GirlMostLikelyTo (20 page)

“No.” Not while Marco had no idea who Tomas was. Hopefully.

“When will you be back?”

Tomas smiled. “Missing me already?”

“I thought we could go shopping for some…plugs.”

His attention wavered and he drifted toward another vehicle.
A blast from a horn snapped him back on track.

“I’m guessing you might like one,” Adam said.

He sucked in his cheeks.

“I thought I’d get remote controlled ones,” Adam added.

“The plugs follow you around the room?”

The guy chuckled. “I think they chase you.”

Oh God.
“Not sure what time I’ll be back.”

“I was trying to give you an incentive.”

“Call Wren and try to persuade her to stay home with us.”

“Okay. Take care.”

Tomas stared at the road ahead.
Home with us? Take care?
How had they gotten so deep so fast?

The obvious answer to that was one word. Wren.

* * * * *

Wren was selective which staff members she talked to about
the class lists she’d copied. All she needed to know was if they’d taught all
the students on their registers. She asked those who had smaller classes and
particularly those she trusted not to blab to Olive. When she discovered names
had been added to the lists of everyone she’d asked, she was shocked. The
numbers added varied depending on class size. If the class was already large,
as many as ten more names appeared to have been tacked on.

She needed to call Matt. Wren felt in her purse and couldn’t
find her phone. She checked again, patted her pockets, tipped out her purse and
groaned. Where the hell was it? Had it dropped out as she ran this morning? Had
she left it in Tomas’ apartment? Lost it in the bowling alley?
Shit.
On
the upside, it was a pay-as-you-go and she only had about ten pounds credit on
it. On the downside, she’d lost all her recent numbers and there was no
automatic backup with the provider.

“Mike, please can I borrow your phone? I’ve lost mine or
left it somewhere.”

He tossed it over. “Please don’t call Australia.”

“New Zealand okay?”

She strolled to an unoccupied corner of the room and called
her own number. She’d left the phone on vibrate, but wherever it was, it was
being ignored. Wren looked up the number for the bowling alley but no phone had
been handed in. It wasn’t worth bothering the police. She took Matt’s business
card from her purse and called him.

“Matt Ellis,” he said.

“It’s me.”

“Different number?”

“Mislaid my phone.”

“What do you want? I’ve just got into bed,” her brother said
with a groan.

“Meet me at one fifteen in the city-center library. Third
floor.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve got the information you wanted.”

“What did you get?” He sounded excited.

She looked around and lowered her voice. “Class lists. They
all have names added.”

“Bloody hell. Are there any details about the additional
people?”

She sighed. “I didn’t get that for any but my class.”

“Ah well, never mind. See you then.”

She took the phone back to Mike. “Thanks. Can you do me
another favor?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Photocopy the data sheets of the pupils on your lists that
you didn’t teach.” She checked through the folder and pulled out those for his
classes.

“What’s happening here, Wren?”

“I don’t know, but I’m beginning to think Jolene isn’t as
good at her job as we thought.” She didn’t want to tell him what she really
believed.

“And if you find she isn’t, what are you going to do about
it? Even if you pluck up the courage to say something, you think Olive’s going
to listen? Sometimes it’s not worth making waves if you’re going to drown and
take others with you.”

She put Mike’s sheets back in her folder. “You’re right.
Sorry.”

Wren headed straight to the office. She wouldn’t ask anyone
to help her, but she wasn’t going to let this go. Something stank.

“Yes?” Jolene asked when she walked in.

“I need to copy the personal details of the people in my adult
English conversation class.”

“Why?”

“I’m doing a lesson on maps, directions and modes of
transport. I thought it would be fun to have their homes to use as examples.
Obviously I won’t reveal their actual addresses.”

While Wren talked, she sidled to the filing cabinet and
pulled out the bottom drawer.

“You still haven’t given me the money from last night,”
Jolene said.

“Oh no, I forgot. Sorry.” Wren pulled an envelope from her
purse. Thank goodness she hadn’t lost that. “Two hundred and twenty-five pounds.
There was an extra person.” She unfolded the supermarket receipt and tipped out
the contents of another small envelope. “That’s the change from the advance.
I’ll need about twenty pounds more next week, we’re going to make pasta. I’ll
bring my machine in and the café said I could—”

“Fine, fine.” Jolene waved her hand and Wren slunk back to
the filing cabinet.

