Page 18 of Savage Obsession

“We can.” He encourages me to my feet and shepherds me to the door. “We’re going down in the lift and straight outside. You’ll wait for me in the car, right?”

I can only nod through the fog enveloping my brain.

We descend to the foyer again. I notice that Baz wipes the lift buttons before he uses them, presumably to remove my prints, and wears gloves to prevent leaving any of his own. I’ve stumbled into a different world.

The concierge is at his desk and glances up when we exit the lift.

“Go to the car.” Baz shoves the keys into my hand and pushes me lightly in the back to urge me on, then he strolls over to the desk.

I don’t look back. Once outside, I let myself into my car and hop in. I take the passenger seat without thinking about it.

Baz emerges a few minutes later and jogs over to the car. He jumps in and starts the engine.

“What did you do to him? The doorman?”

“I gave him a choice. He could disappear with a bullet in his brain, or fifty grand in his pocket. Guess which he went for.”

“Fifty grand? Where did you get that sort of money?”

He ignores my question and steers into the busy traffic. After a minute or two, I realise we’re not headed towards my house.

“Where are we going?”

“My hotel.”

“But I need to go home. What if she comes back? Or phones?”

“Andrzej’s men will be there, and they’ll let us know. And you have your phone with you.”

“Yes, but?—”

“Shut up, Julia. I’m thinking.”

I fall silent. I have plenty to think about myself, including who is this ‘Andrzej’ who is apparently making free with my home?

“Who’s at my house?” I demand.

“Do you remember Andrzej Nowak?”

I cast my mind back. “Vaguely. I know the name. Isn’t he a criminal? Someone you used to…?”

“Yes, an old associate of mine and Kristian’s. He owed me a favour or two.”

“Including cleaning up after a murder?”

“Yes. Including that.” He turns to me, anger glinting in his icy-blue eyes. “Do you expect me to believe you didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know?”

“About Debinbski? What he was really after?”

I gape at him, aghast at the very suggestion. It’s obscene. “Of course I didn’t. I had no idea. I would never…”

“But you did,” he counters. “She told you.”

“No, she didn’t. She just said she didn’t like him. I thought she was jealous.”

“Bollocks,” he snaps, his knuckles whitening as he grips the steering wheel.

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