You call this fate?

Chapter 38

Meg immediately shut off the torch and melted into the shadows.

"I was thi--" Frank was saying as he rounded the edge of the door, his cane clicking on the ground. His eyes searched for us in the centre of the room, a predator's gaze starved for the sight of pray. But he cut off abruptly when said amber eyes encountered empty chains where the previously trussed up turkeys had sat. Slowly he looked up, and the fire in his eyes met with Mr. Rodwell's aqua gaze.

His entourage entered behind him too, their guns lowered. They had them pointed at our noses quickly enough on noticing all was not well after all.

"Hello, Frank," Mr. Rodwell greeted, his voice cautious. He used one hand to push me behind him.

"Alex," Frank acknowledged, doing his best to sound his normal self but falling off the mark. "Going somewhere, are you?"

Mr. Rodwell pushed me further behind him. I resisted somewhat and at last he conceded to let my head be around his arm. I acquiesced with what I got. To tell the truth, I already had my mind made up to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, not wanted to be used as bait, leverage or hostage again, in that order or thereabouts, so soon after getting free. But curiosity was a real bitch. My hands gripped his shoulders for support. "It was getting kind of closed in here. I thought it would be good for our health to get a bit of fresh air."

Frank's cheeks darkened. "Is that so? Was it something in my hospitality that you found lacking?" The conversational element in his voice fooled no one; or so I presumed. The guards weren't showing much emotion what so ever.

Mr. Rodwell inclined his head. I could feel a fake smile on his lips when he inquired, "Why would you say that?"

It was very clear how rapidly the other person in this conversation was tiring of discourse. It was clear also, as they randomly bantered words, that both brothers were assessing each other for hidden intentions, for the next course of action. Another thing that was clear? Mr. Rodwell seemed to have the upper hand.

Frank must have been making similar assessments for he cut down to business pretty quick when despairing of something clever to say. His desperation and slipping control over the situation shone bright from the sweat flowing down the sides of his face and the furrow between his brows. "How?" he asked, fingers around the head of the cane clenched white.

Mr. Rodwell didn't pretend ignorance. "You underestimated me again, Frank. You really mustn't do that," he chided.

Frank's face flushed peach red. A muscle at the side of his mouth twitched. "Does Howard even have a file?" he asked.

"Well of course he does," Mr. Rodwell assured. "Only..." Frank's face was as red as his tie by now. "Only...it isn't the only copy. You honestly did not think we won't make another one, did you? Angelica's encryption was such that it wouldn't allow tampering very easily, as you probably assumed already, but I have my ways. I am resourceful that way."

From the look on his face, the fact that there was no copy was what Frank had thought. Or rather, what he had hoped for. Maybe he had thought about the possibility that his brothers might have taken precautions, and proposed to use me as leverage again if that had been the case. Now, he didn't look as confident, having lost both leverage and target. "I am going to kill you, Alexander," he vowed. "I am going to kill you."

"You said that earlier too," Mr. Rodwell reminded him. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the thing that had come with the contraption. The men with the guns stiffened but, on seeing it was only something resembling a pen, relaxed slightly. Mr. Rodwell pressed the thing into my hands behind his back. Frank's hot, feverish stare followed his movements, a vein throbbing erratically in his left temple.