Chapter Twenty-Nine
Opening the door to her flat, Verity wrinkled her nose. It had only been a few days, but the smell of damp was stronger than ever. Maybe it had always smelt like that and she simply hadn’t noticed before. Didn’t really matter, she wasn’t intending to come back here again. Regardless of how plans went tomorrow night, she had no desire to stick around.
A worry line creased her brow. Being realistic, it was highly unlikely she’d be given the choice, even if she wanted to. She knew that as soon as she’d performed the task required, her value to Cross would shift firmly from the asset to the liability column of his internal ledger. Once that happened, she had no idea what he might do. But she couldn’t imagine him allowing her to exit quietly stage left, not with the information she now held.
She swallowed hard. If she was going to get out of this in one piece she needed leverage, but so far she hadn’t managed to come up with anything. Her eyes fell on her wardrobe and the lopsided chest of drawers wedged at the bottom. Without leverage, she would have to settle for a distraction, something to generate some serious noise within the staid ranks of the Eighth Circle. And fortunately, that was something she might be able to manage.
Glancing up at the large, almost silent individual tasked with keeping her out of trouble, she asked, “Am I alright to pack some stuff?”
“Mr Cross wanted me to check everything you were planning to bring back to the club.”
“For what? Sharp objects,” she paused and ran her eyes over the scruffy flat, “or fleas?”
The man merely folded his arms, offering no further explanation. Rolling her eyes, Verity grabbed her duffle from the corner of the room and crouched down in front of the wardrobe.
Keenly aware of the figure looming over, she wrestled with the bottom drawer of the tired Ikea unit. She could feel him watching her every move but not, apparently, inclined to help in any way. Finally, the obstinate furniture surrendered and she wrenched the drawer open, scattering knickers and bras over the floor.
Scowling over her shoulder at her intrusive babysitter she asked, “Did you want to help me choose my underwear?” Holding up a black, lacy thong she tilted her face. “How about this pair? Do you think he’ll like them?”
As she hoped, he flinched back and turned away muttering something beneath his breath. As soon as his back was turned, she reached into the cavity behind the drawer, her fingers searching for the carefully hidden item.
She fumbled blind for a couple of seconds and then her fingers closed around the familiar shape and she breathed a sigh of relief. Still addressing the body-guard, she said, “Why don’t you make yourself useful and grab my shampoo and conditioner from the bathroom?”
To her surprise, he agreed with a grunt and wedged his massive frame into the tiny shower room. Confident that it would take him more than a few seconds to find the required items from amongst the accumulated clutter of empty bottles, discarded towels and forgotten washing, she took the opportunity to pull the phone Cross had given her from her pocket and compare it to the stolen device she’d just retrieved from its hiding place.
She took a breath and considered her options. Should she take both back to the apartment, or leave her phone here? Since they were identical, no one would notice the switch; the only person with her number was Cross and as long as she remained within arm’s reach he wouldn’t be tempted to ring her. All in all, she decided, stuffing her own phone back into the gap behind the drawer, it represented a much lower risk than being caught in possession of two Eighth Circle devices.
At the bottom of the underwear drawer was her passport and her gaze flicked back to check on the bathroom before sliding it into the lining of her coat.
Once her guard had checked the empty duffle for some secret stash or hidden weaponry, he allowed her to pack her meagre belongings. Verity slung the bag over one shoulder and nodded to the door. “After you.” She took a moment to run her eyes over the cramped space that had been her home for the last year, unsure if it was goodbye or good riddance she was saying. Giving herself a shake, she slammed the door behind her and turned the key.
Throughout the car ride back her thoughts kept returning to the subject of leverage. There was only one thing she could think of that might provide any measure of security but the timing would be critical.
She needed to talk to Chris.