The Hunted Page 15

  Philippa couldn’t believe she was hearing it. Could this be a better opportunity than the Trojan email and replacement hooker?

  “What time does it start and where is it?”

  Georgia laughed, “You’re not going to bid, are you?”

  “Of course not. He’s all yours, babe. And anyway, I’m in London remember—I’d never get there on time even if I was in the slightest interested in him. Which I’m not.”

  “Auction starts at nine, at The Lowry, his usual haunt.”

  “Well, I wish him luck,” Philippa said, and moved away from the subject of him so as not to arouse suspicion. “What are the other prizes on offer for the cause. Anything more in my price bracket?” She was just making conversation now, no ulterior motive.

  “The usual. A handful of paintings by local starving artists, some quality guitar time with a famous musician, the man himself and a few minor experience days like ballooning. Hopefully they hit their collection target. It’s a great cause.”

  “Yes,” said Philippa thoughtfully. “I hope so too. I’ve got some research work to do, so I’d better say good night. Let me know how it goes, if your marketing department have to buy their own boss for a date. What a giggle!”

  Georgia giggled back in reply as they said their goodbyes, then Philippa spread out on the sofa with her legs outstretched and her laptop on her thighs. She laid her head back to work through this new opportunity that had come to light, to think some of the finer points through. Would it work? Was it a better plan or should she stick with the current one?

  After ten minutes of tossing both scenarios around in her head and working through what could possibly go wrong, she decided to empty her thoughts out on paper and make a list. Seeing the pros and cons might make the answer obvious. She took her pad and split the first page into two columns.

  “Let’s start with the original plan first,” she said out loud. As her thoughts came to her, she put them under one of the headings. One by one, the risks and advantages went down until, after nearly ten minutes, she couldn’t think of any more. Then she did the same for the possible new plan.

  Thoughtful, she said, “I bet they’d accept phone bids, I don’t have to be present.” She scribbled her answers down with that in mind.

  “No one would know who I was, what I looked like, nothing.” She chewed the end of her pen. “But the PR company may want to photograph us on our date. That would cause a problem. Then if he died that night… Too obvious.” She chewed the pen again then swung her legs off the sofa in one decisive move. She stood and headed into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine and grabbed a packet of cashews. By the time she’d returned, her mind was set.

  “Stick with the original, Philippa. Great heists don’t deviate from their plans and neither should you, though there are a couple of snippets you can use from your newly acquired knowledge.” She tossed a handful of nuts into her mouth and pulled her laptop closer. The thought of bidding for her killer had its own appeal, particularly as that was how he’d come to be in her sights in the first place, bidding for two white rhinos. She had no intention of ever being caught. If she could pull off what Pete had suggested, no one would be any the wiser.

  She got to work creating the fake email. Rather than try and work out which escort site he used, she now had a much simpler way in—the hotel from the fundraiser tonight. She thoughtfully typed the message that would get his attention and added the all-important bogus link, hyperlinking it to the Trojan file she had already sourced with Pete’s help. The vital cog in this wheel, the life-changing email message, was coming from the hotel, supposedly thanking Sebastian for being an auction prize at the fundraising event, and if he clicked on the link, he could browse the many photos that were taken of him at the event. Someone as arrogant and self-centred as Sebastian was would be sure to take a look. As the Trojan file did its thing in the background, Philippa could then take a more in-depth look into his life—with fatal consequences.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The fundraiser had been a giant pain in his ass but he’d said he would be there, and being one of the auction prizes, he’d really no choice in the matter. He’d sat through a nauseatingly boring dinner conversation with a bunch of sycophantic young entrepreneurs and several of their girlfriends who all looked like the same stereotypical bachelorette reality television wannabes. Each had straight long blonde hair, dark false eyelashes, a spray tan and pouty lips, and one in particular had made no bones about her flirty behaviour towards him, her leg brushing his under the table at every opportunity. Women frequently threw themselves at him and while it was a novelty occasionally, generally he tired of it. There was no fun if there was no chase and he liked to chase, to dominate, to be in control—of everything, including the bedroom. It had been dull personified.

  Sebastian sat back on the white leather sofa in his apartment and sipped whiskey from a thick cut-crystal glass, thinking back to earlier in the evening when he’d picked his plus-one up for the event. She was cute, dark, and extremely malleable, and he’d purchased her before solely because she looked good on his arm, and was more his type. A professional at what she did, she was his date of choice at such events since he didn’t need to worry about staying with her for the night, nor her saying the wrong thing to the wrong people. She’d been instructed to keep her trap shut, smile sweetly and generally look stunning, and on that she had delivered. But she didn’t do the full submissive thing, and as he sipped his whiskey, he thought yet again about how she’d look naked. And on his bed.

  He reached over to the coffee table for his laptop and opened the web page of the agency he used for her, clicked on her profile and studied her a little more. She really was quite stunning. Shame she didn’t list more on her menu, things to his taste and needs. In the dock below the page, his email counter showed six so he clicked to see who the emails were all from, scanning the subject line for something to catch his interest. There was one from the hotel, which he opened. The message thanked him for his participation during the evening, and invited him to browse some of the superb photos that had been taken at the gala event. He clicked the link to the photo gallery, but when it didn’t go anywhere, he assumed, wrongly, that the link was broken. He’d see them later anyway. The PR people from the office would have taken the appropriate ones.

