Motive Read online

  He left the partygoers behind as he walked towards the Vine, one of many nightclubs in the city centre. From a distance, he could see the bouncers at the door were dealing with a couple of drunks who seemed desperate to get in but not having much success. He could hear their shouts from seventy yards away.

  Two men leaving the club saw the commotion and stepped in to end it. One of them, a tall blond wearing a black leather jacket, jabbed out an arm. From his viewpoint, it looked like a fun tap to Ryan, but the recipient didn’t think so. He collapsed like someone had turned off his central nervous system. His friend didn’t fare much better. The blond’s companion, similarly dressed but squat and bulldog-shaped, launched into him with a flurry of blows to the body and then to the face. He looked like a boxer gently sparring, but the effect was devastating.

  The two attackers spoke to the doormen, sharing a laugh, then turned to the door as a short, thin man left the club. Even from afar Ryan could tell his dark suit was tailor-made and expensive. The trio walked toward Ryan, who took his phone from his pocket, looked at the screen, then put it to his ear.

  “Hi, what’s up?”

  The trio was still approaching, with blond and bulldog flanking the suit.

  Ryan was on an intercept course with them, but he wasn’t about to step aside.

  The collision was inevitable. The bulldog hit Ryan in the chest with his shoulder and the phone shot from his hand, crashing to the ground.

  “Oi!”

  The three men ignored Ryan’s shout. He stooped to pick up the handset, then jogged after them.

  When he got to within five yards, they turned. The two in leather jackets stood slightly in front of the suit.

  “You broke my phone,” Ryan said.

  “Piss off,” was the terse reply from the one in the middle. He was considerably older than the two goons, at least fifty-five, with short grey hair combed in a side parting.

  “Sure, just as soon as you pay for my phone.”

  The old man’s face remained placid, but his voice dripped with venom. “I’m feeling generous tonight, so I’ll give you one last chance to fuck off before I set the dogs on you.”

  Ryan couldn’t help but smirk. He pointed at the leather jackets in turn. “You mean these two? Are these your bitches? ’Cos they look like bitches.”

  The tall blond took a step towards Ryan. “Watch your mouth. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

  “Well, gee, I’ve only been in town a few days,” Ryan said, sarcastically, “so I haven’t had a chance to meet everyone yet. Tell you what, though. Pay for my phone and we can be best mates. You can come round my house and fuck my dog.”

  The bulldog looked at the old man pleadingly. He got a nod in response. “Make it quick. I want to get home.”

  Bulldog took two steps toward Ryan and pulled his arm back.

  That was as far as he got.

  Ryan feigned with a low left to the stomach, but all his weight was behind the right hand that hit bulldog in the temple. The stocky man staggered and shook his head, desperate to stay in the fight, but Ryan pirouetted on his left foot and his right connected with bulldog’s cheek.

  Ryan didn’t even watch him fall. His attention was now with the blond, who had adopted a fighter’s pose and was bouncing on the balls of his feet. He seemed calm, focused, sizing Ryan up as he danced to his left. Ryan stood his ground, waiting for the attack to come.

  It was surprisingly swift.

  The blond’s fist flashed towards Ryan’s head, but he jinked right just in time, the attacker’s knuckles grazing his scalp. Ryan had never faced anyone so quick, but he wasn’t fazed. He just had to make sure he landed the first telling blow.

  Blond kicked out at Ryan’s groin, but he deftly blocked it and lashed out with a backhand to his opponent’s face. Blood erupted from blond’s lip, but he barely seemed to notice. He started dancing once more, looking for the opportunity to strike, but Ryan wanted this over quickly. He lashed out at the other man’s crotch with his left foot, and when blond instinctively crouched to protect his sensitive region, Ryan switched his stance and brought his right foot under blond’s chin. His head snapped backwards and he fell to the ground face first.

  Ryan turned to face the suit. “As I was saying, I need someone to pay for my phone. You’re the only one left, so you’re it.”

  The older man stared at him for a moment, then surprised Ryan by laughing. “You’ve got some balls, I’ll give you that.” He pulled out a roll of banknotes, counted a few fifty-pound notes and handed them to Ryan. “There’s three hundred.”

  “My phone cost five.”

  “Don’t push your luck,” the suit told him. “Out of curiosity, where did you learn to fight like that?”

  “I grew up in a rough place, but mostly my time in the army.” He looked down at the two unconscious bodyguards. “The tall guy’s good, but the short one really is a bitch. I’m guessing they work for you?”

  The suit nodded.

  “I’ll take the bitch’s place,” Ryan said, “but I want two grand a week, minimum.”

  “You’re a presumptuous little bastard, aren’t you.”

  Ryan shrugged. “I need a job. I’ve got the skills you want, and if you can afford to hire muscle you’ve obviously got the money I want. It’s a no-brainer.”

  The older man studied Ryan for a moment, then gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Come to the club tomorrow night at six. There’s a door ’round the back. Press the top buzzer.”

  Ryan nodded. “Need a hand with these two?”

  “Yeah. Help me get ’em up.”

  The suit kicked bulldog in the thigh. “Wake up, you malingering shit. I ain’t paying you to sleep.”

