of a twenty-four-year-old woman. The baby is thought to have been abducted on a journey into London earlier today. Here’s Alice Durham with more.’
The image switches to a young dark-haired reporter standing outside Marylebone station.
‘Concerns are mounting for the safety of Kathryn Clifton, who was last seen in the Amersham area earlier today and was believed to be travelling into London with a baby.’
The screen changes briefly to a still image of Kathryn, looking younger, smiling in a bridesmaid’s dress.
‘Police are also searching urgently for another woman who was captured on CCTV leaving Marylebone station with a baby earlier today.’ The image switches to the CCTV footage of me walking quickly out of the station, Mia in my arms. ‘Ms Clifton has not been seen since these images were taken and the police are becoming increasingly concerned for her safety. It’s thought that the woman captured in these security camera images could hold vital clues in the disappearance of Kathryn Clifton and the abduction of the baby. Detectives are asking anyone who may have seen the woman in the Marylebone area to come forward with any information. This is Alice Durham for ITV News London.’
The screen switches back to the two news anchors in the studio as they move onto the next item, about a double stabbing in Tottenham. Dominic hurls the TV remote into the corner of the room, the black plastic case shattering into splinters across the floor.
‘Shit!’ He shakes his head at the screen, jaw flexing.
‘They made it look like I abducted her and did something to Kathryn,’ I say, summoning a calmness to my voice that I don’t feel. ‘That’s crazy, that’s not what happened at all.’
‘Welcome to my world,’ he grunts.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It doesn’t matter—’
Finally he turns back to face me.
Freezes.
Stares down the barrel of his own gun, clutched in my outstretched hand, the remains of the black duct tape still hanging from my wrist.
I circle away from him so that Mia is on my right side, out of the line of fire. The compact bulk of the pistol is solid in my hand, my fingertip curled around the smooth, curved steel of the trigger.
‘You should have bound my feet, too.’
He nods slowly.
‘Yeah. Guess I should have.’
‘Now take three steps away from Mia.’ I gesture with the gun. ‘Then lie face down on the floor with your hands behind your back.’
He shakes his head.
‘I can’t let you go, Ellen.’
‘I know how to use one of these.’
‘I believe you.’
He takes a step towards me. I lower the gun to his leg.
‘You asked me why I didn’t make a run for it earlier?’ I indicate the sliding door to the balcony. ‘It’s because I had to be sure we could both get away. I knew you’d catch us if I couldn’t slow you down.’
‘Us?’
‘Me and the baby.’
‘You’re not going anywhere.’
‘But now I can slow you down.’ I take aim at his kneecap. ‘In fact, you’ll probably limp for the rest of your life.’
‘You won’t do it.’
‘Lie down on the floor,’ I say, fighting a tremor at the edge of my voice. ‘I’m not going to ask you again.’
‘Ellen, there’s a lot going on that you don’t know.’
‘I know that Mia and I are leaving this place, one way or another.’
He studies me for a moment.
‘Have you ever shot anyone before?’
‘You’re going to be the first.’
He shakes his head, his hooded eyes never leaving mine.
‘You’re not going to shoot me.’
‘You know, it’s a funny thing,’ I say, ‘but wherever I go in life, there always seems to be a man who wants to tell me what I can and can’t do.’
He takes another step towards me.
‘Two types of people in this world, Ellen.’ He spreads his hands. ‘Those who could shoot someone and those who couldn’t, and you’re definitely in the—’
I steady my aim and squeeze the trigger.
12
I brace myself for the recoil, tensing my forearm against the kick.
But there is only a dull, lifeless click as the hammer falls.
Our eyes lock for half a second as I rack the slide back with my left hand to put a bullet in the chamber. Pull the trigger again.
Click.
Muscle memory taking over, I hit the magazine release catch with my thumb and the clip drops out of the pistol’s butt into my left palm.
There are no bullets inside.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ I say under my breath.
‘Empty,’ he says, pulling another of the slim black magazines from his pocket, brass bullets glinting at its top. ‘But this one isn’t.’
My arms and