Chapter 2
Iris felt hot, foul breath wash over her face, immediately followed by something warm and wet on her cheek.
Blood?
It turned out she had some breath left after all because she released it in a high-pitched scream. The creature above her stilled for a second before lowering its head again and this time the warm wetness stroked up from her open mouth to her forehead.
“Oh. Oh… ew, no… stop that!” Iris cried, her terror instantly turning to disgust as she realized that instead of being mauled, she was being licked to death. So gross. She pushed at the large shaggy head of what she now recognized as a massive dog and turned her face away from his tongue and wet nose. Ugh, she was almost certain he’d licked her gums while she’d been screaming.
How disgusting.
“Get away, Rover,” she commanded, feeling foolish for having thought he was a wolf. Were there even wolves in South Africa? The dog’s entire body was vibrating with the force of his tail wagging and he was still trying his best to lick every available surface of her skin. “No. Sit. Down!”
The last two commands yielded immediate results as the dog stepped away and, as far as she could tell in the darkness, sat obediently, before lowering himself into a down position.
“You’re a good dog,” she said automatically, and—now that her eyes were adjusting to the gloom—she could see the happy swipe of his tail at the obviously recognizable compliment. Iris sat up and reached for the gigantic floof, scratching the wiry fur around his perky ears, and moving her hand further down to discover a collar. “Do you belong to that horrible man in there? Does he just leave you out here at night? That doesn’t seem right.”
She felt around the front of the collar, looking for a tag of some sort, not that she’d be able to read it in the dark but…
Aah, there it was. A flat disk that Iris hoped was microchipped and tuned into an electronic pet door.
Fido over here was massive. Probably taller than Iris if he was to stand on his hind legs. If there was a pet entrance, it would be large enough for her to fit through.
“Where’s your doggy door, boy? Can you show me? Can you take me inside?”
The full moon broke through the clouds to reveal an endearing fuzzy face, with a lolling tongue. The pooch tilted his head at the sound of her voice, his ears pricking attentively. He was a lanky, scruffy looking gray boy, with shaggy hair, and lively golden eyes.
“Come on, boy, let’s go home,” Iris invited again, and the dog continued to stare at her quizzically.
“Uh…” Iris wracked her brain, trying to figure out what would make him go inside. “Ball?”
He jumped up, turned in a circle—immediately getting her hopes up—but, after one rotation, sat down to stare at her again.
“Right. Okay. What about food? Are you hungry?” His head cocked comically at the last word, and he whined and shifted excitedly from paw to paw. “Yes, you’re hungry, aren’t you? I am too. Let’s go and get some food!”
He nuzzled her hand with his big wet nose and then sat back with an expectant stare.
“Oh. No. I don’t have the food out here. But we can get some inside, can’t we?”
More staring.
“Come on, show me how you get into the house.”
This pup just wasn’t getting it. He gave Iris’s hand a sympathetic lick and she groaned in frustration. She scratched his head and wondered what to do next.
The moon disappeared again, leaving everything pitch black. The wind died down abruptly and, after a brief lull, the skies opened up.
Iris yelped as the icy deluge instantly drenched her. The dog got up and shook himself vigorously, adding some dog-scented moisture to Iris’s already soaked clothing. She sensed him moving away and Iris panicked, not wanting to lose her way into the house.
“Stay, boy,” she implored. “Come here.”
To her eternal gratitude she felt his big, furry body bump against her thigh reassuringly. He really was massive. She slid her hand up his narrow back toward his neck and lightly gripped his ruff. She didn’t want to take hold of his collar in case he considered it a prompt to stay.
“Let’s go.”
His muscles tensed and he started walking.
“I’m putting all my faith in you right now, boy,” she told him. “You could be leading me further into the woods only to abandon me there. Please don’t do that. Don’t be an arsehole like your owner. Be a better boy than him. Be the goodest boy ever.”
The dog continued to amble along lazily, seemingly unperturbed by the heavy rain. Finally, after what felt like an endless amount of walking, they rounded the huge dark house and the ground started to slope downward…
Oh God, was she going to wind up over the side of a cliff after all?
But no, the stony ground beneath her feet gave way to gravel and then paving. And just ahead of them, she could see light creeping out from beneath a shroud of darkness, possibly a garage door?
