Bex Wynter Box Set 2

by Elleby Harper

  Quinn rolled his eyes.

  “If dinner’s that much of a problem, we’ll go out. I could murder a good steak anyway. You’re not the only one who worked through lunch.”

  “It’s not about dinner, you twat!”

  Dropping the tub of ice cream onto the lacquered surface of the coffee table, she promptly covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

  Alarmed, Quinn straightened in his chair. Snarky comebacks and insidious manipulation were par for the course in their conversations, but tears were a rarity. The sound of her sobs tore open his chest and grabbed hold of his heart.

  “Jeez, Isla, do I need to contact the funeral parlor because someone’s died?”

  When her shoulders continued to heave as though it was the end of the world, he wondered if her father had fallen ill. Privately Quinn didn’t consider that last option particularly bad news, but Isla was a daddy’s girl. He closed the gap between them and dropped beside her onto the sofa. As he reached out and pulled her close, he was immediately enveloped in her heady, somewhat spicy fragrance.

  “Is it your father? Is he sick?”

  “It’s much worse than that!” Isla wailed.

  Her voice was muffled behind her palms, but he managed to decipher her words.

  “The only thing most people consider worse than death is public speaking, but since you do that for a living every day –”

  “Oh, can the comedy for once, Quinn!” Isla twitched herself free of his arms so she could look him in the eye. “I forgot to get my birth control shot. It was due two weeks ago but the Loughborough case has been so full on and I’ve been working around the clock to sort out the prosecution that it completely slipped my mind.”

  Since they’d left condoms behind, Isla’s preferred birth control method was a quick jab once every three months. Even though they had no plans to start a family, she said she didn’t fancy the idea of the longer lasting birth control implant because it made her feel like a dog being microchipped.

  “Don’t you have an automatic reminder for something that important?”

  Even though her eyes were red and puffy and her nose was blotched, she spoke to him as though addressing arguments in court.

  “Of course I do! I have a birth control reminder app. It pinged like it was supposed to, but I was too busy to make an appointment right then. I told myself I’d make an appointment the next day. Like I said, I had a lot on my mind and I just forgot.”

  “I can’t believe it!”

  Quinn shot upright and began pacing the room. Was Isla saying she was pregnant?! He and Isla weren’t nearly adult enough to take on responsibility for a baby!

  He stopped pacing and hunkered down beside the sofa, grabbing hold of her hand.

  “It’s only been two weeks, Isla.” His voice was calm, trying to persuade himself as much as her that pregnancy was an impossibility.

  “It’s been two weeks of unprotected sex!”

  Quinn stroked her cheek. Isla’s eyes were pleading with him. He dropped his gaze to the hand he was squeezing. Something tight contracted in his chest. Panic. He fought it down, knowing she deserved his support. He’d played a part in making this baby after all.

  “Maybe if we continue having sex we’ll dislodge the little bugger.”

  “So you don’t want me to be pregnant!” she snapped.

  Hearing the word out loud, Quinn’s stomach lurched.

  “You know babies aren’t on our agenda at the moment. Both of us are focused on our careers. How will we cope with a baby that will need more attention than either of us can spare?” He released her hand to pace the room once more. “You have to admit I’m hardly father material! Hell, according to you, I barely make the grade as husband material. When did you do the pregnancy test?”

  “Stop hounding me!” she screamed. “I can tell from your voice that you’re as horrified as I am by the thought!”

  “No, I’m not,” he protested, but the words limped as badly as a three-legged dog.

  “I spoke to mum. She said ‘You’ll both be thirty-two this year, so it’s time you put babies on the radar if your relationship is going to last’.”

  The sound of Isla’s sniffles grated on his nerves.

  “What the hell does that mean?!” Quinn shouted. “Your family is just hoping this news will break us up, aren’t they? Your old man has never thought I was good enough for you!”

  His jaw clenched tight, Quinn strode across the room to stand beside the window. With unseeing eyes he looked out at the darkened street, lying in the murky haze created by streetlights and a half moon.

  “Does the test tell you how far along in the pregnancy you are?” he asked.

  “I haven’t done a test,” she said.

  “What?!” The word burst out of his constricted lungs and he whirled from the window to face her. “I thought the reason we were having this conversation was because you’d found out you were pregnant?”

  “I haven’t been able to bring myself to do the test. Right now there’s a possibility that we’ve escaped without any consequences. If I take the test then I’ll know for sure one way or the other.”

  “Don’t be a bloody idiot, Isla! Look, you’ve created a storm in a teacup. There’s no point in both of us getting worked up until we know for sure. I can pop down to the pharmacy right now and pick up a kit. You can do the test tonight and we’ll know.”

  Isla unfolded her legs and launched herself from the sofa to glare at him.

  “If I’m pregnant do you want me to get rid of it?”

  Quinn jammed his hands in his pockets. He turned his head to the side, avoiding her eyes. He loved her. But it was a love that constantly ripped at the corners of his heart, one that he had no certainty would endure through the maelstrom of emotions the two of them called a relationship. He had no idea whether they could survive as a couple for the long haul, let alone once a child entered the equation.

  “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue, Quinn?”

