by Elise Noble
“Okay, so how about this… You lend us a hand with this Ridley thing, and you can stay in the spare room while your asylum application goes through. We get info on a scumbag, and you get to avoid World War Three for a while. Win-win. Uh, how long does an asylum application take?”
Emmy scrawled a note to Alaric. You don’t know who she is.
“Years, maybe.”
“That long? Right. Okay.”
“I can’t expect to stay in your home for all that time. But just until the police let me back into my flat…it would be nice.”
Alaric scribbled back, I know we want her on our side.
Emmy gave a one-shouldered shrug. She couldn’t argue with that.
“Will you help us?” Alaric asked.
She nodded towards Emmy. “Who is she?”
“Emmy. She’s an old friend of mine.”
“Eric Ridley’s trying to interfere in a US senatorial election,” Emmy said. “The last thing any of us want is for more people who think the way he does to get elected to positions of influence. We’re trying to bring down his candidate, but we’ve only got nine days to do so. If you know something that could help, we’d very much appreciate hearing about it.”
“Eric Ridley should be in jail.”
“I’d dearly love to put him there, but we need your witness.”
“There are too many Ridleys in your military. They protect their own. From privates to the president, they protect their own.”
“James Harrison wasn’t the president when Ridley shot those people.”
“Men with power, they are all the same.”
“Not true. But I think you know that. Study thine enemy, right? President Harrison’s been pushing for more support for the Kurdish people, but he keeps getting stymied by Congress. Which is why it’s even more important to block a psycho from sitting in the senate for the remaining five years of Senator Carnes’s term.”
“The witness must be protected. She’s been through enough.”
She? On second thought, given his current company, that fact shouldn’t have surprised Alaric in the slightest.
“She was on the boat that night?”
“She swam a mile and a half back to shore as her family lay dead. I spoke to her extensively. Even months later, she still heard Ridley’s voice in her nightmares, giving the order to shoot.”
“Where is she now?”
“Now? I do not know. She went to live with an uncle, but they had to keep moving because of the war.”
“We can send a team to get her,” Emmy offered. “We have people nearby.”
“No, you cannot. She’s terrified. She trusts no one.”
“If we’re going to get Ridley his just deserts, we need her statement. Did you record the conversations when you spoke to her?”
“Yes, but I do not know what happened to the videos. Everything got destroyed. Our base, our people, our equipment.” Hevrin gulped back a sob. “The Turkish air force, they bombed us in the night, and then the army came. I should have known, I should have alerted people…”
Judd put an arm around her shoulders, trying to offer support as she broke down. For a man who treated women like objects, this was way, way out of his comfort zone.
“What should I do?” he mouthed at the screen.
Alaric was just about to suggest tissues when the doorbell rang. Judd fiddled with his phone, checking the cameras.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Who is it?”
“My mother.”
Fuck indeed. “Isn’t it almost midnight there?”
“Eleven o’clock. She’s probably on her way home from work.”
“Hide Hevrin. She does not need an interrogation from your mom.”
Even the most casual conversation with Stella Millais-Scott felt like the Spanish Inquisition.
“Gemma?” he called. “Gem? I need a hand here.”
The screen jostled, leaving them with a view of Judd’s living room as he went to deal with yet another problem.
Emmy just chuckled. “Wow. Life with Sirius has more drama than a senatorial debate.”
CHAPTER 23 - ALARIC
“WHAT HAPPENED LAST night? Or can’t you tell me?” Beth asked as they left Lone Oak Farm late on Sunday morning. Even with three cups of coffee inside him, Alaric could barely keep his eyes open. He’d only managed to snatch two hours of sleep.
Plus he felt guilty for leaving Beth in the dark last night, but things had gotten kind of intense, especially after Judd’s mother turned up. Of course, with Stella Millais-Scott being Stella Millais-Scott, she hadn’t just taken Judd’s claim of a fake marriage for a job at face value, and she’d done some digging. Dodgy passport photo in hand, she’d ventured into the bowels of MI6 and consulted Gwyneth.
Judd had told Alaric about Gwyneth years ago. While the CIA relied on a network of supercomputers and millions of dollars’ worth of software to identify unknown subjects, MI6 also had Gwyneth, a fifty-something chain-smoker with an eidetic memory and OCD. Woe betide anyone who interfered with her filing system. Anyhow, Stella had consulted with Gwyneth, who thought that Hevrin-slash-Nada bore an uncanny resemblance to a top SDF intelligence officer known only as al Ghazal. The Gazelle.
The Gazelle had gone missing over a year ago, presumed dead after Turkish forces blew up a Kurdish base, a move that led to a diplomatic disaster and more coalition ground troops being deployed. Confronted by Stella, a tearful Nada, as they’d now agreed to call her, had broken down and admitted fleeing after her husband was killed in the bombing, convinced that with the Turkish army on the move, she and her unborn baby would be next.
Then the arguments had started.