The dog trotted toward the left and to Iris’s relief a little door slid open as they approached, and the meter-by-half-meter square was more than big enough for her to crawl through. She stopped the dog, by tightening her hold on his ruff and when the mutt obediently came to a halt, Iris undid the collar and crouched to crawl through the opening. She remained close to the door so that the dog could walk through it as well. Once they were both safely inside, she refastened the collar around the dog’s neck. After blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the garage, she gawked at the fleet of cars standing like silent metallic sentinels in neat rows within the brightly lit space.
Gleaming, sporty cars that had to be worth millions upon millions of pounds. She gaped, awed by the staggering display of wealth and found herself wondering why no one had known about Trystan Abbott’s little bolt-hole in South Africa. Or even about his obsession with sports cars. It seemed like something that would have been revealed before in the many articles about the man. And yet, Iris hadn’t found a single reference to either.
Curious.
She shrugged it off for the moment. She had much weightier matters to consider right now. Staying out of sight for one thing. She wasn’t going to chance being kicked out into the cold again. Something told her that if he tossed her out a second time, she would not find her way back inside again. And God knew, she wouldn’t survive the night out in the elements. Well, maybe she would, but it would be unpleasant and she’d likely develop bronchial pneumonia, or something equally nasty, as a consequence.
“What next, boy? I should probably find something dry to wear… Do you think your master is asleep yet?” The dog looked up at her with a quizzical tilt of his head and a thought occurred to Iris. “What’s your name? It must be on your tag, right?”
She reached for the collar again and checked the round silver tag.
Luna.
“Oh, you’re a girl. Sorry, sweetheart. You’re so big, I naturally assumed you were a lad. Terribly gender normative of me, I know. Luna, such a pretty name for a very pretty, good girl.”
The dog’s tail lazily swept the polished concrete floor.
“How long should I stay down here before your master heads off to bed, do you think?”
The dog yawned expansively, displaying a daunting array of sharp white teeth. Iris gulped, grateful that Luna had proven to be such a darling, despite her terrifying first impression.
“And your dickhead of a master must have known I was referring to you, yet he chose to leave me out there completely petrified and expecting the absolute worse. That must have given him a nice little laugh.”
Although, she couldn’t quite imagine the bearded, hulking, formidably unsmiling man she’d encountered earlier finding anything amusing.
She wandered around the garage, inspecting the cars, and trying not to think about how very cold she was. She daren’t touch any of the vehicles for fear of setting off alarms, and she held her hands tightly clasped behind her back as she leaned over the bonnet of a metallic green Aston Martin DB12. She wouldn’t have known what it was if her brother hadn’t been salivating over a magazine spread of this exact car a few months ago.
The personalized number plate on the front was puzzling. It read MILESH5-WP. A quick glance around at the other cars confirmed that they all had the same registration plates, with only the numbers differing. They ranged from MILESH1 to MILESH8, with one car—a bright red Mini Cooper—tagged as CHARIH1-WP.
How odd.
It niggled at something in her memory banks, but the more she worried at it the more elusive it became. She shoved it aside for now, hoping it would come to her later when she was a bit more relaxed. Although, right now, she wondered if she’d ever feel relaxed again. And warm. She doubted very much that she’d ever be warm again.
Luna got up and shook herself before ambling toward the single flight of stairs leading up to an open door. It was dark beyond that door, and Iris wondered if she should follow the dog. Surely Trystan Abbott wouldn’t be lurking around in a dark room, so it should be relatively safe up there.
An involuntary shiver wracked her body and sent her teeth chattering. And warmer… it’ll hopefully be warmer up there.
The dog was halfway up the stairs before Iris decided to follow her. It was ice cold down here, probably because it was underground. If she avoided any well-lit areas, she could well find a room to hole up in tonight and figure out what to do in the morning.
Right now, she was exhausted, frozen to the bone, as well as mentally and emotionally fried. She just needed a few hours to recharge her battery before facing the monster that was Trystan Abbott again.
She snuck up the stairs as stealthily as possible, wincing whenever one of the wooden steps creaked beneath her tread.
When she tentatively poked her head around the door at the top of the stairs, it was to find the darkened kitchen that he’d hastily shepherded her through earlier. At least it was somewhat familiar territory. Slurping sounds coming from the corner closest to the back door told her that Luna was enjoying a drink of water. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, which was only broken by ambient light coming from a standing lamp in a long hallway, she saw Luna circle in a massive wicker dog bed, before sinking down with a contented sigh. The pooch then proceeded to lick her unmentionables with noisy gusto.
