WILL TIME WAIT: Boxed set of 3 bestselling 'ticking clock' thrillers (46 page)

She
hunched forward, gagging for breath, in excruciating pain. 

The
man forced her upright, huge and firm hands clamped her arms, shaking her and
screwing into her shoulders.

Spluttering,
Kate raised her water-blurred gaze.  The man’s fierce stare seared her
skin like a naked flame.  Every part of her body rattled, her arms, her
knees, even her teeth.  Fear crawled down her back.  Sweat gathered
under her breasts.  She managed to slip a trembling hand into her
pocket.  She whipped the mirror out and upwards, aiming for his head,
hoping to slice a decent strip of flesh out of his face.

“
T
his is warped,
man,” John said, punctuating his comment by kicking the garden gate.

“Answer
the phone, Kate!” Steve yelled into Dylan’s mobile.

“Have
you tried her home phone?” I asked.  I knew he would have, but it was
worth checking.

“Oh
course,” he replied.  “She’s not picking that up either.”

“Let’s
think logically,” Dylan said.  “That text said that a hostage is
on the
way
, right?  So whoever they’ve got their eye on might not have been
taken yet.”

“I
agree,” Steve said.  “All the more reason to find Kate before they do.”

“So,
what’s the plan?” I asked.

“Elliot
is priority!” Kerry blurted. 

John
nodded.  “Help us, and then we’ll help you.  Kate will be out
shopping like you said.  She probably lost track of time, met up for
drinks with a friend.  No one’s gonna grab her from a shop or a bar, are
they?”

Steve’s
face creased as he looked across Dylan’s front garden toward Kerry and
John.  “I hope you’re right.  Really I do.  But these men are
about to grab someone.  And no cops!  I’m not budging on that. 
Not until I find Kate.  They’ve killed Alan, so I’m sure they won’t think
twice about killing again if they get spooked.  These people are far more
dangerous than your neighbour.“

“More
dangerous!” Kerry shrieked.  “Doesn’t the name Machete Mack say anything
to you?”

To
me, both gangs were probably the sort to set your pet alight, force a hungry
rat down your throat, and then bury you alive. 

“Then
we split up,” Dylan suggested.  “We have things that both of these gangs
want, right?  The drugs and the voicemail.  Unless they’re up for
doing time behind bars for dealing and murder, then I assume both gangs will
want these things back.  So if these people are going after Kate
and...”  His hand slipped from mine and he headed back to the house.

“We’ll
have to swap the drugs for Elliot,” I said to finish for him.  “And my
phone for Kate.”

Steve
beckoned for me at the front door.  “Come on, Jenna.  Help me decide
where to find her.”

I
headed into the house followed by Kerry and John.

John
raced upstairs to collect the bag of drugs. 

We
all stood in the hall, dithering. 

“We
should try that posh shoe boutique on the high street first,” I
suggested.  “Hold on.  What time is it?  Will the shops be
shut?”

“Yes,”
Dylan said.

“Perhaps
we’ll check inside that new Wetherspoon’s pub and then the one on the corner in
case she’s stopped off for a drink.”

John
dashed downstairs carrying the bag of drugs.  “You ready, Kerry?”

She
nodded.

Dylan
opened the front door and walked them out, while I stood in the doorway next to
Steve.  Dylan stopped just outside the door and patted John on the
back.  “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” 
John smiled, a sad and nervous one.  “We’re gonna need it.”  Carrying
the bag, he dashed with Kerry down to the front garden gate.

I
stepped out of the door and limped nearer to them, my ankle still a bit sore.
 “Let us know as soon as you get Elliot, won’t you?” I waggled my fingers
then started back to the house.

“Come
with us, Jenna,” Kerry said in a voice so thin it was impossible not to turn
back to her.  “Once Elliot is safe, we’ll help you find Kate.”

I
was about to pivot away, but when I saw Kerry’s begging eyes fastening onto
mine, my breath split into two jolts in my throat.  I didn’t like seeing
her this way, a mother so broken and desperate. 
Could I really turn my
back on her? 

