Chapter Two
Ana wasn't a fool and as the elevator ascended to the penthouse, she knew that he knew she was coming. She just didn't know what to expect. She had half been hoping that he wouldn't be home on a Saturday night, but he was and she was desperate.
She had left her usual defences behind tonight. Her wavy auburn hair was loose around her shoulders, her expensive silk and wool suit had been exchanged for jeans and a baggy jumper and her flawless makeup which had been hiding her dark circles in the court room (and yesterday had hidden her red eyes too) was gone, wiped clean.
She would be laid bare before him, exposed to his scrutiny, because there was no other way.
Her only defence was the clear plastic wallet she carried, and her arms that held it to her chest, defensivly. Of course, her posture was a big clue that she was as nervous as hell.
Although the lift stopped, the doors didn't open, probably waiting for Tom to use a key card or enter a code. As the seconds ticked on, she brought her thumb to her lips and bit on the end of her nail, a habit she had stopped but that seemed determined to return now. Even weekly shellac manicured couldn't completely hide the damage she'd been doing.
Finally the doors opened and Tom stood there, his expression inscrutable.
"Back for more? I didn't take you for a masochist."
Tears pricked her eyes again and she blinked them back.
"Please, Tom, just hear me out."
He considered her for a long moment, his eyes taking in her signs of weakness, the red eyes and nose, the un-styled hair, her slumped shoulders… he catalogued her body language and after several long moments, gestured for her to step out.
"How do I know you aren't wearing a wire this time?" he demanded.
She was prepared for that and began by dropping the wallet and taking her boots off, passing them to him for him to inspect, then her socks, jeans and finally her jumper, until she was standing before him in nothing but a sheer bra and panty set that's he had worn specifically because they were see through. When he'd finished checking her clothes, she turned around, flicking her hair when she had her back to him, so he could see there was nothing there, then she turned to face him again.
She caught that predatory look in his eyes, the one that used to turn her on so much, and she lowered her eyes, afraid of what else she might see in his.
When he didn't say anything for a few minutes, she reached back to unhook her bra, wondering if he thought the underwire might be a bug, but he stopped her and threw her clothes back at her.
She dressed as quickly as she could, not bothering with her socks and boots yet, and she picked up the wallet.
"Speak," was all he eventually said, so she began.
"I didn't come to you because I needed a hit man, I'm not an idiot and I know how to use the dark web. I came to you because I need you. This is way over my head and I can't handle it alone." She blinked furiously, trying to hold back her tears. They wouldn't sway Tom anyway. "I'm sorry I acted like a bitch yesterday but that's my normal courtroom persona when I'm frightened, and you aren't the first to call me that."
"I frighten you?" he asked, in that ice cold tone once more.
She looked into his eyes and managed to hold his gaze. "You terrify me."
His featured morphed into disgust and she knew she'd said the wrong thing,
"No, Tom, please, I'm not afraid of you, that's not what I mean. You terrify me because of how you make me feel. Even now, after all these years, I can hardly stand to think of you and… and how I hurt you," her voice trailed off towards the end.
"I was an innocent fool Tom, and I said some really cruel things to you, things I still hate myself for saying. The longer I practiced in the legal profession, the more clear it became that… well, that I was living in a fairy-tale and that the world wasn't the place I assumed it was. I've met a lot of monsters since I first became a junior barrister, and you don't even compare to them."
Tom seemed frozen and in true Ana style, she continued to ramble, filling in the silences.
"You don't know how many times I've thought of picking up the phone and calling you, apologising for everything that happened, but I was a coward. And I suppose I still am because it literally took a life or death situation for me to finally face the anger you feel for me and even then, I couldn't push past my pride to tell you 'I'm sorry'. And I am sorry, Tom, I really am."
Her tears were flowing freely now and she didn't care. Even if he used her pain to wound her further, she couldn't fall any further in her own eyes.
