One Sentence

‘Pete?’

The man straightened. Turned. ‘I’m busy.’ He ran his eyes from Wilma’s extravagant blonde coif, to her mischievous blue eyes, to her full red lips. They travelled on down over her generous bosom to her shapely legs. Then they travelled all the way up again. ‘But, for you, darlin…’ His lips parted to show a handsome set of gnashers. ‘I’ll make an exception.’

She batted her false eyelashes. Not that she fancied the bugger. Except…he was showing enough muscle under that green jumpsuit to make any warm-blooded woman wilt. And a man in uniform, well, that was always a turn-on. Plus, she’d always been a sucker for guys with a cleft in their chin. Mind you, that baldy head…

Cut to the chase! ‘I need some information.’

‘What sort of information?’

‘On a patient you brought in yesterday.’

‘Oh.’ The paramedic’s face darkened. ‘That’s different, sunshine. Can’t help you there.’

Wilma’s heart plummeted into her high-heeled shoes. She’d scored a blank from the ITU, but this was too important to let go. If she was going to help Maggie, she had to get a head start on finding out what had happened to Sheena Struthers.

‘You’re not going to give me patient confidentiality?’

Pete grinned. ‘For starters.’

‘But…’ She pouted. ‘Sheena’s a friend of mine.’

‘Then you’ll know the husband,’ Pete came back. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

‘We don’t get on.’

‘That right?’ Disbelieving voice. ‘Still can’t help you, darling.’ Winks. ‘Much as I’d like to.’

‘All right.’ Wilma was so close to him now, she could almost taste what he’d had for breakfast. ‘I’ll level with you, Pete. I’m a journalist.’

Suspicious look. ‘What paper did you say you worked for?’

Wilma grinned. ‘Good try! I didn’t. I’m freelance. It’s a bummer these days trying to scrape a living, I can tell you. There have been that many cuts. Look…’ She made cow eyes at him. ‘All I’m asking for is a few wee details. Just enough to get a heads-up on the big boys. Though I’ll bet there’s not many of the buggers…’ Her eyes dropped to his crotch. ‘As big as you.’

‘We-ell.’ A wash of colour rose in his face. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Please?’ Wilma herself was pretty hot by this time, what with running round to Ashgrove Road in double-quick time and turning it on for this wanker.

Close at hand, an alarm sounded.

Pete started. ‘Gotta go,’ he mouthed over his shoulder as he reached for his kit.

‘No!’ Wilma sensed her chances of helping Maggie disappear down a vast sinkhole. She clutched at Pete’s arm. ‘Come on, man. Two sentences.’

He shook from her grasp.

‘One sentence.’ She followed his receding back in the direction of the parked-up emergency vehicles.

He turned.

Whispered in her ear.

And then he was gone.