Nowhere to Hide, page 5
‘I’ve seen him ride. He needs more than a lesson,’ he joked.
‘And on that note, we need to go.’ Ethan caught hold of his daughter’s free hand, tugging gently as he pulled his family towards the SUV. ‘I’ll give you a call next week, Nico. Nice to meet you, Callie.’
‘Yes, I hope you get settled in. I’m sure we’ll see you again,’ Faith said.
‘Bye, Mr Stuart, Mrs Stuart,’ Anya called after them. So far, she had taken no notice whatsoever of Callie, but now she pinned her with a dark, curious stare.
Nico must have noticed because he was suddenly introducing them. ‘Anya, this is Callie. She’s staying in the cottage. Callie, Anya is one of my stable hands, so you’ll see her about a bit.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ Callie told her, hoping the smile she gave would be reciprocated.
It wasn’t, and Anya’s gaze remained cool. ‘Hi, Callie,’ she greeted her, before turning her attention back to Nico. ‘I’ll go start on the bedding,’ she said, heading back to the stables when he nodded.
Deciding he was missing out, Dash ditched Chester, charging after her.
Callie watched her go. ‘She seems young. Has she worked with you for long?’
‘She’s eighteen. And yeah, for a while. She’s had a few issues. Being around the horses helped calm her down.’
He didn’t expand on what the issues had been and it wasn’t Callie’s place to ask.
As silence fell between them, Chester let out a noise that was something between a yawn and a whine.
‘I should get back.’
‘Callie?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you sure everything’s okay?’
He sounded concerned and she paused, shoulders tensing slightly. Did he have a sixth sense or something? She toyed with telling him about what had happened on her walk. She could try to joke about the encounter, even if it had scared her. After what had happened her first night though, Nico was going to start believing she was the girl who cried wolf.
It was better not to.
‘Everything’s fine,’ she said lightly.
‘Do you need anything?’
‘I’m good.’
‘I picked up security cameras earlier for the cottage. Can I pop by later and install them?’
He had?
‘Umm, yes, okay. Thank you.’
Callie hadn’t expected him to do that. He had already gone out of his way for her.
Perhaps, she mused as she walked back to her new home, Nico had taken her concerns seriously after all. Either that or he just wanted to put her at ease.
Whatever the reason, she appreciated the gesture. Especially when she unlocked the front door, stepping into the small living room and immediately picked up on the feeling that someone had been inside.
She had become accustomed to trusting her gut instinct and when something was off or about to go wrong, she tended to sense it. As did Chester, whose nose was alert for new smells.
Nothing was out of place in the living room or kitchen, but then she went through to the bedroom, and that was where she spotted the signs.
She had fastidiously straightened the duvet when making the bed, the action ingrained in her, yet it was rumpled on the side where she had slept, as if someone had been sat there.
And that was when she spotted her photograph of her mother. The picture frame that sat on the bedside table had been twisted, as if someone had picked it up to look at, then placed it back in the wrong position.
Callie’s mouth was dry. Who had been in the cottage?
My cash.
The thought came to her and, panicking, she opened the top drawer of the table, almost sobbing with relief when she saw the black bag. She counted through the money, her fingers shaking. None of the notes had been taken, and she let out a breath, the tension easing slightly in her shoulders.
Someone had been in the cottage, though. She knew she wasn’t being paranoid. But if she told Nico, would he believe her?
He was the only other person with a key. She knew he had one, because he had used it to let himself in the night she arrived.
That had been different, though. He had no need to come here while Callie was out. And if for some reason he had, surely he would have mentioned it just now.
Unless he hadn’t wanted her to know.
The ugly thought crept forward from her subconscious.
No. He was helping her. He was Laurel’s brother. He could be trusted.
Her adopted brother, she reminded herself, recalling snippets of the conversation she had overheard from Laurel’s mum.
He’s seen things.
No one knows what that poor kid went through or the scars it left.
She was being mean, especially after everything he had just done for her.
Nico Adams had her best interests at heart. Didn’t he?
7
BEFORE
‘Odds or evens?’ Duncan asks.
‘Evens,’ I reply, a smile on my face as I watch him roll the dice.
He likes to play games. I learnt that about him early on in our relationship. It’s a bit of fun, he had told me, and keeps things fresh. The dice is a favourite of his, and he always carries them with him to add anticipation to the dullest of situations.
Where shall we eat?
What movie should we watch?
Where shall we go today?
I pick odds or evens. If I win, I choose. If I lose, the decision is his.
He always gets to set the question, that has never been up for negotiation, and as we have become more familiar with each other, these have become bolder.
If I win, I get to choose what you wear tonight.
If you lose, you have to wait on me all weekend.
To mix things up further, sometimes the number is an indicator.
You have to drink six shots of my choosing.
I get to spank you ten times.
Over the four months we have been together, I have learnt Duncan is good at getting his own way. He persuaded me to give up my house and move in with him within six weeks of meeting him, and because he lives in Dartmouth, down in Devon, in the turreted house I had seen online, he talked Tara into allowing me to work from home. I hadn’t planned on doing either of those things so quickly, but he is smooth and convincing. What Duncan wants, Duncan gets, and I guess I have been caught up in his whirlwind.
