Friday's Child

by Clare Revell

  Shay appeared by his side, her gun also aimed at the terrorist. “You’re an idiot to take a chance like that, Patrick. What if he had detonated the bomb? Or killed the hostage?”

  He sucked in a deep breath, keeping his gaze on the man on the floor. “He didn’t. He’s down, and everything is secure. That’s what matters.”

  “So the town is safe for another day. Agent 3.14 strikes again, winning another battle in the epic war against terror on our doorstep.”

  “Yep, with his trusty sidekick Agent 7x3 at his side.”

  Noah, their section leader glared their way. “Don’t you two ever give it a rest?”

  “No,” they chorused.

  The bomb squad and paramedics arrived. Patrick kept his gaze to the man on the floor, not dropping his aim until he was sure all danger was passed.

  ****

  Later that afternoon, Patrick sat at his desk, his fingers hovering over the computer keyboard. He’d filed his report. Now he had a spare five minutes, thoughts of Elle and the problems with her manager filled his mind. Not to mention the niggling seed of doubt planted by DI Nemec. Could he afford to get involved with her again if she were caught up in all of this? Should he declare his interest in her? Tell Nahum he had a past relationship with a potential suspect? He had to be sure before he did anything. He typed Elle’s name into the database.

  Shay leaned over his shoulder, putting a mug of coffee on his desk. “Here you go, just the way you like it.”

  He picked it up and took a deep breath, filling his senses with the dark aroma. “Thank you.”

  “What are you doing? Who’s Eleanor Harrison?”

  “She’s a friend.”

  “You search all your friends on the national criminal database?”

  He took a large drink. “No.”

  “Good. Because if you do, I am so glad I’m not your ‘friend.’”

  “I know it’s an abuse of power, but there’s something not quite right.” He frowned at the smile on her face. “Don’t you laugh at me.”

  “I’m not. It’s kind of cute. Anyway, it’s about time you got yourself a girlfriend.”

  “Ex-girlfriend, actually.”

  “Oh, that just makes your actions seriously creepy. It’s like stalking her on one of these social media sites just so you can see what she’s posting or who she’s going out with instead of you.” Shay plunked herself down on the chair next to his. “I want all the details.”

  Patrick laughed. “Does that make you a voyeur, too?”

  “Nope, I’m merely looking out for my partner. And an interested party.”

  Nahum stuck his head around the edge of his glass office. “Patrick, Shay, get in here now.”

  Patrick grinned. “Sprung. I swear that guy is omnipresent and knows what I plan to do before I actually do it.”

  “He probably just wants to moan because you shot to wound rather than killed the guy in the mall. Of course, if you’d taken the kill shot without permission, he’d still be moaning.” Shay winked.

  “Maybe, but at least we can get intel from the bloke now. Assuming he talks.” He got to his feet and grabbed his coffee. “But I’m taking this with me. Right now, I need the caffeine to stay awake. I’ve lived on adrenaline for too long. Come on.” He crossed the room, noticing Nahum shut the door behind them. “What’s up, boss?”

  “Have either of you heard of the soul singer Lisa Bellamy? Real name Eleanor Harrison.”

  Shay shook her head. “Nope.”

  Patrick drew in a sharp breath. Elle was on the MI5 radar? Why?

  Nahum looked at him. “Patrick?”

  “Yeah, I have. I heard her sing the other night. What about her? She in some kind of trouble?”

  Nahum nodded and held out identical sheets of paper to them both. “Knowing her will help. Read this, tell me what you think.”

  Patrick took the paper, his heart pounding and his mind reeling, fearing the worst. He read the copied letter slowly. Eleanor is being sent threatening letters and for this they contact us? That makes no sense. Setting his coffee down, he read the letter again.

  “You’re kidding. Why us? Surely the police can handle this. They have a protection program, don’t they?” Shay commented. “They don’t need us for that.”

  “Keep reading.”

