He catches me by the wrists and bears down violently, leaving my skin burning. Then he spins me round to face the desk, wrenching both arms behind my back. I fight, kicking backwards and catching his leg.
‘Stay still,’ he hisses in my ear, pushing me face down over Wainwright’s desk. ‘Or I’ll be forced to hurt you.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. You can’t hurt me.’
‘Then why were you crying when I walked in?’
‘Fuck you, Dom.’
He laughs, breathless, pressing hard against me. ‘Oh, such a tempting invitation. Only wish I had the time, darling. But we need to get out of here.’
‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’
‘Not willingly, maybe.’
‘What do you mean?’
His weight keeping me pinned me to the desk, Dominic fumbles in his jacket pocket as though retrieving something, then clamps a hand awkwardly over my mouth.
I struggle to breathe.
He’s stifling me with some kind of sweet-scented cloth, his voice suddenly far away. ‘Hush, relax. You’ve been up for hours, poor darling. You must be exhausted.’
‘No,’ I try to say, but my tongue is so heavy. He’s drugged me, I realise with a shock. Finally, he releases his grip on me, and I stumble away, then fall to my hands and knees. ‘No.’
As the room blurs, I stare up at my cheating husband’s melting face and think, Wainwright was on your tail all right, you lying bastard. And you killed him for it. But that’s not the whole story, is it?
‘Who . . . ?’
My mind forms questions I can no longer ask, my eyes closing against my will.
‘Time to sleep, Rachel,’ he says softly. ‘Goodnight.’
Chapter Fifty-Five Icy water is trickling down my lips, my chin, onto my chest.
‘What the . . . ?’
I’m slumped in the passenger seat of a car. Dominic is sitting next to me.
We’re parked in a suburban street with a plane tree growing beside us, its branches stark and wintry. The side window is misted up with condensation but I catch glimpses of sky out there. A grey pre-dawn.
‘Good, you’re awake.’ Dominic leans on the steering wheel, studying my face. ‘But is it Cat or Rachel I’m talking to?’
I don’t answer.
He sighs, then reaches for my face. I jerk away, realising in that instant why my arms and shoulders feel so heavy. He’s tied my hands behind my back. But he’s not going to hit me. He’s just wiping my chin with a handkerchief.
‘I got bored waiting for you to wake up, so I gave you a little splash of water. Sorry about that.’ His smile does not look apologetic. ‘How are you feeling? Dry mouth? Headache? Bit nauseous?’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Excellent.’ He puts away the handkerchief and sits back. His fingertips drum on the steering wheel. ‘After-effects of chloroform. Not my finest hour. Sorry about tying you up too. But I could tell you weren’t planning to cooperate.’
‘Did you ever think I would?’
‘No,’ he concedes. ‘Hence the need to drug you.’
I nod. ‘You came prepared.’
‘It was important to get you out of there before you were seen.’ He shakes his head at me. ‘Breaking and entering. Not very clever. Especially given your relationship with Wainwright.’
‘I didn’t have a relationship with Wainwright.’
‘The man was a private detective, investigating your husband. Then he died next to you in suspicious circumstances, soon after which you were caught breaking into his offices.’ Dominic half smiles. ‘Even Robert would have had trouble hushing that up if it had got out.’
He sounds bitter.
‘What makes you think it won’t get out?’ I say. ‘When the police walk in there—’
‘They won’t find anything.’
‘But all those photos, the files . . .’
‘Gone, destroyed.’
‘Wainwright’s computer.’
‘Also gone.’ He’s serious. ‘It’ll look like a breakin. Thieves. Pure and simple.’
‘I don’t believe a word of this. All on your own, you cleared that office out and carried me down all those stairs?’
‘There was a lift,’ he says drily.
I look at him, unable to believe what I’m hearing. ‘Okay, maybe you can make the computer and all those files vanish. But he must have had back-ups.’
‘I’ve got that covered.’
I stare, incredulous. ‘What the fuck, Dominic? What’s all this about? Wainwright must have had something really big on you. Otherwise why kill him?’
‘I told you. That wasn’t me.’
‘Yeah, of course.’ My laughter is hollow. ‘I forgot it was an accident. But then, lots of the bad shit I do is accidental. Like tying up Jasmine yesterday. That was a complete accident. I don’t know how it happened.’
His face hardens.
‘Poor Dom. You really like her, don’t you?’ I ignore the stab of jealousy. That’s Cat’s emotion, not mine. ‘Where is Cousin Jasmine, anyway?’
‘On her way back to Birmingham by now, I should imagine. Cursing your name to the heavens.’
‘She had it coming. She tried to pretend not to know anything. But she couldn’t fool me. Jasmine was in on the big lie, same as the rest of you. Thinking you could keep Rachel under wraps forever.’ I laugh. ‘You should have seen her face when I tied her up. She looked so shocked.’ I purse my lips and roll my eyes in mock horror. ‘Like that.’
‘You selfish bitch. Don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself?’
‘Of course I don’t.’ I look at him in surprise. ‘I’m a psychopath.’
He becomes serious at that word, his face pale. ‘Well, at least you can admit it. That’s something I never expected to hear from you.’
We sit in silence for a few minutes.
I watch through the misted-up windscreen as a milk float trundles slowly past. It will be dawn soon, the sky is lightening by the minute. People will start to stir in the houses on either side of the street, most of which are still dark and quiet, their curtains drawn. I wonder if my parents are awake yet. And if they know that Dominic has me. Or even care.
So many burnt bridges behind me, I’ve lost count. A shiver runs through me. It feels cold enough to snow.
‘Why are we here?’ I ask.
‘To pay someone a visit.’ Dominic sounds strained, no longer sure of himself. He studies the houses on the right as though in sudden doubt.
For a moment I watch him hopefully. I think he feels sorry for me. Whatever he’s got planned, maybe he’s about to change his mind and let me go.
Then he shifts, snatching the key from the ignition. ‘Right, it’s time. Come on.’
I cough, leaning forward. ‘Untie me?’
He hesitates, then uses a pocket knife to cut my hands loose. Some kind of black plastic tie, like the kind of thing my mother uses in the garden to support roses. I wince and stretch out my aching arms, then rub my sore wrists, trying to get the circulation going again. There are red marks on the skin.
Dominic watches me with a wary expression, as if he’s not quite sure he has done the right thing by freeing my hands. ‘Don’t bother trying to run, okay?’ he says. ‘There’s nowhere to go. Besides,’ he adds grimly, ‘this is something you can’t avoid facing.’
‘I can do what the hell I like.’
‘No one can outrun their past.’ Dominic gets out, slamming his door. He comes round to let me out of the passenger side. ‘Not even you, Rachel.’
Chapter Fifty-Six
Dominic leads me to the front door of one of the semi-detached houses, holding me tightly by the elbow, his face unreadable. The garden path has crazy paving, a few slabs missing, weeds growing in the sandy gaps, and a sad-looking rosemary shrub in a pot beside the front step. There’s a silver Renault hatchback parked on the drive, with a Green Party sticker in the rear window.
Dominic presses the doorbell. A long, hard press, as though designed to wake anyone who might have been considering a lie-in.
‘Who lives here?’ I demand, but he doesn’t answer.
I take a step back, Dominic still gripping my arm, and look up at the window above us. Have we been invited or is this a surprise visit?
The curtains upstairs are still drawn.