The Unexpected Coincidence (12 page)

He pushed her over
into the farther seat, pointing the gun directly at her now, and
got in beside her, shutting the door. With one hand he reached
forward and picked up a pile of items on the passenger seat of the
car.

“Here, put this in
your mouth.” He passed her a slightly squishy plastic ball as he
pulled a strip of gaffer tape off a large roll. She hesitated and
gulped. “Don't make me ask you twice.”

“You know you
don't have to do this,” she said.

With an
exaggerated sigh he moved closer to her. She leant back as he came
forward, but the seat and edge of the car gave her little room to
get away. He grabbed her chin to pull her head closer to his.

“Put it in your
mouth.”

Amelia stared at
him and then gently shook her head. Pain exploded across her face
as he backhanded her, catching her stitched-up eyebrow. A hot
liquid welled up and trickled slowly downwards. He grabbed her face
again, took the gag from her and held it up to her mouth. This time
she cooperated.

As soon as her
mouth had closed around it as best it could, he slapped the gaffer
tape over the top. Once he'd used more tape to bind her hands
together, he strapped her seatbelt over her body and arms, pinning
them at her sides. Finally, he pulled a nightmask over her eyes,
this time being careful to miss her eyebrow. Her only relief was
the knowledge that it would keep the blood out of her eyes for a
little while.

“This won't take
too long,” he said and moved away. It didn't make her feel any
better. The longer this took the more time she had to think of his
name, or even better, escape. A shiver ran through her as it
occurred to her how this might end if she didn't. It would be ages
before Sebastian noticed she was missing, let alone have any idea
where she'd gone.

Waves of fear
rippled through her as she thought about the words in the letters
she'd received. He had somehow convinced himself that there was a
spark between them, and the first few moments of him spotting her
had shown it wasn't true. His reaction let her know that it wasn't
going to go well if she couldn't think of his name or convince him
that she knew he existed.

Pinned into her
seat with her hands fixed in one position, she slid across the
leather with every turn. Just as she'd seen in a film, she tried to
remember the direction they drove in, but there were too many lefts
and rights for her to remember after only a couple of minutes.

Her stomach
tightened into a painful knot when the car drove into a parking
space and stopped. A few seconds later, he pulled the mask off her
face. She blinked in the parking lot light, but barely had time to
look at the area around her before he hooked his arm around her
body and hoisted her out of the car.

“Almost there,
baby.”

Amelia grunted her
response and immediately found herself glad she hadn't been able to
say it properly. Calling him names wouldn't help her situation.

As he pulled her
through the car park and into a lift, she didn't dare struggle. He
had what looked like a gun in his pocket, but it was still pointed
at her and she had no idea if he would use it. The lift took them
up into the block of flats and he walked her quickly along past
several doors, stopping in front of thirty-four.

“Reach into the
right pocket of my jeans and hook my keys out,” he said, turning
her and holding her up against the doorway. When she didn't move,
he pulled a four-inch switchblade out of his pocket and raised his
eyebrows at her. She hid her shock at finding it hadn't been a gun
but a knife. If she'd known, she'd never have let him take her from
outside Baker Street, but it was too late to fight now.

Feeling her heart
rate increase, she focused all her effort on her bound hands and
slid the fingers of her left hand into the pocket. When they
brushed against the cool metal of the key ring, she grasped a hold
and pulled them out.

Once she'd opened
the door for them, he pushed it open and gave her a shove forward.
She tripped over the metal strip that divided the room from the
hallway, landing hard on one side. Her hip flared with pain, taking
her mind off the dull throbbing on one side of her face.

“Get up,” he said
in a low voice. She tried to push herself up with her hands, but
his impatience led to him grabbing her shoulder and yanking
upwards. A few seconds later, she was stood unsteadily on her
feet.

The hallway was
empty, and as he walked her through to the living room, she noticed
there was very little furniture there as well. Just a camping chair
and a small stove with discarded take-away containers scattered
here and there.

