Page 39 of Deposed

“I’m just checking. Last time, he didn’t honor our agreement.”

“The school is ticking along nicely with Carbuncle’s cameras in secret locations.” She raised her shoulders. “We only need you to infiltrate Charlotte underwood’s party and get the name of her older man.”

I narrowed my eyes. That wasn’t an answer, but then, no one could really speak for Rudolph.

A delivery guy brought some Chinese takeout, then at eight-thirty, I rode with Tola in the front of Tom’s screen-filled van, which she explained would receive footage from my cameras via the internet. A quartet of female interns, clad in party dresses, sat in the back. Tom took the scenic route around London and drove on the roads closest to the River Thames. The traffic wasn’t bad at this time of the evening, and I relaxed in the front seat and enjoyed the view. When we sped past Chelsea Bridge, near the mansion apartment Sergei rented, I said, “I thought the party was in Chelsea.”

Tola nodded. “It’s in Chelsea Harbour, on the other side.”

We stopped at an ultra-modern, marina development, complete with its own hotel and train station. As expected, Chelsea Heights was a high-rise block that boasted panoramic balconies that stretched around the entire exterior of the building. My breath caught. Did Charlotte’s benefactor live in the penthouse? I pictured Mr. Frost, who had probably made a fortune selling illicit items to wealthy school kids at horrific markups and shook my head. If it was him, he probably only rented the apartment for the sex party.

“Good luck.” Tom gave me a thumbs-up as I stepped out of his van. “If things don’t heat up after two hours, leave as many cameras lying about as you can and come down.”

“Right.” I walked toward the building and was about to buzz when a young man walked out from the foyer and opened the door. A breath of relief whooshed out of my lungs. It might have been difficult to explain to whoever was on the other end of the intercom that I was Emilia Hobson, Charlotte’s arch enemy, and soon-to-be destroyer. He probably should have asked if I was a resident or guest, but I wasn’t going to inform him of his security breach. “Thanks.”

The man gave me a nod and strolled out in the direction of Chelsea Harbour station, and I headed for the lift. It arrived as soon as I had called it, and I stepped inside and pressed the highest floor, which was twenty-five. That had to be the penthouse, right? When the elevator reached the top, I walked around the doors, but the numbers only went up to fifteen. I pulled out the invitation to check the address. It said number sixteen, as I had remembered, and the apartment name was correct.

“It was all a fucking hoax,” I snarled and headed back to the elevator.

Behind me, a door opened, and heavy footsteps approached.

Before I could turn around, a fist smashed against my temple, and I lost consciousness before I reached the ground.

Chapter 13

A throbbing on the left of my face forced me awake, only to find myself lying on my side. I stifled a groan. Déjà fucking vu, except tight ropes bound my ankles and wrists, and I wasn’t stuffed in a moving trunk with Henry.

Heavy footsteps, presumably belonging to the bastard who had punched me unconscious, dragged around a room. I would have cracked my eyes open if my head didn’t hurt so much. The one on the left was probably swollen shut from the way the flesh seemed to pound in time with my rapid pulse.

Everything ached. The back of my head, my shoulder blades, pelvis, hamstrings, even the backs of my calves. It was as though someone had turned me onto my front and beaten me with a club while I had lain unconscious.

The footsteps approached and stopped close to my head. I swallowed hard, trying not to let the man notice I’d regained consciousness. He crouched down, radiating a sickening warmth over my body and filling my nostrils with the scent of stale tobacco, strong coffee, and mint chewing gum. My nostrils twitched involuntarily.

“Awake are you?” asked a familiar voice.

My right eye opened, and the mustached face of Mr. Carbuncle stared down at me with pitiless, gray eyes. I flinched away, a scream catching in my throat. “What’s… Why are you here?”

A hand the size of a bunch of bananas jerked forward and grabbed me by the chin. He bared stained teeth and snarled, “You got me fired.”

My heart jumped into my throat and galloped at the speed of a runaway horse. “Th-that wasn’t me,” I said with my jaw pinned down by the man’s thick fingers. “Mr. Chaloner kicked the door down and brought the police. I only came to see what was happening.”

“Who else could have grassed but you?”

I exhaled a frustrated breath. Why was he out of prison already? “I…” Wriggling out of his grip was futile. The man was too strong. “I don’t know, but if you have a list of suspects, I might be able to help.”

Mr. Carbuncle’s features smoothed out into a blank expression I’d never seen on his miserable face. He released my chin, wrapped his arms around my neck and hoisted me up into a sitting position. A sharp pain, probably from a bruised hip, spread down my legs, making me wince. Dread rumbled through my insides, and I gulped. There was no one I could blame for his arrest but the former headmaster, but Mr. Carbuncle hadn’t found me convincing the first time I had mentioned Mr. Chaloner.

With a rage-filled snarl and an ugly twist of his mouth, he drew back his arm and backhanded me across the face. My head snapped to the side with the force of his blow, then my entire body swayed in the same direction. Pain radiated out from my nose and cheek. I stuck out my elbow, in an attempt to cushion my fall, but when it smacked against the parquet floor, a mix of pain and funny bone tingles shot up my arm.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and tears gathered behind my lids. Where were the interns? Surely they were on their way. Maybe they couldn’t find me and were waiting for me to gather some clues.

“Where am I?” I asked for the benefit of the cameras I hoped were still in my hair.

“Tucked away where no one will think to find you,” he said with a sneer.

“Mr. Carbuncle…” If the cameras were still running, I was sure they had recognized him by now, but I had to make sure his name was recorded in case I ever got out of this mess alive. “Why are you doing this? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“That’s not what I heard.” He laced his fingers through my hair and yanked me back up by the roots. My scalp burned with the pull, and a whimper reverberated in my throat. He shook me so hard, my teeth rattled, and something thin and metallic bounced off my hair and onto the ground. “Now, tell me what you told the bloody cops, or I’ll lay into you!”