Like One of the Family (55 page)

‘Shee...' Terry was desperately conscious of the time. ‘Listen, we've got to move it. Now! At once.' He pulled her gently to her feet and she staggered and nearly fell. He lugged her across the room, half-carrying her in his anxiety to be gone before they were discovered. In the doorway he collided with Claire, who had nervously come to see what was keeping him. She gave a cry of joy at the sight of Sheena.

‘Sheena, thank God. Are you all right?'

‘Claire. Oh, Clairey.' Sheena began to cry again, pitiful jerking sobs and the two girls clung to each other. Terry had to forcibly separate them.

‘Please,' he begged. ‘Save it for later. We've got to get out of here.'

Downstairs there was another tempestuous burst of sound, followed by shouting and clapping. The eternal strumming began again. Supporting Sheena between them, Terry and Claire went out to the dim landing, avoiding each other's eyes, embarrassed and filled with aching pity. Half-way down the stairs Sheena's knees suddenly gave and she sagged between them.

‘I can't.... Oh please...' She looked up at them pathetically and with her damaged hand held against her bruised lips, began to weep.

Claire crouched down on the step and put her arms comfortingly about her. ‘It's all right, Shee... it's all right,' she told her gently. ‘Take a rest. You'll be okay in a minute.' She looked beseechingly at Terry, willing him to understand, and continued to soothe Sheena until she gulped and indicated she was ready to go on.

They reached the bottom without encountering anyone and made their way out of the building. Terry went part of the way up the lane with the girls and pointed out the road they must take to reach the car, then he gently detached Sheena's clinging arms and turned to go back.

‘Tell Fernando to get clear of the town and wait by the roadside,' he told Claire tersely. ‘I'll be after you just as quick as I can.'

She was about to protest, but Terry gripped her arm urgently. ‘Please do as I say, Claire,' he begged. ‘And get Sheena back to the car before she collapses.' With a last whispered, ‘Good girl,' he sprinted back to the pub.

Claire had to exert all her strength to support Sheena up the street. As they drew near Claire saw Fernando pacing up and down beside the Mercedes. He turned when he heard her calling him, and stared in amazement.

‘Madre de Dios!
' he exclaimed, and ran forward to help her support Sheena the last few yards to the car.

The singing in the bar had stopped and a card game was in progress. Miguel sat slumped at the counter, a glass of brandy on the counter before him. He swallowed it in one gulp and lit a cigarette, so deep in thought that he did not notice eyes watching him from the doorway. He was still thinking of his encounter with Fernando. He would have liked to have felt only contempt for this soft-featured brother of Alejandro Gonzalez, but he would not soon forget the way the man had suddenly come at him out of the shadows.

Miguel regarded the tip of his cigarette gloomily. For all his soft looks the older Gonzalez brother had dealt him a blow like iron in the solar plexus. Too late he had remembered that this was the brother who had been a pilot in one of the toughest squadrons in Madrid. When Gonzalez had threatened him with removal of his
cojones
followed by disembowelling and incarceration in a Spanish gaol, Miguel had shuddered and almost given way. Now he bolstered his flagging spirits with more brandy and decided he would ditch the bimbo and move on tonight. But first one more drink for the road. He flicked his long nails against the glass.

‘Carlos Primero.'

The barman laughed. ‘Only the best for Delgado, eh.' He poured the brandy and leaned closer. ‘You have a customer awaiting you above in the room,' he murmured as Miguel tossed it back. ‘A fine young
Inglés
,'
adding slyly, ‘Business is looking up for us both.'

Miguel frowned at this reminder of his obligation and threw the barman his cut, conscious he was running very low on money. What bad luck they had been forced to leave Estepona, Miguel thought, as he stumbled up the stairs. Word had quickly spread about the
Inglesa
and there had been a knock on the door every five minutes. He could have been rich if he had not been forced to move on.

The door to the room stood ajar. Miguel smiled at such impatience. That was good. The
Inglés
would be willing to pay more for his satisfaction. Maybe he was already hard at it. More strength to his cock. Miguel swaggered inside.

