“Tell him we’ve captured two intruders at the Hideout and to call the police. Now. Tell him to call Danny and ask her to send Jenkins here right away.”
Haltingly, she does.
“Tell him I will explain later.”
&nb
sp; She repeats what I’ve said. “Mr. Oliver says he is doing it….Good-bye.” She hangs up.
“Lie down, both of you. On your front. Hands behind your back.” Baldy gives Ratface a quick look. Is he going to try something? I step forward and lower the barrel, aiming for his head.
“Hello!” A voice from downstairs calls up. It’s Danny. Already? That makes no sense.
“Upstairs, Danny!” I shout, not taking my eyes off the two lowlifes. I motion with the gun. Fucking lie down. They comply, and I approach the two prone figures on the bedroom floor. “Don’t move a muscle.” I press the muzzle of the gun into Baldy’s back. “Try me. The shot will break your spine and enter your stomach, and you’ll die a slow, agonizing death—which is more than you deserve, you fucking animal.”
“No. No. Please,” he whimpers like a beaten dog in his thick accent.
“Shut up and keep still. Do you understand? Nod if you do.”
Both men give me quick, furious nods, and I chance a glance at Alessia who is wide-eyed, pale, and hugging herself in the doorway. Behind her, Danny appears—and Jenkins behind Danny.
“Oh, my God.” Danny’s hand goes to her mouth. “What’s happening here?”
“Did Oliver reach you?”
“No, milord. We followed you after you leapt up from the breakfast table. We knew something was wrong….”
Jenkins hovers in the background.
“These two kidnappers broke into the house. They were after Alessia.” I press the barrel into Baldy’s back.
“Do you have anything I can restrain them with?” I ask Jenkins, keeping my eyes trained on the men on the floor.
“I’ve some baling twine in the back of the Land Rover.” He turns and hurries back down the stairs.
“Danny, take Alessia back to the Hall, please.”
“No,” Alessia protests.
“Go. You cannot be here when the police arrive. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. You’ll be safe with Danny.”
“Come on, child,” Danny says.
“I need a change of clothes,” Alessia mumbles.
I frown. Why?
Alessia dashes into the walk-in wardrobe and comes out a few moments later carrying one of the bags from our shopping the other day. With one unreadable glance at me, she follows Danny down the stairs.
* * *
Alessia stares, unseeing, out the windshield, her hands wrapped around her body as the old woman named Danny drives the large, rattling car down a country lane.
Where are we going?
Her head aches, her scalp and face are throbbing. It also hurts her side when she takes a breath. She tries to keep her breathing shallow.
Danny has wrapped her in a blanket that she took from the sofa in the holiday house.
“We don’t want you catching cold, dear,” she’d said.
She has a kind, gentle voice with an accent that Alessia cannot place. She must be a good friend to Mister Maxim to take such care of her.
Maxim.
She would never forget how he looked when he saved her, in his long coat, brandishing a shotgun like a hero from an old American movie.
And she had thought he would be at their mercy.
Her stomach roils.
She’s going to be sick.
“Please stop the car.”
Danny pulls to a stop, and Alessia almost falls out of the vehicle. She doubles over, retching on the side of the road, losing her breakfast.
Danny comes to her aid, holding her hair back as Alessia heaves and heaves until her stomach’s empty. Finally she straightens up, trembling.
“Oh, child.” Danny offers her a handkerchief. “Let’s get you back to the Hall.”
As they continue on their journey, Alessia hears sirens in the distance and imagines that the police are arriving at the Hideout. She trembles, knotting the handkerchief in her fingers.
“It’s okay, child,” the old woman says. “You’re safe now.”
Alessia shakes her head, trying to process all that has just happened.
He’s saved her. Again.
How could she ever thank him?
* * *
Jenkins makes short work of tying the two thugs’ hands behind their backs. He lashes their ankles together for good measure. “My lord,” he says, and points to where Ratface’s parka has ridden up to reveal a pistol butt in the waistband of his trousers.
“Armed breaking and entering. This gets better and better.” I’m grateful he didn’t try to use the weapon on me—or Alessia. I pass Jenkins the shotgun, and after a moment’s hesitation, because he deserves it, I give Baldy a fast, forceful kick in his ribs. “That’s for Alessia, you fucking scumbag.” He grunts in pain as Jenkins looks on, and I kick him again, harder this time. “And all the other women you’ve sold into slavery.”
Jenkins gasps. “Traffickers?”
