‘You OK to drive?’ William asks, giving Miller a wary glance.
‘Perfect.’ He starts the car, rams it into first, and we’re skidding away from the kerb faster than is safe. Miller drives like a demon. Under normal circumstances, I’d be holding on for dear life, maybe even telling him to slow the hell down, but these aren’t normal circumstances. Time is of the essence. I know it, William knows it, and Miller knows it. After listening to each man talk about Charlie, plus the added bonus of having had the pleasure of his company myself, there’s no element of doubt in my mind that any threats he makes – directly or indirectly – will be seen through. This is a man with no morals, heart, or conscience. And he’s currently sipping a good old cup of English tea with my beloved Nan. My bottom lip begins to tremble and Miller’s manic driving suddenly isn’t fast enough. I look up to the rearview mirror when I feel the familiar sensation of blue eyes burning into me, finding fear reflecting back at me. His brow is a sheen of wet. I can see he’s desperately trying to instil some calm into me, but he’s fighting a losing battle. He can’t conceal his own dread, so trying to ease mine is pointless.
It takes years to weave the streets of London towards home. Miller performs endless illegal manoeuvres – reversing out of traffic-jammed roads and driving up one-way streets, constantly cursing profusely while William points out shortcuts.
When we finally screech to a stop outside my house, my belt is off and I’m running up the path, leaving the car door open behind me. I only vaguely register two pairs of dress shoes pounding after me, but I’m more than aware of strong arms capturing me and lifting me from my feet. ‘Olivia, hold your horses.’ Miller speaks quietly, and I know why. ‘Don’t let him see your distress. He feeds off fear.’
I wriggle from Miller’s arms and press the tips of my fingers firmly into my forehead, trying to push some sensibility past the fog of panic that’s rampant in my mind. ‘My keys,’ I blurt. ‘I haven’t got my keys.’
William almost laughs, drawing my attention to him. ‘Do your thing, Hart.’
I frown as I look to Miller, seeing him reach into his inside pocket on a roll of his eyes. ‘I told you we needed to sort out security here,’ he grumbles, producing a credit card.
‘Nan probably just invited him in!’ I snap, but he doesn’t bless me with a disdainful look; he just goes about slipping the card past the wood by the lock and jiggling it slightly, putting some weight behind him. It’s two seconds flat before the door is open, and I’m pushing past Miller.
‘Whoa!’ He catches me again and pins me to the wall in the recess of the front door. ‘Damn it, Olivia. You can’t just go charging in there like a tank!’ He’s speaking on a hushed whisper, holding me in place with one hand while slipping his card back into his pocket.
‘OK, let’s just wait until we hear her screaming, shall we?’
‘Just like her mother,’ William mutters, pulling my outraged eyes away from Miller. His eyebrows are raised in a Yes, you heard me right kind of way; then his head cocks to follow that up with a You going to argue with that? look. I hate him.
‘Get me to my nan,’ I grate, burning through William’s powerful presence with fiery eyes.
‘Lock down that sass, Livy,’ Miller warns. ‘Now isn’t the time.’ He releases me and sets about the ridiculous task of straightening me out, except now I don’t let him find the calm he’s seeking through perfecting me. I bat him away, hating myself when I take over his stupid ways by finishing what he started. I brush my hair from my face and straighten my dress. Then my hand is claimed and I’m pulled through the front door.
‘Kitchen,’ I tell him, pushing him down the hallway. ‘He was going to make tea.’ Just as I utter the information, a loud crash rings out and travels down the corridor towards us. I jump, Miller curses, and William pushes his way past us before I can send the instructions to my legs to move. Miller takes off after him, as do I, every fear amplifying.
I fall into the kitchen, colliding with Miller’s back, before putting myself in front of him. Gazing around the open space, I see nothing, only William staring blankly at the floor. My eyes are rooted on him, watching for any further facial expressions or reactions, my mind not prepared to confront what has his attention.
‘Drat!’ Nan’s polite curse creeps past the wall of fear and has my eyes slowly travelling to the floor, where she’s on her hands and knees with a dustpan and brush, sweeping up scattered sugar and a broken dish.
‘Give it to me!’ A pair of hands appear from nowhere, wrestling with her fingers. ‘I told you, you silly old woman. I’m in charge!’ Gregory snatches the pan from Nan’s hand and turns exasperated eyes onto William. ‘All right, geezer?’