GirlMostLikelyTo (8 page)

Mike scanned the paper. “Nope.”

Sylvie looked at the sheet and shook her head. “No. Why?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let me just ask the others
before they shoot off.”

Two had taught the first four like Wren, but no one recognized
the other names. That wasn’t altogether surprising. It was a large language
school with a big turnover. Because Wren did mainly conversation work, her
groups were much smaller than the average. It was possible some of her
colleagues never learned all the names of their students if they only attended
for a few weeks.

Wren took a deep breath and showed the list to Belinda. She
wasn’t a teacher, but a guidance counselor. If students had problems, Belinda
sorted them out. Theoretically. Her cousin was supposed to have her fingers on
the pulse of the academy but Wren thought she was the least empathetic person
she knew. Since she and Leo had become an item, she hadn’t cared about Wren’s
feelings at all.

“The names don’t ring a bell.” Belinda handed back the
paper.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“So you and Brendan aren’t going out together anymore?” she
said to Wren’s back, louder than necessary.

Wren turned. “No. He’s gone abroad.”

“You don’t seem to have much luck with guys. I thought you
and Peter would get on like a house on fire.”

Bitch.
Wren kept smiling and gripped her mug tighter.
Don’t throw the coffee in her face. Don’t.

“If you ever need to talk?”

You’d be the last person on the planet I’d come to.
Wren didn’t say anything, just stood and waited, and Belinda backed away.

Wren exhaled silently, sipped her drink and dismissed her
weaselly cousin from her mind. She wondered if the names were missing from
someone else’s list and been put on hers by mistake. Did it matter? Probably
not, but it’d continue to annoy her if she didn’t get to the bottom of it.
She’d been infected with her father’s desire for everything to be upfront and
clear and didn’t like unsolved mysteries.

“What’s the problem?” Mike asked when Wren sat down again.

“I had four in that class, not eight. I don’t know where
these other names have come from.”

“Jolene’s probably made a mistake, but don’t tell her I said
that, and don’t
you
say that to her either,” Mike said. “She’ll give you
the worst class last thing on Friday afternoon.”

“I already have it. English spelling.”

Sylvie groaned.

“Play Scrabble with them,” Mike suggested. “Or do a
crossword.”

Wren had been given a list of words the group needed to
learn, but Mike’s ideas were good ones.

“I don’t think it’s fair that you get both of them,” Sylvie said
with sigh.

Wren didn’t even pretend not to understand, but signaled
with her eyes for Sylvie to keep her voice down. Big-eared Belinda sat on the
other side of the room.

Sylvie whispered, “I’ve been teaching adult groups every
term with not a hint of hunkiness and now you get two of the best-looking guys
I’ve seen for ages?”

“Present company excepted?” Mike asked.

Wren glanced at the small, balding guy beside her. “You
don’t count. You’re already taken. By an angel. She has to be to put up with
you.”

Mike smiled. “What are they like?”

“Tall,” Sylvie said, speaking before Wren had the chance.
“Really tall. They could be twins and they have bodies to die for. They both
have dark hair and dark eyes, though Tomas’ hair is longer and shaggier than
Adam’s. Adam’s face lights up when he smiles. When Tomas smiles it looks like
he’s up to no good. They’re both intense and brooding. Definite book-cover
models. And definite drool material. If they weren’t out in daylight, I’d think
they were…vampires.” She whispered the last word.

Wren and Mike gaped at her.

“What?” Sylvie asked. “Too much? Maybe they’re werewolves?”

Mike snorted and Wren rolled her eyes.

“Which one do you fancy?” Sylvie asked. “God, it’s hard to
choose but I think I’d play safe and go for Adam. What about you?”

Wren swallowed. “Aren’t I allowed to fancy both?”

Sylvie glowered. “Yes, but you can’t have both.”

And suddenly Wren didn’t want to tell Sylvie about her date.

Why can’t I have both?
Her cheeks heated and she
hoped she wasn’t blushing. Sylvie blathered on but Mike caught Wren’s eye,
raised one brow and she quickly looked away.