  “What do you want me to say? Because I can already tell I’m damned no matter what comes out of my mouth.” He regarded her steadily and his voice dropped into a plea. “Just don’t shut me out, Isla, because whatever happens I’m part of it.”

  Isla took her time brushing down her skirt and slipping her feet back into her shoes. When she looked back at him, his heart crumbled.

  “Do you really want to be part of it, Quinn? Or are you too much of a good-time-charlie to really want to give all that up for a kid?” Her eyes darkened to deep umber as she prepared to leave the room. “I’ll take the test when I’m ready.” She tossed the words over her shoulder as she left.

  When she was gone, Quinn crashed onto the sofa and dropped his head into his hands. He knew he wasn’t equipped to take on fatherhood. What’s more, Isla knew it as well.

  Chapter 18

  Ealing, Wednesday, April 4

  Bex knew she was wallowing. Her trip to American Pie had impacted her with all the finesse of a whack from a sledgehammer. Even a grueling workout in the gym couldn’t shift the heavy pall of grief. It blanketed her like the darkness that was barely lessened by the glow from her bedside lamp.

  After the auto accident, her psychiatrist had explained to her that progressing through the stages of grief was not accomplished in a linear fashion, it wasn’t like navigating a long tunnel to reach the light. Instead, he told her, she should expect her experience of grief to be cyclic. At first it was like being caught up in a tumbleweed, the cycles came at you thick and fast. With time, the cycles stretched out into longer time frames until eventually they were only triggered by anniversaries and special days. This had turned into one of those days.

  Even though she had deliberately left most of her life back in New York, there were a few mementoes she hadn’t been able to resist bringing with her to London.

  The wedding dress hanging in her closet was one. A pair of expensive stilettoes Zane had bought for her birthday were another, as was Zane�
�s wedding ring which she’d threaded onto a gold chain with her own platinum band.

  Sitting in the middle of her bed, she riffled through a thin stack of black and white photos that had been the start of Zane’s photographic aspirations back in the 80s when he was just twenty-three. Zane’s dad, Neil, had found the photos when he was clearing out Zane’s gear and sent them to her.

  Amongst the gritty portraits of everyday working Americans were two self-portraits he’d taken of himself when he worked as a mechanic putting himself through classes in photography. These showed signs of wear because she liked to keep them handy in pockets or her purse. As a photographer, Zane preferred to hold the camera than be in front of it, which was why they were so precious.

  She picked up a clipping from her precinct’s police magazine. Her eyes traveled over the words, but she already knew them by heart.

  Zane Wynter, forensic photographer with the New York Police Department, died on December 18. Wynter had been with the NYPD for 27 years and had been involved in a number of high profile and prolific murder investigations. Tributes have poured in from many of Wynter’s work colleagues and supervisors who will miss his attention to detail and his willingness to work until the job was complete.

  The cause of death was determined as a massive coronary seizure that happened while he was behind the wheel of his car.

  The funeral will be held at 10:30 a.m. on January 5.

  He leaves behind a widow, Homicide Detective Rebecca Wynter also with the NYPD, and a son from his first marriage, Kristian Wynter.

  Zane Wynter is a man who will be sorely missed from the police force.

  She refolded the slip of paper and tucked it away with the two rings.

  Reading the words brought to life too clearly her memories of the shattered windshield and the glare of oncoming headlights, and initiated a succession of silent, gasping sobs that she fought to bring under control.

  Officials claimed there was no evidence to support her assertions of an oncoming vehicle. Her psychiatrist diagnosed her with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder resulting from the accident, telling her that it was likely guilt had taken over and replaced reality with her fantasy. More than a year later she no longer knew what to believe. All she knew was that she was living Zane’s worst nightmare, the reason he had refused to take her first marriage proposal seriously.

  “My darling girl, I was older than you are now when you were born,” he had said. “Let’s just enjoy our time together before you retire this old man out of your life and move onto someone who doesn’t need a walker just yet.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me who to fall in love with, Zane Wynter!” she had retorted. “Don’t fob me off with that hot potato about your age. I don’t care that you’re twenty-seven years older than me! I don’t know anyone my age who has as much energy or charisma as you. Every man I meet under the age of thirty is a role-playing gamer who can’t leave his console alone. I know my own mind and I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me, please.”

  She twined her arms around his neck, feeling the flash and flicker of electricity between them. He kissed her nose, but looked down with serious intent.

  “I’m not going to marry you knowing that I won’t be here to look after you; that one day, much sooner than you’d like to think, this old man will be dead and gone.”

  “Given my line of work it’s not an absolute that you’ll pass before me! Don’t go making wildly inaccurate statements and jumping to conclusions.”

  He crushed her against him.

  “If I had my way I’d never let you go, Rebecca Joy. You really are the joy of my life. But, I’m not going to make you suffer unnecessarily.”

  It had taken her months to wear him down to a yes. But in the end he had been right. He had left her long before she was ready for it.

  Zane’s best friend, Walt, had said something similar at Zane’s funeral.

