‘It was the lure of Glenfiddich, that was all. Can’t resist it.’

‘So you really are that shallow, are you, Detective Superintendent Roy Grace?’ she teased. ‘Anything for a free drink?’

‘Uh huh. And maybe I was just a tiny bit curious about your fiancé. How shallow does that make me?’ He took a sharp breath as she suddenly cupped his balls in her hands.

‘Do you know what they say, Detective Superintendent?’ She squeezed gently.

Gasping with pleasure – and just a tiny bit of pain – he said, ‘What do they say?’

‘When you have a man’s balls in your hands, his heart and mind will follow.’

He exhaled sharply, deliciously, as she released the pressure a tiny bit. ‘So talk me through your plans for the rest of the night?’ he whispered.

She increased the pressure, then kissed him again. ‘You’re not in a very good position to negotiate, whatever my plans are!’

‘Who’s negotiating?’

‘You think you are!’ She removed her hands, rolled out of the bed and padded across the room. He watched her slender, naked body, her long legs, her firm, round, pale and gorgeous bum disappear through the doorway. Then he put his arms behind his head and lay back against a soft, deep, down pillow. ‘Plenty of ice!’ he called out.

She returned a few minutes later with two rattling glass tumblers, and handed one to him. Climbing back into bed beside him she raised her glass and clinked it against his. With a toss of her head she said, ‘Cheers, big ears. Here goes, nose. Up your bum, chum!’ Then she downed half her glass.

He raised his glass. ‘Cheers, big ears!’ he responded, then took a deep swig. Tomorrow was a million miles away. Her eyes, fixed on his, were sparkling.

‘So you came over just because you wanted to know about my fiancé. Was that the only reason, Detective Superintendent Roy Grace?’

‘Stop calling me that!’

‘What do you want me to call you? The bonk at the end of the universe?’

Grinning, he said, ‘That would be fine. Otherwise, just Roy would be fine too.’

She tilted her glass to her mouth, then leaned across, kissed him sensuously on his mouth, and pushed a whisky-flavoured ice cube in through his lips. ‘Roy! It’s a great name. Why did your parents call you Roy?’

‘I never asked.’

‘Why not?’

He shrugged. ‘It never occurred to me.’

‘And you’re a detective? I thought you queried everything.’

‘Why did your parents call you Cleo?’

‘Because…’ She gave a little giggle. ‘Actually, I’m embarrassed to say, it was because my mother’s favourite novels were The Alexandria Quartet. I was named after one of the characters – Clea – except my father spelled it wrong in the church register. He put an “o” on the end instead of an “a” – and it stuck.’

‘I’ve never heard of The Alexandria Quartet.’

‘Come on, you must have read them!’

‘I must have had a deprived childhood.’

‘Or a missspent one?’

‘Could you play poker when you were twelve?’

‘That’s what I mean! God, you need educating! The Alexandria Quartet were four novels written by Lawrence Durrell – beautiful stories, all interlinked. Justine, Balthazar, Mountolive and Clea.’

‘They must be if…’

‘If what?’

‘If they resulted in you.’

Then his phone rang again. And this time he answered it – very reluctantly.

Two minutes later, even more reluctantly, he was standing by the bed hurriedly and clumsily pulling his socks on.

66

‘You scare easily, don’t you, Kellie?’

Dazzled by the light in her eyes, Kellie squirmed against the bonds holding her, trying to move back in her chair, trying to move away from the wriggling legs of the hideous black beetle the fat, squat American was holding up to her face.

‘Nooooo! Please nooooooooo!’

‘Just one of my pets.’ He leered.

‘What do you want from me? What do you want?’

Suddenly he removed the beetle, and was holding out the neck of a vodka bottle. ‘Drinkies?’

She turned her head away. Shaking. From terror. From hunger. From withdrawal. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘I know you want a drink, Kellie. Have some, it’ll make you feel so much better.’

She desperately craved that bottle, wanted to take the neck in her mouth and gulp it down. But she was determined not to give him the satisfaction. Out of the corner of her eye, in the glare of the light, she could still see the wriggling legs.

‘Have one little sip.’

‘I want my children,’ she said.

‘I think you want the vodka more.’

‘Fuck you!’

She saw a shadow, then felt a fierce slap on her cheek. She cried out in pain.

‘I’m not taking any shit from a little bitch – do you understand me?’

‘Fuck you!’

The next blow was so hard it knocked Kellie and the chair over sideways. She crashed with an agonizing jar onto the rock-hard floor; pain shot through her arm, her shoulder, right along her body. She burst into tears. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she sobbed. ‘What do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT?’

‘How about a little obedience?’ He held the beetle up to her face, so close she could smell its sour odour. She felt its feet scratch her skin.

‘Noooooooooo!’ She writhed, rolling across the floor with the chair, crashing, banging, every bone in her body hurting. ‘Nooo, nooo, nooo!’ her breathing getting faster, gulping down air, hysterical. She felt a sudden wave of anger against Tom. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come to find her, rescue her?

Then she lay still – spent, staring up into dazzling light, and darkness. ‘Please,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t know who you are. I just want my children. My husband. Please let me go.’

This must be something to do with the email Tom had seen, that he had gone to the police with, she was certain. ‘Why am I here?’ she asked, as if for confirmation.

Silence.

‘Are you angry with me?’ she whimpered.

His voice was gentle suddenly. ‘Only because you are misbehaving, Kellie. I’d just like you to cooperate.’

‘Then un-fucking-tie me!’

‘I don’t think that’s really possible at the moment.’

She closed her eyes, trying desperately to think clearly, to fight the terrible craving for alcohol. For just one tiny sip of that Stoli. But she was not going to give this fat American the satisfaction. Never, no way in hell, no way, never, never, never.

Then the craving took over her brain.

‘Please can I have a drink now?’ she asked.

Moments later the bottle was inside her lips and she was greedily gulping the liquid down. Its effect on her was almost instant. God, it felt good. Maybe she was wrong about this man – maybe he was kind after all.

‘That’s good, Kellie! Keep drinking. That’s really good, isn’t it?’

She nodded in gratitude.

‘See! All I want to do is be nice to you. You be nice to me, and I’ll be nice to you. Any part of that you don’t understand?’

She shook her head. Then felt bereft, suddenly, as he abruptly pulled the bottle away.

And suddenly she was thinking clearly again. And every scary movie she had ever seen started playing in her mind simultaneously. Who the hell was this man? A serial killer? What was he going to do to her? Fear squirmed like some wild creature loose inside her. Was she going to be raped? Tortured?

I’m going to die, here, in the darkness, without ever seeing Jessica or Max or Tom again.

How did you deal with a person like this? In films she had seen prisoners trying to establish a relationship, a bond, with their captors. It made it much harder for them to harm you if they got to know you a little.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘I don’t think you need to concern yourself about that, Kellie.’

‘I’d like to know.’

‘I’m going to leave you now for a little while. With a bit of luck, your husband will be joining you soon.’