Never Mine by Clare Connelly
Chapter 11
AT FIRST, SHE THOUGHT she was dreaming. The noise seemed to come from so far away, as though she’d imagined it, but then, it was puncturing the fog of sleep. Broken glass? Footsteps? She startled, bolting upright, her heart in her chest.
She reached across the bed, for Noah, but he wasn’t there. She was alone.
Were the footsteps Noah’s? Nothing made sense. She grabbed her phone and pushed out of bed, running to her walk-in wardrobe – easily the size of a room – and flicking off the light, crouching down beneath the hemlines of her evening gowns, bile rising in her throat, not out of fear of the outside but at a cloying, familiar ache brought on by the darkness.
Where was Noah?
God, was he okay?
She loaded up a text message field and with fingers that were shaking typed him a quick message. There’s someone in the house. She sent it then blacked the screen, curling her knees up to her chest and pressing her cheek to them.
“Ma-ax,” the singsong voice sent shards of terror through her gut. “I’m he-ere, Ma-ax.”
Stay still, perfectly still. She dug her fingernails into her forearms, clenching her teeth together to stop them from chattering so long he’d be able to hear them. Footsteps. She could hear them and feel them. A whimper fibrillated in her chest. He was close.
Noah feltthe phone buzz in his hand, but all of his mind was focused on the call with Drew Wingrave, on explaining what he’d found on the tape.
“I just don’t see how he can be the guy. Or he’s not acting alone.”
“We’ve got bigger problems. His alibi for the slashing of the car upholstery works out. He was in Vienna for the opera.”
“I thought you said the alibi couldn’t be verified?”
“It took us time to track down the leads. His dates work out.”
“Have you released him?”
“Yes. Half an hour ago, with our apologies.”
“What about the photo in his car?”
“Swears it wasn’t his. Look, Noah, you know as well as I do that having a crush on someone is one thing, stalking them quite another. My hunch is, this isn’t our guy.”
“So we’re nowhere?”
“We’ve got some things to chase down. Leave it with me; we’ll talk in the morning.”
Noah ran his fingers through his hair, frustration pounding his insides. He felt like he was getting nowhere, and every day’s delay put Max more and more at risk. He needed – something sounded upstairs. A door. Max?
His phone buzzed again, a second reminder of a text message.
“Hang on.” He pulled the phone from his ear, and saw the text from Max. He swore. “Drew? Send a car around here. Someone’s in the house.”
He disconnected the call, pushing his phone into his pocket at the same time he reached for his weapon, ensuring it was at his hip, them moving, sideways, back to the wall, up the stairs, eyes scanning, ears trained to sound.
There’s someone in the house.
In her room? Where?
He paused at the top of the landing, listening. It was silent. Not even a hint of breathing. He could taste adrenaline in his mouth and forced his breathing to slow, so he could concentrate. The next few minutes were vital, he knew that. He needed to act fast but keep his wits about him as well.
He looked right and left, scanning for movements, shapes, shadows, anything out of the ordinary, then began to walk, stealthily, towards Max’s bedroom. At the end of the corridor, the moonlight blasted through the open window. Not open, broken.
He swallowed a curse, a burst of fear pounding through him so he could barely breathe. He’d been in dangerous situations too many times to count, both in war zones but also in private security, but it had never impeded his ability to think calmly. He was like ice, usually. But not now. Not when Max’s safety was at stake. The idea of harm befalling her wrapped around his neck like a noose. He ground his teeth, forcing himself to focus, to push aside fear and panic and concern and concentrate purely on keeping her safe.
She’d texted him, it was the middle of the night. It made sense she was in her bedroom. But where the hell was the intruder?
He pulled his phone out and tapped out a text to Wingrave: Intruder on site. Broken window.
A flash of movement burst across his peripheral field of vision. He lifted a hand on autopilot and saw stars as something hard crashed down on him. A hammer? A mallet? A goddamned fire hydrant?
He staggered backwards, the pain blinding, but it was only his arm —it hurt like a mother but probably wasn’t broken— he’d live, so long as he didn’t stumble, so long as he didn’t forget his training. But how could he forget? It was ingrained in Noah, years of combat had made that a part of him, so he reacted without thinking, lurching forward, towards the movement, uncaring that the hand was raised again. This time, he was prepared.
