Silver Vein: Beneath the City Sleeps Book 1

by Shannon French

  “Eat, please,” he encouraged and for the first time, I took a second to glance down at the plate of food in front of me. Steam wafted from it in thick curls that made my mouth water, but I wasn’t convinced. I’d found it easy to avoid the wine in case it was drugged, but food would be more obvious. I couldn’t hide the piece of steak in my napkin without him noticing.

  “Have you decided to poison me?” I asked, only half joking.

  He grinned and shook his head. “If I was planning on killing you, I’m certain I could come up with a far more creative way to do it, don’t you think?”

  “If that was supposed to reassure me, consider it a big fat fail.”

  With the atmosphere having settled into a strange but welcome state of calm, I ate. As if me being sat in Xavier’s beautiful home in my scruffy work clothes and gobbling down mouthful after mouthful of tender steak and flavourful potatoes wasn’t embarrassing enough, he hardly touched his food.

  He finished off the steak but picked at the rest of his food, often lifting his eyes to study me as though waiting for me to give him feedback or ask him questions. He was out of luck. My plan was to remain as quiet as possible until he eventually spilled the beans. It usually worked with witnesses’ or acquaintances of missing people. I’d seen it a million times in my job before, but Xavier seemed far too comfortable sitting in silence, watching me with his icy blue eyes as I ate and drank until I was well and truly stuffed.

  “Is this it?” I asked, dabbing my mouth with the napkin I’d laid down across my lap. I wasn’t a complete animal, after all.

  “There is more if you’re still hungry,” he answered with a glimmer of humour.

  I rolled my eyes, “you know what I mean.”

  Xavier let out a groan and tossed his own napkin over his mostly full plate.

  “Have you ever had a case that you truly can’t solve? One that you just don’t understand?” His questioning struck me as odd and my mind went back to Beth. Hers was the only case that didn’t make any sense. Maybe it was just because I was so personally involved. That’s what Thatch had told me, anyway. Still though, hers was the one case I thought about when I went to sleep and the first thing I thought of when I woke. Her disappearance plagued me every waking moment and often commandeered even my dreams. We’d been best friends, inseparable, even to the morning of her vanishing without a trace.

  “Occasionally,” I muttered, not wanting to give away any more than what my face probably already had.

  “Perhaps this case is just another of those,” he suggested arrogantly, making anger flush my cheeks a warm pink.

  “You brought me here just to tell me to what, let it go?” I asked, my voice louder than I had intended, but I did not try to lower it. “Whatever kind of power trip this is, I’m getting fucking tired of it. Do you know anything, or not?”

  “I was informed of your run in with some of my customers last night,” he added, unfazed by my outburst. “If you continue investigating, you can expect a lot worse than a black eye and a split lip.”

  Without hesitation, I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and turned to leave, but first, I gave him a piece of my mind.

  “I’m not scared of you or your club. You can throw whatever threats you like at me. I’m not going to stop until I get answers for Jocelyn’s family.”

  I made it out of the kitchen and to the front door, even getting as far as turning the doorknob before he stopped me. His large hand came down so hard against the wood that I thought the door might splinter. I turned to face him, finding him towering over me, a hand on either side of my head as he stared down and locked his eyes with mine.

  “It wasn’t a threat,” he growled, the muscles in his jaw flinching with his words as he steadied his breathing.

  “Really? Because this is the exact opposite of not being a threat.” I turned to struggle with the door again, my racing heart echoing inside my head. In one swift movement, he grabbed my waist with his hand and spun me back around to face him.

  Despite the seriousness of my current situation, it wasn’t just panic making me breathless and clammy. It was the feel of his hard chest against mine, one hand beside my head and the other still lingering against my hip just a moment too long to be considered innocent.

  “I promise you, it wasn’t a threat,” he whispered, as if there was someone else lingering nearby, despite us both knowing we were dangerously alone. “I want you to work with me. I want to help you.”

  “So all that was what? Just you asserting your dominance?” I quipped, my voice shaking as I felt his hand tighten against my hip.

