by JL Simpson
“Anything useful?”
She glanced at them. Same father shown on both. Different mothers, and Elliott was conceived before his parents were married. Nothing she didn’t already know. “Nothing.”
She sat on the sofa and tapped her chin with the folded documents. At least they had birth certificates.
“Did Solomon ever talk to you about his dad?”
Paul shoved his arms in the sleeves of his jacket and tugged it up over his shoulders. “Not that I remember. I don’t see the connection between your missing Lord and Solomon, though?”
“There isn’t any. I just thought, now his mam’s dead and he has Molly it might be nice for him to find out if he has any other family.”
“You mean you’re sticking your pretty nose in his business?”
She shrugged. “I just looked online for his birth certificate.”
“And?”
“He doesn’t have one.”
Paul chuckled. “Of course he doesn’t.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t talk about personal shit, but I bet my life he’s hiding something. It would be too easy for people to find out the truth if you could just go and get his birth certificate.”
“Do you think the government has restricted access? Crap I could have triggered an alarm. Special Branch could be triangulating the position of my laptop. They could bust in to arrest me any minute now.”
Paul pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Not even Special Branch could get into Fort Solomon. Besides, I doubt he’s working undercover for some secret government department. The logical conclusion to draw is that he changed his name because he didn’t want to be associated with his dad, whoever he is.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “Of course he did. That’s why he has his mother’s surname. But what was his original name?”
“That’s a question I can’t answer. Walk me to the door, and then you’d better have a shower.” He sniffed her neck. “I can smell sex cooties all over you, and you wouldn’t want Solomon to know you’ve been a bad girl, would you?”
They walked to the door tangled together and kissed on the doorstep. She had to admit the last two nights of him sneaking in for sex and then disappearing into the night had added a certain exciting dimension to their love life.
She glanced into the inky night. “I thought he’d be home by now.”
“If he was driving the Aston Martin and dressed in one of his swanky suits he probably got lucky, in which case he won’t crawl in until breakfast time, and he’ll definitely stink of sex.”
“Eww.” Daisy frowned, for someone who claimed to know nothing much about Solomon, Paul kept dropping bits of previously unmentioned information. “You know about the Aston Martin?”
“I know lots of things.”
“Like?”
“Like, I need to get going. It’s a long drive to your parents’. Make sure you lock up and reset the alarm once I’m gone.”
She kissed him good-bye and watched until he climbed into his truck before heading inside to deactivate the alarm long enough for him to clear the gate.
*
Solomon glared at the man who stood in the doorway. Light flooded the room from the corridor. However with his back to the opening the man was just a dark shape. A dark shape with a gun. A Glock if he wasn’t mistaken. Solomon would give his left testicle to have his own gun so that he could shoot the cowardly maggot who had them locked up. But for now he would have to satisfy himself with getting as much information about their surroundings as he could.
The man took a step closer. “You, Zut.” He waved the gun at Lord Toby. “Over here.”
Toby pushed off the wall and ambled across the room. For a man being held captive he seemed very blasé. Maybe he was a plant. What if he wasn’t missing at all and was here to try and find out what Solomon knew. Although Maureen had seemed genuinely upset about his disappearance. Toby wouldn’t be the first person to run away from responsibility. Solomon rejected the idea. Why get involved in some criminal enterprise when you were heir to a sizeable fortune? He could step up and take the cash anytime he wanted. Instead, he was locked up in what was akin to a dungeon.
Solomon edged along the wall to get closer to the door. With the light playing on the side of his face he could make out the features of their current jailor. Well. Well. He was a kid. A big kid, but a kid of about eighteen none the less. The jaw and oddly out-of-balance facial features gave him a weasel-like appearance that identified him as another of Maroni’s clan. This must be one of Manfred’s operations. Whatever was going on, there had to be a pot of cash at the end of it for the mobster.
