Page 57 of The Trap by Catherine
Lucy pulled it out. She was getting an incoming call from a number she didn’t recognize. She rejected it and unlocked the screen.
And saw a flood of new texts, missed-call notifications, voicemails, and emails, coming in faster than she could go through them.
Chris had sent a string of messages over the past hour. They’d started with a benignI’m at home where are you?followed by an increasingly panicked reaction to the interview, seemingly in real time. AThanks for telling mefollowed by aWTF?followed byJFC what are you doing???Then, five minutes ago,Stay at the studio. I’m coming to get you. DON’T LEAVE.
She swiped them away.
Denise.On my way to the studio call me ASAP.
Caroline.All I can say is WOW! Good for you. Proud of you x
Margaret Gold.I hope you’re happy now that you’ve put us all in...
Lucy didn’t bother reading the rest of the message, which was so long it continued off-screen. Of course Margaret had already found the time to compose, type and send a bloodyessay.
And then another new message came in.
It was from a number she had stored in her phone only asHim, and only so she’d know who it was if he ever tried to contact her.
She’d got his number off Caroline months ago, just in case.
There were only three words, but she stared at them for several seconds to make sure they actually said what she thought they did.
Can we meet?
The adrenaline came flooding back. Her plan had worked.
* * *
Lucy watched him arrive at the cafe on foot, holding his phone, presumably using a map app to find the address she’d sent him. He stopped outside and looked up at the building, frowning, no doubt wondering if he had the right place. With the lights off and her car parked two streets away, it must look abandoned.
She steeled herself, then went to the door and unlocked it.
The butcher’s bell was still hanging over it and it rang loudly as she pulled the door inwards, interrupting the otherwise quiet night.
Roland Kearns looked her up and down as the edges of his mouth began to curl into a smarmy smile.
“Lucy,” he said. “We meet at last.”
Her name in his mouth made her feel sick. She stuck her free hand in a pocket so he wouldn’t see it shaking, then stepped back to let him come inside.
“Thank you.” His body brushed against her as he passed—lightly, but not accidentally. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, both garments stretched tight against his skin, emphasizing the bulging muscles in his arms and legs, the expanse of his chest, the physical power he had to call upon. A big silver watch hung on his wrist, mirrored Ray-Bans from the deep V of his shirt. “What is this place? Is it yours?”
“It used to be a butcher’s and it was going to be a cafe, but I don’t know if that’ll ever happen.” She turned the bolt in the door, locking them both in. “And right now, it’s mostly the bank’s.”
“And is it usually this...?” He was standing in the middle of the dusty floor now, looking around. “Gloomy?”
“I’m going to keep the lights off,” she said, “if that’s all right with you.”
What was left of the setting sun and the glow of the streetlight outside was going to have to do. While she’d been waiting, she’d taped another layer of newsprint over the floor-to-ceiling window. So long as neither of them lit up their phones, they wouldn’t be seen from the outside.
“Fine by me,” he said. “And probably wise, after your little stunt this evening.”
My little stunt that worked, Lucy said silently. Then, out loud, “It’s fine. No one would know to come here. My abject failure to get this place up and running has finally paid off.”
“Then why...?”
“In case Chris comes back,” she said.
