When Lauren Keane is kidnapped during a winter break in Germany, she doesn't take it personally. The kidnappers have, after all, mistaken her for her friend Katti. When she finds a dead Albanian cleaning woman in her shower, however, she figures it's time to fight back. Especially as she is now in the frame for the murder.
Along with Wolf, her ex, who's now engaged to the frigid Ingrid, and Gunther, an undercover-or-is-he?-policeman, Lauren sets about trying to find the vanished Katti, nail a bunch of people-traffickers and discover why the cleaner was brutally murdered.
After fighting off dim-witted goons and a psychopathic gunman, getting lost in a forest in a snowstorm, and enlisting the help of the hypnotic Axel, Lauren pursues the kidnappers to a cave on a stolen Pizza delivery bike.
In the cave high in a hillside she discovers another body, comes face to face with the killer, and receives assistance from a giant icicle.
Not that she delights in putting herself in danger but, if she's ever going to get the chance to buy her presents at the Nuremberg Christmas market, she's going to have to get the mess sorted out somehow.
Excerpt From
DON'T LOOK DOWN
by Barbara Scott Emmett
Icicles spear like sharks’ teeth, glinting in the moonlight. The cave is a dark maw. Hesitating at the entrance, her eyes search the blackness.
Go in. Go in and look.
She glances over her shoulder, shivering. Snow bleaches the hillside and a far off church bell tolls: Midnight.
He’s gone. You saw him leave. Go in.
But there might be others, she reasons. It could be a trap.
It isn’t. He’s gone. Go in.
She ventures into the cave, the pulse in her throat violent. Edging across the rock floor she eases into the shadows. Her breathing is ragged, her limbs stiff.
Call her name. Call out.
No! she tells herself. A voice echoing around the cavern would be heard for miles on such a clear sharp night. He’ll hear me. He’ll come back. She steps forward. I’ll find her. She can’t be too far in.
She feels her way into the cave, hands outstretched, eyes straining against the darkness. She holds her breath, pauses, listens: Silence, apart from the thud of her heart knocking against her ribs.
As she edges forwards, her foot catches on something. She is unbalanced, sent sprawling. But instead of frozen rock to break her fall, the soft give of cooling flesh yields beneath her palms.
The scream is ripped from her. It bounces around the cave in a series of echoes as she fights with the body. It seems to hinder her, cling to her, seek to lock her in its embrace. She scrambles off it, pushes herself away, scuttles backwards. Get away from me. Get away. Get away.
She sits shivering, hugging herself as her eyes adjust to the darkness. No. God. No. Please. No.
Her whimpers echo around the cave. When they subside, she gathers all her courage, every last ounce, and crawls forward until she can make out the dimensions of the body.
It lies face up, a dark shape, a few feet beyond the wedge of moonlight. She can make it out now, silent, still. Don’t let it be her. Don’t let it be her. No please, not her. She reaches out to lift the limp hand--a pale glimmer in the shadows--but stops, her movement stilled by a sound behind her. Her breath is strangled in her throat, her scalp tingles. She crouches, afraid to look over her shoulder. Afraid to look up into the cold, murderous eyes.
One
Far below, Lauren Keane saw the lights of Nuremberg glimmer as the Lufthansa 737 curved towards the runway on a clear December afternoon. After the delay at Heathrow and the snow at Frankfurt, all she’d been thinking about on the flight was a long cosy catch-up with Katti over a bottle or three of Niersteiner. German wine might not be as fashionable as French, but it was just as drinkable.
As the plane descended, the toy-town buildings grew larger, swelling to black outlines against a pale green sky. A thud as the wheels touched the tarmac and they were down. Lauren peered out of the window at the familiar airport structures. Can’t wait to see Katti again, she thought. There would be quite some catching up to do--five years was a long time. Seeing Nuremberg again would be a bonus, too. She’d fallen in love with the mediaeval city the first time she ever saw it: the sandstone towers and gates, the two cathedrals, the cobbled market square.
There was a golden ring attached to the fountain in the market square. Local legend had it that if you turned the ring three times and made a wish, that wish would come true.