Tom wasn't a saint, but he wasn't the monster she had believed him to be either. Life, and her career, had taught her that while he was a predator, Tom wasn't evil. She had once called his standards 'a fucked up moral code that allowed him to lie to himself and sleep at night'.
She knew nothing back then.
"What do you mean, life or death?" he asked, his voice just a shade or two warmer, but hardly welcoming.
Ana wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jumper and tried to string a coherent sentence together, to make him understand the depth of her fears.
"My sister," she began.
"Amy?" His voice warmed another few shades. He had always liked Amy.
Ana nodded. "She married a bastard of a man, a truly fucked up individual who treats her like a slave and-" Her words were choked off for a moment. "The things he does to her, Tom, they make my skin crawl just thinking about it, and I don't think she told me the truth of even half of it."
She found herself being guided by her shoulders, led deeper into his apartment and sat down on a leather couch. The décor here was more modern than at his offices, which projected an old world, classic sort of luxury. This penthouse, with its floor to ceiling glass windows, clean and easy lines, was more up to date but still warm.
Tom left her, heading for his decanters. "Go on," he urged.
"I didn't know anything was wrong," she admitted, "until just over a year ago, I thought she hated me. We'd argued about her husband back in the beginning, when they first met; I thought he was too old for her and there was something about him that I just didnt like, and she never seemed to forgive me for that. It turned out she wasn't angry with me, well, not any more, she'd been covering for him. He made her distance herself from everyone, you see. Our parents were easy enough, they never really cared, but her friends too and of course, me. She kept the pretence up because she was ashamed to admit I had been right, then because she was afraid to tell me, afraid of what he'd do to me if i tried to step in."
Tom reappeared and handed her a vodka on the rocks with a twist of lime and a small smile crossed her lips as she realised that he had remembered. She rarely drank spirits these days but back in college, this had been her favourite drink on her nights off from studying.
"Thank you," she said as Tom look a seat beside her, but keeping his distance from her.
"Why did she finally tell you?"
"She became pregnant. She knew she couldn't bring a child into their relationship and her fear made her write to me. I have a copy of her letter in here," she indicated the plastic wallet.
"You tell me."
"She only told me about the beatings at first, and how she was worried he'd hurt me or the baby if she left. She'd tried in the past, apparently, and he… well, now I know he beat her severely but in her letter, she just says he terrified her out of trying again, and threatened to kill her and anyone who helped her leave him. I've tried enough cases of women killed by their current or former partners, so I didn't take it lightly.
"I researched shelters and they told me to tell her to leave, to take nothing, and to go into a shelter. He controled her so much that she couldnt even send a letter without him reading it first, so she gave me the butler's home address to write to her, and he posted her letters to me. We arranged a day and time when I would come and pick her up, a day when he was out late so we'd have a bigger head start, and we did it. We got her away."
Ana took a long sip of her drink.
"Then what happened?" he asked.
"The shelter catalogued her injuries, took photographs, I paid for x-rays of the bones she said had been broken, anonymously, of course, then she travelled to another shelter, I think she passed through a few, sort of like an underground railroad for abused women, and even I couldn't know where she ended up. They passed my letters onto her, after reading them to make sure they really were from me, and there were no coded threats. I argued that it was all unnecessary but they insisted."
Ana took a deep, shuddering breath.
"He knew though, he knew I had been behind it, and he began harassing me. He tried to get me hounded out of my chambers, out of my job for the Crown Prosecution Service, but luckily my co-workers are also my friends. He had me arrested but my friends are almost all barristers or QCs, so they could never make anything stick. Then one night, he turned up at my door."
Ana bowed her head, almost as if she was ashamed of her memories.
"I would have told him," she whispered as her tears fell. "I was in so much pain, I would have told him anything just to make it stop but luckily, I didn't know."
His hand touched her shoulder, offering some comfort.
"What did he do?" Tom asked.
She opened the wallet and handed him a shief of pictures, held together with a paperclip, unwilling to relive that night.
