6

Zander took a deep breath and surveyed the room. No one seemed that pleased to see him, but then he wasn’t expecting them to be. He was, after all, most likely replacing someone who’d died, possibly been murdered only a few hours ago. “Hello.”

“Welcome to the house. I’m Paul.” A tall man wearing an into the darkness t-shirt spoke. His shock of red hair clashed with the orange shirt, and Zander figured it was probably deliberate. “Take a seat and tell us about yourself. Just bear in mind that everything you say can and will be recorded, streamed live across the entire world, and probably held against you for the rest of your life.”

Zander sat in the only free seat and rested his cane against the arm of the chair. He hadn’t wanted to bring it, but Is had sent a text as he packed. She’d suggested it would make a good cover, as they’d assume he couldn’t run and it would be a useful deterrent if one of his new roommates snored. His bag lay at his feet. He rubbed a hand over his beard, noticing the rest of the men were clean shaven. However, he was fond of his beard and wanted to keep it. He looked way too young without it. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Ain’t no secrets here, man.”

“OK. My name is Zed and I’m an author from Berkshire. My agent figured this would be a good opportunity to get some decent publicity ahead of the book’s launch. I’m housemate number thirteen.”

“Thirteen, unlucky for some.” The blonde woman in the skimpy swimsuit smirked. “But not with your looks, sweetie.”

“Can it, Erin,” Paul snapped. “What do you write, Zed?”

That one caught him out. He didn’t know the first thing about types of books—well he did, but not what they were called. “Thrilling women’s fiction.”

Erin snorted. “That’s not a proper genre.”

“My agent said it’s a combination of two or three different types. I’m new at this, and I write stuff I’d like to read. The first book comes out in six weeks.”

“What’s it called?”

“The Farmer Wants A Wife. It’s crime meets agriculture with a dash of romance thrown in for good measure.” He drew in air and changed the subject before they could ask for more details than he’d thought of. “What about the rest of you?”

The man in the orange shirt grinned. “I’ll do the honours. Like I said, I’m Paul and I’m a security guard.” He pointed around the room. “Liz is an actress, Warren’s an inventor, Roj is a CEO, Erin’s a model, Kate is a receptionist, Sasha works with horses, Jay works for a counselling service, Ginny drives a taxi, Mel is a barmaid, and Hank is a bin man. No one else wanted to hire an ex-con.”

Hank scowled. “Thanks for bringing that up. Again.”

Paul raised his hands. “Hey, dude, it’s the truth, ain’t it? You killed a bloke in a fight. Got done for murder.”

“Manslaughter, actually. The other bloke started the fight, I just hit him harder and faster. Otherwise it’d be me that was on the slab and not him.” Hank stood. “If you ain’t got nothing nice to say, I’m off to sit outside.” He stomped from the room.

Zander watched him go, all too aware of the sudden rise in tension that filled the room. An ex-con might not be the best person to have around. What if he recognised him or knew someone or… Soon as the others arrived, he’d have to forewarn them, because he certainly hadn’t been told. He’d also need copies of the interviews and any records they might have. Not that he could leave them lying around, but he still needed to see them.

Paul barked out a laugh. “And so easy to wind up. Zed, I assume they told you about Silas?”

Zander nodded. “Yeah, they did. Not that I’ve seen the show at all.”

“Really?” Erin peered at him, making sure she leaned forward to show off her chest to its full advantage as she did so. Her skimpy suit didn’t leave much to his imagination even without that manoeuvre. “Never? Even though you were the thirteenth housemate? If it’d been me, I’d have been glued to it all the time. See where I could get an advantage over the rest of us.”

Zander levelled his gaze above her head. Lying was the only part about undercover work he hated. The rest, the playacting part, he really enjoyed. “It clashes with something I watch on the other side.” At least that much of the answer was the honest truth.

She laughed. “You’re in for a shock. Cameras are everywhere. Everything you do and say is recorded and goes out on air. That mic around your neck, by the way, has to stay on all the time, even in the bog.” She smirked. “They didn’t tell you that, huh?”

“No, they didn’t.” Zander’s stomach twisted. He’d known this would be awkward, but didn’t realise how bad it’d be. What on earth had he let himself in for? He sent up a quick prayer for help over the next few days. Maybe they’d be fortunate and solve this case in twenty-five minutes or an hour like TV cops did, before he had to sleep here. Or use the bathroom.

“But at least those doors aren’t see-through. Unlike the ones on the showers which aren’t even frosted.” Paul hefted Zander’s bag in one hand. “Let me give you the guided tour and show you where the bedrooms are. Us lads have one room and the girls have the other. We can put your stuff by your bed. They were going to make you sleep in Silas’s but we told them otherwise, and made up the spare bed for you.”

“Thanks.” Zander rose and leaned on the cane.

“What happened to your leg?” a female voice asked.

Zander turned and looked at the owner of the soft-spoken voice. Kate—he put a name to her face—had brown eyes and long, very long brown hair. Kind of pretty in a plain sort of a way. He gave her the short version. The long one would give away his real job and make a laughing stock of him. Again. “I tore my Achilles tendon in a fall about three months ago.”

“Is the cane permanent?”

He shrugged, playing on it a little. “The jury is still out on that one, but hopefully not.”

“Come on then, Zed. Let’s do this tour.”

Zander nodded and followed Paul, his gaze searching for the location of the ever present cameras. Had the cameras picked up the murder? How long would it take his fellow officers to check all the CCTV footage and find something incriminating?

At least someone from the nick would be in the production galley through the whole undercover operation. Fortunately for the majority of the time that would be the one person he trusted the most. Isabel.

He knew he put his life on the line every day he reported for duty, but this was a whole other kettle of fish.