  Little did he know what was happening deep inside his computer: the Trojan program was quietly accessing his hard drive, his keystrokes and all that he did on his computer, inserting itself—and its hidden mistress—into his life. Giving up on reading email, he clicked back to study the woman on the screen, the one capturing his attention. She did something for him, but not nearly enough, and as a familiar stirring pulled him, he opened another browser tab and entered in the site address he got the most pleasure from. While it was late now, that didn’t stop him from booking someone for another night and thinking about just what he was going to do to her. The time spent waiting, anticipating, was equally as exciting as the time he actually spent with his chosen one.

  He smiled as he scanned the women, the posed, sultry images; many of them had visited him at his apartment or at various hotel suites around Manchester in the past. He paid them well, over the odds in fact. He saw this as an investment, and a way to keep their mouths closed if he got carried away.

  One young woman in particular stood out to him, her innocent looks appealing to his desires. She was someone he hadn’t seen before. “Chloe” had the requisite long dark brown hair and young looks. She also had an exceptionally pleasing body to go with it, making her the whole sweet little package. He checked what she offered and, liking what was listed, clicked ‘book.’ It was obvious what these girls did for a living, but of course everything was in code on the website so as not to break laws, though if you knew what you were looking for, it was an easy code to break. He smiled to himself as he stared at the young, innocent-looking face looking back at him. He wondered how she’d fare with his requests the following night.
Would she be back for more on another occasion? If he paid her well enough, he hoped she would.

  “She’d better be good. The last one couldn’t get out of here quick enough, and while I’m paying for all night, I mean, all night,” he warned the image on the screen.

  He closed his laptop down and headed to his bedroom, where he stripped, showered and then climbed into bed with his mind full of Chloe and his specific special fantasies.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Lying on her own bed just north of London, Philippa watched in amazement at how she was able to follow the prick’s activity so easily. While she had hoped he’d take the bait, she hadn’t expected him to do so quite so soon. She had been reading when her laptop screen had stirred into life. Chloe looked young, though that could be a soft-focus lens for the photo, to entice those who liked a younger body. Still, recreating Chloe’s look wouldn’t be too hard, and if she kept her eyes averted in true submissive style, he probably wouldn’t even notice the replacement at his door. Once he invited her in and she was following dutifully behind him, she’d show him who the submissive one was, and it wasn’t going to be innocent little ‘Chloe.’

  Now she needed to gather the few items needed to pull it off and get back up to Manchester to be in position and ready, and that meant an afternoon away from the clinic and a cheap hotel room to get herself prepared. She hoped escorts arrived bang on the dot, and figured they wouldn’t voluntarily be there a moment longer than was needed or paid for. Clients, especially control freaks like Sebastian Stevens, probably expected and appreciated punctuality. Well, she’d have to be a few minutes early to gain crucial entry, and as Chloe was booked for 8 pm, there was precious little time to waste. She jumped up off her bed and went straight to the wardrobe. What did she have in a nice submissive outfit?

  Chapter Fifty

  The morning at work flew by with the usual small-animal crises: toenails to be clipped, ‘flu vaccinations to be had and a poor old cat with a nasty abscess on its back leg from an infection after a fight. It was work she loved doing, and today in particular, she was glad of the routine and being able to concentrate on the job at hand rather than the evening to come.

  And she needed to be at work for another reason—to get the drug. Being off sick that one day had spoiled her interception plans and the drug was now safely in the dispensary. And she needed it. Without being able to subdue her victims so easily, she wouldn’t be able to complete the task fully, just wouldn’t be strong enough to overpower them, and Sebastian was a big man. She’d found a moment to retrieve the small vial and it was now safely in her locker.

  Philippa hated lying but had needed the afternoon off for her plan to work. A sick grandmother was a plausible lie to tell. Everyone had one of those, didn’t they?

  “I’m off shortly, Helen. Thanks again for letting me get off this afternoon. Gran will appreciate me being with her for a couple of days. At least I can help out until she gets back on her feet.” Philippa hated lying, but needs must. Her gran had died several years back but, for her cover, had suddenly come back to life.

  “No problem. I hope she’s feeling better soon. Just let me know in good time if you think you’ll need Wednesday too, so I can organise cover for your clinic.” Helen had always accommodated the rest of the team’s needs, and it was one of the reasons she had a steady practice with a low turnover of staff. No one ever took advantage, and was always grateful when a need arose. No one more so than Philippa.