Stella began asking questions; Nada didn’t want to answer them. Judd told his mother to back off, and when she didn’t, he threatened to throw her out of the house, physically if necessary. The baby started crying. Stella pointed out that “Hevrin” had lied on her asylum application form, and the authorities wouldn’t look on that too favourably, but perhaps if she cooperated, someone could put in a good word. Gemma called her a mean-ass bitch, and Judd pointed out that as far as the world was concerned, Hevrin was in fact Nada Millais-Scott, and he’d introduce her to the family as his wife if Stella didn’t leave her alone.
Because Judd had forgotten to turn off his webcam, Alaric, Emmy, Black, and Dan had front-row seats for the whole argument, which as arguments went, had been pretty spectacular. If someone had thought to hit record, they could have shopped it as the pilot for a new reality show. MI6: Behind the Scenes.
Halfway through, Emmy had grabbed a couple of cold pizzas and a bowl of popcorn, and when the squabble showed no signs of abating, she’d hopped onto the internet. Only when the Deliveroo guy turned up at Judd’s door with a “Congratulations on Your Marriage” cake for him and Nada plus a bunch of sour grapes for Stella did they remember they had an audience.
“Can we focus on the important things?” Black asked, and Stella’s face would have put a gargoyle to shame.
With Black leading discussions and James Harrison joining the call on a secure line, everyone had agreed they had a common goal: to bring peace and stability to Northern Syria. The region had problems, and not all of its own making.
World leaders had hindered the provision of aid and troops to the area for their own political ends, an issue compounded by the previous US president meddling with the military justice system. As a result, both morale and discipline had suffered. In recent years, the situation had settled somewhat, but President Harrison acknowledged there was still work to be done. Cowboy outfits like EBR Group weren’t helping matters—in volatile situations, they acted as a match to the powder keg, and those gathered for the discussion concurred that hauling Ridley before a military judge for his past transgressions would send a message that such misdeeds would no longer be tolerated.
In the early hours, they’d hashed out a plan, one which nobody liked but everybody agreed was necessary. Nada and Judd would be taking
a trip to Syria. Nada hadn’t wanted to go. She hated the thought of leaving her daughter, she didn’t trust Americans, and there were people in Syria who’d kill her on sight. But Alaric saw in her eyes that she wanted justice for those who had died. Judd wasn’t keen to go either because he hated working for his mother.
But going they were.
Their objectives? To find a cache of documents and data Nada’s husband had once hidden as a bargaining chip, plus locate the teenage girl who’d witnessed Ridley’s atrocities and convince her to testify against him. That was why Nada needed to go, why she couldn’t just give Judd directions to the cache and stay at home—she knew the witness, and if anyone could gain the girl’s trust, it would be her.
Stella was facilitating their exfiltration and providing a nanny, Harrison had offered witness protection for anyone who needed it, and Blackwood was sending Logan, one of Emmy’s core team, to assist. They had four days. If they took any longer, there wouldn’t be enough time for the wheels of justice to turn before the senatorial election, and with the search for Piper close to a dead end, they’d be relying on guilt by association to turn the public against Devane.
“Some of the discussions got a little sensitive,” Alaric told Beth. Technically, he shouldn’t have been present either since his security clearance had lapsed, but Black hadn’t objected and he seemed to be in charge. “It turns out that Nada has a background in intelligence we didn’t know about, so she’s assisting with the overseas investigation of Ridley.”
“Wow, really?”
“She and Judd will be out of contact for a few days.”
“They’re not doing anything dangerous, are they?”
“They’ll be fine.”
Alaric had to believe that. Nada feared her lack of recent training would let her down. As she’d pointed out, “The alkaliba who pushed me in front of the car would never have caught me off guard like that two years ago.” So Stella had swung a punch at her to see what happened, and quick as a flash, Nada got her in an armlock. It was the first time Judd had smiled all evening.
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed they manage to find something since we don’t seem to be having much luck, do we? Are we going back to do the rest of the houses on Lakeshore Drive?”
“Yes, but let’s stop at that diner we passed yesterday for some food first. I’m flagging.”
“Good idea. Breakfast wasn’t the same without Stéphane, was it?”
Stéphane had taken Irvine to church in the morning, and the senator hadn’t looked at all well. In Alaric’s non-expert opinion, Irvine would be talking with the big man in person soon. Harriet had wanted to go with her father too, but one of the horses in the barn looked colicky, so she’d walked the nag around in circles while Beth helped the two ranch hands with the mucking out. Chores at that place were never-ending, a bit like this damn case.
“No, toast and cereal wasn’t a patch on pancakes.”
That was what Beth ordered when they got to the diner. A stack of pancakes with maple syrup and crispy bacon. Alaric opted for sausages, biscuits, and gravy, and he’d also have to fit in a run later if he wanted his pants to do up tomorrow.
A late breakfast at the diner was a welcome respite from the trials of the last few days, made even better by the company. But a yellowed map on the wall made Alaric think of the old days once again. He’d always wanted to drive from coast to coast, meander from Maine to South Carolina, then back up to Chicago and west along Route 66 to California. Long ago, he and Emmy had discussed making the trip, but a lack of vacation time meant they’d done nothing more than talk.
“How do you feel about taking a road trip?” he asked Beth.
“For the case?”
“No, after the case. I know you want to get home to see Chaucer, but maybe later in the year?”
“In America? With you?”