  “Maybe,” he smirked but returned to his business like demeanour all too quickly. “I need you to know that if you’re determined to find her, if you choose to work with me on this, it’ll be dangerous. More so than you’re used to. There will be things you can’t explain, things you never thought were possible. There will be a bounty on your head. You won’t be able to sleep, won’t be able to eat, won’t be able to escape until you have brought down some of the most powerful people in this city. Are you prepared to do that?”

  “Why should I trust you?” I asked, shamelessly panting as he moved even closer to me. His face was above me, his thick black eyelashes unblinking below scowling brows.

  “You shouldn’t,” he replied quietly, breathlessly even, before taking a few steps back from me and running a hand back through his dishevelled hair. Losing contact felt far worse, but it helped to bring my breathing back to normal.

  “Just think about it. Richard’s waiting outside. He’ll make sure you get home safely.”

  Xavier didn’t even say goodbye, nor did he wait around to see me out the door. Instead, he turned and bounded into one of the many rooms situated just off the hallway and slammed the door behind himself. I was almost certain that as I walked down the steps that I heard a loud crash come from inside the room.

  “Straight home, Miss. Laurier?” Richard, the driver, asked as I climbed into the backseat and gave one last look at the front of the townhouse.

  “Back to the office is fine, thanks,” I replied, my brain still too distracted by the events of this peculiar evening to make small talk and my heart hammering in my chest.

  Chapter Seven

  After removing the note from Thatch’s computer in the office, I locked up all over again and walked down to the Friar’s. As I had expected, Thatch was sitting alongside a few of the other old men that frequented the small run-down pub. His face was lifted in uncharacteristic cheer as he guzzled a few mouthfuls of the cold Guinness in front of him. The froth stuck to his rough facial hair, and I watched as he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

  Before his accident, Thatch had been a domineering guy standing over six feet tall with a scowl and scars to match. When he agreed to put me through all the training to get my own private investigator license, I’d been lost. It was one of many times in my late teens when I’d run away and at the time I was living in a hostel for homeless young women and surviving on the tiny amount of cash left in my bank account. I hadn’t run away from Thatch, not exactly. We’d argued about me getting my PI license and he’d been adamant it was too dangerous, that he didn’t want me to end up like him. In my naivety I’d figured he just believed I wasn’t capable of doing the job and at the time, it crushed me.

  Of course, Thatch had known where I was the whole time, but respected me enough to let me defuse before getting in touch. I’d only been gone a couple months, but I’d been so happy the day he’d turned up at the hostel to take me home. He understood I was too stubborn to return on my own, but he apologised and told me if I wanted to follow in his footsteps and learn the family business, then that was my choice and he would support me. He was the only father figure I’d ever had and in our own weird, awkward way, we loved each other.

  “Speak of the devil,” Thatcher groaned, leaning back in his wheelchair. The other guys, all of which I’d been introduced to at one time or another but had since
forgotten their names, smiled and lifted their drinks to welcome me.

  “Do none of you have a home?” I laughed as the bartender strolled over with a knowing smile. Her short red hair gleamed beneath the dusty lights as she shook her head.

  “Usual sweetheart?” She asked in her broad South London accent. Unfortunately, Barbara, the pub landlord, and usual tender, was used to the behaviour of this particular group of old men. As a result, we’d grown somewhat close over the last couple of years. You’d be lucky to find another woman in this place and I think the company was much appreciated on both our parts.

  “Please, I’ll be over in a minute,” I replied, turning my attention back to Thatcher.

  “Have you gotten anywhere with that case yet?” He asked, ignoring the ongoing conversation between the other guys and focusing his slightly glazed eyes on me.

  “Maybe, I’m not sure yet.” What was I supposed to say? That I’d gone against his wishes and put myself in danger yet again? I was far too drained for an argument. I’d face the wrath of Thatcher tomorrow, in the daylight, where an escape would be far easier.

  “Go get that drink, you need it.” He nodded towards Barbara, who had just set down a double gin and tonic on the bar next to her own. I offered Thatch a mocking salute and turned, parking myself on one of the suspiciously sticky bar stools and breathing a sigh of relief as I lifted the glass to my parched lips.

