GirlMostLikelyTo (14 page)

She wasn’t going to overthink this. It was better not to
think of it at all.

Not another thought.

Adam had to be bisexual. He’d been tempted by Wren and then
remembered Tomas, which was why he’d left without a word.

Stop it.

Tomas knew she’d slept with Adam and he was jealous. The
flirting in the café was just him getting his own back. Yeah right, jealous of
her?

Stop thinking about it.

Wren knocked on Olive’s door.

“Enter.”

Olive pointed to the chair and Wren sank into it. It was so
low it allowed Olive to tower over her in her lime-green trouser suit.

“A trip out?” Olive snapped.

Word had spread fast. “I did tell—”

“Unauthorized?”

“Well, they’re adults. They didn’t need letters from
parents. I figured it was okay.” Wren screwed her fingers down the sides of the
seat, touched something furry and jerked them out.

“You figured? But it wasn’t okay, was it?”

“No harm’s been done.”

“One of our students accused of shoplifting?”

How the hell did she know that? “It was a mistake. Benoit
wasn’t trying to steal the book.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me. I believed him.”

“I’ve arranged for him to speak to Belinda.
You
should have done that.”

Wren bristled. “I’ve hardly had time, but he wasn’t trying
to steal the book. There’s no point making him feel worse than he already
does.”

Olive harrumphed. “We could have charged for that visit.
Included coffee and cake and made a profit.”

Wren suspected it was the missed opportunity to make money
bothering Olive more than what happened with poor Benoit.

“The prices are displayed on a board,” Wren said. “They’d
have seen if we were trying to rip them off.”

“Rip them off?” Olive turned puce, an interesting contrast
to the lime green. “We’re a business. Our aim is to make a profit. I’m not
running this for the joy of it. I have employees to pay, taxes, insurance, all
sorts of overheads.” She took a deep breath. “This is an official warning for
breaking the rules. It will be on your record.”

Wren chewed the inside of her cheeks. Breaking what rules?
She still wasn’t sure what she’d done but had no energy to argue. “Is that
all?” She stood so she could peer down at Olive.

“Not quite. I understand you’ve been circulating with a
piece of paper, asking staff about certain students, ones who mistakenly
appeared on your class lists.” Olive’s deep-set eyes glittered. “What on earth
are you doing? I told you an error had been made.”

“I just thought if they’d been put on my registers, they
might have been missed off someone else’s.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what happened, but it’s nothing to do
with you.”

“Right. Sorry.” She made no effort to sound sorry.

“Give me the paper.” Olive held out her hand.

“I threw it away.”

Olive glared. “Let’s hope so.”

And even though Wren didn’t feel she’d done anything wrong,
if she’d had a tail, she’d have put it between her legs as she slunk out.

Jolene sat at her desk, smirking, no doubt having heard
every word.

“I need to do some photocopying,” Wren said.

“Private?”

“Some of it is.”

“You have to pay for those.”

“Yes. I know,” Wren muttered. She took a bundle of
worksheets from her bag and went over to the machine.

While she copied the pages, she came up with a plan. A bit
of a crap one, but the best she could manage. Avoidance. She had no idea if
Tomas and Adam were in Ezispeke that afternoon, but since they were in the
vicinity it seemed likely. Unless they’d gone to a hotel and were currently—
stop
it
. If she moved fast between lessons and hid in the staffroom, stayed in
there for lunch, used the computer, she’d be unlikely to bump into either of
them, assuming they were around.

She thought about asking to swap classes but she’d made such
a big deal of wanting to teach adults, what excuse could she give? In any case,
Jolene had everything organized to death and if Wren changed now, it wouldn’t
just annoy Jolene but also her colleagues. Swapping wasn’t going to happen. Nor
was not blushing every time she saw either guy.

Wren wished there was such thing as an invisibility cloak.

Yet at the end of the day, she couldn’t quite work out why
she was disappointed to have seen neither guy. She’d stuck to her plan and even
managed to apply for a couple of jobs, but her heart wasn’t in it.

