The House Guest by Mark Edwards(65)

I went back down the steps, hands still held up, treading carefully so I didn’t slip. He kept the gun trained on me. When we reached the platform beside the open window, he gestured for me to go through first, then followed, pointing the gun at me all the time.

‘Where’s Maguire?’ he said.

I hesitated. If I lied and told him Callum was close, he might decide he needed to kill me on the spot, then lie in wait for Callum.

‘Manhattan,’ I said.

‘Doing what?’

‘I don’t know.’

He stepped closer, jabbing the gun in my direction. ‘Don’t bullshit me.’

I felt like I had no choice but to tell the truth. ‘He was watching Mona at the hotel. But I don’t know where he is now.’

I couldn’t tell if he believed me.

‘How did you know we were helping each other?’ I said.

He rolled his eyes. ‘I saw him push you out of the way of my car.’

So much was going through my head that I didn’t stop to question how he knew who Callum was and what he looked like. If asked, I probably would have guessed that Sinead must have told him. Shown the cult members a photo of her dad.

‘And how did you find us?’ I asked.

He smirked. ‘You’re amateurs, Adam. You brought Krugman’s phone back here, didn’t you?’

I realised what he meant. ‘Oh shit. There’s a tracker inside it?’

‘Yep. And not the usual Find My iPhone shit. A proper tracker.’

I guessed that was something they did with all their phones. Was that why Eden had been so happy to give Ruth her spare phone? So she could keep track of her? Had the cult been responsible for the phone theft in the park too?

Of course they had. How many steps behind them would I always be?

‘So which one of you shot Krugman?’ he asked. ‘Maguire, I’m guessing.’

I didn’t contradict him.

He made a clucking sound with his mouth. ‘We’re going to make arrangements so Krugman gets a proper funeral. We look after our own.’

‘Like Mona looked after her husband?’

‘Jack wasn’t one of us. But you know about that? Did Krugman tell you?’

‘I figured it out. I know about Krugman and Mona too.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Smart. You know a lot. Now pick that chair up and sit on it.’

I did as he asked. He moved behind me and cuffed my hands. Then he grabbed another chair and sat down too, the gun still on me. He took out his phone and tapped out a text with his other hand. Reporting back to Gabriel, I guessed.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

He didn’t reply.

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You know mine.’

He mulled it over. Eventually, probably believing there was no harm telling a man who would be dead soon, he said, ‘Emilio.’

‘Where’s Ruth?’ I asked.

He smiled. ‘Are we playing quid pro quo? You know I’m the one holding a gun, Adam?’

Despite the situation, there was something weirdly likeable about Emilio. He was charming. He looked like the good-looking boy next door, the one everyone wants to be friends with.

‘I just don’t want to go to my grave not knowing that she’s okay,’ I said.

‘Huh.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘She’s fine. Not that you really care.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You were envious of her success. You wanted her to fail.’ He looked genuinely disgusted.

‘I never . . .’ I stopped. Why was I trying to defend myself to this guy? After what he and the rest of the cult had done? ‘You think that’s worse than abducting her?’

Emilio laughed. ‘She hasn’t been abducted, Adam. We’re looking after her. Protecting her.’

‘Protect one, protect all?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Where did you hear that?’

As he said this, my phone beeped in my pocket. Emilio reached in and plucked it out.

‘What’s the code?’

I told him and he unlocked it. I couldn’t see the screen but I guessed he was reading the message that had just arrived. I assumed it was from Callum. Emilio put my phone into his blazer pocket. ‘Such a mess. This bitch had better be worth it.’

‘You’re talking about Ruth.’

‘Yeah. She’s cute. Got that whole Princess Diana thing going on. Looks like butter wouldn’t melt. That’s exactly how Gabriel likes them. Though it didn’t work out so hot for the last actress he became obsessed with.’ He laughed, then got up. He produced a gag from his pocket and tied it around my mouth.



We sat like that for thirty or forty minutes, him not speaking, me unable to speak. Whenever I looked around, or even glanced up, he would snap at me, telling me to keep my eyes on my lap. I no longer thought of him as the boy next door. His good looks masked something rotten. While we waited, he treated me to a litany of all the things Gabriel was probably doing to Ruth right now, like he was reading off a list of PornHub keywords. I did my best to tune out, to let the filth wash over me. I think he saw it as a minor punishment for all the trouble I’d put him through. Or maybe he was just doing it to stave off boredom.

And then came the unmistakeable sound of someone turning a key in the door.