Exposure by Jane Harvey-Berrick

glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “Yes. Unfortunately.”
    “Okay.”
    Helene was desperate to stop the tremor in her voice. She breathed deeply.
    “Well, are you going to tell me what all this is about, Charlie Paget? You promised me answers back at the cottage.”
    “I told you what you needed to know to get you out of there in one piece.”
    Helene looked at him sceptically. She waited for further information and the silence stretched uncomfortably. She tried again.
    “Are you saying those men were going to... what... question me, arrest me... ‘do me in’?”
    Her voice began to rise in disbelief.
    He turned on her angrily.
    “I’ve told you already, don’t you listen? This isn’t a bloody game. Who do you think you are, messing up people’s lives like this?”
    She blinked in astonishment.
    “ You accuse me of messing up people’slives? You’re the one who came to my home in the middle of the night like some cut-price James Bond. I’ve been thrown out of a two-storey building, then tossed over a disturbing number of Cornish hedges by some... by you! And you say I’m messing up your life! I’m nearly a bloody pensioner! Just let me off at the next harbour and we’ll pretend this little fantasy of yours never happened.”
    He looked at her calmly.
    “Are you really so monumentally stupid?” he said coolly. “Listen, Ms Journalist: when you start bandying about words like ‘Langley’ and ‘White House’ people will hear you, no matter where you are. And then you turn up in my girlfriend’svillage and start asking questions about me. You think people are so dumb that they won’t put two and two together? You’ve put yourself in danger, you’ve put me in danger and you’ve put Susan in danger.”
    Helene was stung to reply.
    “You left her behind fast enough: you can’t be that bothered about her.”
    His shoulders gave an impatient twitch.
    “It was safer to leave her behind because she doesn’t know anything.”
    “Nor do I!” bellowed Helene.
    He looked at her steadily.
    “You’ve made a damn good job of making people think you do.”
    Helene was silenced.
    She turned to stare at the silky black water passing beneath them, trying to force her numbed brain to make some sense of what was happening.
    By the time he finally slowed the engine, Helene was shivering uncontrollably. She couldn’t imagine ever being warm again. Her summer walking wear offered little protection against the sea at night. Her hands were numb and her face frozen: at least it was cheaper than botox. She couldn’t have moved quickly if her life had depended on it.
    Charlie seemed unaffected. He steered the RIB towards a dark opening in the cliffs. The beach shelved gently and he rode the dinghy straight up onto the sand.
    He threw Helene’s grab bag onto the beach and jumped out. Then he held out his left hand towards her and she took it gratefully.
    They didn’t speak.
    He reached into his jacket and Helene took a step backwards, dropping his hand. She expected to see a gun but she was wrong. Instead a long-bladed knife glinted in the starlight. He walked towards her and Helene gasped.
    He could kill her here, gut her like a fish and no-one would ever know. Months from now her bloated, sea-worn body would be discovered and they’d call it an accidental drowning.
    Lurid images fled through her mind and she tried to force her body to move. She succeeded only in stumbling, catching her balance awkwardly with one hand on the wet sand. He loomed over her.
    But instead of slicing her open, he plunged the knife into the RIB. The escaping air hissed softly and ten thousand pounds worth of boat deflated like a tired party balloon.
    He caught her frightened gaze.
    “We won’t be needing it,” he said, a hint of humour softening his features.
    Then he pointed at the cliff face, leering some ninety feet above them.
    Helene shook her head dumbly. No way. Not even in daylight.
    “It doesn’t matter,” he said casually.