Well, the legend was spot on as far as Lauren could see. The first time she turned that golden ring on the Schöner Brunnen, she’d wished fervently to visit Nuremberg again and again--and sure enough, she’d been back year after year ever since. Taken the magic a bit longer to work this time, that’s all.
She gathered her bits and pieces together: bag, book, bottled water, and stood up to grab her holdall from the overhead locker. Cabin baggage. That’s all she had. All she ever needed.
She scanned the arrivals hall. Odd. Though the place was teeming with visitors come for the Christmas Market, Katti was nowhere to be seen. She’d been sure she’d spot her friend’s Medusa curls bobbing through the crowd, her silver bangles glinting as she semaphored her presence. They’d both agreed it was about time they met up again. Too many years had passed.
‘Had your eyes tested lately?’ A male voice behind made her jump and swing around.
‘Wolf!’ Lauren bit back an obscenity. Since that New Year’s Eve party five years ago, Wolfgang Hauer was the last person she expected to see.
Katti’s half-brother had broadened a little, put on a little weight, but damn him if it didn’t suit him. He was pushing thirty now, as was she, but his hair still fell over his eyes in a rich brown tangle, his face hadn’t yet lost all the softness of youth.
‘You looked right through me twice,’ he said, his English as good as ever. ‘Too vain to wear glasses, eh?’
‘Didn’t recognise you. You'’ve...’ Lauren flapped her elbows to indicate expansion.
His lip curved into an approximation of a smile. ‘Pity I can’t say the same about you.’
He ran his brown eyes over her and she glared back, challenging him to comment further. He seemed to be criticizing all five foot six of her, from her boots and tight jeans to her messy auburn hair.
‘Might have known you wouldn’t be suitably dressed, either. Didn’t you check the weather reports?’ He slipped off his tan leather jerkin and thrust it at her, grabbing her holdall with his other hand. ‘Here, put this on.’
‘What, are we cross-dressing now?’
‘Amusing. Just put it on. You’ll need it for the motorbike.’ He turned and walked away.
‘Hang on, Wolfi.’ Lauren strode after him, clutching the jacket. He turned at her use of his pet name, an eyebrow lifting. Lauren cringed. Won’t make that mistake again. ‘Where’s Katti?’
‘You’ll have to make do with me for the moment. Come on, move it, Slim. I want to get home before the snow starts.’
The BMW bike slipped out of the car park, roared onto Marienbergstrasse and away from the lights of the airport. Lauren clung to the grip bars behind Wolf as he powered the bike along the B4 towards Nuremberg. Good old Nürnberg, she thought, to give it its German name. My home from home. Once upon a time.
It was good to get out of London for a while, get away from the agency. Not much doing in the recruitment world this time of year anyway. No one wanted to job-seek with Christmas coming up. The main business now was temps for holiday cover but Lauren’s speciality was permanent --secretaries, clerks, typists--and the rush there would come in January, when office workers crammed into damp tubes and buses sighed and dreamt of better things.
Yes, it was good to be on holiday. Good to be visiting Katti again. Why hadn’t she come to meet her, though? Katz adored trips to the airport. Generally pulled out all the stops and had a ball. Her greetings were effusive, her partings tear soaked. Why would she pass up on emotion-fest like that?
The sky was darkening, leaving only a faint glow on the horizon. Haze blurred the streetlights as Wolf wove through the traffic. Lauren felt safe enough behind him, though things were a tad too intimate for her liking. It was impossible to avoid touching him, dammit, perched as she was on the passenger seat. She balked at leaning into the tempting shelter of his back, the warmth of his bulky jumper. No way she was going down that road again.
She let go of the grip bar a moment to turn her collar up against the wind. Wolf’s beat-up leather jacket was so big that even over her fleece there was room to spare. It whiffed of maleness--sweat and motor oil--and dragged her shoulders down. Wolf didn’t seem to notice the wind that whistled past the bike, the light snow now dampening their shoulders.