Terry heard the footsteps on the stairs and moved swift and soundless to take up position behind the door. He stood tensed as the steps drew nearer, swamped with pity and rage at the memory of Sheena's terrified whimpers, her abused flesh. He thought of the indignities and atrocities she had endured and felt as though his heart would break.

‘Qué pasa
, has she gone into hiding again?' Miguel advanced smiling over the threshold, his gaze seeking out the corners of the shadowy room. ‘Do not be shy. Come out my little whore.'

A cold, murderous rage possessed Terry. He came swiftly and silently from behind the door and brought his hand down in a lethal, chopping motion on Miguel's neck. The man dropped. Terry swiftly bent over him and searched through his pockets. He took the keys to the sports car and slipped them in his own pocket then waited for the Spaniard to come round.

After a moment Miguel groaned and tried to sit up. At once Terry caught him in an armlock and forced him on to his feet. There was a look of surprise and fear on the Spaniard's face as he looked behind at his attacker and recognised him as the young man he had seen in the town that afternoon with Fernando. Miguel was under the impression that Fernando was behind this attack and it was to him they were now going, as Terry forced him in front of him down the stairs.

The barman looked up as Terry passed the door with Miguel and he waved and called jovial greetings at the sight of another satisfied customer being escorted off the premises.

‘If time allows I will come back for you,' Terry promised savagely, and prodded Miguel in front of him out the door. The Lamborghini was in an alley behind the pub. He gave Miguel the keys and kept his arm hooked under the Spaniard's jaw as he drove. When they were out the road by the ravine he told Miguel to stop the car then reached forward and took the keys from the ignition.

‘Get out.'

Miguel got out of the car and looked about him, fully expecting to see the Mercedes parked on the roadway. When he realised that the way was clear he was surprised, then relieved. So it was to be just the two of them. Very well. This young
Inglés
would get more than he had reckoned. As they began the walk on to the cliff he suddenly turned on his captor with suddenness and ferocity. Miguel was strong and he tore at Terry's face with his overgrown nails

Taken by surprise, Terry went over backwards with Miguel on top, and tried to protect his eyes. In size the two men were fairly evenly matched. If Terry was the taller by an inch or two, Miguel weighed ten pounds heavier. They were both big but Terry had the advantage on the Spaniard. He was lean and fit and in the peak of physical health. Terry's fists were hard and punishing as they smashed into the man's face.

‘This is for you, Sheena,' he panted, venting all his anger and revulsion. ‘And this!' Realisation dawned in Miguel's pale eyes and his bruised lips stretched in a smile.

‘So the whore is your sister,' he said thickly. ‘Let me describe to you then the clever tricks she does.' A stream of obscenities poured from his split, bleeding mouth.

Terry wished he had taken a chance and brought his army pistol into Spain with him. He would have thrust it in the lewd face and blasted the vileness away. A little crazy, he pounded the face under him until it pulped red and grotesque.

Miguel's eyes in the fleshy mask stared murderous hate and he reached into this boot for the knife he always kept there. Terry caught the knife hand at the wrist, holding it low down and trying to deflect the thrust as Miguel lunged forward. But he dodged too late and the blade sliced into his neck, drawing blood in a steady stream. He was aware of the warm, wet trickle and feared his injury was bad, but he was in it now to the death.

They circled each other warily, Miguel sneering and watchful with venomous eyes. Terry steeled himself to go in against the naked blade. The wind blew on their sweating bloody faces and their feet sought for purchase on the sliding surface of the cliff.

As the Spaniard rushed him again, Terry saw his chance. He twisted sideways and gaining purchase on the damp earth, swung his leg in a flying kick that caught the man in the small of his back, and Miguel toppled screaming into the gorge below.

Terry gasped at the suddenness of it and dropped weakly to his knees. He crawled to the edge, sobbing for breath, and looked over. It was too dark to see anything. The scream continued on in his head and then blackness rushed in and he fell senseless on the ground.