As well as pulling out the files of those in her English
language class, she picked out the people from the bottom of one of Leo’s
lists.

“Good morning. Ezispeke Language Academy. How can I help
you?” Jolene said behind her.

Wren willed the machine to work fast and Jolene not to
notice how many sheets she was copying.

“I’m sorry. I’m not able to do that. I can take a message
and try to see that she gets it… Yes, yes… Okay. Goodbye.”

Wren stuffed the copies in her folder and returned the
others to the filing cabinet.

“What’s the number on the log?” Jolene asked.

Oh God. A log?
“I don’t know. Where do I look?”

Jolene tsked. “Press print record.”

“Er…296,884.” Wren made herself laugh. “I didn’t think I’d
copied that many.”

“What?” Jolene got up and strode over to her. She looked at
the number Wren had read out. “Don’t you have someplace you need to be?” Her
voice was frosty.

Wren fled. She hurried up the stairs to her last class of
the day. Not hard to figure out the number was higher than Jolene anticipated.
Probably the couple of hundred copies she’d made last night. She hadn’t
realized the machine bloody counted, though she should have. Her sense of danger
rose to a fast simmer. Wren wasn’t a policeman’s daughter for nothing.

Benoit was already in the classroom. He beamed when he saw
her. “Good morning.”

She walked straight to him. “Good morning, Benoit. Do me a
favor and keep these sheets in your bag?” She handed him all but the pages
about the students in the class. “Say nothing.”

He nodded and tucked them in his bag. “I have two hundred
and twenty signatures on petition.”

Her jaw dropped. “Wow. That’s fantastic.” Then guilt struck.
She felt bad she’d lied about why she needed them, but what choice did she
have?

“Good morning,” Georg said.

Duscha and Monique followed him.

“Good morning,” Wren said.

She let them settle and then drew a terrible picture of
Europe on the whiteboard.

“We not wait for Tomas?” Monique asked.

“No. Anyone guess what this is?” Wren crossed her fingers.

“Bacteria,” Georg said.

Benoit put up his hand. “Amoeba.”

Shit.
“Er, no.” Wren rubbed it out and tried again,
made Italy look like a foot kicking a ball.

“Europe,” Benoit said.

“Yes. Brilliant.”

“It look nothing like Europe,” Monique said. “Where is
Denmark?”

Wren drew an erect cock poking up into the gap between
Norway and Sweden.

The door opened and Olive walked in, followed by Jolene.
Olive held a sheet of paper.

“A word, Wren.”

She went over to the door.

“Been doing some copying?” Olive asked quietly.

“Yes, for this lesson.” She gestured to the folder on the
desk, her heart thudding.

Olive opened it and flicked through. Wren uttered a silent
prayer she hadn’t left a stray page of incriminating evidence.

“Is this yours?”

Olive showed her the sheet she had in her hand. One of the
students off Leo’s list.
Oops.
A stray page of incriminating evidence.

“I saw that when I started,” she lied. “I presumed someone
must have left it on the machine so I put it back when I’d finished.”

Weak but the only thing she could say.

“Did you make any copies last night?”

“Last night? No. How?” She suspected guilt was written all
over her face in large letters. The urge to keep talking bubbled, but it was one
of the things her brothers had taught her—another life lesson—stop digging when
you’re in a hole. Anyway, Wren didn’t need to speak. One word from Monique and
she’d be finished. She waited for the axe to chop off her head.

Olive kept glaring and Wren pressed her lips together.

“Someone did a lot of copying last night, and there were
only a handful of staff members here,” Jolene said.

Wren shrugged. Why hadn’t Monique said something?

“When I uncover who was in the office, they’ll be instantly
dismissed,” Olive spat out the words like bullets.

After Jolene and Olive walked away, Wren let out a
shuddering breath. She had to sit down, her legs shook so much.

“Benoit? Please mark where you live on the map and tell us
how you traveled here.”

It was not Wren’s best lesson. Strangely enough, it was
Monique who kept things going, but Wren could hardly meet her gaze. The French
woman knew she’d lied. And Wren had a horrible suspicion that Olive and Jolene
knew as well.