When she walked out of Ezispeke, she saw Tomas leaning
against the hood of a black car, a grim look on his face. He hadn’t wanted her
to do this job.
Too bad.
If she hadn’t seen him kissing Adam, maybe
she’d have listened, but she was too annoyed with him to do that now.

She took a deep breath and turned on her smile. “My
chauffeur?”

“Don’t do this work. Make excuse. Say you ill. Say you busy.
I tell Marco.”

She frowned. “Why shouldn’t I do it?”

“Because I don’t want you to.”

Fuck you.
Wren was
not
going to be told what
to do. “You’re not my keeper.”

“Please. Tell Marco no.” He reached for her hand and she
jerked away.

She walked round to the passenger side and climbed in.

Tomas sat next to her and slammed the door. “I take you
home.”

“Do what you’re being paid to do and take me to where I’m
supposed to be going.” Wren spoke through gritted teeth.

“Marco isn’t nice man.”

“I won’t tell him you said that.”

“Wren. Please. It not good work.”

Yes it was. She needed the money and wouldn’t back down.
“Just drive me there.”

Tomas sighed and started the engine. “Don’t be mad. I want
to keep you safe.”

Safe?
She swallowed hard. “I can’t afford to refuse
this job. Isn’t it the same for you? You wouldn’t be working for a guy you
didn’t like if you didn’t need the money. Well, I really need the money and
I’ll be careful. Thanks for the warning.”

He gave a disgruntled sigh.

“Is that why you told your boss we had a date tonight?” she
asked.

“I want to ask you on date.” He pulled up at a traffic light
and glanced at her.

Wren didn’t want to go down that path. Her face burned
thinking about Tomas and Adam playing around with her. She changed the subject.

“What did you say to those security guards in Waterstones?
And why did you have to drag them into a corner?”

“I ask if Benoit had been walking out of shop. They say yes
and then no. He was still in shop. They can’t prove he intend to steal. I took
them aside because too much fuss, too much emotion.”

“Thank you for persuading them to back off.”

He shrugged. “We never talk about my hobby,” he said. “Want
to guess?”

“Philatelist? Numismatist? Copoclephilist? Helixophilist?”

Tomas laughed. “You make those up?”

“Collector of stamps, coins, key rings and corkscrews.”

“
Ptica Strazar.
”

Wren turned to look at him. “What does that mean?”

“Bird watching. Did you know wren sing very loud for small
bird? Female hop from one mate to other.”

She gulped.

Tomas pulled up outside a three-story Victorian terraced
house. Wren recognized it as a student area. Only a few properties had been
renovated and most of the front gardens were overgrown. Before she could get
out of the car, he’d exited and come round to open her door.

“Not too late to change mind,” he said.

Anxiety nibbled at her stomach but she shook her head. Tomas
went ahead of her down the path and knocked on the door. It was opened by a big
guy with shoulders like a Brahman bull. A cigarette hung from his mouth.

“This is Wren,” Tomas said. “Wren, this Veton. He work for
Marco.”

He shook her hand, crushed her fingers and Wren nearly
yelped. She noticed the bad scarring on his skin as she tried to get free.

Tomas stepped forward and wrapped his hand around Veton’s
wrist. “
Kontakt përsëri dhe unë do të vras, kokekar.
”

The big guy laughed and let her go. Tomas dropped his hold.

“He said if I touch you again, he’ll kill me.” Veton winked
at her.

Uh-oh.
Maybe she should have listened to Tomas and
not come.

Another guy walked downstairs, fastening his pants as he
approached. He was in his mid-twenties and was short and stocky with sullen
eyes. He and Veton exchanged a flurry of sentences in a language Wren didn’t
know, and then they glanced at her and sniggered. Wren slid a step closer to
Tomas.

“This is Dragen,” Veton said.