“They hardly took their eyes off you in the pub.” Sylvie’s
tone was grumpy. “I thought Adam was going to thump Tomas when he sat between
you, then when Monique dragged her stool over…” She smirked. “It was like a
strange sort of musical chairs. Monique said Tomas flirted with you in your
lesson. I don’t think she could get over that he didn’t succumb to her charms.”

Nor to yours
, Wren thought. “He’s a bit full of
himself.”
But I like that. Just as I like Adam’s awkwardness.

“Thought I’d do you a favor at lunchtime and give them
chance to talk to you without Miss Chic butting in. Did you get asked on a
date? Spill. Which one is mine? And he and Adam are neighbors? How weird is
that?” Sylvie sat back in her seat and gave a heavy sigh. “Of course, that’s
it.”

Wren furrowed her brows, relieved she’d avoided answering.
“What?”

“They’re competing with each other over who’s first to tempt
you into a date. They probably bet on it. You know what guys are like.”

Wren’s heart bounced against her ribs and punctured itself.
“You think?” Now she was even more grateful she hadn’t mentioned the date.

“Put your claws away, Sylvie,” Mike said. “Guys are allowed
to fancy Wren. I would if I didn’t think the angel I live with would kill me.”

“Thank you.” Wren smiled at him.

“Wren’s so helpful and kind. I’ve always thought she makes
such lovely coffee,” he said. “And often there’s no need to even ask. She just
knows when I want one.”

She chuckled, grabbed his mug and got to her feet.

She’d just placed the drink next to him when Jolene
reappeared. “Olive wants to see you. Now.”

Wren resisted the temptation to leap up and salute. She
gathered her bags and followed Jolene.

Olive was in the main office, brandishing the register file
bearing Wren’s name.
Oh God, now what have I done?

“How hard can this be?” Olive snapped. “Are you incompetent
as well as stupid? Why didn’t you sign them when you were in here?”

Ah, what I’ve
not
done. I so want to tell her to
stuff this job and walk out without a backward glance.

“And she left the office unattended.” Jolene hammered in
another nail.

“Sorry,” Wren muttered.

“Untrustworthy too,” Olive snapped. “Sign the registers.”

Wren took a deep breath. “I think there’s been a mist—I
don’t think they’re quite right. There are four extra names showing for each of
my conversation classes and I didn’t teach any of those students.”

Olive opened the file and sifted through the papers. “They
must have been added in error. Well, it doesn’t matter. You can still sign
them.”

She thrust the file out. Wren kept her hands by her sides.

“But I didn’t teach them. Or test them. It’s just a matter
of deleting those names.”

A variety of expressions fluttered over Olive’s face.
Annoyance eventually morphed to a cold smile.

Olive gestured to Jolene. “Give me some blank forms.”

Jolene hurried to push them into her hand and Olive held
them out. “Sign these and Jolene will add the correct names.”

Wren really wanted to say she’d sign after Jolene had filled
them out but she took the sheets, signed all of them and handed them back.

“Thank you,” Olive said, though she didn’t sound very
grateful.

“I was wondering…” Wren mumbled before her courage deserted
her.

“What?” Olive’s face wrinkled like a shar-pei’s.

Oh crap.
She was going to say no. What was the point
in even asking? But Wren clenched her fists and stood taller. “Any chance of
more hours next term?”

“No.” Olive went into her room and slammed the door.

Chapter Eight

Veton’s black Lexus idled on double yellow lines outside
Ezispeke. Tomas climbed in, dropped his backpack at his feet and clicked on his
seatbelt.

“Were you good boy at school?” Veton sniggered as he pulled
out into traffic.

“Teacher’s pet. Where we going?”

“Harehills.”

“Why?”

“To have some fun.”

Tomas was fairly sure Veton’s idea of fun wouldn’t come
anywhere near his. Every day he worried he’d be asked to do something that took
him over that invisible line, perform an action that couldn’t be undone later.
One slip, just a few words uttered in perfect English, could be fatal. The
switching back and forth was wearing. A little knowledge was fine but not too
much. Every step had to be taken with care.

