by JL Simpson
“Me too. Stand, Princess.”
“Why do you have a picture of you and Paul on your bookshelf?”
“He’s my best mate.” That picture brought back happy memories. Up until then Paul had been one of a group of friends he made during basic training, but that trip had cemented their relationship. They’d been inseparable. He’d always intended to be honest with Paul, but once he really got to know him he couldn’t destroy the man’s life. Instead, he’d reversed course and set out on the path that had led them to where they now found themselves.
She put the photo of him and Paul in Germany back on the shelf, and lifted the next one.
“I forgot about this picture. You look so cute cuddling Sherman.”
“I don’t look cute. I never look cute.”
Daisy smiled. “You do. That was one hell of a day.”
He remembered it well. Daisy had been wiped out from the labor, but the expression on her face when he’d accepted her offer to hold Sherman had all but brought him undone. He’d been included in the biggest events in Paul’s life. Best man at the wedding, first to hold Sherman after his parents, and then godfather at his christening. He missed being part of Paul’s family. “It’s not every day you give birth. Now can we?”
She put the picture back and lifted another.
“Your mam?”
“Yes. Daisy, please.”
“You have her coloring. What’s her name?”
“Etain.”
“It suits her. She’s pretty.”
“Was pretty.” Why the feck had he said that?
“Was?”
“Yes, was. Now can we get on?”
“She’s dead? Do you have any other family?”
He hesitated. “Yes, she’s dead, and no, I don’t have any family. Now can we?”
“What about your dad? He might still be alive. You could look him up. Maybe you’ve got brothers and sisters that you don’t know about.”
“The stand, Daisy.”
She put the photo back and collected the stand. He waited until she disappeared through to the living room and then he followed. With his hands full he couldn’t lock the door. As long as she stayed with him she couldn’t be snooping, and once she went to bed he’d lock it up.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Daisy tried to hide a yawn behind her hand. Solomon was in full swing. The whiteboard was covered with names, but this time he’d rearranged them in groups based on connections. He had one list of people who were related through the Somerset Club. Another put together because of their connection to the music industry. A third group for Langdon College. And then a homeless group. Finally, people related to Toby. He’d drawn circles around each list so the board looked like the Venn diagrams Daisy had done at school.
He tossed the marker he was using on the coffee table and collapsed onto the sofa next to her. “So tell me, Princess, where do you want to focus?”
“Me?”
“Aye. What do you see in that picture? What do you think you did to upset someone?”
“Cherry says we should talk to homeless people.”
“Homeless people? And who the feck is Cherry?”
“She’s my best friend. She says it’s thanks to me she was able to build the conservatory on the back of her house. I’ve been good for her career.”
“As?”
Daisy shrugged. “A recruitment agent.”
Solomon smiled. “I bet you have, Princess. How many times has she placed you? Isn’t there a law against selling a product when you know it’s faulty?”
Daisy glared at him. “Do you want to hear my idea or not?”
“Sure.”
“Okay.” Daisy got to her feet and approached the board. “All of the dead people were homeless. When Belinda last saw Toby he was living in a squat in London. And as you’ve shown, Phat Kitty was taking part in a charity event for the homeless. Now, Cherry tells me that in an episode of Sherlock he used the homeless people in London to be his spies.”
“Sherlock?”
“The TV show.”
“You want to act out a TV show? Is that why you’re dressed like a bag lady, so you’ll blend in?”
She glared at him. “I packed in a hurry. I think the pants used to be Sherman’s, and the jumper was a gift from my grandmother.”
Solomon chuckled.
She decided to ignore him. “It’s not a totally stupid idea, is it, talking to homeless people?”
Now she’d said the words out loud she did wonder if it was a bit mental. She was running on empty. Her body ached with fatigue. She’d only met Cherry that morning, but it seemed like days ago now. She wanted to climb into bed and cuddle Paul, except he was back home. Their conversation had been short and to the point.
“What are you thinking on, Princess?”
“Paul.”
“Is he still acting the maggot?”
“Sherman’s staying at the Maloney’s tonight. Paul’s all alone. We’ve never gone to bed on an argument.”
“Are you still arguing?”
“He says he’ll get over it, but he’s still grumpy that I won’t stay out of the case and get a safer job.”
“Sorry, darlin’. Do you want me to talk to him again?”
“No. He has a horrible stubborn streak. The more you push him, the more he digs his heels in. He’s probably just waiting for me to fall flat on my face and prove him right.”
“Did he ever tell you how he ended up taking the bullet in the arse for me?”
Daisy shook her head.
“Back in the day I fancied myself a ladies’ man.”
“Not like now, then?”
“Do you want to hear this?”
“Sorry.” She crossed to the sofa and sat down.
“Cyprus was a veritable smorgasbord for the single soldier. The local lassies were charmed by my accent and my baby blues.”
He fluttered his eyelashes, and she smiled. They were hypnotically pretty when he wasn’t giving the stink eye. She could imagine some girls might find him attractive.
