A Glimmer of Hope Read online

  She climbed out of bed and took a shower, washing away the memories of past lovers, and the smell of cigarettes. She didn’t smoke herself, but it didn’t seem to matter. It also didn’t seem to make any difference that smoking was banned inside the clubs themselves. If you went to a club, you always ended up smelling of the stuff just because of the number of people smoking outside, and there were few things she liked less. It reminded her of her father. And those were not memories she wished to pick at.

  She’d just got dressed in an old pair of faded blue jeans and a cream t-shirt with a picture of a black spirit wearing a white mask on it, when the doorbell went. She ran from her bedroom at one end of her apartment to the front door, opening it to a grinning Chloe.

  “How are you feeling?” Chloe asked, passing Layla a bottle of energy drink and some paracetamol. “Just in case.”

  “I’m covered, but actually I feel good.” Layla stepped aside to let Chloe in.

  “Nice t-shirt. What is it?”

  “No Face from Spirited Away. It’s an anime.”

  Chloe’s face lit up. “Ah, I didn’t know you were into your anime. You should speak to a friend of mine, Kase. She’s obsessed with them all.”

  “I just like the Ghibli films. They’re pretty much the perfect films to watch on any occasion.”

  “Kase once got me to watch every episode of One Piece. And there were about five hundred of them at the time. I was pretty much done with needing to watch anime again after that.”

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “Quite enjoyed it. It was just a bit of an overload. Maybe I should get some Ghibli and start again.”

  “The Blu-Rays are in that cupboard under the TV. I need to eat something. You hungry?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  “That’s not food.”

  Chloe smiled. “Yet it’s all I need.”

  Layla walked away to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Her apartment was a nice two-bedroom abode with decent-sized rooms, although the second bedroom was only big enough for a spare bed or, as she used it for, all the junk that she still hadn’t sorted since moving in three weeks earlier. She’d taken the apartment because of the massive front room, which was great for entertaining. The beautiful, high ceilings were due to the fact that the whole building had once been a large hotel that had been divided into six smaller accommodations. Even though she lived on the ground floor, she’d never once heard any of her neighbors while they were in their own apartments. Layla’s apartment was close enough to the main city center without actually being in it.

  Normally a student wouldn’t be able to afford such luxury, but Layla had inherited a considerable sum of money after her mother’s death. Money she was only allowed to take an allowance from on a monthly basis until she turned twenty-one, when the whole thing would be unlocked. She had no idea what she was going to do with it once it was available, but it was nice having enough money to be able to afford such a pleasant place to live.

  “Are you working tonight?” Chloe asked when Layla brought the coffee. Layla had grabbed a cereal bar and made some tea for herself.

  “Yes, unfortunately.” One of the conditions of her inheritance was that she had to have at least part-time employment. Her mother had been big on ensuring that Layla always knew the value of money. She only worked three evenings a week, and it wasn’t exactly the most exciting or stimulating job, but it was still a job, and, frankly, most of the time it was nice to get out and do something different a few times a week.

  “I guess I’ll have to find other entertainment then.”

  Layla smirked. “Maybe you could punch out some more people? Thanks for that, by the way. Not for the beating him senseless, just the having my back.”

  Chloe raised her coffee. “Always. What about you? You were pretty badass yourself.”

  Layla paused, ready to tell Chloe about how she really felt and how much she’d always had the voice in her head, telling her to commit acts of violence, but something stopped her. She wasn’t sure that Chloe would understand. Or how anyone would understand. Would she think she was a psycho? When Layla had been twelve years old, she’d stopped a bully—a fifteen-year-old girl—from beating up one of her friends. Layla had beaten the bully so badly—going so far as to break her wrist—that the name psycho had stuck with her for the rest of her time in school. Right up until the day she’d left.

  “My father taught me how to fight from the day I could walk,” Layla explained. “I don’t like to show people what I’m capable of, so I drop it down a notch or two when sparring.”

