‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’
‘Not tonight, but there’ll come a time.’
I glance at the door, silently begging for help to arrive.
‘They’ve been held up, your men. But not for long. I know you’re being protected. I’ve watched for long enough. Had this little plan in place for a while. Thanks for giving me the chance to use it.’ He pauses. ‘How was New York?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Meet someone?’
‘I said it’s none of your business.’
‘That’s what Mr Watson said.’
Suddenly, I’m forced round to face him. I clamp my lips together, pushing shallow, jittering breaths through my nose. He brings his face close to mine, dark eyes swimming with venom. I almost retch at the stench of whisky, but I’m quickly distracted by the outcome of his set-to with Clive: a bruise on the chin, a swollen lip, a grazed nose. Totally satisfied, I smile.
‘Mr Swanky Pants, was it? Is that why you’re smiling?’
I remain silent.
‘He’s out of the country. I wonder where he is.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Perhaps …’ He slides a finger down my cheek and I freeze. The smile takes off. ‘Perhaps he’s been sampling the delights of the Big Apple.’ The finger comes to a halt under my chin. ‘Or maybe he’s been tasting other forbidden fruit.’
He directs his gaze to my crotch.
I feel sickened.
‘I’ve no idea where he is. You’re wasting your time. I’ve met somebody else.’
‘Mr Finn? Oh, I saw the photos. Nicely staged.’
‘There’s nothing staged about them. Give up and fuck off.’
‘Language.’ The finger moves to my mouth.
‘Seriously.’ I pull my head away. ‘I’d fuck off right now if I were you. When the police get here, I’ll report you for harassment.’
He grabs my chin, giving me no option but to lock eyes with him.
‘Oh, no, don’t do that. You remember what I said. I don’t like the police. Nosey bastards. They bring out the worst in me.’ Letting go of my chin, he reaches out, picks up a bottle of wine and examines it. ‘And I’ll tell you what else brings out the worst in me.’ He puts the bottle back. ‘You keep throwing my flowers away.’
I clench my teeth, resisting the urge to punch him on the nose. I’d love to add to Clive’s bruises, but I’m not sure I’d make much of an impact.
‘That’s because I don’t want your shitty flowers,’ I seethe.
‘Ungrateful little bitch. There’ll come a day when you’ll take everything I give you. And I mean everything.’ His eyes flash with threat. ‘You need teaching.’
‘I don’t need anything from you.’
‘The police are on their way,’ the shopkeeper calls, waving his mobile in the air.
‘And sadly, that means I’ve got to go.’ Boyd grimaces. ‘I’ll be watching you, lady. Every single move you make. Don’t forget that. And when the time’s right …’
He leans in, looking at my lips.
Instinctively, I draw back.
‘We’ll be together again.’ With an empty smile, he leaves, pushing past the shop owner, unlocking the door and disappearing into the night.
My heart thuds. I’m close to hyperventilating. Staring at the open doorway, I drop the bottle and barely hear the sound of breaking glass. I have to go. I need to be home. The shopkeeper says something, but I can’t focus on the words. Within seconds, I’m through the door and out on the pavement. A police car draws up next to the kerb, but they’re already too late. The fight’s broken up and the men have gone, dissolved into thin air. And I should do the same. If Boyd sees me talking to the police, God knows what he’ll do next. Hastening my step, I half run, half stumble back to the flat. It takes at least three attempts to get the key into the lock, but once inside, I slam the door, lean against the wall and shut my eyes.
At first, my brain’s fuddled by terror, but then, ideas gradually begin to emerge from the turmoil. He’ll know. There’s no doubt about it. Three thousand miles away in Bermuda, Dan’s bound to have been given the news and he’ll already be working on what to do next. I just have to be patient. But should I tell Lucy? That’s the thing. It doesn’t take me long to decide I should. Boyd’s closed in on our territory, and she deserves to know the truth. When I’ve finally managed to wrestle my body back under control, I stumble into the living room where Lucy’s curled up on the sofa.
‘Did you get the wine?’ she asks.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ Her eyes widen. ‘What’s up? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’
‘I have.’ I slump next to her, lean forward and put my head in my hands. It’s only now the tears arrive. ‘Boyd …’
‘What?’
I feel her hand on my back, steadying me. When she speaks again, her voice has softened.
‘I told you not to go. What happened, Maya? Tell me.’
Between sobs, I force out a garbled account of the corner shop ambush. Yet again, Lucy insists on calling the police. I’m only saved from another argument by a ring at the doorbell.
‘Wait there,’ she orders. ‘I’ll get it.’
I’m expecting another bunch of roses. That would be right up Boyd’s alley, scaring me shitless and then ramming his point home. But when Lucy reappears, she beckons Gordon into the room.
‘Hey.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Just passing. Thought I’d surprise you.’
‘And I’ve told him what happened,’ Lucy interrupts. ‘I’ve told him about Boyd, seeing as you probably haven’t got round to it.’
Moving further into the room, Gordon fixes his attention on me. I’ve never seen him so serious.
‘You okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t look it.’
‘She won’t call the police.’ Lucy complains. ‘Tell her. She’s got to. He’s stalking