The kid turned his back to Solomon, as he shoved Toby through the door. Solomon could take his chances and tackle the bastard. Knock him off his feet with a low rugby tackle. Chances were he’d have him flat on his back and disarmed before the kid even realized what was happening. However, he didn’t have a gun in his back, and it wouldn’t be him that got shot if it all went horribly wrong. Besides, he doubted the kid was alone, in which case the sound of gunfire would bring others running. Taking out one person would be easy, taking on a mob was a death sentence.
Solomon leaned back against the cold stone wall, arms folded across his chest. “You know it’s dangerous to play with loaded firearms. Someone could get hurt.”
The kid swung the gun in Solomon’s direction. “If you don’t shut up it’ll be you.”
“You’d need to take the safety off first.”
The kid checked the gun and then held it to Toby’s head, no doubt embarrassed that he had been stupid enough to look. “One more fucking word and I’ll blow his brains out.”
Solomon raised an eyebrow. The kid was green and that gave Solomon an edge. He just needed to figure out how to use that to his advantage when they came back. “Go ahead. He was annoying the shite out of me anyway.”
The gun swung in Solomon’s direction. “How about I shoot you instead?”
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
A creepy smile stretched young Maroni’s mouth wide. “We know your Achilles heel. The woman. What if we shoot the woman?”
Solomon’s pulse rate lifted, but he kept the desire to walk across and punch the kid in the head in check. “I don’t have a woman.”
“So, the kiss with the pretty redhead after you saved her in the car park never happened?”
Solomon worked hard to keep his temper. “She’s a strawberry blonde. What’s up? A pretty girl never kissed you before?”
“Maybe I’ll find her and kiss her myself if she means so little to you. Perhaps more than kiss her.”
He’d be worried about Daisy if he didn’t know she was safely locked up. None of the morons he’d seen so far could possibly deactivate his security system.
The kid shoved Toby toward the door. “Let’s go. You’ve got a call to make.”
Solomon followed them and got a look at the corridor before the heavy timber door was slammed shut and locked. He didn’t even bother to check if there was any way to break it down. A door that thick was impenetrable, and he had nothing on him that would be useful as a lock pick. At least he knew where he was. The walls of the corridor were made of large rough cut stone, as was the floor. He’d been in this labyrinth before with a lady friend he’d brought to the Langdon College Old Boy’s Rugby team dinner. She’d been scared as hell and hung onto his arm. One side of his mouth turned up in a smile as he remembered using his special magical powers to calm her down against one of the cool stone walls. Her moans had echoed loud enough to start rumors the dungeons beneath Langdon College were haunted.
Happy memories or not, Daisy had no chance of finding him. If he was to get out he needed a plan.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Daisy’s hair was still damp from her shower, and she’d swapped her glass of wine for a cup of Solomon’s exclusive blend of coffee. Enveloped in his huge bath robe, she sat on the sofa and inhaled the fragrant s
team as she considered what to do to pass the time until Solomon came home. It was a little after midnight, and Paul was right, the git could well have got lucky. Hell, back when she was single if she’d been hard up and legless she’d probably have accepted an offer of the horizontal variety from him. Thankfully, none of the above applied. She was a well-satisfied, sober, and happily married mature woman with too much self-respect to ever fall for his Irish charm.
She turned her attention to the laptop lying forgotten on the coffee table. Paul’s idea about looking for Toby under his mother’s maiden name had merit. She put her coffee on the table and lifted the laptop. Toby’s birth certificate lay next to her on the sofa. His mother’s maiden name was Brayden. Thank God it wasn’t Smith, or this would be a waste of time. She typed Tobias Brayden into Google and waited. The results list was hardly inspiring. Apparently he’d died in an old folk’s home in Florida, and been arrested for indecent exposure in Sydney. The man got around. How about Toby Brayden? She typed the name into the search engine and hit enter.
