Hiding the Past Read online

  “Nope.” She stripped the saddle away from Samson, tutting at the mud spread across the tack, mainly from Nathan. “A personal visitor. A woman.”

  The conker-haired girl perhaps? He dragged a hand through his hair and found more damp leaves. “In the office?”

  “Yep. But don’t get excited. She’s married.” Shaz rolled her eyes. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

  Nathan should be used to her bitchiness by now, but it pissed him off. Big time. He squelched into the office, ditch water still inside his boots.

  Kate, from the Old Rectory, sat in the visitor’s chair. The pretty brunette greeted him with a beaming smile.

  “Kate.” He smiled as he sat down. “How are you?”

  “Good, thanks. But I don’t think your assistant likes me?”

  Nathan shrugged. “Shaz doesn’t like anyone. I’ve no idea why I keep her as a groom, when she scares away half my customers.”

  Kate leaned forward, dark eyes dancing in her face. “It’s Grace’s christening on Sunday, and you still haven’t confirmed if you’re attending. I sent you the invitation weeks ago.”

  Yeah, about that. “I don’t really do parties, but thanks anyway. I think I’ve got a show that day.”

  “Shaz said your diary is free on Sunday.”

  For Christ’s sake. “Parties aren’t my thing. I don’t mean to be rude.”

  “My horse-mad friend Anita is coming, and she’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  Nathan had the distinct feeling that he couldn’t get away with another refusal.

  “We’re neighbours, Nathan,” continued Kate, undaunted. “I’d love the opportunity to introduce you to my friends. Please, say you’ll come. You can bring Shaz, if you’d like?” She paused and gave him a teasing smile. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  He nearly choked at the idea. “Shaz? No. She’s my assistant. But—”

  “Great.” Kate reached out and shook his hand. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  She walked onto the yard, while he stared, bemused. How the hell did that happen? He didn’t go to parties. He hated socialising. The only reason he gave riding lessons was because he needed a form of income while he put his life back together.

  *

  Juli headed for the nearest Underground station. The Tube would be the quickest way to Charlie’s, but it still took her over half an hour before she got there. She pressed the intercom button for his apartment, and moments later, someone answered.

  “Yes?” It sounded like Charlie’s doctor. What was his name? Jeffries?

  “This is Juli. I need to see Alain.”

  “He’s sleeping.”

  This was not a conversation she wanted to have in a semi-public place. “Can I come up, please?”

  “Sure.” He disconnected, but the front door clicked open, and Juli made her way inside and headed up to the top floor.

  She knocked on Charlie’s door, and Dr. Jeffries let her in.

  “How can I help you? Do you want to sit with him for a while?”

  “I need to ask him something.” She followed the doctor into the bedroom, where Yanni lay, his eyes closed.

  “I’m afraid he won’t be answering anything for a few hours. I had to sedate him while I dressed the wound. Do you want to stay here with me?” Dr. Jeffries sat in an armchair opposite the bed and picked up a newspaper, a half-filled crossword puzzle facing upward.

  This was hopeless. She’d rushed here on the off chance of getting information, but she might as well go back to the hospital. She plucked the pen from Dr. Jeffries’ hand and scribbled her phone number at the top of the page.

  “When he wakes up, can you please text me? Don’t call, just text. It’s urgent.”

  There was no point in staying any longer.

  *

  Jack went back up to Yves’ room via the coffee bar. Hospital coffee machines were notoriously bad. The least he could do would be to take a decent drink back to Juli’s mom.

  She looked animated when he walked in, accepting the drink with a beaming smile so reminiscent of Juli. “Thank you. You’re very kind. I’ve had a great idea. Yves just had some visitors. They’re from the faculty where he’s lecturing this summer. They came to see if he was showing any signs of improvement.”

  Jack nodded and took a sip of his drink. Hot and strong. It was good. The caffeine hit surged through his veins, lifting his tiredness for a moment. Helen talked on, but he paid scant attention, still trying to figure out what Juli could be lying about.

  “So, I said I’d check his diary,” said Helen. “What do you think?”

