Authors: Lin Anderson
The drive to the hotel was studiously quiet. Sitting in the back, the driver separated from them by a smoked shield, Rhona felt exposed and vulnerable. The revelation that Sean had moved Esther into her flat as soon as she was out of the country had thrown her. She felt used.
Her privacy was something she treasured. It kept her sane. Letting Sean McGuire into her life and into her home had compromised that. And now his actions were threatening her professional life too.
When they drew up outside the hotel, Andre got out of the cab with her.
‘I’d better go up,' she said.
'Yeah. Big day tomorrow.’
"Thanks for a great evening.'
'Sure.'
Rhona stood at the entrance, willing herself to turn away and go in. She didn't. Andre paid the fare. As he walked towards her, Rhona knew the smallest sign of rejection would be enough.
They crossed the hotel lobby in silence. The lift was open and empty. Standing inside, Andre beside her, Rhona wondered if this was how it was for Sean. The anticipation of someone new, anticipating how different it would be. She thought of the girl's voice on the phone. She imagined this Esther spreadeagled across her bed, the muscles on Sean's back flexing as he drove himself into her.
The elevator opened.
She sensed Andre's eagerness as she fumbled with the keycard.
'Here, let me.'
He took the card and slipped it in the slot and pushed open the door.
He stepped into the darkness and used the card in the power slot. The lights came on and the air conditioner hummed into action.
She shivered.
'Want me to turn it off?'
'Yes.'
He was watching her, waiting for her to decide what would happen next. Whatever it was he would go along with it.
He broke the silence. ‘I’d settle for a drink.'
She wanted to be the one to decide and was irritated by his retreat.
'If you don't want to . . .' she said sharply.
'Oh, I want to alright.' He pulled her towards him. 'The question is, do you?'
'I asked you up.'
'No you didn't.' Andre led her to the sofa and pushed her gently down. 'My guess is something bad happened tonight and you're thousands of miles from home. I also think one night stands are not really your scene. Not that the sex wouldn't be great.'
'Thanks.'
Andre headed for the bar.
'Maybe another drink isn't such a good idea,' Rhona said.
'We have already agreed not to seduce one another. So another drink won't matter.'
'That's true.' The way he looked at her at that moment made Rhona wish it wasn't.
'I'm mixing a drink,' he said, 'because you're going to need one when I tell you the real reason I wanted to come up here tonight.'
'So it was nothing to do with sex?'
'Not unless sex and dismembered limbs go together.'
Chapter 8
The baby munched contentedly on a pancake and jam. Mary in the cafe had waved away Spike's offer of money.
'It's on the house,' she said. 'And Tesco has a toilet with a changing mat and free nappies.'
Spike looked down at his charge's damp trousers. He'd grown used to changing Calum. When his mother got bad, he was the only one who would. He thanked Mary and she winked at him.
'You're taking him back home?'
Spike nodded. 'Half an hour.'
She smiled and went off to the next table.
Spike wiped the dribbling mouth and wondered what the fuck he was doing. If Ma Flintstone realised her son was missing, she would go mad. He would just clean him up and then take him back.
Tesco was busy. He had to stand in a queue for the family toilet. One of the women waiting gave him a funny look, but he just ignored her. Once inside, he laid the baby on the mat and pulled down the wet trousers.
The disposable nappy had gone lumpy, overwhelmed by the amount of urine it had to deal with. Spike threw it in the bin, stood the child in warm soapy water in the sink and washed his thin wee bum.
Then he laid him on the mat and dried him with a paper towel. His tiny penis was red raw with nappy rash.
Spike looked about for cream. There was a tube on the ledge above the sink that someone had left. He squeezed some and rubbed it over the angry skin. The baby was whimpering now, despite his attempts to be gentle.
He turned him over.
In the strong overhead light, the bruising round the back passage was obvious. Spike almost sobbed as he pressed the nappy shut. The bastard. The fucking bastard.
He put the child's trousers back on and lifted him against his shoulder, holding him tightly. The whimpering stopped. On his way out he pinched a bar of chocolate and stuffed it in his pocket.
'Fuck them both,' he told the kid when he'd turned the corner. He pulled off the paper and handed him the chocolate, which the child grabbed and gnawed at ravenously.
Spike opened the telephone booth and squashed inside. He sat the baby on the ledge while he dialled. Esther answered.
‘I’ll pick you up after the rehearsal,' he said.
'Okay.'
'Esther. We're not going back to Sean's.'
She was silent for a moment. 'Where are we going?'
'I'll tell you when I see you,' he said and rang off.
Now he was for it, he told the baby. Now they would really be looking for him and he didn't fucking care.
The child grinned back at him, drooling chocolate.
Chapter 9
The buzz of a morning call woke Rhona. She had left the curtains open and the early sun flooded the room with light. For a moment she had no idea where she was, then she remembered and glanced at the other three quarters of the kingsize bed. Empty and unrumpled.
Rhona didn't know whether to be glad or sad.
Reaching for her mobile, she checked her voice mail for a message from Andre. Nothing. She pulled out her diary and rang the mobile number he'd given her. The hum of the phone was immediately replaced by an American drawl. Could the caller please leave a message…
As she stepped out of the shower, room service arrived with breakfast. Tucked beside the coffee pot was another card from Lynne Franklin wishing her well for the conference. Unfortunately, an urgent business matter had come up and she couldn't be there to hear Rhona's paper. However, she would certainly be in touch about funding on Rhona's return to Scotland.
So she was hot property?
Rhona poured her coffee and allowed herself a moment's pleasure at the thought of announcing this at the next meeting of the university finance committee, then she put it firmly out of her head.
