by JL Simpson
She frowned and let out a sigh. “Really? Poor thing. If you can't get it up, I could steal some Viagra for you. My stepdad has a stash in his bedside cupboard.”
Solomon needed to get rid of her before the conversation spiraled any further out of control. She might be over sixteen, barely, and so legally able to have sex, but he hadn't been kidding about her being too young. He'd not screwed a woman that age since he was in his teens himself.
All the fumbling and desperation had been more about proving he could get laid than enjoying the experience. More often than not it had been over almost as soon as it started. Young girls were full of angst and desperate to be assured you loved them before they let a guy in their pants. The whole sordid business had been an emotional roller-coaster and he had no plans to ever take that ride again.
He preferred a woman with more experience both in and out of bed. Someone who could separate her heart from what could be a mutually beneficial and fulfilling experience. Someone who could take no for an answer and walk away to screw another day. And if that was true, why was he chasing after Belinda when she had clearly sent a message that she wasn't interested? Jeysus. Was he more like this teenage fan than he cared to admit?
“So? Do you need some Viagra? I usually sell it, but I could give you some for free.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Well, it would be helping you out, and if I look after you, then you can look after me.”
“And what is it I would be providing? Other than the obvious?”
“I was thinking we could go out together, have some fun. I could come and live with you.”
Solomon chuckled. Talk about a quick move. She'd have him up the aisle if she kept going, and they'd spoken for less than ten minutes. He'd be flattered if it weren't for the fact she'd seen the Aston Martin. “Sorry, darlin', I'm not looking for a house mate. I doubt my partner would like it.”
The girl's focus shifted to the house and then back to Solomon. “So you and her are together? You do know a fit bloke like you could do so much better.”
“You know nothing about Daisy.”
She sneered. “Do you love her then?”
Solomon smiled. Finally a question he had no trouble giving an answer to. “Indeed, I do. Now, if you'll excuse me.” He closed the window and opened the car door. His new friend stepped back out of the way. She lingered while he locked the car. When he strode toward the houses, she sauntered off in the direction of the boarded up pub and shopping strip, apparently not wanting to continue their conversation with Daisy around.
*
Daisy peered around the edge of the net curtain. Solomon had been having a deep and meaningful conversation with that girl for the last five minutes. Daisy might not be able to hear what was being said, but she could read body language. The little minx had been hitting on him. When she'd been that age, the thought of dating a forty-year-old man would have made her ill, but then, when she was that age, she'd never met a forty year old man like Solomon.
He had money, or appeared to have money. If the girl wanted a way out of the poverty trap of a British council estate, flat on her back under a man as handsome as Solomon wouldn't be the worst way to escape. He could probably teach her a thing or two.
As much as she had teased him about his sexual performance, Belinda had assured her that he was all she had imagined between the sheets and then some. Not that Daisy had needed or wanted to know that. She felt the same way about Solomon's sex life as Sherman did about her and Paul's. Sometimes it was best to imagine some people lived the life of a cloistered nun than to let your brain conjure up images likely to put you off your cereal in the mornings.
Solomon's blue-eyed gaze shifted to the front window of the house and Daisy stepped back with a squeal. Busted. Not that she had anything to hide. There was no law against looking out of a window. However, she was supposed to be searching the house, and so far, she'd barely made a dent in the living room.
Determined to appear busy, she dashed across the front hall and pounded up the stairs, stopping briefly at the top to catch her breath. She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest to massage her aching heart. Dear God, she was unfit. She should go to the gym. Solomon had gifted her a year's membership. Not that he'd paid for it. A grateful owner had given him some freebies for a job well done.
The sound of the front door opening got Daisy moving again. She darted into the back bedroom and turned her head to listen out for Solomon. Her booted foot thunked into an object on the bedroom floor. Her forward momentum went unchecked. She tripped and landed with a soft thud on something warm and solid. She pushed up onto one elbow and flipped her hair out of her face. Her focus shifted to what she was lying on and a scream escaped her mouth as she scrambled to the far corner of the room. The coppery scent of blood made her stomach churn, and she pressed a hand to her nose and mouth, determined not to vomit.
*
A shriek as the front door slammed behind him sent Solomon scrambling up the stairs. He instinctively reached for the gun in his shoulder holster but came up empty. Since the cops took his gun, he didn't carry concealed unless he thought it was a matter of life and death. Hand guns were illegal and he didn't have the time or money for a trial.
He slowed as he reached the landing. Daisy had only screamed once. Could be that whatever scared her was so horrible she was struck temporarily mute, or maybe she was physically unable to speak. A mute Daisy would be a blessed thing, except for her being so scared; the other option not so good.
A number of possible scenarios flitted through his mind. She could have fallen off her stupid heels and knocked herself out. Seen a spider or mouse, both of which had the ability to leave her a gibbering mess. Or she could have been attacked by someone hiding in the bedroom. The last thought stopped his progress. If there was someone else in the house, they'd know Daisy was no longer alone. Solomon had hardly crept up the stairs.
“Hello? Anyone there?”
