Hidden Heart (Love Is The Law 1) (13 page)

It took five minutes of goofing
around until Emily made it up to her flat, and as soon as the door clicked
behind her, she felt oddly alone in the silence. She tried to hold on to the
warm joy that was still under the surface of her skin, and she ran to the
window to catch a glimpse of Turner as he walked away through the car park and
down along the street.

He was going straight
for her.

She hugged her arms around her
waist. There was something about him that made her want to be the very best
that she could be, too.

She glanced at the papers on her
desk. Things weren't really going as well as she'd implied - not yet - but he
had now given her extra motivation to really make things work. She flicked her
computer out of sleep, and while it re-awoke, she went through to the kitchen
to make coffee.

She'd only been working for about
an hour when her phone rang. She was tempted to ignore it, as no editor would
be calling her on a weekend, but on the chance it was Turner, she picked it up.

The number wasn't recognised.
Curious, she answered, expecting a marketing call.

"Hello, Emily."

"Who's this?"

"It's Andy. You met me
earlier, outside that café, with Turner."

"Andy… Riggers?"

"Andy Rigby. Riggers, yeah,
if you like. Listen, babe, you left your purse behind at the café."

She bit back her angry snipe at
being called babe. "No I didn't. You must be thinking of someone else. But
thank you."

"Go check."

Emily sighed and stood up to
fetch her handbag from where she'd dropped it on the sofa when she'd come in. A
chill tickled her neck.

"It is gone. I don't … how
did I drop it?"

"I dunno, babe, but it had
your phone number taped inside. Forget your own number a lot, do you? Anyway I
thought I'd better return it. Because in spite of what you might have heard
from Turner, I'm a nice sort of person, you know."

I don't believe a word of it.
"I can meet you back at that café."

"Are you worried about me knowing
your address?"

"It's easier for me to meet
you there."

"No it's not. Just come
down, because I'm right outside."

Holy fuck - what?
She drew
in a deep breath and said, as steadily as she could, "Sure. Okay."

He can't mean any harm or he
wouldn't be trying to return it. I don't know how I lost it, but it's good of
him to find me again.

He can't have stolen it just
to give it back.

Buoyed by her logical reasoning,
she ran down the stairs and out into the sunny car park, scanning the area not
just for sign of Riggers but also in the hope that other members of the public
were around.

To her surprise, Riggers was
standing by the low wall that bordered the car park, talking over it to another
man who had two small boys with him. They looked about four or five, and were
twins.

Who'd mentioned twins recently?
She walked slowly over to him, and when Riggers saw her, he beckoned the two
boys over and they jumped the wall, aided by the other man. By the time she
reached Riggers, he was holding the hands of each boy, and the other man had
retreated somewhat. He was standing about thirty feet away, and playing with
his phone.

The presence of the children
didn't really comfort her, and she wasn't really sure if that was Riggers'
intention.

"Hello Emily," he said,
in that fake tone of voice that people used around children when they had no
idea about children. "These are my sons! Kyle and Liam, say hello."

They had big eyes that echoed
Turner, and pale hair cropped short. They stared at Emily, with clearly no
intention at all of saying hello. She smiled at them warmly, and then turned to
Riggers, realising his motive.

He must have stolen the purse,
and she could hardly have a screaming fit at him with two kids standing there.

"Thank you for returning my
purse," she said, pointedly. He hadn't made any move to give it back to
her yet, but he took the hint, and dropped the boys' hands so he could fish in
his pocket, and hand it over.

"Here you go. You'd better
check inside, but I can tell you, it's all there."

She bent her head and opened it,
and a movement caught the corner of her eye. The man who had moved off to one
side was taking photos with his phone.

"Hey, what's he up to?"

"Don't worry about
him." Riggers gathered up the small boys' hands once more. "That's my
mate, just taking some insurance. By the way, tomorrow night, I thought Turner
and me might pop around to see you. Have a few drinks. Maybe stay the whole
night, just chatting and stuff. Like old friends do."

