‘The scanning is completely painless,’ Kirsty said sharply. ‘You will feel a warmth when I begin the chakra work.’
‘Right. Yes.’ Lydia had an urge to apologise. ‘I just meant I was glad I was here. My friend recommended you, she said you’ve worked miracles.’
‘No miracles,’ she said, but her voice was more gentle. ‘Just energy healing. I can sense there is a lot of tension in your shoulders and neck. And the bones of your skull and your face are mis-aligned. It is just a small fraction, but it causes tension and tiredness. You get headaches.’
‘Yes,’ Lydia said, playing along. ‘Terrible ones.’
‘Six weeks. I will cure them. But you must drink eight glasses of water every day.’
‘My friend,’ Lydia tried again. ‘Jane. She talked so much about your treatments, I just had to have one.’
The woman was touching her now, gentle pressure on her ankles and then a light touch smoothing up her leg before a gentle grip of the knee, and on upwards. Lydia tensed every muscle in her body to stop herself from jerking off the table. Or punching something.
‘Deep breaths,’ Kirsty said, sounding kind of testy. ‘In for four and out for four. Count it. You will feel the energy warming you.’
Lydia did a few dutiful breaths, making plenty of noise to show willing. A funny thought crossed her mind; what if the therapist really could sense energy through her hands? What would she make of her Crow power?
‘Are you ticklish?’ Kirsty’s voice was sharp, accusing.
Lydia hastily turned her smile into an expression of deep relaxation. ‘Jane’s really ticklish,’ she began, ‘I bet she was a nightmare to treat-’
‘You don’t need to talk,’ Kirsty commanded. ‘Just relax. Concentrate on the energy flowing and relax.’
Lydia spent another twenty minutes listening to the New Age music and inhaling the smell of Ylang Ylang and lavender and trying not to flinch or laugh as Kirsty ran light strokes up and down her body, occasionally tapping or gripping. Eventually, Kirsty moved away and there was the sound of chiming. Lydia opened her eyes expecting to see Kirsty wielding a tiny gong and mallet, but it must have been a recording on her phone.
‘That was great, thanks,’ Lydia said, sitting up and swinging her legs off the side of the table.
‘Don’t move too quickly,’ Kirsty chided. ‘You might feel light-headed.’
Lydia was surprised to find that she did, a bit. The power of suggestion?
‘You’ve got a very strong energy field,’ Kirsty said. ‘You’re lucky, it will keep you very healthy.’ She flushed. ‘Sorry. That was a bit-’ For the first time, she looked uncertain. ‘How is Jane doing?’
Lydia had been about to automatically reply ‘she’s fine’ but then her brain caught up. ‘She’s okay. You know, good days, bad days.’
‘It’s a terrible thing. The body’s energy turning against it like that.’
Lydia made a non-committal sound and counted out twenty-five pounds in cash. She didn’t want to seem too keen, in case it closed the subject down. Kirsty struck her as a woman who liked to be in control of the conversation.
‘I did warn her,’ Kirsty said, checking the notes and slipping them into one of the large pockets of her tunic.
‘Warn her?’
‘About the chemotherapy. It’s poison, you know. Literal poison.’
‘Jane is very strong-willed,’ Lydia said. ‘You can’t change her mind once she’s decided something.’
Kirsty nodded. ‘I definitely got that impression. And I could see it in her energy field, of course. Her aura is very dense.’
They were walking back down the hall, now, Kirsty showing Lydia out. ‘I’ll tell her you were asking after her,’ Lydia said. ‘And thanks, again, for the treatment.’
‘Do you want to book your next appointment now? You need six sessions, thirty each. You can pay in a block booking if you like? You’ll save five pounds.’
‘That’s all right,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m going on holiday next week, but I’ll look at my diary after that.’
‘You don’t want to leave it too long,’ Kirsty said. ‘Don’t take chances with your health.’
