Chapter Ten
Regan sat in her new office, in her new leather chair—that twirled, if she’d wanted to twirl, which right now she didn’t—staring at the computer screen, a scowl on her face.
Bastards.
They’d turned her down for her license. She’d known it was likely, actually she’d known she was wasting her time, but all the same, a sense of bitterness churned in her stomach.
They said you had to change. To do better. To make an honest living, and then they put every barrier they could in your way.
It was enough to make a girl consider a life of crime.
At least she had some jobs coming in from Carl. He’d been true to his word and had already put a couple of things her way. If it kept up, she’d have enough to pay the rent if nothing else. She actually had a job tonight, checking the security system of a house in the West End of the city and making recommendations for upgrades. The aim was to get something out of the safe without being detected. She was looking forward to it.
Her phone rang, and she glanced at the caller ID. Nate.
It was two weeks since they’d gotten back from their trip. They’d managed to see each other most days, if only for a quick half-hour cup of coffee. The first time he’d suggested that, she considered pointing out that they were supposed to be only meeting for sex, but she’d wanted to see him, so she kept her mouth shut. And it was working. Nate was like a little island cut off from the rest of her life. And she presumed it was the same for him.
Though he had used his contacts to help her out a couple of days ago, when Summer got herself into a situation. Nothing illegal, of course, but it could have been messy for Summer. Thank God, that had worked out.
“Hi, Nate.”
“Can I see you tonight? I have a late shift, but afterward?”
“I thought you were busy.”
“I was, but I’d rather see you.”
She opened her mouth to say she had plans, then closed it again. Maybe if Nate saw how good she was at her job, then he might help her get the license approved. A respected detective, he was bound to have some clout. “I’m working tonight, but you can come along if you want.”
“Working? At what?”
He sounded so suspicious, a smile flickered across her lips. “Nothing illegal, I promise. Then afterward, we can go back to your place.”
“Okay…I think. What time?”
“Ten o’clock. Here.”
“A little late for a job.” There was that suspicion again.
“Depends on the job. Oh, and wear something dark.” She ended the call before he could say anything else. Perhaps she should have added that she’d bring the face masks and gloves, but then he might not have come. And she was actually excited for him to see what she could do.
…
Regan was waiting for him outside the gym when Nate strolled up. He’d had a shit day at work—Phil was driving him crazy with his constant references to Nate’s new girlfriend. He needed Regan to take his mind from the crap in his life right now, make him forget, even if it was transitory.
Regan had her back to him and was talking to a woman, medium height, slender, with short platinum-blond hair, spiky on top. She wore a tank top, and intricate black-and-red tattoos ran down her left arm. Her eyes were almond-shaped, tilted at the corners, giving her features an Asian cast, and she had a silver ring through one nostril.
He came to a halt before Regan even noticed him, though the other woman glanced his way and something flickered in her eyes. Dislike? This must be Darcy Butler, owner of the gym and Regan’s landlord. She’d also been Regan’s cellmate in Holloway. So there was reason for the dislike, he figured, though he sensed there was more to her reaction than that.
She looked him up and down, then pursed her lips. “Your secret boyfriend is here, Regan.”
Regan turned and gave him a nod, but then flashed a frown at her friend. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Secret fuck buddy?” Darcy raised a brow.
“Stop being a bitch, Darcy. I said I’d ask him and I will.”
“When?”
Regan heaved a huge sigh. “Now, all right? But not out here. Can we use your office?”
“Of course.”
“What’s going on?” Nate asked.
“Darcy has something she wants to ask you about.”
“She does?” He couldn’t think what.
“Don’t look so worried. She’s not going to ask you to sell your soul or anything. She just needs some information, and you might be able to help her get it.”
He followed the two women inside the reception area and glanced around. The place was nice, clean, the air fresh. Through double doors, he could see a room with a roped-in ring. Punching bags and other equipment. This was no place to come for aerobics classes but a place for serious training.
He suddenly remembered where he’d heard Darcy’s name before. Three years ago, she’d been a contender for the world championship MMA. Then she’d disappeared. Inside Holloway, he presumed.
They didn’t go into the main room; instead Darcy led them along a corridor. He tried to catch Regan’s eye, get a hint of what this was about, but she was studiously ignoring him.
Finally, Darcy unlocked a door and waved them into a spacious office. White walls, no windows—it was in the center of the building. A desk and two chairs were the only furniture, and a punching bag hung from the ceiling in one corner of the room.
Darcy pointed him to a chair. He didn’t want to sit in case he needed to make a quick getaway, but he sank down onto it anyway. Darcy perched on the desk in front of him; Regan stayed just inside the door. He got his first good look at her, black pants, sneakers, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and a black rucksack over her shoulder. What the hell was this job? Some sort of security check, he’d guess, but why all the dark clothes and the late hour? She wouldn’t try to compromise him in some way, would she?
She smiled when she saw him watching her, but it didn’t reach her eyes. He wondered if she could read his thoughts.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
After getting him there, Darcy seemed reluctant to begin. She jumped off the desk and started pacing the room.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, just ask him,” Regan said.
