Jessie Keane - Ruthless

‘About the man who tried to snatch me.’

Steve Taylor, Eric and Jackie Tulliver turned up half an hour after Annie made the call.

Annie and Layla had taken the time before the troops arrived to get dressed. Layla was now sitting on her bed in the adjoining room to Annie’s, with the connecting door firmly shut. She didn’t want to look at what she’d done, she didn’t want to know about it. She was shivering with shock. She still felt sick. When she heard the low male voices mingling with her mother’s in the master suite, she glanced up fearfully at the door.

Minutes passed, though it seemed like hours to Layla.

Finally, looking pale but otherwise composed, Annie came through the door and closed it behind her. ‘Body’s gone. They’re cleaning the room up.’

‘The gun?’

‘They’ve taken that away, and the spare ammunition.’

‘What will they do with her?’

Annie looked at Layla. Usually pin-sharp, Layla was acting dazed. As well she might. And what was this about a man in the park? Layla had refused to elaborate, beyond saying that some guy had made a grab for her. She’d been in such a state that when she said she couldn’t talk about it now, that it would have to wait until the morning, Annie had no choice but to back off, though her mind was in turmoil over what it could mean.

‘They’ll get rid of the body. It was Orla,’ said Annie, almost talking to herself. ‘She was one of twins… Orla and Redmond Delaney.’

Annie felt as if her head was about to spin off with all the questions whizzing around in her brain. How come Orla hadn’t died in the plane crash? Why had she waited eighteen years to show up here, intent on doing what she had tried and failed to accomplish back in 1970 – to kill Annie? Worst of all – where was Redmond? The thought of him skulking around London was terrifying. Shit, maybe he had planned this. Maybe he was out there right now, waiting for his twin to return. And when she didn’t…

‘So where’s Redmond?’ asked Layla. She had never seen her mother frightened before, but she was seeing it now. ‘What’s so bad about Redmond?’

Annie shook her head. ‘You really don’t want to know.

‘What is he, some sort of freak?’

‘All right! He’s a pervert who loves inflicting pain. It turns him on, hurting people.’

Layla’s pallor increased as Annie’s words hit home. ‘This is a nightmare,’ she said, burying her head in her hands.

Annie sat down beside her daughter. ‘No. Nightmare’s over,’ she said.

The truth was she didn’t believe that for a minute. Orla’s turning up tonight had re-awakened old traumas, old half-buried fears.

‘I wish Dad was here,’ said Layla.

Annie found herself wishing that, too. But only for an instant. She’d schooled herself well since the divorce. Now she was convinced of one simple fact: she could live without that bastard Max Carter.

But Orla Delaney had come back, a ghost from the past, and the vision of Orla lying dead was still stamped on Annie’s brain.

How did you do it, Orla?

How?

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ asked Annie.

Annie and Layla were in the dining room the morning after the break-in, eating breakfast. Or at least trying to. A sense of unreality was gripping them both. Annie couldn’t stop thinking, Orla , that was Orla. And if Orla was alive… does that mean Redmond is too?

Perverted, ice-cool Redmond Delaney, who’d once left her for dead…

She felt a shiver take hold, had to set the cup down before the hot liquid spilled. The mere thought of Redmond terrified her. Orla’s survival had to be a fluke, surely. Redmond couldn’t have lived. Constantine had arranged things. And Constantine rarely made mistakes.

Oh no? He’d got himself murdered, hadn’t he? He can’t have been infallible, else he’d have uncovered the plot to kill him .

‘Eat something,’ said Annie. ‘You’ll feel better.’

Layla looked at the toast, the tea. Annie was forcing down a slice or two, sipping from the cup. Layla couldn’t. She’d killed someone, shot them dead. Her mind was constantly replaying the moment the bullet hit Orla – then it would flinch away in horror. All that blood, smeared on the wall. She kept hoping that last night had been an awful dream. That at any moment she would wake up to the real world, and everything would be right again.

Reluctantly she picked up a slice of toast and started buttering it. ‘I couldn’t tell you about the man in the park – you were in the States,’ she said.

‘Bullshit. Someone tries to attack you and you don’t call me?’ Annie was incensed.

‘You were due home that night, I wouldn’t have been able to get hold of you. I told Auntie Dolly,’ said Layla.

‘You did what? ’

‘I told Dolly.’

Annie sipped her tea, trying to put a lid on her anger and the panic welling inside her. She glanced at Layla’s hand, at the missing finger. Annie would never forget the despair she’d felt when her baby girl was taken from her, the horror when the kidnappers delivered her child’s finger in a box. She had done things then she hadn’t believed she was even capable of; there was nothing she wouldn’t have done to get her baby back. And now someone had targeted her daughter again. That bastard who tried to grab her could have been Redmond. If he’d succeeded…

‘You told Dolly and she didn’t tell me ?’ said Annie.

‘She wanted to tell Steve.’ Layla threw the toast down on to the plate. She glared at her mother. ‘Look, I’m not used to all this, I can’t even think straight! But this is what you do, isn’t it?’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning all this : lurking in shadows, getting rid of bodies in the middle of the night. I don’t know about any of this, I don’t want to.’

Annie was still thinking about Dolly. ‘So how come Dolly didn’t tell Steve about this bloke in the park?’

‘I made her promise not to. I didn’t want to start anything.’ Layla eyed her mother in something approaching disgust.

All her life she’d fought against being part of that world. Her mother, the Mafia queen. Her father, the gangland boss. Layla was proud not to be a part of that. The incident in the park had seriously rattled her. It was a reminder that the shadowy world she had resisted for so long was merely a footstep away. Her first instinct had been denial, to pretend it never happened. The last thing she’d wanted was to stir up a hornet’s nest by raising the alarm.

‘There was something else,’ she said at last. ‘Something weird. When I went out to pick up my trainer, there was a little paper shamrock in it.’

Annie hitched in a breath. A shamrock? She stared at Layla. No use ranting and raving. She could see that Layla was upset enough as it was. But she was going to have to do something about this, and quick.

‘You know, like a four-leaf clover? Do you think there could be a connection between that and Orla breaking in here?’ Layla asked. She was peering at the buttered toast as if it was going to rear up and bite her.

‘It’s possible,’ said Annie. Orla and a shamrock – oh, there was a connection, no doubt about it.

‘What should we do?’

‘You have to go into work?’

Layla nodded.

‘Phone in sick.’

‘I can’t do that.’

You bloody well can. Until I find out what’s going on here, we’re not taking any chances.’

‘But-’

‘That’s not a suggestion, Layla. That’s an order.’

Layla drank her tea and said nothing. Much as she resented her mother barking out commands, after what happened last night she was – grudgingly – glad to have her here, taking charge.