HELEN BROOKS - Web Of Darkness

‘Miss Gordon, you are way out of line.’ There was a dangerous softness in the deep voice that spoke of furious anger. ‘I have never even heard of your father——’

‘Jessdon Labelling?’ She ought to be feeling intimidated, a tiny detached part of her brain thought vaguely, but, surprisingly, she felt nothing but pain, anger and relief—relief at being able to let it all out at long last. ‘He named the firm after my mother,’ she added tightly. ‘Jessica Gordon.’

She saw a tiny spark of awareness flare in the icy blue eyes and in the next instant her hand connected with his face with such force that his head shot back a couple of inches. As all hell broke loose behind her, the barrage of flash bulbs vying with the shouts and calls of the reporters, Janie plunged into the centre of the mêlée, forcing her way through with sheer physical force and reaching the lift outside the room just as the doors began to close. As they slid together she was aware of a tumult of bodies cascading into the corridor, the sound of raised voices fading as the lift took her swiftly downwards.

Once in the foyer, she walked rapidly out of the building, glancing neither left nor right, her eyes fixed straight ahead and her face as white as snow.

He had had it coming. He had had it coming. She continued walking blindly outside as her head swam and her mind buzzed dazedly. He was less than human, not even fit to be called an animal, and she didn’t regret a thing, not a thing! The bite of cold, crisp air that carried a hint of frost in its wintry chill brought her back to reality and she suddenly realised she needed to get off the main thoroughfare in which the hotel was situated and down one of the side-streets, fast. The blood-hounds would be after her within minutes and she couldn’t face anyone now. In fact, she was shaking so much she could barely stand upright.

The small wine bar halfway down the narrow road that led off the main street with its flowing traffic and bright lights was almost deserted, and as she caught the surprised eyes of the young barman it dawned on her that her coat and handbag were back with Joe at the hotel, her thin wool dress patently unsuitable for outdoor wear.

Damn, damn, damn…Once through the door trendily marked ‘Lassies’, she leant against the cool, tiled walls of the cloakroom as her head spun. She’d have to ask the barman if she could use the phone. Maybe call the hotel and ask Joe to bring her things here? She shut her eyes tightly. He’d be furious, more than furious, but there was nothing else she could do. Even her doorkey was in that bag.

The phone call was even worse than she had anticipated, Joe’s voice tight and strange-sounding, but he promised to be with her within minutes and that was all she cared about. She sat shivering slightly, more with reaction than cold, in a small alcove next to the door as the full awareness of what she had done washed over her in a sickening flood. Her father would have been horrified at his only offspring causing such a scene. She shook her head painfully as she pictured his mild, gentle face in her mind. He had been so trusting, so kind, the perfect victim for someone as ruthless as Kane Steel: the proverbial lamb to the slaughter.

‘Miss Gordon?’ She froze for an endless moment before turning her head with a feeling of inde-scribable doom as the hated voice spoke from the doorway. ‘You don’t get away as easily as that. Outside, now!’ She had never actually seen any-one’s face black with rage before, but she was seeing it now, every feature twisted almost out of recognition by the violent fury that had suffused his flesh with dark colour.

‘What——?’ As he pulled her to her feet her voice

was cut off with the speed with which he propelled her through the door. Just outside, parked more on the pavement than the road, a poker-faced chauffeur sat silently at the wheel of a magnificent silver-grey Bentley, his immaculate uniform the exact same shade as the car and his eyes staring straight ahead as Kane Steel gestured angrily towards the vehicle.

‘Get in.’

‘You must be joking.’ She struggled slightly in his iron grasp, ready to make a run for it at the slightest opportunity.

‘I said get in, Miss Gordon.’ The tone was as-tringent in the extreme.

‘I heard you.’ She tried to stop the fear that was making her heart pound like a drum from showing either in her face or voice, but was aware, with humiliating chagrin, that he could probably feel the trembling that was consuming her body through his rigid hold on her arm. There wasn’t a soul about. She glanced quickly up and down the deserted, discreetly lit street as icy little shivers flickered down her spine and the palms of her hands became damp with panic. Help, where was Joe; where was anybody? She could see the bright lights and heavy flow of traffic at the junction of the road, but here, in this quiet little backwater, all was macabrely still.

‘If you are hoping Joe Flanders is coming to your rescue, forget it.’ He swung her round now so that she was forced to stare up into the ruthless face. ‘Look in there.’

She glanced through the open door of the Bentley to see her coat and handbag resting on the seat. ‘Oh, great.’ There was a wealth of bitterness in her voice. ‘How did you manage that? Used a bit of the power and influence that makes you think you are a little tin god, I suppose?’ How could Joe let her down like this? How could he?

‘Exactly,’ he said bitingly. ‘I have met Mr Flanders on more than one occasion and he was kind enough to come forward when my assistant made enquiries at Reception and asked for your name to be broadcast just as you phoned. He knows me——’

‘I know you,’ she interrupted shakily, ‘and that’s precisely why I’m not getting in there with you.’

‘Think again.’ His smile was more like a snarl, the finely shaped lips drawing back over white strong teeth menacingly. ‘You are verging on charges of defamation of character, assault, causing an affray in a public place. Need I go on?’ The blue eyes were merciless. ‘A women’s prison is not the best place to spend Christmas, Miss Gordon, but it can be arranged, if you insist.’

‘You wouldn’t…’ As she stared up into the hard face her deep brown eyes widened with horror as she saw the coldness in his narrowed blue gaze. ‘You would, you’d actually do that?’

‘Too true.’ He let go of her arm abruptly, sliding into the shadowed depths of the car as he left her standing, trembling, on the pavement. ‘You have a choice, Miss Gordon, and you will make it in the next ten seconds. You can either get in this vehicle so we can discuss your outrageous behaviour privately, or we can let the whole matter be put in the hands of officialdom. Which is it to be?’ The deep voice was merciless.

She gnawed her lower lip for a second as she stood shivering in the cold evening air. ‘Where are you going to take me?’

‘That’s my business.’ He leant forward to fix her with the piercing eyes. ‘Time’s up, Miss Gordon, no more sweet persuasion.’

‘You leave me with no choice,’ she said bleakly, flinching as he laughed harshly.

‘Dead right.’ He moved over to the opposite side of the car as she clambered in miserably, and as she sank back she was immediately enveloped in the deliciously expensive smell of fine leather, discreetly exclusive aftershave and the unmistakable aura of fabulous wealth. ‘Now.’ In the close con-fines of the car he suddenly seemed enormously big and for the first time her senses registered the ex-ceptionally broad shoulders, well-developed chest and sheer breadth that went with extreme height. ‘Are you going to give me your address?’

‘No.’ She forced herself to look full into the rugged dark face. ‘I am not.’