The Hunted Read online

  It was nearly lunchtime when her office door opened and Michael stood leaning against the frame, smiling.

  “Hey Fiona,” he said seductively. No doubt he appreciated Isabel’s departure each Tuesday whether he knew where she was going or not.

  “Hey yourself,” she replied smiling sweetly at her boss, watching as he sauntered over to her desk, checking if anyone was behind him before bending down to plant a slow kiss on her neck, pushing her hair to one side as he did so.

  “Mmmmm, you smell good.”

  Fiona laughed lightly at the compliment and offered her neck up for another kiss. “What can I do for you, Michael?” she asked teasingly.

  “Oh, I wish we had time for what I'd like to do for you, but right now I need a breakdown of the bar takings this month for a meeting with a drinks rep in a couple of hours.” He pecked her neck lightly again. “Can you get them ready for me?” he said, making his way lower down her neck. Another peck.

  “Not a problem. I’ll get them organised. Oh, and don’t forget, I’ve got some time off coming up soon—Friday, in fact. And I’m going away.”

  He carried on nibbling. “Damn, I’d forgotten about that. Do you really have to go, now?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, enjoying the nibbling.

  “Then I’ll just have to manage. Not sure I can do without you for seven whole days, though.” He was teasing her rotten, blowing little kisses onto her shoulder, though Fiona knew he was just using her body like she was his. As well as his bank account.

  “I’ll make sure everything is up to date before I head out. You know that.”

  “That’s not quite what I meant, and you know it,” he said, winking at her. Yes, she did. Their relationship, for want of a better word, had been going on almost as long as she’d been working there, an instant spark having ignited between them both, though it was nothing more than good fun for each of them. Both in relationships, the little extra together gave them what they missed out on from their respective partners. He bent again and kissed her hard and full on her lips in a brief and desperate attempt to satisfy his craving for something a little rougher than what Isabel provided. Fiona pushed back with her lips in response then, realising where they were, broke off abruptly before someone walked in, someone who’d tell Isabel what they were up to. Michael might not care whether Isabel found out, but Fiona didn’t want to lose the goldmine she’d been working.

  “You'd better go, Michael. Anyone could wander in here and see us. And besides, Isabel might be back soon.”

  He knew she was right although he also knew it wouldn’t be Isabel, not yet. She’d not been gone long enough. He straightened up, rearranging himself as he did so, ready to leave, reluctantly.

  “I’ll get those reports to you within the hour, okay?” she said, smiling dismissively as nothing had just taken place.

  “Fine, then. I guess I've no choice; I'll be in the bar.” And off he went, somewhat petulant, used to getting his way and leaving her office door wide open. Fiona watched him retreating away down the corridor. One thing she could say about Michael—he was incredibly generous. In more ways than one.

  Chapter Four

  Putting her key in the lock, Fiona once again wondered what she’d find on the other side of the front door. The familiar click and the door swung open, so she stepped into the small hallway and closed the door quietly behind her. Flicking off her shoes she padded her way down towards the back of the house and the kitchen, hoping that just for a change, there may be some resemblance of a meal being made, though her nose told her the answer that deep down she already knew. She sighed heavily as she entered the room, her eyes confirming what her nose had already told her. Deflated again, she wondered why the hell she bothered. She glanced into the living area from the empty kitchen and saw him lying there on the sofa, where he spent so most of his time these days passed out, and from the empty Jack Daniels bottle on the coffee table, it had been just another day at the office for him, every day the same.

  Martin was in the middle of yet another downward spiral, a journey of self-destruction, and while Fiona was trying to be supportive, she was getting to the end of her tether, sick of it. Sick of the negativity, sick of the half dead body she shared her bed with, and sick of the smell of him quite frankly. Stale booze, bad breath, and even worse body odour was not a concoction that made her feel good, and understandably so. But to leave him in the lurch while he was in such a bad way would be heartless and that’s why she’d chosen to hang around, at least for a while longer anyway. But she’d been thinking about moving on from him, asking him to leave, though she hadn’t said anything yet. He was never going to change for her, or for them; he was never going to get cleaned up and make something of himself. And if she kicked him out, where would he go?