“Solomon!” A body came sprinting out of the back bedroom and barreled into him, smacking him backward into the wall. His army training had his body poised to defend himself until his brain acknowledged his attacker was not intent on hurting him. Thugs didn't usually have strawberry blond curls, smell of flowery perfume and try to climb their victim like a tree.
Daisy's arms were wrapped so tightly around his neck he could barely breathe. Her face was shoved into his shoulder and she was sobbing. He could comfort her and hope she let go before he passed out or... Solomon cupped her arse with both hands and Daisy squealed, dropping to her feet and backing away from him. He slid his hands up her back and pulled her tight into his body. She relaxed and wrapped her arms around his middle. He heaved a sigh of relief that she was too distraught to slap his face for touching her up.
“Talk to me, Princess.”
Daisy shuddered in his arms. She mumbled something into his damp T-shirt but the only word he could make out was “dead.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and then gently eased her away from him. With a finger under her chin, he tipped her face up. The pallor of her skin made her damp green eyes appear enormous. As much as he hated to admit it, knowing Daisy trusted him enough to find comfort in his arms warmed his heart. After he broke up their working relationship, she'd gone back to treating him with the same level of disdain as she had before they worked together.
“Daisy?”
She shuddered again. “There's a dead guy.”
“In the bedroom?”
She nodded. “I tripped and landed on him.” Her skin grew even paler and she swallowed convulsively. If she could hold it together, she'd be doing better than the last few times she’d seen death. When she swallowed again, he knew she was losing the fight. He tugged her into the bathroom and shoved her head over the toilet, holding her hair back while she threw up the crap that she ate for breakfast. When she finished, he pulled some toilet paper off the roll, wet it under the tap and passed it to her.
She sank onto the edge of the bath, wiping at her face. Solomon flushed the toilet and dropped the lid, giving her a chance to pull herself together before he left her alone.
“Wait here and I'll go and check the bedroom.”
She nodded.
Solomon took a deep breath and headed out the door. He'd seen enough death that one more body would make no difference. At least this one had nothing to do with him. The unmistakable scent of blood assaulted his nostrils before he saw the man sprawled across the floor.
Solomon dropped to his knees, but it only took a cursory glance to tell the man had been stabbed. When you had the handle of a large kitchen knife sticking out of your side, it made finding the problem a whole lot easier. A soft groan from the body had him sitting back on his heels. Daisy had over-reacted. The poor bastard wasn't dead, but he was dying. Solomon pulled off his jacket and tugged his T-shirt over his head, before pressing the soft cotton to the man's side with both hands in an effort to staunch the flow of blood.
“Daisy. Daisy!”
The sound of her heels clunked down the hall and then her face appeared around the edge of the door.
The man groaned again. Solomon glanced at the man and then back up at Daisy. “Call for an ambulance.”
“Why?”
“Because your man here's going to die if we don't get him some medical assistance.”
Chapter Eleven
Daisy sat in the dining room chair and stared at the detective. They agreed to interview her at the house, but she had a feeling they were never going to let her finish her search. Any clues that were hidden amongst Tomas Jenks' possessions were now part of a murder investigation. Or, based on the state of the man they'd found upstairs, she assumed it would soon be a murder investigation. There had been a lot of blood.
Daisy shuddered and wiped her hands on the front of Solomon's shirt she still wore. She'd washed them twice before the police arrived, but they still felt sticky with death. Solomon had dragged her away from the sink to stop her from dousing herself with bleach. Apparently her behavior would make her look guilty. Could she help it if she hated being covered in blood? Granted, she'd only got it on a couple of fingers. The soon-to-be-dead man might have all sorts of diseases you could catch from coming into contact with his bodily fluids. He'd looked horribly pale and unhealthy when she’d met him before. Having a knife plunged into his chest hadn’t improved his color. There was no way she could afford to get sick. She had a family to take care of and a case to solve. Although having a disease was the least of the poor man’s problems now.
The policeman tapped the blue Formica tabletop with his pencil. “Madam?”
Daisy shifted her focus from her hands to the man's face. His brown eyes were buried deep beneath the biggest pair of eyebrows she'd ever seen. He could almost comb them back over his head to cover his receding hairline. He stared expectantly at her.
Had he asked her something? She took a chance on the answer. “Yes?”
“So you know who he was?”
“Who who was?”
“The man you found upstairs.”
“No. Never met him before.”
“But you just answered yes when I asked if you knew him.”
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
Solomon placed his hands on the back of Daisy's chair and leaned over her shoulder. “She answered yes when you said ‘madam.’ She's in shock. Can we not do this later? We've both told you already, we don't know the man. He was here when we arrived.”
Daisy chewed on her bottom lip. Keeping her face as emotionless as she could manage, she focused on the officer. When Solomon said they didn't know the victim, he was half-right. Solomon had no idea who the human pincushion was. Maybe she should ’fess up. As much as she hated the man, she didn't want to see him dead. The police might not see it that way. Better she not mention that he'd been following her around for the last week stealing all her cases. Once the cops had a motive in sight, the questions would be endless. She knew she hadn't stabbed him and, if he ever woke up, he'd tell the cops who'd really done it. Having the police investigate her would keep them from finding the real culprit. She was doing them all a favor by keeping her mouth shut.