"We're not old
friends." She felt a net tighten around her, but she couldn't tell what or
even why. The man with the camera phone was now approaching, a grin on his
pock-marked face.

"Lovely. Nice addition to
the album," he said to Riggers.

"What the hell…sorry, lads…
what's going on?"

Riggers tutted at her mild
profanity and shook his head, flicking his eyes to the two boys beside him.
"Nothing, babe. Nothing. But me and Turner will be around about eight
tomorrow, and we'll bring some drinks and that."

"No, you won't. He didn't
mention it. No, you're not coming round."

Riggers wrinkled up his face and
spoke with menace. "Thing is, babe, it's like this. We need to be
somewhere tomorrow night. We've got… work to do. A job, if you get my meaning.
So we thought we'd pop round to yours, have a nice night, add to the photo
album, then disappear for a little while… and then come back to yours. You're a
nice, respectable sort of person. If anyone were to ask, you'd be able to tell
them we were with you."

"Why these photos?"

"Charlie here was kind
enough to take some of us there, earlier, by the café too. On my own phone, and
his. It sets a bit of a precedent, you see. Otherwise I think it looks a bit
suspect. But now there's history. And the lads, too. I'm just a family man and
it's quite understandable that you'd be talking with me."

"That's total…" she
looked at the boys who were still staring at her, dumbly, "Total rubbish.
No-one would believe any of that. I'm not daft. And Turner's not doing any job,
or whatever. You're wrong."

"Sorry, babe. He is, you
see. He needs to. Or these little lads don't get no new shoes, and that would
be a shame, wouldn't it?"

The net was pulling tight around
her neck, and she struggled to breath. She put her hands on her stomach and
took a moment to calm down. She couldn't process this fast enough. What the
fuck
was going on? "And so what's stopping me just ringing the police about any
of this?"

"Turner."

"He's lied to me. I owe him
nothing.
"

Oh god don't let it be true.
Let this be a terrible mistake or some sick joke of Riggers' or something. But
don't let him be a liar.
She felt ill.

Riggers shook his head and
pretended to look sad. "I don't think you mean that. He wants to go
straight, for you! Imagine that. Just for you! You've got a lot of power over
that man. I've never seen him like this before. But you grass us up, and both
me and him are going down."

She stared at him, aghast, as he
put the final turn on the screw. "And you see, babe, if we both go down,
then who's gonna be there for these two? And his mum, see, she's ill, innit? Do
you know
how
ill?"

"How ill?" Emily
whispered.

To her horror, he looked down at
the two boys, and then back up at her, and shook his head again, side to side,
a clear gesture of finality and negativity. He might be lying about that, she
reminded herself. Turner said his mother was ill, but not that ill. Perhaps.

"Anyway. I've got to go.
These lads need to get home. I've got things to sort out, you know? Have a
think. Have a good think about it, babe. Turner would be a good man - if he had
the right woman."

He pulled at the arms of the two
boys, who responded like rag dolls, limp and passive. "Say goodbye,
boys."

They stared, silent. Riggers
towed them away, and after a brief moment, his friend with the camera phone
gave her a cheery wave and took off in the other direction. Emily swallowed
down the bile in her throat. She clutched her purse in her sweaty hand, and
walked heavily back up to her flat.

* * * *

Emily tried to sit and think
about the situation but her heart refused to slow down and angry energy was
thundering through her body. Who the
hell
did Riggers think he was? And
how on earth did he think his ridiculous plan - "insurance" - was
going to work?

She remembered what Turner had
said about a lot of criminals - or at least, the ones who got caught. They
weren't always very bright. The clever ones were businessmen and bankers,
company executives and professionals who never did come under the scrutiny of
the law. The dim ones, the daft ones, the stupid and the lazy - they were the
ones who served sentences. The ones who based their criminal exploits on what
they saw at the movies, or heard from a bloke down the pub. Idiots.

There was nothing stopping her
going to the police, although she wasn't sure how she was going to explain it.
Nothing had happened, yet. She would sound like a lunatic.

