Unbound (The Braille Club #2) (19 page)

“Get out,” she whispered.

Robert turned and left. Anna didn’t relax until she heard the front door close. Self-preservation made her lock and bolt the door. She made her way to the worktop and lifted the mobile, her fingers shaking so badly she could hardly type the message and prayed he still had the same number.

***

Guy

Guy heard the text and looked at his phone. His heart jumped when he saw Anna’s name. He clicked into the text.

Anna: I’m in trouble, can you come. Anna

He was out of his chair in seconds, running towards the lifts and the underground carpark when he remembered he didn’t know where she lived. As his heart pounded, he dialled her number. Anna answered, her voice muffled and distressed. The next few minutes were spent calming her. She was almost incoherent, and it took several attempts for her to tell him the address. He asked her if she was injured or in danger but she said no. She would only say she’d fought with Robert. He told her to sit down and focus on her breathing, he would be with her soon and she should not leave the house.

She broke down, her sobs of relief tearing him apart as he repeated that he would be with her soon. He called Benedict next and told him he had an emergency. He was full of concern, immediately offering his help. Guy thanked him but refused; he could handle it for now but appreciated the offer. He would call Benedict when he knew more. His imagination was running riot as he sped towards Anna’s home. He didn’t know what lay ahead—all he knew was that she needed him and for the moment it was enough.

Chapter 35

The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The feet restraints were next, making Guy tense in alarm as they tightened and pulled, just as the kiss intensified. He moaned as the tongue slipped into his mouth and blood roared in his ears. He had never felt so alive.

London 2014

Esme

Esme felt aimless. Losing her mother—although not unexpected—hit her hard. When she returned to London nothing felt right anymore. Her flat seemed small and impersonal, she had done nothing to mark her presence and it showed. She wandered through the rooms and felt nothing. The numbness enabled her to look at her life dispassionately and she didn’t like what she saw. Her work colleagues were kind, expressing their condolences to her quietly but she could see now her job bored her, as did they.

She brooded on her experience with Ford. Esme couldn’t believe his transformation. The man had filled out in all the right places. He was tall, his frame sheathed in an elegant suit that screamed money. He wore his hair in a side parting now, the colour dark from the gel that kept it in place. His glasses were gone and his designer beard was sexy, making him seem even more foreign to her. However, his nut brown eyes were now guarded. Ford Monroe was handsome and hostile at the same time and it was a heady mix.

What did it mean? She was fond of him because maybe…she hadn’t allowed herself to feel anything else. Esme wondered why she’d lied; having dinner with Ford Munroe was exactly what she wanted but that seemed a lifetime ago. Grief made her feelings of isolation more acute. She’d tried a conventional relationship a few years back but had never felt so alone. He tried so hard to please her and her lack of response puzzled him. She didn’t want to hurt him and had ended the fledgling relationship before she could. The whole experience had depressed her. When several more dates ended in disaster, she stopped going out until recently. She’d met Ellen, and the attraction was instantaneous. Smart and sassy, she was comfortable in her own skin and Esme had been charmed. Esme struck up a friendship with Ellen, meeting within a larger crowd after work for drinks but often ending up the last two standing.

Esme liked her a lot, but hesitated, unsure she wanted anything more than Ellen’s friendship. Her life had settled down, and she didn’t want to rush things, but Ellen was getting impatient. It all came to a head after a night out ended with Ellen back at Esme’s flat. When they had almost fallen through the front door giggling and laughing, Ellen reached for her, her kiss passionate. Esme responded but it felt wrong; her insistent tongue made her pull away. Ellen tightened her hold, making Esme panic, and just like that everything turned sour. She pushed Ellen hard and her face registered hurt and surprise as she let Esme go. A torrent of abuse and recriminations followed. Ellen called Esme everything from a tease to frigid before storming out of the flat. Esme covered her face and sobbed, utterly confused. What was wrong with her? She liked Ellen and missed their friendship in the days and weeks that followed. Then the rumours started; she overheard one of the guys in the office calling her a dyke. Their cruel laughter died out when they saw her. She wanted to kill Ellen for talking. People treated her differently, wouldn’t meet her eyes, and then came the call from the care home that her mum wasn’t good.

