"And the investigation?"
Amy's smile faded, although the lack of information failed to overshadow the fabulous weekend she'd had. "Not so good, nothing really useful regarding our missing ghost hunter, although I've got the makings of an excellent feature for the weekend-getaway column." She gave a wry laugh at the idea of it. "I'm going to have to go back to the TV studios and swallow my embarrassment about leaving Roger in the lurch."
She flipped open her diary, searching for the phone number of the studio. Jake had returned her call late the night before and had left her a message saying to contact him at the studios on Monday.
Janine continued to stare at her with a contemplative look. "You could head over there right now."
"What do you mean?" Amy replied, vaguely, while she was still hunting for the number.
"Because Roger won't be around."
Amy looked up from the diary. "Excellent news, but how do you know?"
Janine shifted in her chair, her expression sheepish. "Look, I'm hoping you won't be annoyed about this, but the reason I know he won't be there is because I'm having lunch with him."
Amy tried to make sense of what she'd just heard. Janine was having lunch with Roger? Janine and Roger? The little frown wrinkling Janine's forehead made Amy want to laugh. Janine really was worried, in case she was upset about it.
"Of course I'm not annoyed. Quite the opposite in fact, but how did that come about?"
"He came up here after you left on Friday afternoon." She nodded over at the door. "Stuck his head round and asked if I was Amy Norton." The corners of her mouth lifted, as if the remembrance had already become a fond one.
Amy couldn't quite believe it.
"Well, you know, with that voice of his and all, I said, no, I wasn't Amy, but I sure as hell wished I were."
Amy was so thrilled she did something akin to a Mexican wave.
Janine laughed. "I don't usually come on strong, but I'm glad I did."
"Yes, yes, go on."
"Well, to cut a long story short, we got talking. Oh, by the way, I said you'd been called away on business."
"Cheers, I owe you one."
"My pleasure. We ended up going for a drink after work. We hit it off really well. In fact we spent most of the weekend together."
Amy clapped her hands, laughing with delight at the idea. How perfect, how utterly perfect. "And what are you up to today?"
"I'm headed for the West End in a few minutes." She lowered her voice, conspiratorially. "Keira Knightley's hairdresser has agreed to talk products with me."
Amy gave her a thumbs up.
"Roger is doing some location research nearby and asked me to join him for lunch, that's how I know you've got a clear window at the studios."
Amy couldn't suppress her grin. She was off the hook with poor old Roger, and she was having the affair of her life. To be able to get into the studio and ask a few questions about Quentin topped it very nicely indeed.
* * * *
The interior of Quentin's apartment belied its modern facade and Sebastian whistled under his breath as he let the front door shut quietly behind him. The hallway was furnished with ostentatious period furniture—Baroque, if he wasn’t mistaken—and an expensive looking Persian carpet ran its length. He hit the lights and a chandelier flickered into life overhead. As he walked down the corridor, he glanced into each room. The Baroque theme was echoed throughout. The sitting room opened out at the end of the corridor. It was equally splendid. Natural light flooded through gauzy muslin curtains on the casement window. He stepped closer. The windows opened onto a balcony overlooking the gardens at the rear of the block.
The place was impeccably neat and tidy. Harry, the concierge, had informed him the cleaner had been in twice since Quentin's disappearance. Although Sebastian didn't say anything at the time, it had annoyed him somewhat because it meant the bins would have been emptied and clues might have been inadvertently removed by an overzealous cleaner. The apartment was indeed spotless. It had a showroom quality about it, museum-like, almost. Harry had obviously been glad of the company and had kept him talking for quite a while, stating that Quentin was a man of fine tastes. He'd been forthcoming with gossip and had readily accepted the studios had hired Sebastian to do a bit of digging.
The only real signs of habitation were focused around an oak table located in a smaller room that appeared to be used as a study. The table was littered with books and papers that were obviously research for the TV show. The cleaner must have been warned off this spot, because there were signs of dust and scrunched up notes that hadn't been put in the waste paper basket.