  “Well, you don’t need to do that with me,” Chloe said with a warm smile.

  “You heard from Harry?” Layla asked before Chloe could ask about her father.

  “He’s chilling out. He mentioned something about having a date.”

  “He never said anything.”

  “Yeah, well, he kinda likes you, so maybe that’s why. Can I assume you still find that whole conversation to be really awkward and weird?”

  Layla nodded. It hadn’t been the finest hour for either her or Harry, primarily because he’d decided to come clean and tell her how he felt about a week after she’d broken up with Blake. It had ended when she’d told Harry that he’d picked a bad time, she wasn’t interested in anyone, which had been true because of the break-up. But now she wondered whether or not things might have progressed between the two of them if the timing had been better.

  “You know, Blake was a really big douche. And I told you that after, like, four months of him behaving like a normal person.”

  “Really?” Layla asked. “An I told you so, coming from you?”

  “Hey, none of my exes were quite as bad as Blake.”

  “I’ve got two words for you.” She counted them off on her fingers as she spoke. “Maggie Zayn.”

  “Maggie was a little intense.”

  “She was nuts. A great big bag of crazy. She asked you to drink her blood.”

  “She did. But on the plus side, she was really attractive.”

  “And nuts.”

  Chloe sighed. “Yeah, she was really something, that’s for sure.”

  “She stalked you for a month after you broke up with her. She once came to my old place and asked if you were around.”

  “She did do those things, yes. It was a fun time for everyone. Luckily, she eventually got the hint and left.”

  “Hint?”

  “Okay, I threatened to break her fingers if she didn’t leave my friends alone. Which in itself is a sort of hint. I’d tried asking nicely, telling her I’d contact the police, and anything else I could think of. Apparently threats of physical violence were my last resort. And it was a good thing it worked, because I didn’t want to have to break her fingers. She had lovely, elegant fingers, and she played piano. It would have been a shame.”

  “Yes, also I’m pretty sure it’s not legal to do that.”

  Chloe waved the sentence away as if it were a mere formality. “I would have managed it. And, worst-case scenario, I’d have been awesome in jail. I’d have come out like a mafia don.”

  Layla laughed. “Don Chloe Range. I don’t think that works.”

  Chloe joined in the laughter. “I’d have made it work.”

  The pair chatted for a few hours until the post dropped through the letterbox to the carpet below. Layla picked up the envelopes and flicked through each one, throwing the junk mail into the bin beside the door. She was down to the last two when she paused and felt a cold shiver run up her spine.

  “You all right?” Chloe asked from the sofa.

  “It’s from my dad.” Layla’s voice shook as she spoke. “Since Mom died, he sends me a card every year around this date. It’s to say he’s thinking of me at this difficult time. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before. It’s not something I like to bring up.”

  Chloe was up from the sofa in an instant and by her friend’s side. “You okay?”

  Layla nodded slowly, walking
over to the sofa and sitting down.

  “How does he know where you live?”

  “I’m the only one on the list of approved contacts. I have to update my address and phone number if I move.”

  Chloe sat beside her. “He’s in jail somewhere. Why don’t you get your name removed from the contacts list?”

  “I need to be on it. I need the prison staff to let me know when he’s dead. That’s my closure for everything he’s done over the years. Everything he’s in jail for.”

  “Do you get anything else from him?”

  Layla shook her head. “The agent in charge occasionally sends me an e-mail asking how I am. She’s really nice. Her name is Tabitha. But not from my dad—he’s not allowed access to the Internet.” She glanced down at the small envelope; it weighed heavily in her hand.

  “Do you want to read it?” Chloe asked.

  Layla tore it in half and placed it on the table. “I want nothing from him,” she said. “I don’t care how he’s doing, or what he feels about me. He’s the closest thing to evil I’ve ever met. He’s in a jail cell, in solitary for ninety percent of the day, only allowed out when there are no other prisoners around. That’s where he deserves to be. I get another letter from him at Christmas. And one on my birthday. Three letters a year, all with that stamp.”