Ford had been a sight for sore eyes when she’d seen him in the lounge. Her internal turmoil had been put aside as they spoke. She had been reckless, the alcohol loosening her tongue as she confessed all. Ford’s shocked face made her bitterly regret saying anything because nothing had really happened with Ellen, and then they played his stupid game. That led to a passion that burned deep into her memory, a memory tinged with sadness. Her mum had slipped away and robbed her of a last goodbye. Rationally, she knew she couldn’t have done anything more but it still hurt. To be so close but inevitably absent was a bitter pill. Speaking to Ford had been awkward, and she was ashamed at the way she had shut him out. However, those feelings she experienced had been very real. All her frustrations and sexual tensions had erupted, scalding her skin and mind with their heat and intensity. She told him she was still interested in the project and couldn’t believe those words had come out of her mouth. So numb now, she wondered if it had all been in her imagination. Booked into this Braille Club tomorrow evening, she would soon find out. She could barely manage another day going through the motions. She was dangerously close to walking out of her job, but it was the only distraction from her grief that she had. Her mum had left her nothing but pain, her later years spent in an alcoholic haze till her mind had had enough. Esme envied her escape from life but had no wish to emulate her.

Thoughts of her drawings and the Braille Club project made her walk slowly to her home office. She sat down, relieved to focus on something she was good at. The illustrations were basic, but the ideas were sound. The sensory suit was central and would work in tandem with the devices she was developing. Captivated by this idea of touch without touching, it consumed her. She clicked open the file and studied her drawings, feeling her emotions shift as a small spark of interest fought its way through her thick blanket of detachment. Her mind slowly came alive. She picked up the drawings, knowing she had a long night ahead of her. She welcomed it. Esme had tentatively started to live again.

Chapter 36

The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The kiss was suddenly broken. Guy involuntarily moved, only to gasp as the hand restraints pulled his arms behind his head. His body was still responding to the kiss, desire pulsing through him, until his mind registered his muscles were straining. He waited for the pain to begin.

Niven

They say that children are resilient, that they bounce back quickly, and to a certain degree Niven did. However, what person, let alone a child, awakened in their bed and held at knife point, wouldn’t sustain lasting damage? That child also witnessed a murder, but that wasn’t what kept her up at night. No, the worst thing was, the murder had been twisted into something much worse…an accident. Niven knew it was no accident. She slowly worked through her emotions—her grief and fear, although never her rage at the injustice for Maria and her own cowardice. Toby played his part beautifully, as did her adoptive parents, until Niven almost believed the web of lies herself.

Meredith was to save her once again; she stood at Niven’s side, grief-stricken, squeezing her hand as she watched her friend being buried. Her own children now in school, she returned to work part-time in their home, leaving Niven little notes of comfort for her to read when she got home from school. They’d meet up at the park at the weekends and Niven became close to her children. It kept her sane when she was surrounded by insanity at home.

London 2014

Niven spent time learning how to defend and protect herself; it made her feel stronger. She made a safety plan and researched what she would need to make her home secure when she finally escaped her parents. The motion sensor camera she installed outside her flat recorded twenty-four hours a day. The data had been unremarkable since she moved in, but she knew she was being watched. She hadn’t reviewed it recently, perhaps subconsciously afraid she might find something.

Heart racing, she fingered the pendant around her neck. She’d had it made after reading about a similar necklace. It was gold, shaped like a large X with a silver oval at its centre. The interlocking X held two sheaths. In the centre of the Inca silver was a small gem. Inside the sheaths were two small but sharp knives. You needed to know where the clip was to release the knives, they didn’t just pull out. They were artery knives, small but deadly in the right hands. She had several identical pendants, and many people commented on how unusual it was—she was never without it, her only protection.