She expected Monique to challenge her at the end of the
lesson, but she didn’t. The woman left with Duscha.
Why didn’t she say
something?
Once Wren had retrieved her papers from Benoit, plus the sheets
with the signatures, she made for the city library. After she talked to Matt,
she might as well use the computers there to look for another job. Wren
suspected she was about to get the sack.

Chapter Twenty

As Wren hurried past Leeds General Infirmary, the traffic
light changed at the junction ahead. Rather than run to the crossing, she
glanced to check the road was clear and sprinted across. She didn’t falter,
though her stomach lurched into her throat, because Monique was about twenty
yards behind her.

Instead of turning right toward the library, Wren made for
the Headrow stores. Not running but walking fast. Another quick glance showed
Monique still following. It didn’t have to mean anything, but it did in Wren’s
mind. Monique knew she’d lied to Olive, so what did she want? To talk,
blackmail, murder?

Wren squeaked and drew alarmed gapes from a couple of women
ahead. She looped through The Light, and ran back toward the town hall. When
she poked her head around the corner, there was no sign of Monique, and with a
grunt of relief she hurried to the library.

Matt waited on the third floor. Wren flung her arms around
him.

“Christ, twice in a couple of days? What’s up?” He pulled
back to look at her and narrowed his eyes. “Been doing something you
shouldn’t?”

Her cheeks heated. “Apart from eating peanut butter with a
spoon?”

He rolled his eyes and tugged her over to a table. “Show me
what you’ve got.”

She laid it all out. “I drew lines to show the point where
the names seem to have been added.”

Ten minutes later, he sat back and sighed.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“There’s nothing conclusive, but…”

She held her breath.

“There
is
something odd. The crosses and circles
indicating attendance and absence alongside the names under the lines are
slightly different to those above. Plus it appears as though there’s a pattern.
Overall, the attendance is very good, but there’s always a couple of circles in
the names below the line, as though that makes it seem more legit.”

“And the names are of a type.”

“Same nationality?”

“Not sure. They all look East European, which is kind of odd
even though we do get a lot of East Europeans at the school. I don’t think
there are any men’s names. It’s hard to be sure, but I could check that out
online.”

Matt picked up the lists of signatures Benoit had collected.
“What are these?”

“Current students. I said Mum was protesting about the
closure of an animal sanctuary in Meanwood.”

“Mum’s started a petition?”

Wren huffed. “No, I lied, though she’s always going on about
it. The names might not be much use now, but I thought they might act as a
control. If any of the extra people on the lists appear on these sheets, then
it sort of disproves my theory none of them attended Ezispeke.”

“These registers aren’t current. Won’t the students have
changed?”

“Some but not all. The terms are really short and they
overlap. Sometimes students are here for nine weeks, which could be made up of
three terms. Jolene, who runs the admin, has everything well organized, but to
anyone trying to look at the whole picture, it’s confusing. Might be
deliberate.”

Matt sat back in his chair. “Maybe Olive and Jolene are
working together. They fabricate students who pay cash. Could be money
laundering. Though not big money.”

“But how long has it been going on? And some of the students
buy the whole package of transport and accommodation as well as the cost of the
course. It’s thousands of pounds. I bet all the extra ones did that.” Wren
pulled out the details she’d copied of Leo’s students and laid them in a row.
“Yep, they did.”

Matt met her gaze. “Well done, Sherlock Holmes.”

Wren gave a little smile.

“What’s the name of the guy who gave you the lift? I’ll
check him out.”

That wiped the smile off her face.

“Wren?”

“Tomas Adzovic.” She exhaled. If he was involved in this,
he’d be found out sooner or later. “What about the link with Marco and the
women I taught?”

“No more, Squirt. You’ve done enough. Let me run the names
through the computer at work and see what I come up with.” He piled up the
sheets, pushed them in his bag and rose to his feet. “I think you should
reconsider joining the police.”

“No way.”

“If you’re right about this,” he held up the file, “you
won’t have a job for long.”

Her stomach slumped. “What do you mean?”

“If Ezispeke is being used for money laundering or as a way
to get illegal immigrants into the UK, it’ll be shut down. You and your friends
will be out of work.”