The guy looked her up and down before walking toward the
back of the house. He had a peculiar odor. A cross between a wet dog and beer.
Oh
God, and sex.

“Does he breathe fire?” she whispered.

Tomas remained stone-faced.

“Women in here.” Veton pushed open a door.

Wren walked in, relieved to see four women and not a torture
chamber. They seemed about her age and lounged on two settees, watching a music
video.

“Hello,” Wren said.

They didn’t reply.
Great.

Veton handed Tomas a piece of paper. “Marco needs these. Go
get them.”

Tomas’ jaw tightened but he nodded.

“I’ll drive Wren home,” Veton said to Tomas’ back.

Oh God, no.

Tomas spun on his heels and walked back to her. “
I
take you home when you finish.” He brushed her cheek with his lips.

“Don’t be late,” she whispered, biting back her
take me
with you now
.

He left and Veton dropped into a chair. He looked her up and
down and smiled.

Wren addressed the women. “Do you speak any English?”

No response. No one even looked at her.

“They speak some,” Veton said.

Wren swallowed. “Tell me a few words you know.”

Silence.

“Do you all speak the same language?” she asked.

More silence.

“They’re Albanian.” Veton snapped out a flurry of what she
assumed was Albanian. “I told them to tell you words they know.”

A woman with long blonde hair faced him and said, “Asshole,
bastard, wanker.”

Oh God.
Veton pushed himself halfway to his feet and
then sank back in the chair, shot Wren a glance and laughed.
He’s watching
to see how I handle this.
But she wondered what was going on. They didn’t
appear to be interested in learning. The woman with the remote clicked up the
volume and a couple of the others smirked. She could feel Veton’s gaze on her.
Wren took a deep breath, switched off the TV and stood in front of it.
I
feel like my dad.
It was still his way of getting the family’s attention.

“Hallo. My name is Wren.” She spoke slowly and pointed to
herself. “Wren.”

Silence. The women stared at the TV as if it were still on.

She pointed to Veton. “His name is Veton.”

Wren stepped in front of the only woman who’d spoken, stuck
out her hand and waited. And waited. If that was the way they wanted to play
it.

“This is my arm.” She held up her arm. “This is my hand.
These are my fingers. This,” she put up two fingers, “means fuck off.”

Veton laughed and spat out a load of Albanian.

“Danijela,” said the blonde woman who’d spoken before.

Wren wondered if she’d just been told to fuck off.

Veton stood up. “This is Danijela.” He pointed to the
others. “Tanja, Jovana and Vesna.” He snapped out another mouthful that sounded
like a bunch of threats rather than
have a nice time
, and left the room.
He didn’t close the door.

“Hello, Danijela. It’s nice to meet you.” Wren offered her
hand and after a moment’s hesitation the woman shook it.

The others did the same and she sighed with relief.

“My name is Wren Monroe. I’m English.” She gave Danijela a
hopeful look.

“My name is Danijela Chani. I’m Albanian.”

Wren started. Chani was one of the names on her list. Didn’t
necessarily mean anything. The surname might be as common as Smith. None of the
others had surnames she recognized and she decided it had to be a coincidence.
But when another woman sloped in and introduced herself as Ardita Chani, Wren
tried not to let the surprise show. Not just about the name, which was on her
list, but at the woman’s swollen eye and cut lip.

Crap.
Wren was beginning to put two and two together,
not wanting to make four.

Chapter Fourteen

Wren chewed her lip as she regarded the battered face of
Ardita Chani. “Are you okay?”

Dead silence, indicating she’d not get an answer, so she
changed tack. She wasn’t sure she wanted an answer.

She took a photograph of her family from her folder. Wren had
been thirteen and had just gone to live with them. They were at the seaside.
The first time she’d seen the sea for real. Her new brothers and parents held
ice cream cornets, the whipped towers dripping with strawberry sauce. She’d
never had an ice cream like that before, but hers was on the ground at her feet
and she was crying. James had accidentally knocked it out of her hand when he’d
rushed back to stand in the shot after setting the delay function on the
camera. Both boys had fought to give her their ice cream afterward.