When she had to go abroad for work, she would post the pendant to whichever agency she was working for, then ask it be brought to her when she was met at the airport. She told everyone how superstitious she was and how she couldn’t work without her lucky charm. Flying was the only time she felt vulnerable, the only time the pendant didn’t hang around her neck. She learned everything there was to know about knives; she would never be a victim again. At first she had been terrified, filled with revulsion as she looked at a particularly vicious looking specimen. The man in the shop was not only helpful but extremely knowledgeable, believing her story that she was interested in buying one as a gift for her father. Gritting her teeth, she’d suppressed the shudder she’d felt and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked and as she gripped it in her hand, it was another knife she was seeing. As the colour drained from her face, she swayed on her feet.

Alarmed, the shop assistant asked if she was okay. Niven took a deep breath, her vision clearing as she dropped the knife and grabbed the counter to steady herself. That moment had been the hardest, but since then she’d conquered her fear.

She needed to be careful where she did her research—her laptop hard drive had to be erased and destroyed. She didn’t want any trace left of the people she emailed and the websites she visited. Equally, the manufacture of the pendant had been done in China. All correspondence and payment had been completed over the internet and sent to a PO Box address. She had other knives she carried for safety. The stiletto blade she carried in the bottom of her customised handbag was almost identical to the one Toby had held. The top of the knife handle looked like a design feature on the bag. Again the knife could not be pulled out; there was a release mechanism. She practiced with all her weapons daily; she felt sure Toby was still dangerous.

The police never knew she was the intended target and would offer her no protection. Since she was no longer in contact with her adoptive parents, she had no idea when Toby was due for release. Every fibre in her suspected he was out. She was on her own but no longer alone. Her knives were her friends and protectors. She looked at the samurai swords on her wall, razor sharp and magnificent as they glittered in the light. Her body was rail thin but toned; Niven was strong, pushing herself to bring her strength and endurance to combat levels. Her personal trainer was ex-army, and he told her she was as fit as any soldier. When the threat came she would be prepared and trained because this was a war she had to win for herself and Maria.

When she was working in America she could understand their right to protect themselves, and the laws that allowed them to do so. It was very different in the UK. Most victims being attacked would have nothing but their bare hands to protect them and that was never enough. Her mother’s verse ran through her mind, calming her as it always did. She hoped she was out there somewhere, searching for her long lost daughter. The fantasy was old but never lost its appeal. Like Niven’s need to find her, it still burned brightly although the odds now looked bleak of that happening. She accepted this now. However, on some level, perhaps a childish one, she kept hoping her birth mother was out there, with no idea her daughter was famous.

The media were always interested in Niven. Her life began with the tragedy of abandonment. Her adoption by her famous mother and father had been headline news. Then followed the devastating loss of Maria in a terrible accident, but somehow she had overcome all these trials to become a successful model. That’s what they printed, but she sensed they suspected there was more to her story than met the eye. The media were an everyday part of her job but she lived her life well under the paparazzi’s radar. She never courted them and her interviews had been few; except one moment of weakness. She regretted that impulsive discussion—young and naïve, she’d appealed for her birth mother to get in touch. Anything in the public domain about her life remained there. She was still receiving correspondence from women claiming to be her mother.

Her lawyer dealt with it initially, and then sent all the correspondence on to her. It depressed her, sifting through the false claims, but she couldn’t take the chance that one of these days her mother would get in touch. So she kept it going, which meant every month she would have to manage her expectations when the brown envelope arrived from the solicitors. She tried not to get her hopes up, but she always felt crushed afterwards as she stood shredding the letters.

On the outside she looked like the girl with everything, but in reality she had nothing of her own, not even her identity. She walked towards her laptop and the data she had put off reviewing. Her fingers didn’t waver as she clicked onto the film, going back to the date she thought things changed, when she sensed she was no longer alone. Horrified, she watched the figure approach and her stomach twisted. The hoodie and mirrored sunglasses made it hard to identify the person, but she knew in her gut it was him. He looked different, no longer a boy but a man, a very dangerous man. He looked directly into the camera. She made herself sit there and analyse the footage, playing it back time and time again until she understood what her brain was trying to tell her. She realised it was his lips moving that caught her attention. When she slowed it down, her heart raced—she could see he was mouthing,
Niv-ven
,
Niv-ven
, over and over, before Toby turned and walked away.