Deep Water, Mark Ayre [e novels to read online TXT] 📗

"No," said Abbie. "Saving him was a happy accident."

“Then who?"

"I've only a physical description. No name."

As expected, this earned a raised eyebrow. The problem with honesty was the truth of Abbie's situation was stranger than fiction.

"Go on then," said Tony. "What does this person look like?"

Calculated risk. Pros and cons. When it came to what Abbie did, every decision involved a cost-benefit analysis. Tony had visited Jacob's house planning a break-in, carrying a gun. There was every chance he was planning to kill someone. What if that someone was Jacob's mother? And what if Jacob's mother was the woman Abbie was supposed to save?

Her mind whirring, Abbie ate some more breakfast. After a sizeable scoop of beans, she placed her cutlery on her plate.

"There's a lot I can't explain about what I do and why," Abbie said. "This person I need to save, I don't know who they are. You might want to know why I'm so keen to save a stranger, but I can't tell you. You need only know I'll do everything in my power to protect them until such time as they prove themselves to be scum on the level of Ana."

Abbie collected her cutlery, ate more ketchup soaked breakfast. Tony considered her comments. It took him a little while to dig beneath the words and unravel the subtext.

"You're worried I was going after this person you're aiming to save?”

Abbie kept eating. Didn't speak. Didn't even nod.

"It's a possibility," said Tony. "So, how do you want to proceed? I'm not telling you anything else about what I was doing tonight. Not yet. Maybe we should go our separate—"

"No," said Abbie. "I'm going to tell you who brought me here.”

Abbie registered Tony's surprise. Replaced her cutlery on the plate.

"I was only explaining my position, so you know what happens if it does turn out you want to kill who I want to save. Remember, I'll move mountains keep them alive."

Abbie had almost finished her breakfast. Tony had barely touched his. Abbie drained her third coffee while Tony had hardly laid a finger on this latest cup of slop.

"Okay," he said after a while. "Go ahead. We'll see what happens."

Without hesitation, Abbie described the woman she had seen in her dream. Fifties or sixties, shoulder-length white hair, piercing blue eyes, lightly wrinkled tanned white skin.

Tony listened. When Abbie completed her description, she returned to her breakfast while Tony watched her. Using her peripheral, she watched him too as he glanced at the counter, ensuring the waitress was out of earshot. From his pocket, he withdrew his phone, unlocked it, searched for something. While he searched, he spoke.

"If I’d broken into Jacob's house, my plan was to head upstairs to the master bedroom. Jacob's mother left years ago. Jacob's father leads an active sex life but rarely brings women to his marital bed. I expected to find him alone. So long as I did, I planned to put my gun to his head and pull the trigger. Before the sun rose this morning, I wanted to kill Louis Gravenbach."

Tony's tale had been a weight on his shoulders. He felt better for having removed it and passed it to Abbie, for whom it was weightless. Even with the weight gone, Tony was restless. Abbie resisted asking the burning questions. Did you really intend to put the gun straight to his head and pull the trigger? Might you not have put a bullet through his knee or his crotch first? How much did Louis hurt you? How much suffering do you feel he deserves?

Tony wanted Abbie to say something, but she waited, searching for signs of dishonesty. If nothing else, she believed he had planned to kill Louis—eventually.

At last, Abbie asked the most obvious question, and Tony didn’t hesitate to answer.

"He murdered my sister. For that alone, he deserves to die, but that was only the latest shot in his campaign against my family, and it won't be the last. The rest of my sisters are in danger, as is our family's head. My mother."

Finishing her breakfast, Abbie lay her cutlery on her plate as Tony placed his phone on the table and pointed at the picture he had located.

"My mother," he repeated, tapping the screen. "Given the description you gave me, I'm guessing you recognise her."

Seven

“Are you going to finish your breakfast?” said Abbie, gesturing to his two thirds full plate.

Tony’s finger was still on his phone. He stared at Abbie.

“What?”

“You heard. Are you done eating?”

Tony’s finger remained on the phone. He looked dumbfounded.

“I think you’re done,” said Abbie. “I hope you’ve paid.”

Standing, she did up her jacket and looked outside. Not long until sunrise now, and the sky was black. Already, it felt as though she’d been in town a week. How had the sun not yet risen?

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Abbie was out the door before Tony had got himself together enough to put away his phone and chase her down. Ten paces from the greasy spoon, he grabbed her arm; yanked her back. She resisted the urge to break free of his grip and knock him to the floor.

“What the hell?” he said.

“Fresh air is good for you,” said Abbie. “Please release my arm.”

Tony didn’t. He shoved his phone in Abbie’s face. “Is this the woman you claimed you wanted to save?”

“I’m pretty sure,” said Abbie, leaning back. “Hard to tell when you’ve got the damn screen an inch from my nose. Move it back.”

“Were you lying?” Tony said, his voice twisted with agitation. “Did Louis send you to taunt me? If this is some game, you can find that bastard and tell him—”

Abbie was not big on slapping. It was so rare to nail the strike and produce the satisfying crack of palm meeting cheek. Beyond that glorious sound, what was the point? Abbie’s tongue was plenty cutting, and fists, feet and elbows had always done the job if a physical altercation was required. She had considered slapping purely a troupe