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Charlie was a thorough man. Those first nights, when they’d been fruitlessly searching her house for clues, he’d stayed up and searched through property records, looking not for clues as to where she might be, but locations he could use once he found her.
Alicia gurgled as he hauled her away from the fence. He hooked his finger under the strap of the gun and lifted it off her, briefly having to release the choke hold as he did. She whirled and tried to fight him, but she was no match for him physically.
Charlie reached down, stabbing his fingers into the open wound on the back of her thigh.
Alicia—a lovely, mature woman, with her hair still neatly coiffed despite their flight through the trees—fainted.
Charlie picked her up in a fireman’s carry, leaving her gun on the ground where the police could find it. He stepped over the iron fence, making sure to avoid the blood-coated section, and walked up to the car. Though this was a residential street, given the size of the estate, the neighbors on either side were far enough away that they didn’t have a direct line of sight to the car, especially given the lush plantings along the front property line, many of which hung out over the footpath.
She’d left the keys in the ignition of the car—a good idea in a getaway vehicle. Charlie bent his knees, hit the button for the boot release. Less than ten seconds later, Charlie was in the driver’s seat, an unconscious Alicia in the boot. He pulled away from the curb, driving sedately. The universe was on his side because a blue truck, driven by two teenagers and blasting music, turned onto the street, falling into place behind him. It was much less suspicious than him being the only car on the road. Both he and the blue truck pulled to the side as several police cars, an ambulance, and a fire truck went racing by. He watched in the rearview mirror as the emergency vehicles turned left into the estate.
The part of him that was Lancelot wanted to go back. Forget questioning Alicia, leave her in the boot, and go back to check on Sylvia and Hugo. To hug them and hold them close and lie that everything would be okay, just so they could all feel better for a minute.
But he wasn’t Lancelot right now.
He was Charlie, so he pulled away from the curb. Of the three possible sites he’d selected, one was less than four miles from here. He’d memorized the routes to and from his chosen locations and was able to navigate there without having to stop to check a map.
Not that he had one. His phone and bag were back at the house. All he had was his gun and his hands. He’d done more with less in the past.
Charlie parked around the back of the vacant building. It had been a gym at one point, and the reason he’d selected it was that it had been one of the properties given as an example in an article about how vacant businesses attracted crime. The article was three weeks old, which was probably enough time that whatever superficial heightened patrols of security that had been put in place immediately after the story was published were gone.
There was a shiny new lock on the back door marked “employees only.” When he tugged, the door opened. The lock was in place, but the bolt-plate had been unscrewed and simply wedged into place to make it look like the lock was still functioning.
Charlie opened the door and walked in, scouting his options, before going back to the car. He opened the boot.
Alicia leapt out, swinging with the tire iron she’d grabbed. He was ready for something, and grabbed the tire iron as she swung it, palm smarting from the hard blow. A quick jerk and he yanked it from her.
Alicia, undeterred, scrambled from the trunk. She was moving far too slowly, given her injured thigh. Charlie wondered vaguely if she actually thought she’d get away.
If she did, he corrected her thinking when he swung the tire iron into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.
Five minutes later, he had her secured in what he thought might have been a manager’s office. It was a small, windowless room near the back of the building. He used a coil of unused wiring he’d found amid some renovation supplies to bind her hands together behind her back. More wire was looped through the bindings and run up and over several cross pieces of the drop ceiling. For now, he’d let her stand up straight, but if she became difficult, he’d put her into a stress position.
Maybe that’s all you’ll have to do. Maybe you won’t have to do anything Lancelot wouldn’t.
Stupid. He was stupid. Being with Hugo and Sylvia had made him soft. Made him want things he wouldn’t, shouldn’t, have. Someday he’d be married, every member was, but people like him were usually married to other people like him—security officers, spies, government officials.
Charlie walked over to her and wiped off the blood on his hand on her pale green sweater. Her dark slacks hid the blood on her leg, and despite everything that had happened, until he started using her sweater to clean his hand, she looked relatively presentable.
Alicia stared him down, her shoulders back, spine straight. “Little boy, you should let me go before you get hurt.”
Charlie walked to the wall, leaning against it casually. “I’m guessing you’re not going to fall for the whole ‘I’ll be your friend if you tell me what I want to know’ bit, are you?”
“Hardly.”
“Then I’ll torture the information out of you.”
“I’m not afraid of pain.”
“Giving it.” Charlie reached for the end of the wire that was connected to her wrists. “I’ve read your file. You’re a sadist. The question is, are you a masochist?” He yanked hard on the wire.
Alicia hadn’t realized exactly how he’d bound her. When he pulled, her bound wrists were yanked up, applying terrible pressure to her shoulders. It took her a moment to react, to bend forward and release some of that tension.
Charlie wrapped the end of the wire around his wrist, holding it taut. “Now then, let’s have a fookin’ chat.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hugo sat next to Sylvia in a small, private waiting room at the hospital. His arm wrapped around her, Sylvia resting her head on his shoulder. Her brothers were sitting in the opposite corner, speaking quietly.