“Yes. Him, too! After Alessia.” I nod toward Ratface, who’s glaring at me with hatred. Jenkins gives him a swift kick.
I kneel beside Baldy and grab his ear, wrenching his head back. “You are a blight on humanity. You’re going to rot in jail, and I’ll make sure they throw away the fucking key.” He puckers his lips and tries to spit in my face, but he misses, his spit drizzling down his chin. I slam his head onto the floor with a loud thud. Hopefully he’ll have a cracking headache. I stand up, fighting the renewed urge to kick him to a pulp.
“We could finish them off and dispose of the bodies, my lord,” Jenkins offers, placing the barrel of the gun against Ratface’s head. “No one would ever find them on the estate.” For a moment I’m not sure if Jenkins is joking or not—but Ratface believes him, screwing his eyes up, his expression riddled with dread.
Good. Now you know how Alessia felt, you piece of shit.
“Tempting though that idea is, it would make an awful mess in here, and I don’t think the cleaning crew would thank us.”
We all look up when we hear the sirens.
“And there’s the small matter of the law,” I add.
* * *
Danny turns into a smaller lane, by a charming old-fashioned house, and the antiquated car shakes as they go over some metal rods in the road. The land here is green and lush even though it’s winter. They drive through an open and rolling pasture. It looks…groomed, not wild like the countryside she’s seen since she got here. It’s dotted with well-fed sheep. As the car rattles down the road, a large gray house looms before them. It’s imposing. The biggest house Alessia has ever seen. She recognizes the chimney. It’s the one she saw from the road when she was walking with Maxim. He said it belonged to someone, but she can’t remember who. Perhaps this is where Danny lives.
Why is she cooking for Mister Maxim when she lives here?
Danny drives around to the rear of the house and pulls up by the back door.
“We’re here,” she says. “Welcome to Tresyllian Hall.”
Alessia tries but fails to give her a smile and climbs out of the car. Still feeling unsteady on her feet, she follows Danny through the door and into what looks like the kitchen. It’s a large, airy room, the most spacious kitchen Alessia has ever seen. Wooden cupboards. Tiled floor. It’s spotlessly tidy. Old and modern at the same time. There are two stoves. Two! And a massive table that seats at least fourteen people. Two tall dogs with auburn coats come bounding toward them. Alessia recoils.
“Down, Jensen. Down, Healey!” Danny’s command stops the dogs in their tracks. They lie down, gazing up at both women with big expressive eyes. Alessia regards them suspiciously. They are handsome hounds…but where she comes from, dogs do not live in the house.
“They are harmless, my dear. Just pleased to meet you. Come with me,” she says. “Would you like a bath?” Her tone is solicitous and kind, but Alessia blushes, mortified.
“Yes,” she wh
ispers. She knows! She knows that she’s wet herself.
“You must have had a terrible fright.”
Alessia nods and blinks back the tears that well in her eyes.
“Ah, lassie, don’t you be crying. His lordship wouldn’t want that. We’ll get you sorted.”
Lordship?
She follows Danny along a wood-paneled corridor hung on both sides with old paintings of landscapes, horses, buildings, religious scenes, and a couple of portraits. They pass many closed doors and ascend a narrow wooden staircase to yet another long, paneled corridor. Eventually Danny stops and opens a door into a pleasant room with a white bed, white furniture, and pale blue walls. She walks through the room to an en suite bathroom and turns on the faucets. Alessia stands behind her, pulling the blanket around herself and watching as water thunders into the bath and steam rises. Danny adds some aromatic bubble bath that Alessia recognizes as Jo Malone, like in the Hideout.
“I’ll bring some towels for you. If you put your clothes by the bed, I’ll have them laundered in no time.” She gives Alessia a sympathetic smile and slips out, leaving her alone.
Alessia stares at the water cascading into the bath; a foam forming and spreading over the surface. The bath is old. A tub with claw feet. Her body starts to shiver, and she clutches the blanket and pulls it tighter around her.
She is still standing there when Danny returns with fresh towels. Draping them over a white wicker chair, she shuts off the water, then turns her attention to Alessia, her sharp blue eyes shining with compassion. “Do you still want a bath, dear?”
Alessia nods.
“Would you like me to leave?”
Alessia shakes her head. She doesn’t want to be alone. Danny lets out a sigh of sympathy.
“Okay, then. Would you like me to help you undress? Is that what you want?”
Alessia nods.