So perhaps I gave in easier than I should have, but he is an addiction and difficult to say no to. Besides, we get on so well and his house, The Old Rectory, is big. A sprawling, old building set in several acres of grounds. It’s just the two of us in the main house with Chester, but Duncan has a housekeeper, Shirley, who comes in four days a week, and his security man, Rob, lives in an attached annexe.
It is very much Duncan’s house still, filled with his things and lots of photos of his late mother, and at times, I feel like I am a guest. I think it’s because I am in awe at the size of the place and of Duncan himself. I’m sure it will gradually become my home too as I put my own mark on it.
I have extended an invite to Phoebe to come and stay one weekend, but she is always busy and we haven’t been able to schedule a date yet. I want her to meet Duncan and get her seal of approval before Dad flies over in December.
He and Duncan are both big personalities and used to getting their own way, and it worries me a little how that is going to work out. I need to get Pheebs on my side.
I know I am the luckiest girl alive having a boyfriend like Duncan Stone, and I don’t want my dad to mess things up.
I watch Duncan now as he rolls the dice on the bedside table.
We were out late last night meeting up with old friends of his and I was anxious, wanting to make a good first impression. Duncan is always telling me I have a lot to learn and I can sense his displeasure if I say the wrong thing or act inappropriately. I don’t like embarrassing him. After all, he could have anyone, but he has chosen me. He often reminds me of this. Not to be unkind; he is looking out for me, aware that because he is in the public eye, people will judge me.
I think his friends liked me, but I was more than a little tipsy. The double gin had been to calm my nerves, but then Duncan had kept topping my wine glass up during dinner and I lost track of how much I drunk.
I was asleep this morning when he brought me a cup of tea and far too groggy to discuss how we should spend our Saturday.
‘Are you hungover?’ he had asked, teasing.
‘A little,’ I confessed.
‘Perhaps you should have watched how much you had to drink last night.’
The accusation jarred. We both know he was the one topping up my glass all night and I quickly reminded him of that. For the briefest moment, his frown had darkened and a tiny flicker of unease stroked my spine, but then the smile was back on his face and as he pulled the dice from his pocket, I convinced myself I imagined it.
I watch the dice land now. A four and a five.
He gets to choose.
No surprise there, as he often wins. He must be lucky.
‘So, what do you have in mind?’ I ask, trying to keep my tone light. I would rather stay in bed.
He considers for a moment before nodding. ‘Finish your tea,’ he instructs.
I down the rest of my drink, before getting up and heading over to the giant, walk-in wardrobe.
‘No need to get dressed. Come with me.’
There’s not?
‘Okay, well just let me use the loo first.’
My bladder is bursting. I could use a shower too.
‘That can wait. Just come. Please.’
Chester, who has been asleep in his bed on the floor, looks up. Seeing us leaving the room, he starts to follow.
‘Stay!’ Duncan orders.
The dog halts, but he whines and looks at me.
‘He can come,’ I argue.
‘No, he needs to wait here.’
‘But—’
‘Callie, please. I need you to come with me. He will be fine here.’
Unsure what is so urgent, I shrug and tell Chester to lie down. He does as he’s told, though doesn’t look happy about it. He and Duncan have never warmed to each other. I keep telling myself it’s early days and to give it time.
Ignoring the stab of guilt, I follow Duncan from the bedroom and across the landing to the central staircase. The October morning is chilly and I wish I had stopped to grab my robe and slippers. The cotton negligee offers no warmth.
As we head down the stairs, I am wracking my brain, trying to work out what he has planned that is so urgent I couldn’t stop to pee. If we’re leaving the house, I need clothes. And even if his plan involves staying home, I want something warmer on.
It’s a Saturday, so Shirley isn’t in, and I’m glad. I like her fine, but it would be embarrassing if I ran into her while I am practically undressed.
I follow Duncan along the hallway to the huge kitchen. The wide, black and white tiles are cold beneath my bare feet. We pass the pantry and head into the back passageway that leads to the utility room, mud room and garage, and by now, my curiosity is piqued.
‘What are we doing?’ I ask, as he pushes open the utility-room door.
‘You’ll see. In you go.’
I do so without hesitation, immediately turning, ready with more questions. The slam of the door in my face makes me flinch and for a moment, I stare in disbelief, but then the lock catches and I grab the handle.
The door won’t open.
‘Duncan, what are you doing? Let me out.’
There is no response.
I try the handle again. ‘This isn’t funny. Open the bloody door.’
I am greeted with nothing but silence. Then I hear his footsteps. They are getting further away.
Has he seriously just left me in here?
It’s a prank. It has to be. He will come back in a second and open the door with a grin on his face. Gotcha!
So I wait and my bladder burns. At first, adrenaline from the shock is keeping me warm, but as the minutes tick by, the cold takes hold. It starts at my toes, icy cold on the tiles, but quickly works its way up my body.
I start to pace the small room in an attempt to keep warm, rubbing at my goose-pimpled arms.
