Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
THE MAN BEHIND the wheel swivelled his head to look at us, his face a picture of astonishment under his peaked black cap.
“Not a word, Tony,” my captor instructed.
The driver turned his eyes back to the road, and soon we were gliding smoothly through the streets of London.
“Er, I’d better give you your wallet back,” I said, rummaging in my pocket and pulling it out.
“Give me the cards, but you can keep the cash. After the amount of effort you put in tonight, you’ve earned it.”
Was he serious? I thumbed through it. There must have been a thousand pounds in there, all in crisp twenty-pound notes. I quickly flipped the wallet shut and handed it back.
“Nah, it wouldn’t feel right. I’m sorry I took it.” And surprisingly, I found I truly was.
“Sorry you took it, or sorry you got caught?”
“Well, both I guess. It’s not every day I get chased up a building by a crazy stranger.”
“You started it,” he pointed out. “What’s your name?”
“What’s yours?”
“Black.”
“Is that your first name or your surname?”
“Surname.”
“Well, I guess that makes me Emerson.”
My first name might have been Amanda, but I hated it. Mainly because my mother chose it for me. I suspected she gave it seconds of thought, sometime between deciding what to watch on TV and nipping to the shop for more cigarettes. Therefore, if I found an opportunity not to use it, I was going to take it. I figured if he was using his surname, then I could too.
“Now I’m not a stranger, Emerson.”
“How about the crazy part?”
“You were probably right about that.”
We lapsed into silence for the rest of the journey. My mind churned as I tried to think of a way to escape, and Black was no doubt working out how to stop me.
Unfortunately, I still hadn’t managed to come up with a coherent plan when the car slowed. We turned into the driveway of a large, posh-looking building, and any hopes I might have had of doing a runner were scuppered when the driver pulled forward into an underground garage.
Six other cars were parked neatly in the bays, gleaming under overhead strip lights. I picked out an Aston Martin, a Porsche 911, and a BMW 5 Series, with two more sleek-looking vehicles hidden under fitted covers. A Land Rover Defender took the end space. Maybe one of the building’s inhabitants had a pad in the country they retired to at weekends? There was obviously some serious money here.
Black must live in an apartment upstairs, I surmised. At least the abundance of cars meant his neighbours were home. If he did turn out to be a raving lunatic, there would be somebody to hear me scream.
Or so I thought.
He ushered me out of the car towards a lift in the corner and pressed the button for the ground floor. As the doors closed, I realised I didn’t even know what part of London we were in. I’d rarely ventured out of the East End. That was my stomping ground and I knew it well, dead-end alleys aside.
This place might as well have been on Mars, for all the similarities it had with my home.
Actually, Uranus would have been more appropriate. Because at that particular point in time, I was convinced that was where Black hailed from.
The lift shot upwards, and seconds later, the doors opened. Instead of the hallway full of flat doors I’d been expecting, we emerged in a large room with staircases running up both sides. Tarpaulins covered a few pieces of furniture huddled in a corner, and a collection of paint pots and ladders stood off to the side. The place reeked of fresh gloss with an undertone of white spirit.
“Sorry about the smell,” he said. “I’ve been having some renovations done.”
I tried not to stare too much. “Is this whole building yours?”
“Yeah.”
How could he act so casual about the fact he lived in a palace? I may have been hazy on the subject of property prices, but I bet this place cost more than the entire block JJ’s was on. No wonder Black didn’t care about the cash in his wallet.
I trailed behind as he walked to a vast kitchen and reached up into a cupboard for a first aid kit. I say kit, but from the size of the box, it was practically a hospital. He stuck it under one arm and took my hand to lead me up the stairs, and I was so busy staring at the chandeliers, I didn’t think to snatch it away.
On the second floor, we went through what I assumed was his bedroom, a vast almost-empty space decorated in greys and blacks with the occasional deep-red accent. The blood seeping from the gash below my ribs coordinated perfectly with the curtain tie-backs. Just one room, for one man, and it was bigger than Jimmy and Jackie’s whole flat. I paused to look but Black pulled me forwards again, into a luxurious en-suite bathroom on the far side.
While he peered into the mirror, I gaped at the marble shelves and taps that were probably made from platinum. Surprisingly, he didn’t have a little woman stationed in the corner to wipe his backside.
He gingerly touched his nose. “You did a nice job on that, didn’t you?”