He looked forward to the day Veton was arrested, to seeing
the guy’s face when he realized he’d been tricked, but on the flipside, if
Veton uncovered Tomas’ secret, he’d crush him like an ant. Actually, he’d be
lucky if he was crushed like an ant. More likely he’d be pulled apart piece by
piece. Albanians had some unique methods of torture. They prided themselves on
their ingenuity.

The broad-shouldered guy beside him was built like a tank,
his neck thicker than Tomas’ thighs, his hands the size of dinner plates.
Scarred hands, but still lethal. Veton had been burned in a fire when he was a
kid. Tomas was always careful not to stare at the marks. Veton could shift from
pussycat to velociraptor in a split second. The guy was big and strong, and the
only advantages Tomas had were speed and brains. He lived with the awareness
they might not be enough.

Veton grinned. “Marco wants you working at Cirque tonight.”

Oh fuck.
Cirque was one of Marco’s clubs frequented
by those into BDSM and fetishism. Gently kinky in the main public room, where
wannabes paraded and posed in outlandish gear, it was fiercely deviant in the
private rooms beyond. Tomas had worked the club door a couple of times,
controlling a line of men and women of all ages, shapes and sizes. Though most
covered their outfits with long coats, some reveled in looking weird.

“On door?” Tomas mentally crossed his fingers.

“Behind the bar. Joe’s sick.”

“Right.” He didn’t attempt to sound enthusiastic.

Veton glanced at him and smiled. His stomach roiled. The bar
staff had to dress in costume. He wasn’t paid enough for this shit.

“Did Marco own club in Albania?” he asked. He knew the
answer was yes. After all, that was part of why Tomas was on his case.

“Three clubs in Tirana.”

“Why did he leave?”

“More money here.”

But not just from running Cirque or the other clubs, which
on the face of it appeared legal. Marco paid his taxes like a good citizen, on
his declared income at least, but the clubs weren’t how he made most of his
money. Tomas stared out of the window as they passed St James’s hospital, known
to locals as Jimmy’s, the building making him quietly shudder. Too many
questions and Veton would be suspicious. The wrong question and Tomas would be
lucky if there was anything left of him to patch up in Jimmy’s.

They pulled up in the parking lot of a high-rise apartment
block a stone’s throw from the hospital and Veton switched off the engine.
“We’re here to teach lesson to idiot.”

Tomas said nothing but his brain worked overtime. One day
that idiot might be him. For all he knew, that idiot
was
him and he’d
been driven to his death. A push from a high floor could easily be made to look
like suicide or an accident. His pulse rate sped up.

He was good at thinking on his feet, good at making fast
decisions, but working undercover meant he constantly had to make judgment
calls on whether he was right to do the wrong thing or whether he’d reached the
point he shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t cross. He’d been working for Marco for
over six months. The plan was for him to continue for many more. Tomas hoped he
wasn’t going to be forced to throw it all away in the next few minutes. He took
a deep breath.

“Fucking elevator.” Veton kicked over the sign saying it was
out of order. “Tenth fucking floor.”

Tomas trudged after him. Veton stopped on the fourth and
bent over panting. When he stood, he lit a cigarette.
Like that’s going to
help.
But then no matter how fit Tomas was, good lungs wouldn’t be of much
assistance if there was trouble ahead. There was no one to help if he screamed.

“They know we’re coming?” Tomas asked.

“Oh yeah.”

“Do I need a gun?” His heart pounded.

“No. Just fists.”

Shit.

Veton didn’t speak again until they’d stepped onto the tenth
floor corridor. “You do what I tell you,” he gasped. “Keep quiet.”

This wasn’t about him. Tomas sighed in relief.

One bang on the door and it opened to reveal a pale-faced,
wary-looking young woman with straggly blonde hair. She held out a handful of
notes in trembling fingers and the relief in his stomach flipped back to
anxiety.

