by Bo Brennan
There was not a single shred of solid evidence that a baby lived here.
She dumped all the washing back in the basket and perched on the edge of the bath. Peeling her gloves off, she sighed and shook her head. As her gaze settled on the toilet, India frowned.
There was no evidence of a man living here either, but the toilet seat was up.
Terri raised her brows in silent acknowledgment as India pulled out the chair opposite her.
“I've just come from Sasha and her mum’s flat,” India said.
“And?”
“Is there a dad, or boyfriend, on the scene?”
Terri eyeballed her and crossed her arms. “Sasha's never mentioned one.”
India could feel the frosty vibe between them and she didn't like it. This place was too crowded and claustrophobic at the best of times, without her sister’s cumbersome shoulder chip making an appearance. She leant across the table and said quietly, “For the last time - I didn't fucking tell social services about the kid, so get over it will you.”
She leant back in her seat as the waitress came to take their order. Terri ordered her latte without taking her eyes off of India.
“I’m having cake,” India said. “Joining me?”
Terri huffed a mirthless chuckle and shook her head. “No. I want to know what you’ve found.”
“I’ve found the mother,” India said. “But I haven't found any proof baby Billy exists.”
“What?” Terri cocked her jaw and frowned. “Don't fuck with me, India. I'm here for answers not your heart warming company and glittering sense of humour.”
India stared at her. “Have you actually seen him?”
Terri puffed out her cheeks and shook her head incredulously. “What the hell are you going on about? Of course he exists,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “The woman was fit to fucking pop at parents’ evening last month. All you had to do was find out where they were.”
India stabbed at her chocolate cake with her fork. “Have. You. Seen. The. Baby?”
Terri leant her elbows on the table and propped her head in her hands, watching India demolish the cake. “Well, no, but....”
“There's no evidence a baby actually exists as yet,” India said shovelling a forkful of cake into her mouth. “Plenty of preparation stuff for a baby, but nothing in use. Maybe she lost it.”
Terri frowned and rubbed at her forehead. “That's ridiculous,” she said. “Sasha talks about him all the time. He wasn't well. Her mother took him to the hospital!”
“Her mother's in the nut house,” India said wiping chocolate fudge off her chin with a serviette. “The doc reckons she's got Munchie something or other. Rambled some shit about her projecting her delusions of the baby's existence onto Sasha.”
“That's fucking bullshit,” Terri spat.
India spread her hands. “I'm just telling you what I know.”
“That's it then as far as you're concerned, is it? Job done.”
India raised her brows. “No. I'm going back to St. James’s to see Lisa this afternoon.”
Terri sat back in her seat and raked her fingers through her hair. “Do you know where Sasha is?”
India shrugged and took a swig of her coffee. “Foster parents I suppose.”
Terri pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. “Find out,” she said leaning into India's face. “You weren't left to rot, so I don't see why she should be. You owe me. I want her with me until all this shit is sorted out.”
India stared after her, as she stormed through the coffee shop, barging people from her path, and all the way back up the road to the school. Once she’d disappeared from view, India pushed the cake away and hung her head in her hands.
Knightsbridge, London.
Flick Firman glanced at the caller ID on her home phone, and smiled as she picked it up. “Hi, Dad.”
“I tried your mobile, but all I got was voicemail,” he huffed. “You're home early. You all right, kiddo?”
She tucked the handset against her shoulder. “Yeah, just packing for my tutoring weekend.”
“I've seen the paper,” he growled. “Your mother's beside herself, she's worried bloody sick.”
Flick sighed. That was the reason her mobile was switched off. She’d been inundated with bloody calls seeking comment on The Daily Herald all day. “Ryan Reynolds got lucky. The article wasn’t even about me. He’s always spouting off about something, it’s not worth worrying about.” She wasn’t entirely sure who she was trying to convince, her father or herself.
“A woman spat at you, Felicity!” Her mother’s shrill voice came down the line and Flick moved the handset away from her ear.
“That was…unfortunate,” she said. “But more unfortunate a reporter and his cameraman were there to capture it for posterity. Honestly, Mum, there's no need to worry. It was a one off. Dad always says if you're pissing people off you're doing your job properly,” she added, trying to lighten the mood.
“Your father is bigger and uglier than you, with a foul mouth to match,” she scolded. “He also has a warrant card and handcuffs, which you don't.”
Flick rolled her eyes as she logged into the internet banking site. Her mother was on a roll. She felt sorry for her dad, knew the second she put the phone down he'd get the full on dramatic hysterics all weekend.
“And what was that big lump doing just standing there like a gormless moron?”
Flick shook her head. “He's my pupil, not my bodyguard.” The photographer certainly didn't catch poor Leon's good side. At least most of the pictures showed Flick with her head in her hands. Or Ryan fucking Reynolds gallantly handing her tissues.
“Maybe you should have a bodyguard,” her mother said. “Your father knows people...”
Flick tutted and gritted her teeth. “Mum, I don't need a bodyguard.” Her eyes widened at the sizeable sum deposited in the account. “Everything's just fine,” she murmured. “Look I really have to go. I need to finish packing. I haven't even chosen a dress for the Law Society dinner yet. I'll phone you when I get home. Love you both. Bye.”
