by JL Simpson
As he reached his bedroom his phone started to vibrate in the pocket of his track pants. He pulled it out and checked caller ID. The number wasn’t one he recognized. He hit the button and held it to his ear.
“Solomon.”
A voice whispered, “Thank God. I need your help.”
“Maureen?” Why on earth would Phat Kitty need his help?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Daisy stifled a yawn and glanced at Solomon. He was sipping a cup of black coffee and staring at his phone. They’d been on the road for over an hour, and now they were parked outside a multistory car park in Bournemouth. As much as she loved a day at the seaside, and the opportunity to scope out a new shopping venue, she figured neither activity was on Solomon’s itinerary.
“What are we doing exactly?”
“Maureen called.”
“I got that bit, but I thought we were going back to Sandbanks?”
“She said Zut’s gone missing.”
“She told you that she never knew him.”
Solomon glanced at Daisy. “She lied.”
“What else did she lie about?”
“No idea, Princess. She said she had to hang up before she could do much more than beg me to find him.”
“And we’re here because?”
“I planted a tracking device on Zut’s car the other night.”
Daisy glanced over his arm at the display on his phone. “Easy job, then. We just follow the map thingy until we get to where that little flashing icon is pointing and voilà. But what do we do when we find him? If he’s parked here he’s clearly not missing. He’s probably just avoiding Maureen. Maybe he’s the kid’s father and is running from his responsibilities. I know some men don’t cope well when they discover their little swimmers have won the reproductive Olympic gold medal.”
Solomon glared at her before opening his door and climbing out. He leaned back inside. “You wait here.”
Daisy scrambled to undo her seatbelt. She really should learn to keep her mouth shut before she’d had a big enough infusion of caffeine and carbohydrates to kick-start her day. Her comment had been below the belt, but not actually directed at papa Solomon, whoever that loser might be. If she let Solomon stew he would be back to Mr. Dark and Brooding for the rest of the day and, God help her, she actually liked the man when he behaved like a normal human being. Besides, if Solomon fled the scene, who the hell would protect her if the nut job who’d defaced her car came looking to rip her arms off, not to mention other body parts? “No way.”
Solomon growled and then slammed the door. She leapt out and did the same. The SUV chirped, and the lights flashed to show it was locked as she followed the surly git into the car park’s stairwell. The sweetly pungent scent of urine filled her nasal passages, giving her head the equivalent of colonic irrigation. Eau de British car park. They should bottle and sell it at M&S. American tourists would be mad for the quintessential English perfume.
She climbed the stairs behind Solomon, intent on staring at anything other than his seven-out-of-ten rear end. The man had dimples, or at least she thought he did. Her mind had been caught up with other things when he was busy flashing in her kitchen. There was something absurdly uncomfortable about knowing what he looked like under those dark jeans, even though she was not in the least bit interested in him as a man. And he clearly was a man. Despite her earlier assertion that he had no penis, it seemed she was mistaken. She’d seen the evidence, exhibit numero uno, flopping about in her pristine white flat-packed kitchen. She’d be sure to give that table a good wipe with disinfectant when she finally got home.
Solomon stopped on the fourth-floor landing and pulled the door into the car park open. A gust of cold air blasted down the stairwell, cleansing her nostrils of the stench of human excrement. She just hoped to God they wouldn’t find anything like she’d found the last time she’d been inside a multistory.
She followed Solomon through the door. “What kind of vehicle are we looking for?”
“A new white Porsche.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t get the money for that by playing pub gigs.”
“Probably not, which is why you shouldn’t be here.”
She tugged at his sleeve, and he turned to face her. “I am sorry.”
“About?”
“What I said before. It wasn’t a dig at you, or your family situation. It was a lack of mouth control brought on by caffeine and carbohydrate deprivation.”
His focus slid down her body and then back to her face. “Are you sure you didn’t follow me so you could stare at my arse in the stairwell?”
“What? I’m trying to apologize here. What the fuck is wrong with you?” She could feel her cheeks heating with embarrassment.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Just thought I’d ask.”
“Why?”
“Because, had the roles been reversed, I would have had no choice but to stare at yours in that tiny piece of cloth you call a skirt.”
Daisy tugged the skimpy, body-hugging blue fabric down as far as she could and wished she’d chosen to wear pants instead. So much for wondering if the Irish git was gay. She made a mental note not to let Solomon follow her up any flights of stairs. Paul had been an angel of mercy turning up with a bag full of clothing. However, the scrappy lacy undies he’d brought for her to wear reflected his male fantasies, not comfort or decency. “I would continue this conversation, but I have a no-flirting policy when it comes to you.”
“Why’s that, then?”
“Because it offends your stick-up-the-arse sensibilities.”
“Don’t tell me that you’re finally going to do as you’re told?”
She strode ahead of him. “Shall we find this car? We have to be in Salisbury by lunchtime.”
He jogged up beside her, and then dragged her behind a concrete pillar. “Hold up, Princess. We have no idea who this Zut is. Until we know differently we assume he’s somehow involved in this whole bleedin’ mess.”
Daisy put her hands on her hips. “So what do you suggest, then?”
