Deadly Obsession (26 page)

Amy looked at the cutting. Her body froze. ‘I already have. He was watching me outside Dirty Cash yesterday. I can't believe I thought he was something to do with Riley's business ... or at least the business I thought Riley was involved in. Before I found out about all the lies. Before I found out about everything and ended up with nothing.' Amy's voice started to wobble as she amassed all of Riley's lies in her mind. Everything he had told her, the lines she'd believed.

‘I'm sorry, Amy, I really am. I've been looking at this from the wrong angle. You and I are more similar than I ever imagined,' stated Dolly. ‘We've both been screwed by men all of our lives. We just need to work out how we both end up on top.'

L
ily liked her music loud
. That was how she played it at The Kitty Kat when she guest DJ'd. The louder the better. Especially when she had things on her mind. It seemed to help her grasp some form of lucidity about the many fucked-up things that seemed to be writhing across her thoughts. Her father was out, Caitlyn was indulging in retail therapy in Manchester, doing some serious damage to another of the Rich joint accounts, and Lily was alone at home, holed up in her bedroom, her only company a bag full of weed.

She'd spent the last few hours as stoned as she could, the weed acting as a comedown after the plentiful lines of coke she'd been snorting with alarming regularity over the last few days.

She needed to drown out the outside world in order to concentrate on what was formulating inside her mind. Laying back on her bed she knew that she was playing the waiting game. She checked her watch. Give it another twenty minutes.

How long had it been since she'd placed that phone call? Half an hour? Yes, give it another thirty minutes at the most. She'd look out of the window in fifteen to see what was happening. To make sure she was ready. This could be her moment.

Silence. Yet somehow the sound of the cogs whirring in her mind seemed to be deafening. Five minutes passed. Then ten ... she moved to the window and looked outside as five more minutes disappeared, seemingly in an instant. A lone figure approached the door of the house. Lily had given the visitor the code to the iron gates protecting the Rich family home when she'd phoned. She wanted to meet on home turf.

A smile crept across her face as she headed downstairs and opened the front door. ‘You came ... I knew you would,' she said. She opened the door wide and motioned for the visitor to come in.

I
t was
early evening when Grant received a knock on his hotel room door. He popped a codeine into his mouth as he climbed off the bed where he'd been relaxing and walked to the door. His shoulder was still throbbing, but the doctors who had discharged him from hospital earlier that day had said that regular painkillers would be necessary for a while.

He opened it to find Amy standing on the other side.

‘Evening,' she said. ‘I see you've been discharged, then.' She seemed somewhat flat. She was. Her meeting with Dolly had left her fearful of what could be around every corner. If Jarrett Smith was in town then there was not one iota of her that felt at all safe. He knew who she was, that was clear.

‘Hey, how are you? Feeling a bit better than me I hope. My shoulder is bloody killing me.' He laughed, somewhat inappropriately. ‘Come on in ...'

‘I need to talk to you, Grant.' Amy was in full flow before she even stepped one foot into the room. ‘That was Riley we saw, wasn't it? He's alive isn't he? You, me and Lily didn't imagine what happened yesterday did we? Why hasn't he come back to see me?' The questions came thick and fast.

In silence, Grant shut the door behind her. It felt somehow strange to them both that it should just be the two of them together within one hotel room. More improper than awkward.

There was an overly long pause before Grant spoke. ‘It was him, yes. I'm sure of it.' He sat himself back on the bed and patted for Amy to sit alongside him. She did so.

‘What happened, Grant? You and Lily ran off after him and the next thing I know you're bleeding all over the pavement. What have you told the police?'

Grant filled her in on his conversation with the police officers. She was grateful that he'd kept Riley's name out of it. Lily had been right. The situation was enough of a mess as it was without the police becoming involved.

‘But who stabbed you? Was it ...' Amy couldn't bring herself to say the word.

But she knew confirmation was coming. ‘Riley? What do you think?' Grant held her hand, just as he had done in her London flat when she'd received the second letter. So much had happened since then. Amy found it a comfort.

‘I don't know ... why would he?'

‘It all happened so quickly, Amy, but one minute I was chasing him, then he'd vanished, and then the next minute somebody tried to skewer me with a knife. I didn't get the clearest of views but if I was a gambling man I would stake my last dollar on it being Riley. I only lied to the police because I didn't want to cause you more pain. Now he's alive, the last thing you want is him disappearing off to jail. He could have killed me. He didn't. I was lucky. But it was definitely him, I know it.'