“That was the general idea.”
“Like two friends on holiday?”
Friends? Deep down, Alaric had been hoping for more, but he’d take what he could get.
“Exactly that.”
“What about work?”
“I think the boss’ll let you have time off.”
Beth’s face blossomed into a wide smile. “Uh, okay then. Later in the year. Can we drive some of Route 66? I suggested we do that for our honeymoon, but Piers said it was called flyover country for a reason and booked us a trip to the Maldives instead. Which was lovely, don’t get me wrong, but there was an awful lot of beach and not much else.”
“The scuba diving’s great.”
Beth shuddered. “I don’t even like swimming. When I was little, I went paddling in the sea in Barbados, and something touched my leg. I haven’t been in open water since, not unless you count the time Polo dumped me in a pond at our first one-star event.”
“Tell me you have a photo of that.”
“Worse. There’s a video.” She looked sheepish. “I bet you’re a great scuba diver.”
“I worked as an instructor for a while when I lived in Thailand. It’s really not as bad as you think. Visibility’s better underwater than on the surface, and whatever touched your leg was more likely to have been a plastic bottle than a shark.”
“Logically, I know that, but I’m still sticking with the hot tub. Even just trundling up and down Lakeshore Drive gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
Okay, the lake it was named after was pretty murky, he’d give her that. And he liked the hot-tub idea as long as she was in it too.
“People pay extra for that view.”
“I’d rather live in a broom cupboard.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, heck. I shouldn’t joke about that, not after what happened to Gemma.”
“Gemma’s okay. I spoke to her last night. At least with Nada’s drama, she’s got a distraction from her own problems.”
“Every cloud has a silver lining?”
“So they say. Are you going to finish those pancakes?”
Beth slid her plate in his direction. She’d only managed to eat half a portion. “Help yourself. I need to use the bathroom.”
He watched her go. That ass… What the hell had he been thinking, suggesting a road trip? He’d never be able to keep his hands off her if they were stuck in a car together for two weeks, just him and Beth. Dammit, he was in trouble.
CHAPTER 24 - BETH
NEXT TIME, I’D order from the children’s menu. I’d only been in America for a week, and my jeans were already getting tight. If I hadn’t been doing the horses, I’d have needed to go up a size or perhaps start wearing elasticated waistbands. Portions just weren’t the same here.
I looked in the mirror above the sink and cursed under my breath. Why hadn’t Alaric told me I had straw stuck in my hair? Lucky Mother couldn’t see me—I’d gone from socialite to scarecrow in under a month.
“Excuse me?”
Was someone talking to me? I turned, drying my hands on a paper towel, and found a redhead standing there. Where had I seen her before?
“Yes?”
“You spoke to my mom. At our house.”
Ah, now I remembered. Lisa? Her mom had been the grouchy lady who thought Piper was murdered by a cannabis user. The guy who peed on a cop. I still wasn’t sure how anyone could mistake a police officer for a urinal. Up close, Lisa looked older than I’d first thought, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four.
“Yes, I did, yesterday.”
“About Piper?”
“Yes.”
The girl fell silent, and it seemed as though she was sizing me up. Did she want to tell me something?
“Do you know anything about Piper’s disappearance?”
The girl glanced furtively towards the closed door. We were alone in the bathroom, and I began to feel uneasy. She should have been talking to Dan, not me.
“It weren’t Homer. He only looks at me funny ’cause he’s stoned.”
Oh, phew. Was that it? “Don’t worry, we’ve already ruled him out. He had an alibi for the time Piper
went missing.”
“Have you spoke to Kyla Devane?”
A chill ran through me.
“Why do you ask that?”
“I saw them together that afternoon. Sort of, anyway. But you can’t tell my folks, okay? I was supposed to be in school.”
“I won’t say a word.” At least not for now. What if Lisa was a witness to a murder? She’d have to speak to the police, wouldn’t she? Perhaps even testify. “What do you mean, you sort of saw them together?”
“In their cars. Piper was driving in front, like fast, and Kyla was real close behind.”
“You’re sure it was them?”
“It was their cars. Piper’s Honda had a dent in the door from where Ricky Maidlaw reversed into it in the school parking lot—my sister went to school with Piper and she told me—and Kyla had a fancy red BMW convertible her daddy bought her. Nobody else in town got one like that.”
“Where were you? At home?”
“When I was a kid, I had this den in the woods. I used to go there some days to get away from, you know, stuff. It was right by the road.”
“Which direction did they drive in?”
“This way. Towards town. I figured they were late for class, or maybe they were going to the mall. Kyla sure did shop a lot.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“If my pop knew I’d skipped school, he’d have killed me. I know I should have told someone, but…” She chewed on her lip, and from the redness, it looked as though that was a habit. “You promise you won’t tell him?”
The quake in her voice told me she was still scared of the man, and it was then that I noticed the bruise peeking out from under her shirt collar, a purplish splotch that must’ve been a few days old. She followed my gaze and caught me looking.
“I promise. Are you okay?” I asked. “There are people who could help you. I could make some calls, find…”
But she was already backing away. “Just keep me out of this. You promised.”
Then she was gone.
Holy. Shit.