Flick flopped across her bed, and stared at the ceiling. Everyone was talking about Ryan Reynolds. She'd been lucky so far. And careful. Very careful. But she couldn't shake the way he'd looked at her outside the courtroom. Hopefully, he'd be riding the wave of the article itself, not the unrelated pictures of her that accompanied it. Hopefully, it would peter out and die down in a couple of days. The news circuit moved fast. Today's news was tomorrow’s chip wrapping, after all.
Her stomach tightened, the blank canvas of her ceiling merely intensified her fears. She reached out for a pillow, dragged it across the bed, and clamped it over her face. As she lay there in the silent stillness, she wondered if it was worth it. And where, and when, it was all going to come crashing down.
St. James’s Psychiatric Hospital, Hampshire
India froze in the hospital's Day Room doorway. She shuddered as a shiver raced up her spine, goose pimpling her flesh. Seeing her in the head doctor's office was one thing, but this was a whole different party. A party India didn't want to attend. Get a grip, she thought forcing her feet to move. You'll be leaving.
“I've been to your flat,” she said pulling up a chair next to Lisa Lewis.
Wide eyed and alert, Lisa edged forward and whispered, “Did you bring me a photo of the kids?”
India stared at her. “No.”
“Of course,” Lisa said biting at the skin around her fingers. “I forgot, you'll need them to find him won't you.”
India raised her brows when a gaunt woman, with wild hair, pulled up a chair between them and started chuntering on about birds. “She's all right, Mary,” Lisa whispered. “She's a copper. She knows.”
The woman looked over both shoulders, leaned into India's personal space, and said, “Can you find the birds?”
India jerked back and looked at her watch. She was wasting her time here. She had a dinner to cook and an evening to enjoy. This pl
ace gave her the fucking creeps as it was, without the mad bird woman entering the equation. “Okay. Time to go,” she said starting to rise.
Lisa Lewis grabbed her arm. “You can't leave. You haven't told me about my Billy yet.”
India clenched her jaw and glared at the hand gripping her forearm. Lisa recoiled and immediately let go. “We use birds as a cover word for babies,” she hissed. “They took all three of hers. She's been in here for seventeen bloody years without knowing where they are. She hasn't even got a picture of them. It's like they never existed. But you've got pictures now. You know Billy exists.”
India frowned. “There weren't any in your flat, Lisa. I came to give you back your key.”
Lisa's face filled with confusion. “Of course there are....”
“I told you,” Mary said rocking back and forth in the chair. “They are never letting you out.” She laughed maniacally, throwing her head from side to side. “Never, ever, never, ever.”
Lisa's eyes jittered about the room. The mad bird woman’s goading brought an escalating sense of anxiety to proceedings.
“You,” India said pointing at her. “Piss off and bother somebody else.”
The woman immediately stilled. Frowning up at her, she growled, “What did you say to me?”
“You heard,” India said staring her down. “Piss off. Now.”
She slid off the chair and gave India a wide berth as she scurried around her. “I'll see you later,” she snarled.
“If you've got any sense you'll stay away from her,” India said pointing after her. “She is a nut. But according to my very persistent, and very irritating, sister - you are not. Now I've been to your flat and found nothing. And I've been to the registry office, and there's no birth certificate for Billy Lewis either. So unless you can give me something solid in the next two minutes, you might be in here for the next seventeen bloody years as well.”
“I hadn't registered him yet,” Lisa hastened. “You get forty two days.”
India glanced at her watch again, and wondered why Terri was punishing her like this. “Last chance, Lisa.”
Lisa swallowed hard and bounced the balls of her bare feet on the floor. The woman was jittery as hell, but India knew a nut when she saw one - she’d just sent it packing.
“Speak to Janet at 4a. She knows. We were best friends. We used to babysit for each other.”
India rolled her eyes, tapping the door key in her palm. “I need more than third party say-so.”
“The airing cupboard,” Lisa blurted. “My jewellery box is behind the hot water tank.”
India frowned. It was a crazy place to keep your jewellery, but Lisa Lewis didn’t have crazy in her eyes. All India could see was desperation. “Go on,” she said.
“We've been broken into a couple of times, so I hide everything precious in there. Both the kids’ hospital birth bands are in it.”
India nodded, and glanced across at the bird woman hovering in the far corner. She was staring at her with eyes as wild as her hair. If she came near her, India was going to chin her. “I’ll be back on Monday,” she said. “In the meantime, do yourself a favour, and stay the fuck away from Mental Mary.”
Chapter 14
Park Gate, Hampshire.
AJ Colt checked the time on his iPhone as he switched it to off. None of his team had phoned him on the way home. He could safely assume that meant they’d all sought, and found, their own solace by now. Some would be cuddling their kids. Others would be lying in the arms of their lovers, like he intended to be shortly. A few would be staring at the bottom of an empty bottle. They all had their own way of coping.
Tomorrow, they’d reappear refreshed, revitalised, and ready for action. Tomorrow, they’d have to view and catalogue every single picture. Watch every single film. And sort each item into categories of Dwight Sanders’ personal perversion.
