Page 2 of Locked in Wonderland

“Are you mad at me?”

I shook my head. “No. I just feel bad that I haven’t gotten you anything.”

“You can buy dinner.”

“Deal.”

I spent the night at Warren’s, just like all the other nights before. His flat was nicer than the hotel. Plus, it had him in it. Sex was both sweet and passionate, Warren’s reticence with certain sexual acts making it all the hotter. It made me want to corrupt him in every way possible.

We’d stayed awake late, discussing the future and how a long-distance relationship might work. Warren had pointed out, without prompting, that he could work from anywhere. The warm glow of his near-enough agreement to move in with me carried over into the next day. When we discovered there was no milk for breakfast, I offered to get some, whistling all the way to the supermarket a few blocks away.

I talked to far more people in the queue than I usually did, my good mood making me more social. Christ! What kind of person was I going to become if Warren and I became something permanent? He was going to change me into a squishy marshmallow. Not the worst thing in the world, but unexpected when I’d only traveled to the area for work.

When I returned, a black van was parked outside Warren’s building, Wonderland emblazoned across its side in bright red lettering above a flamingo logo. Men for whom the phrase “you wouldn’t want to meet them in a dark alley at night” had been invented for were loading something into the back of the van. Four of them. At first, I thought they were loading a rug.

Then the ‘rug’ shifted. The realization that it had feet came a second too late. And spotting the shock of white-blonde hair took what felt like an age. Too long. Far too long. Once it had, adrenaline kicked in.

“Hey!” I shouted and began to run, the milk slipping from my hand.

I barely got halfway before the van doors slammed shut with a hollow, final clang, and it accelerated away in a scream of tires. I tried to chase it, but in a race between me and a van, there was only ever going to be one winner.

Still, I ran.

My lungs burned. My legs screamed. The van didn’t slow.

I skidded to a halt, then pulled a U-turn to head back to the building. It wasn’t Warren. It couldn’t be. I’d head to his flat, and he’d be there, exactly where I’d left him less than twenty minutes ago. We could go to the police together and tell them what I’d seen. Either that, or I’d realize it had been a prank. People didn’t get kidnapped from buildings in broad daylight. Maybe in films—but this wasn’t a film. It was real life.

My optimism lasted until I reached the right floor. Warren’s door hung off its hinges. The inside was even worse, bearing the marks of a frenzied search. Drawers hung open, and someone had strewn papers across the floor. The bed I’d woken up on had been ripped apart, the mattress shredded.

In the bathroom, the mirror was cracked, and the cabinet stood open, its contents dumped into the sink. Towels lay sodden on the floor, and the shower curtain had been wrenched halfway from its rail.

They hadn’t just taken him. They’d torn through everything. Like they were looking for something. Or making sure no one else could find it.

The word what? kept resounding in my skull. It wasn’t long before why took its place.

I slid to the floor, closing my eyes and concentrating on breathing. I hoped that when I opened them, everything would have gone away.

One breath. Two. Three.

It hadn’t. The place was still a mess.

And there was still no Warren.

Chapter Two

“He was kidnapped,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. “I saw it with my own eyes. They loaded him into the back of a Wonderland van and drove off. How many times do I need to keep repeating myself?”

Police Constable Thornton scratched his chin. He had a bald patch in his beard that I’d spent far too much time staring at. Maybe from too much scratching. It was definitely a bad habit of his. That and saying “hmm” a lot. I assumed it was supposed to represent thoughtfulness, but the more tired I got of repeating myself, the more it came across as disbelief.

“The problem we have, Mr. Carroll, is that we’ve run everything you’ve told us about Mr. White through our system, and there is no Warren White. Not now. Not ever.”

I laughed. “What? That’s ridiculous.” I massaged my temples. It didn’t help the headache that had kicked in a couple of hours ago or make thinking easier by improving the blood flow to my brain. “What are you trying to say? That I imagined him? I didn’t. We had dinner at Linden House last night. Ask the waiter. Ask the people who were there.” I unclasped the watch around my wrist and shoved it in his direction. “He gave me this. Look, it’s engraved.”

Thornton gave it a cursory glance before leaning across the table. He smelled faintly of some old-fashioned aftershave. “No one is saying you made him up. Perhaps he went by another name?”

“Maybe.” I couldn’t see it, though. He’d have told me.

Thornton checked his notes. “And you said that you’ve only known him a couple of weeks. How much do you really know about him?”