by Bo Brennan
“No you haven’t,” Colt snapped, cocking his jaw. He could see Mark willing her to shut her mouth, and imagined him squeezing her thigh under the table for all it’s worth. But she wasn’t having any of it.
“The last sighting of her was on the CCTV at the corner shop two streets away at 7.14 on Thursday night,” Lucy retorted, and the room fell completely silent.
“How did the pizza end up in her stomach?” Colt said. “She paid for it at 9.06, it didn’t magic its way down the fucking phone line. She either collected it, or someone delivered it. If you’d tracked her movements you’d damned well know.” Lucy’s face turned crimson and she looked to Mark for support. He kept his head down, eyes fixed on his notepad.
Len cleared his throat. “Right, everybody knows what they’ve got to do; get out there and do it.” Colt dragged his hands down his face in frustration as they filed from the room, leaving him and Len alone. “They’re both conveniently off tomorrow and the entire weekend,” Len muttered.
“Thank fuck for that,” Colt said. “How’d it go with the brass?”
Len laughed. “You sure you want to know?”
Colt leant back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head and nodded.
“He wants to see some high profile, door kicking action. Reckons it would be good if the public saw you dragging some registered sex offenders in by the goolies. I told him we can’t divert resources onto something we know isn’t relevant. We do know it’s not relevant, Jim, don’t we?”
Colt nodded again. “Yep.”
“Good, because I told him it would cause all sorts of problems for the Public Protection Unit as well if we did that. But he’s adamant. He wants us, well, you specifically, to pull a few in. What do you think?”
Colt grinned. “I think he’s confused me with someone who gives a shit about what he wants. What do you think, Len?”
Len frowned. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with Kane.”
Chapter 25
He'd been following the tail lights of the meathead's Lexus since it left that crappy pub in Winchester. He'd made damned sure he had a shit load of work to do, so he should be going back to whatever plush hotel he was staying in by now. He certainly wasn't staying with his folks; the Colt family oracle had assured him of that.
Loud-mouth Karen Colt must be gagging for a bit of cock by now. Ramming it down her throat and shutting the gobby tart up for good would be his pleasure. If needs must it could always be arranged, but right now his eyes were on a bigger prize.
He slowly crawled past the alley the taillights of the Lexus disappeared down, and saw him step from the driver's seat in the glow of the interior light. He drove a further fifty yards on and switched off his own headlights as he pulled into a parking bay.
Watching in the darkness he observed the meathead climb the steps to the seedy little club.
‘Scandals,’ the flickering neon sign above the door declared. No shit, Colt thought.
He pulled the cab driver’s business card from his wallet and double checked the details scrawled on the back. This was the place all right.
He looked back towards the unlit service alley running behind the pokey club. His car would probably be sitting on bricks when he returned, if it was still there at all. But this was the third night in a row that she’d blown out the team drink, and that didn’t sit right with Colt. If India Kane wouldn't come to the mountain, the mountain would come to her.
He paid his fiver on the door and made his way to the dingy bar along with a hen party wearing more make up than clothes. No draught beer, bottled only. He baulked as he got a couple of coins change and a bottle of crap Continental lager in return for his ten pound note.
Tried to divert his eyes as the young woman blocking his path wearing L plates, a veil and not much else, gyrated suggestively in time to the music. “Tonight's special offer is me available to you for one night only,” she slurred, running her clumsy drunk hands up inside his jacket. The misspelled ‘Gary’ tattoo on the inside of her wrist as big a turn-off as her drunkenness.
“A very enticing offer,” he said, peeling her hands off him, “but I'll pass all the same, thanks.”
He made his way towards the dance floor, eyes scanning everywhere. The place was rammed. If she was here, he'd never find her. Spotting a balcony he headed for the stairs, would be able to see the whole club from up there.
Scanning the sea of heads below, his attention was drawn to a lively crowd assembled in the far corner of the dance floor. The whole vibe of the place suggested a fight, but a cursory glance of the extended revellers revealed no bouncers running, a few were looking that way, but none seemed remotely concerned. Suddenly the music shifted in tempo and the crowd opened up, a vibrant flash of red at its centre caught Colt’s eye.
He looked on as the woman in red’s lithe hips swayed in time to the music. With each beckoning beat, the seductress closed in on her man. When their fingertips touched he swung her forcefully to him. Bodies entwined they moved with the fast paced rhythm, oblivious to the world around them.
Like a voyeur intruding on an intimate moment, Colt watched as the dancers’ hands caressed every inch of each other’s bodies. They were incredible. She was incredible. He tugged at the collar of his shirt; the temperature had risen along with the tempo.
“They're pretty hot, huh?”
When the voice came from behind him Colt winced, feeling like a Peeping Tom who’d just been caught in the bushes with his trousers round his ankles. “Yeah, they're good,” he said, tearing his eyes away. “They work here?”
The fellow reveller shook his head. “Nah, just punters. Been coming every Thursday for the last year an’ half, been such a boost for business Management lets ‘em in for free.” Colt could understand why; they were mesmerising to watch. “I'm Dave by the way.” He held out a fist and Colt reluctantly bumped it. “Not seen you here before, this your first Scandal?” he said, snorting a laugh.