A young policewoman's radio squawked to life. Daisy watched as she disappeared out the back door. The detective sat and stared at Daisy. The silent treatment. Usually she filled silence with inane chatter, but Solomon's warm hand on the back of her neck kept her quiet. She was getting a dab hand at this interrogation business. She could write a book on what to do when you're helping the police with their inquiries. They probably had a dossier on her at New Scotland Yard. If she kept tripping over murder victims, the cops would stop considering it bad luck and come to the conclusion she had something to do with the dearly departed's demise.
“And why exactly were you in the house?”
Daisy sighed. Now the detective had moved on to asking her questions they'd been over before, probably in the hope she'd change her story, which she wouldn't because she was telling the truth, mostly. “I was hired by the late Mr. Jenks' lawyer to find his family. I was searching the house to see if I could get a lead on who and where they might be.”
“And did you?”
“No.”
“Why doesn't his lawyer know who his family is?”
Solomon gave her neck a gentle squeeze. “Why don't you ask Mr. Sparks that question?”
The detective looked at his notebook. “Liam Sparks.”
“That's the one.”
A loud bang made Daisy flinch. The policewoman stepped inside without a word, as though she hadn’t just slammed the back door into the wall. Hand still on her radio, she made eye contact with the detective. The almost imperceptible shake of her head had the man shoving his chair back from the table. He slipped his notebook into his pocket and glared at Daisy and then Solomon. “We've got your contact details.”
Daisy frowned. “Are we free to go?”
“Unless you have something more you need to tell me?”
She got to her feet. “No, nothing.”
“We'll be in touch.”
Solomon grabbed her elbow and steered her from the room before she had a chance to ask why the sudden change in tactic. Had the policewoman gotten a message that the culprit had been caught?
A small crowd had gathered outside the front of the house. In amongst the local youth, who seemed to congregate en masse whenever anything out of the ordinary was going on, there was a smattering of elderly ladies, a middle-aged man wearing a duffel coat and a scowl, and a full TV crew. When the camera swung in Daisy's direction she ducked her head and put her handbag in front of her face. The last thing she needed was for Paul to see her on the local news. His angst about her not earning money would be joined by his fear for her life, and then she'd have a hell of a time convincing him that heir hunting was the perfect job. The TV reporter shoved a microphone in her face and peppered her with questions about who the victim was and why she was in the house. Solomon kept them moving, shoving people out of the way until they made it back to the SUV. As soon as it was unlocked, Daisy clambered inside and slammed the door
Solomon revved the engine and sped away from the curb, scattering the crowd in all directions. Daisy snapped her seat belt on, leaned back, closed her eyes and let out a loud sigh.
Solomon's voice broke the silence. “So, who was he?”
She could ignore him, or pretend to not know what he was talking about, but Solomon had a way of getting the truth out of her, one way or another. If he couldn't nag it out of her, he'd pin her with a cold stare or, if she was really unfortunate, kiss her until her brain turned to mush and she blurted out the truth.
She wasn't in the mood to be broken by an in-depth interrogation, and definitely not in the mood for kissing. Solomon was a man to be tolerated, but with her sex life on hold because of Sherman, her hormones didn't need the provocation of a steamy kiss, and especially not a steamy kiss with the man when h
e was bare-chested. She opened an eye and took a quick peek at him. His Armani jacket and jeans was a good look. Not many men had the physique to carry off such an adventurous ensemble. Even the smear of blood across his stomach didn't detract from the daring fashion choice. Maybe she should slip her coffee-stained blouse back on and give the man his shirt. She smiled. Or not.
“Daisy, who was he?”
“Who was who?”
He glanced at her. “I'm not the police, Princess.”
“Does that mean you have no plans to detain me?”
“I know you didn't kill him, and I also know you know who the dead man is.”
“He might not be dead.”
“He's dead. The policewoman got the message when she left the room.”
Daisy frowned. “Is that what the whole secret head nodding was all about? So why did they let us go?”
“A good question that I can't answer. But here's a question you can answer. Who was he, Daisy?”
“He might have been following me for a few days.”
“A few days?”
“Okay, a week or so.”
“Why was he following you?”
“He was stealing my beneficiaries before I could sign them up.”
“Did you ever interact with the man?”
“Other than giving him the finger when he stole my parking spot and landing on my arse in a freshly fertilized vegetable garden when he shoved me, no.”
“You've never spoken?”
“Never.”
“Do you have any idea who he is?”
“I know his name's not Trevor.”
*
Solomon glanced at Daisy. Her face was pale and drawn but she seemed remarkably calm, if not a little incoherent. Maybe her usual abject terror at finding dead people had morphed into some sort of mental delirium. She sure as hell wasn't making a lot of sense. She probably needed a stiff drink, and he definitely needed a fresh shirt, before they could make any decisions about where they went from here. He took the next left and pressed his foot hard on the accelerator as he sped out of suburbia toward his house in the New Forest.
