I heard him leave, the click as he locked the door. I fought down the ever-present nausea and tried to push the memories of Lina from my mind. They were always there; her feet scrabbling on the ground, her head twisting and turning as she tried to break free, her eyes as she looked back at me when I was crouched down beside her. She had been alive at that point, I should have sprung up, attacked Ned again. But Ned had been quicker than me.
I pushed the bedcovers off, suddenly desperate to be under a scalding shower. My head spun and I gripped the chest of drawers, closed my eyes a moment. I didn’t want to go to this lunch, I wanted to hide, block everything out. I couldn’t even begin to think of Justine. I was so scared for her. Ned’s words to the man on the other end of the phone, the man he had addressed as Amos—We need to be more thorough this time—played on a loop in my mind. Lina had said that Justine had disappeared—and now that I knew what Ned was capable of, I was filled with dread that she hadn’t been paid off, she had been killed. I felt so helpless, so powerless. Without a phone, unable to get out of the house, this room even, I couldn’t do anything.
A sob pushed up from inside me. I needed to warn Carolyn that she might be in danger. I took a breath. Maybe, at this lunch, there would be other people there. I would play along for now, then find a phone, find a moment to escape.
I showered, dressed, squashed the red bikini that I’d bought in Las Vegas into my bag.
I heard Ned opening the door and as always when he was near, my body started its terrible shaking. I fought it down, walked down the twenty-four marble steps, aware of him close behind me. We arrived at the front door; Ned opened it, and when I saw the car waiting, I instinctively stepped backward. But he reached out, gripped my wrist tightly, and walked me through the door and down the three steps to the car. Hunter was holding the door open and my heart leapt. Hunter will help me, he’ll know what to do. I tried to catch his eye, signal to him that I needed help. But as Ned bundled me into the car, he stared straight ahead, and fear flashed through me, that he was part of it all.
Ned slammed my door shut, then got in the front next to Hunter. The car pulled away from the house. Unable to look at either Ned or Hunter, I stared out of my window. But all I could see was Lina running up the driveway, her red heels hitting the gravel like spots of blood.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
PRESENT
My captor comes, and I sit with my back to him. I can’t bear for him to see me, not after my disastrous attempt to escape.
I hear him gather my breakfast tray from the floor, pick up the bowl and cup from where they fell. I hear the floor being wiped, smell the tang of disinfectant, imagine him scooping up the gloopy porridge with a wipe of some kind. He does all of these things, and I stay facing the wall.
But it’s not enough. He can still see me. The next time he comes, I won’t be here, I’ll hide in the bathroom until he leaves.
I can’t face any more humiliation. I want it to end. I don’t care how, but I want it to end.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
PAST
We arrived at the gates of a large, detached house. Just before we’d turned onto the road where the house stood, I’d seen a sign for Haven Cliffs.
The gates slid open. Hunter drove through and drew up in front of the house. I got out of the car before he could open the door for me, and smelled the tang of the sea in the air.
Our host, a man in a white suit and black shirt, came to meet us. He was tall and broad with jet-black hair, and introduced himself as Lukas. He led us around the back of the house to a beautiful paved terrace, and I looked in dismay at a table set for three; there were no other guests. He spoke English with a slight accent and told us he was from Lithuania.
My thoughts flew to Lina, and maybe Ned’s did too because I immediately felt his unease.
“I understood you were from the States,” he said.
“I live there some of the time, in Los Angeles, which is why I can be of interest to you,” Lukas said smoothly. “But I also have a home in Vilnius; in fact, I am going there tomorrow. This house”—he swept his arm around—“does not belong to me. I rent it whenever I have business in the UK. I think of it as my home away from home.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, looking around the terrace, where sun loungers were grouped around a stunning infinity pool.
He nodded, pleased. “Yes, I love it here, it is very different from both Los Angeles and Vilnius.”
Over lunch, served by Lukas, Ned told him about our trip to Las Vegas and our wedding. It was less than two weeks since that fateful day, but it seemed a lifetime ago. It was excruciating to have to pretend that everything was fine, to smile, to let Ned take my hand across the table.