“Hello, Juno.” Veton pushed his way in, shoving her inside.

Tomas followed, closed the door and stood against it.

“Fifty pounds.” She held it in front of her as a flimsy
shield.

Veton shoved it in his pocket. He circled the room like an
angry bull, picking up the woman’s possessions and tossing them aside while she
stood chewing her nails.

“You spent your money on this crap?” Veton held up an
anatomy book.

She reached for it and then pulled back her hand. “I can get
more money tonight. I’ve been sick. I…”

Veton stopped in front of her. “You had two chances. You
lied.”

“Please.”

His fist connected with the side of her head and she went
down with a little cry. Tomas clenched his jaw.
Fuck it.
When he saw
Veton draw back his foot, he stepped forward to block him. “What she do?”

Veton glared. “Keep money that doesn’t belong to her.”

Juno curled up and rubbed her head, tears rolling down her
cheeks. “Please. I don’t have any more cash.”

“You had money for books.” Veton grabbed hold of her hair
and yanked her up.

Tomas bunched his fists behind his back.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Juno gasped.

Another strike by Veton’s hand and blood trickled from her
mouth.
Enough.
Tomas stepped between them, right into Veton’s personal
space. “If she saving for books, maybe money hidden.”

Veton shoved him aside and flung a sobbing Juno onto the
couch. “Sit. Don’t move.” He nodded to Tomas. “Check bedroom and bathroom.”

The scent of stale sex hit him the moment he pushed open the
bedroom door but the room was neat and tidy. Bed, wardrobe and a box for a
bedside table piled with condoms, a heap of books by the window. He slipped
into the bathroom, took out his phone and as he flushed the toilet, he called
his emergency number.

He gave the code and whispered, “Fire. Chaucer Towers.” The
noise of churning water faded and he zipped his phone in his inside pocket.
Back in the bedroom, he took out two hundred pounds of the money Marco had
given him and went to stand at the door to the living room.

“Under mattress.” He held up the notes.

He had no idea whether he’d made matters worse but he
couldn’t stand back and watch Veton beat this woman. The call he’d made should
bring engines with sirens wailing. He doubted Veton was scared of anything but
maybe the thought of fire would persuade him to leave.

“Two hundred pounds,” Tomas said.

He hoped Veton mistook the woman’s wide-eyed astonishment
for fear. Veton pocketed the notes and smiled. Juno clearly didn’t like his
smile and neither did Tomas, but he didn’t cringe like her. He just looked
forward to the day when the smile was permanently wiped from the bastard’s
face.

“Holding out on me?” Veton asked.

Oh shit.

“No, I swear. I don’t know where that money came from.”

As Veton’s hand moved to his zipper, Tomas moved in. “Can I
go first?”

Veton frowned.

“You’ll be rough. I don’t want blood on me.” Tomas held his
breath.

The guy laughed. “Go ahead. We wondered if you were gay.”

Because unlike you, I don’t fuck anything with a pulse?
But it disturbed Tomas that Veton thought that. The guy didn’t hide his
homophobia, though Marco didn’t appear to find gay men a problem.

“My cock don’t care how it get pleasure,” Tomas snapped,
thinking Veton could take that any way he liked.

He grabbed Juno by the arm and yanked her into the bedroom.
As he threw her on the bed, he sensed Veton behind him.

“I can’t do her if you watch,” Tomas mumbled.

The guy chuckled and closed the door. Tomas let out a shaky
sigh. Juno began to take off her clothes, sullen resignation on her
tearstained, bloody face. He started to tell her not to undress and changed his
mind. It’d be better if he strung this out.

She shimmied out of her panties and dropped naked to kneel
at his feet. Her hand settled over his zipper and she frowned. He knew why.
Juno might be a whore, but she was still a naked woman and his body wasn’t
reacting. For once in its life, his cock was being sensible when he could have
done with a bit of imbecility.
Go hard.
But no, it stayed limp. Fear of
having to blow his cover had put an effective dampener on his libido.