First and last, Colt thought. He looked back to the dance floor, now filled with a load of lunatics jumping around making shapes with their arms. “I'm looking for somebody,” he shouted over the hard-core rave music now banging out of the speakers and rattling his brain around his skull.
Chatty Dave smiled. “Ain't we all.”
Colt abandoned his undrinkable beer on a table and wiped his mouth. “No really. A friend of mine, I thought she was here.” He had drawn the conclusion he would never trust the words of a cabbie again. “Seems I was mistaken.”
“Fancy another?” Dave said.
Colt eyed him suspiciously.
“Not like that,” Dave flustered, waving his empty bottle. “I was hoping for an intro to that hen party hottie who was all over you at the bar.”
Colt followed Dave’s gormless gaze to the amatory cluster of bopping women. The one wearing the veil lifted her top and flashed him a leopard print bra. Colt grimaced and shook his head. “All right,” he said. “But you’re on your own. I’m not staying. The beer’s shit.”
Fucking bingo, it's like a buy one get one free offer.
Now he understood why the meathead was prepared to get his fancy shoes dirty on the sticky carpet. DC India Kane had her tits out for the boys. Could probably get a flash of fanny too if you were standing in the right place. Funny really, she came across as having far more class than that on the telly. He wouldn't have even recognised her had the barman not pointed out the entertainment.
What a strange little creature she was, so prim yet so promiscuous. Psychologists would think it was Christmas if they could get inside her pretty little head. Bit heavy-handed slapping on the makeup mind, and a tad overdressed for a shithole like Scandals. That dress didn’t suit her at all, made her look slutty. The colour was all right, not many women could get away with it, but it suited her pale complexion perfectly. It was the cut that was wrong, left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
He guessed old snake hips was her boyfriend, looked like he was on a
promise tonight too. He’d stake money on her taking him home and treating him to a private dance before fucking his brains out. She was quite the little attention seeker, playing up to the crowd. He cast his eyes up to the balcony where the meathead stood staring at her, probably up there with his hands in his pockets knocking one out right now.
He smiled to himself. She wasn’t interested in that cunt, he was incapable of satisfying a woman like her – intelligent, beautiful and clearly a bit of a prick teasing handful. Most men would be intimidated by those traits. Most men would be incapable of giving her the right royal fucking she warranted. Fortunately, he wasn’t most men.
Chapter 26
India Kane stood shivering on the kerb waiting for her cab ten minutes earlier than usual. She hoped everything was ok in there. Cara had never been her biggest fan, it was best to leave them to it. Gray wasn't the type to let things get out of control, everything would be fine. He'd promised.
She looked back to the club door when it opened, hoping the guy that had been giving her the come on earlier would be joining her in her taxi tonight. Her eyes narrowed when the man standing at the top of the steps blurred in and out of focus.
She was pissed, but she wasn't that pissed.
India screwed her eyes tightly closed, opened one to peek at the man coming down the steps towards her. The painkillers she’d taken hadn’t come with an alcohol warning. They hadn’t even come with a proper box. If they had, maybe now she wouldn’t be horny as hell and hallucinating.
AJ Colt stared at her in disbelief. Feeling like he'd just been punched in the guts, he slowly descended the steps in silence to where she stood – in that red dress – swaying like a poppy in the wind.
One of her hands moved to rest on her cleavage, the other to her exposed thigh. It would take a lot more than her small hands to conceal the amount of flesh she was showing. His would fit the bill, if only the position were still available.
“You'll catch a cold,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it around her shoulders, covering her up for both their sakes.
“I'm sure you could warm me up,” she said, resting her hands against his chest.
He sucked in a breath and bit his lip, pulled the jacket tightly around her, pinning her arms to her sides. “What are you doing out here on your own?”
“Waiting for my ride,” she slurred.
“Come on,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist. “My car's round the corner.”
She pulled away from him, staggering unsteadily on spiked shoes. “You wanna be my ride tonight?” she said, throwing her arms open wide.
Christ almighty there's a question. Colt sighed and grabbed her elbow, almost dragging her tanked-up arse to the car. He was taking her home, by force if necessary. He sure as shit wasn't leaving her here, this part of Southampton was running alive with opportunistic scumbags and she was off her fucking head.
The beep from his key fob unlocking the doors and the sharp ting of her stilettos on uneven cobbles underfoot were the only sounds in the shadowy darkness of the alley. He opened the passenger door, preparing to bundle her inside, and her hand slammed it shut from behind.
“India, stop messing about and get in the bloody car!”
He spun to meet her piercing blue eyes a lot closer to his in those shoes. She let his jacket fall to the ground and flung her arms around his neck, pressing her body hard against his. “Take me back to yours,” she said. “I’m a bad girl.”
Her touch sent a lightning bolt straight to his groin. Colt tipped his head to the heavens. “Give me fucking strength,” he muttered, as her hands slid down his body. He grabbed her wrists when they reached his crotch. “Don’t,” he said, staring at her. “You’ll regret it in the morning.”
“I won’t even remember it in the morning,” she said, staring back at him.
Colt frowned. “Get in the car. I’m taking you home.”