“Do you like my
flat? I rented it especially to be near you.”

Amelia stopped
walking when they reached the middle of the room, and almost went
sprawling across the floor for a second time when he pushed her
again.

“Keep going. I
think we should go somewhere more comfortable, don't you?”

This time she
managed to refrain from trying to answer him. She knew he didn't
want to hear her opinion, and it would be good practice to keep her
mouth shut rather than saying what she was thinking.

It didn't take
long for him to manoeuvre her through to the bedroom. In here there
was a large but low bed, neatly made, and a wardrobe, making it the
most furnished room of the flat. He pushed her down onto the bed
and she flicked herself over onto her back.

After grinning at
her, he locked the door behind them. As he pocketed the key, she
noticed it was a newly fitted lock and hadn't been an original
feature of the door. It wasn't well done, but it looked sturdy
enough to give her problems.

“DIY isn't my
strong point,” he said when he noticed what she was looking at.
Keeping the blade in his hands, he came closer to her and sat
beside her. She didn't dare move away, but felt her heart rate
increase even further.

He used one hand
to pull the tape off her mouth, making her skin tingle where it had
been stuck. She spat the ball out.

“That doesn't
taste very nice,” she said, hoping it would be odd enough to defuse
some of the tension in the room. Now it was gone, Amelia also
focused on keeping her breathing steady. If she wanted to survive
this, she needed to keep calm and get plenty of oxygen to her body
and mind.

When he stared at
her, she lifted her hands to see if he'd take the tape off those as
well, but he must have decided against it because he ignored the
gesture.

“Have you
remembered me yet?” he asked.

“You work in the
shop in Bath. I spent lunch with you and your colleagues.”

“And my name?” He
didn't sound impressed with her reply.

“It begins with a
K.”

“Well, I suppose
it's better than nothing. It's Kevin, although you can call me
Dalton if that makes this easier for you.”

“No, it's okay,
Kevin is a good name.” She tried to give him a small smile, but it
made the pain in her cheek flare up again and she involuntarily
winced.

“Hmmm.” He got up
and went through to the en-suite bathroom. A moment later he came
back with damp toilet paper and dabbed at the cut near her eyebrow.
She hissed her breath through her teeth at the sting, but savoured
the moment of him being kind. It was impossible to tell how long it
would last.

“That's better,”
he said and threw the bloodstained wad through the door to land on
the bathroom floor.

“Thank you,” she
replied. Silence followed as he stared at her. He then reached up
with his hand and stroked her cheek.

“I've dreamt of
this moment a lot of times. Being your Dalton. Charming you into
bed the same way he does your heroines. We're a lot alike, although
I think I'm a little more settled. I've settled on you.” He lent
forward to kiss her but she pulled back. This needed to slow
down.

“Well, why don't
we discuss my next book? You can tell me what you think of my idea.
I'm struggling with it, and you said you'd always wanted to do
that.” Amelia tried to keep her fear out of her voice but wasn't
sure how well she'd managed it when the lines on his forehead
deepened.

“Are you trying to
slow me down? Dalton doesn't do this sort of thing slowly. He tends
to take what he wants.”

“I know, but I
prefer to go one step at a time. Even Dalton likes a willing
partner. Slower would get us both what we want.” She watched his
face for a reaction, hoping she could talk her way out of this or
at least buy herself some more time.

“Do you want it?”
he stroked her cheek and gazed at her lips.

“I'm not sure yet.
I'd like to get to know you a bit. This has been rather...
rushed.”

He almost snarled,
and she realised she'd said something wrong.

“I already told
you, I'm just like Dalton, and I know you like him.”

“You have a
different backstory,” she blurted out. He raised his arm to strike
her once more, but stopped as she flinched and tried to protect
herself with her arms.

“All right, I'll
be patient with you. After all, we have plenty of time together.
And I'm sure you
will
make the right decision in the end,
and if you look like you'll make the wrong one I can help
persuade
you.”

