The Stranger by Mark Ayre (books you need to read TXT) 📗

the other side. Perfect. She’d had plenty of experience picking locks, and this model would do nothing to trouble her.

It took twenty seconds. There was a click, but nothing Travis would hear over the telly. Because of how high he had the volume, Abbie didn’t need to be overly cautious when she opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Though she was anyway.

The kitchen was as empty as it had looked from outside. To the immediate left of the door through which Abbie had entered was an internal door she knew would lead into the living room. Ignoring this, she crossed to the only other interior door, pressing against it an ear.

Because of the telly, she had no hope of hearing if anyone was on the other side if they weren’t shouting. Still, this door couldn’t open onto the living room, and Abbie suspected she and Travis were alone in the house. Or at least downstairs.

With some care, Abbie opened the door and stepped into the hall. Straight ahead was the front door. Through frosted glass, she could see no one approach, nor was anyone standing on the doorstep, waiting to knock or to let themselves in. To her left was the wall which separated Abbie from Travis, and to her right was the staircase. Walking behind Travis’ back, with a wall in between, Abbie went to the foot of the stairs, turned, and made her way up.

The absence of any vehicles on the drive suggested Travis’ parents were out. Michael had revealed Travis had a little sister, and there was a chance she was upstairs. If she was, Abbie guessed she would be behind a closed door. So long as Abbie didn’t walk in on the young teen, presumably interrupting a diary writing session, there was no reason that woman and girl should bump into one another.

At the top of the stairs was a circular landing off which sprouted five bedrooms and a bathroom. All of the doors were closed, but that was no problem. Michael had been here many times, and as they drank their coffees, he had told Abbie she wanted the second door on the left from the top of the stairs.

This door looked like any of the others. If Travis had had a phase during his adolescence or boyhood when he’d felt the need to put a sign on the door reading: TRAVIS’ ROOM KEEP OUT, or PARENTS BEWARE, those days were long gone.

Praying that Travis hadn’t found some other girl to fill his bed after Abbie’s rejection—perhaps Clarissa—and if he had, that he hadn’t left her upstairs while he went to watch TV, Abbie turned the handle and opened the door onto an empty room.

And jumped as someone knocked on the front door.

Annoying. Abbie hadn’t realised how tense she was. She was sure Michael’s story had softened her. She wasn’t usually so prone to shock.

Whoever was at the door knocked again. Abbie heard shifting in the living room, then Travis turned off the telly. Or at least switched it to mute. Abbie heard his footsteps and receded into the doorway, holding the handle as she went.

The living room door opened. Travis stepped into the hall, took two steps, and stopped. Through the frosted glass, he could see the shapes of whoever waited for him to answer. He took a breath. This and the hesitation told Abbie all she needed to know about the visitor or visitors.

Travis remained still for a few seconds. Long enough for Abbie to wonder if he might refuse the knockers entry or try to run out the back. Not Travis. His arrogance and pride wouldn’t let him play it safe. After another breath, he stepped across the hall and threw open the front door.

“Hello, Ronson, Kline; how can I help you?”

It was Ronson who responded. “You didn’t call the boss.”

“Yeah, well—“

Ronson punched Travis in the face. Abbie heard the teenager collapse to the carpet.

Ronson stepped into the house.

“It’s time we had a little chat.”

Eleven

As Ronson and Kline moved into the house and hovered over the crumpled Travis, Abbie stepped further into the bedroom and eased closed the door. The hinges didn’t creak when the door moved, nor did the handle when she pushed it down. She closed the door with almost complete silence. No chance those downstairs had heard her.

Now she had to act fast.

If Michael or Eddie had been on the end of Ronson’s fist, Abbie would have struggled not to rush down immediately, to intervene before the thugs caused severe damage. Travis was annoying, and she felt it essential she at least try to find the bag before getting involved. She’d have to hope Ronson and Kline hadn’t brought pliers and a blow torch, and that if they had, they would be content throwing a few more punches before busting them out.

“This is a mistake,” she heard Travis say from downstairs. That his voice was so audible made her worry about her movements, and she endeavoured to be even more careful.

“You think?” said Ronson. “We know your parents and sister are out all day. Lucky for you. Means they don’t get hurt, and we get uninterrupted time to chat.”

Abbie examined her surroundings. The room was large. Abbie’s parents had been well off, but the room she’d grown up in was fifty per cent smaller than this.

Perhaps because he was a teenager, or perhaps because he was annoying, Abbie had expected Travis’ room to be a tip. Not so. There were a couple of items of clothing strewn over the back of a chair, and his keys and wallet had been tossed on the floor when he came home the previous night. Other than that, the room was pretty ordered, pretty clean.

“Your boss doesn’t want to piss me off,” said Travis. “Doesn’t need to either. I’m willing to work with him.”

There was a soft thud, and Travis groaned. Abbie guessed Ronson or Kline had kicked him in the stomach.

Abbie clocked all the room’s available hiding spaces. Eleven