Gesturing to Tony, Abbie led them to the corner of the house. Tony crouched and knitted his hands together, awaiting Abbie's trainer. Abbie stepped on his palms, and he hoisted her to the slanting roof.
Pulling herself up, Abbie didn't look back to thank Tony or offer him a thumbs up. Instead, she proceeded to the bathroom window. The one Louis had indicated was broken.
The blind was up, the room was dark. Abbie saw no sign of one of Pedro's people relieving themself and would have to hope no one came to take a leak while she was crawling through the window.
Taking the metal handle, Abbie placed a hand on the splintered wooden frame. It was old and had needed replacing a long while. It was also stiff. Abbie had to press her shoulder to the wood to assist her hand in forcing the window open. When it swung in, she almost collapsed onto the toilet.
Window open, Abbie leaned in but remained on the roof, listening.
From somewhere below, she could hear voices, laughter. Pedro's team would be down there with their feet up, awaiting Angel's return. They'd be bored, hence the chatting and jokes. With any luck, they'd have lowered their guard.
Unable to hear anyone upstairs, Abbie put her legs through the window and, pressing against the frame, lowered herself into the bathroom. The door was closed. With utmost caution, Abbie eased it open and looked into the hall.
Dark. Quiet.
Abbie was at the opposite end of the house to Louis' bedroom. To reach her target, she would have to pass the bannister, which looked onto the landing below. The light in the landing was on. Abbie could still hear voices, but it didn't sound like anyone was in the hall. Everyone was in the living room or the kitchen.
Keeping to the side of the hall opposite the bannister, Abbie made her way quickly but quietly from one end to the other.
Louis' bedroom door was closed, as it had been the previous day. Abbie heard a louder bout of laughter from downstairs, then the living room door opened.
Startled, afraid to be seen, Abbie opened Louis' door and slipped inside, closing the door behind her.
Downstairs, whoever had left the living room walked down the hall and into the kitchen. Probably didn't even glance upstairs.
The last time Abbie had entered this bedroom, Alex had screamed and tumbled off the bed when Louis had kicked her in shock.
No chance of that this time. Louis was outside.
Crying and naked, Alex was tied to the bed, unable to move.
In the en-suite, someone flushed the toilet.
For a second, time stopped. Then rage hit Abbie like a flaming hammer. Spinning from the bed, she strode to the toilet. When the scumbag on the other side opened the door, Abbie smashed a boot into his chest, sending him stumbling backwards. As he tried to steady himself, Abbie stepped forward, grabbed the doorframe, lifted both legs, and sprung them into the oncoming enemy's face.
With a cry, he crashed into the bath, taking the shower curtain with him. Taking no chances, Abbie rushed in, pulling the door closed behind her.
The guy was trying to rise. Abbie crushed his face between her boot and the tiled wall.
He collapsed into the tub, dazed, groaning. He looked pathetic. Abbie's mind offered her a flash of Alex: naked, crying, tied to the bed. New waves of rage raced through her.
She went for the cistern, removed the lid and looked inside, her eyes confirming Louis' claim from the previous day.
A shining steel blade.
In the bath, the scumbag tore the shower curtain from his head. Abbie placed the cistern on the floor.
The scumbag tried to drag himself upright. Abbie tore free the knife.
The guy was shirtless; his trousers unbuttoned. Unbidden, Abbie saw images of him on top of Alex, laughing as she cried and screamed and begged.
The scumbag came for Abbie.
Abbie stabbed his throat.
Withdrew the knife.
Kicked him back into the bath.
Jumped in after him.
Brought down her knife, again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again.
He was dead long before she stopped. When she did, she became aware of a burning sensation in her hand. Squeezing the knife into her sliced palm had not been smart. Where she had agitated her bruises and bumps, many of her body parts ached and groaned. More than they had since she'd emerged from the sea, but less than her heart, which throbbed with loss, anger, frustration.
Covered in blood, Abbie hauled herself from the bath, staggered across the room, and let herself back into the main bedroom.
Someone was coming up the stairs.
The someone shouted in Spanish. Abbie didn't have to understand the words to know what they were saying or what they were going to do next.
Still sobbing, Alex remained on the bed, tied up, desperate and afraid. Abbie wished she could free Alice's daughter but had to focus on the next threat. Forcing herself not to meet Alex's eye, Abbie removed her phone. Dialled Tony as she went to the carpet and reaching beneath the bed.
"What's up?" he said.
"Change of plan. You need to get to Louis and tell him it's time to go. Now”
"You can't be serious. What about mum? How will she know?”
"Don't worry about your mother," said Abbie.
From beneath the bed, she yanked the shotgun.
"I'm going to give her a signal."
Thirty-One
Tony was asking more questions. Abbie hung up and opened the drawer beneath Louis' socks and underwear, retrieving his handgun. Placing the shotgun on the bed, she loaded the pistol. Having reached the hallway, Mr Curious called out again in Spanish. When his words weren't returned, he hesitated.
Pushing the pistol into her waistband, Abbie moved from the bed to stand in front of the wardrobe, facing the door. The shotgun was heavy. The weight