She tried to call Kayleigh but
there was no answer. Probably screening her calls at the moment, and Emily felt
a sharp pang of loss. She'd been a terrible friend to Kayleigh recently. She
could see that now. She'd been taking, and not giving. And she needed to take
even more, right now.

She cancelled the call and curled
up on her sofa. The next best thing was an imaginary conversation with her best
friend - what would she say? Emily knew her well enough to conjure up
Kayleigh's common sense and forthright speech.

Kayleigh would laugh and dismiss
the whole sorry situation as ridiculous. She'd scorn Emily for even
asking
what to do. It would be obvious - don't be at home. Go away for a few days. If
Riggers was telling the truth, then what did she care what Turner did? Turner
was a liar. If Riggers was lying, then she could happily go away because Turner
had told he that he was away for a while, too. So it wouldn't matter.

It was no good. She had to know
for sure.

Emily couldn't sit still. She
jumped up and wandered her small flat, growling out of the window and feeling
tense. She wanted to speak to Turner and ask him what the truth was - but did
she really want to know? Part of her wanted to hide in her own flat and wait to
see if anyone did turn up the following night, and if they both did, then
perhaps as soon as they left, to do whatever it was, she could phone the police
then.

It had only been a random thought
but as she prowled her few rooms, it became more and more appealing. She
wouldn't go to the police right now - that would just be too difficult to
explain. No, she'd wait.

That way, if no-one came, she
wouldn't have made a fool of herself.

But if Turner and Riggers did
show up, she could play along, and perhaps even get details of what job they
were planning to do.

She started to form a little
fantasy in her head where she was cunning and clever, working out what they
were up to, and then letting the police know. And somehow having to attend the
scene, and just generally being a massive hero.

She shook her head at her own
inflated imaginings. The reality would be dull and probably sordid.

She felt a little more settled,
but she still had a ton of excess energy to use up, so to distract herself, she
set about a full spring clean of her flat. It was rare for her to undertake
huge housework jobs, and it only really happened as displacement activity for
something else. Even as she dragged the sofa around, revealing a shameful
amount of discarded sweets wrappers and a nest of lost hairbands, she knew she
was avoiding the real issue nagging at her.

Was Turner a liar?

She plunged into hoovering, and
even contemplated getting the duster and furniture polish out. Then she
realised that would mean she had to clear the shelves and tidy the desk, so she
ruled it out and came to a halt.

Was Turner a liar?

Waiting until tomorrow night
seemed an awfully long time.

Was he…?

This is no bloody good.
She flung herself onto the sofa and rested her feet on the abandoned vacuum
cleaner.
I will have to phone him. Now. Don't think about it. Just do it. I
need to know.

* * * *

Kyle and Liam bounced around the
living room, shrieking with laughter. Turner was buried under a pile of
cushions, making
I'm A Giant And I'm Going To Eat You
noises, which only
caused the twins to scream even more. Kyle clambered onto the arm of the sofa
and launched himself, Superman-style, onto the quivering pile of soft
furnishings. Turner tried to grab him but the result was inevitable; Kyle
slipped off the edge and onto the floor, his forehead bouncing off the corner
of the low coffee table.

Laughter was replaced by tears
and within moments, his mum was at the door, her pale pink dressing gown
clutched around her bony frame.

She was surprised to see Turner.
"I thought Andy was here."

"He's just gone, and dropped
them off. I thought he was having them all day, but there you are. That's…"
He stopped. It was no place to be bad-mouthing Riggers, not in front of his
kids.

Kyle looked up at Mrs Black,
hoping for sympathy, and resumed his sniffling. "Grandma, hurt my head,
look," he said, snot trailing from his nose.

Turner sat up properly,
scattering the cushions, and scooped Kyle up with one arm, pulling the boy onto
his knee so he could get a good look at the reddened bump on his head.
"Oh, hush now. Nothing there!" He shrugged at his mum. "Sorry,
did we wake you? We were messing around and he fell off the sofa, and cracked
his head on the corner of the table. No blood. He's fine."