TWENTY-THREE

Sweat springing, Jay drove down the street without braking or changing gear. It was only when she’d put a good mile between her and her kidnapper’s garage that she pulled over and rang Nick.

‘I’ve found the house where they took me. It’s opposite Churton’s place. He must have lied about his son borrowing his car. And lied about his son being in Majorca and out of touch. It’s a cover-up. They’ve got to Churton, they must have. Or he’s a friend. Or he’s in on it . . .’ She had to force herself to take a breath.

‘Where are you?’

‘Streatham.’

‘Good. Don’t go back.’

‘I won’t. Shall I call the police?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Nick?’

He said, ‘What do you think will happen if you do that?’

Jay considered Sergeant Mayer and his steely grey eyes. Then she considered Sergeant Neuhaus and his sudden transferral from the station, along with Constable Robertson’s reluctance to talk to her. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘How about we have a chat to your kidnapper first, then call the police?’

‘Hmmm.’ She was noncommittal.

‘Was anyone in the house, do you think?’

‘No idea.’

‘I’ll set up some surveillance. When we see someone’s home, I’ll ring you. Get you over to ID them. If they’re one of the guys who snatched you, we’ll talk to him. OK?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Where are you going now?’

‘Home. Then to Blake’s.’

‘Give him my best.’

Back in Fulham, Jay showered and washed her hair. Moisturized. Blow-dried her hair. She dithered about what to wear, eventually settling on some peach-coloured satin underwear and her usual stretchy shirt and jeans. Some pretty velvet shoes. A pair of gold Grecian earrings followed. Her watch. No other jewellery.

She checked her appearance and sighed. She looked about as seductive as a traffic warden. Again she dithered, wondering whether she ought to wear something sexier, like a skirt or a dress, but by the time she’d rifled through her wardrobe a third time, the girls were home and demanding to know if she was in for supper. Jeans it was. She decided against packing an overnight bag, just stuffed spare undies and a toothbrush into her handbag.

‘Back later,’ she called, sailing past the kitchen. ‘Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tonight. Don’t know.’

‘See ya!’ they called at the same time as she closed the door behind her.

She exhaled in relief at having left without them seeing her. If the girls got an inkling of what she was up to they’d rib her endlessly, as well as quiz her about Tom. But tonight wasn’t about Tom. It was about her and Blake.

When Jay turned off the country lane, and on to the rutted track that was the start of Blake’s drive, she suddenly lost her nerve and pulled over. This was ridiculous, she thought. Her hands were trembling. Anyone would think she was about to face a firing squad, not a man she loved. She jumped a mile when her mobile rang.

‘Hi.’ Her voice was scratchy.

‘Having second thoughts?’

‘Of course not,’ she lied, craning her neck. Had he seen her? His home was tucked in the folds of the next hillside, and unless he had X-ray vision, he’d have no idea she was barely half a mile from him.

‘If you do, it’s not a problem.’

‘No, no.’ She was beginning to sweat. ‘I’m on my way.’

‘I want you with me one hundred per cent, OK? No doubts.’

‘No doubts,’ she echoed.

Jay hung up and stared blankly through the windscreen.

Of course she had doubts. Yes, she and Tom were on a break, but it wasn’t the first time. They’d had a break eighteen months ago, and he’d used that break to sleep with his secretary, Sharon. Despite Jay’s jealousy, they’d got back together and things had been so good between them . . . Could it happen again? Not if Tom discovered she’d slept with Blake.

And what of her regret when she’d believed Blake was dead? She recalled the pain she’d felt, her sorrow that she’d never made love to him.

Still dithering, a mass of nerves, Jay used a device her sister-in-law had once suggested and pictured herself an old woman, lying on her deathbed. What would that old woman advise her? To turn her back on Blake . . . or not?

The answer was resounding. No doubts.

Go to Blake.

Jay put the car into gear and continued along the track to the rustic farmhouse surrounded by beech trees. The air was filled with the cawing of rooks. When Jay climbed out, the front door opened to reveal Blake barefoot, in jeans and a black T-shirt. She walked to him. His expression was serious as he studied her.