Like Andre's revelation, it would have to be put on hold until she got back to Glasgow.
The black limousine wound its way effortlessly through the Santa Monica traffic. If car horns were honking at their assertive progress, the noise didn't penetrate the peaceful interior.
When reception had rung to tell her the car was there, Rhona had assumed it was the standard cab organised to take her to the conference. How wrong she was.
Rhona examined the luxurious interior, glad the smoked-glass windows allowed her to look out but not the general public to look in. She could imagine what Chrissy would have to say about her new found status. Fur coat and no knickers. In Glasgow that would be an insult, here it was probably true of everyone who rode in this limo, Rhona decided. Somehow the common sense and grey solidity of Glasgow belonged to another world.
Rhona sat back in the soft leather seat and tried not to be irritated by Lynne Franklin's obvious attempts to buy her. Whatever Andre had revealed last night, he could not be drawn on her. ReGene, he assured her, was a legitimate company. Lynne was in a position to offer Rhona funding. She should consider the offer.
Rhona had been seconds away from asking Andre if there was something between him and Lynne Franklin, but the look on his face had been enough to stop her.
Outside her cool cocoon, the freeway traffic was snaking in eight lanes above the hot dusty sprawl of LA. With confidence, the limo crossed the freeway taking its rightful place in the fast lane, sweeping all protesters aside. Rhona tried not to think about an armed driver in a spurned car taking umbrage at such arrogance.
The internal phone rang five minutes later. The driver's eyes in the rear mirror signalled that it must be for her. Rhona picked it up.
‘Rhona?'
'Andre. I thought you said . . .'
'Listen, Rhona. Tell the driver to turn round and take you back to the hotel.'
'What?'
'Tell him to get off the freeway and go back the coast road.'
'But what about the conference?'
'Postponed.'
'Postponed? But…'
The tone of Andre's voice shut her up. 'A bomb went off just before nine,' he said.
'Oh my God.'
'They've cleared the building and cancelled today's proceedings. It's chaos down here. Once you get caught up in it you'll never get out. Give the driver the phone.'
Rhona handed the phone over and watched his impassive face as he took Andre's directions. He handed the phone back.
'I'll meet you back at the hotel,' Andre said.
'Are you alright?' Rhona asked.
'Sure. I'll see you later.'
Rhona put the phone down. The comfortable interior of the limousine didn't seem so safe anymore. A car moved alongside, sitting window to window with them. The backseat passenger turned to look at her car. The tartan regalia was gone, the hair tied back in a neat ponytail, but the eyes of the Jacobite warrior were the same uncompromising blue.
The crowd of protesters spilled round the corner of her hotel and onto Third Street. The driver must have spotted the placards before Rhona because he was already making a left swerve in front of the oncoming traffic and trying to head back up Santa Monica Boulevard. The power of the limo was of little use in the sudden rush to move in the other direction. The driver turned to Rhona.
'You'd better get out.'
'What?'
He had stopped trying to merge into the stubborn stream of traffic that led from the demonstration and had pulled onto the pavement instead.
'You'll be safer out of the car, ma'am.'
Vehicle after vehicle had stopped at the sight of the protesters and was turning away, trying to escape up the boulevard or down the side streets. They weren't having any luck either.
'Those people,' he gestured behind them, 'are Pro-Lifers and they know this car.'
He was right.
A girl with long red hair was already pointing in their direction and screaming with delight. A boy joined her, the words Genetic Pigs jumping above his head as he ran.
The driver's expression was no longer impassive.
'Please, ma'am.'
'What about you?'
'They don't care about me,' he told her. 'It's delegates they're after.' He sprung the door for her and the noise and heat flooded in.
'Are you sure?'
He nodded and moved into drive. As the limo jumped forward, a placard flew against the far side.
'Go!'
She did. The bookshop was six steps away across the sidewalk. Rhona made it in two. About twenty protesters were running through the stationary traffic, ignoring the honking horns, jumping over bonnets. They reached the driver's side as Rhona flung open the door of the shop. The girl at the counter was already on the 911 call.
The protesters couldn't see the driver, but they knew he was there. The big engine was purring away, ready to go, given half a chance. It wasn't going to get it.
Two protesters jumped on the roof, two on the bonnet. A girl arrived with a plastic container and passed it to a guy on the bonnet. Red stuff flew at the windscreen, slithering down, a mess of entrails and blood. They were wrenching at the door handles now, but the limo didn't like unwelcome visitors and it sure as hell wasn't going to open against its will. The windscreen wipers flew at the blood, whipping it back in the faces of the protesters before someone snapped them off and flung them into the crowd.
Now they were hammering at the windows. Rhona stood in the middle of the bookstore crowd and watched in fascination as the limo began to rock to and fro.
Then they heard loudspeakers and the noise of police helicopters. Some of the crowd looked up, shouting abuse at the sky. A line of riot police was moving towards the protesters from the direction of Rhona's hotel.
But the driver wasn't waiting for the police.
The sidewalk was clear of pedestrians and the limo took it, moving from zero to forty in seconds. The bodies on the roof were the first to go. The girl on the bonnet hung on longer but the limo was on its way.
Rhona almost cheered with relief.
'Hey!' The girl on the counter was talking to her. 'Someone might have seen you come in.' She pointed to the back of the shop. 'There's a fire escape over there.'
Rhona thanked her and pushed her way through the gaping crowd, opened the fire door and looked out. Everything was quiet. She exited and headed for the daylight at the end of the dark alleyway.
Genetic pigs. Jesus. The whole thing was ridiculous. Rhona was used to stalkers and criminals who blamed her for putting them away, but she had never before been targeted by people who advocated life over death.