He leafed the photographs. Her eyes were swollen almost shut, the surrounding tissue a dark, mottled purple. He flipped through the rest, his knuckles whitening in anger as similar angry bruises covered her stomach, a few on her chest, and many on her thighs and upper arms. Her wrists and ankles had been bound and there was chafing where she had stuggled, as well as a ring of bruising around her neck.
"Nothing was broken," she said. "One hairline fracture," she pointed at her left forearm, "but it healed quickly. I guess over the years, he learned exactly how hard he could hit and not do perminant damage."
"Why didn't you press charges?"
"Because he's untouchable." She looked into his eyes. "He's second in command of MI fucking 5, he knows where all the skeletons are buried, and they can't afford to let him be arrested. So they provided him with a cast iron alibi. They said I was out to get him,that I held a grudge. The police didn't believe I'd done that to myself but they couldn't break his alibi either, so they eventually concluded that I'd been assaulted by a stranger and saw the perfect opportunity to fit my brother-in-law up for the crime."
"I'm sorry," he sounded like he meant it, and his hand returned to her shoulder. "There's more, isn't there?"
"Everything would still have been fine but somehow, he found her. I don't know how, I don't know how they hid her to begin with, but I'm guessing he used GCHQ, or accessed NHS records, or her National Insurance Number or something, and he found her. I got a frantic call from the woman at the shelter, something about a police raid and Amy was arrested and her baby taken into care. Except there was no police raid that night and no arrests that fit Amy's description, and Social Services have no record of taking a child into care that night either. Maybe they were MI5 agents, or maybe he hired private security or military contractors to do it, I don't know, but he has her and more importantly, he has her baby. As long as he has Freddie, she'll never leave him. And he'll kill her, Tom, I know he will."
Finally she couldn't keep the sob from escaping and surprisingly, Tom pulled her into his arms, which was her undoing. She cried uncontrollably, letting the emotions that she had kept so closely pent up these last few weeks, loose.
Tom gently stroked her hair until she was finally cried out, and she was surprised at his patience with her. When he released her, she looked up into his eyes.
"I'll do anything to keep them safe, Tom. Anything at all." She hoped he understood the implications of her statement.
His face betrayed no emotion as he handed her a handkerchief.
"Thank you," she said, hoping her sincerity showed.
He didn't reply but while she wiped at her eyes and blew her nose. He took her glass and refilled it. She noticed he hadn't poured a drink for himself before, nor did he this time.
"What's his name?" he asked as he prepared her drink.
"Damian Wells."
"I have some calls to make," he said, passing her glass back to her. "Make yourself comfortable."
"Thank you, Tom."
A brief nod was the only acknowledgement he gave of her thanks. She didn't care, she would say it forever, until he believed how grateful she was.
Tom closed and locked the door to his study, then he sat behind the desk and laid the envelope and its contents before him.
Seeing Ana like that had turned his stomach and required all his strength to remain passive while looking through them.
It wasn't that he abhorred violence, he didn't; it was a very effective, if slightly crude, tool. It wasn't that he thought women were special and should never be touched in anger. Be believed that no one should be touched in anger but once the steam had cooled, pain was just as effective a bargaining chip with women as it was with men. It wasn't even the unwritten rule that upset him, the one that said families were untouchable, that innocent husbands, wives and children shouldn't pay the price for someone else's crime.
No, what bothered him was seeing this woman's face beaten.
It didn't matter that he hadn't seen her in ten years. It didn't matter that she had hurt him. It didn't matter that he had hated her for almost a third of his life.
The primitive part of his brain had screamed at him, 'No!'. Despite everything, his inner cave man still felt that she was his, and no one hurt what was his. No one.
The moment he had seen these pictures, Damien Wells death warrant had been signed.
Still, he needed to control his emotions, especially if he was going to ask Mark and Ben for help, so he laid the pictures out, side by side, and forced himself to become inured to them.
