‘I would stop all that thrashing about if I were you,’ Goodie advised as another low growl rumbled from the beast next to him. ‘You’re upsetting Salem and he’s already not your biggest fan.’ Clive glanced down at Salem nervously before staring at Goodie again. ‘And nobody can hear you anyway; even Mrs B. went along to watch the fishing.’
‘What possible reason could you have for this?’ he asked. ‘You do know that you’re going to prison already for what you’ve done so far. Don’t make it any worse for yourself by –’
‘Research, Clive,’ Goodie said, cutting him off. ‘People think that protection work is all about leaping in front of bullets and swanning around after your potential targets; they forget about research.’
‘What are you talking about? Let me off here. Help! Somebody –’ Goodie moved so fast that she was almost a blur. Before he knew what had happened he had gaffer tape sealing his mouth shut, his cries muffled behind it.
‘What does this research involve? you might ask,’ she carried on conversationally, as if they were having a casual chat down in the living room rather than him tied to a bed after being knocked out by God only knows what. ‘Well, it involves looking into every business associate, every neighbour, every friend. Turning up all their skeletons. Assessing any potential threat there might be. You were an interesting one, Clive. You’re notactuallya threat to my client; so why, may you ask, do I give a shit? That’s where things get interesting.
‘You see I’ve always known that your P.R. firm is in trouble financially, that the contract you have with Nick is the only real one you have left, and even that’s on dodgy ground. I know why you’re with Tilly; I know exactly how much money she won from her divorce settlement with that cheating arsehole and how much her trust fund is. What was it you said in the latest meeting with your accountant? She lowered her voice and put on Clive’s posh accent: ‘“Give me a year, mate. Once everything’s squared away legally, good old Tils won’t want her husband’s company to go down the swanny. She’s got enough cash for anyone to get over the smell of manure after a while.”
‘Now, at this juncture, Clive, I will say that I still didn’t really give much of a shit. Nick is my client; Matilda is not. But –’ Goodie drew the last word out as her eyes flashed with anger ‘– then I saw you put your hands on a nine-year-old little girl, and unfortunately for you thatdidspark my interest. Still, you may have been able to slope away quietly; Ed is unwittingly doing all the hard work for me in that direction anyway. But Clive, I’m afraid you hurt the wrong two-year-old in the kitchen earlier.’ Goodie moved to within reaching distance and he made a grab for her. She caught his hand and pulled it back viciously, almost breaking his fingers. Then leaned right in to whisper in his ear.
‘In your wildest dreams you have no idea what I am capable of. There is nothing I don’t know about pain – how to endure it and how to inflict it. If I were you I would do as I say.’
She pulled the tape from his mouth and leaned back to resume her cross-legged position.
‘Listen,’ he said, his voice now trembling. ‘I don’t know where you come from, but this is illegal. You can’t threaten me. You can’t do any of this.’
‘Ah!’ Goodie said, smiling again, and Clive felt a shiver of fear down his spine. ‘That is where the research comes in again; so important. Knowledge is power.’ Clive blinked and began to look uncertain in the face of Goodie’s confidence.
‘What –?’
‘Lisa Summers,’ Goodie said, and Clive felt all the blood run from his face. ‘I think the police report described how she “fell down the stairs”, but in the medical reports her injuries weren’t really consistent with –’
‘What do you want?’ Clive knew when he was beaten. He wasn’t going to risk his reputation. He’d given that grasping slut a pay-off five years ago, but there was no telling what would happen if all that crap was dredged up again. Clive lived and died by his reputation and the psychotic bitch sitting in front of him knew it.
‘I want you to leave and I want you to never look back.’ Clive stared at her for a long moment weighing his options, until he came to the depressing conclusion that he didn’t really have any.
‘Fine,’ he spat out, and Goodie smiled, reaching into her boot and pulling out a much scarier knife than the one she had been using in the kitchen. Clive flinched away from her as she cut through the strapping holding him on the bed, and scrambled off the other side once he was free. He went for his suitcase and started throwing clothes and belongings in at random.
‘You,’ he said, pointing at Goodie with a trembling finger, ‘you stay away from me.’
Goodie cocked her head to the side and her hands went to her hips. ‘You must be very angry though, Clive. Don’t you want to show what abig manyou are, like you did with Lisa Summers? Teach me a lesson; I dare you. You can even have this.’ She threw the knife within reaching distance and Clive stared at it for a moment before resuming his frantic packing.
‘Just … just bugger off,’ he said, his hands still shaking.
Goodie sighed. ‘You’re no fun.’
He looked up a moment later but she, the dog and the knife were gone.
Chapter17
A bit squiffy
Goodie looked downat Salem’s pleading face and stroked the top of his head.
‘Not much longer, my little mouse,’ she murmured to him in Russian, her hoarse voice rasping over her sore throat.
They had arrived back in London yesterday, and today was catch-up time. Nick and Ed had meetings all over the place; the latest was in the room Goodie and Salem were standing outside. No reception desk and no security guards meant that Goodie had to guard the door. She blinked her sore eyes and sniffed to try and clear her blocked nose. The last week with Nick’s family had turned her soft, and that bloody two-year-old had infected her with the toddler equivalent of the viral plague.
One week of eating regular meals (even eating biscuits, and not just once) now meant she couldn’t stomach a simple ten-hour fast. Goodie had eaten breakfast that morning, but nothing since. There was food provided in the conference rooms but nobody had thought to bring any out to her. In the normal way of things this was not unusual, and she had a technique of pushing away the gnawing hunger pangs and focusing on what was important. In the endurance training she underwent in Russia she was hands down the best they’d ever seen, better than hardened operatives male or female, and Goodie had only been twelve the first time she went through it. Hunger, pain, exhaustion were normally things she was able to push away in order to get the job done.
She straightened her shoulders and flashed Salem’s pleading face an annoyed look; somehow he’d gone soft as well. Nick emerged from the conference room deep in conversation with two men and one woman in suits, heading towards the lift at power-walking speed. Ed, looking a little bewildered, was trailing behind at his usual pace, which seemed firmly set to amble, with Bertie bringing up the rear holding a tray laden with cups and a teapot and saying to the flustered catering staff, ‘No, not a bit of it. Can’t have you ladies carting all this heavy stuff around when there’s chaps aplenty to do it. Not when you’ve rustled up some most excellent pastries.’ Goodie rolled her eyes: the catering ladies looked quite well-built enough to shift a few bits of crockery.
‘Bertie,’ Nick snapped from the lift, his foul mood showing itself yet again today. Bertie jumped and a cup toppled off the edge of the tray, which was caught midair thanks to Goodie’s lightning-quick reflexes. ‘Comeon.’ Nick was holding open the lift door and scowling across at them. He didn’t say anything to Goodie and she couldn’t really blame him. He was furious with her; that was probably why he was happy for her to starve. So much for him giving a shit. Since they’d arrived back in London she had gone back to absolute professionalism. To Goodie that meant invisible presence, and after three days of attempting to engage her in conversation or even coax a smile out of her, Nick had given up.
She didn’t hold it against him. Not really.
