The Deceiver, page 5
“They’re tie-dyed. Could anything be less professional? Again, don’t answer.”
Lorna looked out of the café window. The hour was early, but the world was waking up. Staff arrived to prepare for the day ahead while eager beavers filtered into cafés until the shops opened.
A slurping brought Lorna’s attention back to the table. The flush returned to Morgan’s cheeks, and he lowered the fruit juice. His eyes turned towards his lap, and any desire to have another pop left Lorna. Morgan had mastered that hangdog expression over the years, and Lorna remembered her mother’s words whenever she saw it.
Lorn, loyal friends are hard to come by for most people. For you, any kind of friend will be hard to find, so you must do whatever you can to treasure and retain Morgan. God knows you won’t find another like him.
Lorna’s mother and Morgan had something in common. They pissed Lorna off. However, that did not make her wrong. Lorna had hardly any friends and none that cared as deeply for her as Morgan did. Just last year, he’d almost lost his life following her into danger. As her mum said, Lorna would never find another like him.
“Cute bear,” she said.
He picked up the bottle and glanced at it, but she lay her hand over his and waited for him to meet her gaze.
“I meant you. Dolt.”
His cheeks flushed for what seemed like the hundredth time. The difference on this occasion was his smile. The grin made Lorna’s lips turn up, too. There was something about Morgan when he was happy. You would never describe him as handsome, but his features were endearing. They made you want to like him, even when he was rating every Doctor Who episode with exhaustive commentary. Again.
“Sorry I snapped. I’m stressed, and you’re wearing stupid shoes, and you bought that drink and… but let’s not go there again.”
He was going to tell her it was okay. He always did. No matter how often she took him for granted. On this occasion, he didn’t get the opportunity. They heard the scrape of a wooden frame as the door opened and someone stepped into the café. Lorna turned her head and saw a tall, furtive-looking man enter. He wore no hood, but he had the high collar of his black jacket up and folded his chin into his chest, trying to hide and instead drawing second looks by his suspicious behaviour.
The door closed, and the man took a tentative step forward. His eyes flicked to the couple nearest to him, then to Morgan and Lorna, before settling on the man with the paper, who did not look up.
“Anything I can get you, love?”
This got the man with the paper to look up, although the woman behind the counter was talking to the newcomer. Before he could answer, Lorna stood.
“Give us a minute.” She flicked a hand towards the server before approaching the newcomer. “Bernard? My name’s Lorna. I’m a representative of Mr Delaney. Can I get you a drink?”
The man – Bernard – had briefly assessed Lorna when entering the café. Now, he gave her a longer look. As his gaze went down and up her body, his expression told her that taking the time to pick out a nice blouse, respectable trousers, and shoes was futile. So far as Bernard was concerned, Lorna had come dressed in the wrong gender.
“Lorna? I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”
The man with the paper was still looking at them. Lorna touched Bernard’s elbow and gestured to the table.
“Come. Sit. We’ll get you a drink and discuss. As I said, we are Mr. Delaney’s representatives. You called asking for his help, and he contacted us, so here we are. Ready to assist.”
Bernard stepped towards the table, then stopped. His eyes fell on Morgan. Morgan was a man. That went in the pro column. Then Bernard noticed the tee, the trainers, and the cartoon bear.
“I’m sorry, this is ridiculous.”
Lorna bristled. “What’s ridiculous? You need help. You asked Ian, and Ian delivered. Meet his crack team.”
The smile Bernard thought this statement warranted almost earned him a crack in the mouth rather than a crack team, but Lorna was determined to remain calm.
“Ian and I go back a long way, sweetie,” Bernard said, “and let me tell you that when he sends help, he sends the A-team. He’d come himself or send Harry or Glenda. I’ve never even heard of you, sweetheart.”
While somehow holding her smile, Lorna wondered if Bernard would dare call Glenda sweetie or sweetheart. It wasn’t something you’d try twice, that was for sure.