After a few minutes, he turned his chair away so he face the window, then he looked at the second collection of pages, containing Amy's pictures. Her injuries were easier to look at, both because Any didn't have the same claim on his heart that her sister did, and because her injuries were between a few days old, to scars that were so silver-white, they were likely years old. It was clear that the girl had endured horrific abuse though. Even her eyes were a different shape than he remembered, probably as a result of having been struck and the bone of the eye socket thickening each time it healed. Finally he looked through Amy's leters, which had been arranged in chronologial order, from oldest to newest.
Once he had looked through the contents he slipped the pictures back into their envelope and turned back to Ana's pictures, monitoring himself for any outward signs of shock or revulsion.
Finally confident that he could appear impassive, he collected them up and put them back in the wallet, then he placed a webcam conference call to mark and Ben.
Ben was clearly at home when he answered, using his phone's camera judging from the shaky image. Mark was also on his phone, but he appeared to be stepping out of a restaurant. Well, it was Saturday night.
"To what do we own the pleasure?" Mark asked in a slightly cutting tone of voice.
"I need a meeting at your earliest convenience," Tom answered.
Although their calls were encrypted, routed through IP anonymisers and the dark web, they never discussed illegal business over the phone.
"How urgent?" Ben asked.
"Very."
"I'm at dinner with Beth," Mark sounded irritated, then he sighed. "I can probably be at the house for midnight.
"I'll see you both then," Ben replied.
"Thank you." Tom ended the call and returned to the sitting room, only to find that Ana was sleeping. Sitting sideways on the sofa, she was curled into the foetal position, her side and head rested against the back cushions.
Without her makeup and her polished facade, she did look tired. Exhausted in fact, so he wasn't exactly surprised.
In simple jeans and a jumper, she reminded him of when they first dated, except most of the time, unless they were out on a date, her hair had been up, either in a ponytail, or twisted up in a claw grip. He assumed she didn't do that tonight knowing he'd check for a wire, the same reason she probably didn't bring her bag with her and wasn't wearing any jewellery, not even studs in her ears.
Having her here is reminding him of things he didn't usually allow himself to think about. They had dated for two years, he met her in a nightclub towards the end of her first year at Uni and everything had been wonderful. Everything had also been a lie; he couldn't tell her what he really did for a living, but being with her was almost worth living a lie.
Of course, she wasn't stupid, quite the opposite in fact and although he was careful, she kept noticing odd events and putting clues together. After he had spun her a few lies, she had evidently kept her suspicions to herself, until she had a better picture, so he was rather taken aback when she finally confronted him, just before their second anniversary.
She hadn't had the full picture, she thought he worked for a crime ring, she didn't know he ran it, but he had lied and with a little help from his associates, they had limped on for another few months. It was never the same though.
She still didn't confront him when he lied but he could tell by her expression, than she knew.
Then he'd been foolish. He was young and still hot headed.
A band of half arsed thieves thought to attack Mark's former PA, Alison, to find out the location of the corporation's mythical cash stash. The very idea was ludicrous! Please, that was so last century, the bulk of their money was all in off shore bank accounts or invested in legitimate businesses. What little was kept in cash was safely locked in safety deposit boxes, in the middle of the safest buildings in London. At most, they each only a few thousand kept on hand in personal safes.
None the less, the idiots believed the rumours circulating and had tried to torture the information out of the hapless Alison, both physically and sexually. It was only luck that intervened before they could kill her, when a neighbour walking a dog heard a cry and rather than approaching the house, called the police.
Mark had been incensed but careful. Tom had just been incensed and had personally beaten the information they needed from the first thief they managed to find. It seemed fitting to Tom, an eye for an eye, and it was effective; the thug told them everything, but it had left Tom wiith bruised knuckles, despite wearing gloves.
Ana had noticed them (they were living together, how could she not) and when the 'savagely beaten' body of a local boy was discovered two days later, she had put two and two together.
He hadn't even realised she knew what had happened to Alison but on visits to the offices, apparently she had got to know Mark's PA, so when he had rushed away in the middle of the night, and the news the next morning reported that a woman had been 'brutally attacked' in Alison's street, Ana had realised why he left.
