Final Justice (Lorne Simpkins thriller (Book Three))

by Mel Comley

  ‘Tony Warner, your friendly, secret agent. Remember now?’ Tony said, his humour disappearing, along with his patience.

  After several seconds of quiet, Tony had to ask if she was still there.

  ‘Yeah, I’m here. But why?’ Lorne asked, collapsing into the sofa behind her.

  ‘Why am I ringing you, you mean?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If I said I’m checking in to see how you are, would you believe me?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s a negative.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. So, why don’t you open your front door, let me in, and we can discuss why I’m getting in touch after all this time.’

  ‘You’re what? You’re here. But— ‘ Lorne broke off when the doorbell rang.

  She flung open her front door, forgetting she looked a mess, then watched in horror, as he took in the sight of her dressed in bubblegum pink pyjamas covered in comical penguins. Both of them had a phone pressed to the ear.

  ‘Nice outfit, I must’ve missed that particular number at the London fashion show. Hi, Lorne, it’s good to see you, kind of.’

  The redder she became, the wider the grin spread across his handsome, slightly scarred face.

  Her mouth hung open for several minutes before she grabbed him by the collar and hauled him in through the front door.

  ‘I think it’s a little late to be concerned about what the neighbours might think, don’t you?’ he said, laughing as he followed her up the narrow hallway.

  ‘Wise arse. Give me a minute to throw on some proper clothes, will you?’ Her cheeks, by now were the colour of beetroot, and she hated herself for colouring up like that.

  ‘Don’t bother changing on my account it’s been a while since I’ve laid eyes on a young lady in such fetching jimjams.’

  As she ran up the stairs, momentarily forgetting about the delicate state of her head, she stretched out an arm behind her and gave him the finger. ‘Make yourself at home just don’t go in the kit— ‘ She shouted, stopping mid-sentence when she heard Henry bounding up the stairs to find her.

  ‘Sorry, did you say something?’

  Shaking her head, Lorne grabbed the dog by his collar and dragged him into the bathroom so she could clean his dirty paws.

  ‘Come on, mate, I know it’s not your fault. If men had bloody brains they’d be far too dangerous for this universe, or the next.’ With dog and owner both looking more presentable, they headed back downstairs to see what the deal was with their unexpected guest.

  She found Tony standing by the kitchen window gazing out at her tip of a garden.

  ‘Work in progress, I guess you’d call that, huh?’

  ‘If you must know, Tony, I’ve only just completed renovating this place, if you knew anything at all about property development, you’d know the last piece of the puzzle is always the garden, and any external work.’

  ‘Is that what you are nowadays, a property developer?’

  She filled the kettle, feeling further embarrassed by the muddy footprints making not so pretty patterns across the newly-tiled floor. ‘I was just about to dry Henry when you arrived, you’ll have to excuse the mess in here, and throughout the rest of the house now, thanks to you.’

  ‘What did I do?’ He sounded mystified as only a man could in such circumstances.

  ‘Forget it. Why are you here?’

  ‘Any chance we can go somewhere a little less messy?’ Tony asked, his eyes scanned the kitchen table that was overflowing with dozens of interior design magazines, and piles of unopened letters and bills.

  She poured the boiling water over the instant coffee granules and mumbled. ‘Cheeky sod.’ She added the milk and sugar, picked up the two mugs, and headed back up the hallway into the lounge at the front of the house. ‘This better?’ she asked, handing one of the steaming mugs to the agent.

  ‘Much. Now, I need you to sit down.’

  The humour had gone, and his face looked more serious, which worried Lorne.

  ‘You’re kidding me. Just get on with it, Tony, for Christ’s sake,’ Lorne snapped, refusing to take a seat on her comfortable new brown angled leather sofa.

  ‘Sit.’

  As her eyes met his troubled gaze, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, his tone held a warning to expect the worse. She took a step back and gently lowered herself onto the sofa, placing her mug on the side table beside her.

  ‘I’m sitting. Now, what’s up?’

  ‘He’s back,’ Tony said.

  Chapter Three

  He’s back! Two words.Two words that struck dread and fear into every pore of her skin.