  Ryan slapped the blond a couple of times and was rewarded with a groan. “Come on, up you get.”

  Blond opened his eyes and blinked a few times, then pulled away from Ryan and scrambled to his feet, his fists up ready to continue the fight.”

  “Pull your neck in, George,” the suit told him. “He’s golden.”

  George looked confused, but relaxed his stance.

  “Help me get sleeping ugly here back to the motor.”

  George helped the groggy bulldog to his feet and half-dragged him towards a black Jaguar that was parked down the street.

  “What’s your name?” the suit asked.

  “Ryan. Ryan Anderson.”

  He mulled the name over for a moment, then turned and followed his bodyguards. “See you tomorrow, Ryan Anderson,” he said over his shoulder.

  Ryan watched them leave, then tried to hail a passing taxi, but it was full and ignored him. At this time of night, he knew he’d have more luck tripping over a unicorn nest than finding an empty cab. It was a two-mile walk back to his bedsit, most of it through the busy city centre. The distance didn’t bother him, but he didn’t fancy running into any more hen parties on the way.

  He’d had enough excitement for one night.

  Chapter 3

  “I’d never have picked France for a holiday location, but I have to admit, this place is beautiful,” Scott Davison said.

  His companion, a man in his thirties dressed appropriately in a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, agreed.

  The café was one of four situated on one of Auxerre’s narrow, pedestrianised side streets. Whether by design or good fortune, the street ran east to west, so the sun was always above them.

  “Think you’ll settle here?” the man sitting opposite asked in his public-schoolboy accent.

  Scott sipped his coffee. “Probably. It’s quiet, the food’s good, plenty of sunshine.” He got up gingerly, using his cane to support his weight. “I need a piss.”

  He hobbled inside the café, past a dozen tables covered with the obligatory red gingham cloth, and into the toilet. After relieving himself, he washed his hands, then took off his glasses and smoothed down his salt and pepper hair in the mirror. It was time to get it cut again. He’d never worn it this long, and it didn�
�t really suit his facial features. Short hair accentuated his good looks, whereas his current style and dark beard made him feel like a bum.

  He put his glasses back on and returned to his table outside the Café Antonia. His companion was just settling the bill when Scott collapsed into his seat. The elderly couple who had been occupying the next table had left, and in their place was a young woman with dark hair who was swiping away on her phone. Scott noticed her red nail polish and the gold watch on her left wrist, as well as the absence of a wedding ring.

  Picking up little details like this had always been second nature to Scott, but since his injuries, he paid even closer attention to his surroundings.

  Especially people.

  This woman didn’t appear to be a threat of any kind, though. He pegged her as middle management because of her pencil skirt and white blouse, probably still working as she took an early lunch. She was rather attractive in an unconventional way. A year ago he might have approached her, but the events of the last twelve months had changed him.

  “I’ve got to head back,” Scott’s friend said, breaking his concentration. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Can I drop you home?”

  “I’m fine,” Scott assured him, though it was as far from the truth as he could stray. The nightmares were relentless, and although he was close to full mobility once more, progress had been slower than he would have liked. There had been days when he’d wondered if he’d ever walk again without the cane, but he’d persisted nonetheless. The alternative was to use the walking aid for the rest of his life, and Scott wasn’t going to let that happen. He would keep up his exercise routine of gentle walking and cycling, eventually upping the intensity levels until he was back to his former self.

  “Well, you’ve got my number. If you need anything, give me a bell.”

  Scott watched him walk away, then took out his phone. He opened a browser and clicked the bookmark to open the BBC news website. Catching up with the latest developments on the go was the only reason he had the device. The contacts list comprised two numbers: his old boss; and the man who’d just left. He’d never used it to call either of them.

  Scott navigated to the sports page but was interrupted as a shadow fell over him. His head snapped up, his body tense as it entered fight-or-flight mode.

  It was the woman from the next table, smiling down at him. She was much shorter than Scott, and her body had been looked after. Not the most striking woman Scott had ever seen, but there was something…mysterious about her. She pushed aside a few strands of mahogany hair

  “Hi,” she said. “I heard you and your friend speaking English. Mind if I join you?”

  Her accent was home counties, maybe Berkshire or Buckinghamshire. Scott relaxed and pointed to the empty seat opposite him. “Please do.”

  He could have done without the company, but there was nothing to be gained by being rude. It wasn’t as if he had a pressing engagement. His schedule for the rest of the day consisted of three periods of boredom, followed by a long evening of doing bugger all.

  “I’m so glad I finally found someone I can talk to,” she said as she carried her laptop case over from the next table, and Scott immediately regretted his decision. She sounded like she had a lot to get off her chest, and he had a feeling very little of it was going to be of interest to him.

  “I’m Scott,” he said, offering his hand.

  “Oh, sorry, I’m Kelly.”

  Her handshake was strong, confident. She took a seat and put her phone in her purse.

  “I’ve been here for five days and you’re the first person I’ve heard speaking English. None of the shopkeepers can, so I’ve had to rely on my high school French lessons to get by. I got a C minus, so that tells you how well I’ve fared.”

