No Peace For The Wicked

Chapter 31

He spoke of the dog in the past tense, Riley noted. She hoped it had managed to get a bite or two in before the gunman had killed it. With Lottie Grossman as its owner, the poor animal hadn’t had much of a life.

“What do they hope to gain by the killings?” Riley asked. “Most people would know it would draw too much attention.”

Mitcheson turned back to the window and shrugged. “You’re talking about normal rules,” he said grimly. “Normal rules don’t apply to this lot. There’s a ton of money out there waiting to be grabbed, and they want their share. In fact, the way Lottie sees it, it’s essential.”

“What for?”

“Ray Grossman’s dying. I don’t know how he’s hung on so long. They were advised to get him to a warmer climate, which is why they bought the villa. But with a visiting nurse and the medicines, they need more money to keep him out here. If he goes home he’ll be dead within a week.”

Riley’s mouth was dry. She felt he wasn’t telling her everything, but trying to force the issue probably wouldn’t work. Instead she changed tack. “What about you?” she asked coolly. “You could get out. Leave them to it.”

“I can’t do that. Not yet.” He spoke with an air of finality.

“Why? What do you owe them?” She stood and walked across the room. “And what do you mean, not yet? John, why are you even involved with these people? I can’t understand it. Something tells me this isn’t you… not the real you, anyway.”

He swung round, the movement bringing them within inches of each other. Riley was so close she could see her own reflection in the depth of his eyes, like a portrait in miniature looking up at him.

“I can’t explain,” he said simply. “It’s…it doesn’t make much sense to a-”

“To a what? A woman? Oh, please.”

“To an outsider.” He looked away from her, shaking his head. “I feel a… a responsibility to the men.”

Riley stared up at him. “You’re right — I don’t understand. They’re men, that’s all. Grown men at that. They can think for themselves, can’t they?” Then she realised what he was hinting at: they were all ex-army. “Honour? Is that what you’re saying? You feel you’d be betraying them if you pulled out? For heaven’s sake, John, that’s insane!” She put out her hand and rested her fingertips on his chest, instantly aware of the beat of his heart and the warmth of his body through the thin shirt. Suddenly he was holding her, and she swallowed and closed her eyes, finally giving in and moving against him. Their bodies touched and she heard a brief moan as their lips met. She responded, her body moving hungrily against him in spite of herself.

Mitcheson’s hands pressed against her bare back where the sun-dress was cut low, and she felt his fingers spread wide across her skin. One hand slid lower, caressing the swell of her buttocks, while his other hand moved up to her ribcage, sliding up and round with a whisper against the fabric of the dress until he was gently cupping her breast. She felt herself respond to his touch.

Then, as the last vestiges of her resistance began to slip away, her mind flashed back to the image of the man in the trees, and the dog, followed by the snapping of branches. In that instant, the moment was gone, the passion and hunger draining away to be replaced by the shocking reminder of what this man was involved in. She pulled away, her hands flat against his chest. “No!” she said sharply, pushing his arms down. “John, no.”

He looked surprised as she stepped away, his hands reaching for her. For a second he seemed about to protest, then his eyes cleared.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his words slurred with passion. “I thought you- ” He shrugged helplessly.

“Me, too,” Riley muttered, and walked past him to the door. She felt guilty for having succumbed briefly to the temptation, but oddly, felt even worse for pulling back. “But this is impossible.”

“Only if you let it.” His voice was bleak.

“It’s just… all those deaths.” Then she remembered Benson’s sudden disappearance that morning. “Did your men take Benson away and kill him, too?”

Mitcheson looked blank. “Benson? I don’t know any Benson.” He shook his head. “If it’s any consolation,” he continued, “none of the ones who’ve died were nice people.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “But doesn’t it bother you that so casually getting rid of people who are in the way has an inevitable outcome?”

His eyes flickered for a moment. “What’s that?”

“That it might not be long before someone decides it’s your turn… or mine.”

Frank Palmer stood in the gloom of a laundry room at the end of the corridor and watched as Riley stepped outside and closed the door of room 1221 behind her. He breathed with relief as she walked away and disappeared down the stairs. She seemed to have come to no harm, although she appeared flushed. Maybe Mitcheson had tried something on and she’d had to knee-drop him on to the carpet. The thought brought a smile to his face. Serves the bastard right for sending those two goons to smash up my computer…

He heard the clank of a cleaning trolley and decided it was time to go before a maid found him in here and screamed the place down. If Riley knew he’d been watching here watching over her instead of at the villa, she’d throw seven kinds of a fit. He stepped out of the laundry room and walked along the corridor towards the emergency stairs at the far end. As he did so, the door to room 1221 opened and Mitcheson emerged. Palmer instantly fought down a wild instinct to turn back, and hoped the ex-soldier still didn’t know what he looked like.

Their eyes met briefly and Palmer felt himself being scanned and noted. But if Mitcheson saw anything in his face he didn’t show it. Palmer heard the lift button being thumbed impatiently behind him and grinned to himself. Definitely a case of a knee-drop. That must have put a serious kink in his plans.

He passed through the emergency door and ran down the bare concrete stairs to the ground floor, where he emerged through a single door into the reception area. If he drove like a maniac, he might just get to the villa before Riley. If not, he was going to have some explaining to do. As he stepped into the hothouse atmosphere of the street, he saw the Mercedes pull away from the kerb and accelerate through the traffic. Mitcheson. He tugged his car keys from his pocket and ran for his car, pointing the nose towards an alternative route which might bring him ahead of Mitcheson if he was lucky. If it brought him ahead of Riley, too, it would be a miracle, but he firmly believed that good things happened to nice people.

As he reached the suburbs close to the coast road, dog-legging through an area of small, low commercial units and houses, Palmer saw a flashing blue light ahead. His bowels constricted as he remembered Riley’s arrest, and he slowed down, looking for a side turning. But he was now locked in traffic and already saw a policeman striding along the line of cars, waving them to move on.

As he neared the police car, Palmer saw it was parked alongside a large builder’s skip between two small warehouses. A crowd had gathered and were being pushed back by a uniformed motorcycle cop who was trying to pull a strip of bright tape across the gap between the buildings to form a barrier.

Another police car arrived and bullied its way across the road, forcing Palmer to slow even further. As he inched past the scene, he looked down and saw what had drawn the crowd. A body lay behind the skip, the legs twisted awkwardly in an ungainly pose. But what caught his eye specifically was that the crumpled trousers covering the legs ended in a familiar pair of scuffed brown shoes with frayed, red laces.