Colt let out a long expanse of breath. Tomorrow was another day.
He stretched his back as he stepped from his car and into the warm evening air. It made a change, even at this time of year, to be home before sunset. He rolled his head, and without a second glance at his own place, headed up the steps to India Kane’s front door.
She was standing in the kitchen with her back to him when he let himself in.
“You're early,” she said without turning. “Dinner’s nowhere near ready. I’ve not long been home myself.”
Colt smiled as she refilled her wine glass and continued chopping. God, did he need her tonight. He walked up behind her and trailed his fingers down her bare arms. Taking the carving knife from her hand, he slid it far along the worktop, and replaced it with her full glass.
She lifted the glass to her lips, staring silently out of the window as she drank. When Colt swept her hair to one side, India refilled her glass. He watched her reflection in the window as his lips lightly brushed against her shoulder, and drew a deep breath when she closed her eyes. Sliding his hands around the curve of her waist, his lips made their way slowly to her neck, and he smiled when she shuddered against him and downed her drink.
He studied her reflection in the glass, his eyes widening as she bit her lip and inclined her head. Slipping his hands under her vest top, he let out a little sigh as they met the curve of her breasts with no barrier. God he loved summer, and he loved this woman.
She leant back against him, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck, while her other found his thigh and made its way to his groin. He let out a guttural groan as her fingers traced his erection through his trousers, and he turned her to face him.
“Open your eyes,” he said cupping her face. “Look at me, India.”
When she looked at him with present eyes, full of want, he let out a ragged breath and rested his forehead against hers.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” she said biting his lip. “Permission?”
Colt swallowed hard. “Yes,” he whispered.
She rolled her eyes and tugged at his belt. “You've got a terrible habit of ruining the moment.”
He covered her hands with his, stilling them before things went too far. “Say it. Please.”
“Permission to fuck me granted,” she said, and sighed when he raised his eyebrows, awaiting the magic word with bated breath. “Yes. Now get a fucking grip.”
Colt grinned. “I'll get a fucking grip, all right,” he growled covering her mouth with his and pressing her up against the kitchen unit. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down hard against hers, frantically deepening the kiss.
Colt pulled her skirt up to her waist and ran his hands up her bare legs. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he groaned into her mouth when his hands met bare flesh between her legs as well.
From the feel of her, she couldn’t wait a second longer either. He wrestled with his belt, as India tugged his shirt free and expertly undid the buttons. His clumsy, trembling hands couldn't even grip the button on his trousers, let alone undo it. In frustration he yanked the zip apart, sending the offending button skittering across the wood floor as he freed himself.
He grabbed her hips and lifted her onto the worktop. Pulled her legs around his waist, and was inside her with one deep thrust. Sliding his hand under her hair, he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her towards him, seeking her mouth once more. His tongue desperately explored until he could hardly breathe. The heels of her bare feet dug into the small of his back as she crossed her ankles, forcing him deeper.
When she wrestled her vest top over her head, his knees almost buckled. His mouth found her breasts as his rhythm increased. And then she sank her teeth into his shoulder. The pleasure pulsed through his veins sending his body into spasm. Every muscle tightened, his jaw clenched, and his neck strained, as his head jerked back and it was over too soon.
Panting, he lowered his head to her chest. “Shit. I’m sorry,” he gasped. His body twitched with hyper sensitivity as she tugged at his hair, making him face her.
India shrugged. “Bad day?
”
He nodded silently and pulled away, trying to work out how the fuck he was supposed to do his trousers back up.
“What d'you think you're doing?” she said.
Colt dragged his hands down his face. She always kicked him out straight after sex. Even when it was fantastic. After that pathetic performance, it was a safe bet she wouldn't want him staying for dinner. “I'm really sorry. I'll just go.”
“You bloody won’t,” she said sliding off the worktop to pull another glass from the cupboard, another bottle from the fridge. “You’ll finish what you started. That one was for need. The next one's for pleasure.”
Colt laughed as she handed him the glass. “What the fuck are you waiting for?” he said pulling her to him. “If you want pleasure, get your arse in that bedroom.”
Oxfordshire.
Flick smoothed the sleek, black, Dolce and Gabbana evening gown around her hips, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She barely recognised the woman staring back at her. Gone, was the naive young barrister, brimming with idealism and integrity, who had been called to the bar. In her place was a cold and calculating, hard faced cynic, who'd sold her own soul.
She'd known the score when she'd got involved. The risks were high, the rewards immense. She'd made her choice. It was too late to have a crisis of conscience now. She carefully applied the Berry Red Chanel lipstick, and smiled at her reflection.
It was show time.
Felicity Firman QC stepped from her five star hotel room to find a tuxedoed Leon loitering in the decadent hallway.
“Wow. You look amazing,” he said. “It would be my absolute honour if you allowed me to accompany you to dinner, Miss Firman.”
“I don't doubt that for a moment, Leon,” Flick said feeling somewhat flattered by his boyish charm. “But, it would be rather inappropriate at such a public event.”
