“There’s fifteen goddamn rooms,” I said. “Bedrooms.” I backed away from the door and glared at Max. “Move the fuck away.” He was more out of breath than I was. If the door didn’t go down first time, he should’ve gathered himself together to have a kick at the door after me.
There was a crack and I felt a sharp pain momentarily. The door had shifted, the first part of the wood had gone. I took a few steps back and ran at it again, this time rugby tackling through it.
And then it was gone and we were inside. No alarms were ringing, which suggested Jon was inside, the alarms off. We were in the kitchens, plastic wrapped metal cabinets around us.
“Let’s hurry the fuck up,” Max said. “Check every room. If we can’t find her, we’ll call the police.”
We jogged through the downstairs, pushing doors open and shouting her name. Nothing responded. There was just silence around us and the damp smell of plaster. My chest felt as if it was about to split open with the way my heart was thudding and I called Ava’s name louder than I’d ever shouted a word before.
“She’s not here,” a voice said.
We turned around and saw Jon standing in the middle of the corridor just below the stairs.
“She took her photos and left about half an hour ago. Is she in some form of trouble?” His shirt was undone and his tie was absent, which was a good thing as I was about to hang him by it.
Thinking with any part of my brain that applied risk assessments or sense was never going to happen. I lurched towards him and pushed him by the throat towards the wall, hearing him choke under my grip. He was smaller than me and looked like the last time he’d seen a sports field had been back in high school.
“Where the fuck is she?” I yelled, half aware that he wouldn’t be able to answer with my hand where it was. I sent a jab with my left fist to his stomach and he tried to double over. I removed my hand from his throat, leaving him gasping.
A scream broke the silence. There was a second of quiet and then two screams, panicked and loud. I lifted my fist and made contact with his jaw, hard enough to loosen a few teeth and then ran up the stairs behind Max.
We found her, lying in the foetal position, dried tears on her face, intermittently yelling between breaths. She wasn’t bound and she was still dressed and if she had been either I knew I would’ve finished off the man downstairs.
“Ava,” I said, kneeling down and pulling her into my arms. “We’ve got you. You’re safe and no one’s going to hurt you.”
“I can’t move,” she said, the words more like cries. “Where am I? I don’t remember getting here.”
“You’re safe,” I said. “But we’re calling the police.” Max was leaving us and I knew exactly where he was going. I shifted my arms around so I could get my phone, keeping her pressed into my chest.
The cortisol in my system was receding now I had Ava safe in my arms so when the operator as I dialled for the police answered and started asking twenty questions I was able to answer without sounding like a complete bastard. Ava’s cries had lessened but she was weak in my arms, her tears wetting my chest.
I heard noises from downstairs and voices I recognised – Jackson, Killian and Owen. Then there were footsteps and Jackson was there, looking at us, his expression one of contained fury.
“Maxwell has the architect locked down. He’s not even fighting. Ava, what do you remember?” Jackson said, crouching down next to us.
“Fucking no,” she said, still slurred. “Bar. A drink. Pina col-da. Spiked. Not pissed. This isn’t me pissed.”
“Shhhh,” I said. “It’s fine. It’s going to be okay.”
Jackson looked at me, his gaze hard. “You may have broken his jaw.”
“Good,” I said.
“He could press charges.”
“And? He’ll likely have some bruises around his neck too.”
Jackson gave his half laugh. “On behalf of the Callaghan boys, thank you,” he said.
Time seemed to blur, people arriving: the police, paramedics, Payton and Victoria. The paramedics took blood and heard Victoria insisting they did a urine sample, something about whatever it was leaving Ava’s system quickly.
I saw Jon being looked at by another paramedic, his jaw being examined.
“Who did this?” a police officer asked him.
“I don’t know. I came in here because I was meant to meet Ava Callaghan and two thugs were in here already. It must’ve been them who attacked her.”
“She’s not been attacked,” the female police office said. “She appears to have been drugged. Said she was in a bar with you for one drink and then she ended up here but doesn’t remember how. Remember, Mr McKend-Berry, there are cameras all over London; on the streets, at lights. You can’t walk more than ten feet without being picked up and immortalised on film.”