Iris left her to it and looked around the kitchen once again for a clue as to where to go next. She peeked down the dimly lit hallway and could see light coming from beneath the doorway at the far end of the corridor.
Danger! Keep AWAY!
Nope, she was definitely not going anywhere near that area. To her left was another—shorter—corridor that led to a closed door. She slowly made her way toward that door, careful to avoid bumping into any obstacles.
After what felt like an eternity, she gratefully closed her hand over the doorknob.
“Fuck!” The involuntary whispered exclamation burst from her lips when the hinges creaked, the noise resonating like a thunderclap in the night. And even while she froze, she told herself there was no way he would have heard that, not with the way the wind was howling and the rain lashing outside.
The weather seemed to have worsened since she’d found her way into the house, which made her resentment mount. He had gone to bed, believing she was out there in this. What kind of conscienceless prick could sleep knowing that he’d tossed someone out into this weather without any warmth or shelter or even a fucking light?
She gritted her teeth and determinedly pushed the door even wider before stepping inside.
She had no idea where she was because she couldn’t see in the blackness. She was going to have to risk a light. She felt along the wall to her left and found the light switch fairly quickly.
The room flooded with warm light.
Oh.
It seemed to be a self-contained suite of some sort, with a kitchenette, a tiny round dining table and a living room. She could see a bedroom and bathroom through a pair of open doors on the right.
It was tastefully decorated and comfortable. While it was extremely cold in here, there were—praise Jesus!—a couple of radiator heaters stashed in a corner next to the sofa.
This was perfect, it was far enough away from him for Iris to stay undetected for a while. Though she doubted the kitchen was stocked.
She carefully and quietly shut the door behind her. She switched on one of the table lamps next to the sofa before turning off the brighter overhead light. There, that was better. At least this wouldn’t be as obvious to spot if he were to wander into the kitchen for a midnight snack or something. She would cover the threshold of the door with a towel or blanket later to block out even more light.
She shuddered again, the cold creeping into her bones. She moved the heaters to different areas in the open-plan room and put them each on their highest setting, but she knew it would take a while for them to properly heat up the place. She did a quick tour of the bedroom and bathroom. The double bed had been stripped, but fresh linens were stored in the ottoman at its foot. There were sweats in the closet. Iris could tell at a glance that they were too big for her, but she wasn’t fussy—she was just happy to have a change of clothes for now.
Iris fought back a pang of loss as she thought of her little neon pink carry-on case that had been left out in the rain. She hadn’t spared it a thought when she’d ducked into the kitchen earlier, confident that she’d retrieve it once she and Trystan Abbott had resolved their misunderstanding. But it was still out there, probably ruined by the rain, with the change of clothes in there undoubtedly destroyed as well.
Luckily, she had her passport and phone safely stowed in her puffer jacket pocket.
She fished out her phone and stared at the dead device for a second, before heading to the little kitchen, where a quick root around the drawers yielded positive results. She latched onto the coiled charger cable with a muted, triumphant cry and left her phone charging on the bedside table.
She retreated to the bathroom and shimmied out of her clothes. God, wet denim was almost impossible to get out of, but in the end—after a lot of squirming and wriggling—she managed to divest herself of the garment. The rest of her clothing soon followed, all chucked into a sodden heap on the tiled floor next to the laundry basket.
It was as she stood there, naked, nipples and flesh pebbled, with a blue tinge to her damp, pale skin, that the bathroom door—which she’d closed out of habit—slammed open with such violence it rebounded off the wall and shattered one of the lovely porcelain tiles. Iris’s fight or flight instinct deserted her completely, while she defaulted to the lesser-known freezein utter panic instinct.
Trystan Abbott stood framed in the doorway, his bearded face a study in rage and hostility.
Iris abruptly became hyperaware of the fact that she was naked and squealed—the sound pathetic and high-pitched—and crossed one arm over her boobs and cupped her other hand over her other bits. His eyes dropped, as if her movements had only now brought his attention to her nudity, and his lip curled in mocking contempt.
“Don’t fucking flatter yourself. You have nothing there to tempt me, lady.”
Iris could have curled up in a ball of utter humiliation.
Like she didn’t know that. Trystan Abbott had been involved with some of the most beautiful women in the world and, while Iris mostly liked the way she looked, she knew she hardly compared to supermodels and A-list actresses.
Whatever. This horrible man’s opinion of her looks didn’t matter to her. What mattered was that she was nude and he was in her space.