  “I’m sorry, Helen. Would you run that by me again?”

  Her green eyes sparkled. “I told them I’d look in Yves’ food diary, to see where he’d eaten and what.”

  “Uh… told whom?”

  “His colleagues? From the University? I told them about Juli’s crazy idea that he’d been poisoned, and then I remembered that he keeps a food diary. We both do.”

  Jack must have looked blank.

  She rolled her eyes and explained. “Yves and I are dieting at the moment. We write down everything we eat, and we’ve got complete records for the past six weeks.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Yes. And they thought it was an excellent idea to check. So, would you mind?”

  Jack was lost again. Rubbing his forehead, he shrugged. “Mind what?”

  “Mind going to fetch it?” She made an impatient little noise. “You know we’re staying at Juli’s house while she’s working in Houston? Juli’s planning to get a long-term tenant, but she insisted we stay there while we’re in London. It’s so central.”

  He knew, but it had slipped his mind. “Now?”

  “Well, yes. If you don’t mind. I can tell you exactly where to look. In the main bedroom, on the bedside cabinet. Both our diaries are there, along with Yves’ laptop.”

  Jack stared. Did he miss something?

  “You’ve got Juli’s keys? You could drive there now, pick up the diary, and be back within the hour.”

  He took a slurp of the coffee and nodded. He might as well. At least he’d be doing something.

  Driving on unfamiliar streets, even with his phone giving directions, took longer than Jack thought, but half an hour later, he snagged a space in the street right outside the house. He climbed out of the car and took a moment to stretch. Juli’s place was in a quiet part of Islington, all leafy trees and expensive bistros. He recalled her saying she bought at the right time. They now lived in Houston, but she didn’t plan to sell it for a few years, while it was still increasing in value.

  That made sense. He liked having a smart wife. Beautiful and practical. Man, he was a lucky bastard. He locked the car and headed up the short path to the front door. The crash from inside the house stopped him in his track.

  —the fuck?

  His instincts leapt to life. Instead of opening the door, he darted around the side, to the kitchen door. This was part reinforced glass, which meant he could see through it. He hunkered down behind a gas barbecue set, and peered through the door and window. The door was ajar, the room appeared empty.

  Juli said she had a work thing. Was she here? Or was there a robbery in progress?

  Call the police, or check it out for himself? The sound of glass breaking was the clincher. If Juli was inside, she might be in trouble.

  Jack set his phone to silent, bent low to reduce the risk of being seen, and darted inside. He heard muffled voices. Two men, speaking a language he didn’t recognise. They might be upstairs. Where was Juli? Was she here? He didn’t want to waste time, sending her a text.

  If he was back home in Houston, he’d be armed. A military background and his current job running a high-tech security organisation meant he liked to be prepared for all eventualities, but this was the UK, with strict gun laws. He was standing in a kitchen, though, and kitchens had knives.

  He tugged a carving knife from the block, then mo
ved to peer around the door into the hallway.

  Heavy footsteps heralded a man, coming down the stairs, and Jack watched from his secure position. Jesus, the guy was huge, like a mountain on legs. In his arms, he carried a pile of things. A couple of laptops, cables trailing, an open-topped cardboard box, and a bunch of document folders. His arms were like tree trunks. Never mind working out; this dude was probably a competitive weightlifter. His size could make him slow. And he was alone. And heading for the kitchen.

  Jack grabbed a spoon from the counter, then snuck out from behind the door. He tossed the spoon across the hallway, to clatter on the other side.

  The robber paused and turned his head, following the noise.

  It made it so easy. Jack grabbed the guy from behind and pressed the carving knife to his throat. “Make a noise, and you’re dead,” Jack whispered into his ear. “Do you understand?”

  There was a grunt in reply. Could mean yes, could mean get the fuck off me.

  “How many upstairs?” Jack asked.

  The knife rested on the guy’s Adam’s apple. It bobbed as he whispered back, “One.”

