Black Widow

Black Widow Jessie Keane In Dirty Game, Annie Bailey was an East End Madam. In Black Widow she’s queen of the gangs and trying to save her daughter’s life…Annie Bailey had done it all; Madam, mistress and Gangster's moll. Now she's Annie Carter, and she taking over the East End.Annie knew that it wouldn't last. Everything was going so well; she was living in Majorca, had Max Carter - the head of the Carter firm by her side, and had given him a beautiful daughter, Layla. But if there was one thing life had taught her, it was that everything could change in the blink of an eye. One minute she's lying by the pool, the next she's out cold. When she comes round Max and Layla are gone.It's not long before she gets the demands. They want money or she'll be getting her little girl back in pieces…There's only one thing Annie can do, she heads back to the East End of London and gathers the Carter firm together. Someone has snatched her husband and child. Now there's a score to settle, and it's being settled Annie Carter style… JESSIE KEANE Black Widow Dedication (#ulink_ba32ad40-7590-544a-aae3-fd4fc964668a) To Barrie, who would have been so pleased about it all. And to Molly, Charlie and Sherbert, my little writing companions, now flying free. Contents Title Page (#u93e2098b-d03b-5217-8e1f-ee5b4d8a637e) Dedication (#ulink_880d41d1-721c-5e2b-addd-c0edd1871f6a) Prologue (#ud2413d80-07a7-589a-821d-89935e642710) Chapter 1 (#u6908049d-d8fb-560f-a02f-bdc77efbeaa6) Chapter 2 (#ua15127fc-f13e-5851-bd49-7aeb66db84bc) Chapter 3 (#uc4c70801-7019-5346-918e-ebc6ce6a21a6) Chapter 4 (#uf55f22cc-d26d-54ed-acac-d404b8ea53be) Chapter 5 (#u87eb40ae-3a78-5fbc-a008-4adb52f1f3ae) Chapter 6 (#u8e576839-829a-56b2-b76e-b90b4083121d) Chapter 7 (#ufe3d0071-e42b-5c3c-80fa-5bc828764e43) Chapter 8 (#uc2dac57d-963c-53db-bb7b-f90bdc68f657) Chapter 9 (#ua5d78f29-dd9a-5157-b4fa-c433aad65d79) Chapter 10 (#ue2623d95-2f3c-5f51-b747-f582914d9cd4) Chapter 11 (#ue2ed7575-837c-546f-a23b-a1f18db5812a) Chapter 12 (#ue8e9bbf7-86a8-5bf9-bc3b-f11f0d1d5bbb) Chapter 13 (#ufc329425-8da6-580d-b8ba-d8ce62f5e093) Chapter 14 (#u33a9b091-74d2-5beb-8505-c1fe583c68cc) Chapter 15 (#u53e7f90a-7876-53eb-869d-940a290ee024) Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 46 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 49 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 50 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 51 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 52 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 53 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 54 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 55 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 56 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 57 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 58 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 59 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 60 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 61 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 62 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 63 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 64 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 65 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 66 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 67 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 68 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 69 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 70 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 71 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 72 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 73 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 74 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 75 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 76 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 77 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 78 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 79 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 80 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 81 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 82 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 83 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 84 (#litres_trial_promo) Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author (#litres_trial_promo) Also by Jessie Keane (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) Prologue (#ulink_8ca4a41d-7678-5b4d-a5a5-844c7a763271) 1970 Terror filled Charlie ‘The Dip’ Foster’s world. Charlie had earned his nickname by being a great ‘dipper’—a pickpocket—as a kid. From there he’d graduated with honours to GBH and armed robbery; he’d worked his way up the ranks of the Delaney mob, one of London’s finest, until he was Redmond Delaney’s right-hand man. So he was no fool. He knew he was up shit creek. Some heavy faces had brought him to Smithfield meat market and he knew he was in it up to his neck. They were Carter boys. For the Cockney Carters and the Irish incomers, the Delaneys, the streets of the East End were a war zone. Always had been, always would be. They’d snatched him; worked him over. Taken him by surprise. He’d been at his girl’s twenty-first birthday party, key of the door. They’d been bopping the night away; they’d got all amorous and gone outside for a bit of how’s-yer-father, and he’d been caught with his trousers down—literally. So now here he was. They’d laughed as they put him up here. Hung him up by his jacket collar from a hook while joking about meat being well hung. Then they’d left him here while they stood around chatting. Killing time. Waiting for something, he thought. Or somebody. Charlie was a tough bastard but right now he was scared shitless. It was the noise. The awful noise of that thing coming down on the wooden block. Charlie’s brain was agile, quick, like his fingers—you didn’t get well up in the mobs without having a few brain cells, but now his mind kept faltering. That noise. Thunk! That thing on wood. Thunk! Chopping through flesh and bone. He tried again to get his hands free from their bindings, but failed. He slumped, exhausted. He dangled there, limp, fearful, worn out. And the smell in here. The stink. The smell of meat, of death. Pigs’ heads surrounded him, the skin flayed from the flesh. Their eyes stared at him blindly. Sides of beef nudged him, smearing him with blood. The cleaver came down again and a trotter thumped on to the floor. Thunk! Oh God help me, he thought. He knew he’d done bad things. Hurt people. Robbed people. Bad things. So perhaps God wasn’t listening. The butcher with the gentle eyes and the bloodstained apron went on chopping patiently away at the meat. Dead meat, thought Charlie. That’s what I am. Sweat was dripping from his chin on to the concrete floor, even though it was cold in here. Gonna die right here, thought Charlie. But now the boys who had been slumped around, chatting, straightened up and fell silent. Something was happening. Someone had arrived. Now he could see through his stinging eyes that there was a woman approaching. A tall woman, dressed in black. Dark straight hair falling on to her shoulders and dark green eyes that were just this side of crazy. A real looker. Black coat. Black leather gloves. Like the angel of death. There was a heavy on either side of her. Known faces. Jimmy Bond, he knew that bastard of old. Jimmy was moving off to the left and watching, his eyes going from the woman to Charlie, back and forth, back and forth. The woman stopped walking several paces away and stared up at Charlie. He gulped. ‘You’re Charlie Foster,’ the woman said. Her voice was low and husky. ‘Are you wondering who I am, Charlie? Or do you know?’ Hanging up here was killing him. His head ached, his shoulders were agony. Charlie gulped again, couldn’t speak. ‘I’m Annie Carter,’ she said. Fuck it, he thought. That’s it. I’m dead. 1 (#ulink_27caec8c-df68-5d76-97e8-50b1c783842f) Not for the first time, Phil Fibbert wondered what he was doing out in the arse-end of nowhere with the warming Mediterranean sun on his back as he dangled, strapped on, from the top of the telephone pole. It wasn’t hot, but this was a tricky job and he was soon sweating and cursing. ‘How’s it going?’ shouted up Blondie from below. Phil glanced down. His calves quivered with effort as he stood braced on the metal struts. Fucking idiot, he’d only just got up here, how did he think it was going? But he bit back a sharp reply. Blondie down there was paying the bills. Plus, the man had mad eyes. There was a funhouse party going on in that guy’s head. Best not to upset him. ‘Okay,’ Phil shouted back. The girl was down there too, blonde hair, tits to die for, straining against a tight white T-shirt. She was looking up and shielding her baby blues from the glare with upraised arms. He was on a job with a lunatic and a fucking tart, how sensible was that? But the money. He kept his mind on the money. Phil found an unused pair on the cable. This was a simple REMOB or Remote Observation job. Or Tap and Trace, if you wanted it in layman’s terms. He was muscular, squat, powerful, dark haired. His hands were large, dusted with dark hair, the fingers spatulate; but now they worked with the delicacy of a surgeon, fastening on the crocodile clips, setting up the relay. He unravelled the wire and tossed the roll down to Blondie. Then he made his way down the pole, jumping the last four feet and landing in a puff of pink dust. He went to the back of the dirty old van and connected the handset. Then he looked at Blondie. ‘Job done,’ he said. ‘Whatever calls they make, we get to hear them too.’ The tall blond man nodded, satisfied. He looked at the blonde woman. At the dark, muscular man. Their contact had tipped them off, given them the perfect time to strike. That time was now. ‘Are we ready then?’ he asked them, twitching about like always. Couldn’t seem to keep still for a moment. They nodded. The blond man reached into the back of the van and pulled out three dark wool hoods. Slits for eyes, a slit for a mouth. He dished them out, pulled his own over his bright straight blond hair. Waited until the other two were similarly concealed. The girl was tugging on a shabby old anorak to hide the tits. She zipped it shut, put the hood up, nodded. Ready. ‘Let the games begin,’ said Blondie, and pulled out the gun. 2 (#ulink_3e7de36b-49a8-509e-b2a5-45ebc2757614) Ten seconds before the pool house exploded, everything at the Majorcan finca was normal. Later, Annie would distinctly remember that. The bay that encircled their hideaway was silent but for the rush and suck of the turquoise sea against the pink-toned rocks far below. Sparrows were drinking at the edge of the pool. Normal. Max’s younger brother Jonjo was visiting. Jonjo was sprawled out in bathing trunks on a sunbed, beer belly oiled, torpid in the warming noonday sun. His latest blonde floozy was sprawled beside him in the bottom half of a red bikini. Max was in the heated pool, doing strong overarm laps. Max liked to keep himself fit. Layla was indoors, changing into her swimsuit. Normal. Annie would always remember that. Or as normal as it got, with Jonjo and his blonde—this one was called Jeanette, but there had been so many of them that Annie barely ever registered their names any more—here on a visit. Annie hated Jonjo with a passion, but she never let it show. He treated women like dishrags. ‘Feed ’em, fuck ’em, then forget ’em,’ was Jonjo’s motto. Annie knew her loathing of Jonjo was mutual. Jonjo hated any woman having any sort of influence on his brother. Most particularly he hated any woman with brains. The Carter boys stood together against the world, and Jonjo saw women—Annie included—as mere embellishments. Thank God Max had always been different. Max had been her lover, her companion, the father of their daughter. Layla. Her little star. Four years old come May, the apple of her father’s eye. Their beautiful, dark-haired daughter, whom Max adored. When Annie looked into Layla’s face she saw herself there. Her own dark green eyes, not Max’s steely blue ones. Her own straight nose and full lips, and even her own cocoa-brown hair; not Max’s which was black. Annie had loved Layla obsessively since the moment the Majorcan midwife had laid her, newborn, in her arms. Born out of wedlock, of course, and that had bothered Annie, but only for Layla’s sake. At that time Max was still married to Ruthie, Annie’s sister, although that marriage had been a non-starter. Mostly Annie’s fault, of course, and she knew it. So she hadn’t complained. But Max had done a wonderful thing for her. He had tracked Ruthie down, got the divorce quickly, and married Annie. She would never forget it. All right, it had been a quiet affair: no fuss, no bother. But the sentiment of the day, the sheer love she had seen shining in Max’s eyes as he placed the wedding ring on her finger, was all that she needed. It was incredible to think how much time had passed since they’d left England’s shores. They’d been here ever since, in this beautiful private place. The days had passed in a happy haze. Dinner at little restaurants in the hills. Visits to Valldemossa to see the monastery up in the silent, blue-hazed mountains. Trips in to Palma to marvel at the cathedral and saunter along the little alleyways and spend too much in the shops and eat lunch on the quay. They hadn’t intended to stay, but stay they had. Annie didn’t miss London’s grey skies: even in February, as now, the sun shone in Majorca; and Max showed no inclination to get back either. Soon they would have to think about schooling for Layla, but not yet. Jonjo visited now and again to let Max know what was happening with the family firm, and Max seemed content with that. Apart from Jonjo—and of course the blondes—no one disturbed them. A middle-aged Majorcan couple occupied a little villa up by the gate and tended to their needs. Inez cleaned and cooked, Rufio saw to the pool and the maintenance of the finca and took a machete to the date palms every spring to cut their old leaves away and make them look pristine. All was peace and tranquillity. But when Jonjo visited, things were different. Then there was tension. On summer nights humming with the song of the cicadas, Jonjo and Max sat out late into the night on the terrace. Tiny lizards clung to the walls above the terrace lights. The air was warm and dense from the heat of the day. They discussed family business, drank San Miguel and smoked cigars, and women were not welcome. Max became cooler, harder. Jonjo whispered in his ear and Max listened. Sometimes his eyes would stray to Annie while he listened to what Jonjo had to say. Annie understood—or she tried to—but some of the blondes rebelled. Jeanette was the latest blonde. It was cooler now, February, so in the evenings the two men occupied the sitting room instead of the terrace, and talked into the small hours. ‘He could be in bed with me; why sit up half the night talking?’ Jeanette complained to Annie one morning. ‘We’re here for a nice holiday, and half the time he fucking well ignores me.’ Annie hoped Jeanette didn’t share that thought with Jonjo, but by lunchtime next day it was obvious the silly bint had. Jeanette was sporting an angry-looking bruise on her right cheekbone, and her expression was sulky. Jonjo and his blondes, thought Annie with distaste. Annie wore a discreet black swimsuit on the days when it was warm enough to lounge by the pool, but Jeanette seemed intent on going completely nude if she could. Anything to catch Jonjo’s attention. Annie glanced over at Jeanette, lying there with her heavy naked breasts exposed to the warm Mediterranean sun. She’d even asked Annie once if anyone would mind if she slipped the bottom half off. ‘Yes,’ said Annie coldly. ‘I’d mind.’ Jeanette had looked at her and sneered. ‘I dunno what you’re acting all posh for,’ she said. ‘I know all about you.’ ‘Oh yeah? What do you know?’ Annie lifted her Ray-Bans and looked at the girl. Jeanette was a pain in the arse. Yesterday had been great, because she had unexpectedly asked to borrow Rufio’s dusty, ugly, rear-engined old Renault to go shopping in Palma. The peace had been wonderful. But now she was back. And running off at the mouth, as usual. ‘I know you worked as a tart. I know you snatched your own sister’s man. You got no cause to act all hoity-toity.’ Annie dropped the Ray-Bans back in place and lay back with a sigh. ‘You know nothing and you understand even less,’ she said. ‘Oh yeah? Well I—’ Annie lifted the Ray-Bans again. Her eyes were dark ice as she stared at the girl. ‘You keep that evil trap shut, or I’ll have your stupid arse out of here on the next flight,’ she hissed. Jeanette fell silent. Jonjo and his fucking blondes. Jeanette was among the worst of them, dim to a fault and full of meaningless chatter and always flaunting herself, so sometimes Jonjo did take notice of her. After one or two overly flirtatious incidents beside the pool, Annie had had to have a word with him about what she considered to be suitable behaviour in front of a child approaching her fourth birthday. It hadn’t endeared her to him, but fuck him. This was her home, hers and Max’s, and if he wanted to come here then he would have to follow their rules and keep his dick in his trousers unless he was in the privacy of the bedroom. On the whole, Jonjo was good with Layla. He played with her in the pool, chased her around the grounds, made her scream with laughter. Jonjo had a way with kids. Different when they got older, of course. Once Layla hit puberty, Annie knew that Jonjo would treat her as he treated all adult women—with contempt and suspicion. Still, all was quiet for now. Annie relished the moment. She could hear Layla singing in her bedroom, some silly French song she and Max had been learning together. ‘Ma chandelle est morte…pr?te-moi ta lume.’ Annie felt a surge of pride. She could barely speak a word of Mallorquin, or even Castilian Spanish but, thanks to Max’s good ear for languages and the cheerful chatter of Inez, their daughter was going to be multilingual. Jonjo was snoring like a hog, Jeanette had shut her yap for five minutes, and Max was scything rapidly through the water. Annie watched him as he swam to the edge of the pool and pulled himself out in one lithe movement. He padded over to her, water streaming off his dark-skinned and well-toned body, and bent to kiss her. ‘Max!’ she complained. He was drenching her with water droplets. He grinned. ‘All right, babes?’ he asked, sitting down on the edge of her sunbed. ‘You’re soaking me,’ said Annie, but she was smiling. He leaned in and kissed her again, deeper and harder. Annie put her arms around his neck. ‘Shit, get a room,’ muttered Jeanette. Annie ignored her. Max drew back a little and she smiled into his eyes. ‘Love you,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘Love you too,’ whispered Annie. ‘Jesus,’ groaned Jeanette. ‘Coming in?’ Max asked Annie. ‘Not yet. In a mo.’ He kissed her again and stood up, went to the edge of the pool and dived smoothly in. I’m married to the hottest man in the world, thought Annie with a happy sigh. She glanced at her Rolex, a present from her working girls back in the days when she had been Princess Ann, the Mayfair Madam. A lifetime ago, it seemed now. A time when she’d got mixed up with the Carter and the Delaney mobs, when she’d run two brothels, one in Limehouse, the other in Mayfair. All gone now; all forgotten. Except when Jonjo called and reminded her of it all. She hated it when Jonjo called. It was nearly one o’clock. Inez usually called in at twelve-thirty to fix lunch, then she and Rufio took their siesta. She was late, but then the Majorcans were never hot on timekeeping. Everything was ma?ana. Tomorrow, things would get done. Today…maybe not. All was…normal. Jonjo snoring. Layla indoors singing a silly French song. Max doing laps of the pool. Normal. And then Annie’s world exploded, and normality was forgotten. 3 (#ulink_9e9fc327-b080-5b5f-ac61-2b50c9fa76b0) Annie woke up by slow degrees. She opened her eyes and saw the blue bowl of the sky above her. A buzzard was circling over the cliffs. There was a smell. Smoke and dust. She lapsed into unconsciousness again. Or was it sleep? Was this a dream? Again she awoke, and this time it was with a powerful sensation of nausea. Of something wrong. The sun was warm but something was burning. Her eyes hurt, her throat felt as dry as dust. A dream. A nightmare. The third time she came back to herself with a violent urge to vomit. She shot up on the sunbed, leaned over, and was sick. Her head spun. Clutching at the sunbed she lay back again and closed her eyes. There was crackling nearby, like a fire in a grate. What the fuck’s going on? she thought. She opened her sore eyes and alarm started to take hold. She wasn’t in bed. This was daylight, she was lying beside the pool and…she fought to clear her jumbled thoughts…there was something happening. There had been a bang, then something on her face, and now there was an unpleasant chemical smell in her nostrils and—Jesus—she was going to throw up again. She vomited again on to the stones of the terrace, then thought: Layla? She had heard Layla indoors singing just before the bang. Sometimes you got hunters up in the wood after rabbits, but this had been different, so much louder. A roll of smoke and dust, a bang louder than any firework, it had hurt her ears and they were ringing with the aftermath of some sort of shockwave. She could hear a dog whimpering nearby. No. Not a dog, a person. Layla? Annie fought her way up into a sitting position, swaying, impelled by the need to get to her daughter right now. She felt drunk. Which was almost funny because she had never been drunk in her life. Her mother Connie had been an alcoholic and it had killed her. Annie was happy never to touch the stuff, ever. She opened her eyes to a scene of horror. Jonjo’s sunbed was empty. Jeanette was still there, though. Jeanette was sitting up and with her head in her hands. The whimpering was coming from Jeanette. Alarm shot through Annie. ‘What’s happening?’ asked Annie. Her voice came out a croak. Jeanette dropped her hands. She looked at Annie with eyes wild with terror. She opened her mouth and started to shriek. Annie lurched to her feet, staggered, then righted herself. She plummeted to her knees in front of Jeanette. ‘What happened?’ she asked again, and her voice was stronger now. Jeanette’s hysterical screams seemed to be echoing around Annie’s aching head. She hauled back an arm and slapped the other woman, hard. Then she grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘What happened?’ she shouted. ‘Is Layla indoors? Is Layla all right?’ Now Jeanette was crying and shuddering. Christ, thought Annie. She stumbled to her feet and half fell off the terrace and through the door into the sudden cool and semi-darkness of the finca’s hallway. The telephone on the hall table tinkled as she passed by. She stopped, looked at it. What the fuck? It had never made that sound before. Maybe the blast had damaged the wiring in some way. She picked it up, heard only a normal dial tone. She quickly put it back down again and hurried on. Supporting herself against the walls, she dragged herself to Layla’s bedroom, blinking to try to see with eyes that were incredibly sore. Layla’s swimsuit was laid out on her bed beside her teddies and dolls. But the room was in chaos. The stool at the dressing table was thrown on the floor, and a chair had been knocked over, and the dressing table itself was askew, as if it had been pushed. But the thing was way too heavy for Layla to have moved it. Where was Layla? Swallowing bile and a growing panic, Annie lurched into the bathroom, into the master bedroom, into the spare bedroom, the kitchen, then the sitting room. ‘Layla!’ she yelled, but there was no answer. She ran outside to the back of the finca where Layla loved to play; she had a swing there, suspended from one of the palms. ‘Layla!’ she yelled again, but there was only silence. Maybe this was a nightmare. Please God let it be a nightmare. At any moment Layla would come and jump on the bed and she would wake up and Max would groan beside her and roll over and go back to sleep. ‘Layla!’ Nothing. No answer. No sound. Annie stumbled back outside to the terrace and stepped on something soft. There was a tiny crunch of bones. She looked down. A dead sparrow. Not a mark on it, but it was dead. The blast, she thought. The Shockwaves had killed it. There had been an explosion. Or had it been merely stunned? Had she just killed the poor damned thing with her weight? Nausea rose again. Her eyes went to the pool house and found nothing there but smouldering wreckage. Her eyes drifted on. ‘Max?’ Her eyes locked on to the body in the pool. A man’s body, the skin brown from hours spent in the sun, face-down, floating on the surface. Dark hair on the arms, dark hair on the head—and blood billowing all around it like a crimson halo. Annie felt the breath leave her body in one horrified, disbelieving rush. ‘Max!’ she screamed, and dived straight into the pool. Afterwards, Annie couldn’t even remember swimming across the pool. One moment she was on the side looking at Max’s lifeless body, then she was there beside him. ‘Max!’ The nightmare was relentless. She rolled him over and he was weightless, lifeless in the water. Max, oh God Max no please don’t be dead, please Max… It was Jonjo. The breath left Annie in a whoosh and she sank and came up spluttering and choking on chlorine and Jonjo’s blood. Jonjo’s pale blue eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the sky, and between them was an impossibly neat hole, leaking a steady flow of red into the blue water. She flinched away from the body in horror. Glanced at Jeanette, who had seen that it was Jonjo too and was now starting to shriek again. Where was Max? Annie felt panic grip her, robbing her of reason. Jonjo was dead. The explosion. Layla, where was Layla? And Max. Where the fuck was Max? Something deadly serious had happened here. A deliberate hit. Max and Jonjo Carter had influential friends but they had bad enemies too. People whose toes they had trod on over turf in London. People who might want to take revenge. Maybe she and Max had been out here lotus-eating for so long that they had dropped their guard. She had to do something. Fuck, she wished Jeanette would shut up. She looked all around the perimeter of the finca and stared up at the rock face looming behind the building. Max could have taken cover up there, if this was a hit. And if this was a hit, they—whoever ‘they’ might be—could be up there right now, watching, maybe taking aim. Annie swam swiftly to the side of the pool and hauled herself out. She grabbed Jeanette and yanked her to a standing position. ‘Just shut up,’ she ordered, and shook the blonde again, hard. ‘Shut up. Come inside, come on, you silly cow.’ Annie grabbed Jeanette’s arm and hauled her indoors. She slammed the door shut and locked it. She went to the back door and quickly locked that too, while Jeanette stood nearly nude, shivering and crying in the hallway. Annie closed all the windows and shutters. Then she bundled Jeanette into the master bedroom, locked the door behind them and shoved her in the direction of the wardrobe. ‘Put some clothes on,’ said Annie. ‘Move, Jeanette. Come on.’ Jeanette was still weeping and wailing. She was just standing there looking at the clothes. Annie ran over to her. Her heart was pounding, her head was spinning, she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t going to be sick again. She wanted to scream too. Layla. Max. Where the fuck were they? ‘What did you see out there, Jeanette?’ she demanded urgently. Jeanette just stared at her. Shock, thought Annie. She’s in shock. ‘Come on. Talk,’ she said more gently. If she was ever to get any sense out of the poor bitch, she’d better ease up. ‘Men, there were men,’ cried Jeanette. ‘Go on.’ Annie felt herself grow still as she braced herself as if for a fatal impact. She wanted to hear, but she didn’t. Dreaded the details, but she had to know. Christ, she was shivering too now. She wanted to roar and scream at Jeanette, demand every detail; she wanted to know. But know what? How terrible would it be, to know what had taken place out there on the terrace? How terrible, to know what had happened to the man she loved so much, to the daughter who was a living, breathing part of her and of him? ‘Maybe four of them—I don’t know.’ A sob burst from Jeanette. Snot and tears ran down her face in rivers. ‘It all happened so fast; it was so confusing. They had masks on. They dragged Jonjo off the bed and shot him and threw him in the pool. They put a cloth over your face. I thought they were going to kill me.’ ‘Max?’ asked Annie, thinking: I’ll never survive this, I couldn’t live if he was dead… ‘They grabbed him.’ ‘And?’ ‘They grabbed Layla too.’ Layla. Annie turned away from Jeanette. Moving like a zombie, she went to the left-hand side of the bed, the side that Max always slept on, and opened the drawer in the bedside cabinet. The first thing she saw was Max’s ring. He always took it off when he was in the pool. It was bright yellow gold, with engraved Egyptian cartouches on either side of a square slab of lapis lazuli. She took it out, turned it over. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Max. She took a breath, blinked, got focused again. She slipped the ring on to her thumb, for comfort, for reassurance; then got back to business. There was a small bunch of keys, and she pocketed them. She pulled out a cloth-wrapped parcel with shaking hands and removed an oilcloth-covered item from within it. Pulled off the oilcloth and sat down hard on the bed as her head spun suddenly and the room tilted and darkened. Got to get a hold, she thought. Got to keep thinking. But Max. Layla. Someone had them. Fuck it all, someone had killed Jonjo. Come on, Annie. Get a grip. You’re still fucking alive. They left you alive. Annie came back to herself, taking deep breaths. The room steadied. Why had they left her alive? They’d drugged her, left her to find this horror. They’d left Jeanette too, apparently untouched, unmolested. Shit, if they were willing to snatch Max and Layla, if they were willing to plant a bullet hole in poor bloody Jonjo’s head, why hadn’t they finished the job? Why hadn’t they killed her and Jeanette too? Annie tipped the gun out on to the bed and snatched it up. Christ, she was shaking so hard. She flicked open the chamber, as she had seen Max do. He practised shooting at a target back in the woods sometimes, and he was a crack shot, a brilliant shot, but she was nervous of guns. She’d taken a bullet herself, and that was enough to make anyone wary. She took out the box of bullets and removed the lid. Started loading the cold, slippery things into the chambers. Tried to, anyway. Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly get the bullets in there. She breathed deep again, steadied herself. Got the bullets in and snapped the chamber closed. Slipped her finger in beside the trigger. ‘It’s a hair trigger,’ she remembered Max saying when he had shown her the gun once. ‘You’ve got to be careful. One squeeze and you’ve blown someone away. Put the safety catch on once it’s loaded.’ Annie had shuddered. She still had the scar from the bullet she’d taken; she didn’t want to go shooting anyone. She had seen what guns could do, first-hand. But they could still be here, hiding, waiting. And they had taken Layla. They had taken Max. Annie clicked on the safety and went over to the wardrobe. Jeanette was still standing there like a spare prick at a wedding. She stared wide-eyed at the gun in Annie’s hand. ‘We’ve got to protect ourselves,’ said Annie. ‘Now come on. Let’s get dressed.’ She pulled out tops and jeans for them both and shoved the clothes at Jeanette. ‘Put these on.’ Jeanette stood there, clutching the clothes to her and still not moving. Nearly demented, Annie hissed through gritted teeth: ‘Move, you stupid cow.’ Annie’s tone would have galvanized a regiment. Jeanette started to put on the clothes. Annie did the same, yanking on jeans and a blue top. Then the phone started to ring in the hall. It would be Inez, apologising for being late with the lunch, telling her that she was coming now, Se?ora, she would be five minutes, only five…which meant another half an hour. Inez, with no idea that hell had been set loose. Thinking no doubt that the bang of the pool house being blown up was somebody back in the woods, hunting with a shotgun. If she had heard it at all. Inez was a little deaf, and Rufio liked a drink or two; they weren’t the brightest kids on the block and that was a fact. Grabbing Jeanette with one hand and clutching the gun in the other, Annie went into the hallway and picked up the phone. ‘Inez?’ Her voice sounded like someone else’s. Some dry old woman’s. She was breathless with panic and whatever crap they had used to knock her out had affected her voice, made her throat dry and sore. ‘Annie Carter.’ Annie dropped the phone. It had been a man’s voice, low and mean and Irish. Not Inez. She hauled the damned thing back up by the cord, shaking like a leaf, and clamped it back to her ear. ‘Who is it?’ Jeanette bleated anxiously. ‘Shut up,’ said Annie. She took a breath and spoke into the phone. ‘Who wants her?’ ‘No questions.’ Annie was suddenly furious. ‘What the fuck have you done with them, you tosser?’ The man was laughing. She’d amused him. She wanted to smash the phone against the wall; she wanted to crawl down inside it and come out the other end and smash this creep to smithereens. ‘Where’s my daughter?’ she screamed at him. ‘Ah, the girl. I’ve got her here somewhere.’ ‘And Max. Where’s Max?’ ‘You mean Max Carter?’ He was toying with her; she could hear laughter in his voice; this was a massive joke to him—her distress, her fear, her horror was meat and drink to him. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ she promised. ‘Fine words,’ he said. ‘He’ll make you pay.’ ‘That would be a neat trick. He’s dead.’ Annie sagged against the wall. Her head was thumping with pain now, she was frightened she was going to faint. ‘He’s not dead,’ she said. She couldn’t let herself take that in. She couldn’t allow herself to believe it, not for an instant. If she did, she was afraid she wouldn’t go on. Not even for Layla’s sake. ‘Oh but he is. We pushed him off a fucking mountain and watched him bounce all the way to the bottom.’ ‘What is it?’ Jeanette was wild-eyed, clutching at Annie’s shoulder, almost shaking her. ‘What are they saying? Who’s dead?’ Annie sank to the floor, unable to hold herself up. ‘He’s not dead,’ she told the man on the end of the phone. ‘He’s dead.’ The voice was harsh. ‘Get used to it. I’ll phone back in an hour. Be waiting. Oh—and your staff, in case you were wondering, are a bit tied up. An hour. Be ready.’ The line went dead. A bit tied up. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Had these bastards done something to Inez and Rufio? Their smaller villa was up by the gate—maybe they had seen the men coming in and had questioned them? Or had the men come down from the hills behind the property, to maintain the element of surprise? They had an hour. This bastard was on the other end of a phone, so he wasn’t lurking outside. No, he isn’t—but what if he’s left someone behind, someone to watch and see what you do? No matter. She couldn’t just sit on her arse for an hour with Jeanette bawling and screaming in her ear. She had to do something, or go crazy. ‘Did they say Max was dead too?’ Jeanette was demanding. ‘Yes,’ said Annie. Oh shit, why doesn’t the silly bitch just shut up? I don’t want to hear that again. Not now, not ever. ‘Come on,’ Annie said sharply. ‘We’re going to go and get Inez and Rufio.’ Jeanette looked at her as if she’d gone mad. ‘But what about Jonjo?’ ‘Jonjo’s dead for sure. We can see that with our own eyes. Whether we stay or go, there’s no help for him.’ Jeanette flinched back as if Annie had slapped her again. ‘Jesus,’ said Jeanette on a shuddering breath. ‘Jonjo said you were a hard bitch, and now I believe it.’ ‘We can’t help Jonjo,’ said Annie. ‘But we can see that Inez and Rufio are okay.’ Jeanette’s eyes were suddenly cold. ‘I can see why he hated you,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t my first choice for a brother-in-law either,’ said Annie. ‘He didn’t like any woman close to Max.’ Jeanette’s face sagged. ‘God, I can’t believe he’s dead. I can’t believe it! Did they really say that Max is gone too?’ Annie felt a surge of hate for Jeanette, but she reined it in. Jeanette might be stupid, she might be a gobby little tart, but she didn’t deserve Annie’s anger. She regained control of herself with an effort. ‘They said so. But we don’t know it’s true.’ ‘Oh fuck,’ bleated Jeanette, dissolving into tears again. ‘It must be true! What would they make it up for?’ Again that almost unstoppable urge to strike out, to stop Jeanette uttering another word. ‘I don’t know,’ said Annie through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t understand any of this. But we’ve got…’ she glanced at her watch. God bless Rolex. Still working, despite the blast, despite the water. ‘…three-quarters of an hour to get up there and back again. It’s time enough.’ ‘But…should we go outside?’ asked Jeanette fearfully. ‘Maybe not. But we’re going to, all right? Because if they’d wanted us dead too, then I’m guessing we’d be dead already.’ Jeanette nodded dumbly. ‘Right. Let’s go,’ said Annie. ‘We’re going to keep under cover as much as possible, and we’re not going to speak, okay? You’re going to follow me, step where I step, and keep your fat mouth shut for a change, got that?’ Another nod. Annie lifted the gun, slipped off the safety catch, and opened the door on to the poolside terrace. She looked out. The wreckage of the pool house was still smoking. The sun was still shining. ‘Jesus God,’ shrieked Jeanette. Annie’s stomach flinched with fear. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Jonjo’s body was gone. ‘All right, shut up. Shut up!’ Jeanette was off again, shrieking her head off, signalling their precise whereabouts to anyone who cared to listen. Annie turned in the finca’s doorway and whacked her a good one across the face. She was putting them both at risk; it had to be done. Jeanette reeled back and thumped against the wall and was instantly silent. Annie held a finger to her lips and her eyes told Jeanette to shut it, right now, or she’d get another one. Someone was playing mind games with them. Someone had left them alive when they ought to be dead. Someone was here, right here, noting what they were doing, noting their reactions. Perhaps just toying with them until they felt like doing the deed. But perhaps not. Maybe there was a faint grain of hope to be found here, for them and for Layla too. Annie had to cling to that. She was used to standing alone against the odds. A drunken mother, an absent father, all kinds of rucks after she had betrayed her sister Ruthie, all kinds of battles to be fought. And she had fought them, and somehow she had won through. Where there was life, there was hope. She put any thought of Max aside with ruthless firmness now. She tucked all that away in a box in her mind marked PRIVATE. She would look in there later. But for now, she was alive, she had a chance. She was not going to throw it away. And there was Layla. She owed it to herself, but more than that she owed it to Max’s daughter. If she had to beat this poor dumb idiot to a pulp to shut her up, she’d do it; and Jeanette saw that resolve very clearly in Annie’s face. ‘We’re going to get Inez and Rufio,’ said Annie, slowly and clearly, as Jeanette stood there with tears streaming down her bruised face. ‘If I hear another sound out of you before we get up there, I’m going to make you pay for it. You got that now?’ Jeanette nodded and swallowed. Annie looked capable of anything. She looked scary. ‘You draw attention to us again, I’ll just knock you unconscious with this.’ Annie held up the gun. ‘You’d better believe what I’m saying.’ Jeanette nodded. ‘I do,’ she said weakly. ‘Good. Now let’s go. Keep right behind me and keep checking behind us as we go, okay? You see anything, tap my shoulder but say nothing. Got it?’ Another nod. Annie looked down at Jeanette’s feet. Why had she put high heels on? ‘Take those bloody shoes off, they’re too noisy.’ Jeanette kicked off the shoes and held them sheepishly in her hand. ‘Shut the door behind us, quietly. Okay?’ Nod. ‘Good. Come on then.’ And Annie was off, keeping close to the finca’s wall as she skirted the terrace, stepping off and into beds of hibiscus. She paused as she hit the driveway, keeping close to the rocky edge of the drive where they would be concealed from anyone hiding out on the scrubby rock face behind the property. She looked back at Jeanette, who was nervously looking all around them. That was good. Fear was making her alert. Annie felt fearful herself, and exposed, all her nerves jangling, her skin crawling. Everything was quiet, only the rising wind in the palms and the faint rush of the sea making any noise at all. At any moment she expected someone to come at them, to finish the job, but she walked on, cat-footed, creeping along the edge of the drive, watching, walking…it seemed endless. But finally they were there, stepping on to the back terrace where in summer a huge bougainvillea trailed papery magenta blooms over a rickety pergola. Stepping into deep shade, Annie stopped at the closed blue-painted back door. Annie was aware that she was wet through with nervous sweat. Runnels of perspiration trickled down between her breasts, and her T-shirt was sticking unpleasantly to her back. She had to keep blinking sweat out of her eyes. This was stark, consuming terror of a type she had only experienced once before, when Pat Delaney had come after her with mayhem and murder in his twisted mind. It was horrible, making her bowels feel loose, making her want to puke. But if Jeanette saw her losing it, then she would lose it too—and then where would they be? She reached out with a shaking hand and tried the handle. It gave and the door moved inward. She braced herself. Looked back at Jeanette. Jeanette nodded. No one about. Annie brushed the sweat from her stinging eyes with the back of one hand. Found she didn’t want to open the door at all. Felt afraid. Horribly, mortally afraid. She pushed the door open anyway. 4 (#ulink_7f182870-92f8-51a9-8ee3-37bccba38433) Inside the little villa it was cool and quiet. They had stepped straight into the kitchen, which was very simple—there was a stone sink, a stout table, an old but clean cooker. Everything was scrubbed, spotless. Inez was a good housekeeper and prided herself on her cleanliness. But to Annie the kitchen looked too clean. There was no evidence of lunch preparations on the table, no bread, no cheese, no beer or limoncello, nothing. No sign of activity. There was always activity around Inez: she liked to keep busy. Layla loved to come up here and make a pest of herself in this little kitchen, and Annie had questioned Inez, was Layla a nuisance to her? But Inez always laughed and said, No, Se?ora. The bambina was no trouble at all. Now there was no Inez bustling about, scolding Rufio with a smile, laying out food, chatting full-tilt in indecipherable Mallorquin, chopping onions and fat red tomatoes grown fresh on the vine by Rufio’s own hand. Now there was no activity at all. The finca was silent. Annie and Jeanette stepped inside the kitchen, and Jeanette pushed the door closed. A gust of wind caught it and it banged shut. Annie gave Jeanette a sharp look. She didn’t know what they were going to find in here. They—whoever they were—could be lying in wait, ready to spring a nasty surprise on the two women. She didn’t want any of their movements signalled ahead. She crossed the kitchen cautiously to the wide-open parlour door. Here too the furnishings were simple. Polished marble flooring—marble was cheap and plentiful in the Balearics—and a little old couch, a couple of spindle-back chairs, and a scrubbed-clean dining table. But no Inez, no Rufio. This was starting to give Annie the creeps. This wasn’t normal. This was anything but normal. ‘Where the hell are they?’ hissed Jeanette. Annie held up a finger to her lips and mouthed: Shut the fuck up, will you? Jeanette pulled a face but did as she was told. Annie carefully opened the door into the hall. It was empty. Holding the gun at the ready, she crossed the hall to the bedroom and pushed the door gently open. Blowflies swarmed out, and with the flies came the smell. Annie flinched back and Jeanette let out a cry of startled disgust. Oh God, thought Annie. No. Fighting the urge to gag, she pushed the door wide open and saw what was there. Rufio was tied to the chair, his head flung back, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Bluebottles swarmed over his face and over the gaping wound that slit him open from neck to crotch. His own bloodstained machete lay discarded on the tiled floor. The stench of blood hit Annie afresh and she nearly choked. And there was Inez, on the bed… No, she couldn’t look any more. Tied up, she thought. Your staff are a little tied up. What sort of sick bastard could have done a thing like this? They’d been dead for hours, she could see that. For hours. While she and the others had been lazing on the terrace, perfectly relaxed, up here this horror had been unfolding, and they had heard nothing, known nothing. Annie’s skin crawled to think that the bastards who had done all this had been prowling around, and she had been completely unaware. And now…this. She closed the door softly on the grisly scene, but she could still see it in her mind’s eye. Her guts still churned and her mind still floundered to take it in. ‘Oh Jesus,’ Jeanette moaned, holding a hand to her throat. ‘Who could do that? How could anyone do that? What—what’s going to happen to us?’ ‘Fuck it, is that all you can think about?’ Annie rounded on her furiously. ‘We’re still alive. They’re not.’ But they might just be playing with you, said an insidious voice in her head. Making you really suffer before they strike the killing blow. No, Annie told herself. They had Layla. They had Layla and that meant they were willing to negotiate. Didn’t it? But…it might also mean that they knew what would hurt Annie most, and that would be for Layla to suffer. Inez and Rufio had been tortured. Would these people draw the line at torturing a little girl? She had to push those thoughts away. She was still alive; she had to dig deep and hold on while there was still hope for Layla. She couldn’t afford to give in to despair. She glanced at her watch and her heart seemed to stop dead. Had they really been that long getting up here, looking around, finding that awful scene? The hour was up. Bang on time, she heard it. The phone was ringing in the main house. And she wasn’t there to answer it. She ran as if her life depended on it. Forgot who could have been watching, hiding, awaiting their opportunity to pounce. She ran and was only dimly aware that the light was going now, that it was growing cooler, that Jeanette had forgotten all that Annie had said about keeping quiet and was bleating along behind her, clacking along in her high heels, silly cow, saying something, babbling and crying, moaning that she wouldn’t be left alone up there, that they were never going to get back in time anyway so why try? But they had to try. Annie thought of nothing except the need to be quick. Quicker than she had ever been in her life. Her heart felt as though it was bursting out of her chest, her legs were on fire. She sprinted on to the terrace, crashed through the finca’s door straight into the hallway and her hand was on the phone when it stopped ringing. ‘No!’ she yelled, and picked it up and flung it against the wall, feeling helpless, stupid, furious. Instantly she regained control. Picked the thing up, listened to the dial tone. Still working. But she had missed the call. Be there, he had said. And she hadn’t. Jeanette was still prattling on. ‘What will happen? What will they do? Will they hurt Layla? We missed the call, they won’t like that.’ ‘Shut up,’ said Annie. ‘They won’t hurt her, will they? Not a little girl like Layla? They wouldn’t do that, would they?’ ‘Shut up,’ repeated Annie, watching the phone, willing it to ring again. ‘They won’t hurt her,’ said Jeanette shakily. Annie’s head shot round and she glared at her. ‘I told you, shut up. I can’t think with all this yakking going on.’ Annie looked past her at the door, forced herself to think even though her guts were liquid with panic. She’d missed the call. Would they phone back? She took a deep breath. Now she felt really sick. The thought of these people having Layla. She wished Max was here. No hope there, though. No hope at all. ‘Shut the door,’ she told Jeanette, and Jeanette read her look correctly and quickly obeyed. But then Annie thought about that and wondered if she was shutting the baddies out, or shutting them in, because they could already be here, wasn’t that a cold hard fact? She thought of the quiet way they had moved Jonjo out of the pool, when she and Jeanette had been right here in the finca, and they hadn’t heard a thing. Four men, wasn’t that what Jeanette had said? Four men wearing masks. Four dangerous, deadly men. They could be in here right now, ready to spring out and do damage. ‘They’re not going to ring back,’ said Jeanette, shaking her head in rising hysteria. She was clutching herself and shivering. Thank Christ, Jeanette hadn’t yet considered they could be shut in here with a clutch of murderers. That would really make her flip. ‘They’ll ring back,’ said Annie, although she also doubted it. ‘They’ve got a bargaining tool. They’ve got Layla. And maybe they were watching us when we went in to find Inez and Rufio. They’ll know where we were and that it was a legitimate delay.’ Legitimate, thought Annie. She was talking as though they were dealing with reasonable people here. Not people who would shoot a man between the eyes, push another off a cliff, snatch a child away from its parents, torture a harmless, good-natured woman like Inez in front of her horrified husband’s eyes. She bit her lip, folded her arms around herself and watched the phone. Along the hallway, the kitchen door was ajar and she could see in there too. It appeared to be empty. She straightened and moved toward it. ‘Where are you going?’ Jeanette almost shrieked. She was clearly terrified of being left alone. ‘Hush,’ said Annie, and walked on silent feet along the hallway. Jeanette came mincing and clattering along behind her. Annie stopped and turned and looked at Jeanette. ‘For the last time, take off those fucking shoes,’ she hissed at the girl. Jeanette quickly kicked off the heels. Annie proceeded into the kitchen. Empty. Silent. Cool and almost dark. There was the larder, though. Big enough for a man to hide in, easily. Annie crossed to the drawer by the sink and pulled out the two large sharp knives she knew were in there. None were missing, and that was good. That was very good. She handed one of the knives to Jeanette. ‘Keep it ready,’ she said. ‘Jesus,’ moaned Jeanette, but she took the knife anyway. Annie held a knife in one hand and the gun in the other and went over to the larder. She nodded to Jeanette to stand aside, then flung the door wide. Nothing. Annie leaned against the door and got her breath back. The kitchen was clear. She rechecked the back door lock and the shutters at the tiny window. Left the larder door wide open, so if anyone got in there she’d know about it. Then she ushered Jeanette out of the kitchen and back into the hallway. ‘Have you ever used a gun?’ Annie asked Jeanette. Jeanette shook her head, no. She was pale and sweating. She’s cracking up, thought Annie. She’s taken nearly as much as she can take, and she’s gonna blow. ‘When that phone rings again, I’m going to answer it and you are going to watch our backs with this.’ Annie handed her the gun. It was easier to shoot someone than to knife them. Easier and much more effective, and hey! You could do it at a distance. Triple benefits, no less. When Annie found herself thinking this way she wondered if she was becoming hysterical too. ‘No,’ said Jeanette numbly. ‘I can’t do it.’ ‘Oh yes you can. Think of what they’ve just done here. Now hold it steady. That’s it. Never point it at me or at your foot or anything bloody mad like that, you got that? That’s a hair trigger, it’ll go off at the merest pressure. We’ve checked this end and the kitchen’s clear. So all we have to watch is the doors off this end of the hall, and the main door. If anyone opens that main door, or any of the other doors, don’t hesitate. Just shoot. Aim for the torso.’ The torso was the biggest and the safest target, that was what Max had always said. Jeanette was gazing in dumb horror at the gun in one hand, the knife in the other. Annie grabbed her arm and gave her a little shake. ‘Come on, Jeanette. You want to get out of this, I need your help. Okay?’ No answer. Annie gave her another little shake. ‘Come on, Jeanette. We can do this. Okay?’ This time Jeanette took a gulp and nodded. ‘Good girl.’ The phone started ringing again and Jeanette dropped the gun. The shot was deafening in the enclosed hallway and a bullet thudded into the wall, throwing up a spray of plaster dust. Nerves jangling, Annie snatched up the phone. ‘Hello?’ She looked at Jeanette, who was whimpering and wailing and bending to pick up the gun as if it was going to bite her. As Jeanette straightened, Annie mouthed, Shut up you fucking idiot at her. Jeanette fell silent. ‘You missed my call.’ It was the same voice, unmistakably Irish and low and menacing. ‘I didn’t mean to,’ said Annie, trying to place the accent. Definitely Southern, she thought. ‘If it ever happens again, the girl will pay.’ Annie swallowed hard. ‘It won’t happen again.’ ‘She’s a pretty little girl.’ Annie was silent. ‘A pretty little dark-haired girl.’ Annie said nothing. ‘You haven’t asked the question yet,’ said the voice. ‘What question?’ ‘You have to ask “What do you want?”’ he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice; he was enjoying himself here. ‘You asked it last time, not this. What’s changed?’ ‘All right,’ said Annie. ‘What do you want?’ ‘It’s too early to say.’ He was playing with her. This was a game. ‘Money? I can get it.’ Could she? She wasn’t sure how much Max kept here, but she knew it would be little more than small change. She’d never had to think about money: Max took care of all that. There was no safe here, no cashbox. She felt a shiver of apprehension crawl up her spine. ‘I have jewellery,’ she said hurriedly when he didn’t reply. ‘Expensive jewellery. You can have it.’ Now he was laughing, the bastard. Was he the one who had done that to Inez, to poor harmless Rufio? ‘Check your jewellery case, you’ll find I’ve already got it.’ Christ! Annie looked at Jeanette and nodded at the gun. Her eyes said, Keep watch. Like your life depended on it. They’d been inside the finca, probably when she and Jeanette were up finding that horror in the smaller building. Annie watched Jeanette. The hand holding the gun was shaking and she had tucked the knife into her waistband. She was eyeing the outside door as if a troop of marauders were about to burst through it. And maybe they were. ‘So I’m asking the question,’ said Annie. ‘What is it that you want?’ ‘Maybe more than you can deliver,’ he said. ‘Anything’s possible. All you have to do is ask.’ Annie’s brain was spinning, but she took a deep breath and said it. He wouldn’t like it, but what could she do? ‘Listen, there’s no money here.’ ‘Don’t kid around with me, sweetheart, I don’t like it.’ ‘I’m not kidding. There’s no money here.’ ‘For fuck’s sake!’ he roared. He sounded furious. ‘Wait!’ Annie started talking fast. She didn’t want that anger being directed at Layla. ‘Wait. Just because there’s none here doesn’t mean I can’t get any. I can. I can get anything, any amount you want, in London.’ ‘Fuck it,’ he said savagely. Annie flinched. ‘Are you bullshitting me?’ he demanded. ‘Because I warn you—’ ‘No! I’m not feeding you bullshit. This is the truth, you hear me? You’ve been in here, in this finca, didn’t you check? I bet you did. There’s no safe here, nothing. But look. My husband owns clubs in London. He has property there, business there; that’s where the money is. Give me a chance and I’ll get it for you.’ Silence. ‘So tell me,’ said Annie. ‘Tell me what you want, I’ll get straight back there and I’ll get it for you. It’s not a problem.’ She really was going to vomit in a minute, talking to scum like this, trying to persuade him not to just lose it and hurt Layla, trying to persuade him that she could do it, she could come up with the goods. Could she though? He was silent again. She was sure he was just going to put the phone down again, leave her dangling in limbo for God alone knew how much longer. ‘Come on, talk to me!’ she pleaded desperately. ‘We can do a deal. You know we can do a deal.’ He was going to put the phone down. There was a silence again, an unnerving silence, and then he said: ‘You can get money there? Straight now, no bullshit? Because I warn you…’ ‘It’s not bullshit.’ A silence again. A long, long silence, eating into her soul. Then: ‘Where will you stay there? Give me the address.’ Annie thought fast. Cursed inwardly. Gave him the address anyway. ‘And the phone number.’ She gave him that too. ‘Now tell me what you want. Tell me and I’ll get it sorted, okay?’ said Annie. ‘Later. I’ll call you again when you’re back in London.’ ‘What?’ ‘Go back there, I’ll get in touch.’ ‘Wait!’ The protest burst out of Annie without thought. Suddenly she knew she couldn’t leave the island, couldn’t leave Max. Couldn’t believe he was dead, and so couldn’t leave, couldn’t accept any of this. And Layla! Layla was here. She felt sick with fear. She might never see her again if she went back to England and left her here, in the hands of these animals. ‘No, wait!’ ‘No?’ There was no laughter in his voice now. ‘You listen to me, you fucking jumped-up tart. You fly back there tomorrow morning and you don’t ask questions or tell me no because I don’t like that. You got it?’ Annie took a steadying breath. ‘All right.’ ‘Good. When I get off this phone, you get on it and book a flight out for you and the girl with you. No police, don’t even think about that, or your little girl goes right here and now, got that? No more messing about.’ The line went dead. ‘What did he say?’ asked Jeanette. Annie took the gun back off her before she shot one or both of them by mistake. ‘We’re flying back to England tomorrow morning.’ ‘We can’t! What about Layla?’ ‘We have to,’ she told Jeanette. ‘They want money, and the money’s there.’ But if it wasn’t, if she couldn’t raise whatever these people wanted, then what the fuck was she going to do? She told herself it had to be there. It had to be. ‘But tonight! We can’t stay here tonight!’ ‘Yes we can. We’re going to barricade ourselves in here, and ship out in the morning, okay?’ ‘No,’ said Jeanette, her voice wobbling all over the place. ‘No!’ She made a chopping motion with her hand and then lunged across and grabbed the phone. She started to dial with shaking fingers. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘I’m calling the police,’ said Jeanette. ‘It’s what we should have done in the first place. We can’t cope with all this, we can’t—’ Annie thought of the phone tinkling as she passed by it after the blast. She grabbed it off Jeanette and smashed it back on to the cradle. ‘No police,’ she said. Jeanette had finally flipped. She grabbed the phone again. Annie yanked it off her and Jeanette came at her ready for violence. Annie raised the gun and pointed it at Jeanette. ‘Back off,’ she said. ‘What the…what the fuck are you doing!’ yelled Jeanette. Annie stared at her. The hand on the gun did not waver. ‘I’m shooting you dead,’ said Annie, ‘if you touch that fucking phone again. You silly cow! There could be a tap on this line. The man said no police. If you went ahead and phoned them, they could kill Layla.’ Jeanette stepped back, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t think…’ she faltered. ‘Well think on this, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm: if you go near this fucking phone again I swear to you that what little brains you have are going to be decorating this hallway—do you understand me?’ ‘I understand,’ said Jeanette, going pale under her tan. ‘Now here’s what we’re going to do,’ said Annie. What they were going to do was this. Phone the airport and book the flights. Make another call, one that Annie thought she would never have to make, one that the kidnappers would find entirely acceptable, so no worries about the line tap there. Then they were going to check out the finca from top to bottom. They did all that, and by then it was nearly dark and the shadows were deepening, making them both jumpy. ‘What do we do now?’ asked Jeanette, her eyes going in all directions. Now Annie explained that they were going to barricade themselves into the bedroom with water and a bucket overnight. ‘I don’t want to stay here,’ moaned Jeanette, trailing along behind her like a pathetic baby bird waiting for its mother to feed it. They didn’t have any food. Annie knew this was an oversight. They should have picked some up when they were up at the little gatehouse. There was nothing in the kitchen here. But who the fuck could have thought about food at a time like that? ‘We have to stay here,’ said Annie flatly. ‘It’s horrible. With Jonjo dying out there in the pool, and the servants just up there rotting…’ Servants. That was, strictly speaking, what Inez and Rufio had been. But they had also been good friends and helpers, cooks and chauffeurs, life-support almost. And now they were dead. Annie’s guts churned at the thought. ‘The dead ain’t going to hurt anyone,’ she said. ‘It’s the living you have to fear.’ She went on, checking room to room, gun in hand. Jeanette followed her, thinking that Annie was fucking scary. The woman’s child had been snatched and her husband killed, and here she was, ice-cold, ready to shoot anyone who came near. I’d be in bits if this happened to me, thought Jeanette, not realising that Annie’s rigid control was all that stood between her and madness. Satisfied that the finca was clear and secured, Annie filled a large jug with water and grabbed two glass tumblers and a bucket and then ushered Jeanette into the main bedroom, the room she had always shared with Max. Max. Heart-wrenching grief gripped her, stifling her as she thought of him. Once more she shook thoughts of him aside, and with Jeanette’s help she levered the heavy wooden dresser over the bedroom door. ‘What we’re going to do is this,’ she told the girl, pulling down a suitcase from the top of the wardrobe. ‘We’re going to take turns sleeping. Two hours on, two hours off. One stands guard, one sleeps.’ Jeanette nodded shakily. ‘Okay.’ The windows were barred, the shutters closed, the only door into the room blocked off. Annie assessed the situation. For the moment, they were safe. Safe, thought Annie. Sure they were safe, unless someone was really determined to finally kill them. These people had blown up the pool house, why not blow up the bloody finca too? Her ears felt suddenly oversensitized, as if every tiny sound were a threat. She took first watch while Jeanette lay down on the bed, protesting that she would never be able to sleep. Within minutes, she was snoring gently. Annie sat up in a chair with the gun held ready across her lap. The old building creaked and groaned as it always did, the rafters shrinking and popping after the gentle warmth of the day. Was it that? Or was it someone coming to finish them off? She didn’t know. She had to hold herself in readiness, just in case. Their plane tickets were booked; Annie had packed a few bits into a suitcase. In the morning they would take Rufio’s battered old car and Jeanette would drive them to the airport. Until then all Annie had to do was wait and think. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, although she knew she had to try and rest, to keep strong so that she could cope with all this. So she would try not to think about what could be happening to Layla right now. She thought instead about Max. Annie Carter, who never weakened, never cried, sat there amid the wreckage of her life and let the grief take hold of her. She let the tears stream unchecked from her eyes, and silently swore that the death of the man she loved would be avenged. 5 (#ulink_b51b32be-6d18-592f-94f8-d4c52138ef04) The little girl was very afraid as she sat in the damp darkness. She felt very tired, very drowsy. She wondered what had happened to Daddy. They took him away somewhere, she knew that; those bad people took him away. He would never have left her on her own. She expected Mummy to come and fetch her soon; she had been expecting this for what felt like hours now. Mummy was always watching her carefully, always. She whimpered in the dark, wanting her Mummy so badly. The men hadn’t talked to her. One of them had held something over her nose and that was when she’d started to get really, really sleepy. One of them was small, like a lady, but Layla wasn’t sure about that. They wore hoods over their heads and that was scary, like they weren’t really people at all. Layla so wanted someone to talk to. She would have talked to the lady, if she could, even though she had done this nasty thing to Layla. All her dolls and teddies were at home. Now she had no Mummy. No Daddy. Nothing except this horrible place. When they had dropped her in here and slammed the trap door shut on her, she had been half-awake and had groped her way around her small prison. She found all the walls were dirt: slimy with moisture in places, bone-dry in others. There had been a little daylight left then. But now it was night and she was cold. She was able to stand up, although the top of her head touched metal. Metal like waves, like an old tin roof on a hen house. There was a sort of bed in the dirt, so that she could lie down on a rough blanket they had put there for her. They had put a dish of water on the floor; she’d kicked it over by accident when she’d been trying to grope her away around in here. There was some bread too, but it was stale. Like she was an animal. Layla decided to pretend that she was an animal, someone’s pet. She ate the dry bread and licked the bowl clean of what remained of the water. Then she lay down and wrapped herself in the blanket. Daddy would come back soon. Mummy too. They would never leave her alone like this, with these strange people who didn’t speak and who covered their faces. She was an animal, curled up on her bed and waiting for her owners to come and collect her. She curled up in a ball, rocking herself, hands clasped around her knees. Suddenly, she was asleep. 6 (#ulink_39d8d718-7f3c-5245-8487-be93753dd599) ‘Fucking hellfire, it is you,’ said Dolly when she flung open the front door of her Limehouse knocking shop and found her old friend Annie Carter and an unknown blonde standing there. They looked like someone had kicked the shit out of both of them. ‘Come in, for God’s sake.’ Annie stepped into the hall and looked around at a place that had at one time felt so familiar, but was now completely changed. The black, wrought-iron clock shaped like a guitar was gone, so was the wooden plaque with the matador and the bull. Now the decor was bang-up-to-the-minute. Now there was bright orange-patterned wallpaper, the wooden staircase was painted white, and a cane basket chair was suspended from a hook in the ceiling in the corner. Where Chris used to sit and greet the punters, thought Annie. There was no bouncer there now, but there was a folded newspaper on the chair and an empty mug on the floor beside it. ‘We’ve got a new boy on the door,’ said Dolly, seeing Annie’s look. ‘Ross. He’s off on an errand, but he’ll be back later.’ Dolly’s eyes locked with Annie’s. And then I’ll have to tell him you’re here, said Dolly’s eyes. Annie nodded. Ross would be another Delaney boy, like Chris the old doorman had been. This was Delaney turf; Dolly paid them protection. The arrival of a prominent Carter family member on their patch couldn’t go unannounced. Annie felt as if she was moving through a dark, unspeakable dream. The familiar was gone, changed, lost forever. Max, she thought. Oh Christ—and Layla! She looked at Dolly. Dolly had changed too. Once the roughest of street working girls with an attitude to match, Dolly was every inch the madam-in-charge now, in a pink boucl? skirt suit and with her blonde hair immaculately cut and styled. Remembering the rough-edged brass that Dolly had once been, Annie felt even further disconnected from reality. Now Dolly was the embodiment of chic, just like Annie’s long-departed Aunt Celia, once the madam here, had been. Dolly even smelled good, of a fragrance Annie instantly identified as Guerlain’s Mitsouko. ‘You look like death warmed over,’ said Dolly, taking Annie’s suitcase and leading the way into the kitchen. ‘Come and have a cup of tea and tell me what the fuck’s happening. I couldn’t believe it when I got your call. And who the hell is this?’ ‘This is Jeanette,’ said Annie as they went into the kitchen. Dolly put the suitcase down, out of the way. She looked at Jeanette. ‘She don’t say much,’ said Dolly. ‘We’ve had a bit of a rough time,’ said Annie. Dolly nodded. ‘Everything looks different.’ Annie peered around the kitchen. Her old table was gone. There was a smoked glass circular table in its place, and snazzy chairs to match, and a big descending taupe-coloured smoked glass light above it. Posh fitted units all around, with oatmeal doors and a wooden trim. Rush matting on the floor. ‘Well, it’s been a while,’ said Dolly, filling the kettle. She flicked the switch on and turned and looked at Annie, who was sinking down into a chair like an old woman. Jeanette sat down too. Jeanette looked the worst of the two, thought Dolly. Jeanette looked as if someone or something had scared the crap out of her, big time. Annie looked almost grey with exhaustion, but Annie was made of tough stuff. Annie would always bounce back…or would she? Looking at her now, Dolly wondered about that. ‘How’s business? Good?’ asked Annie, her head in her hands. ‘Good enough,’ said Dolly. She leaned back against the cream-coloured fake marble worktop and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘You going to tell me what happened? I couldn’t believe it when you called me.’ ‘I couldn’t believe it either,’ said Annie. There had been only brief telephone calls, three or four a year, between the two of them since Annie had left, but they had remained friends. ‘Come on, Annie,’ said Dolly in sudden exasperation. ‘Spill the beans, will you?’ Annie looked at the open door into the hallway. ‘Anyone else around?’ she asked. Dolly shook her head. ‘We’re alone. I made sure we would be, at least for now. So come on. Give.’ Annie sighed and shook her head. ‘No, Doll, I’m knackered. I need a bath and a lie-down, then I can think about what’s going on.’ Dolly nodded, but she was frowning. This was big trouble—she could smell it. She wasn’t exactly over the moon to have Annie Carter here. She didn’t want to make waves with the Delaneys. The feud between the Irish Delaneys and the Cockney Carter clans had been raging for years and was still going strong. The Delaney patch was an uncomfortable and maybe dangerous place for Annie Carter, wife of the boss of the Carter clan, to be, but then Annie knew that. The fact that she was here must mean that she had nowhere else to go. A friend’s a friend, thought Dolly. She couldn’t turn the poor bint away, now could she? Annie sat there and the jumble in her brain was as bad as Dolly’s, only with more anguish added on. I could be the only Carter left, she thought. Max. Jonjo. Both gone. And maybe Layla too. Sick despair washed over her again. She just couldn’t take any of this in. Not yet. She had to gather herself first, if she could. Then, she’d see. 7 (#ulink_5dd5108a-2cde-5c7a-bdbb-a0f67912446b) ‘Your little friend’s gone,’ said a disembodied female voice. Annie shot up in the bed, heart hammering, horrors erupting in her brain. She was in a strange bed, in a strange room. A blonde woman was at the window, yanking back the curtains so that Annie winced at the brightness of the new day. A double bay window. A nice room, prettily furnished. The woman with the bubble perm placed a mug of tea on the side table. Dolly. Annie clutched her head in her hands as it all came back to her. And with the grim memories came guilt and intense self-hatred. She had slept, deeply and dreamlessly, while her husband lay dead in a rocky gully far away and her daughter was God knew where, in the hands of people who could do her serious harm. ‘You were worn out,’ said Dolly, sitting down on the side of the bed and staring at her friend with concern. ‘I came up last night to see if you wanted anything to eat, and you were spark out. So I let you sleep. This is my room, you remember?’ All Annie knew was that she had fallen on to the bed and literally passed out. ‘God, I’m sorry. Where did you sleep?’ ‘Don’t be a silly mare, Annie, there’s always a spare bed in a place like this. You can have this room for the time being, no worries.’ ‘You should have woken me up. Have there been any phone calls? Has anyone asked to speak to me?’ Dolly shook her head. ‘There must have been!’ Annie burst out in fury. Dolly kept staring at her. ‘Nobody’s called. I would have fetched you. But they didn’t.’ ‘Sorry,’ mumbled Annie. ‘Didn’t mean to shout the odds, Doll’ ‘That’s okay.’ ‘She’s fucked off then?’ ‘Jean, yeah.’ ‘Jeanette.’ ‘Who the hell is she? Not your sort, I’d have thought.’ ‘One of Jonjo’s blondes.’ ‘Ah. Drink your tea.’ Annie took up the mug with shaking hands and sipped it. The tea was strong, bracing. ‘You going to tell me what’s been going on?’ asked Dolly. ‘Nothing’s been going on,’ said Annie. Dolly smiled dryly. ‘Like fuck,’ she said. ‘You looked like a ghost when you pitched up here. And you sounded in bits on the phone. You’re shaking like a sodding old man now. So what’s happened?’ Annie looked straight at Dolly. ‘Something horrible, Doll. And now they’ve got my baby girl.’ ‘Layla?’ All trace of the smile was gone. ‘Fucking hell, Annie—who, for the love of God?’ ‘I don’t know who,’ said Annie. ‘They’re going to contact me here. That’s all I know.’ ‘Do they want money?’ ‘Yeah.’ Annie tried another sip of the tea but this time it wouldn’t get past the lump in her throat. She put the mug aside. ‘Have you got it?’ Annie shrugged. Anxiety gnawed at her. This was taking her right back to the time when she had been kicked out of home and left to fend for herself. Potless, homeless, abandoned, disgraced, and on the run from the Carter clan. She felt as lost, as hopeless now as she did then. She didn’t know squat about Max’s financial affairs. There had always been plenty of money, and he had been generous with it, but where it had come from and where he kept it was a mystery to her. She had no money of her own; she’d never needed it while Max was there. But now Max was gone. ‘And where is Max?’ asked Dolly after a pause. ‘I don’t know,’ said Annie painfully. ‘What the fuck do you mean, you don’t know? He’s your flaming husband, of course you know where he is.’ ‘He disappeared, Doll. These people phoned me and said they’d killed him.’ Dolly recoiled in shock. ‘Jesus, no.’ Annie nodded dumbly. She looked spent, Dolly thought, as if all this had drained the life from her. Dark shadows under her eyes. Her lips parched and cracked. Her skin sallow. This wasn’t the polished, controlled woman she knew. This was a beaten stranger. Dolly wondered how she would cope with such a bucketload of grief, though. Her kid snatched, her husband topped…that was enough to finish anyone, even the strongest. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone that Max is dead,’ said Annie. ‘I mean it, Doll. No one.’ ‘You know I won’t. What about Jonjo?’ asked Dolly. ‘Jeanette was with you, so where’s Jonjo?’ Annie swallowed and shook her head. Dolly was silent, gobsmacked. ‘Look, I tell you what,’ she said at last. ‘You get washed and dressed, then we’ll think again, okay?’ Annie looked at her. Dolly was the best friend she had ever had, and she knew it. Annie was quite likely bringing trouble to her door, and many another would have turned her away, but not Dolly. She could almost have cried at Dolly’s kindness, but she held her emotions in tight check. Dolly would be embarrassed anyway by a display of emotion. She always had been. You’d never get hugs and kisses from Doll, but what you would get was firm support from a genuine ally. ‘Thanks, Dolly. Can I borrow something to wear? All I’ve got in the case is sandals and summer dresses and swimming cossies. Don’t ask me why I brought any of it back. I don’t think my head was right at the time.’ ‘Help yourself. Anything you want. Oh, and Annie…’ Suddenly Dolly looked awkward and anxious. ‘I had to phone Redmond Delaney, tell him you’re here. Sorry. You’re a mate, but I can’t be seen to be disrespecting the Delaneys, not on their own turf. I didn’t want him just hearing about it from Ross, do you understand? I have to be careful.’ Annie nodded. ‘Don’t give it another thought, Doll. I know you had to tell Redmond. That goes without saying.’ And Redmond ain’t going to be very pleased about it, she thought. Dolly’s tense expression relaxed with relief. ‘We’d better get you some breakfast,’ she said. ‘You come down when you’re ready, Annie love. No rush. I’ll listen for the phone, don’t worry.’ Dolly left the bedroom and closed the door softly behind her. She felt embarrassed at her own inability to help more. All hell was being set loose in the poor bint’s life, and she was telling her not to worry. ‘Doll!’ At Annie’s call, she reopened the door and stuck her head around it. ‘Yes, Annie love?’ ‘Does Billy Black still call in?’ ‘Billy? Of course he does. Every week, regular. He hasn’t got many places to go where they’ll make him welcome, the poor bastard.’ ‘When he calls, I want to speak to him.’ ‘Okay,’ said Dolly, and went off downstairs with a troubled mind to see to breakfast for the girls. As she passed the telephone in the hall, it jingled. She looked at it, picked it up, listened to the dial tone. Then she shrugged and put it back down. When Annie got downstairs, she found Dolly there eating toast and chatting to her ‘girls’. There was Darren, a slim blond young man wearing a flamboyant scarf and a yellow shirt, and to her surprise Ellie was there too, dark haired and still pretty, but porked up to double her usual size. All conversation stopped when Annie opened the door and stood there. She’d borrowed a plain black shift dress from Dolly’s wardrobe, some tights and some plain black courts. The shoes pinched, and the dress fitted where it touched, but she didn’t give a shit. ‘Gordon Bennett, if it ain’t Annie Bailey!’ said Darren, getting to his feet and coming round to give her a hug of welcome. Christ, he looked as thin as a ghost! ‘Carter,’ said Annie automatically. ‘Gawd yes. I forgot you were playing with the big boys now.’ Darren rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek. Camp as a row of pink tents, that was Darren, and she’d always loved his quirky ways. Annie pulled back and looked at him. He was more than slim—she felt his ribs when she hugged him. And he looked strained. ‘Hello Annie,’ said Ellie, coming forward for a hug. Annie gave a faint smile, suppressing her amazement at seeing Ellie back here. Dolly had once kicked Ellie out for her backstabbing habits, but here she was again, feet firmly under the table. Annie hugged her, trying not to think that Darren and Ellie looked like Jack Sprat and his wife, one skinny, one fat, like a comedy double act. ‘You’re both looking good,’ she lied. She pulled out a spare chair and sat down. She saw a look pass between Darren and Dolly, and Ellie bit her lip as if stifling something. ‘Have some toast,’ said Dolly, pushing a plate towards her. She poured tea from the pot into a spare mug, and added milk. ‘You look like you need a feed-up.’ Annie kept shtoom. If it had been just Darren and Dolly there, she might have spoken now about Layla and Max, but Ellie was sitting there with her ears flapping so it wasn’t a good idea. Ellie had always been totally in the pocket of the Delaneys, and this was their manor. There had never been any love lost between the Delaneys and the Carters. And now she was a Carter—maybe the only one left. Max. Layla. Her guts clenched with pain. Annie stifled her grief and fear and thought instead about the Delaneys. Redmond Delaney and his sister Orla had once been good to her. But she was convinced that all that came to an end the minute Max Carter put a wedding ring on her finger. So in front of Ellie she would keep it quiet. She looked down at her wedding ring now and felt the pain rising up again, nearly choking her. Max’s ring with its bright gold and its solid slab of lapis lazuli was still there on her thumb. It was loose. She’d have to be careful not to lose it. Better to put it on the gold chain Max had given her, along with the gold heart inscribed Love you forever, the one she always wore, the one she was wearing around her neck right now. She picked up a bit of soggy toast and gnawed at it. She had to eat. Couldn’t face the idea of food, but she had to eat. Had to stay strong. She was no use to Layla in a weakened state. She sipped her tea and forced down the toast, and Dolly nodded her approval. ‘I look like shit in that dress,’ said Dolly. ‘But on you, it’s good. I only keep it for funerals.’ Annie’s eyes locked with Dolly’s as they both remembered when Annie had last seen Dolly wearing the dress. Connie’s funeral. Annie’s mum, dead of alcohol poisoning, being laid to rest. ‘Jesus,’ said Dolly, chastened. ‘Sorry, Annie. Me and me big gob.’ ‘It’s okay,’ said Annie. ‘Where’s Aretha?’ Aretha had been a star turn in Dolly’s whorehouse. A tall black girl with a damaged past, she had specialized in S & M, punishment chairs, whippings, tying naughty boys up and giving them the whacking they desired. ‘She left about a year back, maybe two—didn’t I say?’ said Dolly. She glanced at Ellie, who turned her full concentration on her breakfast. ‘Married Chris.’ ‘Chris the bouncer?’ Annie’s jaw dropped. It was a match that stretched the imagination to its limits, big bald Chris and tall man-eater Aretha. But then Annie remembered Chris’s gentle ways with the ladies, and thought that maybe, after all her trials and tribulations, Aretha had finally found a man who deserved more than to be punished. She glanced across the table at Ellie. Ellie had had a crush on Chris, she knew. And even now it looked as if the mention of him hooking up with Aretha was causing her pain. ‘He’s got a job in security now, he’s a night guard at Heathrow,’ Dolly went on. ‘They got a place together, and Aretha still turns a few tricks from home to bring in the dosh.’ Annie nodded. Of course, things moved on. It was a weird feeling to come back here, with everything feeling somehow the same but forever different. Sitting here felt unreal, like a dream. Or maybe a fucking nightmare. People had met, fallen in love, married…moved on. Changed. Her life had changed, too. For the worse. Her husband. Her daughter. Her life. All changed. All gone. The pain gripped her again and she put the toast down, afraid that she was going to throw up right here, right now. ‘Hey—that’s my chair,’ said a voice behind her. 8 (#ulink_70882243-f5dd-5f1c-a4e4-bee6a606d2f8) Annie looked up. And up. The woman standing there glaring down at her was over six feet tall and looked like every punter’s idea of a dream dominatrix. She had white-blonde hair cut close to her head and weirdly pale, penetrating blue eyes. She had huge tits. She was dressed in a white PVC minidress with cutouts on either side of the waist and a buckle in the centre, teamed with white, thigh-high boots. She didn’t look friendly. Dolly said quickly: ‘Una, this is Annie. Annie—Una.’ ‘Hi, Una,’ said Annie. ‘I said that’s my chair,’ said Una. Annie looked at her. Then she looked curiously at Dolly, who was suddenly faffing around the kitchen fetching another mug, clucking around the place like the Queen of Sheba had put in an appearance. Annie looked at Darren, who looked away. She looked at Ellie, who was watching as if something interesting was about to kick off. She looked again at Una. ‘There’s another chair right here,’ said Annie, indicating an empty one to her left. Dolly dropped the tea caddy; it hit the table with a clatter. ‘Tea, Una? Or coffee?’ she prattled. ‘Then you fucking well sit in it,’ said Una to Annie, ignoring Dolly. Annie looked at her. It was a long, appraising look. ‘Sure,’ she said, and moved along to the next seat. Darren and Ellie exchanged a glance. Una sat smugly down in the seat Annie had just vacated, sneering sideways at her as Dolly took her breakfast order. Annie sipped her tea while Dolly fussed around Una. Fuck it, thought Darren, that’s not the Annie Carter I know. He caught Ellie’s eye. She’s lost it, said Ellie’s look. Bloody hell. Who’d have thought? When breakfast was over, Dolly went off upstairs and Annie caught up with her in the bedroom. ‘Doll, can you phone my cousin Kath, tell her I need to see Jimmy Bond?’ ‘Sure I can.’ ‘But don’t phone from here. Go to the phone box, okay?’ Dolly looked at her. ‘Our phone was making a funny noise this morning.’ ‘What sort of noise?’ Annie froze. ‘A sort of jingling noise, do you mean?’ ‘Yeah. That’s it.’ ‘Doll, I think there could be a tap on your phone line. I think these people who’ve taken Layla tapped the line at the villa, and they might have done the same here.’ Dolly’s mouth dropped open, then she closed it. ‘Fuck me,’ she said. ‘I’ll use the phone box.’ 9 (#ulink_c57eea93-cc6c-58e9-a211-3584eda37997) The next day, Billy Black arrived on the doorstep. Annie ushered him into the kitchen and closed the door behind them so that Ross, the hard-eyed young Delaney man on the door, couldn’t hear what was said. Ellie and Darren were upstairs with clients; Dolly was sorting the takings in the front room. When they had come face to face in the hall, Ross had given Annie a look that should have turned her to stone, but she ignored it. Una was out—no one knew where and no one dared ask, either, if Annie was any judge. ‘Your cousin Kath don’t like you,’ Dolly had said when she got back from making her calls yesterday. ‘So what else is new?’ sniffed Annie. Who gave a fuck? The kidnappers hadn’t called yet. That was Annie’s only concern. ‘I told her you wanted to speak with Jimmy, but she put the phone down on me. Twice. Said Annie Carter was nothing to her.’ Good old Kath, thought Annie. Stupid and obstinate, as always. All right, Annie held her hands up. She’d done wrong, taking Max off her sister Ruthie. But all that was long gone and forgotten. Ruthie had forgiven her. So why not Kath? Because Kath likes family aggro, thought Annie. Always did, always will. She thought of Kath’s face—Kath had never been pretty, but she had these bright eyes that were endlessly curious, gleefully absorbing gossip, gathering grudges like a squirrel hoarding nuts. Kath loved a family ruck—or any ruck at all, come to that. ‘Did you tell her it was urgent?’ ‘She didn’t give me the chance.’ ‘Okay, Doll’ But at least Billy was here. Billy hadn’t changed a bit. Same old raincoat hanging off his thin frame, same old hat on his head, same briefcase clutched against him like it was the bloody Crown Jewels. Same pale face with that vacant look. Same stammer. The word was that the cord had got wrapped around his neck when he was born, cutting off blood supply to his brain and rendering him…well, not simple exactly. But not the brightest nail in the toolbox, for sure. But Billy was devoted to Max. Max had trusted him to do certain undemanding jobs around the manor, and Billy had always had a soft spot for Annie. ‘How you been, Billy?’ asked Annie, setting a mug of tea in front of him as they sat down at the table. ‘F-fine,’ he said. ‘Still working for the firm?’ ‘No.’ Billy hesitated, forming words. It took a while. ‘Not since Jonjo took over.’ Annie nodded. ‘But you’re still Max’s boy, yes?’ ‘I’ve always been one of Mr Carter’s boys,’ said Billy proudly. Annie knew this was going to be a shock to Billy, but she knew she could trust him to keep his trap shut. She took a breath. ‘Max is dead, Billy. And so is Jonjo.’ Billy stared at her. ‘Dead?’ he repeated blankly. Annie nodded. She waited for a beat to let that sink in a little. Then she said: ‘This is just between you and me for now, Billy. You and me, okay? It mustn’t go any further.’ Billy nodded slowly. ‘I…see.’ ‘So I’m in charge now. You got that? And there’s something I need sorting out, Billy. Urgently.’ ‘Okay.’ He looked bewildered. ‘I need my friends around me now.’ ‘I’ve always been your friend,’ he said, blushing. ‘I know you have, Billy. And I appreciate it.’ Annie patted his hand. Poor sod. She’d hated telling him. He’d idolized Max. She reached up around her neck and undid the gold chain. She left the gold heart on it and took off Max’s chunky gold ring with the slab of brilliant blue lapis lazuli. ‘Do you recognize this, Billy?’ Billy nodded vigorously. ‘That’s Mr Carter’s ring.’ ‘I want you to get it to Jimmy Bond today—as soon as you leave here, Billy, you understand? Take this ring to him and tell him I need to see him, right now. You got that?’ Billy took the ring and held it reverently in his palm. ‘I’ve got it,’ he said, and slipped the ring into his pocket. ‘And remember what I said. The thing about Max and Jonjo. That’s our secret for now. You got that?’ He nodded. ‘Good. Now drink your tea. Time’s short.’ 10 (#ulink_fe64c37f-9f87-5314-b9e3-4c78bb9b43db) Billy must have moved like wildfire. Within two hours of his departure, Jimmy Bond was at the door. Ross was ready for him. He knew the Carter boys. He was a Delaney man, of course he knew them. In particular he knew Jimmy Bond. Jimmy Bond was a hard-looking bastard. Crew-cut pale brown hair. Chippy blue eyes. A chiselled, stern face and a cruel mouth. Immaculately turned out in black coat and sharp suit. All the Carter crowd were snappy dressers. But Ross knew not to be deceived by that. Beneath all the flash, the Carter mob were dangerous. None more so than this one. ‘What the fuck do you want?’ Ross bulked himself up like a threatened toad so that he filled the front doorway. Jimmy gave the younger man a look. ‘Civility,’ he said. ‘What?’ ‘Mrs Carter in?’ Dolly came hurrying down the hall looking flustered. She clocked Jimmy Bond standing on the doorstep in the rain. ‘Mr Bond,’ she acknowledged him politely. The Carter boys had got them all out of the crap that time when Mad Pat Delaney kicked off, and she hadn’t forgotten it. She owed them a lot. She turned to her stony-faced bouncer. ‘Ross, Mr Bond’s come to see Annie. Let the man in, for God’s sake.’ Ross looked unhappy but he stood back. Jimmy stepped into the hall. ‘She’s in the kitchen—straight through there,’ said Dolly. Jimmy nodded, stepped around a scowling Ross and went into the kitchen. He closed the door from the hall into the kitchen behind him and leaned against it. Sitting at the table looking up at him was Annie Carter. There was a moment’s thick silence while they stared at one another. Then Jimmy took the ring from his pocket and tossed it to her. Annie caught it deftly, then busied herself putting it back on to the chain around her neck. ‘Why don’t you take a seat, Jimmy?’ she said as she fiddled with the clasp. Jimmy chose a chair and sat down. Placing himself with his back to a wall, noted Annie. No doors behind him, and no windows. ‘Nice tan,’ said Jimmy. Annie nodded cautiously. ‘Majorca’s still warm, even in February,’ she said. ‘How’s Kath?’ ‘Kath’s fine.’ ‘I tried to get a message to you through her,’ said Annie. ‘She put the phone down. Twice.’ ‘Kath bears a grudge.’ ‘That’s ancient history.’ ‘Not to Kath.’ ‘You ought to keep your house in order, Jimmy. I wasn’t pleased.’ He shrugged. So that’s the way it’s going to be, thought Annie. ‘Max and Jonjo are busy in Spain, so I’m taking over here.’ Now she got a reaction. ‘Bollocks,’ he said. ‘What?’ ‘I said bollocks. Max wouldn’t hand control over to a skirt.’ ‘Max has handed control over to a skirt. A skirt who happens to be his wife. A Carter, Jimmy. So watch it.’ ‘Watch it? You’re having a fucking laugh.’ Jimmy sat back and folded his arms. ‘Am I laughing?’ ‘No, but I am.’ Jimmy stared at Annie. ‘So what’s happened?’ ‘What?’ Annie felt her heart leap into her throat. This wasn’t going the way she’d planned it, not at all. She had felt that she owed it to Billy Black to tell him the truth, but she wasn’t ready to risk that with Jimmy Bond yet. Tell Jimmy Bond, and all the boys would know. She didn’t feel secure enough in her own position at the moment to face that. ‘You heard. I want to know what’s happened. The truth, not some made-up pile of shit.’ ‘You’re pushing your luck, Jimmy,’ said Annie flatly. ‘Come off it,’ said Jimmy roughly. ‘I don’t even know you’re a Carter, do I? Oh sure, Jonjo said there’d been a wedding, but he wasn’t there on the day, was he? He said there was a kid too, but it could have been a bastard Bailey, not a Carter at all, for all he or anyone else knew.’ Annie shot to her feet and leaned across the table, eyes glaring. ‘You want to watch your mouth, Jimmy Bond,’ she told him. ‘My daughter’s not a bastard. And Max and I are married. Legal.’ ‘That’s what Ruthie thought,’ said Jimmy. Annie took a breath, tried to calm down. But fuck it. She’d thought that Jimmy would be her ally. She was scared shitless and she needed serious help. But she could see that she wasn’t going to get it from him. No way. ‘That’s in the past,’ she said. ‘What goes around comes around,’ he said, and stood up. He put his meaty fists on the table and leaned in close. Despite herself, Annie found herself leaning back a little. ‘I’ll see you around, maybe,’ he said, his eyes holding hers. ‘When you’re ready to tell me the truth.’ He walked to the door, not looking back. Annie sat down with a thump. He was going to walk out. Simple as that. Convinced she was lying. Hadn’t Max told her that Jimmy had gypsy roots, that his instincts were always sound? He knew she was lying because she bloody well was lying. ‘Jimmy,’ she said as he placed his hand on the doorknob. Jimmy half turned and looked at her. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you the truth.’ And so Annie told Jimmy Bond the truth. That there had been a hit. That Jonjo was dead. That Max was dead. That Layla had been snatched. That she had had to come back here to get some cash together and that as yet there had been no word from the kidnappers. Throughout all this, Jimmy kept quiet. When she’d finished, he pulled out a chair and sat down again, his eyes on her face. ‘You’re telling the truth,’ he said. A statement of fact. ‘Of course I bloody am. But no one else can know about this, Jimmy. No one must know Max is dead. Because if they do…’ Jimmy nodded. If word got out on the streets that Max was gone, rival gangs would start to move in. He understood that perfectly. ‘What if the bastard on the phone spreads the word? No Max, no Jonjo—the manor’s wide open,’ said Annie anxiously. ‘Why should he?’ asked Jimmy. ‘He wants money. Why would he risk not getting his wedge from you by making trouble on the manor?’ Annie looked at him. He had a point. ‘But he’s still got my fucking daughter,’ she said bitterly. ‘Yeah, but he won’t hurt her if he wants the dosh. Listen to what I’m saying. He ain’t interested in the manor or he’d have done you all over. He just wants the money. If any rumours do kick off, we deny everything. And we kill them off at source,’ said Jimmy. ‘How?’ Jimmy gave a twisted smile. ‘Bust a few heads, people start to think twice about opening their mouths,’ he told her. ‘Trust me, nobody’s going to start anything around me. And I’ll be quiet as the grave. I’m Max and Jonjo’s number one, remember?’ As if you’d let me forget it, thought Annie. You arrogant git. ‘I’m placing a lot of trust in you,’ said Annie. ‘More than I’m comfortable with, to be honest, given your connection to Kath and knowing how she feels about me.’ ‘Kath won’t know,’ said Jimmy. ‘She mustn’t,’ said Annie. ‘Because if she does, family or not, I’d have to have a word. She starts flapping that big mouth of hers and it’ll be all over the manor before you can say knife. And then we’re fucked.’ ‘Kath won’t know. She knows nothing about the business. Never has, never will.’ Annie nodded. This was the way Max had always conducted his business, too. She recognized an echo of truth in Jimmy’s words, because Max’s outlook had been much the same. Keep the wife out of it. Keep her in the dark and feed her shit, then she’d be happy. But was that a good idea? thought Annie. Because look what had happened now. She was adrift in an ocean full of sharks, and Max was fucking nowhere to be found. She had no funds to speak of—unless she found some double-quick. Things were bad. Hard to see how they could get any worse, really. But she had to hold on, keep her head, because while there was a chance she could save Layla—however slim that chance undoubtedly was—then she would have to tough it out. ‘So how can I help?’ asked Jimmy. Annie swallowed. ‘I’m going to need to find or raise some money, Jimmy. I don’t know how much yet.’ Jimmy nodded. ‘Max would have some stashed somewhere.’ ‘Yeah, but where?’ ‘You’ve really no idea?’ ‘None,’ said Annie. ‘Then we’ve got a problem.’ We. Annie felt that we was a small victory. If she had Jimmy Bond onside, she had an important ally. Not a friend. Never a friend. Kath had been dripping her poison into his ear for years, telling him what a cheating bitch Annie was, how she had betrayed her own sister, how her own mother had washed her hands of her. So Jimmy would always regard her with suspicion. But—and it was a big but—she was also Max Carter’s wife. Or I claim to be, thought Annie soberly. Jimmy was right—she could be lying about all this, up to and including the marriage and the legitimate child. Fair enough, he doubted her. But he had also said we have a problem, so she was a little reassured. If she truly was Annie Carter and not plain old Annie Bailey, his wife’s slag of a cousin, then Jimmy Bond would at least owe her respect. Annie looked at him in the thickening silence. ‘All suggestions welcome,’ she said hopefully. Jimmy gave a half-smile and stood up. ‘I’ll think it over,’ he said. ‘See what I can come up with.’ ‘What about the clubs? The Palermo? That was always Max’s favourite. Maybe he’d have some cash there.’ ‘Maybe,’ Jimmy shrugged. ‘Is it still running smooth?’ asked Annie. Not that she cared, but she was trying to get him to communicate with her. It was bloody hard going. ‘Yeah. Opens lunchtimes too now.’ ‘Right.’ Annie had to bite her lip to keep back her exasperation. We don’t have time to fuck about, is what she longed to say. But she stopped herself. She didn’t want to start out by trying to push Jimmy Bond into a corner. He was a proud man—Max’s best boy—and she had to treat him with respect, too. ‘Make it soon,’ was all she allowed herself. ‘I will,’ he said, and left. She watched him go through the open kitchen doorway, nodding to Dolly as he passed her in the hall and giving the hard man on the door a mocking smile before stepping out on to the path. Ross kicked the door shut behind him. ‘Fucking bastard,’ he muttered, then came along the hall to the kitchen and handed Annie a note. ‘For you,’ he said, and went back to his seat by the front door. Annie looked at Dolly and opened up the folded sheet of paper. The handwriting was forward sloping and almost painfully neat. The note said: We hope you like your stay, Mrs Carter. Just make it a short one, and there’ll be no trouble. It was signed Redmond Delaney. Annie pocketed it, her eyes on Ross through the open kitchen doorway. He returned her stare. Dolly, standing between them in the hall, swallowed nervously. And then the telephone started to ring. Annie steeled herself, nerves jangling. The fucking phone had rung a thousand times over the past few days. Always it was clients, or mates of Darren’s or Ellie’s. Una didn’t seem to have any mates, which was no big surprise. But it was never, ever the call Annie was waiting for. She watched Dolly pick up the phone, watched her face go bleached white. Dolly’s head turned and she held the phone out to Annie. ‘For you,’ she said, and Annie’s heart froze. ‘Hello?’ said Annie when she took the phone from Dolly. Dolly shooed her doorman into the front room and closed the door on him. Then she stood beside Annie in the hall, her face anxious. ‘Ah, so you are there,’ said the voice. The same voice again. Irish. Annie hated that voice. ‘I’m here.’ I’ve been here for days, she thought, but didn’t say it. Best not to antagonize him. ‘And now you are, what shall we do with you?’ he asked, and she could hear it again in his voice, that smile, that loathsome smile. Annie was gripping the receiver so tightly that her knuckles were white as bone. She relaxed her grip, took a breath. Calm, she thought. Keep calm, think clearly. For Layla. ‘You tell me,’ said Annie. ‘And what if I don’t feel like telling you quite yet?’ he said, playing with her, the bastard. A ding in the background…teacups? Something… ‘That’s your decision,’ said Annie, refusing to rise to the bait, refusing to scream and yell and pull her hair like he wanted her to. ‘Is Layla all right? Can I speak to her?’ ‘Yes, and no. In that order.’ ‘Then how do I know she’s still alive?’ asked Annie. ‘You don’t. You have to take my word for it.’ Bastard. ‘I want to do a deal with you,’ said Annie. ‘You’re in no position to be offering deals,’ he said. ‘Yes I am. And the deal is, me for Layla. Hand Layla over, and take me instead.’ Dolly made a ‘for Christ’s sake no’ gesture. Annie waved her away. ‘It’s a good deal,’ said Annie when there was only silence at the other end. ‘It’s me you want to torment, isn’t it? Or else why am I still alive? You could have killed me in Majorca.’ ‘There’s another reason we could have kept you alive, though,’ he said. We. But of course there was more than one person involved in all this, as Jeanette had told her. To blow up the pool house, kill Max and Jonjo, kill her two friends, snatch Layla, drug her…too much, far too much, for one alone to manage. How many then? wondered Annie. Hadn’t Jeanette said four? But then Jeanette was an idiot. ‘And what’s that?’ asked Annie. ‘For the dough, dear heart. For the brass, the wonga, the money.’ At last. ‘How much?’ asked Annie. ‘Tell me and I’ll get it.’ ‘Ah, now that’s something we’ve yet to decide upon.’ Toying with her again. Playing her. Tormenting her. Annie clutched at her head, which felt as if it was about to burst open. A pulse of pain bloomed behind one eye. Calm, she thought. Calm. ‘So you’re going to let me know about that,’ she said numbly. ‘I dare say. We’ll call again in a few days, discuss things further, how’s that?’ Annie swallowed her hatred. She wanted to kill him. She would kill him, if she ever got the chance. ‘Whatever you say,’ she said. ‘That’s right,’ said the man. ‘Whatever I say goes, right?’ Annie’s jaw clenched. ‘Right,’ she agreed. ‘We’ll talk again…’ ‘Wait.’ She needed to hear Layla’s voice. Needed it desperately. ‘Let me talk to my daughter.’ ‘Later,’ he said. ‘I’ll call again on Friday.’ And he put the phone down. ‘Wait!’ shouted Annie, but she was talking to nothing but empty air. With a cry of rage she smashed the receiver back on to its cradle, picked up the phone and flung it hard against the wall. ‘You fucker!’ she yelled. Dolly stared at her friend, aghast. She had never seen Annie lose it before. Annie stalked off along the hall, turned at the foot of the stairs and walked back, breathing hard. She picked up the phone from the floor, picked up the receiver, listened. Still working. She exhaled sharply. ‘Sorry, Doll,’ she said. Annie knew she couldn’t go on like this. Waiting powerlessly for that bastard to call again and again; waiting, hoping, and then every time her hopes being dashed and her anxiety increasing. She had, somehow, to reclaim some control. Oh sure, she thought with black amusement. And how are you going to do that, smartarse? She would concentrate on getting some money together. Work hard at that, and keep strong. Jimmy had rightly said that Max must have a stash somewhere, a secret stash. Maybe more than one. And there were safes at the clubs, weren’t there, for the takings. She had to wait until Friday when he called again. Why not use that time? She went out to use a phone box a few streets away. Dolly went with her. They crowded into the little cubicle, out of the rain. Annie dialled Kath and Jimmy’s number. Kath answered. ‘Kath—Annie,’ she said shortly. ‘Get hold of Jimmy and tell him to get Tony, Max’s driver. I want Max’s car at Dolly’s place in Limehouse at two o’clock.’ ‘Who the hell do you think you are, issuing orders?’ demanded Kath. Annie felt a cold, clear rage grip her. Fuck it all, didn’t she have enough to contend with, without Kath adding her bit to the mix? ‘Kath,’ she said icily. ‘Now you listen, and listen good, ’cos I ain’t about to say this twice. I’m Mrs Max Carter. And you’d better cut out the fucking crap. Max isn’t here but I am, and I’m taking over for him. You’d better not have a problem with that, Kath. You’d better get your arse in gear and pass the word to Jimmy, fast.’ Annie slammed the phone down, breathing hard. ‘That’s her told,’ said Dolly. ‘And about time too, the mouthy cow. Where you off to, then?’ ‘The Palermo. And the Shalimar, and the Blue Parrot.’ Dolly nodded. Max Carter’s three clubs. Now, with Max gone, they belonged to Annie Carter. And so did his manor. 11 (#ulink_69e68299-1e89-5d2f-8c8e-37055db623c5) The first thing Vita Byrne saw when she opened the trap door on the disused hen house was a pair of very angry dark green eyes staring up at her. Shit! She slammed the door shut. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ she said to Danny, her brother, who had just come out from the kitchen and was staring at her. ‘You couldn’t have given her enough of that stuff, she’s awake! You fucking idiot.’ ‘Hey, how do I know how much to use on a kid?’ he demanded. ‘I didn’t want to give her too much, I didn’t want to kill her, now did I?’ ‘I thought she was going to be drugged up. I thought she was going to be out of it. And now she’s seen my fucking face,’ whined Vita. ‘Will you shut up? And will you put your fucking hood on, and why didn’t you have it on in the first place? That way she wouldn’t have seen your stupid face, for God’s sake.’ ‘Don’t have a go at me,’ said Vita. ‘You got the dose wrong.’ ‘Look, she’s a kid. I gave her what I thought was enough but not too much ’cos that could have killed her, and that wouldn’t be very clever now, would it? She’s no fucking use to us dead. What I’m saying is, she won’t know you anyway, so will you for the love of God calm down?’ ‘Yeah, it’s all very well for you to say calm down, but it wasn’t your face she saw, was it?’ yelled Vita, getting good and mad and also a bit panicky. Because for sure the little girl had seen her face. She didn’t think Danny was taking that point quite seriously enough. ‘She’s a little kid,’ said Danny with a bored tone in his voice. ‘She won’t know your face.’ ‘Yeah, but Da—’ ‘Shut up.’ Now Danny was getting mad too. His stupid sister had been about to blurt his name out. A kid might forget a face, but a name might stick in her memory; she might repeat it when she got free—if she got free—and then people would come knocking. All of which was a situation Danny Byrne hoped to avoid. ‘Don’t keep telling me to shut up,’ said Vita. Everything about this was upsetting her. It was all too much. She hadn’t expected that they were actually going to kill people, and she still felt sort of sick to her stomach about that. And most particularly about what Danny had done to the man and the woman in the little villa by the gate. He had seemed to glory in their terror, to get high on it; he had laughed and played in the blood like a kid in a bubble bath. Whenever she thought of it, she felt nauseous and afraid. She’d always known Danny was crazy, but now she thought he was really sick in the head, and dangerous. ‘Look, no names,’ Danny was saying to her. ‘We never say names in the girl’s hearing, remember? Got that?’ ‘Yeah, okay,’ said Vita sulkily. ‘Where’s Ph…where’s he gone, anyway?’ ‘To hire the boat.’ ‘Jesus, hasn’t he done that yet? I thought this was meant to be a smooth operation.’ ‘It’s smooth,’ said Danny. ‘Oh sure it’s smooth. No boat, and she’s seen my face.’ ‘Will you for fuck’s sake drop that?’ roared Danny. Vita flinched and fell silent. ‘My daddy’s going to kick your arse,’ said a tearful, furious little voice from inside the hen house. 12 (#ulink_bb824ec1-6d1c-5acd-aec2-6094ec0ec5d7) Tony was there at a quarter to two, with Max’s beautiful old Mark X Jag all polished up and gleaming. Which was good. Someone was sitting up and taking notice, thought Annie, and not before time. Kath had obviously passed on the message—grudgingly—and Jimmy had acted upon it. All good. Not the unqualified support she had hoped for, but the best she was going to get, and that would have to do—for now, at least. Annie sat in the back of the car and was suddenly overwhelmed by it all. Max’s car. She had sat in here nearly five years ago, with the scent of leather all around her like a comfort blanket, the heady smell of luxury, of Max’s lemon-scented cologne, with Max right there beside her—a strong, seemingly invincible presence. Not so invincible though, she thought despairingly. She looked at the empty space where Max should be. And into her mind, suddenly and starkly, came the image of him being pushed off the side of a mountain: falling, bouncing off rocks, lying crumpled and broken and lifeless at the bottom. Annie shut her eyes and swallowed sickness. Had they stood and laughed while they killed him? Had he—oh God no—had he lain there, fatally injured, suffering, hurting, for hours on end, perhaps days, before he finally died? She opened her eyes, shuddering, and tried to get hold of herself. She could see Tony’s eyes, watching her in the mirror. Max had valued Tony. Tony was built like a fucking outhouse. He was bald and he was ugly and he wore gold hoop earrings with crucifixes dangling off them, but he followed orders to the letter and he was loyal, Max had always said that. ‘You all right, Mrs Carter?’ ‘I’m fine, Tony.’ ‘Is Mr Carter coming back soon?’ asked Tony. ‘I dunno, Tony,’ said Annie. So Jimmy had been as good as his word and hadn’t told the boys the truth—that Max wasn’t going to be coming back, not soon, not ever. Jimmy had kept quiet, as they had agreed he should, and that was good. All good, thought Annie tiredly as the car glided smoothly through the rain-drenched streets of London’s East End. Oh yeah. Fucking wonderful. Spring was coming, but today it still looked like winter. She looked out at the grimy terraced houses, the people milling around in the sodden grey streets, the shops, the traffic. She was back. But everything was different. Everything had moved on. Ronnie and Reggie Kray had been banged up a year ago for shooting George Cornell, one of the Richardson boys, in the Blind Beggar, and for doing Jack ‘The Hat’ McVitie at Blonde Carol’s. Yeah, things had changed. The Beatles had split up. And Dolly had told her that all through this last winter the maxi-skirt had been favoured by trendy London girls over the chillier mini. Little changes, big changes. Some bad, some good. Annie feared that, for her, nothing was ever going to be truly good again. As Jimmy had told her, the Palermo Lounge was open, the red neon sign shining brightly above the set of red double doors in the sullen daylight. She had brought Max’s keys but she didn’t need them. It felt odd to just walk in during the day. The Palermo, like Max’s other two clubs, had always been very much a nightclub. But today there was a jungle beat going on inside. There was a man on the door, and Tony introduced her as Mrs Carter. She saw the man’s expression change then. Saw the glint of respect that the Carter name commanded. She went in, Tony dogging her footsteps. Annie paused and looked at the poster board. Her eyes widened. She glanced at Tony, but Tony was suddenly finding the ceiling of great interest. Annie pushed through another set of double red doors and the beat of the music shot up to deafening levels. She went down the stairs and paused halfway. The lights in here were dim—Christ, how come no one broke their necks on these stairs coming in here? She looked down and saw about fifteen punters sitting at tables in a fug of cigarette smoke, some clutching drinks bought from the bar at the far side of the room, others just goggling open-mouthed at what was happening on the brightly lit elevated half-circle that passed for a stage. Above and to both sides of this ‘stage’ were thick red velvet drapes edged in gold. Annie remembered those drapes. At their apex were the gold letters MC. Max Carter. In the centre of the stage, a girl wearing black pants, bra, suspenders, and stockings was gyrating wildly in time to the music, her huge tits bouncing around like melons in a sack, her blonde hair turned silver by the spotlights. As Annie watched, the girl leered at the watching crowd and reached back, unhooking her bra. The massive tanned breasts jumped free and there was a feeble roar of encouragement from the watching men. Fuck it all, thought Annie. Max would hate this. What’s happened to this place? The girl was parading around now, clutching her breasts—not naked, but brandishing gold nipple tassels—and wiggling them provocatively in the faces of the watchers. ‘Get ’em off,’ shouted someone. Annie remembered her Aunt Celia, once proud madam of what was now Dolly’s Limehouse brothel, telling her that men didn’t like topless dancers wearing tassels. ‘If they can’t see the nipple, they feel cheated,’ Celia had told her. ‘To a bloke, a naked tit has to be completely naked, or he feels put out.’ No danger of anyone here feeling cheated for long. The girl was now swinging her hips and leaning over the front tables, inviting the front-row watchers to pluck off her tassels. Annie looked over to the bar as movement there caught her eye. Two girls were loading trays with drinks and gliding off between the tables, wearing tiny black skirts and white waist pinafores. They were topless. They deposited the drinks on the tables, smiling wearily at the punters, dangling their exposed dugs right under the noses of the men. As Annie watched, several of the punters grabbed a quick feel. For fuck’s sake, thought Annie. It’s Tit City in here. Jonjo. This was all down to him, she was sure of it. Left to his own devices, he’d installed his own idea of what passed for good entertainment. Fucking Jonjo. ‘That girl,’ she said to Tony, having to shout to make herself heard above the noise, ‘on the stage.’ Tony nodded. ‘Don’t let her leave. I want a word with her.’ Tony nodded. ‘I’m going up to the office.’ A punter plucked off a tassel. The crowd cheered. Annie went back up the stairs and passed through the red doors again. She unclipped a rope on which was hung a small sign saying PRIVATE—STAFF ONLY, and clipped it back across when she’d passed through. Then she ascended a smaller staircase. At the top of the flight of stairs she paused before two doors. One she knew was a tiny flat, the other an office. She selected the smallest of the keys on Max’s bunch, labelled ‘P/Office’. She inserted the key in the lock, but it was already unlocked. She pushed open the door. There was a naked girl spread-eagled on Max’s desk, her legs up around the neck of a man who had his back to Annie. Annie stared at his white spotty buttocks pumping away—his trousers were around his ankles—with first surprise and then distaste. What the hell? The girl spotted her first and let out a small shriek. The man half turned. ‘Fucking hell, what do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded. Annie’s face froze into an icy mask. ‘I was under the impression I was coming into my office,’ she said coolly. ‘Or am I wrong? What is this, a knocking shop now?’ He pulled out of the girl and Annie caught a flash of cunt and another, even less welcome, of a wet, deflating dick. She turned her head away as the girl scrabbled up, snatching clothes off the floor. The man adjusted his clothing and carried on shouting the odds, as if she was in the wrong here. ‘Look, I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’d better get out now or you’ll be next over this desk, sister,’ he yelled at her. ‘Really?’ Annie pulled a hand out of her black coat’s capacious pocket and suddenly Max’s gun was there. She put the muzzle of the gun flat against the man’s forehead and flicked off the safety. The girl screamed and froze. ‘What the fucking hell…?’ wailed the man, staggering back against the desk, trying to get away from the gun, staring at it cross-eyed in horror. Annie’s eyes were ice. ‘Shut your noise,’ she said to both of them. The girl fell silent, the man was breathing heavily. ‘This is a hair trigger,’ she told the man. ‘You know about hair triggers?’ The man gave a tiny nod, then groaned and shut his eyes. Sweat was starting to pour out of him. He stank already. Disgusting. ‘Good. Now tell me—who the fuck are you, arsehole?’ 13 (#ulink_6c3378b9-249e-5ea4-a72e-fa653a27519d) ‘Mrs Carter?’ It was Tony, bursting through the door with a struggling blonde in tow. He looked at the girl still trying to get dressed, and the rumpled, white-faced man, and the gun in Annie’s hand. ‘You okay?’ The white-faced man ran a hand through his thinning blond hair. He looked balefully at Annie, then at Tony. ‘Are you telling me this is Max Carter’s missus?’ he demanded. ‘Who is this wanker?’ Annie asked Tony, indicating the man. ‘Club manager. Lou Morris.’ ‘Will you get your effing hands off me, you great ape,’ snarled the blonde with Tony. Then she saw Annie and grew still. Annie looked around at the assembled company. Five people in Max’s office. The last time that had happened, someone had got themselves shot. She flicked the safety back on and pocketed the gun. ‘Can we all calm down?’ she said smoothly. She crossed the small room and threw open the window. Traffic roared outside and fumes billowed in, but it was better than the stink of stale sex and unwashed bodies. ‘You,’ she told the girl from the desk, who had gathered up her clothes and was now partly dressed. ‘You work here?’ The girl nodded. Bright blue eyes and straight brown hair. She looked terrified. ‘I’m a hostess.’ ‘What’s you name?’ ‘Roberta,’ she said. ‘Well, Roberta, you never do anything like this again in any of the Carter clubs, you got me?’ Roberta nodded. A pound note fluttered to the floor and she stooped, blushing, to grab it. Annie looked at her in disgust. ‘And don’t sell yourself so damned cheap,’ she told the girl. ‘Go on, get out.’ Roberta hustled past Tony and the blonde. Annie turned toward Lou and looked at him as if he’d just crawled out from under a rock. ‘You’re the manager here?’ ‘That’s right,’ said Lou with bravado. ‘Jonjo Carter hired me last year.’ Annie nodded. ‘And I’m firing you this year. That’s sort of neat, don’t you think?’ ‘Now wait.’ Lou looked outraged. ‘Just because I poked one of the girls over the desk?’ ‘No, because I don’t like your face and I don’t like your attitude. Now—keys. You’re the manager; you’ve got keys, yes? Hand them over.’ Lou looked at Annie’s face. Then at Tony’s. The blonde was still, watching. ‘Ah, what the fuck, I hated the job anyway,’ snarled Lou, rummaging in his jacket pocket and slapping a bunch of keys into Annie’s waiting hand. ‘But you’re gonna be sorry you did this,’ he warned, pushing past her and past Tony and the blonde, and stamping off down the stairs. ‘See he goes straight off the premises, Tony,’ said Annie. ‘Don’t want him helping himself to the fixtures and fittings, do we?’ Tony pushed the blonde further into the room and followed Lou out through the door, shutting it firmly behind him. Annie shrugged off her coat and went around the desk and sat in Max’s high leather chair. Right here was where she’d been shot. She looked at the wall behind the chair, where the bullet that had passed through her and had imbedded itself. The wall was smooth now, neatly repaired. No trace of that traumatic event remained. But there was still a safe in the corner. She looked at it. A combination safe. She wondered what was in there, and if it was enough. She doubted it. She turned back to the blonde and nodded to the chair on the other side of the desk. ‘Hiya, Jeanette. Take a seat. We need to have a chat.’ Jeanette looked sulky. She slumped down into the chair and stared at Annie mulishly. ‘You didn’t even say goodbye,’ said Annie coolly. ‘And I thought we were such good friends, too.’ ‘You’re joking,’ snorted Jeanette. ‘That’s right,’ said Annie. ‘I am.’ ‘So what do you want? I’m supposed to be on again in fifteen minutes.’ ‘You’re not,’ said Annie. ‘Not what?’ ‘You’re not on again in fifteen minutes. In fact, you’re not on again ever, not here.’ ‘Oh come on!’ Jeanette burst out. ‘You can’t fire me too! I ain’t done nothing wrong and you know it. Listen,’ she whined, ‘I’m just keeping my head down and doing what I’m paid for, that’s all. I don’t want to know about your business, I don’t want to get involved.’ ‘But you’re already involved,’ said Annie. ‘Remember? You’re involved because you were there, right there in Majorca, when it happened. I was out of it; they doped me. But they didn’t dope you. So you were conscious all the way through. You saw what happened. And I need to know more about what you saw.’ ‘I’ve already told you. Nothing.’ ‘You said there were four of them…’ ‘Three, four…maybe more. I’m not sure.’ She shook her head, frowning. She pulled her red robe closer around her. ‘It was all so confusing. So fucking frightening. I’ve never been so scared in my life.’ She looked at Annie. ‘I thought they were going to kill me.’ There was a tap on the door. Tony poked his head around it. ‘He’s gone, Mrs Carter. Anything else?’ ‘Yes, Tony. Close up, will you? Send all the punters home, and all the girls and the barmen—we’re closed until further notice.’ She tossed him the keys. ‘Lock up after, will you? Then get the locks changed. Pound to a penny Lou’s had a spare set cut, and we don’t want any unexpected visitors.’ Tony opened his mouth, then shut it again. The door closed and he was gone. A man of few words, Tony. Annie sort of liked that. ‘Now Jeanette,’ she said with a chilly smile, ‘tell me what happened while I was out of it.’ ‘I already told you,’ moaned Jeanette. ‘There were four men? Five men? A fucking army? Come on, how many? You were there.’ Jeanette nodded wearily. ‘Um, I dunno. Maybe four, maybe three. Two big ones I think, and maybe one small.’ ‘Small, what? Short?’ ‘Short…um, slight, you know.’ ‘Slight. What, like a jockey you mean? Short and skinny?’ ‘Um, I don’t know. I was scared to death. I’m not sure.’ ‘Which one slapped me with the chloroform?’ ‘God, I dunno.’ Jeanette looked away. ‘Think.’ ‘One of the bigger ones. First he…’ Jeanette’s face clouded and she fell silent. ‘What? Go on,’ said Annie. Jeanette gulped and her eyes got teary. ‘Max had got out of the pool again. I saw him on the other side, he was towelling himself dry, then I saw one of the big ones come up behind him and hit him on the head. He never even saw it coming. He went down like a sack of shit. I was just starting to sit up, then there was another one on our side of the terrace and he slapped that pad on your face and Jonjo started to wake up and then this bloke just turned…’ Jeanette’s face crumpled…‘He just turned and shot Jonjo straight between the eyes.’ It was quiet in the office for long moments while Jeanette looked down at her lap. Tears spilled down her cheeks and dripped off her nose. ‘I know he wasn’t a good man,’ she sobbed. ‘I know he didn’t treat me too well, but they just wiped him out like he was nothing.’ Annie felt her blood run cold, felt despair seize her in its grip all over again. A deliberate, calculated hit. She stood up and closed the window, looking out at the rain, the people scurrying about, the cars moving slowly through the packed streets…all these people, with homes to go to, loved ones to see. And what did she have now? Nothing. Max was dead. Layla was God knew where. She gulped and felt like joining Jeanette and having a bloody good howl. Maybe it would make her feel better, who knew? But she was used to keeping her feelings inside. A loveless upbringing with a drunk of a mother had seen to that. Dig deep and stand alone. She hadn’t had to stand alone for some time. There had been Max, taking the weight, seeing to her comfort and security; but now he was gone. And she was going to have to learn to stand on her own two feet again—because what was the alternative? Sink into the abyss. Give up the fight. No fucking way, she thought. Not while there’s still a chance for Layla. She turned, leaned against the dusty window frame. Jeanette had composed herself a little, she saw. Good. ‘So which one grabbed Layla?’ she asked. Jeanette scrabbled around for a hankie. She found one in her pocket and honked her nose loudly. She blinked up, red-eyed, at Annie. ‘Look, it could have been the little one,’ she said. ‘I don’t know. I heard Layla singing that funny little French song she liked…’ Jeanette took a faltering breath. ‘Poor little cow. I heard her yell, then nothing. The one who’d shot Jonjo and drugged you told me to be quiet or I’d get a bullet too.’ ‘What did he sound like?’ ‘Um…British, I suppose.’ ‘Oh come on, you can do better than that.’ ‘I dunno.’ ‘Irish? Was he Irish?’ ‘Um…oh fuck it, how should I know? He could have been.’ Jeanette was squirming in her seat. Then maybe he’s the one who phones me, thought Annie. Or maybe not. ‘Did he have any distinguishing marks? Describe his face.’ ‘I didn’t see his face. He had a mask on, they all did. And gloves. They were covered right up; I couldn’t see anything of them. I saw the one on the other side of the pool grab Max under the arms and drag him off into the bushes, and the one on our side of the pool hauled Jonjo into the pool’ ‘Strong man,’ said Annie. ‘Jonjo was pushing sixteen stone.’ Jeanette nodded. ‘He lifted him like a fireman, you know? The fireman’s lift thing, over his shoulder, and dumped him in the pool.’ Sixteen stones, dead weight. It would take a very strong man indeed to lift that. So what do I have? thought Annie. One small and slender. One big and exceptionally strong. One big and unknown, but he must move like a cat to get up close enough to do Max, because Max was sharp and fast, all instinct and movement and power… Or he had been, anyway. When he was alive. That made it three people, not four. But so what? Where did knowing that get her? Annie turned back to the window and stared up above the rooftops to grey depressing skies. There was no hope, and she had to admit it. But she couldn’t. ‘Okay Jeanette, you can go,’ she said, not looking round. Annie heard the door close. Then she looked again at the safe in the corner. It had a combination lock, and she didn’t know the code. She wondered who did. Then she let out a sigh, dropped her head on to her chest and closed her eyes in despair. 14 (#ulink_3b5d9f61-65f4-5635-86d2-bcb66c414fc1) It was all going according to plan. Phil Fibbert had got the boat sorted and they were going to move after dark. Vita had calmed the fuck down after the hood incident: everything was good to go. Danny was pleased. He sat out in the late afternoon sun on the terrace and felt that he had everything nicely under control. And then he heard the normally quiet Phil (fucking boring, actually) kicking off at Vita in the kitchen, and soon Vita was screaming and yelling so loud that he had to rouse himself and go and see what the fuck was going on now. ‘What the hell?’ he demanded when he got into the cool, dark kitchen. Phil just stood there, arms folded. Man could bore for Britain, thought Danny irritably. Vita was silent, looking surly. ‘Look,’ said Phil, indicating the stuff on the table. There was a bag of groceries. Rolls and fruit and stuff poking out of the top. Danny frowned. There was a woman who came in to bring their food, Marietta. They were renting this place in the winding back alleys of Palma from Marietta’s husband, Julio, and the deal was, Marietta—who did not speak a word of English, and that was part of the master plan too—came in and cleaned every day, and brought provisions at 9.30 in the morning. So what was all this new stuff doing on the table at three in the afternoon? Also on the table was a fuchsia-pink bag from one of the boutiques. Peeping out from this bag was a pair of Nubuck Majorcan sandals—you saw them everywhere in the shops here, in all colours of the rainbow. These were a bright, clear turquoise—Vita’s favourite colour. She often wore it. ‘Look, it’s no big deal,’ said Vita hurriedly, seeing the direction of Danny’s eyes. ‘I was going stir-crazy cooped up in this place. I got fed up just sitting here painting all day, so I went and got some more food in, and I looked in the shops and went to the flea market on Villalonga, and I had a walk down to the harbour.’ Danny went straight across and slapped her, hard. Vita reeled back, clutching her cheek. ‘Listen, you silly cow, we stick to the plan. Remember the plan? You’re getting right up my nose, you really are. The plan is, we stay here. We don’t go out flashing the cash about. We don’t want no one knowing we’re here except Marietta and Julio, and to them we’re just tourists, that’s all. Marietta brings in the food, she cleans, she fucks off. We don’t ever let her go out in the garden, just in case you were going to invite her out on to the terrace for tea and effing cakes, you got that? Oh—and every time you go near the girl you put your fucking hood on.’ ‘All right, I hear you,’ mumbled Vita. ‘Good. And you.’ He turned, glaring, to Phil. ‘Don’t kick off at my sister, you got that? If you got anything to say, you say it to me.’ ‘Sure,’ said Phil moodily, shrugging and putting his hands in his pockets. Sure thing, Blondie, he thought. Blow it out your arse, Blondie. You fucking maniac. ‘You got the boat sorted? Everything okay?’ ‘Yeah, it’s lined up for eleven,’ said Phil, thinking that he for one would be absolutely fucking delighted when they got back to England, got their money, and went their separate ways. He could not wait to see the back of this crazy pair. ‘Okay, we’ll clear up at ten and be out of here and down at the harbour by a quarter to eleven—and by the way, Vee, we will be wearing our hoods when we fetch the girl, okay? Then we’ll give her a good dose of stuff, blindfold her, and get her on board the boat and that’ll be that, okay?’ Vita nodded, one hand nursing her reddened cheek. ‘I said okay?’ repeated Danny. ‘Okay,’ she said. 15 (#ulink_b4bc3570-d641-54b5-91b3-9513186dcb66) When Annie got back to Limehouse it was business as usual—punters arriving, punters leaving, Una knocking the living crap out of some poor twisted bastard up there in the back room that Aretha used to occupy. Darren was entertaining a gentleman from the City, Dolly told her over a cup of tea in the kitchen, and Ellie was busy with a chubby-chaser—very popular too, she was. ‘It’s all hands to the pump, if you’ll pardon the expression,’ said Dolly, putting her cup down. ‘So how’s it all going?’ ‘Oh, peachy,’ said Annie. ‘My baby girl’s been snatched, my husband’s been hit, and now I find his clubs have been turned into strip joints.’ ‘Ah.’ ‘You knew?’ Dolly shrugged. ‘Everyone did, it’s no big secret. Jonjo Carter made the changes. No one questions the Carter brothers over what they do. Everyone thought Max knew about it.’ ‘No,’ said Annie positively. ‘He couldn’t have. He’d have hated it.’ She’d been appalled at what had happened to the Palermo. Then she’d had Tony drive her over to the Shalimar and the Blue Parrot, only to find they’d been given the same down-market treatment. She’d closed them both up, sacked the managers, got Tony to get the locks changed. Tony had got quieter and quieter as the day had progressed, and finally Annie had asked if there was a problem. ‘No,’ he’d said, driving through the drizzle and the heavy traffic, his eyes not meeting hers in the mirror. ‘No? Only I think there is.’ Tony shrugged. ‘Tell me,’ said Annie. ‘The boys might not like all these changes. That’s all’ Annie sat back. ‘You mean Jimmy Bond?’ Jimmy hadn’t exactly fallen over himself to welcome her, and that was a fact. Which was a shame, because she knew she badly needed Jimmy onside. ‘Him and others,’ said Tony diplomatically. Meaning that where Jimmy led, the others followed, thought Annie. ‘Well,’ said Annie, ‘if Jimmy—or any of the other boys—have something to say about the alterations I’ve made, then they can say it to me, can’t they?’ Tony had grunted and said no more. ‘So you’ve closed the clubs. Now what?’ asked Dolly. Annie looked at Dolly blankly. ‘Meaning?’ ‘You’re not going to leave them shut, are you? Those clubs must have been bringing in a lot of dosh for the Carters.’ Annie sighed and leaned her chin on her hand. Dolly was right. But she’d been outraged at what she’d seen happening to Max’s clubs. They’d been his pride and joy, and she had acted on instinct and stepped in. Maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe she would very soon have been glad of that income. But maybe not. When the kidnappers asked her to cough up the money—as soon they must—she was sure that it wouldn’t be covered by a couple of big-titted girls twirling their tassels lunchtime and evening. ‘I remember those clubs as they were, Doll. Class acts on. Good, respectable punters. The place clean and tidy, the staff happy, the whole thing running smooth.’ She pulled a face. ‘You ought to see the fucking place now. Sleazy don’t cover it. I’ve run better knocking shops.’ ‘So what’s the plan?’ ‘For the clubs? I dunno yet.’ ‘The boys are going to be up in arms.’ ‘Yeah, Tony told me that.’ ‘You don’t care?’ ‘Doll—I don’t give a flying fuck. I’m just waiting for Friday.’ But before Friday could come around, Jimmy Bond was knocking at the door mob-handed with Steve Taylor and Gary Tooley minding his back. Ross let Jimmy in, and Steve and Gary loitered with insolent ease in the hallway while Jimmy and Annie went into the kitchen. This time Jimmy was breathing fire. She’d rattled his cage good and proper, and Annie was perversely glad to see him riled. At least he was engaging with her now, not being snide and laughing her off as a ‘bit of skirt’. ‘What the fuck have you been up to?’ he demanded when they were alone in the kitchen. ‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Annie icily. ‘You heard me.’ Jimmy leaned his gloved hands on the table and loomed over her as she sat there, all innocence. ‘You’ve closed up the clubs. You’ve had the fucking locks changed. You’ve fired the staff. You crazy?’ ‘Nope.’ Annie stood up and leaned her fists on the table, too. They were glaring nose to nose. ‘And watch your mouth, Jimmy. I told you. I’m taking over.’ ‘Yeah, sure you are. You know about running clubs, do you?’ ‘I’ve run businesses.’ ‘You’ve run a high-class whorehouse, and you nearly did time for that, which wasn’t very clever, was it?’ Annie bit back an angry reply. She had to get him onside. Somehow. ‘Who was in overall charge of the clubs? Who collected the takings from the managers?’ she asked. ‘I did.’ Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jessie-keane/black-widow/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.