“I appreciate we weren’t who you were expecting—“
“No, and this meeting’s over. I’ll call Ian when I get home, arrange something else. No one insults me like this.”
He turned to leave. Lorna blocked his path.
“Do you think Ian will answer? He didn’t the first time, did he? You had to leave a message, and he didn’t call back. I did. To arrange this meeting. What gave you the impression that Ian felt you were worthy of his top people if he couldn’t even be bothered to call you himself?”
Anger discoloured Bernard’s cheeks. “Ian and I—“
“Go way back. You said. But people change. I wonder if your relationship means as much to Ian as it once did.”
For a moment, it seemed Bernard might hit Lorna. Bring it on. Then he remembered where he was and forced himself to relax. People were looking.
“We shall see.”
He stepped forward. She blocked his path, but he barged past without another word, disappearing through the door and onto the street.
Everyone was looking now. Lorna went to the table, grabbed her drink, saw off her coffee, and tipped the empty cup towards the lady at the counter.
“Lovely stuff, thank you. Come on, Morgan.”
He joined her on the street seconds later. Bernard had already disappeared.
“That didn’t go to plan,” said Morgan.
“Not quite. No.”
“How long do you reckon before he finds out Ian, Harry, and Glenda are all dead?”
Lorna shrugged. “Difficult to say.”
“Guess that’s game over for us.”
It was hard to miss the hope in Morgan’s voice. The tone reminded Lorna that this was another scheme with which Morgan would rather have no part. His idea of a good time was curling up on the sofa with Lorna and watching a crap film. Not that he would think it was crap. As usual, he was here for her.
“Sadly not,” she told him. “I slipped a tracker in his pocket when he barged past me. Let’s see where he goes next.”
10
After a tiresome conversation with the police, Abbie finally escaped the hospital to a nearby hotel and was in bed at close to six a.m.
Three hours later, she rose with her alarm and showered. Because of the pill she had taken nine hours before, she still felt fresh. She wouldn’t take another until she woke up tomorrow morning.
She phoned Alice, seeking an update on Felicity, the young teen who had fled her abusive parents last year, directly into the clutches of a vile man named Gerald. Abbie had rescued Felicity from Gerald, endangered her, and rescued her again. She offered the girl a place to stay, and Alice was happy to take her in.
Since then, Abbie had battled for custody of Felicity. Her parents weren’t a problem. By the time social services caught up with them, Felicity’s father was in prison, and her mother had openly threatened to “wring that brat’s neck” should Felicity come home. After that, the authorities granted Abbie temporary custody in short order.
The wheels moved slowly on the application for full custody, but Abbie was confident they’d get there. Meanwhile, there was schooling to consider. Felicity’s parents had been uninterested in the education of their only child, but Felicity cared about learning. She relied on charity shops for her uniform and books and walked several miles to attend classes each day. Still, she had struggled, and upon leaving home, Gerald prevented her from attending school altogether.
Private tutoring helped close the gap, as did Felicity’s attitude and natural intelligence. The kid enjoyed learning. Experience had led her to cherish the kind of educational opportunities Gerald had temporarily denied her. Even so, Abbie, Alice, the tutors, and Felicity herself had made the difficult decision to apply for Felicity to join the school year below the one she should have been in according to her age.
Monday was the start of the Spring term and Felicity’s first day. It had been a long time coming, and Felicity had grown more nervous with each passing hour. She was excited to return to school but terrified, too. Would she fit in? Would she keep up? Was this all a waste of time?
Abbie was determined to be home in time for Felicity’s first day and was frustrated about missing the weekend before. Alice read the guilt in Abbie’s voice and soothed her.
“Fee’s doing fine. She understands why you’re not here. You did save her life on one of your missions, remember? You needn’t worry.”
Alice was right. Of course, Abbie had known all this, but hearing Alice say it still helped. She thanked the older woman.