The list of hits was far more extensive. She scrolled through a few and came to a stop. “Homeless man sings for his supper.” What were the chances? She clicked on the link and moved closer to the screen. Her heart raced as she stared at the photo of a man with an acoustic guitar hanging around his neck. No way. No fucking way. She’d had the bastard. How had she not realized she had the bastard? Tobias Wareham, aka Toby Brayden, was Zut. She’d missed it because the grainy photos his family provided could have been anyone, and what kind of lord pranced around town dressed like a washed-up seventies rock star? Added to that, Zut didn’t have the upper-class twit accent. She had so fucked up. If she’d spotted him sooner she would have got the cash. Now there was no cash she’d finally worked it out.
Hmmph, she slumped back on the sofa. He’d been hiding in plain sight, and now he really was missing, according to Maureen. Well, one thing was for sure, the man in the newspaper with Elliott wasn’t his brother. She read the article attached to the photo of the real Toby. Apparently it was taken eight months ago and was an exposé about how men were the forgotten homeless. Had he really been homeless or was the story a way to build up his credibility before he got involved in whatever the charity was up to? Her head was aching thinking about it all.
She decided to put it aside for now and concentrate on her other problem, finding Solomon’s real identity. If he’d changed his name was there a record somewhere? She tried the London Gazette but came up empty. A search of the Belfast edition came up blank. Unfortunately it said what names people had abandoned, but not what names they adopted instead.
Birth notices? She knew his date of birth. A scan of the local paper in Carrickfergus showed a half a dozen baby boys born that week and none of them were called Ronan. She’d bet her life he’d kept the Christian name his mother had chosen for him. She noted down the names of the other babies. She picked the most unusual name, Otis McMahon and entered it into Google along with Carrickfergus and hit enter. The list of hits looked promising. She scrolled through. They read like an episode of This is Your Life. Young Otis was married and had fathered three kids according to various newspaper notices. He also played lacrosse and by all accounts was quite good.
She kept looking. Ah-ha. Rugby. Solomon played rugby. She clicked on the link and scanned the first page of writing all about the local club’s illustrious history and its influx of new players. A click on the Continue icon brought up the last of the article, along with a photo of the club’s members with their names underneath. Fuck. She’d found him. Fuckity fuck.
Her heart pounded. Ronan Dunlop. That name was too much of a coincidence. Dunlop had to be his father’s surname, and Solomon had known it all along. He could be related to Paul and had never said a word. What were the chances he’d not only ended up in the same regiment as Paul but became best mates with him?
Daisy went back to the government website and ordered his birth certificate. Maybe Solomon had looked into this father’s background and the surname was a coincidence. If he really had no desire to be associated with his father, and knew he wasn’t related to Paul, then keeping the information to himself was reasonable enough.
She checked the time. It was after two and still no sign of the man returning. Should she call Paul and tell him what she’d found out? No, she’d wait to get the birth certificate. Once she knew the truth she’d know what to do with it. For now the only thing she could do was to go to bed so she’d be fresh when he finally dragged his sorry arse home.
* * * *
Solomon sat with his back against the door and listened. Silence. He counted off seconds in his head. Toby had been liberated over an hour ago. Maybe they planned to leave him alone in the room to starve to death. No one came down into the bowels of the school. He didn’t even have anything of any use to aid his escape or signal his whereabouts.
His watch was missing, along with his wallet and phone. He was left in the clothes he stood in and nothing else. Even the keys to the Aston Martin were gone. If he was on the outside and Daisy had gone missing with the Aston he would know he had an edge. He prayed the thugs had decided to take his car as well as his liberty. The alarm on the tracking device would have been activated after it was driven 100 meters if the thief didn’t have his credit card-sized driver deactivation device. Even though the young Maroni had his current mobile phone, it wouldn’t have given them any clue that the car was designed to track its whereabouts when it was stolen. The text message requesting he confirm the car wasn’t stolen would have gone to the old phone, which he hoped to God was in the hands of a person who’d alert the authorities that his car was missing.
