She hit the trees at a sprint, branches crunching underfoot as she was swallowed up by the darkness, tearing through brambles, ignoring the pain as they scratched and clawed her, just wanting to keep running, to get as far away from him as possible. Faster and faster, almost blind now in her desire to keep going.
She fell headfirst, landing on a bed of leaves. She could still hear him but it sounded as if he was some distance away. He hadn't seen or heard her fall, she was sure of that. Part of her wanted to jump back up and keep going, but a bigger part told her that it was best to stay put, hidden. Slowly, very slowly, trying to control her breathing, she inched forward on her stomach, pushing herself under a thick holly bush until she'd got her whole body underneath it, the jagged leaves scraping against her head and back.
She could feel his heavy footfalls getting closer. Step by slow step. She'd never been so scared in her whole life and it took all her willpower just to stop herself from crying out. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip.
'You've cut me, you little cow,' he hissed, his voice carrying through the darkness. 'And after all I've done for you as well. I kept you alive, and you do this.'
Another footstep. Almost next to her now. She forced her eyes open, and had to stifle a scream. He was right by the holly bush, his black Caterpillar boot only feet away from her face, a hulking black shadow blocking out the moonlight as he sniffed the air like some kind of predator.
She stayed utterly still, frozen to the spot, not even daring to breathe. Waiting. Hoping. Praying that he wouldn't discover her.
Please. I just want to go home. See my mum. End this nightmare.
He seemed to stand there for ever, and she felt her lungs tightening, crying out for air.
Move. Move, please. I can't hold it in much longer.
And then suddenly he did, the footfalls starting again as he skirted the holly bush and began to move away.
She shut her eyes and thanked God, exhaling as silently as she could and slowly taking in much needed air. Kept listening, telling herself that she only had to lie there another few minutes and everything would be all right. He'd give up his search, and she'd make a run for the nearest road. Get help. Go home.
She never heard the movement behind her, just caught a reek of stale sweat. And then the chain that was attached to her ankle was suddenly round her neck, choking her, and a triumphant voice was whispering in her ear, 'Found you.'
Fifty
Bolt walked slowly down the track as it ran in a curve through the woodland and then straightened as the tree line ended and an old two-storey cottage in need of a lick of paint appeared in front of him, nestled between two ramshackle outbuildings. There were lights on downstairs and the double-gates that led to the front of the house were wide open. A dark-coloured Range Rover was parked in the driveway.
He moved off the driveway and on to the long grass lining it so that his movements didn't trigger any lights, and approached the gates quietly using the darkness as cover.
But as he reached them he heard the sound of footsteps on gravel coming from somewhere up ahead. His view of whoever it was was blocked by the Range Rover as he crouched down behind the fence so that he couldn't be seen.
Then he heard it. A strangled sob, definitely female. He felt a ferocious jolt of emotion that almost knocked him off his feet as he realized that it was almost certainly coming from Emma.
This was confirmed in the next few seconds when she came into view, barely a silhouette in the gloom and smaller than he'd imagined, staring straight ahead. But it was definitely Emma, just as Bolt knew that the man dragging her by the length of chain round her neck was Scott Ridgers. He might have been wearing a balaclava, but that didn't matter. It was him.
Bastard.
Ridgers had a small-bladed knife in his free hand which he kept close to Emma's side to ensure she didn't struggle. Even in the darkness, Bolt could see the terrified expression on her face, and he felt the rage build within him. But there were at least twenty yards between them, which would give Ridgers far too much time to react if Bolt charged him. He was going to have to be patient, look for an opportunity.
Then Ridgers said something to Emma that chilled Bolt's blood: 'We're going to have some fun now, baby.'
Emma managed a strangled sob, and Bolt had to shut his eyes and hold on to the fence for support.
When he opened them again, they'd reached the front door. He watched as Ridgers pushed it open and shoved Emma inside, following her in without looking round.
And chuckling. The bastard was actually chuckling.
He also made the biggest mistake of his life. He didn't shut the door behind him.
Bolt took a deep breath. Moving as quietly and swiftly as he could, he followed them into the house.
Fifty-one
The chain round her neck was choking Emma so badly she could hardly breathe as he dragged her through the hallway. The cellar door was still open and he pushed her towards it.
Oh God, she couldn't go back in there again, not having come so close to freedom. And she knew that if she went back in, this time she definitely wouldn't be coming back out. Not alive, anyway. She went limp in his arms, and he cursed.
'Come on, move it,' he snapped, angry now, pressing the blade of a penknife he'd produced earlier against her ribs.
She stayed limp, and started to make horrible choking sounds, as if she was dying.
'If you're fooling me about…'
He let her drop to her knees and loosened the chain a little.
'Water,' she gasped.
'All right,' he said, hauling her to her feet and manhandling her through the hallway in the direction of the kitchen. 'You can have some water. Then we'll have some-'
He suddenly stopped as they reached the kitchen door and he switched on the light. She felt him go tense.
'Where is it? Where the fuck is it?'
He shoved her roughly inside, letting go of the chain and sending her sprawling to the floor.
'The bag!' he yelled, his voice filling the room. 'The bag with the fucking money! It was on here!' He pointed a gloved hand at the empty kitchen table. 'Where the hell is it?' He paced about inside the room, rubbing a hand over his face beneath the balaclava, his eyes wide and angry. 'I can't believe this. Someone's taken it. Someone's taken my money.' He stopped and slammed his hand down on the table, hitting it so hard the legs wobbled. 'My fucking money!' he roared at the ceiling.
Emma cowered, terrified, pushing herself into the corner of the room, away from his rage and frustration.
'I'm going to find whoever's done this,' he muttered. 'I'm going to find him now. And when I get hold of him…' He shoved the penknife he was holding back into the pocket of his jeans, then yanked open one of the drawers, took out a huge kitchen knife and ran a finger along the blade. 'When I get hold of him, I'm going to fillet the bastard.'
He turned and pointed the knife at Emma. The blade shone in the glare of the overhead lights.
'Stay there, all right? Don't you dare move an inch if you ever want to see your mum again. OK?'
She nodded, trying not to sob. 'OK.'
He swung round and stormed out of the door, knife in hand.
And immediately cried out in surprise.