  “Thanks. I will, but I’m pretty sure one of the cousins will be covering. I’m just doing the two days.” Searching in her handbag for a lost fictitious item she added, “Damn, I must have left it in the other room.” She excused herself and made her way back inside, to the dispensary, the location of her all-important drug of choice. If it was noticed that the drug vial was missing, she already had her excuse ready to go, but hoped it wouldn’t be spotted before she got back with another successfully intercepted replacement next week. She knew by not following protocol for such a drug, using the excuse of ‘I dropped it and disposed of it’ wouldn’t sit well, and could land her in a spot of trouble, but it was less trouble than she could be in for other matters. She’d just have to take the risk. It wasn’t a well-used drug at the clinic, so the chances of it being needed in the next few days were pretty remote. Still, always good to have a premade excuse for the missing vial should anyone quiz her.

  She slipped the vial into her handbag quickly. She’d take better care of its transportation once she was safely in her car outside. She then slipped out of the staff entrance, saying goodbye to no one else. Once she was safely in the confines of her car, she took the little vial out and wrapped it in her handkerchief, then slipped it into a small box she’d already placed in the glove compartment. With it safely wrapped up, she started the engine and headed towards the station and another trip north.

  Everything else she needed was packed safely in the boot of her car, including her other weapon of choice, the knife she’d used on Fiona’s neck, all wrapped up equally securely. She’d had the good sense to soak it in bleach after that first kill, mainly to clean it and get rid of any DNA present from the blood, and had stashed it under a loose floorboard in the little back bedroom of her house. Even though no one had ever questioned her about the woman’s death—and why would they?—she still felt the need to hide it, just in case. Who knew where the police were at with their investigation, whether they had someone in mind for the crime, under surveillance even, and she wasn’t going to take the chance on someone with a warrant coming knocking on her door.

  Now, however, she needed it again, so it was hidden in her boot, under the spare wheel, wrapped up in a long thin box like a gift for someone, complete with a big red bow. She’d smiled with wry amusement as she’d wrapped it up in birthday paper; the bow was a nice touch, and it would make it look a lot less conspicuous if it was ever discovered. The only thing she still had to get was her wig, and she planned to pick that up from a small specialty shop on the outskirts of Manchester. She’d winced at the price of it, but if she was going to be convincing, she couldn’t turn up in a cheap nylon one. Someone like Sebastian would notice in an instant and she couldn’t risk being turned away for any reason.

  A few minutes later, she was parked in the station car park. She removed her tools from the boot and placed everything in her trolley bag. After a quick look around that no one had seen anything, she locked her car with a confirming ‘beep’ and set off in the direction of the platform. By late afternoon, she’d be picking up her new disguise and heading to her hotel to put all the pieces of her plan together. She hoped Sebastian liked the outfit she’d chosen for him, a rather virginal cream dress. Teamed with her new long, dark hair and the right look on her lightly made-up face, she’d be submission on steroids. He was going to get the shock of his life when he led her inside: the young submissive woman he’d purchased for the evening was anything but.

  However, needs must, she told herself again. She had to kill another killer.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  The journey back up north had been an uneventful one. She kept herself to herself, looking like any other single woman off to see her ailing grandma. She’d shared a table seat with a gent who hadn’t taken his head out of his laptop all the way up and had barely acknowledged her when she asked if he’d mind her things while she went to get a coffee.

  After an hour, the trained pulled into Piccadilly Station and she alighted briskly with everyone else. The platform was always cold and draughty in Manchester, whatever the weather, and today was no exception. She pulled her jacket around herself a little tighter and began to tow her trolley bag along the concrete. She was grateful of the fresh air filling her nostrils and made her way towards the taxi rank. Her first job before going to her hotel was to pick up the wig she’d had put aside and she gave the driver the address of the specialty shop as she climbed into the back seat. She closed her eyes to the early rush hour traffic as they made their way
to her destination. It wasn’t long before he pulled up outside.

  “Please wait, I’ll only be a minute,” she said, then headed inside to pick up her order. She paid in cash, then exited the shop, turning her face slightly aside from the security cameras, and slid back into the rear seat.

  “Portland Street, please. Just drop me at the lower end, if you would. I could do with some air.”

  “Right you are,” the driver replied, and they headed off in the direction of her hotel for the night, not that he’d know that. She didn’t want people knowing her business, and she knew she needed to take precautions. Leave something out or make a stupid mistake and the consequences could be dire. While she wasn’t a pro at doing this kind of thing, of course, she was learning to think of all possible eventualities, including paying with cash wherever she went. Her next major concern was not actually checking into her hotel, but leaving it dressed as Chloe later and avoiding the CCTV cameras in both the hotel and the surrounding area.

  The taxi pulled up at the curb a little way off from her hotel.

  “Thanks very much,” she said, and gave the driver cash. She waited until he’d driven off out of sight before she ventured to her chosen hotel and checked in, paying for the room in advance, and of course, in cash. She signed her name as Chloe Baxter, and that’s who she’d be until Sebastian Stevens had been punished.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The room smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener, and she idly wondered what the top cover on the bed contained by way of other people’s DNA. The 70s-style green swirly-patterned carpet was worn in places, the dated furniture scratched, the table top covered with hot mug circles, the shiny finish long gone. All in all, it was a dump, though the lobby itself hadn’t been too bad; that’s the part that management obviously focused on. Good for the website photographs.