Sebastian approached the kitchen. The room was immaculately clean, clinical in design. This space was purely functional. A notice board was covered in delivery menus. Quentin was no cook and he had expensive tastes. The menus weren't standard fare. Instead, they were from exclusive West End restaurants that charged an absolute fortune to deliver.
The fridge was empty apart from a few jars of sauces and mustards, all labeled with the distinctive Harrods insignia, and three bottles of white wine. He opened up the dishwasher and scanned the contents. Two sets of everything. Two plates, two cups and saucers, two sets of cutlery. Either Quentin used exactly the same dishes for two meals each day or the last time he had eaten, he'd had a guest. "Now we're getting somewhere."
He shut the dishwasher. The concierge had mentioned infrequent visitors, people who were introduced to him as work colleagues from the television studios. In the bedroom Sebastian found the bed was made up, not surprisingly. On the dresser, a framed photo caught his eye. It appeared to feature the full camera crew on location, with Quentin in the foreground waving at the camera. Sebastian scanned the group. He noticed a man standing at the back of the group with a boom in his hand. This was possibly the man who had been talking to Amy. Compared to everyone else in the photo he wasn't showing any enthusiasm. He wasn't even smiling. In fact, he looked positively grim, Sebastian noted. Perhaps he should talk to him—if he could do so without Amy finding out.
He went back to the study and went over the desk with closer attention to detail. No sign of a diary, which might have been most useful. Had Quentin had it with him, when he'd gone missing? Sebastian moved a stack of books to one side and shifted a sheaf of papers. Beneath one corner of the splayed pages he noticed a dish of paper clips hidden under the papers. Two cigarette butts had been squashed into one corner. Both were marked faintly with lipstick. He hadn't seen any ashtrays or signs of smokers elsewhere, which would indicate it was only Quentin's guest and not Quentin himself who smoked. The guest was a woman.
A letter tray marked "GH locations" stood on a nearby shelf. Sebastian lifted it up, took a seat and flicked through the brochures. When he reached a publicity brochure from Hammer House he smiled, reminiscing over the time he'd spent there with Amy. Just after that was a brochure for another place Sebastian recognized, a Tudor hotel on the North Yorkshire Moors called Tall Gables. He flicked through the brochure then slotted it back into its space. The next brochure was slightly different. It was for an exclusive holiday complex on the North Yorkshire coast. Had Quentin been considering holidaying, retirement or even buying property in the north? It could be an important question to factor in. If so, how could he raise it with Amy?
He put the tray back in its place and walked along the bookshelves. There was a conspicuous absence of books on the occult or any such arcane subject matter. Quentin appeared to be a fan of the classics and modern day mysteries. Sebastian gave a wry smile. Quentin had become a bit of a modern mystery himself. The London network news radio station had commented on his "still missing" status that morning. The media interest was rising. They would have to act quickly if Amy was to get her scoop. An image of her darting across the high street in Arundel, notebook in her hand, rose up in his mind. She was keen, and she was a good journalist. She deserved to get a good story. Something like a vow to help her get that story had lodged in Sebastian's subco
nscious.
Before he left the apartment he went back to the framed photograph in the bedroom. He looked for lipstick-wearing, cigarette-smoking women amongst the faces. There were two possible candidates—a short bubbly character with fluffy blonde hair and a taller more glamorous brunette. The brunette was standing close to Quentin and wearing a secretive smile.
Was Amy aware of whether Quentin had a girlfriend, or had recently begun a relationship of any sort? From what she'd said, it sounded as if she thought Quentin was single, with no immediate family in the country. She'd mentioned he had a retired older brother in New Zealand and, otherwise, the Ghost Hunter show represented both his livelihood and his social life. The next stop would have to be the Ghost Hunter television studios, Sebastian decided, as he left the building.
His phone crackled into life as he climbed back into the Land Rover.