So did Amy. Riley was alive and she didn't know whether to feel elated or distraught. Or just plain terrified.

I
t was a very
rare occurrence indeed but for once Caitlyn Rich was not enjoying her shopping trip. And she was woman who could shop with WAG-capabilities; a woman who could run up a bill in dollars, euros, pounds and pence no matter where she was in the world if there was lingerie, perfume, décor and
objets
to be purchased. And Caitlyn was very much of the belief that if you couldn't find what you wanted in the shops then you had what you wanted commissioned, hand-made and hand-delivered.

No, Caitlyn's mind was very much pre-occupied and it wasn't with designer frocks or the latest celebrity perfume – and she was normally a huge sucker for a fancy bottle and a Hollywood name. No, Caitlyn had more pressing issues on her mind as she sat alone in Selfridge's San Carlo Bottega pushing a portion of seafood pasta around her plate. Despite it smelling delicious and indeed tasting so, she had tried it on many occasions, she had no appetite. Her inability to shop and eat were both connected.

She had heard about Jemima Hearn's death. The Manchester grapevine had been working overtime. Why hadn't Adam mentioned it to her? Maybe he didn't know yet. Her first thought, like many who were in the know about the disappearance of Weston Smith, was that perhaps her death was a revenge killing. The grapevine told another story though. That Jemima had killed herself and left a note stating her love for Winston Curtis. Caitlyn found the former option much more credible even if gangland gossip had proven that the last option was in fact true.

Jemima was having an affair?
Good for her
, thought Caitlyn.
I never would have guessed she had it in her.
The last time Caitlyn had sat in Bottega was actually with Jemima herself. She had brought Tommy's wife out for a makeover, as she often did. Jemima wasn't exactly the easiest person to get on with, but Caitlyn saw it her duty as a fellow woman to help her make the most of herself. It had obviously worked if she'd bagged Winston.

Caitlyn couldn't help but wish Jemima had confided in her about the affair. Lord knows she had enough experience in dangerous liaisons behind your other half's back through her affair with Jona. They could have compared notes. Caitlyn's mind drifted to what Winston may have been housing between his legs. She'd never been with a black man and she would have loved to have pumped Jemima for information. Was it true what they said about black guys? How would he have stood up, she wondered, no pun intended, against Jona's nine inches? She was sure she and Jemima might have laughed about it all. Now the poor cow would never laugh again. It made Caitlyn sad.

The other reason that Caitlyn couldn't concentrate on her normal retail revelry was that she had spoken to Adam on the phone earlier too. They had discussed Amy's return and Lily's confession about her affair with Riley. They were two subjects that neither of them liked.

‘Amy is convinced Riley is alive, which is why Lily is all over the shop,' said Adam.

‘She can't be with him, Adam. It'll be over my dead body.' The irony of what Caitlyn was saying was not lost on Adam.

‘If the truth about Weston Smith comes out then it could well be. Jarrett Smith will stop at nothing to gain his revenge, and that could mean you, me, Lily, Amy, anyone connected to his disappearance being in the firing line. We all need to try and lay low for a while and hope to God that the truth doesn't come out.'

‘I'll go back to my sister's. Stay there for a while,' said Caitlyn. It seemed like a good idea and obviously meant her being with Jona. ‘I can stay there until the coast is clear. What about you?'

‘I can look after myself,' stated Adam. ‘Amy Hart won't squeal, I won't allow it.'

‘I always knew that this would come back to bite you on the behind, you stupid man. The one thing you should never do is put your family in danger.'

‘It's that danger that keeps bankrolling you, you silly bitch.'

Caitlyn was in no mood to hear what she already knew. ‘I'll see you later,' she said and hung up.

She knew what she needed to do and there was no time like the present to do it. She looked inside her Chloe Paddington bag and scanned the contents. She had her passport, always handy should Jona decide to hire a jet for them and head off somewhere on a whim. She had money and credit cards. What else did she need? Nothing. If Jarrett Smith was about to start hunting down prey, then that included her, if only by association, and she would be better off getting away right now.