“No problem. You need anything from me on this one?”
She was talking about the current mission.
“Not now. I’ll call if anything comes up.”
“Please do. Ana’s as keen as ever to get involved.”
“Ariana has involved herself in three of my missions and was lucky to escape with her life on each occasion. I think I’ll leave her out of this one.”
“Maybe that’s wise. I’ll keep on at the lab while you’re away. Not heard anything yet, but they promise they’re hard at work. I’ve got a call with the investigators this afternoon too, although, to warn you, they say there’s no good news.”
“That’s okay. Thank you for keeping it going. Both things.”
“It’s no problem because it’s for you.”
Abbie thanked Alice again, promised to keep in touch, and hung up. The lab had nothing yet, but that was immaterial. Alice had offered to have the pill that kept Abbie going reverse engineered, and Abbie hoped they found something; she didn’t care how long it took, and if they failed, so be it.
As for the private investigators, Abbie never expected them to return with good news. Yet, grief flashed through her heart every time they sent a negative update. However much she told herself she was not expecting anyone to find the daughter stolen from her at birth, she still could not keep her hopes from climbing. The longer between each update, the higher they climbed. Only to smash back to Earth each time.
Abbie knew that thoughts of her daughter could be dangerous when she was saving innocent lives. They acted like steel pins through Abbie’s limbs, holding her to the bed and preventing her from rising to do her duty.
Forewarned is forearmed, and knowing how deadly such thoughts could be helped Abbie avoid them, but as she got out of bed, she still remembered her final conversation with Harry Delaney, thirteen years after the loss of her baby. His confession that his father, Ian, had paid balaclava-clad men to cut her open and steal her baby before selling the child to a despicable family with an abundance of wealth and a lack of morals.
As Abbie prepared to leave the hotel, she remembered the devil’s deal Harry had offered. Abbie had killed Ian and Ian’s top lieutenant, Glenda. Harry wanted to live. If Abbie spared him, he’d find the parents to whom Ian had sold Abbie’s baby.
There’d been temptation, but not much. Not then, anyway. Thinking of all the innocents who would suffer or die if she let Harry live made pulling the trigger easy. Only later, as Alice’s investigators continued to return with bad news, did she dwell on that Devil’s deal.
Yes, pulling the trigger that ended Harry’s life had been easy.
But living with the decision, knowing she might never find her daughter? Not so much.
11
Tariq worked as an estate agent for his father’s company, and it took Abbie only five minutes on the phone to persuade the receptionist to reveal the address of the showing he was holding that Saturday morning. She drove over at once, trying to remove her daughter from her mind.
Ben, her handler and reason for joining and quitting the company, also tried to occupy her thoughts. He’d stepped back into her life three months ago with an offer. His daughter, Elizabeth, was in danger. If Abbie saved Elizabeth, Ben would use the company’s vast resources to locate Abbie’s child. Abbie had completed her task only for the company to execute Elizabeth in front of Ben before terminating his employment. It seemed this act had destroyed Abbie’s chance of finding her daughter, even though Ben’s replacement, Patsy Oliver – known as Ollie – had promised to find the girl. Abbie hadn’t heard from Ollie since and was reticent to allow the organisation back into her life by calling for an update.
She put her head in her hands, massaged her temples, and forced the thoughts away. An opening door helped, and she looked up to see a smiling couple emerge from number fourteen. Their clothes suggested wealth, which made sense in this part of town. They paused on the drive as a third person exited the house. Tall and lean, with a narrow face and curly black hair, Abbie recognised the man who had the previous night concealed his features with a hood as he tried to kick Hugh to death.
Tariq wore a skinny tie over a cream shirt. His grey trousers fit snugly to his slim legs. His smile almost seemed genuine as he shook hands with the couple and walked them down the drive. He stood on the curb as they got into their electric car and set off. There was a clipboard under his arm. Details pertaining to number fourteen, she guessed.