Darcy scowled, but took a deep breath and sat down in the second chair. He got the impression she didn’t spend much time sitting down. She was almost exploding with energy.
“I need to get some information on a police officer. Nothing secret or anything—well at least, I don’t think it is.”
So much for forgetting his crappy life. “Who?”
“A detective Steven Peterson.”
Nate recognized the name immediately and frowned. The man had been an asshole. “He’s dead.”
“I know.” She ran a hand through her hair, making it stick up even more. She had a silver ring on her thumb and huge silver hoops in her ears. “He was married to my sister. She died in the same car crash that killed him. He was driving.”
He had an idea where this was going, but no clue what she wanted from him. The man was dead. He had a thought, something nagging at the back of his mind that he needed to remember. “What were you inside for?” he asked Darcy.
She gave him a cold smile. “Grievous bodily harm to a police officer.”
Yeah, that was it. “You broke Peterson’s arm?”
“I wish I’d broken his fucking neck. Then my sister would still be alive.”
Now he remembered it all. There had been a lot of talk at the time. Many of his colleagues had been of the opinion that whoever had done it deserved a medal, not a prison sentence. But that wasn’t the way things worked, and the force protected its own.
“Why did you do it?”
“He deserved it and more. He beat up my sister. I’d let it pass for a while because she’d said she could cope, that she goddamned loved him. But she’d call me up every so often. I’d go over, get her out of there until he sobered up and calmed down. But that time, I was too late. He’d beaten her up, and she was three months pregnant. I just lost it.”
“Sounds like self-defense. Why did you do time?”
Sadness flickered across her face. “My sister wouldn’t back me up. She said he’d lose his job and…what the fuck. What does it matter? She’s dead now. Then the judge said I’d used unnecessary force, that with my training I should have been more careful. So that drunken bastard got to stay free and I got locked away.”
“Sorry.” But as she said, what did it matter now? It was over, and her sister was dead.
“He killed her a year later. While I was inside. I hadn’t seen her. Emma loved me. I know it, but she was embarrassed, ashamed.”
Yeah, he’d met a lot of women like that when he’d worked the beat and got called to domestics. They blamed themselves or had nowhere else to go. The excuses he’d heard as to why they stayed were legion. “You got other family?”
“Our parents died when I was eighteen and Emma seventeen. There was no one else. But Emma had a daughter six months before she died. Lulu was in the car with them when it crashed, but she survived without a scratch.”
He glanced across and found Regan watching him. Why did he get the feeling this was some sort of test? And he was about to crash and burn. “How do you think I can help you, Darcy?”
She wiped her hands down her jeans. “It was Regan’s idea.”
“Really?” What a surprise. “So how does Regan think I can help?”
“The baby was given into the custody of Steven’s brother. Apparently, his parents are alive, but the will stipulated clearly that Lulu should go to this other man. I want to see my niece—she’s my only family—but he’s refusing to let me near her. And because of my record, and the nature of my crime, he’s winning.”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“He’s in the army. A captain. In the SAS or something. He’s not even in the country half the time. How can he look after her? Anyway, the main reason he won’t let me see her is that he thinks I’m a violent criminal. Even if I can’t do anything legally, I thought that maybe if I could prove what sort of man his brother was, that I was only protecting my sister, then maybe he’d see that I’m not as bad as he thinks.”
He thought about suggesting she change her image a little if she wanted anyone to think she was a nice girl, but decided—probably wisely—that it wasn’t his place. “And you think I could get you that proof.”
She shrugged. “I think you could. I’m just not sure you will. Regan believes you’re a good guy. But you could say I have firsthand experience of how well you people stick together.”
He wasn’t going to try to defend himself. He’d personally never turned a blind eye to anyone breaking the law, whether they were a police officer or a civilian. But he knew there were officers who did. “What do you know?”
“I talked to the neighbors. Steven was drunk that night. Out of his head. Yet the accident report says nothing about him being over the limit.”
Nate had heard the rumors. But they would have been covered up. “I don’t see what I can do.”
Darcy cast Regan a glance, and something passed between the two women. Regan glared and Darcy scowled.
“Considering he was such an asshole, Regan thought there might be some mention of it somewhere. He must have been disciplined, been put on report, something. And there would be a record of that.”
Christ, why the hell was she putting him in this position? But Regan was right—he’d put money on Peterson having a disciplinary record a mile long. What was he supposed to do?
He’d helped Regan out a couple of days ago, when her other housemate, Summer, had been about to do something stupid. He’d had no problem with that, but this was totally different. He felt the pressure of their gazes and held himself still to stop his muscles from twitching. Bugger. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Darcy smiled, and all at once she was beautiful. Her bitter chocolate eyes glowed. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I may find nothing you can use.”
Regan straightened. “Right, then, that’s sorted, and we need to go. I have a job to do.”
She did? He had a bad feeling about this. The night was sliding downhill fast.
