Page 186 of The Black Trilogy

“I’m taking you to get cleaned up.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he reminded me, “It’s come with me or pay a visit to the cops.”

“Fine.”

I folded my arms and stared at him. If he planned to do something really nasty to me, surely he’d have done it by now? Or did he just want to get me somewhere it would be easier to hide my body?

Oh, heck. I didn’t have much choice, did I? Maybe I could figure out a way to escape on the way to wherever he was taking me.

The builders had removed all the ladders away from the scaffolding, probably to stop people from climbing up it, so we had no choice but to climb down the outside again. I did my coat up and wiped my hands on it, trying to clean off the blood and sweat, then lowered myself over the edge. By the time I got to the bottom, the guy was already there, and as my feet touched the ground, he hung up his phone.

“There’s a car coming for us. It’s not a good idea to try taking a cab looking like this.” He gestured at his nose and my side.

I looked down at myself and had to concede he’d made a good point—I did look as if I’d escaped from a slaughterhouse. But good point or not, I lagged behind as he took a few steps towards the end of the road because I really didn’t want to go with him.

“Come on, Diamond,” he said.

“Diamond?”

“You’re pretty to look at and hard to scratch.”

Diamond it was. I’d been called worse. I gave in and followed him, and two minutes later, a black limousine pulled up beside us. He opened the back door and ushered me inside, then with a click, the door closed, leaving my old world far behind.

CHAPTER 19

THE MAN BEHIND the wheel swivelled his head to look at us, his face a picture of astonishment under his peaked black cap.

“Not a word, Tony,” my captor instructed.

The driver turned his eyes back to the road, and soon we were gliding smoothly through the streets of London.

“Er, I’d better give you your wallet back,” I said, rummaging in my pocket and pulling it out.

“Give me the cards, but you can keep the cash. After the amount of effort you put in tonight, you’ve earned it.”

Was he serious? I thumbed through it. There must have been a thousand pounds in there, all in crisp twenty-pound notes. I quickly flipped the wallet shut and handed it back.

“Nah, it wouldn’t feel right. I’m sorry I took it.” And surprisingly, I found I truly was.

“Sorry you took it, or sorry you got caught?”

“Well, both I guess. It’s not every day I get chased up a building by a crazy stranger.”

“You started it,” he pointed out. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”

“Black.”

“Is that your first name or your surname?”

“Surname.”

“Well, I guess that makes me Emerson.”

My first name might have been Amanda, but I hated it. Mainly because my mother chose it for me. I suspected she gave it seconds of thought, sometime between deciding what to watch on TV and nipping to the shop for more cigarettes. Therefore, if I found an opportunity not to use it, I was going to take it. I figured if he was using his surname, then I could too.

“Now I’m not a stranger, Emerson.”

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