At the end of a long, delicious dinner, Mila was relaxed and pleasantly full of good food and just enough wine to feel decidedly relaxed. Her body was humming with contentment, so the last thing she wanted was to be dragged so fiercely back to earth.
A tingle of fear splintered inside her. “I see.” Was that her voice? So soft and hesitant? She cleared her throat, determined not to lose her mettle now. “And?”
Leonidas was watching her carefully, as though she were made of delicate china and might crack.
“Just tell me,” she begged, hating the waiting more than anything else. “I need to know.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes grave. “He’d been up in the crawl space of the roof. The manhole cover had been disturbed, there were handprints, marks from where he’d dragged his body—there’s not much space up there.”
She shuddered. “Why in the world would he…” Realisation dawned and she stared at Leo, aghast.
Their eyes held and she knew he was fighting his own wave of disgust, that anger was darkening his eyes. She felt it coming off him, she understood. He was furious. “Small holes had been drilled so that he could watch you.”
“Oh my god.”
“There is enough up there for the police to run DNA tests. If he’s in any criminal database in the world, they’ll know who’s stalking you.”
She nodded, but it was a horrible jerk of her head as the level of this person’s obsession began to sink in for the first time. “It sounds stupid, but I had no idea he could go this far. Taking things from me is one thing, but this is—,” she started to tremble from head to toe, any feelings of contentment impossible to imagine now. “How could he have known where I was?”
“Grieg’s looking into that.”
She shivered. “My phone?”
“He’ll let me know.”
“So that’s all the information you have?”
His expression was grim.
“What is it?” She leaned forward. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“There were things in the roof space, things he evidently didn’t have time to remove.”
“Like what?” She leaned forward. “What things?”
He stared at her for several minutes then expelled a slow breath. “Cable ties. A photo of you.” A slight pause. “A knife.”
She gasped, then dropped her head to her hands. “I can’t believe it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What for? This isn’t your fault.” She swallowed past a throat that was inexplicably dry. “I can’t believe it.”
He moved closer, his expression one of stone. “There is one thing I know for certain, little thief. Here, you are safe. Here, no harm can befall you. I promise.”
His words rungin her ears as she fell asleep, reassuring at first, but that was short lived. As night crept in, wrapping around her, swallowing her in darkness, so too did doubt. Doubts that she’d ever be safe again. Doubts that she could believe him.
She dreamed vivid dreams, of thick, angry forests and lost paths, of a faceless, black beast in pursuit of her, and when she tried to run, she couldn’t. It was as though her legs were in cement, heavy and immovable, and when she tried to scream, her throat wouldn’t work. She couldn’t make a sound. Her face was hot and red. She dashed wildly at tears, still trying to push one foot in front of the other. At the end of the forest, there was a cliff, bathed in milky moonlight. She wanted to stop, to stare at it, to marvel at its beauty, but all beauty was fleeting, all goodness destined to meet its end. She pushed her feet forward as the darkness engulfed her, and fell, right off the precipice. For a moment, she flew, and then, she was in freefall. Finally, she found the will to scream, the terror in her lungs giving rise to a cry that was barely human, and it felt good to finally be able to express her fear, to push it from her body in an animalistic cry for help.
Chapter8
HE WAS, FINALLY, THINKING of his father, and the dark pit of grief in the pit of his gut, when he heard the noise, a scream so filled with terror that despite his assurances earlier, it galvanized him into action. The state-of-the-art security system deployed at all Xenakis residences made intrusion impossible, but then again, nothing was completely foolproof, and the beast that stalked Mila was determined.
He ran, legs thumping, heart pounding, as he crossed from one side of the villa to the other, brushing past ancient tapestries and renaissance paintings, turning corners then throwing open the door to her room without a moment’s pause. She sat in the middle of the bed, child-like in a white nightgown, eyes huge, face pale, hair clumped to her.
“What is it?” he demanded, looking around the room, assessing for signs of danger. His eyes fixed to the window—still closed. He moved to it anyway, checking the locks, looking around again. There was no sign of disturbance, no sign of intrusion.
“I—,”