The Passenger by Daniel Hurst (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

keep him distracted enough so that he doesn’t text his partner and tell him to start hurting Louise.

‘The closer we get to Brighton, the more nervous you are going to make my partner, so just do the sensible thing and tell me the code and this will all be over with,’ he tries again. ‘What do you say?’

I take a moment to think about it, or at least pretend like I’m thinking about it. Of course I’m worried about Louise, but they haven’t harmed her yet. That means I still have time. They haven’t completely forced my hand, so there’s no need for me to show it yet.

There’s no need for me to expose myself to the risk of opening that safe for them.

‘You think you know everything about me, don’t you?’ I say, shaking my head. ‘You think you’re so slick and so clever. But you don’t have the slightest idea who I am and what I am capable of.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Not the slightest idea.’

‘Do you have an example, or are you just trying to chew the fat?’

I pause for a moment. I have to be careful what I do reveal, but I also know I need to keep stalling until he removes his hand from that phone again and I get my chance to steal it.

‘How do you think I saved up so much money?’

‘That’s easy. You have a job.’

I laugh. ‘You really think it pays me well enough to save £20,000? Ha. I wish.’

He looks a little perturbed for a moment, and I like that.

‘Try again,’ I say.

‘You inherited it?’

‘Nope.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe you got a paper round.’

I roll my eyes, and that causes him to give up.

‘Okay, I have no idea.’

‘Exactly. You have no idea. So what makes you think that you can threaten me and my family? You think following me for a couple of weeks shows you who I really am?’

I can tell that he isn’t enjoying this topic of conversation quite so much as the one where he got to enforce his power over me, and he sits forward again in his seat, which he only does when he is trying to wrestle that power back.

‘May I remind you that you are the mark here? You’re the one getting screwed, so what does it matter if there’s some things we don’t know about you? We know the only things that matter, and that is that you have £20,000 in your safe and a daughter who desperately needs you to give up that money to save her life.’

Refusing to back down, I sit forward myself now, and our faces are only inches apart across the table. Half an hour ago, I would have thought being this close to the man would have meant we were about to kiss. But now I’m doing it to show him that I’m not afraid of him.

‘I’ve dealt with much scarier men than you in my time, and here I am still standing. But good luck with your little plan,’ I say, and now it’s my turn to give him a wink.

The man studies my face for any sign of weakness, but I show none. I am nowhere near as calm on the inside, but externally I am making sure to give off nothing but strength and confidence. It’s a confidence that I hope will continue to make this man doubt the success of his plan if he goes ahead.

After a tense beat, he sits back in his seat, and I glance down at his phone, but his hand is still resting on top of it.

‘Twenty-one minutes,’ he says, checking his watch again.

He’s staying cool and collected, and that’s what I must do too. I know time is running out, but that’s nothing compared to the time I put into amassing that fortune in my safe.

I know I’m going to have to work hard to keep it in there, but so be it.

I sure as hell worked hard enough to get it in there in the first place.

22

AMANDA

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

I walk into the wine bar right on time. Not early because that wouldn’t help my nerves, and not fashionably late because that would be rude. On time. But I’m not the only one. Greg, my date, is entering the bar at the same moment from an adjacent door, and it doesn’t take much for us to spot each other across the sea of candlelit tables.

He offers me a nervous wave, and I reply in kind.

This is awkward. This is uncomfortable.

This is exactly how I expected it to be.

After a brief greeting in which he gives me a small kiss on my cheek, we smile at the pretty waitress as she shows us to our table. We follow the uniformed woman past the other candlelit tables, all of which are already occupied with couples enjoying each other’s company.

Our table is the one in the corner, and Greg is a true gentleman, making sure to pull out my seat for me before taking his own. Now we are sitting, and the waitress leaves us alone for a few minutes to make our choice from the menu, and there is nothing else we can do to put this off any longer.

It’s time to talk.

‘I’m sorry. I’m a little nervous,’ Greg confesses to me after an awkward moment where the only sounds at our table came from me fiddling with one of the empty wine glasses.

‘Me too,’ I admit, and we share a nervous laugh.

‘It’s not my first time,’ he quickly adds, and I wish I could say the same.

We both keep ourselves preoccupied by burying our heads in our respective menus until the waitress returns to take our order.

‘Are you happy with the Merlot?’ Greg asks me, and I confirm that I am because this is his date, not mine.

As the waitress rushes away to fetch us the bottle, I smile at him and decide to get the conversation going, if only to reduce the awkwardness between us right now.

‘So,