  The colour drained from her painfully thin, but pretty face and Lorne’s hands shook in her lap. She searched Tony’s face, and noticed the concern etched upon it. Even Henry, who was now sitting in front of her tilting his head first one way and then the other, appeared to sense the magnitude behind those two small, but powerful words.

  ‘He can’t be, not again.’ Her words came out as a whisper.

  ‘Sorry, love, but I wouldn’t lie to you.’

  Her tongue rolled out to moisten her dry lips. ‘Where? Why?’

  ‘He’s been spotted in France, Normandy actually. It doesn’t look good, Lorne.’

  ‘Why? I mean, why have you tracked me down and come here? How does this concern me?’ she could see the torment lingering in his hazel eyes.

  ‘I need your help.’

  Lorne thrust herself off the sofa and stood in front of him. ‘My help! You want my help, are you bloody insane, Tony?’ She watched the hesitation flicker in his eyes. ‘I assumed you’d want revenge, Lorne,’ he said.

  ‘Of course I want revenge, Tony, who wouldn’t. But don’t you think this guy has destroyed me enough already? I can’t believe you’re asking me to get involved in this. I’ve already had one breakdown. I don’t think I could cope with another.’

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘No, no-one did. I did my darndest to hide it from everyone, why should you know about it?’ her voice trailed off.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come, it was wrong of me to disturb you. Forgive me, Lorne.’ His shoulders slumped and he looked defeated, something she’d never known before. He turned to leave but she spoke, drawing him back into the room.

  ‘Eight years I chased The Unicorn, eight bloody years, don’t you think it’s about time someone else had a pop at the guy. Jesus! I can’t believe you’re here, I really can’t.’ She started pacing back and forth, between the original cast iron black fireplace and the sofa, her mind exploding, fracturing into pieces it would take a lifetime to put back together. Finally stopping in front of the fireplace she berated him again. ‘After all I went through, how dare you have the audacity to seek me out. To "invite me" to get involved in what I know will prove to be another fruitless mission.’

  ‘At least think about it, Lorne. Don’t make a hasty decision that you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting— ’

  Lorne raised her hand to halt his speech. ‘Stop it. Stop right there, buster. Don’t play that game with me. I repeat, you know what I went through, what Charlie, my fourteen- year-old daughter went through at the hands of that lunatic. It’s obviously all in a day’s work in your line of business, well I’ve got news for you, buddy, losing my career, my marriage, my partner, and the man I love, in my book that counts for a phenomenal amount of pain. More pain than you or anyone else could endure in a dozen lifetimes. It’s inconceivable of you to think I haven’t suffered enough at the hands of this guy. That you should come knocking on my door like this. I find it downright fucking insensitive!’

  ‘You’re probably right, Lorne, on all counts. But I remember what you used to be like.’ He sipped at his almost cold mug of coffee, and his eyes ran up and down her five-foot-five scrawny frame.

  ‘Why you … you, shit bag.’ She took two steps towards him, and thrust out an arm to slap the supercilious look off his face.

  He caught her wrist before she made cont
act. ‘That’s as may be. But I’m a shit bag who’s desperate to rid the world of an even greater shit bag! And I truly thought you would feel the same way. Guess I was totally wrong with that one, huh?’

  ‘Get out!’

  ‘If that’s what you want, Lorne, I’ll leave, and you won’t hear from me again. If that’s what you really want! Although when the idea sinks in, and I’m long gone, I think you’ll be kicking yourself that you missed the opportunity to bring this guy down. Still, it’s your choice, hon, just remember this is a one-time offer. If I leave here empty-handed, I won’t be coming back in a hurry. I won’t have time, love, I’ll be busy organising my travel plans. I leave for France this evening, with, or without you.’

  Despite Lorne’s couldn’t care less attitude, she found herself asking if maybe this man knew her better than she knew herself.

  Chapter Four

  It was close to midnight when the plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport. The flight had been quiet, both of them lost in their thoughts, but they were brought back to the present as the plane landed with a bump.

