Captives

THIRTY-SEVEN

'Something on your mind?'

Jim Scott looked down at Carol Jackson, raising himself up on one elbow.

She was gazing at the ceiling, tracing the outline of a crack in the plaster, holding his hand lightly as they lay naked side by side.

Tell the truth, shame the devil.

It had been one of her mother's sayings. Now she wondered if she should put it into practice.

Tell him. Put him out of his misery.

She glanced up at him and smiled.

No. Now wasn't the time.

He squeezed her hand and asked again what was on her mind.

'Nothing,' she told him. 'Why?'

'It looks as if there is,' he said, his own smile broader.

'So you're a mind-reader now, are you?' She looked into his eyes.

I'd be in trouble if you were.

He swung himself out of bed and wandered through into the kitchen, returning with two glasses and a bottle of Southern Comfort. He poured them both measures then got back into'bed, watching as Carol shifted position, sitting up slightly to avoid spilling the drink. She looked at Scott as he drank, his eyes fixed on something across the dark bedroom.

Their lovemaking hadn't exactly been of the wild abandoned variety. Scott had barely been able to sustain his erection, due to Carol's relative passivity; it was as if his own ardour had been dampened by her perfunctory attempts to please him. But she had faked it enough times before with him and with Plummer. As far as she knew, neither man was aware of her disinterest.

Scott was just glad that she was with him. She was his tonight. They hadn't spoken about the incident in the club earlier when he'd fought to protect her. Scott smiled to himself as he remembered the sight of the man's bloodied face. It had been so easy to hurt him, to break his nose. To split his face open. He'd bled a lot. Scott downed his drink and poured himself another. A celebration, perhaps? He lay down beside her again, the drink resting on his chest.

'I've been thinking about getting a bigger place,' he told her finally.

'Why? This is enough for you, isn't it?' she said.

'Well, I won't be on my own forever, will I?'

It could have been a plea.

Carol didn't look at him.

'I mean,' he continued, 'if someone was to move in with me, it wouldn't be big enough.'

She smiled thinly.

'I'd worry about that when the time comes, Jim,' she said, sipping her drink.

'Have you thought of moving?' he wanted to know.

'I'm happy where I am, I suppose,' she lied. 'Although perhaps happy is the wrong word. It's just that I'm stuck with it.' She turned her head away from him for a moment.

No way out. Except perhaps through Plummer.

'I miss you when I can't see you at nights,' he confessed.

'You see me every night.'

'You know what I mean.' He took a long swallow of liquor. 'Seeing you at work, that doesn't count. Any bastard who pays can see you like that.' He began running his finger around the rim of the glass.

'If it's any consolation, I hate earning my money that way too,' she told him.

'I don't blame you for what you do. You've got a good body, why not use it to your advantage?'

'I don't do it out of choice, Jim,' she said, her tone hardening. 'I do it because I've got no bloody option. Do you realise how much I hate that job? Do you know what I'd do to get out of there? What I'd do to change my lifestyle?'

He shook his head.

'Anything,' she said. 'And I mean anything.'

'I didn't realise. I'm sorry.'

She took a swig of her drink.

'I've been doing it for over ten years now,' she told him. 'I've had enough.'

'But what else could you do? There isn't any way out.' He smiled. 'I'll probably still be working there in ten years' time.'

'Yes,' she said, with scarcely disguised contempt. 'You probably will.'

They regarded each other impassively for a moment.

'Maybe a rich Arab would walk in one night and whisk me off to a life of luxury,' she said bitterly.

'I hope not,' said Scott, his face set in hard lines. 'I wouldn't want to see you with anyone else.'

She swallowed hard.

Did he know?

'Why not? Things change, Jim. People change,' she said.

'Not people like you and me,' he said adamantly.

They lay in silence for long moments before she looked at him again.

'You said you wouldn't want to see me with anyone else,' she murmured. 'What would you do if there was someone else?'

He looked at her, his eyes blazing.

'I'm curious,' she said, qualifying the statement.

Christ, if only he knew.

Scott swung himself out of bed once more and pulled open the drawer of the cabinet. He took out the Beretta 92S and grasped it, pulling back the slide. The metallic click filled the room. Carol moved away inches involuntarily at the sight of the pistol.

'I'd kill him,' said Scott flatly.

He squeezed the trigger and the hammer slammed down on an empty chamber, the click amplified by the silence in the room.

'And what about me?' she asked.

Scott smiled, the pistol still gripped in his fist.

'I'd probably kill you too.'