The man in the black hooded coat stood feet away in the near darkness, a long stainless steel knife in his hand. The blood on his knife was not hers, and it did not seem to have come from Marcus, because he was very much alive across the room, so she wondered if this man had done something to the two bodyguards whom she’d last seen downstairs.
It was so dark here in the bedroom, and his eyes were all but obscured by the hood, his mouth and nose completely hidden by a scarf.
His clothing was all black, save for the white latex gloves he wore, and his continued silence was, somehow, one of the most chilling parts of this whole ordeal.
Marcus thrashed about on the bed, but he was getting nowhere with it. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark somewhat, she saw that the attacker had put headphones over the Greek’s ears, and electrician’s tape over his eyes.
She watched while the man in the hood lifted her purse from the footstool at the end of the bed, rummaged through it, then walked over to a window to use the light there to examine her ID and then thumb through her credit cards.
She prayed he’d pocket all her cards and just leave.
But he stole nothing; he put everything back inside and looked her way.
Throughout this, the French Senegalese woman was not tied down, not taped up other than her mouth, but she did not consider for one second that she’d have a chance in hell if she tried to run.
The man in the hood moved back over to put her purse on the table next to where she sat, and then, finally, he spoke to her.
When he did, she realized now that the calm manner of his voice was even more chilling than his silence had been a few seconds earlier. The voice utterly belied the violence that he’d already committed. The violence that he still threatened by the knife in his hand.
“Gonna ask you a couple of questions, Aida. I don’t need you to speak. Just give your head a wee nod or a wee shake, depending on your answer. Can you be a good girl and do that for me, love?”
He was Irish, so calm and self-assured, as if this was just any night in his life.
She nodded quickly.
“Two men on the ground floor. The man over there on the bed. Yourself. Myself. Have you seenanyoneelse here tonight?”
She shook her head.
He looked at her questioningly. “You’re quite certain?”
She nodded again, and then her eyes narrowed, looked off in the distance a moment.
Fresh tears formed and fell.
The hooded man seemed to note the look on her face. He knelt down in front of her, pulled off the tape covering her mouth in one swift motion, and at first, she just gasped for air.
“Something occurred to you. What was it?” he asked.
Through a tremor of terror in her voice, she said, “A man drove us here in the Rolls. I don’t know if the driver came into the house. I didn’t see him again after we were dropped, but—”
The hooded man gave a little nod. “He did not come in. But I thank you for being thorough.”
The young woman forced herself to look into his dark eyes. She said, “Sir…sir…please. I just met Marcus. I don’t know him. I don’t know what you want or who you—”
“Relax, love.” He said it softly, and again, the calmness in his voice right now scared her, and she began sobbing more; she shut her eyes tight, and she was certain she was about to die.
After a moment, she felt a gentle hand on her forearm, covered in a latex glove. “Oi,” he said, and she looked up at the man again. He held her purse out in front of him now, offering it to her.
She cocked her head slowly.
“Go home, dear.”
She took the purse slowly, nodded even more slowly. “Thank you.”
As she started to rise, he reached out, put his gloved hand back on her, this time, on her wrist. His voice lowered a little, but it was not a threatening tone. “If you go, Aida, and then the police come. Or if you go, Aida, andanyonecomes. This time of night…I’m gonna have to figure it was you what sent them, yeah?”
His voice lowered more, and now there was more than a hint of menace. “Whoever you send…they won’t get me. I’ll getthem, I’ll get away…and I’ll owe you a wee visit, won’t I?”