‘OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She swallowed. ‘Look, I have a lot to tell you. We’ve cracked Sol’s code . . .’

‘Not now,’ he said gently. ‘Later.’

She reached up and stroked his cheek, feeling the faintest rasp of stubble beneath her fingertips. She stroked his eyebrows, his lips, the silky hair above his ears.

In one sweep his arms were around her, pulling her to him. His mouth was cool and soft. His hands trembled as they cupped her face, making her feel unbearably tender. He stood back. His breathing was hard and fast. He put out a hand, palm up. Jay rested her hand in his and let him lead her inside.

When he laid his naked skin against hers, it set off a tremendous shock of heat.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he whispered.

She groaned, pulling him close, but at the last second he reared back.

‘Oh no you don’t.’ A smile played on his lips.

‘What?’ Jay froze.

‘I’ve waited a long time for this,’ he murmured.

‘I know. Sorry.’

‘I promised myself that when we got to this point –’ gently, he pinned her wrists above her head – ‘I would kiss every inch of you.’

‘Really?’ Her voice was several octaves higher.

His eyes darkened until they were almost black. ‘Really.’

Blake kept his word and come midnight, when they were curled together in front of a log fire, he continued his gentle exploration.

‘There’s a bit here I think I missed,’ he murmured, pressing his lips below her shoulder blade. ‘And here.’ Another kiss on her nape as his hands skimmed the length of her belly.

Jay twisted to look into his eyes. ‘Lie back,’ she told him.

He blinked.

‘It’s my turn,’ she said.

She awoke in the morning in his bed, limbs entwined, and for a moment she couldn’t work out which limb went where. Her head nestled on his shoulder, one leg between his thighs, the other over his waist. His arms were around her, his breath warm on her cheek. She’d never slept wrapped in a man’s embrace like this before. She and Tom would spoon one another, but they’d never slept like a couple of animals heaped together.

‘Hmmm,’ Blake murmured.

‘Hmmm,’ she agreed.

She shifted her leg slightly and felt the plastic cuff around his ankle. Gently, she stroked her foot against his.

His hands began to drift over her body. ‘Yesterday,’ he murmured, ‘I hated the idea of house arrest, but with you here, it’s not a problem.’

‘I won’t be here all day.’

‘So let’s not waste valuable time.’

Later, Blake padded to the kitchen to make coffee, leaving Jay sprawled face down on the bed. Her body felt languorously tired. She tried to think about what she had to do today, but her mind was a haze. She’d have to look at her diary. Vaguely, she heard a mobile ring. It was her phone’s tone, but since all Blake’s mobiles had the same tone, she didn’t move. She closed her eyes and began to drift.

‘Jay.’

Something in his tone had her scrambling upright. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s Nick. He says they’ve picked up a man at the house where you were held. He wants you to ID him.’

‘Tell him I’m on my way.’

Jay drove with one hand on the wheel, the other eating a bacon sandwich that Blake had rustled up while she’d been in the shower. They hadn’t eaten much last night – just some olives and Spanish almonds – and the sandwich was a godsend. She had given Blake Turner’s envelope, but hadn’t said anything more than that Turner had passed it to her in court. She hadn’t had time to go into things any further. At least she’d managed to give Blake a brief summary of Sol’s code as she’d raced to get dressed.

Nick was waiting for her two streets from where the kidnappers had held her. He was driving an innocuous white van with blue Plumb Centre logos on its sides. He told her to hop in the back, where two men sat: Dave and Rob. Both greeted her with a handshake and a grin.

‘We’ll park in the street,’ Nick told her. ‘I’ll angle the van so you get a good view of the house. He started fettling his bike half an hour ago. Let’s hope he’s still there.’

Nick cruised down the street, pulling up quietly halfway along. The Harley’s shroud was folded to one side. Cloths and rags, bottles and tubes lay on a groundsheet, and on the other side of the bike a man was bent over, polishing one of the fairings. Despite craning into the van’s cab, Jay couldn’t see the man’s face.