  Patrick carried on reading. He sat heavily in the chair by the desk, the wind knocked from him. His stomach cramped and his tie threatened to choke him. Reaching up to his collar, he undid the top button and loosened his tie a little. He’d hoped Elle only sang at the club. No, this indicated her ties ran much deeper. “This is tied into the info from DI Nemec, right?”

  How did she get mixed up with this?

  Nahum studied him, inclining his head slowly. “That is why we’ve been asked to protect her, as we’re running this op anyway. And also why you and Shay are being assigned this case. So far we have no idea how she got involved with Foster, but Noah and Frank are checking that out as we speak. Thoughts?”

  He shuffled through the papers, trying to control his thudding heart and prevent it from breaking free from the confines of his chest. “I’m still not convinced this bloke I saw at the club is Foster. Nemec knows that. I’m keeping him in the loop. As far as Elle…Miss Harrison goes? I know her, knew her years ago. There is no way she’d be involved in anything illegal.”

  Nahum’s eyebrows shot up into his receding hair line. “First name terms? Knew her in the past? How?”

  “I was her mentor at university. We haven’t seen each other in years. Well, not until we bumped into each other last week at the library when I collected the drop from one of my snouts. I want the lead on this one. First thing we need to do is pull her out.”

  “She’s our contact. We work with her, keep her on the inside.”

  “I’m not sure that is the right way to do things. Get any information she has, sure.” Patrick blurted. “But if she’s being threatened, we get her out now.”

  “Perhaps someone more impartial would be better suited for this investigation.”

  Patrick set the file down. He’d almost slipped up then—he needed to be more careful. “I am perfectly capable of being impartial. Like I already said, I want this one. She might be more willing to work with us if it’s someone she knows.”

  Nahum held his gaze, his brows furrowing. “You mess up, even a tad, and you’re off the case, is that understood?”

  Patrick didn’t flinch. The slightest movement of his eyes and Nahum would pounce on it. “Perfectly. My thinking is, get her into protective custody. Escort her to and from the club, at least for now. That way we can keep tabs on what she’s doing, get info from her and keep this Mr. F from getting suspicious.”

  “Then fine. Move in with her. Do what you have to do. Just keep her alive and safe. Find out what she knows.”

  “I’ll move her into my place.”

  “Not a good idea, especially if you know her. I can’t have you compromised in any way. Use the safe house on Brook Street. And use your head. We have no idea how involved she is in this. It could be a ruse to take the heat off of her.”

  “And it might not be.” Shay voiced what he wanted to say.

  He shot her a grateful glance. She always seemed to know what he was thinking. The art of a good partner.

  “This is exactly why we’re taking her into safe custody. Go home both of you. Pack for a few days, then pick her up.”

  Patrick drained his coffee and exchanged a long glance with Shay. “Fine. Where is she?”

  “Manor Street police station. They’re expecting you.”

  ****

  Eleanor sat in the police station, biting her index fingernail down to the quick. Her stomach churned, the butterflies and nausea making her head pound. With every passing moment, the need to throw up grew. Her skin alternated between hot and cold and clammy. The officer she had spoken to had put her in a small office and, once he’d taken her details several times, left her alone.

  Strictly s
peaking, the building itself was busy and there were plenty of officers around, and the office probably had a CCTV camera hidden somewhere, but she was alone none the less.

  Why were they treating her like the criminal here? She didn’t know who’d sent her the letters. She wished she did. There had to be a better option than being dead. Although being dead wasn’t an option. It would leave Abbie with her—

  Abbie…she had to get to her, protect her. Maybe if she just left, no one would stop her. She could come back later, with Abbie.

  She stood, heading to the door.

  The door creaked as it opened. She jumped, seeing a man in the doorway. Her heart pounded, blood raced in her ears and everything finally became too much and she fell into the all-consuming darkness…

  A voice echoed through the black tendrils claiming her. It called her name, beckoning her back towards the light. A voice from the past.