"Sebastian, can you talk?" It was Amy and she sounded excited.
"I'm always ready to talk to you, Trixiegirl."
She tutted, then gave a delighted laugh. It warmed him, just before he noticed the traffic warden looming in his rear-view mirror.
"Don't tell me off, but I've just got out of the Ghost Hunter studios." Sebastian dropped his keys on the floor. She paused. "I got a message and shot down there."
He had to quash down the urge to chastise her. "Your dad would be appalled. You're making me fail in my duties."
"I'm sorry. Please don’t make me feel bad."
He shook his head. "It's too late now, but I'm warning you, I will stick to you like glue when I get you back in my sights." Why did that sound so good?
The fact she gave a sexy chuckle made it sound even better.
"Did you get anything useful?"
"Yes, I managed to track down Jake. He was the only one around. You know, the sound guy?"
"I remember." He fumbled on the floor for the keys.
"Well, he mentioned another location I think might be important."
Sebastian bit back the automatic response he felt rising, which was to suggest she didn't trust someone whose previous 'clue' had turned up the grand total of nil information. He gave an encouraging grunt instead.
"I'll explain later. It's a hotel in Yorkshire called Tall Gables."
That caught his attention back again, because Tall Gables was one of the hotel brochures he'd been looking at in Quentin's locations basket. Interesting, he mused. He'd been thinking the holiday complex might be a more likely destination for someone wishing to escape the scene, for whatever reason, but it was in the right general direction. Perhaps he wouldn't have to tell her what he'd done and what he'd found and instead use the information to guide her without her knowledge. If so, it was a lucky break.
"Another ghost haunt, huh?" He had one eye in the wing mirror. The traffic warden had stopped and started to chat with a woman walking her dog, which gave him a bit of a reprieve.
"Hey, how did you know that?"
Damn it. Concentrate man. She had spotted his slip. She was sharp.
"It's in Yorkshire, I'm a Yorkshire man, remember." Close one.
"Yes, right Well, don't worry I'm not going to be spooked, especially not if you're there by my side." Her tone was playful.
Sebastian had forgotten all about the warden. By her side. His body had begun to signal its approval. "Excellent. When are we off?"
She laughed again. "You're enjoying the perks of this job, aren't you?
"I'm enjoying all my time with you, I won't deny that. Shall I pack an overnight bag?"
"I have to check whether the budget will stretch to it, and I can't leave just yet, but all being well I'll book us a double room for Wednesday and I'll confirm with you when we meet up tonight."
A double room. That was sweet music to his ears.
"I can hardly wait."
As he pocketed the phone there was a loud rap on his window and the leering face of the warden swooped into his field of vision. Yet another parking fine. If there was one thing he hated about living in London, it was this. He shrugged and gave the man a big cheesy grin. What the hell. It had been worth it.
Chapter Nine
Sebastian stood in the foyer of the Fitzroy Street Community Center in Camden Town and looked at the activities listed in chalk on a blackboard. It had been propped up in front of the reception desk, which was closed, and it stated the Tae Kwon Do youth club session was being held in the small gym, but gave newcomers no clue as to where the small gym was. Amy had said she would meet him in the reception but he was early, so he was tempted to search her out. He didn't want to end up in the big gym with the salsa class, or in seminar room number six for conversational French, but he'd give it a go.
Glancing around, he realized the place reminded him vaguely of his old high school, smaller, but with a similar layout. At the school everything had cleverly networked together and he sauntered off along the corridors following his instincts, until eventually he saw glazed double doors with what looked like a gym beyond. As he got closer he could make out a number of young people in a line, doing what looked like a choreographed martial arts sequence.
He stepped closer and peered through the glass doors. Yup, there was Amy, leading the group of a dozen or so young people through the moves. The kids looked to be between fourteen and eighteen years old, and a lively looking bunch they were. The lad nearest him had a Mohawk and multiple piercings in his eyebrows. Beyond him he could see a girl with multi-colored dreads. However, despite the colorful attendees, Sebastian's attention was soon focused entirely on their teacher.