Only it was very clear that the assailant had skills of his own, training mixed with desperation, the hallmark of a crazed lunatic. He lunged at Noah and the two were rolling in the floor, so all Noah could think of was the gun at his hip and how to make sure the guy didn’t get it. He pulled up to look at the stalker’s face but it was too dark, it was pitch black in fact, and he ached for Max and how goddamned terrified she must be. Thinking of her huddled somewhere in the dark, or God, hurt, wounded, bleeding, drove through Noah like a firecracker so he found the strength, to pin the assailant with his body, to press his arms down.
“You son of a bitch,” he cursed.
But when the stalker refused to give up, when he hissed at Noah breaking one arm free, and began to reach for Noah’s side, Noah didn’t take any chances. He used his knee to pin the stalker’s chest to the ground, then raised his left hand, and crashed his fist into the man’s face. The other man had no time to prepare and the punch made his head roll to the side, knocking him out cold.
“You son of a bitch,” Noah repeated, getting up and flipping the man onto his stomach, catching his hands behind his back and securing them with his belt. His injured arm throbbed in complaint but he ignored it. There’d be time later, for now he had to contain this, to fix it. To hope like hell she was okay.
“Max? I’m here. You’re okay.”
No reply.
Noah swore under his breath, and a flash of fear sliced him in half. It was the first time in his life Noah had ever known anything like true fear. Adrenalin, sure, but nothing like this. He was immobilized, unable to take the first step, the prospect of what he might find too vivid and heart-stopping to propel him. But if she was hurt and he could help her? If he could save her?
He swallowed past the taste of bile in his mouth, ignored the jerking sensation in his legs and pushed to standing. Before leaving, he double-checked the restraints on the intruder – they held fast.
“I’m here, Max.” He walked into her room and flicked the light on, his heart slamming into his ribs at what he saw there. Her bed had been stripped completely, the sheets thrown to the ground, pillows in disarray. His heart in his throat, he slammed open the door to her bathroom – nothing. No blood. No Max.
Where the hell was she? He paced back to the bed, looked around, then crossed to the wardrobe. But before he went inside, he cast one last glance towards her bedroom door – the intruder was still there, but moving a little, groggy, waking.
He had to act fast.
He opened the wardrobe door and flicked on the light, looked around, saw nothing. No Max. Oh, God, where was she?
He pushed a hand through the clothes, and it was then that he heard it. A whimper. The softest, quietest sound, barely enough to attract his attention, except that he was hyper-attuned to her, to noise, his every nerve ending on overdrive.
“Come here,” he murmured, crouching down and pushing aside the dresses, checking her face and hands quickly, looking for signs of damage and injury, barely able to breathe with relief when he saw none. “I’m here, you’re safe, you’re safe.” He kissed her forehead, then pulled her to standing. “Come and sit on your bed, darling. I want you to wait here for me. Try not to panic. You’re safe.”
In the distance, he heard the familiar droning of police sirens and expelled a deep breath. “You’re safe,” he said again, knowing it was for his own benefit, that he needed to hear that reassurance as much as she did.
“Sit down.”
He guided her to the bed and placed her on the edge of it, then turned and left the room, pulling the door behind him. He wanted to stay with Max. He wanted to be with her, to hold her, to hold her until colour returned to her cheeks. But this son of a bitch needed to be dealt with, and Noah wasn’t going to risk letting him get away.
He stepped into the corridor as the man flicked onto his side, and the fury in his eyes, the look of unhinged mania, convinced Noah that the bastard had come here with one thing and one thing only on his mind.
He dragged the man to standing, ignoring the way the stalker spat at him. He was rough, anger making his hands heavy as he forced the guy to stand with his face against the wall. He kept one hand on his shoulder as his other checked his body for weapons, anything that might add an extra element of danger to the situation. In his pocket there was a flip knife, and in his back pocket there were cable ties and mace spray. There was also a small roll of tape at his hip, clipped through the belt hook using a carabiner. A shiver of revulsion ran through Noah as he faced the reality of what this man had come here to do.
“You fucking asshole,” he ground into the guy’s ear, holding himself back with a restraint he didn’t know he possessed. He grabbed the stalker’s wrists and pushed him away from the wall, away from Max: down the corridor, towards the stairs.
“Ma-ax,” he called, at the top of the stairs, so Noah gripped his wrists extra hard.
“I swear to God, if you don’t shut up you’re going to lose your footing on these steps, asshole.”
The stalker laughed, a husky, maniacal sound, so Noah marched him down the stairs as quickly as he could, relieved beyond words when the front door to Max’s house burst open and four cops rushed towards them.