His smile dropped the moment the couple were out of sight. Abbie noted the bags under his eyes. He’d had a late night, and stress would only compound his fatigue. He knew Hugh was alive. What did he think would happen next? Was he awaiting the oncoming sirens as the police rushed to arrest him? Did he believe his father’s money would save him from jail or fear the wealth of his victim’s family would negate his own? Was that playing on his mind?
When the electric car was gone, Tariq turned to a Mini parked further from the house, also on the curb. The drive of number fourteen was empty, and Abbie wondered why neither Tariq nor the couple had parked on the gravel. Perhaps the soon-to-be ex-homeowners forbade it.
Tariq had to turn his back to Abbie to face his car. When he did, Abbie left her vehicle and called out. He turned. There was a moment of confusion as his gaze fell on her, and his eyes scanned her body, then her face. She looked different in the light. Given she’d kicked his arse the previous night, he had probably transformed her appearance in his memory, Adding several hundred pounds of muscle and maybe turning her into a man. Anything to remove the shame of the defeat.
She saw the moment he realised who she was and wondered if he would run to his car. Doubtful. If losing a fight to a girl was embarrassing, how much worse was tucking your tail between your legs and fleeing the next time you saw her?
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He stormed her way as he spoke, stopping a few feet from her. They faced one another at the foot of number fourteen’s gravel drive.
“Isn’t it obvious? I want to view this beautiful home.”
Tariq glanced at the house and shook his head. Now, he’d come back to face her, he felt able to walk away. It would no longer seem like he was running.
“Book an appointment.”
He turned, fists clenched, ready to storm back to his car.
“But I want you to show me around. I guess I could request you when I booked, but time is of the essence. After all, you can’t do viewings from behind bars.”
Tariq froze, clenching his fists more tightly until his hands shook from the effort. His head twisted towards his car and she imagined the calculations going through his mind. She had thrown down the gauntlet, and Tariq would not want her to view him as a coward. On the other hand, he was not yet in jail and might fear staying with Abbie could be a step in that direction.
“I’ve good news for you,” Abbie said, “but we have to chat.”
It took Tariq a few more seconds – during which he stared longingly at his car – before he decided to take the risk.
“Go on.”
“Thank you.” Abbie examined the house. “I’ve been living with a woman named Alice for the past ten or so months. Her home’s massive, bigger than this, and in a beautiful location by the sea. But it’s not mine.” She met his gaze. “What’s that look for?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Houses. Alice has plenty of bedrooms, but there are loads of us. I’ve got a dependant now and was contemplating finding a new place for her, my brother, and me. This might fit the bill. Is it furnished?”
Tariq trembled with frustration and building anger. “You said you had good news for me.”
“Which wasn’t a lie. Shall we go inside?”
Tariq opened his mouth, and Abbie watched the expletives dancing on his tongue. Something made him reconsider. His eyes flicked left and right, and Abbie knew he was glancing at the street’s other houses. This was a neighbourhood watch area. Vigilant residents might peak out – especially if they heard a disturbance. What would they think if they saw Tariq yelling at Abbie? He was no doubt imagining older, wealthy white couples watching. It was a sad fact that such people often held preconceptions regarding Asian men, especially Asian men shouting at white women.
“Why would I invite you inside after what happened last night?” he said.
“You’re scared I might put you on your arse again?”
Tariq seemed well-practised at containing his emotions. That had to be useful with annoying clients.
“You wouldn’t have the element of surprise this time.”
“And you wouldn’t have your mates. Look, I could leave you unconscious on the gravel if I wanted, and don’t think I wouldn’t if it came to it. But remember what happened last night. I wasn’t the one kicking a defenceless man to death. Nor did I attack you for fun. I wanted to avoid a fight and gave you the opportunity to back off, intervening only when you refused because I don’t attack unless provoked. Invite me inside; as long as you don’t run me through with a poker, I won’t have to give you more of those.”