‘No greater love hath a man than for his Harley,’ said Rob.

‘Give me a Ducati any day,’ said Dave. ‘They’ve got soul.’

‘Unreliable,’ said Rob.

‘If Jennifer Lopez was unreliable, it wouldn’t stop you dating her,’ replied Dave, and at that moment the man straightened up. Jay’s stomach lurched. It was Blondie. Same stocky body, squat neck, and shorn blond hair.

‘It’s him,’ she said.

‘Hey, cool,’ said Rob, sounding as though he’d just received a present he’d been waiting for all year. ‘Let’s go get him.’

‘I’ll park around the corner,’ Nick said.

As Nick started the van, Dave sang softly, ‘We’re coming to get youuu . . .’

Even though the lads were on her side, Jay couldn’t help her shiver.

The second Nick parked the van around the corner, Rob and Dave opened the rear and hopped out. Rob carried a toolbox, Dave a couple of lengths of white plastic pipe: props to match the plumbing logos on the van. Jay watched them vanish down the street.

‘What’s the plan?’ she asked.

‘We drive your kidnapper somewhere nice and quiet, and talk to him.’ Nick turned in his seat. ‘You OK with this?’

‘Not really,’ she admitted. ‘I know he snatched me, and that he’s part of the Garrison, but it worries me we’re going off-piste and without the cops.’

‘We won’t pull out his fingernails or anything.’ He gave a humourless smile. ‘We’re more subtle than that. Now, jump in the front, would you?’

It didn’t take long before Rob and Dave reappeared, with Blondie walking between them. Nerves tight, she watched them in the wing mirror. To her surprise, the man looked completely at ease. He was laughing. He didn’t appear to see Jay in the front passenger seat. She heard the rear door open, then the sounds of all three men climbing inside.

‘Another Day in Paradise,’ Blondie said. ‘That’s what I want to call it. What do you reckon?’

‘Sounds about right to me,’ said Rob.

‘Fucking A,’ said Dave.

The door slammed. ‘Hey, Nick,’ called Rob. ‘This is Stewart Bradley. He’s a Para. Bomb disposal in Afghanistan. He’s writing a book about his experiences. We thought we’d have a pint or two down the pub.’

‘Hey, Stew,’ said Nick and turned in his seat, stuck out a hand.

Stewart leaned forward and shook, saying, ‘Great to meet you . . .’

And then he saw Jay.

His mouth dropped open. ‘What the—’

‘This is a friend of ours,’ said Nick. ‘Jay McCaulay. She’d like to join us, if that’s OK? She used to be with the Sigs.’

Jay copied Nick’s light-hearted approach and sent Stewart a brilliant smile. ‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ he responded. His voice was croaky.

Nick started the engine, pulled out. ‘You’ve met Jay before, haven’t you, Stew?’

‘Er . . .’

‘It’s OK. She doesn’t hold any hard feelings, do you, Jay?’

Like hell, she thought, but said dutifully, ‘No hard feelings.’

‘Right.’ Stewart’s voice turned faint.

‘Sit back and relax,’ said Nick. ‘And tell us about your book.’

‘Yeah,’ said Rob. ‘I fancy writing a book myself. How do you go about it? Do you have to have an English degree, or do you get someone to help out? Like a ghostwriter or something?’

‘I’ve . . . um. Yeah, I’ve teamed up with someone . . .’

Stewart’s voice faded as he retracted into the rear of the van, but during the journey she heard snatches of conversation. Dave asking whether Stewart was going to use his real name, how much he hoped to sell the book for, and what he’d do with the money. After a while, Nick switched on the radio, and she couldn’t hear any more, just the occasional laugh – Dave and Rob creating an atmosphere of conviviality, of soldiers together, having a laugh.

They passed Purley and ducked east, past a couple of golf courses and on to the North Downs. A couple more turns and they were on a windswept road with nothing but scrubby grassland on either side. There was no traffic.

Nick pulled over and switched off the engine. Silence fell. Nick turned in his seat. He said, ‘Stew. We need to talk. Tell us about the Garrison.’