whether he's involved or not.'
'And do you think he is?'
Jimmy shrugged. 'Hard to tell. He's still missing, ain't he? That doesn't look too good. But it's a big step from flogging hookey gear to kidnapping.'
'Oh God, Jimmy. I don't know what to think, I really don't.'
'It'll be all right, babe. Don't worry. I'm here now.'
But it wouldn't be all right, Andrea knew that. Whatever happened, the life she'd worked so hard to build up, and the life of her precious daughter, had changed irreversibly. Even in the best-case scenario, with Emma returned to her physically unharmed, she would be a different person, permanently scarred by the trauma of this situation. And Pat . . . well, Pat wasn't coming back. There was no doubt about that. And the thing was, she thought they'd been pretty happy. She would miss him, too – unless, of course, he was involved. But her instincts told her he wasn't; that he wasn't capable of putting Emma through such an ordeal. Because the thing was, as Jimmy had pointed out, he really didn't need to. He had access to money, he drove a nice car, he didn't need to work for a living, he enjoyed two or three foreign holidays a year, and he had freedom, too. Andrea cut Pat a lot of slack, so why put it all at risk for a share in half a million pounds, and the possibility that he'd end up in jail for the next ten years? She didn't buy it.
But she still couldn't explain his absence.
Jimmy's hand massaged her shoulder, slowly and deliberately. The sensation filled her with conflicting feelings. She still loved Pat, or at least she thought she did, but Jimmy had always done something to her, and even now she felt the first stirrings of arousal, accompanied by sharp pangs of guilt that she could even think about sex when her daughter was in the position she was in. Yet she couldn't help feeling much more secure with Jimmy here with her. He was strong, stronger than Pat could ever be, and she needed that now. But he was also trouble, and there was no part for him in her life now. Once this was over, she'd say goodbye to him for ever.
Although something told her it wasn't necessarily going to be as easy as that.
Four
'Half a million quid. It looks beautiful.'
Jimmy Galante had always loved money. He just hadn't liked the part where you had to work for it, which was why he'd chosen armed robbery and major drug dealing as his means of making a living.
The ransom was in a large Adidas holdall that Andrea had dug out from the loft, which was now sitting open on the coffee table in her living room. Jimmy was sitting on one of the leather armchairs with a large wad of fifties secured by a rubber band in his hand. His dark eyes moved from the wad to the contents of the holdall, then back again. The expression on his face was pure, unadulterated excitement.
'It's not all there yet,' she told him. 'I'm still sixty short. I need to pick up the rest at the bank tomorrow.'
'Where did all this lot come from, then?'
'Never you mind.'
He grinned. 'Been hiding it from the taxman, have you?'
'It's none of your business, Jimmy. The lucky thing is I've got it. It means our daughter can come home.'
The grin disappeared, and he nodded soberly, returning the wad of fifties to the holdall.
Initially, Andrea had been reluctant to bring Jimmy back here. She knew the kidnappers had been watching her and was afraid they might have bugged the house, so on Jimmy's advice they'd driven to a shop in Kensington which sold surveillance products and Andrea had bought a bug finder for a hundred pounds.
When they'd got back it was already dark, and after checking there was no one watching from the street, she and Jimmy had hurried inside, and he'd gone to work with the bug finder. It had taken him only seconds to locate a tiny electronic trip switch attached to the bottom of the skirting on the front door which would have alerted the kidnappers remotely as soon as the front door was opened, and was clearly how they'd known to phone her as soon as she'd got home the previous night.
Inside the house, though, the bug finder hadn't picked up anything, but this didn't stop Andrea feeling that the place had been violated by the kidnappers. It was now twenty-four hours since she'd found out about Emma's disappearance.
She watched Jimmy carefully as she sat smoking what was probably her fortieth cigarette of the day and drinking her third glass of red wine, and wondered if she could trust him. She'd hoped that telling him that Emma was his daughter would stir his parental instinct, but now she wasn't so sure it even existed. In the four hours since she'd picked him up from the airport, he'd hardly asked about Emma at all, seeming far more concerned about filling his stomach. He'd insisted on ordering an Indian takeaway, at the same time bemoaning the quality of them in his little corner of the Costa del Sol. Andrea had hardly been able to touch hers, but Jimmy had fallen upon his food ravenously. He'd eaten enough for two men, and washed it all down with four cans of Stella.
When Andrea had shown him a picture of Emma she'd brought with her to the airport, she'd said quietly, and with a sense of awe in her voice, 'This is your daughter, Jimmy. This is Emma.' His reaction had been a vague half- smile and a murmured, 'She's pretty.' Nothing else. Just those two words. She's pretty. For Andrea, this hadn't been enough. She'd wanted more. In truth, Emma didn't look much like Jimmy, but then again she didn't look much like either of them. Andrea was a natural brunette, with features that were sharp and well defined – a very attractive woman, but one with a hard edge to her. Emma, meanwhile, was a natural blonde, with small, delicate features, a round snub nose, and lively blue eyes. She was pretty in a sweet, cherubic way, and looked young for her age. The photo Andrea had shown Jimmy was a head-and-shoulders shot taken on Hampstead Heath the previous summer. Emma was grinning at the camera, showing a neat row of white teeth courtesy of the brace she'd been wearing for the previous six months, and which had been taken out the week before that shot. It was a celebration smile, and to Andrea the most beautiful smile in the world. It killed her to look at it. But not Jimmy. All he could manage was, 'She's pretty.'
She wondered if he genuinely believed he was the father or whether he'd concluded she was bullshitting in order to get his help. It was difficult to tell. That was the thing with Jimmy. He rarely let on what he was thinking, preferring to play mind games and keep people guessing.
