The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

he used a carefully rehearsed line, strong on the Russian accent, “Nikolai has had a change of mind. He will be taking you over. He will own your empire, eat from your table and sleep with your woman…” King fired and hit him in the left shoulder with a single shot and the white shirt turned crimson around the hole. The woman screamed as Luca fell backwards, and King gave her a shove forward. And that was the last King saw of them as he turned and ran down the side of the house and across the lawns. He hoped the children were alright, but he hoped Luca Fortez was too. He was convinced it was a flesh wound and knew that the bullet had not hit organs or arteries. It may have broken bone, but he was convinced that if pressure was applied quickly and just so long as Luca did not go into shock, then he would survive.

25

 

Caroline was eagerly anticipating a visit from Michael. He was young, and seemed different, certainly more sensitive than the other men she had encountered so far. As if he were somebody caught up in something he had no control over. She had tried to create the human element, the personal factor. She had told him that he reminded her of her brother. She concentrated hard to create a person in her life to fit Michael’s character. She was an only child. This was all a game, an avenue to explore and to exploit. She imagined things Michael might like, thought how to weave her fictional brother’s life into her captor’s mirroring image. She had no idea what her captors planned, but people were less willing to harm, or even kill a person they felt attachment to. If she could make Michael feel for her plight, she may even get the man to help her. But how far could she go? What would she be willing to do to buy her freedom?

She could hear a noise outside, footsteps on the landing. She unwrapped herself from the covers, slid off the bed and made her way around the bed to the desk. She figured she could get the leg off the desk in one swift movement. She held the wingnut in her palm, her fingers clenched around it, she quickly tucked it into her bra.

The bolt eased back. There were two sharp knocks, then the door eased open. Michael stood in the doorway with a flask. “Coffee,” he said, and walked in. He looked at her, signalled for her to step backwards with a flick of his hand.

Caroline obliged, took a step backwards and smiled. “Thank you, Michael.” She watched him pour the thick, black liquid into a dirty-looking cup on the desk. It was hardly appealing, but the thought of the warm drink made it more appetising than she ever thought it would have. She stepped over carefully, noticed that the man did not move. Was he letting his guard down? She picked up the cup, cradled it in her hands and took a sip. It was strong, tasted faintly of cigars, of burnt tobacco. She grimaced but found the warmth of the liquid and the caffeine hit most welcome and took another sip. It tasted better the second time. By the third mouthful, she was drinking as fast as the heat would allow. She held the cup, studied the man’s face. “Where am I?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I not tell,” he said. “I cannot.”

“I was expecting Eastern Europe, but I think we travelled further. Perhaps into Russia? The scenery looks like I imagined Russia to look.” She took another sip, thought more about the time they had travelled, the stops. “Those mountains are to the north. Ukraine perhaps?”

“Enough!” he snapped. He held out his hand for the cup. His sleeve rode up, exposing a tattooed forearm. Caroline recognised it. She was no football fan, but she knew Manchester United’s insignia, briefly saw the name over and under the picture of the devil with the pitchfork.

“Okay,” she said, acting more subdued than he could ever make her feel. She decided that it might be best to put the sight of his tattoo in the bank. She could work on a satisfactory backstory, weave her brother in somehow. Appeal more to the young man’s conscience. “I just want to know where I am. I have family who will be worried. My brother…”

“I don’t wish to know!”

“My brother looks just like you. I miss him. He’s football crazy. You know, soccer? He supports Manchester United. Have you heard of them?”

“Of course!”

“He’s a huge fan, took me to see them play.”

“Where?” he asked curiously, his tone softening.

“Old Trafford,” she said. This was unfamiliar territory for her. She decided not to try and be too detailed.

“Who did they play?”

She tried to think of another premiership team but was at a loss. She thought of the big cities. “Newcastle United, I think.” She cursed inwardly. She couldn’t remember if they had been relegated or not. She would have to be hazy on dates and players.

“You think?”

“It was a long time ago,” she said flippantly. “I’m not a football fan, but it was fun to go. The atmosphere was incredible…”

“What colour shirts did they wear?”

“Red!” she said, smiling. She held out her cup. “Could I have some more, please Michael?”

He nodded, poured and filled the cup. “I mean, Newcastle.”

“Oh,” she said. She was concentrating hard. She knew their nickname was The Magpies. She went with it. “Black and white. It was a fun afternoon.”

“What was the score?” he cocked his head. “You must remember the score?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure, two-one, maybe? It was a long time ago, and as I said, I’m not a fan. But my brother is. You like Manchester United?”

He smiled. “Yes.”