She grabbed her phone from her bag. The battery was nearly dead, but she could still make a quick phone call. She made two. The first was to Lily. She didn't pick up so Caitlyn left a message telling her daughter that she was going to London for now and that she too should quit Manchester as soon as possible and maybe join her in London – she didn't explain why, but told her to trust her mother – and one to Jona telling him that she would be with him in a matter of hours. As she ended her second call her phone died, the battery spent. She would have to purchase a charger
en route
. At least she would have finally bought something today.

She headed straight to Manchester's Piccadilly train station contemplating how today had been possibly her least successful shopping trip ever.

A
s she lay
in bed Amy shivered, the freshness of the night air against her body pricking at her skin, giving her goose bumps.

She stared at the clock on her hotel bedside table. It read 3.24am. The room was in complete darkness apart from the large digital letters displaying the time. She hadn't slept all night. How could she? The husband that she had spent the last six months mourning was alive. She'd seen him with her own eyes.

Images of his face smashed around her head, battering against her skull. Emotions leapt wildly, popping like corn, mental rapid gunfire confusing any semblance of sense she tried to formulate. Six months ago Riley's face was one she had looked at with complete love, total adoration ... but now ... she couldn't be sure. What had he done to her? Why was he doing this?

Their life together had been a sham. As counterfeit as a dodgy bank note. He may have loved her in his own way, but not like she'd loved him, the kind of love where your face hurts from smiling every time you look at the person of your dreams, the kind where your heart skips not just one beat but several every time his arms loop themselves around you.

She missed his caress. Their sex life had been wonderful. For such a big, muscular man, his touch had often been light and gentle, his skin barely tickling hers to new heights of pleasure. His kisses, butterfly-soft, had traced their way across her body, bringing her more blissful gratification than she'd imagined possible.

How could somebody who had served her so much pleasure now be bringing her so much pain? The torture of knowing that he had cheated on her, the pain that his life was secret to her, never to be shared ...
why would he wish that upon the woman he'd married? Professed to love?
Amy couldn't understand, and in her darker, more terrified moments she wasn't sure that she wanted to.

If the revelations about their former life together were to be the price she had to pay to have him back, alive again in her arms, then Amy wasn't sure if she could cope with the price tag.

Here she was, lying alone in a dark hotel room fearful for her life. Her husband a murderer, she herself the target of some crazed gunman. Riley had become the epicentre of a world of crime, horror and brutality which Amy didn't want to frequent anymore. She didn't care about the richer or the poorer, money meant nothing to her compared with true, honest love, but when she'd married Riley, she had believed that it would be for the better ... not for the so much worse.

As she lay there watching the numbers on the clock tick on, minute after minute, her emotions swung fitfully between triumphant joy at knowing that Riley was still alive and a blackened hatred at what he was putting her through. As the minutes advanced, it was the blackness that began to take over. She didn't deserve this. If her only crime was loving Riley so much then why did she feel she was being punished? Punished by his affairs with Genevieve and Lily, punished by his deceit, punished by his ongoing disappearance. All she had ever done was stay true to her one true love. A word scorched itself through her thoughts ...
Why?

Slipping out of bed, Amy adjusted the T-shirt she was wearing. It had been one of Riley's and she pulled it down below her hips as she moved towards the hotel room door. She didn't turn the light on, knowing the layout of the room in her mind. She placed the key card in the door, opened it and walked out into the lit corridor. The brightness of the light caused her to wince momentarily as her eyes became accustomed to it.

Grant's room was adjacent to hers. It took her no more than half a dozen steps to reach it. She rapped on the door, lightly at first, but when no answer came she tried again, her knocking more urgent.

A dishevelled Grant opened the door. He was wearing only pyjama bottoms. It was clear to see why his body was such a hit with ladies everywhere. A white pad of cloth covered part of his chest where he'd been stabbed. He rubbed his eyes to focus on Amy.

‘You okay ...?' he questioned.

‘Can I come in, be with you? I need to be held, Grant. I need to feel loved. Just hold me ... please.'

Grant smiled, held out his hand and gently led Amy into his room. He only said two words. ‘Of course.'

As Amy lay down on the bed with Grant and felt his arms move around her, enveloping her with his warmth, she felt a needle of guilt pass through her. But before she could even try to fathom its meaning and work out whether she wanted to react to it, she fell into a deep, much-needed blanket of sleep.