  ‘It’s this way,’ Tony said, tucking his arm through Lorne’s, he guided her towards the exit, and the waiting courtesy car that Interpol had laid on for them.

  Lorne put up with Tony’s manhandling because she was exhausted, she felt as though the day’s events were a whirlwind, and she had been carried along with no way to control things.

  After Tony’s surprise visit the day had panned out like this: First, she had called her father, begging him to dogsit Henry for a few days. Her second call was one of the toughest she’d ever had to make in her life. Charlie had picked up on the first ring, giving Lorne little chance to think up a plausible excuse why she had to cancel their plans for the weekend. Plans that had been arranged for the last month, their trip would’ve consisted of a visit to the zoo on Saturday morning, followed by a shopping expedition to Oxford Street. Then, as an extra special surprise, and an early birthday present for the teenager, she had booked a table at The Ivy for eight o’clock. Six months that table had been booked, six bloody months! Jesus, Tony really did pick his moments, didn’t he?

  But Charlie hadn’t kicked up a fuss, hadn’t ranted like other teenagers, or reacted like the old Charlie would have. Maybe her frequent visits to the psychiatrist, Dr Carmichael were paying off after all. Instead, her daughter had calmly said, "That’s okay, Mum, I understand, maybe next weekend, huh?"

  The way the teenager had accepted the situation, without any arguments, only made Lorne feel worse. She hated letting her daughter down, but she knew that should this trip lead to Baldwin’s capture, both she and Charlie would end up celebrating at The Ivy, and dancing on the table with joy. Whatever happened she would bend over backwards on her return and make it up to her only daughter. If they had to wait another six to eight months to sample some of the finest, if not the finest, food in the Capital then so be it.

  Tony jabbed her in the ribs, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Hey, you with me, Lorne?’ They were travelling in the back of a black Renault to a destination only known by the agent.

  ‘Yeah, just thinking.’ She smiled, despite her tiredness.

  ‘About letting Charlie down?’ He probed.

  She nodded, ‘Amongst other things.’

  ‘Did you explain why you’re coming to France?’

  ‘No. That was the hardest thing of all, not being able to tell her the truth. She’s made giant steps in her therapy. I thought if I told her the real reason behind my visit, it might set her back. I told her one of my oldest friends desperately needed my help.’

  ‘Well, that’s certainly true.’ He grabbed her hand, raised it and squeezed it tight, then said, ‘I couldn’t have done this without your help, Lorne.’ He surprised her further by touching his lips to the back of her hand.

  She brushed the sentimental gesture aside not wishing to give it a second thought. ‘You old smoothie. You sure know how to wrap a girl round your little finger, don’t you?’

  ‘Years of practice, I guess. We should be at the hotel soon. We’re staying here in Paris tonight, and after an early breakfast, seven all right with you?’ she nodded, and he continued, ‘Another car is due to pick us up at seven-thirty, then we have a rendezvous lined up with a couple of Interpol agents, that part is all pretty hush hush. Not sure what will happen from there, but I’m assuming they’ll escort us to Normandy, and Baldwin’s new hang out.’

  Lorne studied the famous Paris landmarks whizzing past her window, and bent forward to see if she could see the top of the Eiffel Tower. ‘I’m glad you’ve stopped calling him The Unicorn, it was such an unlikely name for the bastard.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Baldwin seems so much nastier, much more in keeping with his vile character.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Considering Interpol were footing the bill, the hotel they were booked into turned out to be far grander than either of them had anticipated. One-step down from swanky in Lorne’s tourist guidebook.

  A bellboy showed them to their rooms, which were opposite each other on the fourth floor.

  Tony appeared to hesitate at his door, and Lorne pretended not to notice. She smiled to herself, feeling awkward. Please don’t try coming on to me Tony, please! ‘Remember, breakfast is at seven on the dot. Goodnight, Lorne.’