They were out on the street before she spoke again. “Do you think you can help?”
“I said I’d try, didn’t I?” He knew he sounded irritated.
She didn’t stop walking, but turned to peer at him. “Are you annoyed?”
“A little pissed that you put me in this position.”
“What position? Helping a woman who spent two years in prison for protecting her sister from a guy who happened to be a policeman and therefore clearly above the rules that govern the rest of us?”
Shit. She was right. But it still didn’t make him feel any better that she was asking him to go against his own people. He could just imagine what Phil would say. But shouldn’t he be willing to follow up on this if his people were in the wrong? Christ, he hated this. “I said I’d look into it.”
She smiled. “Good. I knew you would. Now get that frown off your face. We have work to do.”
“Are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”
“Not yet. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” She raised her hand and hailed a passing taxi. She gave an address in Mayfair to the driver, then didn’t speak as they drove through the city. Darkness had fallen while they’d been in the gym. It was close to eleven. What the hell job could she have to do?
The taxi dropped them outside an expensive apartment block. She jumped out, and he followed more slowly, through the revolving door into a marble-floored reception area. She seemed to know where she was going. Heading to a door off to the left, she rapped on the wood, and the door opened. He presumed the man was the caretaker, and the two of them spoke quietly for a minute and then shook hands.
She came out with a grin on her face. “We’re on.”
But on what?
He trailed after her, and then stood beside her as she waited for the lift. Once inside, she pressed the P button. The penthouse?
The doors slid closed, and she dropped her bag to the floor, crouched down and rummaged inside, then threw him a small bundle.
A mask and a pair of gloves. He looked at them suspiciously. “Why do I need a mask if this is legal?”
“To get into the spirit of things. Come on, Nate, put them on.”
She pulled a mask over her own head and thin black gloves on her hands. Then she glared at him.
Okay, so he had to admit he was intrigued. He didn’t believe for a moment that she would have dragged him along if she was up to no good. He put on the mask and the gloves. She was getting a phone out of the bag, turning it on to some sort of recording app. “Job number 985.” She spoke into the phone. Then she turned to him. “Just stay behind me and don’t step anywhere I don’t or touch anything unless I tell you.”
He nodded. He actually felt like a bit of an idiot and was sure she was smiling beneath the mask.
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside, into what was clearly a reception area with only one door. He hung back as she approached the door. She took a photograph, then pulled a can of some sort of spray from the bag and sprayed the keypad, took another photograph. After studying the pad for a moment, she punched in a number. He waited for the alarm, but nothing happened. “Keypad needs cleaning, recommend replacing with something else—maybe biometric.”
She shifted her attention to the door, studied the lock. Got a bundle out of her bag and opened it up. A second later, she was picking the lock, and she knew exactly what she was doing. He felt like he was watching an artist at work. It took maybe five minutes before she straightened and turned the handle, tossing him another big grin as the door opened. “External lock needs upgrading.”
Once inside, she used her spray on the internal keypad, punched in a number, and stood waiting, counting off on her watch. When nothing happened, she gave him the thumbs-up.
“That’s just about it,” she said. “Too easy.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Not really. I get to devise a new system, and hopefully Carl can sell it to them. Just one more thing. My favorite.”
The apartment was richly furnished, even to his untutored eyes. Paintings hung on the walls, which were papered in what looked like some sort of material. Regan waved a hand at one of the paintings as they passed. “That’s an original Monet, worth hundreds of thousands. You’d think they would be a little more careful.”
“Why are they doing this?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Probably the insurance company asked for a report.”
After trying a couple of doors, peering into the rooms, she found the one she wanted. He followed her into a huge study, a big mahogany desk in the center, with leather couches around the edges. The curtains were open, spilling in dim light from the city outside. He crossed over and looked out down to the street below while Regan stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly. Finally, she settled on a direction, crossed to a painting on the wall, and carefully lifted it down, revealing the safe behind.
“You might want to sit down,” she said. “I’m not sure how long this will take.” She gestured to the sofa, and he sank down onto the leather where he could watch her work.
After taking some photos, she pulled something that looked like a stethoscope from her bag of tricks. Putting it to her ears, she placed the other end to the safe. She was silent for what seemed like an age, then she swore softly, dragging off the mask, before replacing her stethoscope.
If she wasn’t going to look like an idiot, then neither was he, and he pulled his own mask off.
She didn’t appear to be doing anything except concentrating hard, a little frown between her brows. After about thirty minutes, her face broke into a big grin. She turned the wheel, and the safe clicked open.
“Voilà.”
Reaching inside, she pulled out a brown envelope, read the writing on the front, and stuffed it in the bag. Then she took a few more pictures of the open safe before putting everything away. He tossed her his mask and gloves.
She sighed dramatically as she replaced the picture. “It almost seems a pity not to…only kidding. That’s it. We’re done.”
They were silent in the elevator and didn’t speak again until they were out on the street. She nodded to a bar across the road. “Let’s go get a drink. This stuff makes me thirsty.”