Lauren rode a motorbike herself, back home in London, though the BMW was a hell of a lot bigger than her old TZR. If she’d known Wolf was going to pick her up on it, she’d have brought her own leathers. See what he made of her snake hips in those. She let go of the grip bar again to poke a burnished curl back inside her helmet--Wolf’s spare helmet--while the bike paused at traffic lights.
Behind them, two men followed in a darkened car.
When the lights went green, Wolf eased the bike onto the ring road. He took a sinuous path in and out through cars and trams and Lauren acknowledged his skill. Can’t deny his technique is impressive. He obviously hadn’t forgiven her for the episode with the French guy yet though. And he’d been altogether too mysterious about Katti. Why didn’t he tell her right out why she hadn’t come herself? What was it? A head cold? A hangover? A little too much of the Red Leb?
That wouldn’t stop Katz normally. She went everywhere in a light haze of dope. Maybe she was as nervous about meeting up again as Lauren was. There’d be quite a catch up session when they did get to see each other. They’d made a point of spending at least a week together every year throughout their teens and early twenties, she and Katti. Lauren would fly to Germany. Katz would hitch to London. Sometimes they’d meet in Amsterdam, Paris, or Edinburgh for the Fringe. Firm friends. That’s what they’d become. It was her mother’s expression. Firm friends. Until the inevitable man came between them.
No, since the fiasco with Wolf, Lauren hadn’t been anywhere near Nuremberg. He was Katti’s brother, after all. Not that her relationship with Katz was soured by what happened. No. The years just slipped by, that’s all. You know how it is, she thought, you get older, you have other commitments, other friends, work. Hey, time passes before you know it--it doesn’t mean anything.
Behind the bike, headlights flared as a car closed in to overtake. Lauren’s heart back-flipped as the vehicle drew within an inch or two of the rear wheel. Wolf twisted to look over his shoulder and in that instant the car’s bumper tapped the BMW. The bike swerved, wobbled, the wheels slipping on the wet road. Tossed sideways, Lauren gasped and clutched at Wolf. ‘Jesus!’
Wolf corrected the angle and the bike was again upright, though veering out towards the edge of the road. As they got back on course, Lauren glared over her shoulder, ready to hurl abuse at whatever idiot was driving the car behind.
She scowled through her visor but could see little of the interior of the car. It was so close she was blinded by the glare of the headlights. She thought she could make out the shape of two figures in the front but couldn’t be certain. The car--it was a black Mercedes--was still only feet from the bike and she raised her arm to wave them away, considering making a V-sign into the bargain. With a start, she realised the car was surging forward again and she flung her arm back around Wolf as they were rear-ended a second time.
The bike danced across the road, tyres squealing on the snow-slick surface, tipping, wobbling, threatening to go over, then finally catching hold and coming upright. Lauren clung on, her gloved hands interlocked around Wolf’s waist.
Once the BMW steadied, he opened the throttle and the bike leapt forward, icy air screaming past as they roared full out down a stretch of open tarmac. Lauren peered over her shoulder. The car was still behind them, inches from their rear mudguard. What the fuck was going on?
Wolf pushed the bike hard but the faster he pulled away, the faster the Merc caught them up. The bumper kissed the bike again but Wolf held it firm. They were nearing town now, hitting traffic, being forced to slow down. The Mercedes was like an animal breathing on their necks, ready to strike.
Lauren pressed her face into Wolf’s back, bracing herself for another impact, when he surprised her by twisting the bike to the left and cutting in front of a tram on the opposite side of the road. Her teeth rattled as the big machine juddered over the tramlines, mounted the kerb and swerved onto an open grassed area. Horns blared and lights flared. The bike bounced over the rough ground, urged on by its own momentum. Over Wolf’s shoulder, Lauren saw a wall looming ahead. ‘God. Jesus. No.’
Seconds before they slammed into it, Wolf swung the handlebars and brought the bike slewing to a halt sideways on. Branches whipped the side of Lauren’s neck and shoulder, rat-a-tat-tatting against her helmet. Not a wall, thank God, but a dense evergreen hedge.