  Scott couldn’t help smiling. He knew for a fact that many of them spoke acceptable English but chose not to.

  He asked the obvious question. “So what brings you to France?”

  “Work,” Kelly said. She saw a waiter walk by and grabbed his attention. “You want another coffee?” she asked Scott.

  He didn’t, but she would probably feel uncomfortable if she was the only one drinking. “Yes, please. A latte.”

  Kelly ordered, mostly through sign language. Fortunately, cappuccino and latte were internationally recognised beverages.

  “What work takes you to a country where you can’t speak the language?”

  “Graphic design,” Kelly said. “The advertising company I work for is based in London but has offices around the world. They landed a contract with the wine board of Burgundy to boost tourism. It’s based in Chablis, about twenty minutes from here.”

  Scott knew of the place, though he hadn’t been there, and his knowledge of wine was limited to passing it on the supermarket shelf on his way to the beer section.

  “It must be hard to understand their requirements if you don’t speak French,” Scott noted. “Doesn’t your company have anyone local?”

  “They do, but the wine board saw a campaign I did for one of the Gulf airlines and asked for me specifically. They have a couple of English speakers on the team, but I only get to chat with them once every few days. Our next meeting is on Monday.”

  “So for the next four days, you’ll have no one to talk to? No relatives to call? No boyfriend back in England?”

  He didn’t know why, but he was curious as to how she would answer the last question.

  “Of course I’ll chat to my parents, but it’s not the same as having a conversation in person, is it?”

  Scott wasn’t sure if she’d deflected the boyfriend question or if it simply wasn’t relevant. It certainly wasn’t worth pressing her on it.

  “How long do you think you’ll be here?” he asked.

  “Anywhere from three weeks to a few months. It all depends how happy they are with the original set of designs.”

  “That’s a long time to be away from your loved ones,” Scott said.

  Kelly laughed. “I left home years ago. My parents are used to me not being around, and vice versa.”

  Still no mention of a boyfriend.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Here on holiday?”

  Not quite.

  “Recuperating,” he said, holding up the cane. “I had an accident.”

  “I’m sorry. What was it? A car crash?”

  I wish.

  “Yeah,” he lied. “I T-boned a guy when he pulled out of a side street without looking. I broke both kneecaps and lost a couple of toes. My parents own a holiday home here and they let me have it for a few months ’til I’m back on my feet—no pun intended.”

  The injuries he’d described were accurate, but not the circumstances, and it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss with a stranger.

  “So, what do you do when you’re not recovering from major accidents?” Kelly smiled.

  “Actually, it saved me from a rather boring office job. In the last few weeks, I’ve had the chance to re-evaluate my life. I might start my own business using the insurance money.”

  “That’s a great idea!”

  Scott liked her enthusiasm. Her face lit up when she smiled, and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Despite his desire to be alone, he was warming to her.

  Having gone a year without close female companionship could also be a factor, he realised.

  “As I said, I might. Nothing’s set in stone. I’m just toying with a few ideas.”

  “Well, I think you should stop toying and start doing,” Kelly said as the waiter arrived with their drinks. “I’m going to work for myself one day. All I need is the capital to pay the bills until the money starts rolling in, then I’m through being just a number on a corporation’s spreadsheet. No one ever got rich working for someone else, unless they’re the CEO of a multinational.”

  Scott was barely listening to her. Alarm bells went off in his mind when he spotted a man walking down the narrow lane toward the café. He was muscular, strode confidently, and was
wearing a leather jacket in spite of the heat. Scott shifted his leg so that the holster strapped to his ankle was within reach.

  The man walked past the table without looking Scott’s way. Ten yards farther on, he met another man and they embraced, then kissed.

  Scott relaxed and breathed out audibly, but Kelly had obviously seen his reaction.

  “You have an issue with gay men?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

  “Not at all. I thought I recognised the guy in the leather jacket. He looks a lot like the man whose car I hit.”

  Her frown was gone, instantly replaced by that captivating smile.

  “Where are you staying?” Scott asked, wanting to steer the conversation away from his past.

  “A hotel here in town. It’s cheaper than Chablis and the buses are regular…”

  While she spoke, Scott sipped his coffee as fast as he could. He wanted out of this situation. As he’d told his companion before she’d turned up, he wanted to be alone. He needed time to reflect, and he couldn’t do it with people dribbling in his ear. Much as she intrigued him, Scott wanted rid of her. For one thing, she asked too many questions, and while innocuous, there was no telling what she would want to know if they spent more time together.

  He finished off the last of his drink and looked at his watch in a not-too-subtle fashion. “I’m afraid I have to go,” he told her, dropping a few euros on the table to cover the bill. “Sorry I couldn’t stay longer, but I have an appointment with my physio.”

  Kelly looked a little disappointed, but that was the least of Scott’s concerns. He eased himself out of the chair once more and picked up his cane.

  “Best of luck with the contract,” he said, offering his most sincere smile.

  Kelly picked up her coffee. “This might sound like a corny line, but do you come here often?”

  Scott couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, it does. And, no, this is my first time here. I like variety, so next time I’ll find another café.”