Oh God.

* * * * *

Tomas drove one-handed and rubbed his eyes. He was tired and
his back ached. He’d finally been spat out of Nottingham’s rush hour traffic
and was heading for the motorway. Turned out he had nothing to pick up in the
city and he was fairly certain Marco had done that deliberately. Maybe because
he was pissed off he’d refused to drive to Hull last night. Or maybe because
Wren had secured Marco the information
he’d
been supposed to get. Or
maybe because Marco wanted to make a move on Wren himself. A lot of maybes and
Tomas didn’t like any of them.

One certainty. He didn’t want Wren anywhere near Headingley
tonight, but neither he nor Adam knew where the hell she was. Adam had called
several times to tell him Wren wasn’t answering her phone. Tomas already knew
that because she hadn’t answered him either, or responded to his voicemails or
texts. Adam told him he’d called Ezispeke and left a message for Wren to
contact him and when she hadn’t, he’d been to the school only to discover she’d
left for the day.

So Tomas had a problem. As far as he knew, Wren would turn
up at the house in Headingley tonight and there was no way to prevent it
without creating ripples. Those ripples might build to a tidal wave, which
could pull the three of them under. If he told Adam to intercept Wren, what if
Veton saw him, stopped him, hurt him? If he told Wren’s brothers or father,
they might blunder in and wreck his undercover work. If he told Julia, she’d
accuse him of letting sentiment get in the way of doing his job. If Wren
mentioned her father and brothers were policemen, would that get her murdered?

The lump in his throat grew larger. The notion of someone
getting killed was a legitimate one. The bastards didn’t care what they had to
do to get what they wanted. He put his foot down and edged over the speed
limit. There was no chance of him getting back before Wren was due to arrive in
Headingley, but he’d make damn sure he was there when she finished.

* * * * *

Wren knocked on the door before she could change her mind.
Dragen answered, cigarette in his mouth.

“Hi,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she
felt.

The top button of his jeans was unfastened and he wore a
filthy T-shirt with a picture of a candle that said, “Blow me, it’s my birthday”.
Dragen looked her up and down without saying a word and then moved aside to let
her in.

“Dragon, yes?” He exhaled smoke into her face.

Wren coughed.
Bastard.

Only Danijela, Vesna and Tanja were waiting.

“Where are Jovana and Ardita?” she asked.

“Ardita ugggh.” Vesna held her stomach and put her hand to
her head.

“Ardita’s sick.” Wren nodded.

“Jovana busy,” Danijela said.

Wren took three women’s magazines from her bag and handed
them out.

“Flip through. Find a page you like and we’ll talk about it.”

Wren hadn’t planned to ask any tricky questions unless the
moment was absolutely right with no chance of being overheard. The women
settled into talking about makeup and clothes, and a couple of times they even
laughed. Danijela read out a letter on a problem page about a woman whose
boyfriend had cheated on her with her friend.

“Men all same,” Vesna muttered. “Liars, cheats. Led by
dick.” She waggled her finger in front of her crotch. “Smaller, worse they
behave.”

Wren gulped. “Do you have boyfriends?”

No one spoke. Only Danijela met her gaze. “What you think?”

“That you should have.”

That earned her a genuine smile from Danijela.

“Tomas your boyfriend?” Vesna asked.

“Yes.”
Please don’t let Tomas be involved in this.
Yet she knew however much she might wish it, he was. What could she do? How
could she get him away from this before the police stepped in?

“Tomas is okay,” Danijela said. She nodded toward the door
and shook her head.

But not Dragen? Wren had already decided that.

A faint cry from upstairs made her start. She opened her
mouth and closed it as the three women stared at her.
Oh God. I am so in
over my head.

Danijela slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out a
scrap of paper. The other two watched the door.

“I like shoes,” Danijela said.

“What are your favorite shoes?” Wren’s heart beat faster.

Vesna lifted her foot. “Red with rose on heel.”

Danijela held out her hand to Wren. She swallowed hard,
palmed the paper and put it in her back pocket. All three women exhaled
together. What did the note say? Help us? Rescue us? Tell the police? Buy us
chocolates? Humor failed to calm her nerves.

