The Evolution of Fear (Claymore Straker #2) - Paul E. Hardisty Page 0,123

flat next door, the drone of a TV further down. Nothing from Katia’s flat that he could make out. He knocked twice.

Nothing. He waited a moment, knocked again, harder this time.

The sound of footsteps.

‘Who is it?’ came Katia’s voice through the door.

‘Declan.’ Low.

A pause, longer than he would have expected, and then the sound of a bolt sliding back, a chain. The door opened. Katia stood before him dressed as if ready for a night on the town. A wild night.

Clay stepped inside. ‘You seem surprised to see me.’

‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ she whispered, clearly flustered. ‘You said that you were going to…’ She stopped. Her cheeks burned red under her thick makeup.

Clay kept his gaze fixed on her eyes. ‘You asked me to come over, Katia.’

She looked down at the ground, back over her shoulder. ‘I … I thought you were going to Xilares.’ She was hiding something.

‘Are you sure the boy’s there, Katia?’

She flicked her big fake eyelashes, looked back over her shoulder, down at the floor, then started pushing him back towards the door. With the change in light he could see that her lower lip was bruised, swollen. The lipstick had been an attempt at camouflage.

‘I’m going out, please leave now,’ she whispered, glancing back into the apartment again.

‘Is someone else here, Katia?’

She blinked, inclined her head. She looked terrified.

Clay reached out and took her hand. ‘I can help you, Katia. But you have to tell me the truth.’

There were tears in her eyes. ‘I’m…’ she began, sobbing now. ‘Clay, I’m sorry … Please, you must go.’ She pushed him towards the door again.

All of a sudden it was clear. Crowbar had been right. It was a set-up. And if the boy wasn’t at Xilares, if that was just a lure to draw him in, then there was only one other logical place he could be.

Clay clamped down on her hand, pulled her close, whispered into her ear. ‘The boy’s here, isn’t he?’

47

Hurt

Katia closed her eyes, swallowed a sob.

Clay reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out the Beretta. At the sight of the weapon her eyes widened, froze there big and terrified. With his stump he guided her back towards the door, putting himself between her and the main room.

‘It’s okay, Katia,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t worry. I understand. I’m not going to hurt you.’

She opened her mouth as if to speak, eyes swimming in whirlpools of tears.

‘Where is he?’ Clay said.

She buried her hands in her face and crumpled to the floor, pointing to the bedroom door. It was closed.

‘Is he alone?’

She shook her head without looking up.

Clay knelt by her side and spoke into her ear. ‘How many?’

‘One,’ she mouthed.

‘Just call out that it’s okay. Make something up. Anything. A friend came by. Can you do that for me?’

Hope dawned across her face for a moment, a realisation perhaps that things could be different for her. But in an instant her expression changed. It was fear there now. Terror. She shook her head from side to side.

‘No,’ she said through the tears. ‘No. I can’t. He’ll send me back to Russia. I don’t want to go back. I’d rather die.’ She hid her face in her hands again.

A muffled voice from the other room: ‘Katia?’ A man.

Clay put his hand on Katia’s back. ‘Look at me.’

She shook her head, kept it buried in her arms.

‘It’s not him you have to worry about, Katia. You’ll go to prison for this. The Cypriots take a very bad view of kidnapping.’

The man’s voice again, in Greek: ‘Who is it, Katia?’

‘Help me,’ said Clay. ‘Please. We can make this right.’

‘Dimitriou will kill me. He’s said it lots of times.’

‘No, Katia. He’s finished. I’m going to finish him.’

Her eyes flashed through the tears. ‘You don’t know him. He knows everyone here. He is very powerful. They are all together.’

‘Help me. If you do, you’ll be free of him. I promise.’

She stirred, hope fighting with fear in her eyes. ‘Promise?’

Clay nodded.

She sniffed, took a deep breath. He helped her to her feet. Then he closed the door, loud enough so it could be heard in the other room and signalled to her with a nod.

‘Endaxi,’ she called out in Greek. It’s okay.

The man’s voice from somewhere inside the apartment, in English: ‘Who was it?’

She snatched a deep breath, looked at Clay. ‘My neighbour,’ she called out, voice unsteady. ‘He is going to London on a business trip. He…’ She stood. Her eyes darted right and left. A second