She
remained standing at the edge of Dylan’s front garden, her weak frame hanging
off John’s, her face feverish.  “Our neighbour doesn’t know what you look
like, Jenna.  So you might be able to sneak—“

“Kate’s
your best friend,” Steve cut in, standing on the threshold.

I
jittered on the spot, torn.  There were two people on each team. 
Dylan next to Steve in the doorway.  Kerry clinging to John at the foot of
the garden. 

And
then me. 
Could I leave Steve and Dylan alone in order to help Kerry
and John?

My
heart seemed to swing from side to side like a pendulum between my
breasts.  “How can I... it’s too...”  My words tumbled over one
another.  My shoes were suddenly two concrete blocks keeping me in the
middle. 
How can I choose?
  Kate, the only friend my husband
hadn’t frightened away over the years, versus Elliot, a child?   We
didn’t even know for sure if Kate was in danger.  “I think I should help
get Elliot, but... I don’t want to leave Kate if those men are...”

Dylan
studied me.  His eyes bore into my face.

“I
can’t turn my back on...” was all I managed, then held a breath.

Dylan
took one step towards me.  “Then don’t.”

I
could now breathe again, but his comment surprised me.  The words ‘what?’
and ‘why?’ were circuiting my brain when two cars came bombing down the street,
breaking my confusion. 

Dylan
dashed to the side hedge and peeked over it.  I followed him.  Two
black Land Rovers screeched to a halt a few houses away on our side of the
street.  The slams of the car doors travelled over to me loud and clear,
making me jump.   

Dylan
pressed a finger to his lips and glanced over his shoulder at everyone. 
“Shush.”

Dipping
low behind the bushes, I spied through the netting of leaves.  Three men
marched to the house a few doors up from Dylan’s.  I recognised one of
them immediately and my heart stopped dead.  “It’s the guys who abducted
me.”  My body tensed.  I looked again to be certain.

Dylan
squeezed my hand.  “Are you sure?”

John
came up behind us, parted a section of bush and peered through.

“Positive,”
I said, touching my stomach, remembering the pain.  It was the man who had
hurt me with the stun gun.  “He may not be wearing a mask today, but I can
tell it’s him.  I’ll never forget.”

“Jenna’s
right,” John confirmed, his eyes now full circles. 

“Oh,
for fuck’s sake!” Steve groaned.

“Let’s
move,” Dylan ordered in a hushed voice.  “Everyone inside the house. 
Now.  We’ve got two minutes tops.”

We
dashed into the house, heads low, unspeaking until Dylan closed the front
door. 

“What
are they doing at that house?” I asked.  “And why two minutes?”

 “They’ve
got the correct address.  Number eleven,” Dylan said, locking and bolting the
front door.  “Just the wrong house.  The seven on their sign looks
like a one.  Once they reach the door, they’ll see the top of the number’s
rubbed away and head straight over here, just like delivery people do.”

“Just
like I did,” John added.

“Grab
phones, cash, the drugs...” Steve said, pointing around.  “And let’s get
the fuck out of here.”

Dylan
ushered us through the back door in the kitchen.  “Hurry!” 

We
darted to the end of the garden, where Steve dragged a table flush against the
back fence and offered his hand to me.  “Jen, up and over.”

I
climbed onto the wooden table, gripped the top of the fence and hauled myself
over.  It wobbled under my weight.  I let go, landed on my good leg
in a flower patch, crushed some pansies and toppled backwards onto my
bottom.  Kerry came over next, all kicking legs with her top riding up her
stomach.

“Just
drop,” I said, hugging her around the knees.  “I’ve got you.” 

She
hesitated a moment, until John said, “Move your ass, woman!”

“Idiot,”
she shot back, then let go and landed in front of me ripping her top on the
fence.  “Is anyone at home?” she asked, turning to stare at the house of
the garden we were trespassing in.  “What if someone sees us?”

“I’d
rather get chased by whoever lives here than those men, wouldn’t you?” I
muttered, studying Kerry.  She was hugging her belly and chewing her
lip.  It struck me that she was more frightened of those men than I. 
“I’m scared, too, Kerry.  But at least those guys don’t know your
face.  That’s something in your favour,” I said, trying to reassure her in
case her fear went loud.  If she screamed, she’d give us away.