“This is an egregious invasion of privacy,” she said and then immediately wished the ridiculous statement back, when he bristled in outrage. Oh man, he looked on the verge of snorting flames… Iris could practically smell the brimstone.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re intruding and I’m the one invading your privacy?”
Fair point.
He clenched his fists and his eyes gave her another sweeping once-over before he—mercifully—tugged an outrageously fluffy bath sheet off a railing to throw at her in disgust.
“Cover yourself up. I don’t know if this is some desperate, pathetic attempt at seduction, but I’m not interested.”
What? How in the hell had he arrived at that conclusion? She glowered at him as she gratefully—and hastily—half-turned away from him to wrap the towel around her shivering body.
“I’m only desperate to get w-w-warm and d-dry,” she spluttered, annoyed when none of her outrage made it into her voice. Instead, she sounded timid and terrified. “So don’t you f-flatter yourself.”
Something that could have been considered amusement in anyone else sparked in his eyes. But that couldn’t be the case since Iris was quite sure that Trystan Abbott was an unfeeling, soulless monster. Human emotion was beyond him.
“I should toss you out on your bare ass,” he said, the sentiment all the more chilling because of the lack of emotion in that detached voice. She had no doubt that he was capable of doing exactly that and the notion terrified her.
“No. Please.” The naked plea emerged on a whisper and she couldn’t disguise her fear from him.
He glared at her for a long, silent moment, those famous eyes unreadable, his expression grim.
“I’m calling the cops. Until they get here, you’re not allowed to leave this space.”
Iris sagged in relief. It was better than being kicked out into the cold and stormy dark again.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, you’re going to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. I don’t imagine being stuck in jail in a foreign land is very pleasant.”
Being in jail probably wasn’t very pleasant, regardless of the country within which one found oneself incarcerated, but Iris wasn’t about to mouth off in this situation, and she nodded meekly.
“I understand.”
She wasn’t particularly concerned about the police. She was certain that the misunderstanding would be cleared up as soon as she was able to reach his manager.
He backed out of the bathroom, maintaining eye contact as he did so. Luna was sitting on the plush rug in the middle of the cozy living room, patiently waiting for her master. He dropped a cursory pat on the tall dog’s head. She got up, shook herself, and followed him toward the door.
Iris stood framed in the bathroom doorway, watching the duo pensively, somewhat relieved that he hadn’t made good on his threat to kick her out again. She doubted he would have given her time to dress had he decided on that course.
This was really much be?—
Her thoughts ground to a halt as he removed the key from the inside of the suite door.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice raised in alarm.
“Ensuring that you stay put this time.”
“You can’t mean to lock me in here?”
“Can’t I?” His lips curled and her blood ran cold at the sinister intent she could see in his eyes. “I did say you’re not allowed to leave this space, didn’t I?”
“I won’t go anywhere, I’ll stay right here. Locking me in is unnecessary.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he sneered. “You think I’d give you free rein over my personal space, allow you to go snooping through my private things?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You just broke into my home.”
“Only because I didn’t fancy catching my death out there.”
“I’m happy I won’t be finding out if that flare for the dramatic reflects in your journalism.”
She ground her teeth again. God, she thought she might actually hate him.
It didn’t help that his sentiment reflected her own self-doubt of… God, was it just an hour ago? It felt like this ordeal had been stretching out for hours, days, fucking months.
“I’m not exaggerating,” she said, hating the juvenile sulky tone soaked through her words. “Have you been out there? It’s grim.”
His shoulders lifted in unconcern and he called Luna to heel, before they both stepped through the door.
“Don’t lock me in here, Mr. Abbott. Please. I won’t be?—”
He shut the door in the middle of her plea and Iris stared at the closed door in consternation and alarm, moaning in horror when she heard the decisive turn of the key.
“Okay, it’s okay,” she consoled herself. “You’re fine. You’re safe, soon to be warm. At least you’re not out in this crazy storm.”
Even as she said the words the wind gusted, and rain and hail lashed against the windows. Iris shuddered. She told herself that was definitely an improvement on the situation she’d found herself in half an hour ago.
But she couldn’t stop staring at the closed—locked—door.
“Plenty of space,” she told herself out loud. “There’s plenty of space in here. There’s light. There’s heat. Windows. Other ways out. This is fine. You’re fine.”
Verbalizing the positives helped calm her somewhat and she concentrated on her deep-breathing techniques, which helped.