“This is my family,” she said, feeling a rush of love. “This
is my father. My mother. These are my brothers, James and Matt. This is me when
I was thirteen.”

As she described the photograph, the women started to show
more interest.

Danijela pointed to Ardita. “Sister.”

Jovana took out a creased photo from the pocket of her jeans
and showed Wren. “Brother. Sister.” She lifted her T-shirt and showed Wren the
tattoo on her back. The names had been inked on either shoulder.

“Lovely.” Wren smiled and received a guarded smile in
return.

She gave them the worksheets she’d photocopied and asked
them to tell her what they saw. As she talked and encouraged them to join in,
it became clear Jovana’s English was better than the others. Tanja, barefoot
and wearing jeans tight enough to cut off her circulation, sprawled on the
couch with her mouth down. Vesna, sitting beside her, kept stroking her hand as
though trying to comfort her or maybe get comfort. Ardita and Danijela said
very little.

From being relatively hostile at the beginning, as the
lesson progressed the women started to smile and they all laughed at Wren’s
attempts to learn a few Albanian equivalents to English words. She could have
duplicated them better, but she’d learned how effective humor could be to
engage students.

The women were bright, had caught on quickly and they were
all young, slim and attractive, apart from Ardita’s messed-up face. Wren was
sure their manicured nails had never been near cleaning fluid and a mop. A
question placed partway through the lesson told her none of them had ever
attended Ezispeke, not even Ardita Chani, whose name was definitely on the
list.

She took the crumpled paper from her pocket and smoothed it
out. Without saying anything she passed it to Danijela and watched her eyes
widen. The paper went from Danijela to Tanja, who whispered something in
Albanian. At the sound of footsteps in the hallway, Ardita snatched the paper
and slid it under her thigh.

“I have a cat, you have a cat, he has a cat,” Wren said
quickly.

“I have a cat, you have a cat, he has a cat,” Danijela
repeated and stared straight at her.

Wren got the message.

“We have a cat. They have a cat,” Wren said.

“And I have a dog,” said a male voice behind her. Marco
leaned against the doorframe. “Forget cats.”

“We’re working on verbs,” Wren said. “They need to learn how
to construct a sentence or no one will understand them.”

“I have a cat. I had a cat. I will have a cat,” Jovana said.

“Very good.” Wren smiled at her.

A few minutes of that got rid of Marco, and Ardita retrieved
the paper from under her leg. She ripped it up into pieces, pushed them into an
empty cigarette packet and crumpled it. Wren grabbed it from the table and
shoved it in her pocket.

“Do you know them?” she whispered.

They shook their heads. They had to be lying. Why rip the
paper up otherwise? And she hadn’t missed the loaded glances.

She stood. “Maybe I should ask Marco.”

“No,” Ardita blurted.

“What happened to your face?” Wren asked.

“I walk into door.”

“Or a fist?”

That sparked a whispered exchange between Ardita and Jovana
in rapid-fire Albanian, before Ardita turned back to her.

“Door,” she repeated.

Wren wondered what she was trying to do here. They didn’t
want to learn. They weren’t cleaners. She wasn’t stupid.

Or maybe they
were
cleaners and she
was
stupid, because the alternative meant Tomas was involved in this business.
Disappointment weighed her down. He’d warned her Marco was a bad guy, told her
not to come and even at the door asked her to change her mind.

“How can I help you?” she asked. “What can I do?”

Silence.

“You don’t look like cleaners.”

Jovana snorted. “Is all we can do here. Clean for rich
people.”

“Do you know any of the people on the list?” she whispered.

“Where you get names?” Ardita asked.

Wren hesitated.

“You want us trust you. You trust us,” Jovana said.

“They were supposed to be my students at the language
school. But I’ve never seen them.”

