Damage limitation.
And they couldn’t afford to fail.
The contract was too big.
She grabbed a thin cardigan. English people called this their summer, but to her, only 95 degrees was anywhere near hot.
She walked along the corridor and took the sweeping stairs down two floors and approached Sandy’s room. She knocked and Sandy appeared within seconds to greet her.
‘Waiting for me?’ Tilda asked.
Sandy smiled and backed away from the open door.
Paul was already inside, in bed, asleep.
‘How is he?’
‘Suffering.’
‘Can you do something for him?’
‘I’m trying. We’re dealing with addiction here. I did warn you.’
‘That’s enough, Sandy, I really don’t want to hear any more whining. I’ve enough to deal with.’
Tilda approached the bed. Paul looked fairly stable, though his skin was pale, and he was sweating profusely.
Hank came out of the bathroom and closed the door.
‘What’s that?’ Tilda asked Sandy, pointing to a syringe in her hand.
‘It’s your choice,’ she said. ‘We end it here and now, or we try to get him out of here.’
Chapter 39
Downstairs, in the ballroom, where there was a decently stocked bar, Joe Folly sipped a brandy. He was watched over by the hawkish threesome who followed Hank Hampton everywhere he went. The big fella with the Mercedes baseball cap watched him from under the shade of the hat.
Joe didn’t like his eyes.
They were the stuff of nightmares.
What he was doing was commonly known as playing with fire.
He hadn’t seen Hank Hampton, or Tilda Dent since he’d arrived.
He was here to see Sandy and nobody else. She’d seen to it that he was allowed into the devil’s lair. He was taking a huge risk in trusting her. That in itself put him in grave danger. This manor was essentially US territory, despite being in the middle of the English countryside. That didn’t matter. He could easily disappear when they were done with him. He knew what they were capable of. He’d had colleagues in the business of journalism – whistleblowers in science, medical doctors, nurses, research assistants and politicians – end up seriously harmed, terrified or dead when they’d pushed too many buttons. ‘Suicides’ from two bullets to the back of the head. Falls from height…
Anything could be buried. Information, secrets, lies, bodies…
Which was why he couldn’t grasp why Jamie’s death had been so public. But with these people, there was always a plan.
Two friends. A lover. Gone. Because they got in the way.
He must make himself indispensable, and he thought he knew how to pull it off. Without him, they’d never get what they wanted.
Access to Angie’s hiding place.
The gloves were off. He had nothing left to lose. These people had taken everything from him, but he had one more card to play.
