Now Comes the Dark (Basic Instincts #1)

Chapter Twenty-Four

“What happens now?”

Mallon was released from hospital on Saturday morning, following several days of treatment for hypothermia, shock, concussion and the knife wound to his chest. Roman, who had only suffered mild hypothermia, had been allowed home earlier in the week. The police had finished with the apartment when Roman was released, and he spent the time cleaning up and getting everything ready for Mallon’s return. After all that had happened, he hadn’t wanted to spend a night in the apartment alone and had gone back to his own place to sleep each night.

Mallon had spoken with his wife and had persuaded her not to come to England. He would visit her when he was well enough to fly, and they would make a decision about their future then. Roman had no idea what Mallon intended to do and was resolved not to influence him in any way. Mallon would have to make up his own mind.

The police had told them little about Will in the days since the incident. They assured them that he was being treated at a different hospital in another city and remained under constant guard. Roman had thought little of Will in the days that followed. The police had him in custody, and that was enough. His concerns lay with Mallon and how close they had come to losing each other.

On Saturday morning, Roman collected him from the hospital at ten-thirty. Mallon had changed a lot in a short space of time. The confidence and swagger Roman was used to had receded. He was less sure of himself and worried about Will and what would happen to him.

“I don’t trust the laws in this country,” he had told Roman during a visit on Thursday. “What if they let him go?”

“He’s going nowhere but jail,” Roman had assured him. Even if Will denied all the charges against him, the police had enough evidence to make sure he was remanded in custody until any trial. His chance of him getting away with any of his crimes appeared slim.

“You’ve lost weight,” Roman said, as he wrapped an arm around Mallon’s waist, walking him to the hospital entrance.

“Is it any surprise? The food in England is bad enough. What they serve in your hospitals is the worst.”

Roman smiled. If Mallon was bitching about English food, it meant some of the old spunkiness was returning. “I’ll find plenty to fatten you up when you get home.”

Mallon hugged him tighter. “The only thing I need is you.”

Roman had visited Mallon’s favourite bakery when it had opened that morning and when they reached the apartment, it smelled of fresh pastries and coffee. Roman had set a pot of his favourite on to brew before leaving for the hospital.

“I wasn’t sure how I would feel returning,” Mallon said.

Roman helped him out his coat and guided him to the sofa. “This is your place. He was only here for an hour at most. He hasn’t left an imprint.”

Mallon stared at the sliding doors, unconvinced. “We’ll have to keep those fucking things locked—or move up to a higher floor.”

Roman set a plate of baked goodies on the table and poured two steaming cups of coffee. “See how you feel in a couple of weeks. It might not be as bad as you think.” He flopped beside Mallon on the sofa and held him close. “He can’t do anything to hurt us now.”

Around midday they received a visitor. Roman was surprised to open the door and find DS Benito Coppola standing there. He’d seen the detective from a distance several times that week, around the hospital and the apartment as the police investigation into Will developed at pace.

“Hi,” Benito said. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I went to the hospital, but they told me the two of you had left already.”

“Is this an official call?” Roman asked. Despite their good work this week, his hostility towards the police had not decreased. The Blyham Strangler had not been apprehended and stopped because of any ingenuity or investigation on their part. He’d been captured by chance and his own carelessness. If he hadn’t come for Mallon, he would still be at large, free to kill again and again.

“It is,” Benito said. “I have news.”

Roman opened the door and stood aside. “You’d better come in.” He led Benito to the living room and ignoring the good manners he’d been raised with—didn’t offer him a drink or one of the delicious pastries. He sat beside Mallon and held his hand. “Well?”

Benito took a seat across from them. “Last night, we charged Will Hadley, whose real name is actually Lewis Braemer, with seven counts of murder.”

Mallon’s sharp intake of breath hissed through his teeth.

“Together with the two counts of attempted murder against yourselves… He appeared at Blyham magistrates court this morning and has been remanded for an appearance at crown court next week. We expect him to plead not guilty, though there is no chance of him going anywhere. He’ll be held in custody until a trial can take place.”

“Then he is the Strangler? There’s no doubt about that?

“Absolutely. It’s him.”

“How?” Roman asked. “Just because he attacked us, what makes you sure he killed all those other men?”

Benito bit his lip and gazed at his hands, seeming to consider his answer. “This is off the record. It can’t go any further. I’m only telling you this to allay any fears you might have that the killer is still out there. I could get fired if this comes out.” He took a deep breath. “But fuck it. We found photos of all the victims on his phone. Post-mortem images. There’s no doubt that it’s him.”

“Shit.” Nausea brimmed in Roman’s stomach. I slept with him. I went to bed with a killer. That fucking piece of shit .

“As I said, Will Hadley is an alias,” Benito continued. “One of many, but it seems to be the one he favoured whenever he was here. Lewis Braemar lives in Birmingham. He’s married, has no children and is a rep for a pharmaceutical company. His work takes him all over the Northeast and Northwest.”