He smiled back. “I took my pleasure where I could. Paul warned me to be careful, but a lothario listens to no one. Every weekend I would pick up a new lady, and by Monday I’d forgotten her name. Until I met Anna. She worked at a bar down by the beach in Ayia Napa and refused to do anything more than dance with me, the same as she did with any other bloke who asked. I’m not a man to refuse a challenge, and Anna was a nut I intended to crack. So, I spent three weekends on a charm offensive. I used my whole arsenal. Gifts, compliments, hours spent talking, dancing, wining, and dining.”
“And she gave in to you?”
“That she did, Princess.”
“And?”
“I persuaded her to spend the night with me in a hotel. When she went home she told her father she was in love. The devout man was horrified that his daughter had been defiled, and even worse, by a British soldier. He followed Anna to the bar where I’d arranged to meet her the next Saturday. Paul was with me. Before Anna could even greet me her dad burst in wielding a rifle. Anna screamed for him to leave me alone. Paul knew about Anna and surmised that the man with the gun wanted to blow my head off—the fact he was yelling, “I’ll kill the bastard!” in Greek might have given him a bit of a clue.
“Anyway, Paul told me to slip out the back while he talked the man down. He’d done a week long course on hostage negotiating, and he thought he had it all under control. The man demanded to know if Paul was me. Paul flashed his wedding ring at him, telling the man he was married, without first mentioning he wasn’t me. Anna’s dad lifted the gun, apparently even more outraged that the man who had defiled his daughter appeared to be in no position to marry her. When it became apparent the situation was out of control Paul turned to follow me out the back. The man pulled the trigger and shot him in the arse, and probably would have kept shooting if the cops hadn’t arrived.”
Daisy frowned. “Poor Paul. He should have let the mad bastard
shoot you. I know I would have.”
Solomon chuckled. “You’ll not be watching my back if it ever comes to a gunfight, then?”
“Nope. You had better make other plans. Now, as much as I love to hear about your romantic conquests, was there a point to the story?”
“Yes, Paul warned me about the likely consequences of my actions, but when those gun-wielding consequences showed up he didn’t stand back and say I told you so. Instead, he tried to save my sorry arse. Your man is loyal and, even when he thinks he’s right and you’re wrong, he’ll back you one hundred percent. He’s scared for you, Princess, but he still loves you.”
“And you?”
“Does he love me? I thought we sorted that out earlier. The bare arse in the kitchen was a misunderstanding, not an invitation to kinky sex on your dining table.”
“No, not does he love you.”
“Do I love you?” Solomon pressed a hand to his chest. “Daisy, this is so sudden.” He chuckled.
Daisy punched him in the arm. “Moron. What about you and Anna?”
“Anna is better off without me, and I probably would have got bored with her in time.”
“That’s not a very romantic ending.”
“I don’t do romance. Now you look done in. How about you head to bed, and we’ll pick this up tomorrow?”
Daisy nodded. Every bone in her body ached, and sleep would be a blessed relief. She pushed to her feet.
“Goodnight.”
“Night, Daisy.”
She padded across the room and up the stairs.
*
Solomon pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed the speed dial for Paul.
“Solomon.”
“How do you fancy a booty call?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Your place or mine?”
Solomon chuckled. “Not me, you maggot. Your lady needs you.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’d be doing a lot better if you’d come over and show her some affection.”
“You want me to come to your house and have sex with my wife?”
“That was the idea. Have sex with the wife you don’t have sex with.”
“She’ll never go for it with you in the house. She gets stage fright.”
“I’ve heard you two banging before. Remember the trip we all took to Ibiza?”
“You said you went out for the night.”
“I did, to the balcony with a bottle of whiskey. Your wife has a great set of lungs.”
Paul sighed. “She does.”
“Come over. She needs to know you love her.”
“And you?”
“I love you both. Now come over.”
Paul chuckled. “Damn, where’s a tape recorder when you need one? Stick-up-his-arse Solomon finally tells someone he loves them. Did the earth fall out of orbit around the sun? Is hell about to freeze over?”
“The appropriate response when someone tells you they love you is to tell them you love them too. It’s no wonder your lady’s so blue.”
“I wish you’d convinced her to quit.”
“What’s done is done. You’re going to have to accept it. Leave her to see it through. Once she’s experienced the seedy side of life, and the horrors that entails, she might decide to quit. Better you’re there when she does. Either way, do you really want to risk losing her?”
“When did you take a marriage guidance counseling course?”
“Between the courses on how to tell your mate he’s being a selfish maggot and the one about how to beat your mate with a stick until he comes to his senses. She called you to make amends, and yet here she is, alone and miserable with only me for company. Ball’s in your court.”
All right. I’ll come over.”
“Good. Oh and bring her some clothes. I’ve no idea what was going on in her head when she packed, but it can’t have been good. The poor woman is reduced to wearing track pants at least a size too small and a hideous purple sweater. And my guess is she forgot underwear.”
“And you know that how?”
“Just get over here.”
Solomon hung up and dropped the phone on the coffee table.
He crossed the room and poured himself a glass of whiskey before standing in front of the whiteboard. What was the key, and why had Dan warned him to stay away from Zut? Someone on the board knew something. An idea hovered at the edge of his mind. Once Paul arrived he’d go for a run. Sometimes things made more sense when you stopped staring at them.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Daisy rolled over and stretched.