  Chloe looked at the stamp. “At least this proves he’s still where he’s meant to be.”

  Layla nodded. “That stamp right there is something Tabitha from the FBI promised would be on every letter he sends. If that’s there, I know he’s still in his cell, far away from me and anyone I care about. All of his letters go to her first, so I know I can breathe a little easier.”

  “The FBI are the ones dealing with this? I didn’t realize they dealt with prisoners.”

  Layla sighed. “Yeah, I have no idea why either. Tabitha told me it’s because my dad used to work for them. I don’t really care who keeps an eye on him, but the FBI seems to be good at keeping him where he’s meant to be.”

  “Is he in the UK?”

  She shook her head. “He’s somewhere in the USA. My mom was British, and I have dual citizenship—it’s why we moved to the UK after it all kicked off over there. Besides, there’s an ocean between me and my father. Which makes me feel better.”

  “You think he’d come after you?”

  “No, I was never his target. He was nothing but a perfect father to me, a perfect facade of a father. I think that’s why it hurts so much; he was able to lie to my face about the kind of person he is. I was living in a blissful ignorance until one morning at 3 a.m., when a task force smashed the front door to our house down.” She thought back to that night, as a nearly fourteen-year-old girl cowered under her bed because she thought bad men had come to hurt her family. One more thing she hated about her father. What he’d done had caused that. Another thing to never forgive him for.

  “Sorry,” Layla said, picking up their cups. “I’m being all down. You want another drink?”

  “Tea, please.” Chloe followed her to the kitchen, leaning up against the doorframe as Layla boiled the kettle. “Did I ever tell you about my mum?”

  Layla spooned coffee into her mug and dropped a green tea bag in Chloe’s. “I know she’s in jail.”

  “My mother spent most of my life putting me in harm’s way to ingratiate herself with people she desperately wanted to impress. She put me in dangerous situations three times from the age of thirteen to seventeen, and was personally responsible for me almost dying on one of those occasions. Once, she also made it look like I’d been kidnapped, and is directly responsible for the murder of my father. My mother is frankly the most awful human being I’ve ever met, so if you ever need to talk about your dad, you never need to tell me you’re being down. Just talk. We could compare notes on crazy parents if you like.”

  Layla chuckled. “It sounds like we’d be here for a long time.”

  “Don’t ever think like you can’t talk to me, or that I might judge you. Last night I beat the shit out of a bloke for trying to hurt you. I think it’s safe to say I’m nonjudgmental.”

  After they’d finished their drinks, Chloe had to go home to see how the coffee shop was doing, and Layla needed to get ready for work. She felt better after talking to Chloe. She hadn’t shared everything, and had no intention of ever doing so, but knowing that she could if she ever wanted to made her feel more relieved than she’d ever imagined it would.

  4

  Elias Wells had been in England for five days, and had done nothing with the information he’d been given. He didn’t want to hurry anything, and liked to get used to his new surroundings before starting a job. He didn’t want to have to rush out, or try to evade anyone, without knowing the area where he’d be working. That just made sense to him.

  So, for the last five days he’d scouted the area, taking photographs of the house he needed to get into. He’d made sure it was empty before breaking in the first time, quickly opening a downstairs window before climbing inside. It was nice to do a dry run, and he soon familiarized himself with the layout of the two-story, three-bedroom house.

  There weren’t any photos of the target, which he did find slightly strange, but then it was strange enough that she’d been completely off the grid since her father had been arrested, only now deciding to apply for a credit card. Elias guessed it was because she’d assumed she was safe. He tried to remember that saying about assuming things but couldn’t, and decided it probably wasn’t worth remembering anyway.

