Catwalk Criminal (22 page)

A week later

 

It seemed to take an age before Jessica heard the light tap of footsteps cross the hall. The front door finally swung open.

She took a deep breath. “I know I'm the last person you want to see, but please hear me out.”

Jamie ran a hand through his hair and stared. Shifting position, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. At least he hadn't slammed the door in her face, which she'd been half expecting.

“All you have to do is listen to what I have to say.”

Jamie gave a brusque nod. He still hadn't invited her inside, so they'd have to thrash it out on the doorstep. Not ideal, but better than nothing.

“Go on. I'm listening.”

“You were right,” she began. “I have been lying to you for months, but not for the reasons you think. I want to tell you everything, about who I really am. What I belong to.”

Jamie frowned. “Do you mean about Westwood? I know that you're a member of an MI6 division that recruits models, particularly ones that it can mould from a young age.”

“That's impossible. You can't… How long…? Why…?” Her words barely made sense. How could Jamie know about Westwood? It was top secret. She hadn't told anyone she was going to come clean to her ex today; he certainly hadn't been OK'd by Nathan or anyone else at MI6. They hadn't been going out long enough before their split for him to be cleared. He'd be classed as a “compliant civilian”, someone who could inadvertently blurt out secrets to a third party.

“You'd better come in.” He stepped aside, smiling encouragingly.

She followed him into the sitting room, her mind racing. None of this made any sense.

Jamie sat next to her on the sofa and tentatively took her hand. “I want to apologize for the way I treated you. I had no idea how important your job was. What you were doing to help Henry Murray and your country.”

She stared back, shell-shocked.

“I'll never doubt you again if we get back together. I know it's a big ‘if' after what a jerk I've been. I promise you that from now on I'll understand when you have to go off on your next Westwood mission.” He squeezed her hand. “And I won't get all weirded out if you have to work alongside another male agent, like I did with Zak. I get that you sometimes have to work with other agencies such as Rodarte.”

Rodarte was classified, like Westwood. No way should he know about it.

“Who told you about all of this?” Her voice cracked.

“Your handler.”

Nathan? Not in a million years. He wouldn't allow such a blatant security lapse. If he had his way, she wouldn't even have a boyfriend or an ex or whatever. He believed things like that got in the way of the job. He'd prefer Westwood's agents to be robots without love lives, which got icky and complicated.

“She stopped by this morning for a chat,” he continued. “She even brought red velvet cupcakes, because she knew they were my favourite as well as yours.” He flashed a grin at her. “I guess you told her that about me. Anyway, she spent quite a long time helping me to understand things you haven't been able to speak about before. She said that I'd been thoroughly vetted and that I'd been given clearance to be told everything.”

That couldn't be right. Who'd told him that? She couldn't picture Celia ever doing something so rash. Had Bree thrown caution to the wind now she was officially “retired” and decided to stage an intervention on Jessica's disastrous love life? But how could she have known about Jamie? Jessica had never discussed him with Bree.

“Did she give you a name? I mean, I have a few handlers for different missions.” A lie slipped out. So much for deciding to tell Jamie the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Her good intentions hadn't lasted very long. About three minutes, to be precise, since she'd stepped through the door.

“Anne, I think she said her name was. But you spies always use different aliases, don't you?” Jamie grinned. “Can you tell me any of yours? I bet they're really cool.”

“Honestly, they're not very interesting. Can you describe my handler? As you say, I don't think she was using the name I'd know her by.”

“Oldish, you know, in her sixties, with dark brown hair.”

Her face must have looked blank because Jamie's brow furrowed. “She told me a lot about your mum, how she used to be a spy, like you. How you think she was murdered by an MI6 traitor called Margaret Becker and a terrorist who had a name beginning with V, which I can't quite remember.”

“Vespa?” Jessica hated it, but she had to test him.

“No, not that. I've got it now. It was Vectra. She said that you'd worked out it was all linked to something called Sargasso and that you were in great personal danger. She said I should impress upon you to be very,
very
careful from now on, and for your dad and Mattie to do the same.”

Jessica caught her breath. Margaret Becker.

But it couldn't be. Why would she take the risk of breaking cover to visit Jamie in disguise? Was she banking on the fact that MI6 was searching for her off-grid and hadn't made public her escape from prison? They'd arrested the guard she'd bribed to carry messages between her and LibertyCrossing. Nathan had said that many of Margaret's old haunts were under surveillance. They hadn't thought to check here. Why would they? What were the chances she'd turn up at Jessica's ex's house?

“What else did
Anne
say?” she persisted.

“She told me to give you this.” Jamie sprang up and grabbed an envelope from the mantelpiece.

She tore it open. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out a photo. It was taken years ago, but there was no mistaking who was in the picture. A much younger Margaret with bobbed blonde hair sat to the left, in what looked like a bar. Her mum was in the centre. Her strawberry blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders and she sported her trademark gap-toothed grin. On her right was the man from the Sargasso file – Sergei Chekhova, who'd died in a car crash.

“Anne thought this picture would mean something to you. Does it?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Margaret was taunting her. She was proving what power she had over her life. Even when she was on the run and secretly being hunted by every police force and intelligence agency across Europe and America, she still had the time to visit Jamie and sit across the room from him. She could have killed him right there and then if she'd wanted. That was the real message she'd used Jamie to give. She could get to Jessica or anyone close to her at any time. They were all in danger. She'd spared Jamie's life – or had she? Margaret may actually have deliberately endangered him by telling him about Sargasso. He'd become another loose end that might need to be tied up later.