Noah dropped the guy’s hands, stepped back with his own in the air, making it clear he wasn’t a threat. His arm throbbed in complaint. Three of the police swarmed to the man, the other to Noah, keeping a hand on him as a precaution.
“I’m private security – my details are in my wallet, over there.”
But DCI Wingrave walked in at that moment, making a beeline to Noah. “You got him,” he said, nodding to dismiss the cop who was ostensibly restraining Noah.
“Yeah. Not a moment too soon. Bastard’s got a knife, cable ties, tape, spray.”
“Got it.” Wingrave moved to the assailant, letting out a low whistle. “That’s quite a shiner.”
“He was reaching for my gun,” Noah responded firmly.
Drew’s eyes locked to his friend’s and he nodded. “I see.”
Noah moved towards the attacker, and now the lights were on, he stared at the man’s face, looking for anyone he recognized and drawing a blank.
“Who the hell are you?”
It was Drew that spoke. “It’s Simon Baslemore.”
The name meant nothing to Noah. “Who?”
“Edward Walton’s driver.”
“Jesus Christ.” Noah stared at Drew, a pounding ache in the side of his head, his arm feeling as though it had been splintered. He shrugged out of his jacket and winced at the sight of the injury - a bruise was already visible, taking up most of the forearm.
“Call for an EMS,” Drew commanded. “You’re going to need to go to hospital.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Drew sighed. “Noah, you did it. You got the bad guy. I’ll keep someone stationed here with Ms Fortescue.”
“No.” This was non-negotiable. Noah wasn’t going to leave her. “An EMS would be great.”
“Bloody hell, you’re stubborn.”
Noah didn’t bother to deny it. “So the photo in the car was his?”
“And it explains who made the call in Soho.”
“Of course. He must have seen us at the gallery.” Noah paced in a straight line, threading together all the instances, all the clues. “There’s more though. A sophisticated technological assault. He’s overcome the gate alarm, flown monitoring drones into the property –,”
“Yes,” Drew agreed. “We’ll search his office and home, no doubt there’ll be a basket of evidence.”
“That’s why the IP address showed up as Edward’s grandmother’s house. He must have routed it through their modem.”
“Yes,” Drew agreed. “The frequency of Mr Walton’s visits to his grandmother’s property would have provided ample opportunity to stalk Ms Fortescue, to observe her and the comings and goings of the house, to familiarize himself with security protocols, routines, and even lay digital frameworks in place to access security feeds and access points.”
“I thought it was an inside job,” Noah muttered.
“It basically was.”
Noah turned away from his friend, his head pounding. He hadn’t done enough. He hadn’t seen clearly. He should have screened the staff of nearby houses. He should have foreseen this.
Two paramedics came through the door.
“Over here,” Drew called.
“I’m fine,” Noah hissed. “I need to see Max.”
“I’ll go check on her,” Drew promised. “Take a look at his arm.” He turned to one of his men. “If Noah tries to leave this room before a paramedic has cleared him, arrest him.” His smile showed he was joking. “And get the suspect down to the station. I’ll follow, to question him myself.”
Noah had to surrender some of his control, just in that moment. While the EMS tended to his arm, wrapping it in a gauze strap and insisting he’d need to go to hospital to get it x-rayed to make sure it wasn’t broken, Noah used his other hand to reach for his phone and call Gray.
“You’d better get over here.”
“What is it?”
“We’ve got the guy. Long story, but Max is fine. She could do with some company.”
Someone other than him. Noah’s eyes exploded with bright light as he realized what this meant. He wasn’t needed anymore. His relationship with Max, her dependency on him, was at an end. He had to free her, to let her go, and he had to leave too.
An ache throbbed at the base of his gut.
“I’ll be right there. Noah? Thank you.”
He grimaced as he disconnected the call, not sure he deserved the ‘thanks’, knowing he needed to replay all this from beginning to end and work out what the hell he missed, what he could have done differently.
When the police had removed Baslemore from the room, Noah turned towards the stairs.
“Sir, you need to come with us,” the EMS insisted.
“I will. Just – give me five minutes.”
She pursed her lips, clearly not sure it was wise, but Noah was already halfway up the stairs.
When he entered the room, Max was standing, staring at the bed, DCI Wingrave at her side, speaking in a low voice, careful not to alarm her, explaining events as they transpired. She was silent, nodding from time to time, her face pale, her features pinched. It was only when she lifted her gaze to Noah’s face that she sobbed, lifting a hand and pressing it to her lips.
