Page 5 of Cruel Games

“And call the bloody police.” She hung up.

The bell rang again, its shrill sound making my eardrums vibrate.

“Hello?” shouted a female voice. “Miss Hancock? It’s Sameera from Social Services. The headmaster, Mr. Burgh, wanted to see you rather urgently. He’s with me right now.”

Sweat beaded on my brow, and my throat made several convulsing spasms. These two people could be my last chance before Sammy’s friends broke into the house to find me. But if they’d already surrounded the house as Mother had implied, they might abduct me right under Miss Reddy and the headmaster’s noses.

I leaned against the white wall of the sewing room and looked at the ceiling for inspiration. Bloody hell was I in a pickle. A pickle in the middle of a cheese, ham, and piccalilli sandwich.

“Miss Hancock?”

The lack of confidence in Miss Reddy’s voice made my stomach drop. She sounded like someone about to leave. A shuddering breath escaped my lips. My chances of escaping Sammy’s house unscathed were probably better with witnesses. Especially credible, well-dressed people like a social worker and the headmaster of a prestigious academy.

“Delilah?” shouted a man with a Scottish accent.

I frowned. Very few people knew me by that name. Perhaps the social worker had given it to him when she’d completed my application.

“Are you there?” he asked.

“Yes!” the word slipped from my lips of their own volition.

I pulled myself to my feet and scrambled out of the sewing room and into the hallway. As I crouched at the top of the stairs, I peered through the stained-glass windows. Miss Reddy’s petite form stood next to a hunched figure who held open the letterbox.

“Is that Mr. Burgh?” I asked.

“That’s right,” the Scottish man replied. “Will you let us in for a chat?”

“Umm…” I bit down on my lip, dashed to our bedroom, a sumptuous room with an iron four-poster draped with curtains of the most gorgeous, burgundy silk. I grabbed the canister of illegal pepper spray stashed under my side of the mattress and darted back into the upstairs landing. “Hold on a second.”

Mr. Burgh straightened out into a tall, gangly-looking figure.

There probably wasn’t enough time to pack, and I doubted that anything in my wardrobe would be suitable for a school in Scotland. It was time to leave before Sammy’s friends surrounded the house—if they hadn’t done so already.

As I galloped down the stairs, the splintering of a window frame made my steps falter. Someone was breaking into the house, and I didn’t need a fancy education to guess who. I pressed down on the pepper spray nozzle, and it gave a reassuring hiss. If anyone laid a finger on me, I would show no mercy.

The letterbox swung open again, this time by Ms. Reddy. “Miss Hancock?”

“Coming!” I reached the bottom of the stairs, unlatched the front door and flung it open.

Mr. Burgh was a middle-aged man with startling, sapphire eyes that made mine look like seawater. His silver hair hung back in gentle waves, complemented by a Sean Connery beard cropped close to his angular face. His handsome features morphed from elation to horror as his gaze swung from me to something over my shoulder.

Spinning around, I sprayed a cloud of pepper spray into the face of an approaching man. He’d covered his face with a balaclava, but those broad shoulders and loping gait could only belong to Crawford, one of Sammy’s best friends.

He ground to a skidding stop and roared, “Fucking hell!”

Miss Reddy screamed and clapped a hand over her mouth.

The headmaster wrapped a large hand around my bicep and yanked me out of the house.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” he said. “But this is no safe environment for an up-and-coming young lady. You must accompany me to Templar Academy at once!”

Chapter 3

Crawford ripped off his balaclava and thrashed about blindly. If you were surrounded by a rival gang on a boozy Friday night gone wrong, Crawford was the kind of bloke would wade through the crowds to fight in your corner. Alone and with eyefuls of pepper spray, he was kind of helpless.

As Mr. Burgh dragged me through the threshold of the house, I ducked one of Crawford’s massive arms. “Sorry.”

“B-bloody bitch!” he snarled.