Did he expect me to reply? I didn’t think “Er, thanks” would be the right thing to say, so I kept my mouth shut.
“Hopefully it’ll heal straight, but if it doesn’t, it’ll be a good reminder that I shouldn’t underestimate people based on their appearance, won’t it?” He grabbed a washcloth and wiped the worst of the dried blood off his face, then rinsed his hands. “Let’s have a look at your side.”
I hesitated, not sure I wanted to be half-naked in this bathroom with the soft-talking American. Even though I knew his name now, and he hadn’t yet shown any indications of being a serial killer, the situation made me uncomfortable.
“Come on, I’ve already seen it all once,” he coaxed. “That wound needs to be cleaned up.”
Oh, why not? I didn’t fancy having to wake Jimmy up for the key to the medical cabinet when I got back.
If I got back.
I undid the belt on my coat and shrugged out of it, draping it over the side of the bath. The shirt was useless—it only had one button left and the bloodstains looked more gory than artistic, so I pulled that off and dumped it in the small bin next to the sink.
A quick glance in the mirror told me I looked like an extra in a horror movie. As well as the cut, I had bruises on my wrists and legs where he’d held me down and a nice purple mark coming up on the side of my face that I didn’t even remember getting.
I sat down on the closed toilet while Black gently probed my side, cleaning off the blood then wiping it with antiseptic, which stung like a mother. I gritted my teeth so I didn’t cry out. The last thing I wanted was to look weak, especially in front of him.
“This cut needs stitches.”
“I’m not going to a hospital.”
A doctor would ask awkward questions about my medical history, which would lead to an interrogation about my family, which would get me a one-way ticket back into care.
“I can do it. I’ve got sutures here.”
“Really?” What would a toffee-nosed twat know about medicine?
“I’ve stitched people up before.”
“Are you a doctor?”
That would go some way to explaining the amount of money he had, but for some reason, he found the question funny. His face softened when he smiled.
“What’s so amusing?”
“The idea of me keeping people alive for a living.”
I measured up the distance to the door.
His lips quirked up again. “You won’t make it. Lean back. I promise I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?
He injected me with something that took the sting away then closed up the cut with six neat stitches. I admired his handiwork as he left me sitting there and disappeared into the bedroom. A few minutes later, he came back with a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both huge and obviously his.
“Sorry I don’t have something more suitable. I don’t bring women here as a rule.”
Really? What did he bring? Men? Four-legged friends? Blow-up dolls?
“Thanks.”
After the way I’d behaved, he was kind to offer me anything, so I made do. I didn’t relish the idea of walking back across London wearing a blood-stained coat and not much else. At least my trainers were still serviceable. I pulled on the shirt, which came to my knees, then put on the trousers. When I tugged the drawstring tight and turned the top over several times, they stayed put. I rolled the legs up as well. It wasn’t the most stylish outfit, but at least it covered me.
He’d left me alone to change, and when I emerged into the bedroom, I found he’d done the same. Dressed casually, in a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt with his feet bare, he looked younger than I’d first thought. Mid-twenties at a guess. An air of danger oozed from him that his good looks and the dim lighting couldn’t hide.
Black. The name suited him. His inky hair was spiked up on top, but just a little scruffy. All that money and he couldn’t afford a haircut? Dark stubble a day or two past a five o’clock shadow speckled a strong jaw, and the bruise on his cheek was starting to turn a deep purple as well. Oops.
His T-shirt stretched across his chest, showing off his muscles, and from the way his jeans hung, he spent a lot of time working out. His light tan showed up more against the white shirt, suggesting he hadn’t spent much time at the mercies of the British winter.
I rated him an eleven out of ten for looks. Manners, not so much.
His eyes were such a dark brown they were almost black too. They pierced me, like he had an uncanny ability to see right through to my soul. The way he stared, as if he was studying me, measuring me up, left me unnerved. An unwanted shiver ran through my torso.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Yes, actually. I don’t eat before I dance.” I always made myself a sandwich before I left home and put it in the mini-fridge behind the reception desk, so I wouldn’t wake Jimmy and Jackie by rummaging in the kitchen when I got back. “If you’ll just show me where the door is, I can go home and get myself some food.”
He ignored that. “I’ll see what I’ve got.”
Back in the kitchen, he opened a fridge the size of a small family car. The shelves held a variety of tubs and cling-film covered dishes, most of them with post-its stuck to the top.
“What’s with all the notes?”