“No,” she said. “Take me here, or take me to yours.”
“India, I’m being serious. Get in the fucking car. I can’t handle this shit.”
“What can't you handle?” she said, lasciviously reaching for him again.
“You, this,” he growled, pushing her hands away. She was so ball achingly sexy he was scared to look at her. He hung his head and closed his eyes, breathing deeply in through his nose, out through his mouth. It didn’t help. He could smell her perfume clinging in the charge of the cold night air as she closed the gap between them.
“I know you want me,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his. “I’m a bad girl. I felt it.”
Colt swallowed hard. Brought his hands to rest on her curvy hips and pressed his forehead against hers, finder it harder and harder to breath with every passing second. “All I want right now is to get you home safely. That's it. So please, be a good girl and get in the bloody car.”
“Only if you dance with me,” she said, spinning away and crashing into the bonnet, disappearing from view entirely with a small shriek and the clatter of stiletto heels.
“For fuck’s sake,” he gritted out. She'd be travelling home in the boot in a minute.
He rounded the car and stood curiously staring down at her in the moonlight. She sat in a mass of tangled limbs and hair, clinging to his front bumper, laughing. It was the first time he'd ever heard her laugh, and it was beautiful. Grinning, he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her up to meet him, smoothing her dress down around her legs. His knees went weak when his hands fell on stocking tops and suspenders. And when she moved his hand to the damp lace between her legs he lost it.
She writhed against him in the darkness, capturing his resulting groan in her mouth as he kissed her. Cupping a firm lace-clad cheek in each hand he lifted her legs around his waist, savouring the moment her stilettoes dug deliciously into the small of his back, scoring his skin. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the blood pumping through his veins as his cock strained to get free with every ragged breath he took.
He pressed her against the cold steel of the bonnet, planting hot hard kisses along her never ending silk covered legs. She gasped as his fingers pushed lace to one side and made their way inside her. Her hands clawed at his head willing his mouth up to meet hers. When her back arched away from the bonnet, Colt let out a guttural groan and tugged at his belt. As the first frozen drops of rain pierced the back of his shirt, feeling like a million hot needles stabbing his flesh, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
Somewhere in the darkness at the entrance to the alley, he heard the phlegm rattle of a smoker’s cough and the unmistakable noise of a zip opening. They had company. Colt glanced over his shoulder to see the silhouette of a man with his dick in hand, leaning against the wall just feet away. He hurriedly pulled her dress back down and yanked her from the bonnet by the wrist.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she said, pulling her arm free and shoving him hard in the chest.
“Me?” he spat, fastening his belt. “What the fuck is wrong with you more like. Do you even know who I am? Do you even care? You don’t want me, India. I'm just the lucky bastard who's here right now.”
In the darkness he didn't see the right hook coming, but felt the hot sting rip through his cheek as his head jerked to the side. Jesus, the woman could pack a punch. As he reeled in stunned silence she kicked off her shoes and ran barefoot, stilettos in hand, back towards the street.
“India, wait,” he called. “Please.”
He jogged up the alley after her when she didn't respond, reaching the street just in time to see the taxi pull away. He kicked the wall in frustration, and looked down to find himself standing in a puddle of steaming fresh piss.
Decisions, decisions, decisions. Who to choose – the arsehole in the alley, or tits in the taxi?
In the end the decision had proved easy. He was spent tonight. His balls were well and truly empty . . . so his brain was full.
Chapter 27
Friday 10t
h December
When India sloped into the office, Colt, Foxy and Firman broke from their intense conversation and cast seemingly knowing looks her way before disappearing into the incident room. She should've followed her gut instinct this morning and chucked a sickie, spent the day nursing her hangover under her duvet eating Ben & Jerry's from the tub.
She was having some pretty vague random flashbacks this morning – one of them involving the DCI’s head between her legs. She loitered at the coffee machine, delaying the moment she had to face him.
Fanbloodytastic. Confirmation of it shaping up to be the day from hell came seeing everyone already assembled, with the exception of Dwyer. 0742 for a 0800 meeting and two seats remained unfilled. Her choices were limited – dead opposite Colt, which meant next to Sangrin, or next to Colt. She picked the lesser of the evils and sat down next to Colt; felt him physically tense as he fiddled with his laptop. The air was thick.
“Good morning, India, you’re looking particularly ravishing today.” Sangrin was way too chirpy for someone who'd been kicked out of some floozy’s bed early.
“Piss off, Lee,” she mumbled, “I'm not in the mood.”
“Ooh moody,” Sangrin pushed. “Got the decorators in?”
From the corner of her eye she saw Colt’s clean shaven jaw clench as he ran a cable from the laptop to the TV screen on the wall behind her. Had he really been there last night, or was it just a drink and drug induced fantasy? Scandals was a far cry from the sort of Mayfair clubs he probably frequented.
A concerned looking Dwyer slid into the remaining chair with three minutes to spare. “My missus was so sick this morning,” he offered without flinching, “it was like a scene from the Exorcist in my house.”
“It was like a bloody scene from the Exorcist in here the other day too, mate,” Sangrin chipped in. “I swear I can still smell it near the toilet door.”