Page 65 of Into the Fire

‘Good luck with the EGM, by the way.’

Then she was gone, hauled down the corridor and away.Biting her lip, Rachel Firth felt tears threatening.How had things gone so wrong so quickly?And how on earth was she supposed to remedy the situation?She’d had no idea she was getting into bed with such violent crooks, but who would believe her now?The connection between her initial conversation with the former police officer and this thuggish attack was an easy one to make.It made her look like some kind of criminal gang leader, protecting her empire at all costs.Why hadn’t she taken better care of this?Why hadn’t she asked more questions of the people she employed?

She knew the answer, of course.Money.The cash had poured in, confidence in her, in her company, growing year on year, so what was to be gained by rocking the boat?If she’d had doubts, she’d suppressed them in the interests of her opulent lifestyle.But now all that was threatened, her ruin imminent.Looking down onto the street below, she saw Helen Grace being led to an awaiting police car, but neither the look of weary resignation on her face, nor the embarrassment of the former officer being led to her old stomping ground in cuffs, afforded Firth any satisfaction today.

It was she who was staring down the barrel this morning.

Chapter 68

She fidgeted nervously, tugging insistently at a stray tress of hair, the tension now almost unbearable.Emilia Garanita had been at the Westquay for well over an hour now, checking out the entrances and exits, scanning the concourses for signs of suspicious activity or concealed thugs, before eventually taking her place in the third-floor café.With each passing minute, her nerves had increased, her shirt sticking to her back, as her anxiety slowly peaked.She had planned for this meeting, had fantasized about it many times, but now that it was here she felt utterly out of her depth.She had faced down many threats before, but this guy was a hardened, sadistic criminal who thought nothing of taking a hammer to a young woman’s knees, of tossing sulphuric acid in her face.What’s more, he was seriously pissed off.

A noise startled Emilia, making her look up sharply.But it was just an old man, scraping his chair back as he struggled on his way.Nervously, Emilia wound her fingers round the strap of the holdall, nestled between her feet, as if fearing someone might tear towards her, knocking her to the floor and seizing the booty.But the café seemed sleepy, its few customers utterly unaware of the drama playing out beneath their noses.Privately, Emilia urged herself to be strong, to be calm.She had thought this through carefully, had chosen her spot well.She was atthe highest point of the shopping centre, her sight lines to the escalator, to the lifts, unimpeded, so there was no way anyone could surprise her.If her nemesis was smart, he would obey her instructions, play by the rules, retrieve his haul.Yet how could she assume that he’d do so?She didn’t know him, would have walked past him in the street and, besides, hadn’t he made a career out of breaking the rules?

Trying to calm her breathing, Emilia glanced over the café once more, surveying the quiet scene.And now she spotted something, a tall, tanned man in his early forties cresting the escalator and stepping out onto the third floor.He was athletic and muscular, with a lived-in, slightly pitted face and wary, shifting eyes.Dressed in jeans and a dark blue blouson jacket, he looked like a casual shopper, but his behavoiur gave him away, his body language tense, his gaze wary.Scanning the café, he spotted her.A fierce energy seemed to pulse from him, projecting itself towards the journalist, but Emilia maintained eye contact, refusing to buckle.A moment’s silent communication ensued, Emilia inclining her head in a gentle nod, then he was on the move, making his way directly towards her.

Emilia straightened up, determined to appear confident, powerful.Without a word, the man who’d haunted her dreams for years seated himself opposite her.At first, he didn’t look at her, his eyes taking in the perimeter of the café, before straying over its occupants, searching for hidden threats.

‘There’s no need to worry,’ Emilia said calmly.‘I haven’t brought you here to trap you.’

Slowly, he brought his gaze to rest on her.Unzipping his coat, he leaned back in his chair, the hilt of a knife visible just above his belt, but he never took his eyes off his adversary as he replied:

‘Whyhaveyou brought me here, Emilia?’

Instantly, she reacted, unnerved by the way he lingered onher name, but more startled still by his strong Dutch accent.Gathering herself, she replied:

‘Because I wanted to see you.I wanted to look the beast in the eye.’

He snorted, raising a contemptuous eyebrow, half amused, half annoyed by the insult.

‘But we’ve already met.So why the need for all this …?’

He gestured airily at the café.

‘Well, you’ll forgive me, but you didn’t give me much warning last time we met, just stepped out of the shadows and bam!’

Once more, her nemesis shrugged, as if it was obvious that he’d had no choice.

‘Plus, I was writhing in agony, trying to keep the acid from my eyes, so the whole thing’s a bit of a blur.I guess it must have been different for you.You seemed very focused, taking advantage of my agony, pinning me down, taking a hammer to my kneecaps …’

Now his expression hardened, her derision annoying him.

‘Tell me, what was that like?’Emilia continued, warming to her theme.‘What did it feel like, brutalizing an innocent girl?’

‘You weren’t so innocent,’ he countered dismissively.‘You were a drug dealer, like your father.’

‘I was a drug mule,’ Emilia spat back.‘Who was acting under duress.Forced to swallow condoms of cocaine, to risk our lives, just so you could peddle drugs to your continental friends.’

‘I know, I know,’ he said, looking amused, rather than ashamed.‘It was embarrassingly … how do you say it?… small fry, but everyone has to start somewhere.’

‘And you started with us.With children, for God’s sake.Putting their futures in jeopardy so you could make a buck.’

‘You could have shared in that, Emilia.We asked you to carry on, wewantedyou to carry on, you said no.’

‘And this was my reward.’

She gestured to the scarring on her left cheek.

‘My prize for having some fucking morals, for doing the right thing.’

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