  “Zane always knew he’d be the first one to clock out of this marriage, Bex. Like me, he was rocking past the half century, so it was a pretty safe bet. I know for a fact that Zane was the last one to want you to wallow in grief. He wanted to leave you enough of an inheritance that you could enjoy life.”

  Between his police benefits and life insurance, that had worked out to a cool half a million-dollar payout, which she had promptly invested in a trust to fund the Zane Wynter Halfway House for wayward teenagers. Zane had often remarked that his passion for photography was what had saved him from some bad choices and decisions in his younger years and she wanted to pay tribute to him. She had left the hard-nosed Walt in charge and he ran the shelter with a no-nonsense attitude that kept the boys toeing the line.

  “Zane, dammit, why did you have to go and die on me!” she said the words under her breath. Words she had said innumerable times, that had no answer and brought no relief from the unending and unbearable loneliness.

  What about Cole? You can’t deny you feel something for him.

  Zane’s voice echoed inside her head.

  She didn’t want the words to be true. If they were, didn’t that mean she would have to relegate Zane to a forgotten corner so that he was no longer part of her life?

  “I’m not ready to let go of you yet,” she whispered the words aloud, just as her buzzing ring tone cracked the silence.

  Her phone was in her purse on the kitchen counter. She rose from the bed, padding the two steps between it and the kitchen to answer the call.

  “Idris, what’s up?”

  “Am I disturbing you?”

  Bex looked over at the blinking digits on the microwave. 10:47 p.m. His question was rhetorical. Her team members may not have known her exact routine, but all of them suspected her life revolved around work. It was a sad fact that the highlight of her social calendar was a monthly dinner with her landlady, Georgie Richards, when Georgie could spare a free evening from her new beau, Eli Morgan.

  “If I haven’t fallen asleep over dinner or in the shower, you haven’t disturbed me. Are you calling about the Loughborough case?”

  “Quinn thinks this item has nothing to do with what we’re investigating, but it’s a discrepancy that bothers me.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Idris explained the difference between the amount of cocaine held in police property compared to Bannerjee’s claims.

  “I know it seems to have nothing to do with the shooting. But what if the discrepancy is real and somehow fifty to a hundred thousand pounds worth of coke was pocketed that night? When you stop to think who had the easiest access to the drugs, do you come to the same conclusion as me?”

  “Let me get this straight: Bannerjee reckoned there was three hundred thou worth of drugs to be distributed but at the trial it would’ve been revealed the real figure was worth less. If Bannerjee had a brain in his head he wouldn’t have inflated the amount they were distributing. Jack Loughborough put Griffin in charge of the shipment that night. I imagine the coke would’ve been in his possession if he was calling the shots.” Bex mulled over the facts. “You think Griffin pocketed around a hundred grand of drugs? But what did he have to gain?”

  “I realize he’s part of the Loughborough family and at the time he was next in line to run the business. Jack was obviously grooming him and that’s why he put him in charge that night. But what if Griffin didn’t want to wait for Jack to hand over the reins? What if he’s more ambitious than that?”

  On the other end of the line, Bex’s thoughts whirled.

  “I don’t believe Griffin wanted to take over Jack’s criminal activities!” she protested. “I swear he genuinely wants to escape that life.”

  “We’ve been thinking that the motive for the shooting is to stop Griffin from testifying, but if Jack twigged to Griffin diddling the books and stealing from him he’d be well and truly pissed off. Jack wouldn’t stand for that, not even from his own flesh and blood.”

  Bex was glad of a distraction that let her stew over problems other than her own. She h
ad no doubt that Griffin was petrified of his father. What if the real reason he was petrified was because he had stolen from Jack and knew he couldn’t get away with it? Tomorrow, she would see if she could get access to Griffin and ask him point blank.

  Chapter 19

  Uxbridge, Thursday, April 5

  “Remy’s a no-show, so I’ll go in with you,” Quinn said, snapping on latex gloves and gesturing Eli and Idris onwards through the Loughboroughs’ electrically operated gates leading up the driveway. “I want this baby flipped inside out and every way from here to Sunday. Don’t overlook anything.”

  Like a plague of locusts they swarmed from the spacious reception hall throughout the ground floor living areas: kitchen and pantry, formal and informal dining rooms, three spacious reception rooms, gym, cloakroom and enclosed sunroom. They scoured the eight bedrooms and three bathrooms upstairs, opening cupboards, closets, boxes and two safes and flipping through drawers and credenzas. Mirrors, paintings, books and ornaments had been removed or upended and everything had been examined in minute detail, under the hawk-like gaze of Jerimiah Hudson, Jack Loughborough’s right hand man.

  When there was nothing left to trash in the five thousand square feet, Quinn regrouped with Eli and Idris.

  “What have we turned up?”

  Idris held up a slender black box with an attached screen. “I found this in Drake’s room. It looks like a remote control for a drone.”

  “It’s a start. Anything else?”

  “Not even a Lego block of plastic,” Eli said with disgust. “This house is cleaner than a Disney resort. There’s not a speck of drugs or sign of anything illicit. They must do everything off the premises.”

  “Let’s grab their computers and laptops for IT to crack and see what turns up there.”

  As they trudged down the stairs, Jack faced off with Quinn.