For most of the drive up to Banbury, Christa was silent, lost in thought. She really hoped Mum would be all right. She was a stubborn woman…and Tony was a dangerous man.
“Your mum’ll be fine,” Devon said, reading her thoughts as he reached out to lay his hand reassuringly atop hers. “I’ll have someone assigned to keep an eye on her house – and yours – while we’re gone.”
“I can’t thank you enough.” She hesitated, and curled her fingers lightly through his. “You’ve done so much to help us.”
To her embarrassment, she began to cry, overwhelmed by the welter of emotions she’d experienced in the past few days.
Devon groped in his jacket pocket until he found some crumpled tissues and handed them to her. “Hungry?” he asked after a moment, when she’d gathered herself together once again.
“Do you know,” she admitted, and gave him a watery smile, “I’m starving.”
They stopped at a Little Chef and, even though it was nearly lunchtime, ordered two Olympic Breakfasts and coffee. Christa tucked in with enthusiasm to her eggs and grilled mushrooms.
Twenty minutes later, she closed her eyes in bliss. “That was probably the best full English I’ve ever had.”
Devon grinned. “You’re a cheap date.”
Her smile faded. “This is hardly a date, detective.”
“Sorry.” He let out a short breath. “Of course it’s not.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” As the waitress refilled her coffee cup, Christa sighed. “I have no sense of humour these days.
“You’ve been through a lot.”
“I feel so jumpy all the time. Like right now – I keep expecting Tony to walk through that door at any moment.” She glanced at the glass doors of the restaurant, then back at Devon. “Do you mind if we leave?”
“Not at all. Let’s go.”
“What’s the matter, babes?” Dominic asked, and switched off the TV. “You’re a million miles away. You’ve been staring at that same page for ten minutes now.”
She looked up guiltily. “I have? I didn’t realize. Just have things on my mind, that’s all.”
“Like what?”
Like Jack, she thought. After almost two days, she still hadn’t heard from him. Not a text, not a voicemail – nothing. And she was getting worried. She’d driven by his flat late yesterday, and his Land Rover was still gone. Where was he?
“Oh, just – things,” she said vaguely.
“Things like making a baby?” He leaned over and kissed her. “We can tick that off your list, if you want to put those tabs aside and come upstairs.”
She smiled and reached out to stroke his cheek. “Okay. Just give me a few minutes, I need to check my texts first.”
“Again? That’s all you’ve been doing lately.”
“It’s Nat. She wants my opinion on every single thing she buys for the baby. It’s driving me mad.” She kissed him again. “I’ll be up in a few minutes, promise.”
“All right. Don’t be too long.” He kissed her again and left.
Gemma felt guilty, lying to Dom; but mentioning Jack or admitting she was worried about him would only piss him off. When he’d gone upstairs, she grabbed her mobile phone from the coffee table and checked once again to see if there were any messages from Jack. But there was nothing.
Ordinarily she wouldn’t be bothered. She knew he was disappointed – and yes, angry – that the two of them hadn’t worked out, and she’d normally put his silence down to his wounded male pride. But the fact that he’d told her yesterday morning that he was on his way to follow up a lead made her uneasy.
I’m off to Dalston tomorrow to find this nightclub.
What if something had happened? These people he was after were dangerous, unpredictable. What if he’d been hurt? Worse still – what if he’d been shot? Without hesitating, she found the number for the local CID and asked to speak with Devon.
“Devon? Forename or surname, ma’am?” the woman on the other end asked.
“Forename. I don’t know his last name, sorry. He’s a detective.”
“Is this an emergency?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“One moment.”
“Babes!” Dominic bellowed from the top of the stairs. “Hurry up. I’m ready to do my husbandly duty.”
“I’ll be right there.” She waited, and a moment later she had Devon Matthews’s mobile number.
“Hello, detective,” she said in a low, hurried voice as she got his voicemail. “This is Gemma Heath, Dominic’s wife. Jack Hawkins went to Dalston yesterday to chase a lead on his niece, Jools, and he hasn’t returned. I’ve not heard from him in almost two days. I’m worried. Call me, please.”
She left her number and rang off just as Dominic, naked save for a towel and damp from the shower, appeared in the sitting room doorway.
“Who were you talking to?” he asked with a frown.
“Just leaving a message for Nat,” she said, and tossed her mobile aside as she stood up. “I’m ready.” She eyed him and raised her brow. “Looks like you are, too.”
“I’m always ready,” he growled, and swung her up, giggling, into his arms. “Come on, no more texts. We’re going upstairs and making ourselves a baby.”
“Oliver?”
Valery swung the front door open late that afternoon and stared at her ex-husband. “This is rather unexpected. Is there any news from the police, or Jack?” Worry creased her face. “Nothing’s happened, has it?”
He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I was in the area, and I thought…” He shrugged. “I thought I’d check on you, see how you were holding up. That’s all.”
He’d seen a Mercedes parked out front; he knew it must be Marcus’s car. Seeing it, he nearly left. But with Felicity called away to Suffolk for a family emergency, he found himself at a loose end. He needed to talk to someone about Jools. Someone who understood how he felt. And Valery was the only one who did.
“Come in,” Valery said, and waited as he stepped inside. The smell of a cake baking drifted down the hall. “Marcus is making lemon sponge,” she explained. “You’re welcome to stay and have some, if you’d like?”
“Hello, Oliver.” Marcus appeared behind her, wearing a butcher’s apron and a polite but wary smile. He thrust out his hand.
“Marcus.”
After they exchanged perfunctory small talk, there was an awkward pause. Oliver thrust his hands in his pockets and wondered what the hell he’d been thinking to come here.
“Well, I’d best get back in the kitchen,” Marcus said, and turned to go. “Sponge can be very tricky, you know.”
“Oliver,” Valery hissed as she drew him aside, “why did you come here? This is all a bit awkward…”
“I just…wanted company. Felicity’s gone, and I wanted to talk to someone about Jools. Someone who’d understand what I’m going through.”
Her expression softened. “I know…and I’m sorry. It’s awful, isn’t it? I can’t sleep,” she confessed, “and I’m not hungry – that’s why Marcus is making cake, to try and tempt me to eat something. Why don’t you stay, and have coffee and cake with us?”
Oliver hesitated. But the sound of Marcus, whistling as he took his sponge out of the oven, decided him.
“No,” he said firmly. “That’s kind of you, but I really don’t belong here. I’m sorry. I’ll call you later.”
And he retraced his steps to the front door and let himself out.