  “Is he causing you trouble?” Barbara asked, guzzling her own G & T in record time.

  I shook my head and swirled the cold drink, taking another sip and relishing in the bite of fresh lime as a few pieces of the crushed pulp burst in my mouth.

  “Thatch? No,” I laughed.

  Barbara eyed me suspiciously, her head receding into the confines of her neck as she looked me up and down.

  “What?” I chuckled, draining the last of my drink.

  “Is it a boy?” She gasped, leaning further across the bar until I could smell the stale cigarettes and cheap perfume wafting from her floral blouse.

  “Goodness’ sake,” I groaned, but my face must have been enough to tell her she wasn’t entirely wrong. “I thought I was finally getting somewhere with a case but it was a dead end.”

  Understatement of the century. Xavier had all but led me like a lamb to the slaughter to his mansion in Chelsea. Slight exaggeration perhaps, he’d done nothing but feed me and withhold information he clearly had. It was infuriating, and I wanted nothing more than to march back to his stupid house, beat down the door and punch him in his perfectly chiselled jaw.

  “It would be nice for you to have someone other than him.” Barbara nodded over to Thatch, who was engrossed in conversation with the others enough that he didn’t notice our attention had turned to him.

  “I don’t need a man,” I replied, hoping she would let it go. “And Thatch is fine company when you catch him on a good day.”

  “Oh yeah? And when was the last time he had a good day?” Her pencilled-on eyebrow arched, and she poured another two drinks and set them down on the bar.

  I mulled over her question, but I already knew the answer. Thatcher’s days were monotonous, and although he never said it, I knew that being in the wheelchair had all but wiped out the person he used to be. Despite his age, when I met him, he was a real piece of work. He loved the chase, the fights, the mystery. All of it. And he hadn’t yet found a way to continue or replace that thrill. Thatch tried not to show it, but sometimes I’d see him mulling over old case files as if he were reminiscing.

  “He’s not so bad,” I said with a small smile.

  “Still though, you’re just a young’un.” She shifted a small set of ladders from the corner of the bar and pulled them over before plonking herself on them so that we were eye level. “I know you feel like you owe him a lot.”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, clearing my throat as I did my best to avoid her cheap attempt at a heartfelt conversation.

  “That doesn’t mean you have to give up your chance at a life. Thatcher surrounded himself with missing people and misery. You don’t have to.”

  I shrugged and finished my drink as fast as I could, placing some money on the bar as I stood up.

  “It’s all I know.” Quickly, I zipped up my jacket and shot Thatch a wave, he acknowledged with a subtle nod. “I’ll see you later, Barb.”

  Thankfully, she let me leave without argument. Barbara was an amiable woman, but she was far too invested in any ounce of gossip she could get. Although her line of questioning felt sincere enough, she wasn’t the type to tell you deepest, darkest secrets to. And I wasn’t in the mood for a poor man’s therapy session.

  It was a twenty-minute walk from Friar’s to my flat and even though I was bone tired; I didn’t even consider the bus or a taxi. So, I walked home, enjoying the damp chill that London offered at this time of night. The light spray of rain against my cheeks was a relief from the stale air inside the Friar’s. I’d grown comfortable in the pub over the years, with its cosy open fire and dark, seventies style decor. Every now and again, though, when I stepped through the door and saw Thatch sitting at his usual table, I felt a rush of sadness. He was lonely, even though he’d never admit such a thing. His life wasn’t as full as it had once been, days in the office and nights at the pub.

  Dwelling on those feelings wouldn’t do me any good, and it wasn’t helpful to Thatch. He didn’t want or ask for pity. It’d be a waste of my energy. Little of which I had left after the last couple of days. Narrowly avoiding a puddle on the side of the road, I stepped off the curb and rounded the corner towards my building. The supermarket nearby was still lit up, but apart from that, I was left with the flickering streetlights to guide my way. It wasn’t often you found a part of central London that darkened at night, but the height of the buildings and narrow width of my street meant that the light pollution from the city skyline didn’t reach this side of the brown brick structure.

