Eleven o’clock on a Thursday night, and Baker Street was winding down for the evening. The students had cleared out for the nightclubs, leaving only a smattering of locals and a couple who could only be tourists, given their mahogany-tanned skins, too-white smiles and choice of clothing: chinos and a T-shirt for him, jeans and an ‘I love Scotland’ sweatshirt for her.
Connor made sure they got a table at the back of the bar, facing the front door. He kept the conversation light at first, inanities about work, who was doing what at the gym, what Jen had planned for the weekend. He watched her nerves dissipate as she spoke, the tension leaving her shoulders, the colour returning to her cheeks. He knew the Mercedes had followed them from the gym, breaking off only when Connor had turned into a side lane that was impossible to drive along. He had listened for the clunk of a car door and the clatter of footsteps to catch up. Heard nothing. And, since they arrived, he’d seen no one enter the bar whom he deemed a threat.
He watched as Jen drained her glass, then nodded to it. She gave him a shy smile, considered, then said, ‘Oh, go on. Just one more. I’m working tomorrow.’
He headed for the bar and ordered their drinks – vodka and tonic for her, a whisky with ice for him. He didn’t want it, but he liked to chew the ice cubes.
‘So,’ he said, as he sat down again, ‘you going to tell me what the favour is you were going to ask?’
She blinked rapidly, as though waking from a dream. He saw tension jump back into her posture as she sat away from the table, hands spinning the glass as her eyes darted between it and him, unsure what to focus on.
‘Ach, that,’ she said, releasing her glass to wave a hand dismissively in front of her. ‘It was nothing, don’t worry about it. It was just . . .’ She let the sentence trail off, busied herself with her drink.
Connor watched her for a moment, letting the suddenly awkward silence drag out as he made a decision.
Fuck it. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘but if it’s something to do with whoever is following you in the Merc that was outside the gym, I can help.’
Her head whipped up, eyes filled with electrified panic. For a moment, Connor thought she would leave, but then she took a breath, centred herself. When she spoke, her voice was almost even. ‘How did you know about . . .?’
‘It’s my job,’ he said. ‘I saw the way you reacted when you saw the car at the gym, and whoever was driving didn’t make much of an effort to disguise the fact they were following us. I’m surprised the driver hasn’t stepped in here, which means they either figured out where you were heading or have what they needed.’
She looked at him as though for the first time. He’d been intentionally vague when they’d spoken about his work in the past, saying only that he worked in security, letting her jump to the conclusion that he was a doorman of some sort.
‘I’m not judging, Jen,’ he said, when it was clear she was still processing what he had said. ‘Jealous ex, stalker, over-protective dad, I don’t know. And I don’t really care. As long as you’re okay. And I’m saying that if you need it I can help.’
She took a slug of her drink, eyes reddening either from the alcohol or whatever she was feeling. ‘Good guess,’ she said, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Connor. See . . .’ she blew air ‘. . . it’s my dad. He does, ah, well, a fair bit of business across the Central Belt, and he gets a wee bit protective at times. He’s back in Edinburgh, but he likes to have one of his employees keep an eye on me, just in case.’
Connor made a mental note to check out Jennifer MacKenzie’s father as he ran what she had told him through his mind. It made sense, and it explained why the driver hadn’t followed them into the pub: he’d seen Jen with a large-built man, in a public area, heading for a pub. No doubt reported it, probably called it a night. ‘So it’s not a problem?’ he asked.
‘It’s a fucking pain in the arse,’ she said, her words hard with anger and resentment. ‘I know Dad means well, but I’m sick of seeing a car sitting outside the gym whenever I’m working a nightshift. I mean, Paulie – Dad’s guy – is nice enough, but it’s like a slap in the face, isn’t it? Does he think I can’t look after myself?’
Connor nodded. Wondered again about her father, what type of man would go to such lengths to protect his daughter – and from what.
He considered his glass, looked around the pub. It was dying. And he still had that report to write. He downed his whisky, caught a chunk of ice between his wisdom teeth and began to worry at it. A vague alarm was sounding in the back of his mind: there were more questions he should ask her. But he was tired, the workout starting to bite at his muscles. ‘So if it’s not that, what’s this favour you wanted to ask me?’
She looked away, suddenly shy, a mischievous smile on her lips. She followed him in downing her drink, then held his gaze, flashing him those amazing teeth as she smiled. ‘How do you fancy a tour of my place?’ she said.