Wolf propped the bike up with his outstretched leg and Lauren could feel his chest heaving, see his leg twitching. She felt a sense of unreality, as if everything had been in slow motion yet speeded up at the same time. For a second the blackness was lit with a startling clarity, as though she had night vision. For a second she saw all the leaves of the hedge in sharp relief, every blade of grass standing stark and threatening. Aftershock.
She clung to Wolf, breathing in the damp wool odour of him and hearing his heart thudding, the rasp of his breath. As she leaned against him a rush of heat seared through her. The feel of him, the smell of him, the memory of his body, brought blood to her cold cheeks. She let go of him as though burnt and straightened up, annoyed with herself. What was she doing clinging onto him like that? Shock, fear, tiredness, she told herself, that’s all it is.
People ran towards them shouting, their shadows stretching across the grass, made long and sinister by the orange streetlights. Further away, beyond a knot of onlookers, the tram was stationary, the traffic in a tangle. Snapping out of her dreamlike state, jolted by rush of panic, Lauren shrieked. ‘They’re coming for us, Wolf. Run!’ She struggled to disentangle herself from the hedge, to get herself off the bike.
‘Calm down,’ he said, sliding off the BMW. ‘They’re not from the Merc. They’re coming to see if we’re hurt, that’s all.’ Removing his helmet as the first helpers arrived, he raised both hands in a placatory fashion. ‘Keine probleme,’ he said. ‘No problem.’
Lauren stood back trying to follow the energetic conversation. Her German was good but not good enough to follow the rapid, and heated, exchange. As she took off her own helmet, she realised she was trembling.
Wolf turned to her. ‘They think I did this on purpose,’ he said, dismissing them with a flick of his wrist. ‘I told them about the Mercedes but nobody saw it.’
‘Die Polizei,’ a voice said. ‘Wer hat ein Handy?’ Someone else produced a mobile phone in answer to this request.
‘Alle Mächtig!’ spat Wolf. ‘They’re going to call the police.’ He jammed his helmet back on his head and tried to haul the bike out of the hedge. He was breathing raggedly, tugging at the heavy machine and cursing. Lauren moved in to help. He glowered at her through his visor but she ignored him. Bracing herself, she grabbed the grip bars and counted: One Two Three. Together, they lifted, hauling the bike free.
As soon as it was upright, Wolf flung his leg across the broad tank, pressed the ignition and sparked it into life. Lauren jumped up behind him and the BMW shot forward, swerved around the gathered onlookers and sped away, bouncing over the turf and back towards the road. Threatened by shouts and raised fists, Wolf kept going. The bike skidded onto the tarmac and was away, weaving in and out of the traffic while horns screamed and headlights flashed.
A block away a black Mercedes slid noiselessly down a side street.
Wolf took the first side road available, coming up to it at speed, skittering the bike round the sharp corner, leaning it so far over Lauren was sure they would come crashing down, but righting it again before they did. The bike tore down a long straight stretch then round another corner, slowing as the noise of traffic receded behind them. Doubling back through narrow streets and dark alleyways, Wolf kept up a steady pace until they came near Plärrer.
Back on the road again, with lights and traffic all around them, Lauren let out the stream of breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in. Her lungs expelled the stale air and gulped in fresh. Trams slowed and stopped at the stances in Plärrer, started up again with rattles and clangs as Wolf edged the bike around them.
They were skirting the old town now, following the line of the walls, passing the various towers and gates. At Frauentor--a fat round tower--Wolf swung the bike off the ring road and into the town centre. He swerved into a dark cobbled alleyway just inside the walled city, a mediaeval street, shadowy and quiet.
When he brought the bike to a stop, Lauren sensed he was as shaken as she was. He sat a while, silent and unmoving. Lauren realised she was clutching him again but for the moment was unwilling to let go.
‘Well, that was some welcome!’ She shuddered out a sob, not sure if she was laughing or crying. ‘Did you lay it on specially?’
Wolf put his hands over hers where she clung to him and after a moment, eased her fingers free. ‘All part of the service, Slim. All part of the service.’
******
© Barbara Scott Emmett 2007. No Unauthorised Reproduction. All Rights Reserved