  When I got to my flat I was met with a familiar city silence through the closed windows. Cars rushing by and headlights reflecting off the flaking emerald paint on the wall behind me. Instinctively, I kicked my boots off at the front door and headed straight through to the galley kitchen and grabbed a glass of water from the rusted tap. My flat was cosy, which in my world was a polite way of saying it was miniscule. When I’d moved in a year or two ago, the first thing I’d done was try to find as many cheery colours as possible to liven the place up. It turns out it isn’t easy to match a paint with hundred-year-old floorboards, but I made it work.

  Wearily, I trailed through to my bedroom and set the glass down on the small bedside table before peeling my coat and t-shirt off and stepping out of my jeans, tossing them aside. I was too tired to even consider putting them in the laundry hamper just a few feet away. Sleep had been a luxury I hadn’t indulged in for far too long, and by the time I settled on my bed, I could feel my eyelids fluttering closed. Reluctantly, I shuffled back against the wall and wrapped myself up in one of the many bargain knitted blankets I’d bought from the local charity shop and opened up my laptop. Without thinking, I clicked on the folder containing everything I knew about Jocelyn’s disappearance and started scanning over everything I had found so far.

  She was a creature of habit, but for once, that didn’t help me at all. When I got to the scan of the letter I’d been sent, I re-read it repeatedly, hoping to find something new, but my brain could hardly make sense of the words by the time I took a minute to breathe. My head lolled back against the headboard and my eyes lingered on the ceiling as I waited for the racing thoughts to clear.

  I must have fallen asleep at some point, because when I blinked my eyes open, they squinted against the bright morning sunlight slinking through my thin curtains. Before I’d even stood up, I knew there would not be a coffee strong enough to get me through today. I had no choice. I was out of options and needed to speak to Jocelyn’s sister, Lily. We were teetering far too close to the edge with this one and by that, I mean, we were close
to having nothing. Zero. Zip.

  There was nothing worse than having to meet with a client and tell them they’ve paid you for no reason. I threw myself out of bed and pulled my mess of unbrushed hair into a loose bun and brushed my teeth. The bare minimum as far as self-care goes. Thatch had been right from the get go. This case wasn’t just any case for me. There were far too many similarities to Beth’s disappearance. Not to mention I had this feeling in my gut, a weight hanging there as if I’d swallowed a handful of stones. No matter how much I tried to distance myself from Jocelyn’s missing person case, she was constantly in my thoughts. Just another young woman who’d vanished into thin air, leaving nothing behind except despair and frustration.

  There was no chance I was going to get any work done at home today, and I didn’t feel like heading straight into the office. I’d already made my decision and didn’t bother calling Lily or Thatch before dialling for a taxi to come and pick me up. Usually, I’d hop on a bus or tube. Hell, I’d even walk if it would save me some cash, but I didn’t have the patience to hang around. The element of surprise was all I had going for me, and I knew that given Lily’s lack of communications over the last week that she wouldn’t speak to me unless I turned up unannounced on her doorstep. Not that I could blame her. As far as the investigation was concerned we’d come up with nothing. Lily’s faith in us was fragile to start with and so far, we hadn’t shown her anything to change that.

  Suspicion whispered in the back of my mind that Lily was hiding something. That hiring us instead of some big, fancy investigative agency was her way of covering all her bases. Money didn’t seem to be an object, it usually wasn’t when it came to finding a missing loved one.

  The taxi smelled nauseatingly of a greasy fried breakfast. It hit me as soon as I climbed in. Luckily, the driver didn’t make any attempts at conversation. It was far too early for that shit. Big Ben had hardly chimed 6 AM as we drove slowly past Southbank and towards Lily’s apartment building. There was an unsettling sense of urgency in my chest that continued to hurry my breathing and forced a cold, clammy sweat into the palms of my hands. I put the feeling into a box in the back of my mind and focused on the sight of London coming to life with commuters and tourists. If it were up to me, I’d never be up and out of bed at this ungodly hour, but I had to admit it was nice to see London in a different light for a change. I’d become practically nocturnal since Beth went missing.