He moved quickly, striding across the room to stand in front of her. He wanted to pull her against his chest, to run his hands over her and assure himself she was okay, but Drew stood right there and already Noah was beginning to regret their closeness, knowing it could have been the reason he hadn’t been able to catch the stalker before he’d broken into Max’s house. Guilt was a writhing snake in his belly.
“You’re hurt,” she said softly, reaching out and pressing a finger lightly to his arm.
“It’s nothing. How are you?”
“I – not hurt,” she shook her head, holding her hands out so he could see that she didn’t have a mark on her. “He didn’t find me. I hid in the wardrobe.”
The dark wardrobe. He heard the fear in her voice, the trauma, and a part of him splintered apart and broke. “You did well,” he promised calmly. “You did the perfect thing.”
“He hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t.” He couldn’t bear her apology. “I’m fine. The police are taking him into custody.”
“Edward’s driver?” She repeated with a tremble. “I’ve been in the car with him. Last summer. He drove us home from a party we were attending. My God, I think he’s actually filled in for Felix, when he got a flu and Edward was out of town.” She pressed a hand to her forehead.
“That would explain how he was able to access your office carpark,” Drew said with a nod. “We’ll look into all the circumstances, Ms Fortescue. The important thing to focus on now is the fact you’re safe. Being stalked is a very harrowing and intense experience. Frankly, it completely messes with your head. My advice would be to get some counseling. I can recommend some NHS services, or some private doctors, but it’s important you speak to someone about this.”
She nodded, her eyes swinging from one to the other. She wanted to be alone with him.
“Would you give us a minute?” Noah asked.
“One minute. Sixty seconds, not any longer. You need to get to hospital.”
Noah nodded curtly, waving his friend away. When they were alone in her room, he reached out and touched her, as if it was the only way he could assure himself she wasn’t injured. She closed her eyes and breathed in.
“You’re okay?” He asked, the words gruff.
“I’m fine, he didn’t find me.”
“You hid in the dark,” Noah said gently. “You must have been petrified.”
Her eyes probed his, the fear in them so obvious, he groaned and hugged her then, wincing as she sobbed against his bound arm.
“I was so scared, Noah. Scared he’d find me, scared of the dark, so scared that he might have already hurt you, or worse. I felt powerless and I just –,”
“I know, I know.” He ran a hand over her hair, breathing her in, aware that this would end soon, that he had to leave, that their relationship was complicated and dangerous, and that leaving was the only choice he had. “It’s over.” He repeated the word to himself; a mantra, a warning, a reminder. It’s over.
“I’ll come to the hospital with you.”
“No.” The rejection was too fierce. He pulled back while he still could. “Gray’s on his way over; he’s worried about you.”
“And I’m worried about you,” she stressed, her voice raspy but firm. “Does it hurt?”
“Like the devil,” he said with a small laugh. “But I’m sure I’ll survive.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Stop,” he pressed a finger to her lip, his gut rolling with a thousand and one feelings: prickly, knotty, difficult to catch and contain. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”
“It’s not your fault either,” she said, needing him to know that, to understand. “This guy was –,”
“I should have known. I should have seen.”
“How exactly?”
But he could barely admit the answer to himself, let alone to Max. He’d let her down. He’d got too close, he’d failed her. And it could have turned out so much worse.
As if she could see the torment in his eyes, she leaned forward and pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to his heart, her hand stroking his back. “Thank you for protecting me.”
Guilt fired in Noah’s gut. He hadn’t protected her. She’d got lucky, that was all.
A sound alerted them to the fact they were no longer alone and when Noah looked towards the door, he took a sharp step away, clear of Max.
“Gray,” he strode across to his friend, good hand extended by way of greeting.
Gray shook it with suspicion in his eyes. “Max,” Gray looked at his sister. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, pulling her hair over one shoulder, glancing from one to the other. “It’s Noah who’s hurt.”
“It’s nothing; likely just a bruised arm, that’s all.”
“You’re going to the hospital?”
Noah nodded. “I’ll be a few hours.”
“I’ll stay with Max.”
Max wanted to tell them she was fine, but the truth was, she was glad for the company. “Thanks,” Noah responded with a gruff nod. He turned to face her and Max’s heart skipped a beat. “You did so great, Max. I’m proud of you.”
Her smile smashed his heart into a thousand and one tiny little pieces. He left the room without looking back.