A sound in the corridor had him turning his head to listen closer. Footsteps. Definitely footsteps. He took up a position next to the door. Tensed, ready for anything, his weight balanced evenly on the balls of his feet. Given an opportunity he was prepared to take it.
The grating of metal on metal heralded the arrival of company. He took a deep breath and focused his attention on the leading edge of the timber as the heavy door swung open with a low creak. Light speared a shaft across the stone floor of the small room. Fists balled tight, he bided his time. Toby was pushed inside. The man stumbled and grabbed at Solomon for support. He shoved him aside. A loud curse filled the air as the lord no doubt made contact with a hard surface. The door started to close, and Solomon pounced and dragged it open, drawing the man who held the handle into the room with it.
Solomon slammed his fist down on the man’s arm sending the gun he was holding clattering across the room. A knee to the groin had the man doubled over, and Solomon smirked with satisfaction as he recognized Jason. Solomon wrapped an arm around the smaller man’s throat. He had this. The cool feel of metal against his temple brought him up short.
“Let him go.”
Solomon turned his head and glared at Toby. What the feck. “You’ve not got the balls to pull the trigger.”
“Try me.” The gun pressed harder, and Solomon let Jason go. He sagged over like a sack of potatoes gasping for air. Toby waved the gun at Solomon. “Back off.”
Solomon sauntered across the room, never once taking his eyes off the precious lord who had just fucked up their best chance of escape. Jason grabbed the gun and glared from one man to the other. “Good choice, Zut. Just remember what’s at stake, and no one has to die.” He grinned. “Yet.”
The door closed with a sickening thud. Solomon waited a beat before grabbing Zut by the throat and slamming him into the wall. “What the feck are you doing?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Daisy had hardly slept. She might as well have sat up all night. Solomon hadn’t shown up, and Paul still hadn’t called to say he’d arrived in Cheshire. She switched on the bedside light. Her phone showed it was a little after six. No point in lying around any longer. In fact there was no reason for anyone to be a sluggard. Solomon was supposed to be working, not screwing. He’d said he’d be back for breakfast, and
her stomach was ready to eat. She struggled into a sitting position, leaned back against the pillows, and punched the button on her phone to speed-dial Solomon’s new number. His phone rang and rang. When she thought he was never going to respond and she’d be put through to his voice mail, the call was picked up.
A deep male voice sounded in her ear. “Hello, who is this?”
Her heart raced. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. She’d heard it on the office intercom often enough. Clive Lewis. She hung up and stared at the phone. A check of the call log confirmed she’d called Solomon. Why the hell did Clive have Solomon’s phone? If some breathy female had answered she wouldn’t have been surprised, but Clive was definitely not Solomon’s type.
Daisy clambered off the bed and dragged her clothes on as quickly as she could. Her hair was a riot of curls. She should have done something with it after her shower the night before. The best she could do now was to tie it up in a ponytail. She needed to find out what had happened to Solomon. If there was a reasonable explanation for Clive having his phone she couldn’t imagine what it was.
She ran through ideas as she brushed her teeth, grabbed her jacket and bag, and then ran downstairs. The fire had burned out, and there was a chill in the air, giving the house a strangely empty feel. Should she call the cops? And tell them what? Solomon went out and didn’t come home and a well-respected lawyer with an interest in a local homeless charity answered his phone. That sounded stupid even to her. What she needed was proof he was really missing and to get that she needed to get out there and start looking. First problem, she had no wheels. Solomon had the Aston Martin and the four-wheel drive was safely tucked up in his garage. If she wanted to take it she needed keys, and they were last seen on the bunch Solomon had in his hand when he left the night before.
He had to have a spare set somewhere, but where? Daisy prowled the house, opening and closing drawers and hunting through cupboards. No keys, although Solomon had an interesting stash of DVD’s in his bedside cupboard. She returned to the kitchen and tried to think like Solomon. Where would he keep something important? The study. Had to be. It was the only place she hadn’t checked.