“Fuck.”

“What I have just told you cannot leave this room. Understand?”

Roman had already made the connection. “You think he’s done it elsewhere, don’t you? There could be other victims, all over the fucking country.”

Benito nodded grimly. “Which is why you can’t tell anyone. I’ve already said too much. If this gets out, it could jeopardise other investigations.”

“We understand,” Mallon said, putting a hand on top of Roman’s, squeezing.

“But why us?” Roman asked. “What made us his target? And only days after Phil.”

“We don’t know. We’re still putting together a picture of his methods. But from what we can ascertain, he chose his victims in advance, sometimes months ahead. He seduced them and gained their trust. Then later, he broke into their homes and killed them.

“The truth is I planned to kill you last October .” Roman remembered the words Will had said in this very room a few nights ago. He’d been biding his time, waiting for the right moment. He blinked back tears as the full horror dawned on him. “How did he get in? How did he go undetected?”

“We don’t have all the answers. He’s ex-army, served five years before leaving the service. You witnessed yourself how physically fit he is…and cunning. If we keep digging, we’re sure to unearth some burglaries in his past. I think he’s been getting away with this kind of thing for much longer than we know about.”

* * * *

“It’s me,” Roman said. “I’m the reason he came after you.”

They were in bed later that afternoon. The curtains were closed against the low winter sun. They lay side by side beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling. They had recently had sex. It had been an act of urgency and defiance, two men taking comfort from each other’s bodies and the fact that they were both alive.

“He came after me because he was fucked,” Mallon said, tapping his forehead. “In here. You can’t blame yourself what he did.”

“You heard what Benito said. He chose his victims in advance and slept with them. I had sex with him last year, weeks before I met you. He must have planned to kill me way back then.”

“But he didn’t,” Mallon said softy. “You’re here with me, and he’s in prison. And he’s going to rot in there for the rest of his life, unless someone ends it for him first.”

Roman struggled to remember much of his time with Will. They had met at The Viaduct and had gone back to Roman’s flat. “I don’t even remember much about the night he picked me up.”

“What does it matter now?”

“It matters. I’ll have to give evidence at his trial, and I need to be clear about the facts. I can’t give his defence a single reason to shred my version of events.”

Mallon rolled onto his side, moving carefully. The injury to his chest still caused him a lot of discomfort. Mallon slid his hand across Roman’s torso and rested it on his rib cage, right above his heart. “He’s a liar and a killer. The police have enough to put him away already. What you remember about a one-night last year won’t make much difference. They’ll nail the bastard.”

“I hope you’re right.” The idea that Mallon could be dead because of a madman’s obsession with Roman sickened him. Beneath the covers, he linked his fingers with Mallon’s upon his chest. “I came so close to losing you.”

Mallon squeezed him back. “I almost lost you, too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t.”

Gently Roman rolled onto his side to face him. His drew his fingertips along the side of Mallon’s face before leaning in to kiss him on the mouth, and the jaw, then he carefully eased Mallon onto his back and climbed on top of him. Mallon snaked his hands around his waist, and Roman felt the sudden hardness of his cock. He reached between his legs to guide him into position then lowered himself, taking him inside.

He moved slowly, barely at all to begin with, not wanting to put a strain on Mallon’s injuries. Roman leaned forward, pressing his body against him, while bearing the weight. Mallon ground upwards, burying his cock deeper until they were overcome with urgency once more. They thrust against each other until Mallon released a gentle growl, his brow furrowing. Roman stroked his own cock and timed his swelling climax close to perfection.

The afternoon grew dark outside. Mallon turned on the sidelights, but they remained in bed, curled on their sides and facing each other once more.

“What happens now?” Roman asked at last. “Before Will attacked you, we were facing a different kind of problem.”

Mallon’s pale eyes glistened in the low light. “Coming close to death puts other issues in perspective.” He shuffled closer. “I love you,” he said breathlessly.

Tears welled and spilled down Roman’s face. “I love you, too.”

“I’m getting a divorce.”

Relief flooded through him. “You are?”

“I’ve already discussed it with Betrice.”

“When?”

“Thursday night. She called. We agreed that we have stayed together for the wrong reasons. We can’t waste the next eight or nine years of our lives when I have the chance to be happy right now.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Every word. I will have to go back to France to make arrangements with Betrice and our lawyers. And I need to see my children. But I want to start a new life here…with you.”

Roman moved closer and wrapped his arms around him. This was real, not a dream. He was in Mallon’s bed, holding him, and he had just said the words Roman had been desperate to hear. They had almost lost their lives a few nights before, and now they had a brand-new future together.

He had learned how fragile life could be and how quickly it could be over. Roman intended to grasp every opportunity that came his way, and there was none greater than the man in his arms right then.