Under His Influence

“Oh, yeah. Well, uh, cup of tea?”

She shook her head, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes again. Oh no, not more tears. Desperation lent him the courage to cosy up to her on the sofa and put an arm around her, drawing her face into the crook of it so that at least the sobs might be muffled by his T-shirt.

Oh, her hair, her sweet-smelling, nut-brown hair. He bent his head and took a lungful. It made him feel giddy. The warmth of her, the closeness of her, her soft skin, her perfume. He tried to remind himself that John Stone’s child lay within her, putting her beyond his reach, but it was so hard, so very hard…

He brushed the top of her head with his lips.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he murmured. “Don’t cry. I love you.”

Her sob stuck in her throat, mutating into a hiccup.

“What d’you say?”

“I mean, you know, as a friend. I do…love you. Just as a friend.”

She looked up blearily.

“Aww, thanks.” A tiny smile rewarded him, a shaft of sunlight through thundercloud. “That means a lot to me. I feel so alone.”

“You’re not alone.” Liam’s voice was cracking dangerously. “I’m always with you, babe. I’ll take care of you. Whatever happens.”

“That sounds like something John said,” she told him glumly, then she sprang away from him with a hiss of pain, putting a hand to her head.

“What’s up, babe?” Alarmed, Liam tried to get hold of her wrists, to stabilise her.

“Don’t know…something…a pain. It means something.” She stared at Liam, terrified. “I don’t know how I know that. But I do. Something is happening. Something bad.” Instinctively she put her hands to her stomach. “Someone or something is coming for my baby.”

Chapter Twelve

John threw down his spanner with a roar and clutched at his forehead.

From her bed in the corner, Luana groaned and doubled over.

“You felt that, Mother?” her son gasped, holding on to his machine for support.

“They are coming.” Her voice was high and hysterical. “They are here.”

“No, they aren’t here. Not yet. But they’re in this system. We have to move. Fast.”

He took out his mobile phone, stabbing in a number with tense fingers.

“Yes, it’s me. Yes, I know it’s late. This is urgent. I need the ore now. I have the money. It’s going into my account tomorrow. Can you give me the ore? Can I meet you at the hotel, as soon as you can make it? I promise you. Tomorrow the money will be in my account. Yes. A matter of hours. Fine. Fine. I’m coming anyway. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Mimi saw the security light flood her bedroom window with its yellowish glow before she heard John’s footsteps hastening down the path.

She ran across to the sash window and opened it wider, leaning out into the heavy summer night air.

“John! Where are you going?”

“Oh, you care, do you?” His face was contorted, almost evil.

Mimi gripped the ledge, fearfully speechless.

By the time she was able to speak again, he was at the gate, striding away with demonic purpose. She shut the window and grabbed whatever clothes were closest to hand. He needn’t think he was keeping any of this story from her.

By the time she was dressed, in her ball gown and ballet flats with a linen blazer buttoned over her upper body, John was climbing into a cab on the road outside.

Through the open window she heard him say, “Park Lane Hotel.”