  Strong arms held her, soft fingers stroking her cheek. “Elle?”

  Her eyes flickered open, focusing on the face above hers. She hadn’t imagined him. “Patrick?”

  “Yeah, in the flesh.” He gently held a glass to lips. “Drink this. It’s water.”

  She took a couple of sips. “What are you doing here?”

  “Working.”

  Her face creased. She didn’t understand. “Working?”

  “I’ve been assigned your case. Drink a little more for me.”

  She obediently swallowed a couple more times, then sat up, pushing out of his grip. A girl could get too comfortable there, like she had before. “I’m confused. What do you mean they ‘gave you my case’? When you said you were security I thought you meant private investigator or something. If you’re a police officer, why didn’t you just say so?”

  Patrick’s smile had its usual effect of her. Her heart thudded and her knees weakened. It was a good job she was sitting down or she’d have fallen again.

  “That’s because I’m in national security.” He tilted his head. “I’m a spook.” His voice was low and guarded.

  “Why did they send you?” she whispered.

  “The reasons are twofold. First of all, I know you professionally and personally. My boss figured it’d be easier on you if you knew at least one of the agents assigned to protect you. Secondly, Foster is on our radar. He has been for a while, which makes it our case and not the police’s. So I’m taking you from here to a safe house.”

  She did a double take, not knowing who this Foster was, but not going to look stupid by asking. “What? What about my things and Abbie, Mum, and work?”

  “We can pick up a few of your things on the way. Abbie and your mum have not been threatened. It would put them in greater danger if they remain with you. Abbie stays with her mum and work is off the agenda, at least for a day or so. Until I have chance to debrief you.”

  “You don’t understand. I have to work, I have no choice.” She barely kept them going as it was. And if she stopped both the singing and delivering the packages, then PJ would carry out his threat. Her secrets would be made public. Patrick would find out about Abbie and she couldn’t let that happen.

  “We can talk about this later. Let’s go.” He helped her to her feet.

  6

  Rushed through her packing, and then driven way too fast to the safe house, Eleanor didn’t feel as if her feet had touched the ground. She slowly walked around the bare apartment. It was sparse, to put it mildly. There were none of the comforts of home. And it was filthy. She wouldn’t even keep a cat here.

  And Patrick being assigned to protect her? What was his role in all this? She had to bear in mind that he was a spook who worked for the government and not her friend and mentor any longer. Had he really found her accidentally? Or had he been watching her, tracking her all along?

  The mere idea that he been spying on her all the time made her shiver. The ‘innocent’ meet at the library? The way he kept turning up at the club? The ‘oh my brother really wanted to meet you, but then he dumped me for a football match’ line. The fact he came back several times, she’d thought to hear her sing. She’d even asked him if he were a cop—twice— and he had brushed her off. Had all of it been a lie? So much for the ‘catch up over coffee chat for old time’s sake.’ He was just after one thing.

  Was he here to give her a false sense of security, in the hope she’d tell him everything she knew because he knew her? She didn’t know anyone called Foster and that was the name he’d used a couple of times on the way here, never mind in the police station. But that didn’t alter the fact she wasn’t happy with this turn of events. Being separated from Abbie wasn’t part of her plan when she went to the police.

  She dumped her bag on a single bed in a tiny room and went to find Patrick. He deserved a piece of her mind, and boy, was he going to get it.

  He stood silent in the kitchen, filling the kettle. “Find everything all right?”

  “This place is a dump. There’s no pictures, no windows that open, the sofa is stained by goodness only knows what, the fireplace is filthy, the bathroom doesn’t look as if it’s ever been cleaned…”

  Patrick sighed. “Will you listen to yourself? This isn’t a holiday home. We are trying to keep you safe, but if you don’t want it, then fine. There’s the door. No one is going to make you stay here. But you came to us, remember?” He held out a hand. “That reminds me. I need your phone.”

  “My what?”

  “Phone—you know the thing you make calls and texts on.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “Just give me the phone,” he said slowly.