“What your favorites, Wren?” Tanja asked.

“Shiny black ones, but the heels are so high I can’t walk
properly in them.” They sat at the bottom of her closet.

“I like these.” Tanja pointed to her feet.

Wren nodded. “Flip-flops. Because they flip and flop.” She
flapped her hands up and down. “Like fish.”

“Flip-flop,” Tanja said and laughed.

Wren reached for her folder to take out Leo’s list and heard
the front door open. She’d missed her chance and closed the folder.

“Shall we go out?” she suggested. “Walk to a fish-and-chip
shop and talk.”

Tanja stood and Vesna pulled her down. They looked toward
Danijela, who shook her head. “We can’t,” she whispered.

“Wouldn’t you like some chips?” Wren asked.

She turned when she sensed someone behind her, hoping for
Tomas, but saw Marco.

“Hi. We’re talking about going for a walk to get some
chips.”

“They’ve eaten. Are you hungry?”

She was about to say no when her stomach grumbled.
Bloody
traitor.

“I’ll take you to dinner.”

“But the two hours aren’t up.”

Marco smiled. “I’ll still pay you.”

Oh God, fuck, damn, blast and shit.
She’d hoped Tomas
would come to take her home.

“I should finish the lesson,” she said.

“They’re working tonight anyway.” He picked up her coat and
held it for her.

“Thank you.” She grabbed the folder and her purse.

“You want magazines?” Vesna asked.

“Keep them. We’ll talk about them next time.” No way would
Wren come back.

The women said goodbye but the friendliness had gone. They’d
entrusted her with whatever was on that note, and it was clear they didn’t want
anyone else in the house to know. Wren felt as if the pocket of her pants was
on fire. Marco had a brief conversation in Albanian with Dragen while she waited,
and then Marco turned and smiled. He opened the front door and gestured for her
to go first.

“My car’s over there.” She deliberately walked toward a
clapped-out Cavalier.

“Not that one,” he said with a laugh.

The lights flashed on a dark Lexus.

Marco was ultra-polite, opened the door for her, closed it
after her, but instead of his actions making her feel comfortable, she was so
tense she suspected she’d squeak at any moment. He took off his jacket and put
it on the backseat.

“How long have you worked at Ezispeke?” he asked as he
pulled out of the parking spot and headed down the road.

“A couple of years.”

“What did you do before that?”

“A bit of freelance translation, four months in a shoe shop,
three months in a printer’s, two weeks in a call center and one day in a
motorway service station.”

He laughed. “One day?”

“It was the night shift, and it was awful. I’ve never been
so bored in my life. I snuck the uniform into the locker and didn’t go back.
They never even paid me.”

“Talking of paying you, take my wallet out of my jacket
pocket and help yourself.”

“Th-that’s fine. You can pay me later.”

“Do it now, so I don’t forget.”

“I didn’t earn the whole two hundred.”

“Take two hundred.” There was a snap in his tone that hadn’t
been there before.

“Okay. Thank you.”

She reached behind and removed his wallet from the inside
pocket of his jacket. It was stuffed with fifty-pound notes. She’d never seen
so much cash, which she guessed had been the point.

“I’ve taken four fifties, thanks.” She put the wallet back
and stuffed the notes in her purse.

“What’s your boss like?” Marco asked.

Why did everyone want to know about Olive? “She doesn’t like
me.”
Oh God, why did I say that?

Marco glanced at her. “Why not?”

“Because I do things like take students for coffee without
thinking how I could also make money for the school. I’m not the most
conventional teacher. Today I—”

She clamped her lips together.
Don’t tell him too much.

“Today you what? You can’t stop there.”

Marco pulled into The Light car park and Wren allowed herself
to relax now she knew he wasn’t driving out onto the moors to kill and
dismember her.

“I taught my class of Italian teenage boys the difference
between what a woman says and what a woman means.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps you need to teach me as well.”

Somehow she suspected that would be a waste of time. He
wasn’t the type to listen to what women wanted.

“You like Chinese food?” he asked.

Instant thoughts of ox penis almost made her gag.
“Er…ummph.”

“Good.”

Which proved her point about listening.

He parked and came round to open her door. She tucked the
folder under her arm.