He remembered coming home that night and finding her gone, a note explaining that she couldn't stay and telling him not to look for her.
Of course he had looked for her, he had to explain that the thug deserved it and he had found her quite easily, heding for a lecture the next morning, but she didn't give him a chance to explain.
All Ana could see was a 17 year old 'boy' who had been beaten to death by a 'monster'. She hurled so many insults at him that by the time she had calmed down enough that he had a chance to tell her exactly what that so-called boy had done to her friend, he was no longer inclined to. His heart was already broken by her assumptions.
She had got a lot of things wrong though, such as him being a hired thug, a puppet and, a loser with no morals and even less sense.
He had almost enjoyed how frightened she looked as he crowed into her personal space, slowly backing her into the wall.
"I'm no puppet, darling," he had whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "I'm the monster that parents tell their children about, I'm the nightmare you wish you could wake up from but you never will, and when someone in my organisation is hurt, I am death, and vengeance will be mine. That boy deserved everything he got and I'd do it again tomorrow. He and all of his friends died ugly, agonising deaths because they hurt what was mine, darling."
He's pulled back slightly then then, sweetly sweeping the hair that had escaped her twist behind her ears, a gesture he'd done a thousand times out of love, but this time his stone cold smile made the act frightening.
"One word from me and you and your precious sister will be dead by sunset; you would be wise to remember that."
He had placed a sweet kiss on her forehead, then turned to leave, forcing himself not to look back at her, as if she was insignificant; as if she had been nothing more than a mere dalliance.
If she asked now, he could tell her that Alison had received the best care money could buy, then she had received a substantial retirement bonus, despite only being 42 and on top of that, her monthly pension was very generous. They took care of their own. Always. The last he'd heard, Alison had retired to southern Spain, but she still sent Mark regular post cards and without fail, a Christmas card arrived for everyone in the office each year.
He looked over to Ana, wondering if she would listen this time, and hating the fact that he was even considering explaining anything to her.
He checked his watch to see that it wasn't even 10pm yet but he had to get out of here.
He locked the apartment down, left instructions with the doormen not to let anyone up and headed to the basement car park, and his Jaguar. A few miles in this would soon cool his thoughts, as it usually did. He loved his cars. Ana used to call him a petrol head.
Jesus! Why couldn't he get his mind off her?
Probably because she was sleeping on his couch right now. And she'd finally said the words he'd been waiting ten years to hear, 'I'm sorry'.
That didn't magically erase everything though; the hurt, the pain… the loneliness.
Clearly the drive wasn't doing anything to take his mind off Ana.
Ben had been at home and would probably welcome some company, even if he was early. Well, maybe tolerate would be a better word than welcome. Tom had been pissing him off recently, but he only had his mentors interests at heart.
Lately Ben seemed to be backing away from the enterprise slightly and occasionally, Tom had to wonder about his commitment to it.
For a long time, over twenty years, the corporation had replaced his wife, who had been taken cruelly early by cancer. Recently however, there was someone new. The relationship was going slowly and Tom had never even met her, but Ben seemed smitten, even if he was fighting it.
Ben was getting on in years now, he was filthy rich, had partners who could take over, what did he have to stay around for? He didn't like being questioned on his personal life though, and he couldn't see that Tom only wanted what was best for him.
Still, after their last disagreement, when Ben had accused Tom of trying to oust him from the organisation, Tom had sworn to himself that he wouldn't bring this new romance up again, nor make any remarks about Ben's life, outside of work. If the man wanted to be miserable, that was his choice.
He pulled into the driveway of Ben's house in Greenwich, well, it was a mansion really, and entered the code to open the gates.
As he ascended the stairs, Ben was waiting by the door.
"Thomas, my boy, you're early."
He had long since ceased trying to get Ben not to call him a boy, for it was a futile effort.
Tom shrugged. "I couldn't sit still."
"You'd better come in then."