  Assuming he was telling the truth, Jack could dispense with him. He relaxed the knife a fraction, laid a hard punch into the kidneys, and elbowed the man’s head as he slumped forward.

  His stuff clattered to the floor.

  Jack winced at the noise. Way to alert the other guy. The robber groaned and Jack bent down, to pat the guy’s pockets and check for weaponry. He found a balisong—a butterfly knife with an ornate mother-of-pearl handle. That could be useful. He’d claim that as spoils of war. It went in his pocket.

  He stepped away, listening for the footsteps and voice upstairs.

  Every sense was on alert, but it wasn’t enough. Something cold and hard dug into Jack’s side. He froze.

  “Hands up, where I can see them.” The man’s voice was deep and heavily accented.

  Playing for time, Jack moved slowly. Not his best idea. Something hit the side of his head, and stars exploded before his eyes. His knees turned to water, and he crumpled to the floor. Through half-closed eyes, he was aware of people moving around him, but he was too dazed to focus.

  When he could lift his head without fear of throwing up, it was to find himself alone. A car engine roared outside, followed by a screech of tyres. Yep, that would be the robbers, getting away.

  Shit. Well handled, Jack. He snarled to himself. And he still didn’t know where Juli was. He checked his phone. No reply from her. He called her again, but it continued to drop to voicemail.

  He had to call the police, but urgency drummed through his blood to find his wife first. She might be upstairs. Hurt. Or worse.

  His legs felt like jelly, and he cursed his stupidity at taking on the mountain-man, but he forced himself to climb the stairs. “Juli,” he called. “You here?”

  The master bedroom was a mess, the drawers emptied, bags opened, and belongings strewn across every surface. Yves’ laptop was gone, and it looked as though their food diaries had vanished. God damn it. The one thing he’d been sent to find. Jack cursed again. It didn’t feel like a standard break-in, though. A television and DVD player were untouched, and there was jewellery loose on the dressing table. The big guy had been carrying files and books. They were looking for something specific.

  Head pounding, he checked the bathroom. Everything looked normal, except the towelling bathrobe lying on top of the laundry basket. He recognised the pale-pink stripes. It was Juli’s. He’d seen her wearing it at home, numerous times. It didn’t usually have blood smeared across the sleeves.

  Where the fuck was she, and what happened here?

  He dialled her number again, waited impatiently as it rang, and swore when it diverted to voicemail.

  Years of training kicked in. He needed to make sure Juli wasn’t inside the house. Secure the location. Call the police.

  He had to do this systematically. The spare bedroom was similarly messed up. He made his way slowly downstairs. The lounge was the same. A small display cabinet had been forced open by breaking the glass front. Shards of glass littered the carpet, and Jack picked his way carefully around them, taking care not to disturb anything. Dialling Juli over and over again was his newest hobby.

  The kitchen looked untouched. Did they make a rapid getaway after Jack surprised them? Or did they find what they were looking for?

  Oh no. That was blood, smeared across the tiled floor. Jack’s heart thudded painfully, as he crouched next to the table, to look more closely. Fear prickled up and down his spine. Did they take Juli? The idea of her being kidnapped again slammed into him like a wrecking ball. No. There had to be another option, another reason why she failed to pick up her phone.

  He used the edge of the table to pull himself upright, and saw another glimpse of blood, this time in the washing machine. The fuck?

  He used his sleeve to open the door of the front-loading machine and saw a blood-soaked towel inside. It wasn’t alone. It held a bundle of blooded towels and napkins. They looked recent, the blood still wet. What kind of burglar would load up the washing machine? It made no sense.

  Did something happen to Juli? Was this her blood? Did she try to clean it up before seeking medical help? Was she on her way to the hospital right now? If she’d come straight here, she would only be fifteen minutes or so ahead of Jack, so what did she do? Come home, cut herself, clean it up, and then call for help, all before the robbers arrived? Before Jack got here?

  Nope, the timing made no sense. And neither did any of this.

  There was a piece of paper on the floor underneath the table. He picked it up.

  A utility bill, for Charlie Jones. It had dried blood along the edge, and Juli’s address scrawled across the top.