After a few long fraught moments, she was finally able to unstick her feet from the floor and turn away from the door. It was just for one night. Everything would be worked out tomorrow, then all of this would be a distant memory.
One night in a locked room was a piece of cake. She’d be fine.
“Totally fine,” she whispered.
She was shivering violently by now, and she slowly made her way back to the bathroom. There was nothing she could do except finally have that life-saving hot shower.
Forty minutes later—afterthe most satisfying shower of her life—Iris made her way to the kitchenette, hoping against hope to find some food.
She kept her gaze firmly averted from the locked door. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost trick herself into forgetting it was there.
She’d unearthed a blow-dryer from the bathroom vanity and rough-dried her wavy hair into a riot of staticky curls. The sweat suit she’d found was simultaneously too big and too small. It stretched obscenely over Iris’s butt and thighs, while being too long in the arms and legs and too tight over her chest. She’d had to fold the sleeves and legs of the garments several times. The owner of the clothes was definitely taller and slimmer than Iris who was curvy with a tendency toward plumpness.
Iris checked the fridge first. No luck. The blindingly white and bright interior was devoid of even the smears of food from days gone by.
“So clean,” Iris marveled and then sighed. She checked the freezer. Same result.
The cupboards yielded a box of unopened crackers, a couple of months past its expiry date, and—joy—a can of baked beans. There was also an open box of rooibos herbal tea and a half-full jar of instant coffee.
Her stomach growled impatiently at the sight of the meager bounty, and she was salivating by the time she managed to get the can opened. She blitzed the contents in the microwave, preferring to have a warm meal, made a cup of tea, sans sugar and milk—since those items were nowhere to be found—and sat down to enjoy her humble feast.
Once she had assuaged her immediate hunger, she pushed herself from the table to check on her phone. It wasn’t fully charged, but it had enough juice so she could check her messages and attempt to reach out to Hunter Quinn. She took it back to the table and scrolled through her messages and emails, while finishing the rest of her meal.
She hoped that Mr. Quinn would sort out the confusion with his client tonight, so Iris would not be stuck in this room tomorrow as well, but just in case, she had set some beans and crackers aside for breakfast.
After messaging her parents and best friend, Evan Brooks, she sent a text to Hunter Quinn.
Hi! This is Iris Hughes. There seems to have been an unfortunate miscommunication. Mr. Abbott wasn’t expecting me and he hasn’t responded well to my presence. Please could you call him to clear up this misunderstanding? He’s kind of threatening to have me arrested. Thanks so much.
She stared at the text for a while, but it remained unread.
“Come on, Iris,” she chastised herself. “A watched pot never boils.”
Iris was a big believer in self-motivation. She often verbalized her problems and thoughts to herself—it was just easier for her to work out solutions that way. It did mean that she was often muttering to herself and giving herself little pep talks. She was aware that it made her seem a bit of an odd duck, but she was way past caring what people thought of her.
She checked the time. It was close to midnight. God, it had been a long, long twenty-four hours and Iris desperately needed to sleep. Mr. Quinn lived in London which was an hour behind South Africa at the moment. She didn’t think he was the type of man to be in bed by eleven p.m. on a Friday night, but it was pretty late to be expecting people to check their texts immediately.
PS. I’m really sorry to be texting you this late.
She stared at the second message in satisfaction. Her mother would be proud. Iris’s parents had raised her to always be considerate of others.
She set aside the phone for now. Her parents had already sent a reply to her previous message, dramatically thanking the gods that she was safe, and then immediately following that up with a voice note asking if she had enough warm clothing. She grimaced—of course her parents would know that the weather here sucked. And, of course, they would have expected her to be aware of that fact too. Yes, Iris had known that she was flying into winter, but she’d expected it to be a mere nod to the season. Light-cardigan weather at best. Not this ice-cold hellscape.
She reassured (lied to) her parents about being more than prepared. And deflected their further questions about the mysterious assignment she was on, telling them via voice note that they would soon understand the need for secrecy.
They didn’t push her further, wishing her a good night and admonishing her to call them in the morning and to stay in regular contact.
Hoping that her next call wouldn’t be from jail, begging for bail money, Iris promised them that she would text and call regularly.
Evan hadn’t yet replied, and Iris knew her bestie was probably out having a ball somewhere.
She cleaned the sparse dishes she’d used and went to the bedroom where she put her phone back on charge. After haphazardly making the bed—exhaustion making her movements sluggish—Iris crept under the covers and instantly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.