A tourniquet of need knotted inside him as he observed Amy moving at the head of the group. How sexy she looked, in that Tae Kwon Do outfit. Perhaps it was the manga-esque quality it gave her. Perhaps it was because of the ease of undressing it suggested to his roaming hands. Just one belt to be undone and he would be touching her soft, warm skin. Her hair was tied into a high ponytail and the look flattered her lovely features.
Amy caught sight of him and gestured him in, smiling in welcome. Sebastian stepped inside the door and hovered, feeling somewhat obtrusive. The kids all stopped what they were doing and stared at him.
"Hey, you're early." Amy ran over to him. She was bright-eyed and her cheeks were glowing.
"Oh look, Miss has got a boyfriend," one of the teenage girls called out in a singsong voice, a comment that reduced most of the group to giggles or whispers.
"Jackie, concentrate," Amy called. "Get into pairs and practice your sparring." The group gradually sectioned off into pairs, as instructed. She watched them until they were organized then clapped her hands over her head. "Matsoki!"
The kids immediately started practicing their moves, although one or two of the girls kept an eye on her movements with the stranger in their midst.
"Very nicely done," Sebastian commented.
She shrugged off the compliment. "They're a good bunch of kids."
"And you've obviously got their respect."
"I don't know about that. Do you mind waiting a few more minutes? I can't let them go too early otherwise they'll think I'm a pushover." She winked.
"Of course I don't mind." He couldn't help wishing he could take her into his arms right then. Her face was flushed from her exertions and her eyes sparkled. He knew he was staring, and it was probably obvious he wanted her. Her lips parted and her lower lip trembled slightly.
"You better get back over there now," he whispered under his breath.
She fiddled with her belt and straightened her outfit over her cleavage. "Yes, you're right. Give me two minutes and I'll wind this up."
Sebastian took a seat on a bench at the side of the hall and watched as she put the teenagers through their last few paces. She walked round the pairs in turn, demonstrating a technique here and there. Her feet were bare and his gaze idled on her slender ankles. She was all feminine grace and beauty but sure and strong too. He marveled at her talents. She was every bit as fascinating as he thought when he'd sat at the bar in The Fro
ck and Jacket wishing she hadn't taken off. He'd never met anyone quite like Amy Norton before.
When she had shooed all the young people away for the evening, he helped her tidy the mats and equipment away.
"What?" she asked, when he smiled at her, shaking his head.
"I was thinking how fetching that outfit is on you."
"Concentrate. We've got a busy evening ahead of us."
"We certainly have," he murmured. "I hope you're not planning on getting much sleep tonight."
"An early night, maybe, sleep—well, we'll see."
Desire simmered away inside him, then a door slammed far away and he noticed the place was quiet and deserted without the kids, and he felt his concern levels rising. "Is there any security in this place?"
"Ah, ever on the look out for fellow security people, ay?" She gave him a teasing glance.
Sebastian tried to ignore the growing sense of unease he felt about the double-edged nature of his job. The consequent apprehension about what her reaction might be, if she happened to find out he was really a whole lot more than a bodyguard, was niggling at him too. He was starting to feel really bad about keeping her in the dark. He didn't normally have a problem with keeping information to himself though, so why was this different?
"No, actually I was concerned for you." Once he'd said it, he realized he was in danger of sounding like her old man, doting and over-protective. "It is my job after all, isn't it?" he quickly added, and grinned at her.
"There's a caretaker on the site during the evening sessions, but his wife teaches the salsa class so he is generally down there, poking fun." They lifted the last mat onto the stack and she stood looking at him, with her hands on her hips. "I'll shoot off and get changed, give me two minutes."
"Are you sure I can't help you out with that as well?"
She tutted and headed off.
Minding Amy Page 10