  Chapter Three

  Jack was operating entirely on instinct. Calling the police could wait. What would they do, apart from take fingerprints and ask him to list the stolen items? His focus was on finding Juli, and one person might know. There was no logical reason why Charlie Jones would visit her, but there was also no good reason for her washing machine to be filled with bloodied towels.

  Something was going on, and Jack was going to find out what.

  He punched Charlie’s address into his phone and followed the directions to the East End of London. Once filled with warehouses and slums, this area now housed wealthy bankers, stockbrokers, and rock stars. Charlie’s loft apartment was at the top of a converted warehouse, and Jack couldn’t begin to guess how much it cost.

  He held the door open for a young woman with a stroller, and then tailgated her, before climbing in the elevator. Charlie had the entire top floor, and Jack marched to his door, fear beating a relentless tattoo in his chest. He hammered on the door with his fist.

  It opened moments later, and Jack found himself gazing down at the rocker. Charlie was only a few inches shorter, but it gave Jack the advantage. “Have you seen my wife? Have you seen Juli?” He hurled the questions out.

  Charlie quirked his eyebrows, either surprised or pissed. “Well, hello, Jack. Nice to see you too.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes at the asshole. Sarcasm was not welcome. He stepped forward, right up in Charlie’s grille. “Were you at Juli’s? When did you last see her?”

  “Huh?” Charlie scratched his scruffy beard and took a step back. “Have you rung her? She was here a little while ago. Just before me and Daisy got back.”

  The relief was sweet, if short-lived. “How long ago?” Jack crowded him again. Charlie might have been the last person to see Juli. He should be taking this more seriously.

  The vibration in Jack’s pocket made him pause. His phone. Without taking his gaze off Charlie, he tugged the phone from his pocket, and then checked the display. A missed call from Juli.

  He went to call her back, as a voicemail pinged for attention. He listened to it.

  “Hi, it’s me.” Juli. Thank Christ. “I was in the Underground, and when I came to the surface, I had—oh—sevente
en missed calls from you? Is Papa worse? Call me back, please.”

  She was fine. On public transport. Jack let out a sigh of relief, his hands shaking from the receding adrenaline.

  Belatedly, he realised he’d been behaving like an asshole to Charlie, but there were still questions to be answered. Jack tried to order his thoughts, his head aching like a son of a bitch.

  Meanwhile, Charlie shoved at him with both hands. “You and your wife,” he snarled. “You’re both off your fucking heads. I take it that message was from Juli?” Jack nodded, and Charlie continued. “Why don’t you ask her what kind of fucking game she’s playing, instead of bursting in here?”

  Okay. Jack was seriously unhappy with this level of attitude. “I’m asking you, because I found this.” Jack waved the blood-edged utility bill in the air. “I found this on her floor, along with a lot of blood. Oh, and three men smashing up the place and taking offence at my interrupting. So, you tell me, what the fuck is going on?”

  “Jack?” Daisy’s voice broke into the exchange. She stared at them in disbelief, crossing the floor to join them. “What happened? Your head’s bleeding. Have you been in an accident?”

  Ah. He forgot Daisy might be here. Before Jack could reply, Charlie stepped to the side and threw open a door.

  “This is what you need to ask your wife about.” Charlie spoke through gritted teeth. “She asked me to help, and I brought him back here this morning.”

  Confused, Jack gazed through the door. A startled-looking grey-haired man stood beside a bed. Jack shifted his gaze to the man sleeping in the bed, and the breath jammed in his chest.

  Yanni? What the ever-loving fuck?

  Charlie had Yanni as a house guest.

  Jack’s vision clouded, and rage coiled in his guts. Charlie was sheltering the bastard that kidnapped Juli. All ideas of restraint gone, Jack grabbed Charlie by the shirt and shoved him against the nearest wall. “You really don’t want to upset me, Charlie. I’m asking you for the last time. What the fuck is going on?”

  “Get your fucking hands off me.” Charlie struggled, but Jack held him tight. “Do you know him?”