* * *
Heading back to The Fork, Lydia’s phone buzzed. She checked the message before taking a detour in her route. She pushed open the door to The Hare and inhaled the familiar mix of hops and sweat, old perfume and sawdust, feeling the tension ease from her body as she approached the bar and ordered a drink. When it came to soothing anxiety, Kirsty’s energy healing had absolutely nothing on Lydia’s favourite boozer.
Within minutes of settling in her favourite corner seat and texting Fleet to let him know she had arrived and would wait, the door opened and admitted a tall, beautiful detective chief inspector. She watched him buy a pint of dark ale, exchange a joke with the guy behind the bar, a regular, and weave his way through the other punters.
Lydia tipped her head back to look up at Fleet and he bent down and kissed her on the mouth. Firmly, and with a casual intention that stopped the breath in Lydia’s chest. ‘I didn’t think you’d get away tonight. Don’t you have to work late?’
‘Not my case.’
‘Even though you found it?’
‘Not my manor. And I wasn’t on duty. I’m down in report as first on the scene but in unofficial capacity. Not sure how it will play out and neither was the SIO. Wait and see what tomorrow brings. Top brass might have an opinion on the matter.’
Fleet raised his glass to his lips, then lowered it again. ‘Did you see the room?’
‘No sign of a struggle,’ Lydia said. ‘And gold jewellery in a dish on the dressing table. Real stuff, too. Not junk.’
‘So not a burglary, then.’
Lydia shook her head and took a large swig from her soda water and lime. She was trying to cut down on alcohol in case it was causing her senses to misfire. Plus, keeping a calm head and all of her inhibitions securely in place seemed like a good idea. Even with a crime scene fresh in her mind, Fleet was a distracting presence. Especially after he had come through to help her, again, and without a moment’s hesitation. And then lied to his beloved force to keep her safely apart from an official investigation. To distract herself from these dangerously mushy thoughts, Lydia turned her mind to the scene at Yas Bishop’s house.
Yas Bishop had been wearing skinny jeans and a silky top in emerald green. Unless JRB ran a very casual office, she hadn’t been dressed for work. She hadn’t been wearing shoes. Lydia closed her eyes and recalled Yas’s bare feet. Her heels and toes rubbed red raw from new shoes, or some seriously uncomfortable heels. One gold and pearl earring visible, the other missing or hidden by the angle of her head. Snap shot images. Details that were easier to look at than the whole.
When she opened her eyes, Fleet was watching her. ‘SOCO’s report will be out tomorrow. Post mortem, too, with a bit of luck.’
Lydia nodded and sipped some more soda water. She wanted a whisky.
‘I’ll let you know.’
‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’
A flicker around his mouth. ‘You are most welcome.’
A pause in which Lydia wondered if a whisky would help or hinder. Maybe it would take her mind off the day. Take her mind off Fleet. ‘I’m sorry I left. Are you going to get into trouble?’
‘Nah,’ Fleet said easily. ‘I told you. I’m not worried.’
‘I am,’ Lydia said. ‘I don’t want to mess things up for you. For your career.’
‘Did you want to come back to mine? It’s closer.’
‘No,’ Lydia said, blinking at the sudden change of subject. ‘No, thank you’. Ignoring the heat which was already low in her stomach and fast moving south.
‘Early night for you?’
Lydia hoisted her soft drink in answer. ‘I’m making smart decisions.’
‘I’m not,’ Fleet said and leaned over so that his face was barely an inch from hers. Lydia held her breath and didn’t move. Most of her wanted to move fo
rward, to close the tiny gap between their mouths.
His eyes were boring into her own, light reflected on the copper brown of his irises. Despite her best intentions, she was breathing in his scent, the powerful pheromones of DCI Fleet. And that gleam. The mysterious bit of shine that she couldn’t identify. She had never had that problem before. The thought hit her like a bucket of cold water; was Ignatius Fleet the reason she was misfiring? Was he her kryptonite?
He moved away, now. His face closed.
Lydia felt disappointment, relief and fear all at once. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just can’t.’
A smile, then. Forced, but friendly enough. ‘No worries. Another time, maybe.’