Jovana spoke in Albanian to the others and then turned back
to Wren. “Ardita know two. Tanja know one.”

“How did you get into the country?” she asked but the wall
had gone up again.

When Veton walked in a moment later and sat down, she
stopped pushing. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She’d walked into a nest
of snakes.

* * * * *

Tomas drove like a maniac picking up everything Marco wanted
so he’d return in time to take Wren home. When he got back and saw Marco’s car
parked behind Veton’s, he swore. As he passed the door of the room where Wren
worked with the women, he saw Veton sprawled on a chair watching her. The
bastard winked at him.
Asshole.
Tomas carried on into the kitchen to
find Marco with Dragen.

“Get everything?” Marco asked.

“They run out of Veton’s hemorrhoid cream.”

Marco chuckled. “I had a word with Sanjay. He said you
misunderstood the situation.”

“I misunderstood knife?” Tomas put the bags on the floor and
Marco gestured Dragen to unpack them.

“He wouldn’t have hurt you.”

Tomas gaped. “How I supposed to know that?” And the guy
would
have hurt him, maybe not with a knife, but with something worse.

“Who was the man who disarmed Sanjay?” Marco asked.

Tomas crossed his arms and leaned against the countertop.
“No idea. Never see him before.”

“Was he in the club?”

He shrugged. “Might have been. Dressed for it. Leather,
studs, zippers.”

Marco flipped a red Bic lighter back and forth. “What
happened?”

“I told you.”

“You didn’t mention this man. Someone who owns you?”

“Apart from you?”

Marco gave a slow smile. “Do you know the guy?”

“I told you, I never see him before. Nor after.”

Marco slapped the lighter flat. “A big favor, taking out a
man with a knife when he didn’t even know you.”

Tomas held himself rigid. “The guy listened to no, Sanjay
didn’t.”

“And does your pretty girlfriend know you’re bi?”

Dragen reached to stroke his grazed cheek and Tomas knocked
his hand away. The moron sniggered.

“Apparently I irresistible even to dickheads.” Tomas glared
at Dragen.

Marco chuckled. “How long have you been going out with
Wren?”

“First date tonight. Not what I plan.”

When Marco glanced at the door, Tomas turned to see Wren,
Veton standing behind her.

“Don’t trust me to drive her back?” Veton fluttered his
tongue and it was all Tomas could do not to plant his fist in the guy’s face.

“I drive her.” Dragen pumped his hips.

The fucking prick.

Veton laughed and slapped Tomas on the back. “She’s prettier
than Juno. No problem getting it up for this one?”

Another fucking prick.
A chill trickled down his
spine. He really wished Wren hadn’t heard that, but more worryingly, what had
Juno said?

“Don’t scare Wren off, boys.” Marco took out his wallet.
“Come again tomorrow?”

No she’s not.

“I’m teaching tomorrow night,” Wren said. “But maybe you
better see if the girls think I’m helpful before you ask me back.”

“I decide whether you teach them. It’s not up to them. You
seem a perfect choice to me.” He gave Wren a handful of notes.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him.

Don’t smile at the bastard.
He couldn’t let Wren come
here again. It was too dangerous. She was too innocent.
He’ll use her to
keep me in my place.

She put the cash in her purse, looking as if she couldn’t
quite believe her eyes. He wondered if she’d be so eager to take the money if
she knew how it had been earned. Plus Marco would no doubt charge the women for
Wren’s services, adding it to the sum they owed for transportation into the UK
and all their paperwork, food and lodging, further ensuring they were his
slaves for as long as he liked.

“Thursday then,” Marco said. “Tomas can hold your hand.”

“Okay.” Wren nodded.

No way was she coming here again.

“Take her somewhere nice.” Marco offered him two fifty-pound
notes.

Tomas ignored the money and slid his arm over Wren’s
shoulder, mentally begging her not to pull away.

“We’re only going for ice cream,” Wren said. “And it’s my
treat.”

