case I was suffering from any type of doubt about what’s going on here. I can’t see his eyes but I know he’s watching my every move. Every step.

He walks slowly forward like a lumbering giant, and I roll my shoulders, widen my stance and plant my feet. I take the deep breath that is my body’s signal to be calm but alert. I’m watching his hands, since his eyes are shielded. I see it coming before he even pulls back his arm.

“You wanna try that again?” I smile. His nostrils flare as I circle him, inching closer to his car.

He growls and launches himself at me. He’s a solid wall of muscle that knocks me into the side of his car, but he’s uncoordinated. I sidestep and grab two fistfuls of his collar, hooking my index fingers over the top and twisting him around to face me. And before he has a chance to react, I yank his nose into my head. Hard.

I’m instantly sprayed with blood, like a grotesque Halloween sprinkler. I release the material in my grasp and he stumbles, trips and falls to the ground.

His nose looks broken. It’s sideways on his face. I reach around to the back of my jeans, as though I might be armed, and watch him get up and trip over to his car before he gets in and it squeals away, the door still open.

“Shit!” I curse out loud, scanning the ground fruitlessly for the tiny tracker. The best I can hope for is that it’s in his T-shirt somewhere.

I jump into the car and slam the door before pulling down the visor to check the mirror. “Shit.” I reach across to the glove box and my back pocket makes a crunching sound. I feel around in the pocket and extract Eva’s phone. Or what’s left of it. Double shit! I shove it in the glove box, extract several baby wipes out of the packet tucked inside and carefully wipe away all traces of the henchman’s blood.

Then I pull up the tracker app. It’s moving, so it’s not lost and lying redundant on the road. It’s headed back towards the motorway at speed. My day’s looking brighter all the time.