There was a tremendous ringing clatter and something hard and heavy coiled itself stingingly around Dmitry’s knees, pinning them. He tried to stagger back, found he couldn’t move his legs and fell with a roar, spilling the tie-wraps and baton as he went down.
What the . . .?
He realised in a brief flash of intuition that she’d hit him with the chain from the gates. That she had indeed managed to undo the padlock securing it with her makeshift pick.
She tried to hurdle over him but he snagged her ankle and yanked, bringing her down too. The restriction on his legs loosened and he levered up, getting a tight hold of her, pulling her down and rolling her underneath him, using his bodyweight to crush her resistance. She went rigid then began to thrash like a landed shark.
The baton was out of reach but he’d wanted to use it to subdue not kill her here. That would raise far too many difficulties. He’d just have to do this the old-fashioned way.
So he hit her in the face with his closed fist, just once. In Dmitry’s experience that was usually all it took to make a woman compliant enough to handle.
She whimpered and went still under him, trembling.
“That’s better,” he hissed. “Be a good girl and you won’t get any more.”
He stretched sideways for the tie-wraps to secure her but as soon as his body was off centre, her hand darted up clawing her nails into the soft skin behind his ear, dragging him down and away.
At the same time she bucked her hips, getting one knee up and Dmitry found himself sprawling onto his side. He just had time for the anger to flare before the same knee landed hard in his groin and all such thoughts shrivelled in the face of a sickening pain.
She bounced to her feet, snatching up the chain.
“Bastard,” she ground out. “Nobody hits me and gets away with it!” And she kicked him twice in the kidneys. Hard.
Pain encased his torso. For several moments Dmitry lay shallow-breathing around as much of it as he could. He was only dimly aware of the woman snatching up the baton and darting through the gates. On the other side she refastened the chain around them, snapping the padlock shut. He was vaguely aware of her flinging the baton away across the car park with a distant clatter.
Then she was gone. It was some time before Dmitry was able even to consider the possibility of going after her. By then she’d disappeared.
52
“Where the hell is she?” Warwick grabbed hold of Yana’s shoulders and gave her a rough shake. “What did you say to her?”
“I s-say nothing!” Yana protested. She was crying, the kind of ugly weeping that afflicts some women whose faces go puffy and reddened and their noses stream.
“Leave her alone Steve,” Lytton said tiredly. “It’s not her fault.” But even as he spoke he could not bring himself to feel utterly sorry for a woman who was so damned passive all the time. He couldn’t imagine Kelly sitting there sobbing, letting anyone manhandle her.
Kelly.
“She s-say she always plan to run out on y-you,” Yana managed, desperation in her voice. “That s-she taking you for ride.”
“What?”
Yana flinched back at the suppressed anger in Lytton’s voice. Even Warwick flicked him a concerned glance.
“That w-what she s-say!” Yana insisted, hands clutched whitely together around a soggy tissue in her lap, her voice turning sullen. “That she use you.”
Lytton straightened slowly, trying to work out if he was surprised or not. Not, he realised after a moment. Just disappointed.
He turned away, stood by the rail looking down onto the racecourse and sucked up the cold feeling of regret. Behind him he heard Warwick still chastising his wife in low tones, her mumbling replies. He tuned it out.
He’d thought he was good at reading intent. Had to be in this business. People gave you their word and you had to work out instantly whether to take it at face value or not.
But some people you met and just felt a connection. He’d thought Kelly was one of those. Turns out she was little more than a con artist, simply after what she could get and dumping him at the first opportunity.
Question was, why now? What had she learned here or from Veronica’s office that made her decide to up and run?
“Matt?”
He turned, found Warwick hovering by his elbow. “What is it?”
Warwick sighed. “Look, I’m sorry chap. I can see you’re cut up about this.” He paused. “I guess it’s better this way though.”
“Better?” Lytton asked not turning his head.
“Yeah before you get in too deep with this girl.” He glanced around, lowered his voice. “Jesus, Matt she could bring nothing but trouble to us.”
Lytton turned. “You never did explain that one did you?”
Warwick shrugged. “This place, Matt. We’ve got a lot staked on the prestige of this damned race. One breath of scandal and people will stay away in droves. It will finish us.”
“You exaggerate.”
“Oh really?” Warwick leaned on the rail alongside him, close enough to force himself into Lytton’s eyeline. “What is this girl to you? Like Yana says, she was using you and now she’s taken off. Well good riddance. Get over it.” He took a breath, looked about to say more then shut his mouth into a compressed line and went back to his wife.
Lytton was left standing there looking down. Steve was right, he thought. He should forget about Kelly and be thankful the encounter hadn’t cost him more than it had.
So why was that easier said than done?
53
Kelly sat at the rear of a bus heading back into London, keeping the baseball cap pulled well down over her forehead and her face turned to the glass. Rain was just starting to fall from a darkening sky. It suited her mood.
The adrenaline that had fired her escape from the racecourse had receded leaving her tired, heavy-limbed and aching. Her face felt bruised and tender, already starting to swell around her cheekbone. And her hands shook with reaction like she was suffering a chemical withdrawal. She kept them tightly gripped around the pack on her knee and thought back to events in the tunnel below the stands.
This time he had a weapon and still I attacked him.
Remembering brought on a sense of panic so acute she could hardly breathe.
Wait a minute—this time . . .?
The realisation drenched down over her in a slow wash, freezing her skin to shivers. The combination finally slotted into place and the lock inside her mind opened up just like the padlock on the chain around the gates. One moment it was shut fast and she was struggling uselessly and the next it lay exposed in her hands.