Who else had Margaret visited? She texted her dad, Mattie and Becky with the same message:
U OK?

Her dad and Mattie messaged back saying they were fine. Becky didn't reply, but she did have a rehearsal for her new play today. She'd probably turned her phone on to mute while she ran through her lines.

“Is something the matter?” Jamie asked. “You've gone awfully pale.”

“It's a shock, you knowing about all of this. No one had told me beforehand that this was going to happen, that MI6 was going to clear you.”

“But it's good, isn't it? It means that we don't have any secrets. We can be completely honest with each other from now on. We can make things work between us. That's if you want to.”

She smiled, but inside she was being torn to bits. Of course she wanted to get back with him. But would he be placed in even greater danger by becoming part of her life again? Or didn't it make any difference as far as Margaret was concerned? She could return to finish him off, whether they were together or apart. Her eyes rested on a series of digits, written in black ink, on the back of the photo. Was that the date the photo had been taken? It was five months before her mum's helicopter crash.

“Did Anne leave any other messages for me?” Jessica asked.

“She said the photo was taken the day your mum and the man in the picture joined.”

“Joined what?”

“Sargasso. That's why they were celebrating.”

She shook her head numbly. Jamie had misunderstood Margaret. Her mum and Sergei must have been investigating Sargasso, not joining it. Jamie made it sound like some kind of country club, except this organization killed people who even knew of its existence, according to Margaret's threat in prison.

Her phone vibrated, but she ignored it as she pondered the puzzle Margaret had left.

“Are you going to get this?” Jamie asked, picking up the phone from the sofa. “It's Becky.”

Jessica snatched it up. “Becky! How's it going?”

There was a muffled sob on the end of the phone. “No, it's Marie. Becky's mum.”

“Mrs Roberts? What's wrong?”

“Becky's been taken into the operating theatre for emergency surgery. We won't know anything for a couple of hours. We're waiting and praying. Oh God, Jessica. How could this happen?”

“What is it?” Jamie mouthed, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“What happened?” Her tongue felt too thick and heavy for her mouth. She clenched her fist, screwing the photo of Margaret into a tight ball as Mrs Roberts continued breathlessly.

“Some maniac in a van mowed into Becky's bike as she was riding to her play rehearsals. They didn't stop. Can you believe that? Witnesses said the driver accelerated and deliberately aimed at her.”

Margaret. She'd got to Becky before Jessica could warn her.

“Can we come to the hospital?” Tears streamed down Jessica's face. “I'm here with Jamie. We both want to be there when she comes out of surgery.”

“Thank you. Text me when you get to reception and I'll give you directions to intensive care.”

She hung up and staggered to her feet. “We need to go. Becky's hurt.”

Jamie hugged her close as she sobbed out the bare details of what had happened.

“This is my fault,” she said.

“How can it be? This has nothing to do with you.”

It had everything to do with her. This was Margaret's revenge for giving evidence against her in court six months ago.

“Let's go,” Jamie said. “We can hail a cab on the street. It'll be quicker.”

Jessica nodded, brushing away her tears with the back of her hand. “Did Anne leave a mobile number, by any chance?” She rummaged in her handbag for a tissue. “I don't think I have her up-to-date one.”

“No. But she did say she'd catch up with you soon.”

She followed him into the hallway. Margaret was coming for her. The last time she'd hurt someone close to her – Nathan – Jessica had sworn that she'd join Westwood so she could use all of MI6's resources to bring her to justice. This time it'd be on her terms. She'd do whatever it took to catch Becky's attacker, even if it meant breaking all of Westwood's rules. She'd find Margaret herself.

This time Jessica would take her down for good.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

 

I'd like to thank the wonderful team at Scholastic, particularly my lovely editor, Helen Thomas, the press team, Rachel Phillips and David Sanger, and my patient desk editor, Pete Matthews. I'm extremely grateful to my former agents, Suzy Jenvey and Ajda Vucicevic and current agent, Sallyanne Sweeney, who have all loved Jessica Cole.

 

Thank you to the brilliant book bloggers on Twitter including Faye Rogers, Jim Dean, Lucy Powrie, Michelle Toy and Vivienne Dacosta and supportive fellow authors including Lindsay Antonia, Gary Meehan, Eve Ainsworth, Rachel Hamilton, Rachel Craw, Emma Haughton, Christina Banach, Lisa Glass and Helen Grant.

 

A special thank you to my mum who always reads my proofs, Darren who endlessly listens to my ideas for plot twists and a big hug for James and Luke. Finally a huge thank you to my wonderful readers who always make me want to come up with ever more exciting adventures for Jessica Cole.

 

 

 

 

 

Catwalk Criminal
is Sarah Sky's third novel in the JESSICA COLE: MODEL SPY series. Sarah is a freelance education journalist and a fan of martial arts. She is currently training for her black belt in karate after getting her brown belt/two white stripes and has a green belt in kick-boxing. She lives in London with her husband and two young children. She would have loved to become a spy but was never recruited by MI6. Or was she…?

 

@sarahsky23

Scholastic Children's Books

An imprint of Scholastic Ltd

Euston House, 24 Eversholt Street

London, NW1 1DB, UK

Registered office: Westfield Road, Southam, Warwickshire, CV47 0RA

SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

 

First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2015

This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd, 2015

 

Text copyright © Sarah Sky, 2015

 

The right of Sarah Sky to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her.

 

eISBN 978 1407 14563 1

 

A CIP catalogue record for this work is available from the British Library.

 

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Scholastic Limited.

 

Produced in India by Quadrum

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

www.scholastic.co.uk