by JL Simpson
“You with us?”
“Shite. Lord fecking Tobias Wareham.”
He smirked. “The man from the pub.”
“Solomon.”
“I suspected the kissing and slapping thing with that Daisy was an act. She doesn’t take any prisoners, does she? That had to sting.” Tobias laughed.
Solomon glared at him. “Where the feck are we, and how do we get out?”
Toby shrugged. “No idea.” He shifted his position and pushed to his feet. “Want me to untie your hands?”
Solomon nodded.
The man dropped the feather and squatted behind him. “So, did you know who I was all along? Or did you just work it out?”
“I figured you were undercover, but had no idea you were Tobias Wareham until I saw your autographed guitar in Maureen’s dressing room at the benefit in Bournemouth.”
The ropes tugged as Toby worked the knots free, making Solomon’s shoulders ache.
“Is she all right? Maureen?”
“Fine. She knows you’re missing. She called me to look for you.”
“Bad move. Did you tell her my real identity?”
Solomon’s arms flopped to his sides as the ropes fell free. The pins and needles made him grimace. Shite. He grit his teeth, riding the pain, knowing it would pass once the blood started to flow.
“Did you tell her?”
Solomon slowly pushed to his feet, to avoid setting off his headache again, and shook his arms. “No. I’d only just realized when Tyler turned up with Adrian Maroni. Next thing I know I woke up here. Where are we?”
Arms no longer aching, Solomon walked the perimeter of the cool, damp room. A heavy timber door stood in one corner, a bucket Toby had obviously used as a toilet, in the other.
Toby shrugged. “I told you already, no idea. I was drugged and woke up in here. I’m not even sure how many days I’ve been missing. Hard to tell with no window and room service isn’t what it could be.”
“So who are you working for? What are you investigating? And if they have no idea who you are, why are you here?”
“All good questions. I’m here because I had the gall to fall in love with Maureen.”
“And get her in the family way.”
Toby smiled. “Yeah, that too.”
“Does Maureen know?”
“That she’s pregnant? Or that I got her that way?” The man’s smile widened.
“I’m glad you find this so damn funny. You do know we’re dealing with killers, don’t you? Does Maureen know you’re working undercover?”
“Am I?”
Solomon crossed the room and walked Toby back against the wall. He growled at the shorter man, grabbed the front of his jacket, and tugged him up onto his toes. “I’ve no time to play games with you. I don’t plan to sit here and wait to die. Neither do I expect which ever useless government agency you work for to give a shite about us. We need to work together. I’m not excited at the prospect, but having me in here with you might just save your scrawny, pompous, upper-class arse. Now who are you working for, and what do you know?”
Toby glared at him but said nothing. Solomon’s nostrils flared. He ground his teeth and fisted his free hand. The unmistakable beat of footsteps echoed outside the door. They stopped. A jingle of metal and the clunk of a key in the lock made Solomon let go of Toby and step back.
“You’ll keep. I’ve ways to make you talk these bastards have never even imagined.”
Toby tugged his clothes straight and glared at him. “You don’t scare me.”
Solomon glared back. “I will, you feckless maggot.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Daisy lay on the soft hearth rug in a post-coital stupor. She let out a sigh and wiggled to snuggle up to Paul, sliding an arm around his middle. He stroked her hair. “I should be going.”
The haze lifted, and she struggled up onto one elbow so she could look at him. “Already?”
“I’ve got the day off.”
Daisy planted kisses across Paul’s damp chest. “So why the rush?”
He grabbed her and rolled her under him. “Because I promised Sherman I’d take him shopping today, and tomorrow we’re going to see Man U play.”
“Oh, I love it when you talk football.”
Paul laughed. “How about when I take a penalty shot and score a goal?”
“You sexy beast.”
He captured her mouth in a long searing kiss and then sighed. “I really should go. Solomon will be back soon.”
“We could take this upstairs.” She ran a finger over his chest, skimming an erect nipple. “Why don’t you sleep here tonight?”
“Tempting, but I want to drive up overnight and miss all the traffic on the motorway.”
“And you’re going to stay with my parents?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Call me and let me know you’re safe. Maybe I can talk to Sherman. Does he blame me for having him shipped off?”
“Your dad buying tickets to the football game has gone some way to winning your redemption. That, and your parents’ new neighbors.”
“What new neighbors?”
“Apparently their daughter April is shit hot.”
“I hope you told him off for swearing.”
“I’ve given up. When his mother has a potty mouth, what’s the point?”
“Does that mean my debt is forgiven?”
Paul shook his head. “No. Although I’m sure you’ve lost track of how much you owe now.”
“I might have.”
“I’ll take payment in kind.”
Daisy wiggled beneath him. “Sounds like a plan. It’s a huge debt.”
He laughed. “I’ll take payment in kind, later. I have to go home, shower, and pack. If I turn up at your parent’s smelling of sex cooties I’m not sure who’ll have the biggest freak out, Sherman, or your dad.”
He kissed her again and then rolled off and climbed to his feet before offering a hand to help her get up. She pulled on her clothes and watched Paul finish getting dressed. He tugged his T-shirt over his head.
“Any luck with your heir hunting?”
Daisy shook her head. “Nope. No sign of him. Have you got any ideas?”
“Have you tried looking for him under his mother’s maiden name?”
“What do you mean?”
“Most people have little imagination. I lost count of how many missing soldiers I arrested who’d been hiding out with a new identity that was little more than their own first name and their mother’s maiden name. Made my job easier.”
“Good thinking.”
Paul tucked his T-shirt into his jeans, and then sat on the sofa and slipped his feet in his shoes. “What’s in the envelopes I delivered?”
Daisy collected them from the hall table, ripped them open and pulled out the contents. “Birth certificates for Elliott and Tobias Wareham and Elliott’s parent’s marriage certificate.”
“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 per
sonal 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 steam 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 mor
e 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.
