“Where have you gone little murderer?” I mumble, putting one back into place and pulling down another. There’s nothing in that either, but considering her safe was open and empty, I’m taking a guess there was a passport in there, and that means a new country.
I bring up all the airport listings for Arabic countries at the thought, searching for flights that leave in the next few hours. There’s a few, but which one she might be on, or has already left on, I can’t tell until I get back to my own place and into my own system. And I’ll only get that info if she hasn’t managed to get herself a fake passport.
“Clever.”
I look around the room again, still finding nothing obvious, and turn off her computer. Might as well get out of here if there’s nothing but a fucking cat and emptiness. At least I got the Arabic vibe. Who the fuck speaks Arabic? Let alone writes code in it? A Broderick, that’s who. Shouldn’t be surprised, really. They’ve all got their traits, and stupidity certainly isn’t one of them. But this clever little bitch just outsmarted me, and I don’t like that feeling very much at all.
Just about to leave, and I give the bin a check. Smashed up pieces of a battery and sim card lie discarded at the bottom. No phone then. Or maybe a burner. I look back towards the kitchen at the sound of scratching. I’ve shut the cat in it. I should be fucking pleased about that. It’s got food and water, access to the outside. What else does it need? And it’s not like I care. Fucking thing could die as far as I’m concerned, but it scratches again, makes a noise that other people think is cute. There isn’t one thing fucking cute about cats. They’re nasty little shits. Guess it doesn’t like being locked in, though. And if I don’t let it out, then it’ll wail and make fucking noise all night.
I walk, snatch the door open, and immediately run backwards for the main door before it makes eye contact. A shiver runs over me as I close the door quietly, my own hackles live and wired on the back of my spine. I feel like vomiting now, as I quietly slip out of the building, or sleeping for a week to get rid of the urge to wash myself clean. Instead, I’ve got to drive home before starting to find out where Neve is.
And all I’ve got is Arabic.
~
“Come into the office. We’ll discuss it there.”
I put the phone down on Landon and look up at all the other travellers in this carriage from under my hoodie. I’m going in the wrong direction now. I was heading to the common for some fresh air, but now I’m at the beck and call of him again. Don’t see why I need to go in to see him at all. I could have given him the info on the phone. Took a while, but having spent most of the early hours searching the security cameras at Heathrow and Gatwick, I eventually got an image of her at a boarding gate yesterday. Morocco. Nice. Or maybe not. I don’t know. Never been. But the fact is it wasn’t her name on the flight list, so she does have a fake passport.
I change trains at the next station, making sure I get to him as soon as possible because I’ve been considering how she got one of those most of the morning. People like the Brodericks don’t have fake passports, and if they do, they usually have to come through someone like me to get it. If there’s one thing I need him to answer, it’s if he knows any other versions of me out there. He could get one easy as pie. All he’d need to do is ask me and I’d get him a truckload of them, but little Neve Broderick with her pretty face and her reasonably modest exterior? How the fuck does she know anyone like me?
I’m still questioning how she even speaks Arabic, let alone writes in it, when I arrive at Fleet Street and make my way over to the Broderick building. I don’t even know if he knows that or whether her whole existence is something none of them know anything about. Here I was thinking they knew everything about each other, when, in effect, they don’t know anything about one of their own.
A security guard approaches me before I get to the reception desk, some attempt at looking threatening, bearing down on me. I raise my head, eyes fixed on his before he even thinks about getting arsey. “I’m here to see Landon Broderick.” He looks sceptical and casts his gaze over me again. I guess he would with all the suits and precision walking in and out of here. Not my problem, though.
“Name?”
“Locke.”
“First name?”
“Just let him know I’m here. He’s waiting for me.”
He shifts about on his feet, then talks into his earpiece about me. Fine. I don’t care. This time, I’m exactly where I should be, and no amount of me looking like this changes a thing. Seems there’s a problem, though, which involves him making ascertainments about who I am and why Landon would even want to see me. And then they can’t get hold of Landon directly to ask the question, so he’s not going to let me through. And then I see his eyes widen. He braces at the sound of someone’s voice on the end of his earpiece, frowning.
A few minutes later and I see the fit one striding through the massive foyer, a smile widening on her face when she sees me. She gets to me and waves her hand for me to follow, not bothering to talk with the security at all.
“Sorry about that,” she says, swiping us through the area towards the lifts. “Landon’s increased security lately. I’m sure you can appreciate why.” I nod and trail after her, not interested in the towering ceilings or the expensive finishes around me. “We’re all locked up tightly at Tallington, and he’s even sending his mother to the US after the funeral. Just until this is figured out. Contacts, apparently.” I drop my head again, happier with my face being covered rather than all over every fucking camera in the place. Should have met him on the common. Here was a stupid idea.
A large glass wall full of people behind it comes into view the second the lift opens, and I duck my head lower and keep following the legs in front of me. They’re fucking hot in all honesty, and not a chore to look at. High heels too. Not sexy enough for my liking, but I bet they could be if she’d grown up in the sort of place I did.
“Here we are,” she says, knocking on a door. I look up and find her opening it without waiting for an answer, and then there he is behind his desk – lord of the fucking manor. I glance over my shoulder as she leaves us alone, shaking my head when she offers me tea or coffee. She smiles and nods at me, big wide eyes all sultry and begging for it.
“You don’t touch that one either,” his voice says quietly.
I turn back to see him signing some documents, putting them on top of the pile over to his side and then bringing another one over to look at.
He looks up, pointing his pen at the chair opposite him. “What have you got for me?”
“Morocco.”
“Morocco?”
“Morocco. Saw her getting onto a flight.”
“Why the hell is she going there?”
I shrug. “Running, I guess. Do you know if she has anything out there?"
