Page 72 of The Trap by Catherine
“No. No, actually...” The man straightened up. “I’m here to helpyou.”
“Sorry—do I know you?”
Her tone was artificially light, forced casual. She knew that she definitely didn’t know this man but she did know that something was wrong. At the first sight of him, she’d felt a prickle of fear at the back of her neck, but now, even though nothing had actually happened, she was drenched in a cold, electric terror. It was as if her instincts were a few steps ahead, a little further into the future, and they already knew that things were about to go very, very wrong. The keys were still in her hand and she listened to the primal signal deep down inside of her that said,Put your hand in your pocket, hide the keys in there, and manipulate them so one is pointing upwards, out of your fist, ready to scratch or poke or maim if it comes to it.
“No,” he said. “You don’t know me. But you know who I am.”
His voice had an odd quality to it, somehow warm and friendly but cold and aloof all at once.
“I don’t think I do,” Lucy said, stalling.
She was running through her options. She was at the door to the cafe, her back almost touching the glass. She could turn around, put the keys back in, open it, and lock herself inside. But he’d be on her before she managed that, and even if she did, everything was made of glass. He could smash it if he was intent on getting inside. She might have run by then, through the shop and out the back... But there was a heavy lock on the rear door, and it was sticky, and even if she got to it before he caught her, would she get it open before he did? She could say someone was waiting for her. Make like Chris was, in his car, just out on the street, and try to leave. But for all she knew, this shadowman had done some reconnaissance before he’d parked here, and he might know that was a lie. And what then? There were houses out there, dozens of them. They were on a residential street. She could just run.Shouldrun, to one of them. If he grabbed her, she’d scrape him with the keys, down the side of the face or maybe even right across the eyes, and then—
“You wanted to see me,” he said. “You asked for my help.”
“I asked for your...?”
Her voice trailed off as the pieces fell into place: the interview. He was here because of the TV interview. This was exactly what Jack had warned about. He’d said it would bring out every crazy in the land, and here was the first guy in the queue, showing up mere hours later.
Lucy’s left leg began to shake uncontrollably. Inside that pocket, she gripped the keys until she felt the edges and angles of them digging into her flesh, lest they start to jangle. If they did, her fear would give away the location of what might be her only weapon.
She was terrified. She wanted to run. But she couldn’t run because she was terrified that that would be the wrong decision.
“Look,” he said then, “let’s do this.” He straightened up and she braced herself, thinking he was about to come at her. But instead, he walkedawayfrom her—around the bonnet of his car, to its other side, to the driver’s door.
She could run now, she thought. Bolt. Off to the right, around the boot of his car, and out on to the street. She was sure she’d get to the curb before he could get to her, and she could run down the road to the bigger, busier one it intersected with, or into one of the houses, or—
He pulled the driver’s door open, filling the car’s interior with a bright white light, which confused her.
What confused her more was his getting in and turning toward her, so she had a clear view of his face. He looked to be in his thirties, with short, reddish hair, and she didn’t recognize him.
He was smiling.
“Is this better?” he said, holding up his hands. “I want this to happen on your terms, Lucy.” Then he reached out and pushed open the passenger door. “Hop in, if you want.”
Lucy’s brain supplied a series of ever more ridiculous explanations for this man’s presence, for who he could be, for what this confusing exchange was actually supposed to mean.
Because, she reasoned, she’d said lots of things in that interview, not just that she wanted to meet the man who’d taken Nicki. He could be a therapist who thought he might be able to help her get over her obsession with knowing what had happened. Or a psychic who thought he had information from another realm that could help. Or maybe he was someone high up in the guards, some commissioner or something, and he was here to clean up the shitty mess Operation Tide had made and finally solve this goddamn case.
But that wasn’t what was important.
What was important was that whoever or whatever he was, he was now twenty feet away from her, inside a car with his nearest door closed.
Lucy pulled her handbag from her shoulder and started rifling through its depths, desperately searching for—
Her fingers closed around the smooth, hard surface of her phone.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said.
She froze, and then pulled her eyes from the phone to look at him in question.
“Look,” he said, getting out of the car again. “Here’s the deal, Lucy. I’m going to be completely straight with you, OK? You can ring the guards right now. You can even use my phone to do it if you like.” He was coming back around the car’s hood; she stepped back against the cafe door. “You can take a photo of my face. Or my license plate. Hell, I’ll even give you my ID to take a photo of, if you like. Fuck it, have the original. If you want, you can tie me up in your car and drive me to the local station.” He stopped at the open passenger door, putting a hand on top of its frame. “But you won’t need to do any of those things, because I won’t run away. I’ll wait here for them to come and get me. Or for you to go inside, grab the biggest knife you can find, and then come back out and slit my throat with it. I’ll let you do it. I promise I will.” He paused. “If that’s what you want, Lucy. But take a second to think about it.Isthat what you want?”
Lucy was completely lost now, staring at him blankly, waiting for him to say the thing that would thread a line of logic through everything else he’d said.
“Because the thing is,” he said, “if youdodo any of those things, you will never, ever know what happened to your sister. To Nicki.”
Nickisent a rush of blood into Lucy’s ears.