  He stayed in the house for an hour, before leaving it in exactly the same shape as when he’d arrived. He walked into the woods behind the house, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be about and wonder what he was doing. About fifty feet from the house, and after being satisfied he was alone, he climbed a huge conifer tree and sat on one of the large branches to wait.

  The needles were annoying and he had to flick off more than his fair share of bugs, but his position let him watch the rear of the house with a good assurance that those inside, and those living nearby, couldn’t see him. Unfortunately, Elias had no way of really knowing who had arrived home. If it was a large group, he’d rather not have to kill a bunch of people to get to just one. He thought about it for a while and decided that if that was the case, he’d have to come back tomorrow, but he was hopeful that he’d be able to get the job done quickly and go back to America in the private jet waiting for him.

  The rest of his group had wanted to come and take part in the extraction, but he’d left them behind. Some of them were less than subtle, and while there was a time for hitting hard and fast, it wasn’t usually in a built-up neighborhood when you’re trying to be quiet.

  Eventually, lights came on in the house, but Elias remained where he was until the darkness had settled, and even then he sat motionless for several more hours. When he finally climbed down from the tree it was 1 a.m., and the neighborhood was silent. He’d purposely selected a weekday for that exact reason: less chance of revelers coming home drunk and catching him, or the occupants bringing home a group of friends who would be passed out on the sofa by now. That was the thing about his job: if he didn’t think of an outcome as possible it was almost guaranteed that it would happen.

  He scaled the wooden fence and dropped into the garden. There were lights still on in the house, and the one in the kitchen bathed the back garden in patchy light. Elias easily avoided it as he crept up the garden, unconcerned about the motion sensor for the security lights, which he’d disabled earlier in the day.

  He reached the side door to the house and quickly picked the lock, opening the door slightly. He took a moment before he pushed the door fully open and stepped into the kitchen-diner, closing it behind him.

  Elias had put on leather gloves before descending from the tree. His prints wouldn’t show up in any database, but he didn’t want to link whatever he was doing here with anything he’d done in the past. Or, indeed, might do in the future. In his mind, it was always better to be
safe than sorry.

  There were voices somewhere upstairs, and more coming from the living room, and for a second Elias was convinced that his target had brought guests home. He cursed inwardly and ignored the voices upstairs, deciding to deal with whoever was in the living room.

  Elias was grateful for the carpeted floor of the hallway softening his footsteps as he made his way toward the front room. He moved silently until the hall turned ninety degrees, putting the stairs out of his view. He paused; if anyone went to the top of the steps, he’d be spotted the second he stepped away from the wall, but there was little choice. He took a breath and moved quickly, hoping none of the floorboards would creak as he moved. He’d checked earlier, and while he hadn’t found any creaky ones, that didn’t mean one couldn’t be discovered at an inappropriate moment. Sod’s law existed for a reason.

  Fortunately, the walk remained creak-free and Elias soon found himself outside the living room. He glanced inside, keeping back just in case someone spotted him, but saw no one. The sound had been coming from the TV. Elias cursed himself. It had been necessary but dangerous to check the room out, but even so he was unhappy with the need. He walked back along the hallway and was about to go up the stairs when he heard something in the kitchen. He flattened himself against the wall, moving back away from the stairs and peering through the open kitchen door, where he could see a young woman with long, black hair. She wore a dark blue t-shirt that was clearly two or three sizes too big. She was just over five foot in height and probably weighed no more than half of Elias, and while she wasn’t the target, she was a complication.

  The woman stood at the sink, her back toward Elias as she got a drink of water from the tap. Elias moved smoothly into the kitchen-diner, reaching the woman before she even had time to turn around. He clamped a hand over her mouth and brought the knife up to her throat, puncturing the artery and going up through her jaw into her brain, killing her. He caught the glass before it fell from her hand and pushed her head over the sink to ensure the blood remained in one place. He considered going on, but instead tossed his hat into the sink to collect the blood. It was a pity there hadn’t been the time to ask her any questions, not with more people in the house; she might have had useful information.