“As I said
earlier, I'm sure we can both get what we want. As a writer, I know
the backstory of all my characters, whether I put it in my books or
not. I'd love to know yours. Why don't you tell me where you're
from? The sorts of things you liked to do as a kid?”

He moved to sit
beside her on the bed and put his arm around her. After giving him
another warm smile, she leant back against the headboard and let
him talk about himself. Several minutes ticked by as he told her
about the village he'd grown up in. Wanting him to talk as much as
possible, she asked questions. She even laughed when he told her a
funny story about his cat.

She estimated that
fifteen minutes had passed while he talked, but it felt like no
time at all when he stopped. Immediately, he focused on her
again.

“Now, I think I've
talked enough. You know everything you need to know. I'm your
Dalton and I'm going to protect you. You're safe from that Guy
Thomas while you're here with me, and I intend to keep it that
way.”

Leaning forward,
he pressed his lips tenderly against her stitched eyebrow. If she
hadn't been brought there against her will, the gesture and
accompanying words would have seemed sweet, possibly even romantic,
but in light of what he'd done to her they were more
possessive.

As she felt her
pulse quicken again, her mind frantically searched for something
else that might distract him, but she couldn't think of anything
before he crushed his lips against hers. He used his body strength
to hold her against the bed and pushed his tongue into her
mouth.

Without thinking,
Amelia bit down on it. As he pulled away from her, he cried out in
a mix of fury and pain. Seizing her moment, she wriggled her body
back towards the edge of the bed, pushing with her hands where she
could, but Kevin recovered quicker than she expected.

Another explosion
of pain and momentum erupted on one side of her face. The force
propelled her the rest of the way off the bed and onto the
floor.

“Now, that wasn't
nice. It seems I'm going to have to persuade you after all,” he
said as he pulled the switchblade back out of his pocket.

A shrill buzzing
sound disturbed Mycroft from his afternoon tea. When he saw that it
was Sherlock calling he almost didn't answer, but his younger
brother almost never phoned him.

“What?”

“Did you just pick
up Amelia?”

“Of course not.
Why would I want to speak to –”

“Mycroft, she's
gone.” The panic in Sherlock's voice was evident.

“Tell him I saw
her,” Mrs Wintern's voice came out the speaker pressed to his ear
as if she was on the phone instead of his younger brother. Mycroft
wasn't sure he could cope with the annoying voice.

“Can't you send
her away?” he replied. His younger brother ignored the comment.

“She saw Amelia
outside talking to someone as her taxi pulled up, but by the time
she'd paid the driver and gathered her bags, Amelia and the man
were both gone.”

“Does Mrs Wintern
know –”

“No, I'd estimate
that it was only four minutes ago, but she can't confirm.”

“It's a good
estimate. They'll be in a car.”

“That's why I'm
phoning you. Can you access the cameras?”

“Of course,”
Mycroft said, forcing his voice to sound as bored and unconcerned
as it usually was when Sherlock asked him to use his powers to help
solve some crime. “Not that they'll do any good if we don't know
which car. Baker Street is busy enough it could be one of many
taxis or private vehicles.”

Silence greeted
his statement. Sherlock would know it was true. At this time of day
the cameras were focused on the traffic and not the pavement. He
could follow a car across the entire city, but he had to know what
car to follow. The muffled sound of Sherlock talking to Mrs Wintern
started up in the background while Mycroft waited. He knew he still
sounded calm and reasonable, but he'd detected the slight increase
in muscle tension around his jaw and shoulders as well as the few
extra beats per minute of his heart. He felt concern for Amelia.
Not as much worry as he'd feel for his brother if his brother was
in danger, but he'd known his brother for more than a century and
he was the only other person who came close to Mycroft's level of
thinking. That many years of companionship made a person fond.

The sound of
Sherlock yelling at Mrs Wintern to get out interrupted Mycroft's
reflection upon his reactions and brought him back to their
predicament.