Shirley takes care of laundry, so I have only been in here once or twice. There is one window, but the opening is tiny, and no other doors. Just cupboards, a sink, and a washing machine. There is only one way out and it is locked.
As I left the bedroom without putting on my watch on and my phone isn’t with me, I have no concept of time, and as I continue to pace, my confusion gives way to anger.
This isn’t funny. It’s not a joke. How dare he do this?
The sound of footsteps returning has me pressing against the door.
‘Duncan. Let me the hell out of here!’
Silence, but I know he’s outside.
I pound on the heavy wood. ‘You’ve crossed a line. Open the fucking door.’
‘No. You crossed a line, Mica.’
He stopped calling me Callie about a week after I moved in with him. He kept using Micaela, despite knowing it pissed me off, and I would glower at him each time. Often, he would trail off after the first two syllables. Mi-cay. Gradually, he started using Mica and I was sick of correcting him. I have reasoned that at least Mica is unique to him. His own special moniker for me, even if it bristles.
I almost don’t hear him using it as he speaks now, because his tone is calm and reasonable against my anger.
‘What?’ I bluster, needing him to repeat.
‘You crossed a line.’
‘What bloody line? What the hell are you talking about?’ I can hear the panic in my voice and try to dial it back with deep breaths. I just want him to let me out.
‘You disrespected me.’
‘What? When?’ My heart is thumping and I am so confused.
‘Last night in the restaurant. You were an embarrassment. I introduced you to my friends and you turned into a vulgar drunk. How do you think that made me feel?’
Is he crazy? He was the one pouring the drinks. I tried to stop him at one point, but he insisted on filling my glass. And now he’s blaming me?
I try to keep my tone reasonable. ‘I wasn’t vulgar and I wasn’t drunk. Yes, I was a little tipsy, but I told you I didn’t want another drink.’
‘That’s typical of someone with a drink problem. Blame everyone else.’
‘I don’t have a bloody drink problem!’ I snap the words in rage, unable to help myself. He is making me so angry. How dare he falsely accuse me? I like a drink, but it’s not a crutch for me. I can easily go without.
‘I think you need to be taught a lesson.’
What? Trepidation takes the edge off my anger. Although he sounds calm, there is a cruelty in his tone I haven’t heard before.
‘Duncan, please unlock the door. Let’s talk about this face to face.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Yes, it is. You need to let me out. It’s not funny.’
‘I’m not trying to be funny, Mica. I’m fully aware this is not a laughing matter.’
Why is he doing this? He can’t keep me locked in here.
I try the handle, then bash my fist against the wood, hurting my knuckles as fresh panic builds.
‘Open the damn door!’
‘I think you need to calm yourself down. You’re scaring me.’
‘I’m scaring you?’ I am in shock. How can I be scaring him? I’m five foot five and he is over six foot and nearly double my weight. ‘You’re not the one locked in the bloody utility room.’
He is silent for a moment, and when he answers, his voice is emotionless. I barely recognise it.
‘I think you should use this time wisely to get your anger under control. Consider your actions and understand why you are in there. Once you’re acting rationally, I will let you out.’
My temper evaporates as fear takes over. He can’t leave me in here.
And what about Chester? He needs feeding and walking.
I point this out now.
‘He’s a dog. He’s fine,’ is all I get back.
‘Duncan, please don’t do this. It’s freezing in here, and I need the loo.’
‘I’m sorry, Mica. Trust me. This hurts me more than it does you.’
‘Let me out, please.’ My voice cracks on the last word, humiliating tears blinding me. How can this be happening?
I continue to beg, but he doesn’t respond. After his footsteps have faded, I sink to the floor, my head about to explode as I take everything in.
A short while later, I hear the whir of the mechanical garage door open and the engine of Duncan’s Porsche, and I am on my feet again.
Is he going out? He can’t leave me.
I open the tiny window and see his car drive by, Rob Jolly sitting in the passenger seat, and I yell and bang on the window, but then they are gone.
Over the hours that follow, I go from shell-shocked and scared to furious and humiliated. There is nothing in the room to help me keep warm. There is no tumble dryer and Chester’s dog towel and our coats are kept in the mud room next door.
I can hear my goldy the other side of the door. He came running to find me as soon as Duncan left and I have no idea if he’s been fed. He keeps barking and whining at me to come out, thinking I am hiding away from him, and it’s wracking me with guilt as I talk to him, trying to reassure him that everything is okay.
How have I never seen this side to Duncan before?
He can’t do this to me and get away with it. At some point, he is going to have to come back and let me out of here, and then our relationship is over. I can’t stay with him. Not after today. Not after what he has done.
The real humiliation comes when I realise I can’t hold my bladder any longer.
I am so uncomfortable and it’s making my belly ache.
I had hoped Duncan would have been back to open the door, but perhaps it was his intention to place me in this predicament. After all, he had refused my request to use the loo.
Knowing I will have to use the sink, I force myself up and hop onto the counter so I am positioned above the basin, sitting on it like it’s a toilet. Fresh chills tremble through me as I pee and my cheeks burn in humiliation.
