No Way Out Read Free Page A

thought about calling the police, but decided against it for now.
    Marcus strode over to the window. He stared down the long drive of Drayton Heights. He loved this view, and it was partly this that had sold him the place. That and its remoteness. He half expected the lights of Lisa’s Range Rover to appear between the electric gates a quarter of a mile away. Right now the blue glare of the xenons creeping up the track would be a welcome sight. If she appeared now, he’d still just be able to forgive her this disruption of his Saturday night.
    What was wrong with bloody women today? Molly cancelling on him at the last minute, and now Lisa disappearing without a thought. He was tempted to fuck them all and take the room at The Manse anyway. He’d find someone to join him.
    His phone vibrated on the table beside his armchair again. Marcus lunged for it.
    Smash your car windscreens
.
    ‘What the hell …?’
    He grabbed another remote control from his desk and rammed his face up close to the glass, squinting down the drive. A couple of jabs on the controller and the entire front of Drayton Heights lit up like New York at Christmas. The long length of the drive was illuminated with tall lamps ten feet apart, each one flicking on in turn like runway lights. It cast strange, unfamiliar shadows around the library, making him jump. For a second, he thought there was someone else there.
    ‘Smash my sodding windscreens?’ he said incredulously. It must be kids having a laugh.
    No
he texted back, gripping the phone angrily.
    But it crossed with another coming in.
Both cars. Now. Send pics
.
    No!
he texted again.
    Fifteen minutes. Or you get a pic of your daughter’s finger. Not on her hand
.
    ‘Jesus sodding Christ,’ Marcus said, enraged by the intrusion. He tugged at his thinning hair. Was this real? He had no idea.
Who are you?
he texted back.
    No reply. He glanced at his watch, checked it against the time of the last text. If this was for real, he’d already wasted four minutes.
    ‘Shit, shit, shit…’
    Perhaps he should call the police, after all. But no, best not to be hasty, he thought, although he would pretend to this idiot that he had. Besides, there was always Roy, an ex-detective he knew from the golf club. He’d know what to do.
    Police on way. Let them go
.
    No police. Nine minutes
.
    Marcus growled and yelled, thumping his hand against the door as he headed for the utility room. There was a toolkit in there, wasn’t there? Bertie’s wagging tail lashed against his leg as he rummaged in the cupboard for a hammer. He kicked him in the ribs, and the dog yelped, scrabbling through to the kitchen with clicking claws. Marcus stopped, hammer in hand. He was about to go through to the garage.
    Prove you have them
, he texted, and two minutes later a picture came back with the words
Five minutes
. Lisa and Eleanor were huddled together, their faces pale and terrified. Someone out of shot was gripping Eleanor’s hand, thrusting up her bulging red forefinger.
    Marcus dropped his head, then threw it back. A deep wail came from inside his chest, burning up his throat.
    ‘You
bastard
!’ he shouted, taking the hammer through to the four-bay garage. This couldn’t be happening. What had he done to deserve this? If it turned out to be some joke, he’d kill whoever it was. But he couldn’t risk it, and didn’t stop to admire the sleek lines of the Mercedes; didn’t think twice about bringing the hammer down hard into the centre of the windscreen. It barely shattered. Just a small flower of crazed glass where the flat disc of metal had made contact. He hit it again, and again … over and over until the cracks spread and filled the entire screen.
    Reluctantly, he photographed it before moving on to his other car. The Aston Martin. He reckoned he could claim on the insurance for one smashed screen, but two? He sighed, checking his watch and the messages on his phone again. He rang the number again, hoping whoever it