  She closed the door and locked it behind her. A shudder swept through her. What was that all about? Why was Tony being so nice? Of course, he would be, he needs your help, you idiot. She chastised herself for looking for something that clearly didn’t exist. Had the Paris effect hit her? After all, this was supposed to be the most romantic city in the world. But she had no interest in Tony, or any other guy for that matter. When Jacques had died, she’d promised herself she’d never fall for anyone ever again. It was a promise she intended keeping. ‘Snap out of it, Lorne. You’re tired and imagining things,’ she told herself as she began unpacking her overnight bag.

  She cleaned her teeth in the en-suite bathroom, and then settled into bed.

  After half an hour of her mind refusing to switch off, she decided to call her father, back in London.

  A groggy voice came on the line, ‘Yes, who is this?’

  ‘Hi, Dad, it’s me. Sorry to be calling so late, I just thought you might like to know that… I’ve arrived safely.’ She hesitated, then reprimanded herself for almost putting her foot in it. He had no idea she was even out of the country, let alone in Paris with a man. She’d told all her family she was visiting an old friend in Devon, alone.

  ‘Lorne, sweetheart. Don’t be daft I dropped off in front of the box that’s all. I was waiting up for your call. How’s Judith?’

  ‘Umm, she’s fine, Dad, she sends you her love. How’s Henry settling in?’ she asked, quickly changing the subject.

  ‘He’s fine. Well that’s a bit of a porkie actually. The damn dog is driving me to distraction, keeps squeaking that damn toy of his, wants to bloomin’ play all the time. The bloody mutt is wearing me out.’

  As if on cue, Henry squeaked his favourite toy in the background. Not just once, but at least a dozen times, she laughed. ‘He loves ya, Dad, he knows when he sees you that you always play with him.’

  ‘That’s when I come to visit you, I accept it then. But non-stop for twenty-four hours a day that’s a bit much, wouldn’t you say?’

  She could hear her dog growling and pictured her father trying to wrestle the "damn toy" off him. ‘Apart from that, is everything okay that end?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be? You only left here a couple of hours ago, girl.’

  Because of her exhaustion she’d managed to raise his suspicions. ‘Don’t go getting all defensive on me I was only asking.’ Lorne said, sidestepping her father’s inquisition before it had the chance to get started.

  ‘When did you say you’d be back?’

  ‘Couple of days max, Dad.’ She lied, unsure what the actual timeframe would be for her visit.

  Her father grunted. �
��The sooner you get back the better I say where this bloody dog of yours is concerned.’

  Lorne raised her eyes to the ceiling then said, ‘If he gets too much, Dad, maybe you can give Tom a ring. Perhaps he and Charlie can have him. I’m sorry, Dad, I thought the company might do you some good.’

  His state of mind since her mother’s passing two years earlier was a constant worry. Despite him assuring her daily that he was coping well, the evidence to the contrary was overwhelming. Before her mother’s death, his garden had been an award-winning entrant in the national garden scheme’s "yellow book"; now it resembled her own shabby, unkempt plot.

  ‘Now don’t start all that nonsense again, Lorne. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m all right. Granted, I’m no spring chicken, but given my age I don’t think I’m doing so bad.’

  She imagined him thrusting his shoulders back, pulling the natural curve out of his spine as he spoke. ‘All right, Dad, whatever you say. I’m going to say goodnight now, if that’s okay? You know I’m not the best traveller in the world. Goodnight, Dad, give Henry a kiss from me.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing you foolish woman. The trouble is you treat that dog like a bloody human. You know what that Cesar Millan says, you know that Dog whisperer chap, he says they should know who is boss, and to stop treating them like babies. But do you listen, do you heck, you see every damn programme and it still goes in one ear and out of the other— ’

  ‘Dad. I said goodnight. I’m going to hang up now, before we fall out.’

  Sam grunted again, before grudgingly saying goodnight to his beloved eldest daughter.

  She shook her head, turned off the bedside light, the only accessory in the sparsely, decorated room and snuggled down under the duvet.

  Despite her exhaustion, sleep evaded her for hours. In spite of her best efforts, her thoughts turned to Robert Baldwin, and the people he’d stolen from her. Jacques in particular. The irony of the situation hadn’t passed her by either, she found herself in Paris without him by her side. It was ironic, and unfair, but then that just about summed her life up, didn’t it?