  They'd been seeing each other for as long as she'd been working at the hotel, that's where they had met in fact. He had been part of the very small management team when he'd been accused of misconduct with a guest’s daughter. It seemed she'd been a little younger than her stated twenty-two years and while she was still considered a grown-up, a woman, Daddy had taken offence when he’d found them sat together, out on his balcony in the early evening sunshine wearing very little clothing and smoking dope. That had led to not only an argument, but Martin had lashed out at the man and given him a black eye. All in all, it had been a stupid situation to find himself in, and he'd ended up getting the sack. Isabel and Michael didn't know at that time that Fiona and Martin were even dating, or should she say that Martin had moved into her house. She had been pissed at him for his indiscretion, but since her own dance card had had a few extra signatures on it at the same time, she wasn't going to call him out on it.

  They’d drifted along for a while together and put the whole sordid incident behind them, but he'd found it hard to get another job after leaving his position under a very dark cloud. Somewhere along the line, he'd hit his funk, and never having any money except for the government benefit, his mates had ditched him from their lads’ nights out because they were sick of his sponging. Fiona knew he'd taken the odd note from her wallet and had continued to turn a blind eye rather than have it out with him and make him feel worse, but as she looked at him passed out yet again, she knew the situation had to change soon.

  She picked up the empty bottle and took it straight outside to the recycling bin, balancing it on top of a pile of other empties. It saddened her to see what he had consumed since the last collection only last week. How the hell he could afford it she’d no idea, he wasn’t taking that much from her purse and suspected he had started shoplifting and helping himself. He hadn’t been caught, not yet, but the risk was very real. Then what would happen to him? A short stint in a cell wasn’t going to help change his state of mind though a longer stint in jail probably could. If his access to booze were taken away, surely he’d have to dry out? Either that or join the other desperate inmates taking hand sanitiser for the meagre alcoholic content they did have access to and the rather nasty side effects that came with such a dangerous practice. With nothing to be said or done right at that moment, she headed upstairs and changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then went back to the kitchen and made spaghetti carbonara for one.

  “Good morning.” Martin stood in the doorway looking sheepish, three days of bristly growth around his jawline, hair tousled in all directions. He looked like he needed a long hot shower and Fiona could smell the stale booze and body odour from where she sat at the kitchen table. It disgusted her.

  “Morning,” she said tersely, trying hard to keep the tone lighter than had escaped her mouth but only half caring of the effect it might have. “Did you sleep?”

  “Not bad, thanks. Any coffee going?”

  “Help yourself; I've just got one.” I’m not your sodding servant. You can make your own you’re quite capable—when you’re sober, that is.

  From over the top of her glasses and laptop screen, she watched him make his way over to the coffee machine, feeling
a hint tetchy that her morning quiet had been broken already.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as he poured milk into his mug and piled two heaped spoons of sugar in, giving it a noisy stir; the sound grated on Fiona just a little bit more, adding to her annoyance at him. She closed her laptop screen down and gave him her full attention. He sipped his coffee, waiting for her reply.

  “I’m going away for a few days. I’ve got some time owing from work so I thought I’d take myself off and see Mum for a few days. I’m assuming you won’t be coming?” Fiona knew damn well there was no chance of Martin visiting her mother with her, they'd never seen eye to eye from the first moment she'd introduced them, and she had told Fiona that she didn't particularly like him, didn't trust him. Perhaps she should have listened to her mother a bit more back then because looking at the dishevelled man that stood in her kitchen now, she found she was actually repulsed. But Fiona didn't intend to go and see her mum anyway, but he didn’t need to know that. She’d been planning to go away for a while, and without Martin, and do the one thing that was her true passion, the one thing that thrilled her, the one thing she was scamming and saving hard for, the one thing she was putting herself in danger for.

