by JL Simpson
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 had 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.
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.