Once
Dylan, Steve and John were over the fence, Dylan led us down the path along the
side of the house.  The gate at the end of it was padlocked. 

“Damn
it,” Steve said, rattling the lock. 

We
gave each other a leg-up and climbed over.  Not wasting a single second,
we sprinted flat out through the housing estate.  I gritted my teeth
against my painful ankle, and tried to put most of my weight onto my other
leg.  The wind batted me from outside, my heart batted me from
inside. 

Five
people running for their lives.

All
those men had to do was drive around the corner, and we’d be caught.

W
hile running diagonally
across a residential street, a car honked several times from behind, and then
sped within clipping distance of my heels.  In a panic, I dodged sideways,
saw headlights flashing.  Oh, shit! 
Is it the men?

The
driver slowed, wound his window down and gave us the finger. 
“Imbeciles.  You deserve to get run over!”

While
looking over my shoulder, I chastised the driver with my pointed stare for
frightening me.  A twinge of pain shot through my ankle.  I tripped
on the kerb and stumbled into Dylan, knocking him to the pavement. 
“Sorry.”

Steve
came up fast behind us.  He leaped into the air and jumped over Dylan to
avoid stomping on his chest.  “Christ.  For a second, I thought that
car was them.”

I
inhaled deeply to quench my starved lungs, and then offered Dylan my
hand.  “Are you all right?” 

“Fine. 
Don’t worry about it,” he said, rising to his feet.  “How’s your ankle?”

 I
leaned over to massage it.  “Not great.”

Kerry,
who’d been lagging behind, caught up and joined Steve and John in a cluster beside
us.  A chorus of gasps and puffs filled the worried silence. 

Kerry
tied her torn top into a knot on one side, then glanced up and down the
street.  “I can’t see those cars anywhere,” she whispered, as though
nervous her voice would find its way to the men. 

John
bent forward.  “Yet.”  Sweat gleamed like a layer of clear varnish on
his face.  He rested his hands on his knees and caught his breath.

“What?”
Kerry asked.

“You
can’t see them
yet
,” he clarified, glancing up.  “Let’s keep
moving.  They’re not going to give up.”

“We
have to get off the streets before we draw attention to ourselves.”  Dylan
pointed to the left.  “This way.  Follow me.”  He felt for my
hand, found it and squeezed.  “Stay close.”

I
pounded the pavement behind him, half-limping, half-running.  Hard tarmac
punished my ankle as I changed direction when he did, crossed roads in his
bobbing shadow. 

“Oh,
crap.  They’re on that street!” Steve yelled.

I
looked over my shoulder, spotted a black Land Rover waiting at a junction
behind a red car.

Dylan
dragged me along the pavement.  All five of us jumped over the nearest
garden wall, and slammed down onto our bellies.  We lay there, still and
silent behind the low garden wall.  My head pressed down into the soil of
the flower bed.  Oh, God. 
Please don’t spot us, please don’t.

“Stay
down,” Dylan instructed.

A
couple of minutes later, after the hum of traffic driving past faded, Steve got
to his knees and peeked out.  “All clear.  Come on.  Let’s keep
moving.”

“Jesus,
that was close.”  I climbed out of the flower bed, over the wall and back
onto the pavement, breathing heavily.  We darted down the street. 
When we turned left on the next corner, Dylan pointed ahead to a pub situated
before the next traffic light junction.  “We’ll hide out there.”

Phew! 
I wasn’t sure I could run much further.

We
raced to the entrance and blasted through the pub door as though a tidal wave
had carried us in. 

I’d
been in this dump of a pub a week ago for a sneaky fish ‘n’ chip lunch with
Dylan - a place Alan would never have considered to look for me.

Steve
headed straight to the bar, leaned on its varnished surface and said, “Three
thousand whiskeys, an oxygen tank and a bullet proof vest.”

I
raised an eyebrow at his amused spirit, not able to see any funny side right
now.

The
barman stretched up for a pint glass.  “Darn it.  Just sold
out.”  He paused to laugh.  “Usual then?  Pints?”

“Guess
so.  And some sandwiches.  My stomach thinks my throat’s on strike.”
 Steve glanced over his shoulder.  “My shout.  Want a
drink?  I think we could all use a little something.”

