He pulls a black handgun out of his pocket.
‘Browning 9mm. I won’t bore you with the finer details. I’m more of a shotgun man, really, but I’ve done a wee bit of target practice and I have to say, I’m not too bad.’ He raises it, narrows his eyes and aims it at the lift door. ‘I should have prepared a speech really. You know, the final bad-guy speech. Because I am the bad guy in all this, aren’t I?’ He sits next to me. ‘Trouble is the bad guy always gets foiled, right at the last minute. He’s so busy with his final speech, it gives the hero time to fight back. Big mistake. But I’m sorely tempted.’ Clearly restless, he stands again. ‘So, Mr Foster, you’ve annoyed me for long enough ...’
I hear the whir of the lift mechanism.
‘Oh, here we go,’ Boyd announces. ‘Bob’s your uncle, Fanny’s your aunt … and Daniel Foster’s dead.’
Chapter Nineteen
He levels the gun at the lift door. The seconds lengthen, drawing out to breaking point, and I register sounds, disparate and unreal. Shallow breaths. The quiet thrum of the lift. A siren wailing. The rumble of London’s traffic. The squeal of a train.
And then it’s all gone, muffled by terror.
I watch from a distance, as if I’m really not here. I’m locked inside my head, in a nowhere land. The door opens. He’s standing in full view, wary, scanning the room, taking in Boyd, the building debris, the open space where a window should be. And then his eyes lock onto mine.
‘Oh come on out, Daniel,’ Boyd calls, carelessly waving the gun. ‘It’s no use staying in there.’
Keeping his vision anchored on me, he advances out of the lift, slow and silent, coming to a halt about ten feet away from Boyd.
‘Put your hands up,’ Boyd orders.
‘They’ve already frisked me.’
‘I don’t care. Hande hoch.’
Dan raises his arms. Breaking eye contact, he scours the room again, quickly searching for possibilities and probably finding none, before he focusses back on me. Lips part. Eyes soften. He’s made up his mind. These could be our last few moments together, and he’s not prepared to waste them on Boyd. Instead, he’ll spend them with me.
‘Nice to see you again.’ Boyd’s words grate against my ears. ‘You’re looking well. Isn’t he looking well, Maya?’
I ignore him. I’m entirely with Dan, silent, defiant, denying Boyd’s existence, not giving him the pleasure of a reaction. But like an irritating insect, his voice continues to buzz around my head.
‘Not bad going. An excellent recovery. I’m impressed.’
Dan smiles, but not at Boyd’s words … at me. And in those few seconds, I see it all: a confirmation of his love, his admiration, his faith. Through the tears, I return it all, a hundredfold.
‘I don’t like being blanked,’ Boyd growls. ‘If you don’t want Maya to suffer, look at me.’
With a flicker of the eyelids, Dan gives me the slightest of nods – a silent goodbye, perhaps. And then, he faces Boyd, full-on, utter contempt taking up residence on his face.
Satisfied he’s finally the centre of attention, Boyd waves the gun.
‘Well done on surviving the crash, but not so well done on trying to dupe me. Careless work. And don’t bother trying to argue the toss. I know it all.’
‘You don’t know anything.’
‘I warned you not to mess with me. You think you’re so clever, but guess what? You’re not as clever as me.’ He moves forward, training the gun back on Dan’s chest. ‘Tell him, Maya,’ he bleats. ‘Tell him how I know. Tell him how I did this.’
I have no choice. It’s clear from his face he expects me to answer.
‘Lily,’ I whisper. ‘He’s been seeing her. I called her … a few weeks ago. I gave it all away. I’m sorry. And now he’s got her phone. He used it to get us both here.’
Dan’s lips twitch.
‘Where is she?’ he demands.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ Boyd snarls.
‘If you’ve harmed her …’
‘You’ve only got yourself to blame, not that you can do anything about it now. You’re about to die.’
My heart falters. My lungs flail. I want to scream, but I can’t. My body’s refusing to follow orders again.
‘I knew. Right from the start. I knew.’ The temptation’s clearly too much for Boyd. He can’t resist a little ‘evil villain’ gloating. ‘Let’s talk about Mr Finn, for example, the one who’s apparently buying that shitty little gallery, the one you sent in on her birthday.’ He waves the gun at me. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t investigate? Did you think I wouldn’t find out he was at Cambridge with you? Stupid, fatal mistake, Mr Swanky Pants. And then New York.’ He tuts and shakes his head. ‘Dearie me. A brazen act of defiance.’
‘I didn’t see him in New York,’ I tell him.
‘Oh, shut the fuck up, Maya,’ Boyd spits. ‘Don’t you get it? I had no proof of that, not until Carl sang like a canary.’
‘Get on with it,’ Dan interrupts. ‘If you’re going to shoot me, just get the fuck on with it. I’m sick of your voice.’
‘What?’ Boyd opens his mouth in pantomime disbelief. ‘No bargaining?’
‘What’s the point?’
He cocks his head to one side, examining Dan, trying to work out if he means it or not.
‘Look at that, Maya,’ he says at last. ‘When it comes to the crunch, Mr Wonderful just rolls over and gives up. I’ve got to ask, old boy. Do you actually want to die?’
‘If I can’t have Maya,’ he says quietly, ‘then I don’t want to live.’
‘Oh, come along now.’
‘And as long as she lives, I don’t care what happens to me.’
‘But she’ll be mine,’ Boyd taunts him, clicking back the