Two miles down the road the Mercedes was parked by the roadside. It had been Fernando's intention to bring the
Guardia Civil
back with them to search the bar but Claire, conscious of Terry's instructions, had persuaded him to wait. Now Fernando glanced at his watch and met Claire's eyes fleetingly. A whole hour and still no sign of Terry.

Sheena lay on the back seat fretfully tossing and crying out. She was badly shocked and most of the time seemed unaware where she was or with whom.

Claire was conscious of the smell of her friend like a bad drain in the back of the car. She felt embarrassed for her before Fernando and was glad when he tactfully kept the air conditioning running. Claire was desperately worried but trying not to show it. She shouldn't have allowed Terry go back, she agonised. If anything bad happened to him she would never forgive herself.

‘We will wait another five minutes and then we will go for the
Guardia Civil
,' Fernando decided. ‘Terry has acted with great irresponsibility. He should not have tried to take Delgado on his own.'

Claire could contain herself no longer. ‘But all that will take too long. Oh, please let's go back and look for him now,' she begged, her voice coming out in a dry croak.

Fernando looked at her startled, and without a word set the car in motion. He turned it on the narrow road and drove rapidly back to Ronda.

Terry must have relapsed into unconsciousness for he came to with a start and peered into the darkness, trying to remember where he was and what had happened. Then he felt the warm slow blood dripping from his neck and he remembered.

‘The bastard deserved what he got,' he whispered. He tried to struggle up but his legs were too weak to support him. He found he was lying in a puddle of blood and searched his pockets for something to wad against the sluggishly flowing wound. His handkerchief was too small to be effective, so he pulled his shirt off and wound it tightly about his neck, knotting the arms to keep it in place. He almost swooned with the effort and had to rest a moment because he felt so weak and his vision was breaking up.

‘Got to get back to the road,' he told himself. ‘They won't think to look for me out here.' He tried to calculate the distance and direction but it was beyond him.' If I can drag myself nearer the road maybe I can shout... they'll see the car ...' But his dizziness overcame him and he laid his head weakly on his forearm.

‘Terry!' He thought he was imagining it but then his name was called again and he lifted his head and listened, his heart beginning to race at the sound of her voice.

He tried to call out but his voice was weak in his throat. He took a deep breath and with his remaining strength hollered as loud as he could then fell back waiting to see if she would call again.

‘Terry, where are you?' He judged she was at the far side of the Puente Nuevo, and coming nearer. He could imagine her, slim and fair and determined, those grey eyes anxious.

‘Claire!' He tried to shout, but it was merely a groan.

He imagined her giving up the search and turning back and he felt it was more than he could bear, and his heart shrivelled within him. He thought how much he hated his father and how much he had thought he hated her too - and realised he loved her far more.

‘I feel he's somewhere near about. I know he is.' Her voice was closer, stronger, only yards away. The softly spoken words, touched him deeply, and brought tears to his eyes.

‘I'm here, Clairey,' he tried to say, and felt himself falling through space and darkness again.

Jane stared at the telephone, willing it to ring. It was two days since Terry had left for Spain and she could not understand why she hadn't heard from him. Now she was convinced something sinister had happened and decided to ring Antonio. Jane had never rung his house before and she was as nervous as a girl as she waited for him to come to the phone.

‘Jane! Is it really you, Jane?' Her name had never been one Jane particularly liked but on hearing it now spoken in Antonio's resonant tones, it was suddenly charged with the most heavenly significance.

‘Yes, Antonio.' She felt suddenly shy, then hurried on lest she should just idiotically keep repeating his name. ‘I'm very concerned about Sheena. Terry flew out yesterday morning to try and locate her and I haven't heard from him.' Jane's voice faltered. ‘You can imagine how worried I am. I was hoping perhaps you might have heard something.'

Antonio did not reply for a moment and when he spoke his voice was kindly. ‘I intended telephoning you, Jane, but I was waiting to hear from my son. I have been aware of the situation and arranged for Fernando to drive with Terry and Claire to Gibraltar to try and find your daughter. Until this evening Fernando has kept in touch with me but I have not heard from him since he rang to say that they had found Sheena but regrettably lost contact with your son.'