“Well,
it would be rude not to,” John said, dryly, checking out the window. 
“Lager for me.”

A
soft drink just wouldn’t cut in right now.  My nerves were sizzling under
my clammy skin.  I had to numb them in order to keep a cool head. 
“Red wine, please.  Large.”  I ruffled my hair, knocking soil out of
it.

“Erm...
lager and lime, thanks,” Kerry said.  “And then we’ll call a taxi. 
Right, John?” 

John
nodded.  “Yes.  We’ll hang here for a breather, and then hopefully
they’ll have left the neighbourhood.”

Kerry
took a seat at the table by the window to my left, and wafted her face with a
newspaper that was laying on its round top.

“Should
we sit so close to the window?” I asked.  “What if they drive past and see
us?”

John
came up behind me as I spun a half circle to watch the door, terrified it would
fling open and the men would barge in.  “Through that dirty thing!” he
said.  “I can only just see through it myself.”

My
heart still pounded too much for me to laugh.  And my hands shook. 
But beneath these negative feelings, I’d never been so alive and energized
in... years. 

John
leaned his chin on my shoulder and whispered in my ear.  “But just in case
they have got x-ray vision, tell me this pub has a back exit.”

I
couldn’t help but chuckle at his little one-liners.  It was more his
inappropriate timing than the way he said them.  “It does.”

He
started fiddling with my hair.

I
leaned away from him.  “What are you doing?”

He
showed me a leaf which he’d pulled out of my hair.

“Oh,
right.  Thanks.”

Dylan,
standing at the end of the serving area, glanced at me, then narrowed his
curious eyes at John.

Feeling
awkward, I nudged John away.  I sat next to Kerry and propped my leg up on
a spare chair.  “Nothing like a mini marathon to keep us in shape, is
there?”

She
grinned, but it was cold, forced.  Who could blame her?  Then she
folded the newspaper, sighed and placed it on the window ledge to make way for
our drinks.  “This is all so unfucking believable.  I just want it to
end.” 

“Me,
too.”  I glanced at the paper, unable to stop myself imagining the horrid
headlines should any of this weekend’s escapades be leaked to the press: 

Cheating
widow of murdered fraudster partners up with scam-victim drug-runners to rescue
five-year-old... 

Oh,
crap.  I’d choke on every letter. 

Dylan
and Steve carried our drinks to the table, then took a seat.  John
remained standing behind me, still clearly on hot alert, taking on the role of
door staff.

I
took a sip of wine to moisten my throat, then two long gulps.  “Ahr. 
I needed that.  Thanks, Steve.”

I
peered out of the window for any sign of the Land Rover.  It didn’t drive
past, and no armed men stormed the pub. 

My
pulse began to smooth out. 

“Luckily
for us, they went to the wrong house,” John said.

“Sure
was.  They’re not the first people to misread the house number,” Dylan
stated, then chucked beer down his gullet.

I
gulped.  “But I bet they’re the first with guns to do it.”

“They
found you in the forest retreat, found your home...”  Steve slammed his
pint glass on the table.  “It all feels...”

“Too
easy,” I said, gnawing the inside of my cheek.  “Not right.”

“You
can say that again,” John muttered.  “People are trying to kill us. 
What’s right about that?”

Dylan
reached over the table, touched my hand and looked at me with soft but
penetrating eyes.  “But that’s not what you meant.  Is it, Jenna?”

I
shook my head and looked away.  I did not like what was swimming in my
mind, not at all.  How had these guys managed to find me when they thought
that John was Dylan?

The
barman brought a platter of sandwiches to our table.  “Enjoy,” he said,
then amazed me by swatting a fly and crushing it in his fist.

“Wow,”
Kerry said.

“What
are you?” Steve mocked, grabbing two sandwiches.  “Some sort of Ninja
fly-catcher?”

The
barman laughed, then walked away, saying, “Yeah.  This bar lark is just a
cover.  Got the whole underpants over spandex thing going on once I clock
off.” 

While
waiting for the barman to step out of earshot, my weary mind skipped out of
reality.  I eyed the plate of food, which was disappearing fast thanks to
Steve.  I fazed out and saw double.  People were trying to kill us
and I was craving some greasy fish ‘n’ chips.  What was wrong with me?

