State of Emergency – Chapter 27
April 15, 2011
Chris closed his eyes and clenched his fists in sheer frustration. “God! Why do you have to be such a bitch?”
He’d never spoken to her like that before. He was in the process of putting his face in his hands when he saw he’d finally gotten a response. Her head had whipped around, her eyes finally focusing on him for the first time since he’d rescued her.
Rescued her. The rage came back and burned out the regret.
“Look, I walked into damn near certain death for you. Derek had bricked you up in that fucking cellar to die and I’m the one who got you out. Me! Not Carlyle, not any fucker else. Me! You got my partner tortured to death. You cost me my job, my wife, my friends and I feel like I’m fucking losing my mind! I have lost fucking everything for you and not only are you too much of a prissy little cunt to say thank you but you’re too much of a bitch to even help me find out who really killed your parents!”
Her face crumpled. Her head bowed, face disappearing behind the veil of her hair. Chris’ pang of guilt was immediate, followed by a sharp fear that she was going to sink into herself again and the only response she’d ever given him (apart from the bite that had torn up half his face) was going to end there. He stepped round and sat beside her – she always sat here when he tried to talk to her, on the right side of the bed, facing the window. Slowly, very carefully, he put an arm across her shoulders and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, gently blotting the tears from her eyes.
She took the handkerchief to blow her nose into it and he smiled to himself. At least it didn’t look like she was going to try to eat him again. Gingerly, he took the photograph and placed it on her lap. She was still wearing the clothes he’d put her in for the flight – a pair of his jeans that she’d cut off into shorts and one of his shirts. He hadn’t known how to approach the subject of changing them, so he simply hadn’t.
He stroked her shoulder comfortingly for a moment, then tapped the photograph. “Do you remember this man at all? From anywhere?”
She needed a shower and a change of clothes badly, but that hint of vanilla still hung about her, especially in the hair that swung forward to frame her face as she stared at the photograph. Little shivers ran through her and he slid closer, squeezing her against him. “You do, don’t you? You’ve seen him before.”
She nodded slowly, then shook her head in confusion. The photo was a grainy still from a garage forecourt security camera, showing a rotund man with an ill-matching toupee placing a gas can into the boot of a car with four others.
“I do, I’ve seen him but I… I can’t.. I don’t…”
“Shhh. It’s OK.” Chris wrapped his other arm around her and rested his brow against her temple, murmuring into her ear. “That’s enough for now. You’ve been a brave girl, a good girl. You don’t have to remember right now.” Her knees shifted, an uncomfortable little shuffle of her feet that drew his eyes down to drift along the milky skin of her thighs. They’d been tanned before, a delicate hint of gold tinting them as they’d straddled his hips…
“Peony?” His whispered it tenderly into her ear, like a lover, as he held one hand open in front of her.
“Give me the scissors, love.”
She fished in her pocket for a moment, then dropped the tiny nail-scissors into his palm with a sad sigh, then looked back to the window.
“That’s my good girl.”
Ian lay on the rooftop, resting on his elbows as he looked through the binoculars. She looked thin, tired and sad, but when he’d first focused in on her through the binocs, she’d smiled a sweet, hopeful smile, as if she knew he was there, he was coming for her.
And she did, he was sure of it. She understood why she had to wait. There could be no mistakes this time, no more loose ends.
Maybe they couldn’t make the sweet, peaceful dream they’d had in England stay true – his football, her little nest in their perfect home, the baby… His heart lurched and he pushed the feelings down.
Maybe they couldn’t have all that, but so long as they had each other, they could still dream of it.
So he had to get this exactly right and leave nothing to come back to haunt them.
Something was happening in the room behind the bars on the window. Someone else was there. Walsaw. Ian’s lip curled back in a sneer.
The ginger cop sat down next to his wife, put his arms around her. His freckled lips were right next to her ear. She just stared down at her feet. Ian’s jaw dropped.
Fuck planning. Storming in there and blowing the guy’s head off could be a pretty good fucking plan.