Solomon glanced around the car park before tugging a pistol from under his jacket.
“You want to shoot someone?”
“Insurance, Princess. I don’t suppose you’d consider staying here?”
“You suppose correctly.”
“Okay, then get behind me, grab my belt, and keep up. If this goes badly you dive for cover behind anything that gets between you and the danger, and keep your head down no matter what. Are you reading me?”
She saluted. “Loud and clear, sir.”
“Smart-arse.”
Daisy frowned. “Why am I holding on to you?”
“So that I know where you are.”
She could argue and tell him he could trust her to do as she was told without grabbing his belt like a child, but decided some fights weren’t worth having. He turned, and she slid her fingers into the back of his belt, bringing her close enough to feel the warmth of his body. Her heart was pounding. Surely they weren’t really in any danger. Were they?
Gun held down at his side, Solomon walked cautiously toward the end of the car park where his phone indicated the tracking device could be found. Daisy couldn’t see much from her position behind him. He had a few inches on Paul, and Paul had a few inches on her, even when she was wearing these ridiculous boots. She really needed to buy some running shoes.
*
Solomon slowed and stopped about ten meters from where the Porsche should be. All the spaces were full, but he didn’t need to check his phone to know the vehicle he’d planted the tracking device on wasn’t there. Zut must have found the bug and placed it on someone else’s car. They’d been led on a merry dance for nothing. He shoved his pistol back in his shoulder holster.
Daisy let go of his belt and moved to stand next to him. “Where is it?”
The blip on his phone screen indicated the green Kombi van was the new host vehicle. Had Maureen set them up? If so, why? He crouched to
get a closer look at the van. A bright flash lived and died on its underside. Jaysus Christ! He grabbed Daisy around the middle and dived for cover behind an SUV. The air shook with the rush of oxygen that heralded the arrival of an ear-splitting boom. He covered her body and tugged her face tight into his neck to protect her from the inevitable shower of glass and debris. Eyes closed, he breathed, inhaling the acrid scent of fire and the aftermath of an explosion that had set his body on autopilot and sent his mind reeling back to the Middle East. This time the outcome would be different. This time he’d be the savior.
*
One minute Daisy was standing in the car park, and the next Solomon turned with terror in his eyes. His hands closed around her waist, and he lifted and threw her. Her body slammed into the concrete floor, forcing the air out of her lungs. She sucked in a breath before Solomon’s hard body landed on top of her. He held her tight, and she closed her eyes as he pressed her face into his neck. The ground vibrated with a huge boom. Heart racing, she shook Solomon. Was he dead? Had he been killed saving her? God, no! He let her go and pushed up so he caged her body with his arms, and she moaned with relief.
The first gasp of breath seared her throat. She sucked in another, coughing to clear her lungs of smoke. Tears stung her eyes. Solomon scrambled to his feet. Blood was running down his face from a gash on his cheek, but he was alive. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, and slap him for scaring the shit out of her. His lips were moving, but the ringing in her ears, combined with the wail of car alarms rendered her deaf. She shook her head. “What?”
Solomon grabbed her hand and pulled Daisy unceremoniously to her feet. She stumbled in her heels, struggling to keep up as Solomon dragged her across the floor at full sprint. He opened the door to the stairwell and shoved her inside before following and slamming the door behind him. She coughed and spluttered for air as the building continued to shake beneath her feet.
Solomon pointed down the stairs, and she didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed the metal handrail and took the steps two at a time, not even slowing down when the heel broke off her left boot. She shoved the door at the bottom open and tumbled out into the bright morning light. Chest heaving, she sucked in a lungful of clean, salt-tinged air. The wind chilled the tear tracks on her face.
Laughter bubbled up, and she fought to get a grip. Hysteria was not the correct response to almost getting blown to pieces. She spun around. Solomon was doubled over just outside the door to the stairwell. His hands were on his thighs as he braced himself. She hobbled toward him, and he glanced up and chuckled. Apparently amusement wasn’t the wrong reaction. He’d saved her life. She sucked in a fresh gulp of air. A seagull squawked as it wheeled overhead. She could breathe. She could hear. It was wonderful. The world was amazing.
She grabbed the front lapels of Solomon’s jacket. His smile faded as she smashed her lips to his. When he tugged her tight to him and tried to deepen the kiss she fought free. Jesus, talk about taking liberties.
He frowned. “What was that about?”
“Thank you.”
He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Princess.”
Blood was still dribbling from the cut high on his cheek, his jacket sleeve was almost ripped off, and his knee was stained red where it poked through a hole in his jeans.
“You’re a mess.”
“You don’t look so hot yourself.”
“And yet you still find me attractive enough to try and take liberties.”
“You can’t blame a man for trying. Besides you started it. If I get a kiss every time I save your pretty arse I’m going to need to keep my lips in shape.”
“Screw you.”
She stomped down the path back toward his SUV.
“Will I be needing to buy you more toothpaste?”
She decided to ignore him. Why did he have to be such a dick?