Dear Diary, after working for three days with the Irish git we have made little progress on the case, other than to put my life at risk, but all is not lost. Something weird is happening. We may never know who the murdered is, but we might have proof that Darwin’s theory of evolution is much more than a theory. I think Solomon could be turning into a human being.
Okay, so she didn’t really have a diary, but what was all that last night? Solomon opening up about himself, and then inviting Paul over to play mummies and daddies with her, seemed oddly out of character. He was a man, and men weren’t supposed to be complicated.
Paul had snuck out just after midnight, because he didn’t want to leave their house empty all night, and had promised to text once he got to work to let her know he was safe. They’d had fun, once Paul finished begging for forgiveness and managed to convince her Solomon had gone out.
There was something smutty and sinful about getting naked and rolling around in someone else’s bed. By the time Solomon came back and blasted the house with Steven Tyler singing “Dude Looks Like a Lady,” she’d been too involved to care about Solomon’s taste in music, or the fact he knew she was upstairs having sex with her man. Paul loved her. She smiled and sighed. Her body ached and hummed with muscle memory in all the right places.
She flicked on the bedside light and groaned. Practically the middle of the night—well, five-thirty, but close enough. Now she was awake she would never get back to sleep. She threw back the bed covers, grabbed Solomon’s bath robe, and padded across the room. A cup of tea was the answer to everything.
Being as quiet as she could, she crept down the stairs. When she got to the bottom, she hesitated. The living room was in total darkness. Solomon must still be sleeping. Her own life was back on track, but he had admitted that other than Molly he had no one. What if he hadn’t ever seen his dad because the man never knew Solomon existed? Maybe she should look for his family? Not only would it be a chance to give Solomon something special, but it would also allow her to hone her skills. She needed to start with a copy of his birth certificate.
She felt her way along the wall until she reached the door to Solomon’s office. What harm could there be in taking a look around? Had he even searched for his dad? Maybe he had with no luck, or maybe the old man was a total arsehole and didn’t want to admit responsibility, in which case the apple didn’t fall far from the tree…most days.
She tried the handle and squealed with delight when it turned. With a gentle shove she pushed the door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. Now she needed to turn the light on. There had been one of those green banker’s lamps on his desk, but if she crossed the room she might trip. Instead, she felt along the wall until she found the switch for the main light. She flicked it on.
“Morning, Daisy.”
“Fuck me!” She spun around, heart pounding, chest aching as she fought for air.
Solomon sat in his large black leather office chair, bare feet on the desk. A smile spread across his face. “Begging for it already? I thought you would have had enough with Paul last night.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “You’re about as funny as a wet fart. What the hell are you doing in here in the dark?”
“What the feck are you doing in here at all?” His gaze met hers, and she glanced at the floor. There was no way she could overcome his penetrating stare of evil before she’d h
ad a cup of tea. Not only would she blurt out her desire to sneak around for clues to his dad’s identity, but she would probably end up confessing that she had been the one who brought down Lehmann Brothers and single-handedly plunged the world into economic crisis. Oh, and she might also tell him about the dent in his back bumper bar that he’d failed to notice. An accident could happen to anyone forced to drive a car as big as a bus down Britain’s narrow suburban streets.
Daisy opened and shut her mouth, waiting for her brain to catch up with the conversation. Ah-ha. “I needed the bathroom.”
“You walked past the bathroom on your way to the stairs, so unless you’ve a weird desire to pee in my wastepaper bin, I’m not buying it.”
“Okay. I don’t need the bathroom. Well, actually now I think about it I probably do. My bladder doesn’t cope well with frights.”
“Will you be needing the bin after all?”
“Eww. No.”
“So you were sneaking into my study because…?”
“I lost my way to the kitchen. I’ll make some tea.”
Before he could grill her any further she swept from the room, her open robe billowing in her wake.
*
Solomon swung his feet to the floor and stood up. He stretched to work the kinks out of his back. Daisy’s arrival had woken him from a doze. After his run he’d taken a quick shower and then hidden in his study so as not to interrupt the happy couple. He’d planned to go to bed after Paul ducked in and said goodnight, but he’d been on to something.
He grabbed his laptop and locked the office door before heading upstairs to change. Daisy was up to something. She already knew too much about his life. The woman had an uncanny knack of getting him to unburden himself against his better judgment. From now on he would keep the conversation purely business. She could start by acting as his personal assistant and arrange some meetings.
As he passed Daisy’s room he heard her singing “Dude Looks Like a Lady.” Apparently sex with Paul had lightened her mood, as well it might. Even with the music turned up he could hear them. What would it be like to have a woman you loved on tap twenty-four seven? To be able to fall into bed with her whenever the mood took you? To have her in perfect sync with your needs and desires?
His right hand was always in sync with his desires, and finding a woman was never a difficulty, but sex was just sex. According to Paul what he shared with Daisy went beyond the physical and gave their love lives another dimension. Not that Paul would get into specifics. Any sharing about his prowess ended the day he met Daisy. What they did between the sheets was not open for discussion.