“My housekeeper,” he said sheepishly. “She leaves me instructions because she thinks I don’t know how to cook.”
“And do you?”
“No. Do you?”
“Not really. I can make a sandwich, but that’s about my limit.”
At home, I ate to live rather than the other way around. On special occasions, I’d help Jackie in the kitchen while she cooked up a Caribbean feast concocted from her childhood memories, but those times were few and far between. And mostly I got relegated to the washing up.
“Well, you can thank Ruth for her help in the morning then,” he said.
He thought I’d still be around in the morning? “I won’t be here. I could write her a message if you like.”
“It’s too late for you to go home tonight.”
He waved at the clock above the sink, and I followed his gaze. Quarter past two.
“I don’t have a choice. I start work at five.”
“But you’ve just finished work. Surely there’s not much call for strippers at five in the morning?”
“Of course not. But I have another job, and that starts at five.”
“Can’t you call in sick?”
“No, Mr. Moneybags, I can’t call in sick. I’ve got to open up for customers at six, and I’ll be the only one there. It’ll be hard enough trying to explain the bruises, and I’m already gonna have to take time off from the club. I can hardly dance looking like I’ve been in a car crash, can I?”
“If you have to go back, I’ll get Tony to drop you off for five. What time do you finish tomorrow?”
“One thirty. Why?”
“I’ll pick you up at one thirty, then.”
And take me where? “No, you won’t. At one thirty I’m going to bed. I’ve already lost two hours sleep tonight, and I don’t get enough as it is.”
“Fine, get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up later. If you can’t work in the club, you’ll be free in the evening.”
“Nice try. I need to study when I’m not working. And what makes you think I want to see you again, anyway?”
“Money seems to talk with you, and I have a proposition. If it makes a difference, I’ll pay you for your time this evening.”
“I’m not a prostitute.” I stared daggers at him. “I’ll have you know I’ve never, ever slept with a man for money.”
He chuckled. “If looks could kill…”
I put my hands on my hips and glared harder.
“Calm down, Diamond. It’s not that kind of proposition. I’m talking about a business arrangement. I’ve already told you I don’t go for the schoolgirl look.”
“Well, now I know you’re talking rubbish. I don’t have any qualifications at all, and you’ve known me for less than a day. No way could you have a bona fide business opportunity to offer.”
“Humour me. I’ll pick you up at six. Does that give you enough time?”
“I guess.” Anything to shut him up.
“Good. Now eat some food.”
Part of me wanted to refuse on principle, but as my stomach grumbled, I gave in. The macaroni and cheese did look good. I added new potatoes and a bowl of vegetables and heated everything up in the microwave as per Ruth’s step-by-step directions. If nothing else, at least I’d get a proper meal out of the visit.
And wow, Ruth could cook! The pasta had just the right amount of grease, and once I’d added a knob of butter, the vegetables weren’t bad either. I felt an irrational jealousy at this man for having so much good food available. My shelf in the fridge was filled with whatever was on special offer or, if I timed it right, in the reduced section at the end of the day.
Black chose a healthier option, a salad with chicken breasts, and I made a show of chewing so I wouldn’t have to talk to him. After we’d put our plates in the dishwasher, another luxury I didn’t have, he showed me up to a spare bedroom.
“Get a couple of hours’ sleep. I’ll wake you up in time to get to work.”
“Will you?”
He sighed. “You need to learn to trust me.”
“Why?”
“I’ll explain tomorrow.”
What was he talking about? I had no idea, but my eyelids were drooping, so I decided I didn’t care. A few hours, and he’d be out of my life.
True to his word, Black shook me awake at four thirty, at which point, if memory serves correctly, I told him to get lost, only not quite so politely, then burrowed back under the duvet. I was vaguely aware of being lifted up in his arms and bundled into the backseat of a car, at which point he nudged me awake again.
“You’ve got to help me out here—where are we going?”
I mumbled my address, which Black somehow translated for the driver, and before I knew it, I was being helped out of the car at JJ’s.
“Sure you can’t take the morning off?” Black asked again.
“No, I have to do this.”
I turned my back on him as I punched in the combination to get into the building. The date Jimmy and Jackie got married, fourteen years ago now.
“Don’t forget I’m picking you up at six.”
“Whatever. Bye.”
I stepped inside, gave him one last petulant glare, then slammed the door in his face.
Finally, the strangest night of my life was over.