His footsteps pounded on the pavement behind her and the SUV’s lights flashed as he hit the unlock button on his key-fob. She opened the door and climbed inside just as a fire engine, lights flashing, siren wailing, screamed past.
He climbed in beside her and turned the key in the ignition.
“Shouldn’t we stay and talk to the police?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?” She frowned.
“We were the only ones up there. If word gets out the police have two witnesses, then whoever was trying to kill us will know we survived.”
“You think they don’t know that already?”
He pulled the SUV into the traffic as a police car passed in the other direction, racing to the scene. “I doubt it. Remote detonation.”
“How did they know we were even there?”
“No idea, Princess. They could have hacked into the car park’s CCTV, in which case they might have seen us run for the stairwell but lost us because once you exit the floor there are no cameras. Unless they stopped watching once they hit the button and assumed they killed us. Alternatively, they could have been parked close by and seen us enter the stairwell and estimated how long it would take us to reach the Kombi van.”
“Watching us? Where are they?”
“When they detonated the device? Not too far away. Now? Probably long gone.”
She swiveled in her seat. “Are we being followed?”
“No.”
“Where are we going?”
Solomon glanced at her. “Home to clean up, and then we have appointments to get to.”
“You don’t want to chase down these bastards?”
“If they felt the need to try and blow us up my guess is we’re getting close.”
“To what?”
“Buggered if I know, Princess.”
“And the police?”
“Have told us to stay away from Zut, whoever he really is. I’m not sure they’d believe we just happened to be there when a car exploded.”
“We didn’t just happen to be there. You bugged the car.”
“Best the cops don’t know about that.”
“Why?”
“It’s not exactly legal.” He patted his pockets. “Bollocks. I’ve lost my fecking phone.”
“You had it in your hand before you threw me to the floor.”
“Shite.”
“We should go back.”
“Not going to happen, Princess. I’ll retrieve it later.”
“What if the cops find it?”
“Then we’re buggered.”
“You’re buggered. I was shopping when it all went down.”
He glanced at her. “You’d desert me in my hour of need?”
“It’s not legal to carry a handgun is it?”
Solomon shrugged.
“Then yep, I’m deserting you. I’m too pretty for prison.”
“And you think I’m not?”
She glanced at him. The convicts would love him, but if they so much as looked at him funny she had no doubt they’d be sorry.
“So much for the kisses, Princess. I’m deeply wounded. I thought we were a team, in this together until the bitter end.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Solomon sat at his desk trolling through the news on the Internet to see what the cops had to say about the exploding Kombi van. So far they were calling it a mechanical failure, but the area was on lockdown. Best-case scenario, they’d discover the bomb and go after the morons who had tried to kill them. Worst-case scenario, they’d find his fecking phone, trace his military background, check his place of birth, and decide he had something to do with it. The troubles in Northern Ireland might be over, but that didn’t mean his countrymen weren’t still subject to suspicion.
He glanced at the time. If Daisy didn’t hurry up they’d never make it to Salisbury for their appointment. He’d had first shower, tended his wounds, and changed his clothes. The jacket and jeans were a write-off. Levis were ten a penny, but the black jacket had been a real favorite. He’d shoot the bastard who’d tried to blow them up just for destroying an essential piece of his wardrobe.
He sat up straight as a headline caught his eye. “Bollocks!”
“What?”
Daisy sauntered into the room. She’d chosen skinny jeans, black knee-high spike-heel boots, and a long-sleeved cream button-up shirt. She tossed the distressed black leather jacket she was carrying on his desk as she walked around to join him. Other than the boots, the outfit was the closest thing to a nun’s habit he’d seen her wear.
“The estate of Lord Mardon reckons they’ve found Tobias and are withdrawing the reward.”
She leaned over his shoulder. The soft flowery scent she favored filled his nostrils, and her curly strawberry blonde hair brushed his face as she read the report on his computer screen. “Do you believe it?”
“That they’ve found Tobias?”
She turned and leaned her butt against his desk. “Seems awfully convenient. And if they have found him, then what is all this about. Why is someone trying to scare me off? This started before we did anything on your case.”
“Good point, Princess.”
“If it isn’t Toby, then surely the real Toby will see it and come forward? Is that their game, to try and flush him out?”
“Perhaps, but I think it’s safe to assume, at this point, that he doesn’t want to be found.”
“So why pretend you have him, then?”
Solomon shrugged. “Maybe to get people to stop hunting for him. If we’re to assume the defacing of your car and the bomb were designed to scare you off, then they’ll also want to discourage others. Without a reward, what’s the point of looking? Whoever they’re parading as Lord Tobias is irrelevant.”
“A fake Toby will never pass muster if they want to get the inheritance.”
“I’m starting to think the inheritance is no longer important, Princess. If they’re wanting to stop people looking, a fake heir does the job. Unless you know Tobias, that picture could be of anyone.”
“We need to speak to Belinda.”
“Why?”
“She does know him.”
Solomon glanced at his watch. “Right you are. If we’re quick we can duck into her shop and still be in Salisbury for our first appointment at midday.”
“And then lunch. I know a lovely café near the cathedral. Now I’m not going to get paid for finding Toby, lunch will have to be on you.”