  Eleanor reached into her shirt pocket and slowly handed it over, watching as Patrick swiftly removed the battery and sim card.

  The doorbell rang. Patrick pulled the gun from his holster and motioned her to stay still before moving into the hall.

  She stood there in shock. He had never spoken to her like that before. Ever. Even when she messed up on tests and forgot everything he’d taught her. In fact even when she’d had the car accident that was her fault, he hadn’t yelled at her.

  But then this was Patrick now, not the Patrick she’d known and walked out on fourteen years ago. Oh, if only he knew the truth, but she couldn’t tell him. He’d changed, and if she didn’t think he’d have believed her back then, there was no way he’d believe her now.

  She leaned against the kitchen counter, staring into the garden. A cat sat in the middle of the lawn staring back at her. A cat…

  ****

  The car skidded, the sickening thud still reverberating in her ears when another crunch brought them to a shuddering halt. Her hands shook. “I hit it.”

  “Stay there.” Patrick jumped out of the car and disappeared into the darkness behind them.

  She couldn’t stop shaking. She’d seen a brief glimpse in the headlights, of a cat, wide eyes shining, fixated on the oncoming car. She’d tried to brake and swerve, but she hadn’t been quick enough.

  Patrick moved around the front of the car and motioned to her to back up slowly.

  She wound down the window. “I can’t.”

  He moved around to the window. “Don’t give me that. Just put the car in reverse and go slowly.”

  “But the cat?”

  “Elle, forget the cat. Back slowly off this log or we’re not going anywhere.”

  “OK,” she whispered. The car jerked as she reversed slowly.

  “Great, now stop and put the hand brake on, so I can check underneath.”

  The light of the torch vanished under the car. She closed her eyes tightly. This was meant to be a simple trip to the cliff top house owned by Garth’s parents. His parents were away, so he’d invited twelve of them from university up for the weekend before Easter break. Studying for finals and partying was on the agenda for all of them.

  The door opened and Patrick climbed back in. “No damage that I can see. A tiny scrape on the paintwork, but clear nail varnish will fix that up and stop it rusting.” He smiled. “You all right
to drive or want me to?”

  “I’ll do it. You don’t want to go home?”

  He shook his head, kissing her cheek. “Of course I don’t. I get to spend the whole weekend with you. Why would I want to go home?”

  ****

  Eleanor shook her head, pushing that day and those images far from her mind. If he knew what she’d done, he’d have nothing but contempt for her. She deserved every harsh word, angry look and irate tone he gave her.

  The door opened and Patrick came back in. With him was the blonde haired woman that had been with him in the library, who close up, was even prettier than she remembered. She carried a bag of what looked like takeaway. Patrick carried another one. He grinned at his companion, seeming at ease in her presence, laughing at something she’d obviously said in the hallway.

  Patrick put the bag on the counter. “Elle, this is my partner, Shay Williams. Shay, this is Eleanor Harrison, or Lisa Bellamy.”

  An unexpected surge of jealously at the word partner flooded her. “Hi.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, not meaning to appear so openly hostile, but unable to stop it.

  “Hello. I hope you still like Chinese. Patrick said it was a fairly safe thing to get for lunch.”

  “Yeah.” She glanced at Patrick, hating the way he grinned at the other woman. Things had just got too much for her to deal with. Once the letter came she knew she needed help. She asked for, needed protection of some sort, but she didn’t expect to be whisked away from everything and everyone and hidden. She’d thought maybe a cop would follow her around, like in a movie. She hadn’t, even in her wildest dreams, expected that her protector would be Patrick, nor had she imagined he’d be an MI5 agent.

  What had she gotten herself mixed up with if the top security agency in the country were protecting her? Didn’t they deal with terrorists? There was no way she was a terrorist. She was simply a nightclub singer, trying to find a break. More to the point, she was irritated, no, way more than irritated, that he hadn’t been truthful with her.