When she reached to unfasten his pants, he grabbed her
wrist. “No.”

Juno sat back on her haunches, wiped a smear of blood from
her lip and instead of the gratitude he’d hoped for, she sneered. “What’s
wrong? Don’t like that others have been there before you? I’m not good enough
for you?”

Tomas recognized fear underlying her bravado.

“What you study?” he asked.

“Biology.” Her voice was sullen. “I want to be a nurse.”

“A nurse? That’s good.”

In the distance he thought he heard the faint sound of a
siren. He hoped he wasn’t imagining it. He flipped open the button of his pants
and pulled down the zipper. Juno furrowed her brow.

“You like the idea of me being a nurse? Want me to put on my
costume?”

Timing was everything. Tomas steeled himself and put his
hand on her head to bring her face close to his groin. He could swear his cock
tried to hide behind his balls. The door swung open and Veton burst in.

“Out now,” he snapped. “We’re leaving.”

Thank Christ.
Tomas yanked up his zipper and fastened
the button on his pants. “What’s wrong?”

Veton grabbed his arm and jerked him from the room. Outside
the flat, the sound of the siren was clear.

“Hurry,” Veton barked.

They headed for the stairs, pushing past disgruntled
residents making their way to the exit. Veton ran down at a speed that belied
his size.

“Can you smell smoke?” he asked.

“No. We could have stayed.” Tomas put a peeved note into his
voice.

Veton let out a disgusted snort. “You were too slow.”

“Should we have brought Juno?”

“Idiot. They see she’s been smacked around, we don’t want to
be anywhere near her. Faster. I don’t want to burn.”

One day, you’ll be roasting in hell.

By the time they emerged into the sunshine, a fire engine
sat at the foot of the building, the crew bustling around trying to direct
residents to safe areas. Veton nodded to him to take a roundabout route back to
the car. Tomas felt a pang of guilt and hoped there was no emergency elsewhere.
They’d realize pretty soon there was no fire. With luck they’d get the call to
tell them it was a false alarm before they’d walked all the way up the stairs
to check each level. Maybe they’d have to check anyway.

Veton unlocked the car and Tomas climbed in.

“What made you think she was hiding money?” Veton asked.

“Nothing expensive in apartment. Cheap TV. She study to be
nurse. Maybe save money for books.”

“She owes money to Marco.”

“For drugs?”

Veton glanced at him and rolled his eyes.

Tomas settled back in the seat and shut his mouth. He felt
like a snail slowly creeping toward a juicy lettuce leaf. The British police
had been tipped off about Marco’s reentry into the UK. The guy had his mother
to thank for his British passport. He’d lived in England until he was
twenty-two and then gone to work for his father in Albania. The authorities
wanted to cast their net as widely as possible over the Albanian criminal
network in the UK and abroad, which was why Tomas was still leading this double
life. They surely had enough to arrest Marco, Veton and the others, but his
boss wanted more. She always wanted more.

“Okay here?” Veton pulled up across the road from Dock
Street.

“Thanks.” Tomas picked up his backpack and got out of the
car.

“Eight tonight. Clothes in the trunk.”

Tomas kept his face expressionless and retrieved the bag. At
least it felt as though it held more than strips of leather but he doubted it
was anything comfortable. He’d seen what Cirque bar staff wore. Not much.

* * * * *

When Wren walked into the pub, she spotted Adam sitting next
to the door, working on his laptop. He jumped to his feet, moved forward as if
he intended to hug her and then pulled back. She was already nervous, wondering
if she was doing the right thing, and his hesitation unsettled her.

“You came,” he said and almost sounded surprised.

Wren realized he was as nervous as her. “Yep, here I am.”

“Want a drink?”

“Not here. Let’s go and have something to eat. You like
Chinese food?”

He packed up his computer. “I’ll eat anything. Almost.
Nothing too weird.”

She pushed open the door of the pub and Adam followed.

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?” she asked.

“Does it count if I threw up afterward?”

She laughed. “If you put it in your mouth and swallowed, it
counts.”