Chapter Seven

So it was over, then. A moment of madness, and Joe was finished. He’d end up patrolling the perimeter of a warehouse, with an Alsatian on a lead sniffing at the chain-link fence. And after he’d ridden in limousines with princes. What a spectacular fall from grace.

He sighed and leaned back against the cushions, just as The Flight of the Bumblebee burst from his phone.

 

Wendy would like to FaceTime.

 

Joe wondered if he could pretend he hadn’t heard his phone ring, but he knew how persistent Wendy could be. She’d keep trying until he gave in and answered. So, plastering on a grin, he answered.

“Wendy, how are you? Can’t talk long. Busy day.”

Wendy blinked at him from the screen and he recognised the large, grey velvet headboard of their bed behind her. Then she lifted a glass of white wine and took a drink.

Silently.

“Wendy, I can’t hear you. Is there a problem with the sound?” Joe knew full well there wasn’t, but he was a desperate man buying time.

“Who was she, Joe?”

“Who was who?” Joe inwardly cursed himself. He couldn’t claim there were connection issues now.

“The woman on your knee?” Wendy took another drink. That glass wasn’t her first, Joe suspected, but he knew better than to say it. “The redhead. Barnaby sent me the picture. He says they’re everywhere. I just don’t have the energy to bother looking tonight. I was negotiating with LA all evening, and I’ve come home to this.”

Joe chuckled. He wondered if it sounded as false to Wendy as it did to him. “That’s not a real redhead. She was wearing a wig.”

“Are you trying to be clever?”

Joe sighed. “She’s a drag queen. A man. Wearing a wig, and a frock, and padding and a corset. And besides, I didn’t ask her to sit on my knee. It was part of the show.”

“A drag queen?” Wendy grimaced. “What sort of people are you looking after? I want to see you, Joe, we need to have a proper talk. I’ve got a window tomorrow afternoon. I’ve booked a table at Firehouse.”

“I’m a protection officer for a member of the royal family, Wendy. You know that. It was a really good show, actually.” Joe tried not to think back too fondly about it. Because that ship had sailed. “Firehouse? Why not revisit the scene of the non-crime!”

“It’s Firehouse. Would you rather I buy you a Happy Meal? It doesn’t occur to you to be appreciative that your wife is important enough to get a table at Firehouse with fifteen hours’ notice?” She was very important, of course, because nobody else could interpret the law like Wendy could. Nobody else knew how to write contacts and argue clauses that saved the super-rich from paying decent wages and corporations from paying taxes. Wendy was somebody, he knew that. “One-thirty tomorrow?”

By which time he’d be ruined.

Joe shrugged. “Right you are, then. One-thirty, Firehouse. Night-night.”

“Just be there.” And the screen went black.

Joe wasn’t sure there was much point in going to bed. It wasn’t as if he’d get much sleep. He headed to his room anyway and stripped down to his shorts. Even in the dark, the posters of straining groins and bulging arms, sultry looks and utter camp were taunting him.

You’re one of us, Sergeant Wenlock! Embrace yourself and embrace hot men too!

The men in the posters came down from the walls and as they hugged and kissed in front of him, Joe was fairly certain that he was dreaming.

So I’ve managed to fall asleep after all.

With Paloma’s black silk rose.

The thought of the rose woke Joe up. He reached under the pillow for the rose and held it tight, pressing it against his cheek.

This was all he’d have left. And a crappy suit.

Then, in the darkness, there came a very soft tap at the door and the sound of a voice, not quite Alejandro, not quite Paloma, calling gently, “Joe?”

“Mr Fuente?” Joe reached for the bedside lamp, shielding his eyes as he pushed himself up against his pillow. He hadn’t heard any noises in the house. No broken glass, no bangs or crashes. “Are you okay? Something happened?”

“Can I come in?” There was no anger in his tone. It was as small as it had been in front of Zak.

“Yeah, come on,” Joe replied, his tone softened. The door opened and Alejandro emerged from the darkness on the landing, dressed once more in his red silk robe. For a second his gaze dropped, sweeping over Joe, then he lifted it again, keeping his eyes level with Joe’s.

“Hello.”

“Evening,” Joe said with a grin. “What’s up? Are you still a bit jumpy from what happened earlier, that firework?”

“Not that.” Alejandro perched on the edge of the bed and knitted his hands in his lap. His nails were still painted gold, Joe noticed. A memory of Paloma. “You’ll be leaving tomorrow, won’t you? I’ll be getting another copper?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah. It’s for the best. Given, well, given what’s happened.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I wouldn’t ever do anything— I won’t tell.” Alejandro glanced at him again, then back at his painted nails. “It was a good show, wasn’t it?”

“The best.” Joe nodded. “Thanks. For not saying anything. It means a lot.”

“We might not think much of each other, but I’m not that cruel. Not to the man who saved Mamá.” He slid his gaze over to Joe again. “And I won’t ever forget Halloween, or tonight. I’m sorry it’s— Like you said over hot chocolate that night, it’s a big old tangle.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to see Abuelita tomorrow for lunch. So that’ll be goodbye, won’t it? When I come out, I won’t ever see Osito again.”

It was so final. So sudden. After the fun they’d had at the studio, after the drag show, after saving Alejandro’s life and breaking his shoe in the process. That was it. “Yeah. It’s goodbye. Hey, do something for me?”

“I won’t wear that suit, so don’t ask.” He smiled. He really was beautiful. “What?”

“Don’t run away from your next CPO.” Joe leaned forwards and patted Alejandro’s hand. “Please. I don’t want to think of you being in danger.”

“I promise, Osito.”

“Thanks.” Joe gazed at Alejandro. His lips still remembered their kiss, but Joe knew only too well, there could never be another. Alejandro padded to the door, where he turned and looked back at the bed.

“I’d give you at least a nine,” he informed Joe. “Tell that to Wendy Wenlock.”

Then, with a last wink, he went out onto the landing and closed the door.