* * *
Outside on the street, the pavement was filled with people necking drinks after work. Shirts were untucked and ice cubes clinked against glassware. She took a deep breath and then another. Leaving Fleet was a good idea. She didn’t know what the gleam meant. He was a cop and she was a Crow. She was trying to build her business and already needed to duplicate herself in order to get everything done. She was misfiring. Maybe she wasn’t such a weak link in the Crow bloodline after all. But she didn’t know what that meant or how to find out more without alerting the wrong people. She didn’t know who were the wrong people. Lydia walked home on autopilot, her thoughts churning. The Fork was closed and, for once, there was no sign of Angel. Lydia was surprised to feel a stab of disappointment. She realised that she had been looking forward to exchanging a couple of words with her. With that realisation came fear. She was getting comfortable, feeling at home.
Lydia went to the kitchen and opened the freezer. She picked up a bag of frozen peas and held it on the back her neck while she delved further with her other hand. There was a catering size tub of vanilla ice cream. Raspberry sorbet. A massive lemon cheesecake. Ready-to-bake croissants and pain au chocolat and then, at the back, a pint of mint choc chip. Bingo.
Peas safely stored and the ice cream tub in one hand, Lydia crossed the dark cafe. The knocking on the door made her jump. The shape in the glass of the door was large enough to give her a moment’s hesitation and she put the safety chain on before opening it. It certainly looked like DCI Fleet, but Lydia wasn’t taking any chances. Not after seeing a woman lying in a pool of her own blood.
‘I forgot to give you this earlier,’ Fleet said, ducking his head a little as he spoke. He held out a small bundle.
‘Lame excuse,’ Lydia said, stepping back anyway to let him inside. ‘What is it?’
‘Gloves,’ Fleet said. ‘For the next time you’re illegally at a crime scene.’
‘You’re enabling me,’ Lydia said.
Fleet put his hands on either side of Lydia’s face and locked eyes. ‘I’m trying to keep you safe.’ He let her go and turned to shut the door.
‘Did you want some ice cream?’
‘Are you trying to distract me?’
‘From your mission to save me from myself?’ Lydia put the tub on the nearest table. ‘Maybe.’
‘There are better ways.’
Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Do you want the ice cream or not?’
‘Yes, please,’ Fleet smiled, then, and gleam or not, cop or not, Crow or not, Lydia couldn’t help but smile back. ‘I’ll get you a spoon.’ Lydia went behind the counter to the canisters of cutlery.
‘Are we not going upstairs?’
Lydia shook her head. ‘Too dangerous.’
‘I see,’ Fleet slid into one of the window booths.
‘Actually... Sod it.’ Lydia picked up the tub and headed for the stairs to the flat. ‘Come on if you’re coming.’
The curtains were open and the glow of the street lights, combined with the dying light of the summer sun, lit the living room. ‘You want to sit outside?’ Fleet said, ‘it’s still really hot.’
The door to the terrace was in her bedroom and, halfway to it, Lydia lost her nerve. Instead, she opened the door to let the evening air cool the room and sat cross-legged on her unmade bed.
‘I’m not complaining,’ Fleet said, accepting a spoon. ‘But why are you avoiding the terrace?’
Lydia ate some minty deliciousness and ignored the question. ‘Thank you for your help today.’
Fleet stilled, a spoon of ice cream halfway to his lips. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘I know this isn’t what you want,’ Lydia gestured around at the room. The unpacked boxes in the corner, the door she was too afraid to step through, the weirdness that was her life.
‘How do you know that?’
‘Well...’ Lydia stopped. Unsure. ‘It stands to reason.’
Fleet ate his ice cream and nodded, swallowing. ‘Well, then. That seems conclusive.’
‘It is,’ Lydia dug in the tub with her spoon, suddenly unable to look at Fleet.
‘And you’re not at all curious?’
‘About what?’
‘About what I think,’ Fleet said. He held his spoon loosely, and was watching her with an expression which was a mix of exasperation and attraction.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Lydia said. ‘And it would be fun. It would be amazing. But then we’re back to square one, again, and it’s awkward and just making things complicated and I need to concentrate on work and my family and I can’t give you what you want.’