  “No, I won’t, but you enjoy yourself.”

  I’m planning on it.

  Fiona stood and gathered her things into her handbag, slipping the laptop into a carry case ready to leave.

  “So when are you going? Soon?”

  “Yes, I'm going in a couple of days—Friday morning, and I'll stay the week. I've squared it at work so I've got a bit of tidying up to do there before I leave, so I might be late home tonight. Don't want to leave them in the lurch.”

  “Okay. I'll see what I can amuse myself with while you're gone.” He was sarcastic at himself, and they both knew all too well what he'd be up to for the week—nothing but sleeping and drinking. What a damn waste of life.

  “Right, I’m off to work. I’ll see you later,” she said, and headed out of the kitchen towards the front door, leaving Martin to his syrupy coffee. At least he was up this morning. He didn't usually rise until late morning or, on a really bad day, around lunchtime.

  Her car was parked out the front, and as she sat in the driver's seat ready to leave, she scanned the row of houses where she lived, the brown stone walls of identical properties, all identical to the ones on the street next door, and the street next door to that. It was depressing, her life at the moment, and she craved more, much more. The engine fired and sounded somewhat different to Isabel's purring sports number, but she had better things, better pleasures to spend her hard earned on. Thoughts of her upcoming trip were fresh in her mind as she navigated the traffic driving towards the hotel. A few days of peace with a few healthy spikes of adrenaline were just what the doctor ordered, and maybe she'd have an idea of what to do about her depressing relationship with Martin while she had time to think. It couldn’t go on the way it was, but how could she let him down gently? The guy was at an all-time low, needed a friend and some support, but she was getting weary of his negative and booze-filled presence. Why was it down to her to look out for the loser? A few minutes later she pulled into the hotel staff car park and could see Michael hovering in the back doorway. He gave a slight wave and a coy smile as she pulled up so rolled her window down as he approached the driver’s window and leaned in.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself. Are you waiting for me?”

  He leaned in closer and whispered, “I want you. Now, preferably, but Isabel is out later. Fancy getting together when she’s gone? I’ll make it worth your while.” He licked his lower lip lightly so only she could see it, knowing full well it would do the trick with her. Fiona thought for a moment, about her planned trip and Martin. What the hell. She deserved some fun and if Michael was offering her some, then why not. She lifted her eyes at him and said, “sounds naughty, Michael, text me the room number and what time, and I’ll be there,” then opened the car door and sashayed across to the hotel entrance and went inside, a wry smile on her face that only she knew was there. She desperately needed the trip away and under the circumstances a couple of hours rolling around in bed with Michael she could do, since it was Michael who was paying for it.

  Chapter Five

  The seats in premium economy were so much better than in ‘cattle class,’ Fiona mused as she accepted a glass of wine from the flight attendant and took a sip of the cool, almost clear, liquid. One day she’d go all the way and book first class, but right now, the trips were expensive enough. Perhaps if her next job paid a little better in benefits, she'd make a move up to the next level, but right now, she was just glad to be on her way to Zambia—alone. Martin, bless him, still thought she was going to her mother’s for a week and would no doubt by now be almost passed out, lay sprawled on the sofa with yet another half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, its contents pickling his organs from the inside out. Glad to be out of the depressing environment for a few days, she thought ahead to what the trip might hold, though she felt a small knot of regret that she’d lied to him about where she was going. The vision of him lying on the sofa shot back into her mind, and she shuddered involuntarily at the thought. A nearby attendant noticed it.

  “Can I get you a blanket, Madam? Are you a little chilly?” she inquired helpfully.

  “No, I’m fine, thanks. Someone must have just passed over my grave,” she said, smiling. The attendant apparently hadn't heard the old wives’ tale and looked a little startled. Fiona smiled again to put her at ease and briefly explained. “They say that when someone walks over where your grave will be one day, that's when you shiver for no apparent reason.”