“These
guys are either after you,” Kerry began, pulling my derailed mind off the smell
of vinegar, “your mobile to delete that voicemail, or they want both.” 
She peered out of the window.  “Do you think they’ve given up yet? 
We need to get Elliot.  I can’t just sit here.”

“There’s
a goddamn bounty on her head,” Steve blurted, chomping heartily on his fourth
or fifth sandwich.  He must have had hollow legs to fit all the food
in.  “I wonder how much you’re worth, Jenna.”

“Not
funny,” Dylan said flatly.

I
shuddered, then glanced at John as he reached over my shoulder for a
sandwich.  I frowned at him while my mind ticked over.  My burning
question was, if the people chasing me thought that John was Dylan, how come
they turned up at Dylan’s house?  Surely they’d be staking out
John’s.  “These guys are always one step ahead,” I said, tapping a
fingernail on the table top.  “Finding us at the retreat... then at
Dylan’s house...”

“Well,
someone’s been tailing you for about a month, remember?” Steve said.  “It
was all there in that voicemail.”

“Good
point.”  I freed a sandwich from the soggy serviette underneath, and began
to eat.  I’d forgotten about the Private Investigator.  Hearing the
killer shot that murdered my husband had apparently wiped my mind of that.

Dylan
swallowed the last bite of his sandwich then brushed crumbs off his
hands.  “So who’s been spying on you?”

I
sipped my wine, swallowed quickly then glanced at everyone.  “So, here’s
what we know...  Alan was killed after giving a password.  These guys
want to take over his company.  They either know I have the murder
recorded on my phone, or they are after me for some other reason.  Perhaps
because I saw their faces.”  I paused.  “It can’t be one of the guys
we saw in the scrap yard who’s been spying on me, or they’d have realised that
John was not Dylan.”

“Yes
they would have,” John agreed, his voice muffled by food. 

“Well
whoever’s been following you must have seen my face at some point,” Dylan
explained.  “We’ve been together a lot lately, Jenna.”

“Not
necessarily,” I said.  “I’ve been very careful about sneaking around.”

Kerry
looked at Dylan.  “They can’t have seen you together if they think that
you are John.”

“Or
it’s an outsider,” John said.  He shrugged.  “Private investigators
generally are.”

I
twisted in my seat to face him.

He
continued.  “It’s got to be someone who knew you were going to the retreat
for the weekend, but someone who was not in the scrap yard to notice that
they’d captured
me
by mistake.”

I
pushed my chair back and stood so that I could see everyone.  “The only
person who knew I’d be at the retreat was Kate.”  I waved my sandwich at
Dylan.  “And you, of course.”

“Whoa!”
Dylan said, leaning back and wobbling on his chair.  The sandwich he’d
just picked up fell out of his hand.  “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m
not suggesting anything.  I’m simply stating.”  I smiled and squeezed
his arm.  “I know it’s not you, babe.  Don’t get your pants in a
twist.”

Steve
laughed into his pint, then abruptly went silent and narrowed one eye. 
Had he had a thought?

“Good,”
Dylan said, the relief in his voice was impossible to miss.  “Because all
I’ve ever tried to do is keep you safe.  And to continue doing that, we
need to get you out of this neighbourhood.”

I
stood, trapped by my sketchy thoughts.  “But how do they know where Dylan
lives?”  There was a horrible wrenching sensation inside me. 
“
I‘ve
been so careful all month, driving in circles, checking my mirrors... to hide
my affair from Alan.  But... not on Friday.” I jerked up
ruler-straight.  “I was so wound up when I left Alan that—“

Dylan
leaned forward.  “That what, Jenna?”

I
gasped through numb lips, slammed my sandwich down on the table.  “I drove
straight to your house, Dylan.  Oh, hell.  How could I forget this?
 Joe, he works, I mean
worked
for my husband.  He was pulling
onto the drive when I skidded off.  I nearly rammed his front
bumper.”  I ran a hand through my hair, remembering.  “Alan was
chasing me down the drive.  Maybe he told Joe to follow me.“