What?
Tomas’ heart pounded as he escorted her out.
When this all went belly-up—as it would, because after all, that was the whole
point of his involvement—he didn’t want Wren dragged into the maelstrom. He had
to find a way to stop her teaching the women, one that would convince both her
and Marco without raising suspicions.

When they were safely in the car and he’d driven to the top
of the road, Tomas exhaled. “Where we get ice cream?”

“I don’t want any,” she muttered.

“I’ll pay.”

“I want to go home.” Her voice was flat.

“Where you live?”

“You don’t need to drive me all the way back. A bus stop on
a major road will be fine.”

Tomas let out an exasperated breath. “I take you to door.”
And to bed if he got the chance.

Wren sighed. “Beeston. Penfold Drive.”

He tapped it into his navigation system.

“You like something to eat?” he asked. “Not ice cream?”

“No thank you.”

“Drink?”

“No, I’m fine thanks.”

He glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”

Wren’s smile was bright but he was far from dazzled. Anxiety
churned his gut.

“Veton do something? Say something? Dragen?” The bastard was
sex mad. “Marco?”

She shook her head.

“I done something to upset you?”

“No.”

Her response was much too fast. So he had. What? Well, apart
from the obvious of being associated with that fucking bunch of wankers.
“Sorry,” he said.

No mistaking the hurt in her big eyes.

“What for?” she asked.

He took a guess. “Being jerk.”

She faced forward again. “Okay.”

“So I was jerk?”
What the hell have I done?

“No. You weren’t a jerk.”

Tomas was confused.

She was pissed off about something but he wasn’t sure what.
The kiss he’d given her outside Ezispeke? But she’d started to kiss him back
and if Marco hadn’t interrupted… And it had been
her
who’d put her hand
on his cock. The clutch at his leg might have been accidental but she’d felt
his erection and not pulled away.

Was this about Adam? Was she playing them off against each
other?

Was Tomas damned because of the company he kept?

Had she seen him kissing Adam?

Or none of the above.

He opened his mouth to ask her again not to teach the women,
but she pointed through the window. “That house at the end.”

She leaped from the car almost before the wheels stopped
turning and hurried to the door of number 7. Whatever he’d done, he’d really
pissed her off. Tomas watched her messing around with the lock and as he was
about to get out and give her a hand, the door opened and she threw herself
into the arms of a startled guy. When he hugged her, kissed the top of her head
and rubbed his fingers in her hair, “Fuck,” slid from Tomas’ mouth.

After the door closed, he drove away.

When he reached a place he could pull in, he switched off
his engine. He took out his phone, called Julia and went through the security
procedure.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Couple of names for you to check. Wren Monroe and Adam
Kesey.”

“Reason?”

He had to be careful. “Wren’s a teacher at Ezispeke. Marco’s
engaged her to tutor a few of his girls. She was at the Headingley house
tonight. I just drove her home to Beeston.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I’m worried she’ll get trawled up in this. If
Marco had given me any clue he was thinking of hiring a teacher, you could have
put someone in. Maybe you still could.”

“True. I’ll have a think about that. And Kesey?”

“He’s moved in next door to me for three weeks. Home is
Greenwich, London. Turns out he’s enrolled as a student at Ezispeke. I want to
be sure it’s a coincidence.”

“Understood.”

* * * * *

Wren clung to Matt until he closed the door behind her.

“What was that all about?” he asked as he disentangled
himself. “And what have you done to your hair?”

“Dyed it.”

“It’s amazing! Where’s your spaceship?”

“Ha ha.”

The front door opened straight onto the living room. A
flushed woman with blonde curls sat on the couch, the buttons of her blouse
done up wrong, and Wren cringed. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Jennifer, this is my sister Wren.”

“Hi.” Jennifer waved.

“Hi.”

“You’re here because…?” Matt asked. “Is it a matter of life
or death? Man-eating zombies escaped from the cemetery? Aliens landed in the
back garden? Found a miniscule spider in your flat—again?”