  The flight attendant smiled awkwardly and moved on to the next passenger to serve them drinks. Fiona sipped at her wine and savoured the relaxing gentle hum of the aircraft as she closed her eyes and put her head back on the pillow for a few moments. This, travelling in style, was one of the perks of Michael and his bank account access, and well worth the risk. Not wanting to spill her wine, she sat back to attention while she placed the glass safely in the drinks holder in the armrest, accidentally touching the man sat beside her in the twin seats.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to bump you,” she apologised.

  The man lowered his magazine as Fiona spoke, and she caught his eye. He spoke in soft and welcoming tones.

  “No problem.” He smiled genuinely and put his magazine down on his tray table. Fiona couldn’t help but see the front cover. Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced at the front-page image, one of a lion that had been shot and posed with its hunter, in this case, a middle-aged man, beaming at the camera next to his trophy. The man sat next to her noticed her glancing and spoke.

  “You’re not going to get all upset on me, are you?” he asked warily.

  “Quite the contrary. I suspect a lot of people on a flight to Zambia at this time of year could be going to do the same thing. Is that what you’re going to be doing out there, big game hunting?”

  The man looked relieved she wasn't going to start a speech on how horrific hunting big game was, and he visibly relaxed a little. “I am, yes. I try and get across each year for a week or so, my man time alone” he said, raising both sets of fingers and making speech marks in the air.

  She smiled, knowing just what he meant, a bit of time doing exactly what he wanted, not having to think about anyone else for a time.

  “How about you?” he said. “Is that what you’re doing in Zambia too?”

  “Yes, the same. And just like you, a bit of ‘me’ time, away from work and the humdrum of daily life. I’ve been hunting for about eight years now, though this is only the second time in Zambia.” The man smiled at her, his eyes meeting hers again and he offered his hand in introduction.

  “I’m Aaron Galbraith,” he said, offering his hand. “Nice to meet a fellow sports person with the same interests!”

  Fiona took his proffered hand and shook it firmly. “And I'm Fiona Gable. Happy to meet you to
o. Are you headed out to Luangwa?”

  “The very same!” He sounded delighted. “And the very best, I might add. Hoping to find a lion preferably, but buffalo will suffice if I don't get quite so lucky. Not that I can take them home. My wife wouldn't have them in the house.”

  “You’d have to have a pretty big place for all your trophies if you’ve been hunting a while.”

  “I have a place up north, actually, in the Lake District, a holiday home for when I want a bit of man time. And I hunt a bit up there, though much smaller animals—not like what we’re going after on this trip. I keep a good selection up there. Well, as many of them as I can anyway—as you say, you'd need quite a big place. And my wife doesn't go there very often, so it’s pretty much my getaway when I’m not working and want some fresh air.”

  “And what sort of work do you do, Aaron?” she enquired.

  “I'm a pilot, so I get quite a bit of down time, though I am officially on leave at the moment. Flying takes me all over. And you?”

  “Company accountant,” lied Fiona. Bookkeeper wouldn't have sounded quite so grand, and he may well have wondered how she afforded such trips. Better to lie from the outset than cause intrigue. And it wasn’t far from the truth so she wouldn’t need to remember too much to keep her story straight.

  “Well, Fiona,” he said, raising his drink to her, “here's to a successful hunting trip, and maybe the first of a few celebratory drinks together!”

  She picked up her glass and clinked it gently to his. Her pale eyes caught his dark ones, and both sets twinkled just a little. “Cheers!”

  How convenient, Fiona thought, sat next to a fellow hunter going to the same place. She stole a look at his profile as he turned back to read the magazine that had started the conversation off, and noted, not for the first time, that he was quite good-looking, the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ type. She guessed he was in his mid-forties, about ten years older than herself, though she was not sure why she’d made that observation. Obviously something had registered in her subconscious. Taking the hint that he was happy reading his magazine, she once again closed her eyes and rested her head back, letting random thoughts enter her head. Martin couldn’t have been further from her mind right at that moment.