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

Only to find both had gone.

Twelve

It was nearing two. Abbie should have been hungry, but the adrenaline from the fight and fury at Travis' latest idiotic actions kept the hunger at bay. She had to force herself to find a cafe, to order a jacket potato with beans and cheese, and to sit down with a water.

Already, she had known Travis was an idiot. What about her? What was her excuse? It was bad enough she had left the handbag for Travis to find, but why hadn't she kept her own bag on? Idiot. Idiot.

What could he do with her bag? What might this lapse of judgement cost?

Though it was stupid, her first thoughts went to The Stand. What if Travis threw it away or destroyed it for the kicks? Even taking it out of the bag without proper caution might rip the cover or cost her some pages.

Her heart rate was rising. Her chest constricting. Stop it. Stop it. It was only a book. It didn't mean anything. Travis tearing it up would destroy The Stand, not Abbie's memories of her sister.

She knew that. It was rational. Still, Abbie couldn't stop herself believing if the book's cover was torn, she would no longer be able to recall Violet's face. That, if the pages were burned, her sister's voice and laugh would be lost to her.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take deep breaths, to remember Violet. The little girl in the purple dress; raven black hair, silky smooth even when she did nothing to it. Those soft, gorgeous, turquoise eyes. That laugh. Infectious, like her smile.

With a hand on her chest, Abbie remembered her sister. Told herself she wouldn't open her eyes until her heart rate reduced to a reasonable bpm.

This plan went out the window when someone coughed. Opening her eyes, Abbie saw the man who had taken her order and tried a disarming smile. He returned to her with an odd look and put the jacket in front of her.

"Thanks," she said. The guy left without a word.

Abbie tried to put the book to one side. What else had she lost? Her change of clothes. That was annoying. Luckily for her, Travis had left her hoody. That covered the blood-stained top but hadn't helped with the jeans or her shoes. Travis would have to explain to his mother why she was now a pair of trousers short. None of the shoes had been suitable. Lots of heels and sandals. Not ideal if Ronson recovered and came for round two or if Francis sent more goons her way. So the boots had stayed. She had given them a rinse in Travis' kitchen sink and had to hope no one looked at them too closely.

Next—her wallet and phone. Not a problem. Her phone was locked, and she doubted Travis could hack it. Ben might return the call she had earlier made to SOMK LTD. Being a little shit, Travis would almost certainly answer, but that was okay. Ben would hear a male voice and would hang up. He wouldn't be pleased, but Abbie could handle his displeasure.

Her wallet contained nothing but fifty pounds in cash, which he'd spend, and two credit cards. Both were contactless, so he might spend some money on those, but that was a whatever issue.

Toiletries. Fine. A pen and several scraps of paper, most of which were blank, a couple on which Abbie had written her current phone number. Not a problem. Her hotel key. That was annoying, but not the end of the world. The key offered both the hotel's name and room number, but if he was to visit, she just hoped she was there when he arrived. So she could teach him a lesson. If she wasn't, there was nothing further he could steal, so who cared? The piece of paper on which Bobby had written his number. That caused some stress, but it was probably for the best. It removed the temptation to take him up on his date offer.

Finally, the reason she hadn't wanted the police to search her bag. The reason she feared a warrant allowing any police officer access.

Her little black book.

Would it mean anything to Travis? Probably not.

Would it pique his interest? Almost certainly.

Would Travis realise it had value to Abbie? Would his mind jump to thoughts of blackmail? Given what had happened after he mugged Francis' wife, she thought the chances were high that it would. Maybe that was good. He wouldn't be able to phone to blackmail her because he had her phone. He would have to find her. First, he would hide her bag. That was okay. She relished the chance to convince him to tell her where it was.

Her potato sat untouched in front of her. Taking her knife and fork, Abbie forced herself to take a bite. As she was going for her second, a horrifying thought occurred.

By now, Travis would know handing Francis' wife's bag back to Francis was not an option. Travis had taken the piss. For the teen's ill-thought-out plan, the criminal would make him pay.

To avoid retribution, Travis needed either to double down on the blackmailing, then get out of town, or find an alternative.

Had Ronson's fists and feet changed his mindset? Did Travis now realise he was in over his head? If he did, he would want to put an end to his troubles. He would like to give the bag to Francis. He would not be paid for the job. He didn't care about that. Money meant nothing to him. He would know he needed something to sweeten the deal when he returned with the bag.

Hey, Francis, you heard from Ronson yet? You know he and Kline got their arses handed to them by some bitch called Abbie? Well, what if I could help you get back at her. I got her bag, and there's this little black book I think you're going