The Prisoner(19)

“I’m sure it will be alright. If I can just get my shoe off.”

I bent to unlace it, trying not to flinch at the pain.

“Here, let me do that.”

He crouched down and I watched as his fingers slowly untied the lace, then eased my sneaker from my foot. I looked away, trying not to blush at the feel of his fingers on my skin as he took off my sock.

“Does this hurt?” he asked, pressing around my ankle.

“Not much,” I lied.

“It’s not broken but it’s had a bad knock. It needs ice. Where do you live?”

“Camden.”

He took out his phone. “Give me a moment, then I’ll drive you home.”

“You don’t—” I began. But he was already speaking to Ned.

I wanted to talk to him on the way to Camden, find out more about him. But he was focused on the traffic and anyway, I wasn’t sure what to say. I knew from Justine that he was in his early thirties, but that was it. The only other thing I’d managed to find out was that he’d been working for Ned for five months. According to Justine, Ned had hired Hunter to protect him from the press, which was why everyone at Exclusives secretly call him the Bodyguard.

I turned my head to look at him, and for the briefest of seconds he met my eyes before concentrating again on the road ahead.

“Have you been working for Ned long?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“Around five months.”

“Did you always want to be a security guard?”

“Yes, I always wanted to be at someone’s beck and call,” he said, his voice grave.

I smiled. “So how did you end up being one?”

“Circumstances.”

“What were you before?”

He turned his eyes on me again and I saw how dark they were, almost black. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

I flushed, worried that I’d overstepped some kind of mark. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. But it’s a long story.”

I wanted to tell him that I didn’t mind hearing it, but he’d lapsed into silence, so I did the same.

We didn’t talk again until he pulled up outside the building where I now lived.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Wait here a minute.” He got out of the car.

I watched as he strode into a nearby supermarket. Had he really gone to do his shopping? I sat back, thinking how lucky I’d been to find a studio apartment just down the road from Carolyn’s apartment.

Hunter came back with a freezer bag. “Ice,” he said, opening my door.

“Thank you,” I said gratefully. I fumbled in my bag for my purse. “Can I—”

“Absolutely not.”

He helped me out of the car and insisted on coming up with me in the elevator.

“Which floor?” he asked.

“Third.”

In the cramped space, I was so aware of him, of his height, of the musky smell of his aftershave. It was almost a relief when we arrived on the third floor.

He waited while I unlocked the door.

“Look after yourself,” he said, as I hobbled inside my apartment.

“I will, thank you.”

I closed the door, took a clean towel from the drawer in the little kitchen area. Then clutching the bag of ice, I moved to the sofa and lay down, thinking that it was worth being knocked over by a scooter, just to have that time with Hunter.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


PRESENT

It’s time—at least, I think it is. The man should be here soon.

Today, I’m escaping. Last night, I pretended to be asleep when he came with my tray. I made sure I was huddled under my blanket, because if my plan is to work, I needed him to see me like that at least once.

Now, I grope for my blanket, lay it along the mattress, doing my best in the darkness to flesh it out. It’s hard to know if I’ve managed to make a realistic body shape but he only needs to believe that I’m under it while he’s crossing the room. If, or when, he realizes that I’m not, I’ll already be gone.

I cross to the door, take up my position behind it. I feel for where the hinges are; I’ll need to distance myself from them, if I’m too close to the door, my body will bounce it back onto him as walks in. If I stand too far away, he’ll be able to see me. I choose my position, flatten myself against the wall, and think of the ninth line I scored on the wall in the bathroom yesterday. Hopefully, I won’t have to score one today.

The waiting is unbearable. Even if I make it out of the room, everything depends on the man I thought was Carl not noticing that anything is wrong until I’ve had the chance to escape. If he’s in the basement with Ned, he’ll be able to hear my abductor if he starts shouting for help and will be up the stairs before I’ve gone very far. But it’s too late to worry about that now. The key is turning in the lock, he’s here.

The air stirs around me, I hold my hand up, the door touches my palm, it’s open. I sense the abductor come into the room, move past me. Now!

My fingers find the edge of the door, I slide my body around it, pull it after me, feel for the key—it’s there. Relief weakens my body; shaking, I close the door, turn the key, hear the click, steel myself for a roar of anger. But it doesn’t come and for a moment, the silence confuses me. Why isn’t he objecting? He must know what I’ve done. I fight down the fear, force myself to move.