‘Back to that, again,’ Fleet said. ‘What do I want? And why can’t you give it?’
Lydia blew out a long sigh. ‘You want a normal life. With a normal person. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you want uncomplicated occasional sex. Or semi-regular sex. With no strings or emotions. And I can’t do either. Not with you. I wish I could, but I can’t. It’s annoying.’
Fleet propped up a couple of pillows against the headboard and sat with his legs stretched out. Lydia did the same and they sat like that side-by-side and passing the ice cream tub back and forth without looking at each other. After a few minutes, Fleet put the tub and his spoon on the bedside table. Lydia could feel him looking at her, but she didn’t face him.
‘What needs to change?’
‘My life. My family. Your job.’
‘What if you just trusted me? Wouldn’t that work?’
Lydia squeezed the handle of the spoon tightly in her fist. She forced herself to look at him. ‘You have never let me down. I believe you have my best interests at heart. I believe you are a good person.’
‘But you don’t trust me?’
‘I don’t trust you to still like me.’ Lydia looked down at her hands. ‘If we got to know each other properly. If you really knew me.’
‘Because you’re so dark. So terrible.’
Lydia forced a smile. ‘Maybe.’
‘Bollocks,’ Fleet said. ‘Don’t dress up your fear of intimacy with some superhero shit.’
‘You love my superhero shit.’
‘I love everything about you.’ It wasn’t the same as saying ‘I love you’ but it was a hell of a lot closer than Lydia had ever come to declaring feelings. She felt her yawning sense of inadequacy. He was brave. It made her want to be brave. She bit her lip. ‘I love everything about you, too. So far, anyway.’
‘Well, then,’ Fleet said. ‘How about we stop messing about?’
Lydia didn’t trust herself to speak, so she leaned over and kissed him instead.
His hands were instantly on her, on her neck, knotting her hair, running over her shoulders and arms. She leaned in and let her hands follow suit. The tightly curled hair at the nap of his neck, the muscles of his chest and arms, the blood under his skin. Singing to her own. The gleam getting warmer and warmer until she felt her own blood thumping in response. Could feel a glow which must be shining out of her own skin.
His mouth on hers felt like the most natural thing in the world. Lydia didn’t want to think anymore. She didn’t want to feel afraid. She just wanted Fleet. She could be normal for him. Or she could pretend to be.
Chapter Sixteen
The next day, Fleet got up early and left for
work. He kissed Lydia goodbye and she pretended to be sleepier than she was to avoid any ‘morning after’ awkwardness. Once the door had closed behind Fleet, Lydia got up and showered. Then she made coffee and pondered her options for the day.
Lydia was sipping her coffee next to the open door of the roof terrace. The air flowed over the bare skin of her arms and she wished she could take a chair out there to work. Jason appeared from behind her, making her jump a little, the coffee sloshing over the rim of her mug.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to do that.’
‘Do what?’ Lydia was aiming for sarcasm as she sucked coffee off her hand.
‘It’s nice out,’ Jason was looking out of door. ‘Disappear like that.’
It took Lydia a second. ‘It’s the sudden appearances that are tricky. If other people could see you it would be a handy interrogation tactic.’
A brief smile. ‘I could shout “boo!”, too.’
‘Where do you go?’
Jason rubbed at his face with one hand. It was the action of a tired toddler and it made Lydia want to put her arms around him. ‘I don’t know. Mostly it’s like I haven’t been anywhere. But I come back and time has passed and I’m in a different part of the building so I know it’s happened. Sometimes it’s…’ He trailed off.
‘What?’ Lydia prompted.
‘It’s like a bad dream. It doesn’t really make sense and I don’t think I can describe it coherently. It’s scary, though.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Jason’s smile was a little stronger this time. He reached out as if he was going to touch Lydia’s cheek but then dropped his arm. ‘Thanks.’
Lydia’s mobile rang. It was Uncle Charlie so she picked up, getting no more than the start of her greeting before Charlie cut across her. ‘Come to the house. Now.’
* * *
The Silver Mark Page 15
