BABY SNATCHERS (A Detective India Kane & AJ Colt Crime Thriller)

by Bo Brennan

  Colt groaned at her touch. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “None,” she murmured running the tip of her tongue across his lips. He leant into her gentle slow kiss and tasted no hint of alcohol. God, how he'd longed for this day. He slid his free hand under her damp hair and pulled her to him, getting lost in the kiss.

  When he felt her fingers working his belt, he faltered and dropped his hand to stop her. He was rock hard, it would be too easy to lose control and ruin the moment. “What's going on, India?” he asked resting his forehead against hers.

  She chuckled. “I thought you wanted sober sex.”

  “I do. You know I do,” he spluttered feeling like a confused teenaged virgin. “It's just come out of the blue what with Johnson and everything.”

  “Couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke,” she said. “Get your pants off.”

  He spluttered a nervous laugh as his eyes roamed the darkness cloaking them. He'd imagined sober sex with her a million times and this scenario had never figured. He cupped her chin with his hand. Her eyes were clear and bright. She seemed different somehow. More confident. More alive. He liked it. “Why don't we go inside and get comfortable?”

  She smiled and nipped at his lip with her teeth. “Why don't we fuck out here and get reckless? We've got all night for comfort.”

  Colt dropped the takeout bag.

  Chapter 65

  Monday 1st August

  New Scotland Yard, London.

  “Drop your pants,” Colt said.

  “What?”

  Colt stared at him. “You heard me.”

  “I'm not doing that.” Alan Roberts jerked his head and looked to Maggie. “He can't make me get my kit off.”

  “I think you'll find he can,” Maggie said. “I've seen him do it. It'll be nicer if you do it yourself.”

  Alan Roberts frowned and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Colt's eyes bored into the jittery little bastard. “You're hiding something.”

  “Not up my fucking arse or jap's eye I'm not,” he spluttered rubbing at his brow.

  “I'll be the judge of that. You've got five seconds, Alan, or I'll do it for you.”

  “Why?” he whimpered visibly shaking.

  “Because I said so.” Colt held up a hand and counted down the seconds on his fingers. “Five, four, three......”

  Alan Roberts slowly rose from his chair. “This is a violation of my human rights,” he mumbled unzipping his jeans. Colt shrugged, all the time he hadn't asked for a solicitor it was a violation of jack shit. This was strictly voluntary; no one had laid a finger on him. Yet.

  He pushed his jeans down to his knees and glanced sheepishly at Maggie. “Pants too,” Colt said. “She's seen it all before.”

  Maggie pursed her lips and raised a brow. “Ginger. I'd never have guessed.”

  Alan Robert's scrubbed a hand over his dyed brown hair and cupped his au naturel balls with the other. “Are you done?” he whined.

  “Turn around,” Maggie said and leaned forward to peer closely at his cheeks. She shook her head, sat back in her seat, and said, “Nah. Freckles, Guv.”

  “Zip up and sit down,” Colt said. “The good news is that you're not the paedophile we're looking for. The bad news is one of my officers is dead, and your mate Brian Fleming was involved.”

  “He's not my mate,” Alan blurted. “I hardly knew him.”

  Colt clenched his jaw and slammed a latex glove down on the table. “Sarum's dead, Fleming's dead, Lisa Lewis is dead. Half the people you're connected to but claim not to know are dead. If you don’t tell me what the fuck you’re hiding, I’m going to put this glove on and you’ll be dropping your pants again.”

  He cowered in his seat. “Sarum,” he mumbled. “I knew Sarum. It could be him you're looking for.”

  Colt glared at him. “Start talking.”

  Alan Roberts shook his head and wrung his hands in his lap. “I worked with him before I got transferred to Haltingbury.”

  Maggie raised a brow. “You worked at Hampshire Social Services?”

  Alan nodded. “He trained me up.”

  “Why isn't that in your file?” Colt asked.

  Alan raised a shoulder. “I don't know. They might not count training, or they might have me marked as a whistle-blower. They transferred me out when I complained about George Sarum.”

  Colt wet his lips. “What did you complain about?”

  “I thought he was having an inappropriate relationship with one of the girls.”

  “What happened?”

  Alan cleared his throat. “The girl disappeared, and I got the shit kicked out of me.”

  Maggie sighed. “You expect us to believe George Sarum attacked you and nobody did a damned thing?” she said dully.

  “He didn't do it himself, but I know he sent them,” he snapped. “Two big blokes jumped me coming home from the pub one Saturday night.”

  “It could've been random,” Colt said. “I've had plenty of run-ins coming home from the pub. How do you know Sarum sent them?”

  Alan frowned hard. “They told me. This big black fella said he had a message from George, the next thing I remember I was waking up in hospital. I never went back to Hampshire. They posted me to Haltingbury when I was well enough to go back to work.”

  “Can you remember the girl's name?” Colt asked.

  Alan pursed his lips. “Casey Brown. She was fifteen.”

  Hampshire CID, Winchester.

  India was frantically scribbling her report into Sunday's events when PC Paul Smith parked his arse on her desk. She should've written it last night when the memory was still fresh, but had been getting fresh instead. Her body flushed with the memory. No regrets.

  “I thought you were day off,” she said without glancing up.

  “I am,” he muttered. “They called me in for this bollocks.”

  “What time you up?”

  “Supposed to be eleven,” he said. “It's quarter past now.”

  India huffed as she wrote her final paragraph. “Unlucky, mate. I'm up at ten.”

  Paul let out an exasperated sigh. “Please tell me he hasn't been in there since nine.”

  “Eight.”

  “You've got to be kidding. He was on the ground all the time, what the fuck has he got to tell them?”

  “Sergeant Sangrin has CCTV footage from three hundred and eighty four cameras, Smithy. He's Professional Standards’ new best friend.”

  Paul Smith tutted. “I'll bet, especially since none of them show the bloody roof. What are you going to tell them?”

  India signed her name on the report, and leant back in her seat twiddling her pencil between her fingers. “The truth. Johnson went over. I couldn't save him.”

  He shuffled uncomfortably, staring down at his feet. “I don't know what to say.”

  India rolled her eyes. “Just tell the bloody truth.”

  He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The truth is I didn't see anything. I got to the roof late because I was having a slash. We could help each other out here. If I say I was up there when he jumped will you back me up? It was only seconds and it will put us both in the clear.”

  India stared at him. She didn't need, or want, anyone's backing. She could take care of herself. “No. Sangrin will have footage that puts you inside a hospital corridor at the exact second Johnson trashed his car. You can't lose your job for taking a piss, Paul, but you can for that. Tell the truth. You'll be fine.”

  Paul slid off her desk as Firman's office door finally opened. “Here we go,” he mumbled.

  “Kane, you're up next,” Sangrin shouted glaring at her from the doorway.

  India patted PC Paul Smith on the shoulder, picked up her report, and strolled across the office to face the regular pain in the arse of Professional Standards, affectionately known as the rubber heelers.

  London.

  Ryan Reynolds' eyes flickered open and shifted towards the incessant beep of an alarm clock to t
he right of his head. Instead of a clock, his eyes met a bank of machines pulsing with coloured wavy lines, and protruding wires. He focused on the wires and traced them all the way back to his body.

  He was in hospital.

  He raised a shunted hand to his face, tugging haplessly against the uncomfortable mask as he tried to sit up. A warm hand pressed him gently back against the bed and repositioned the mask over his nose and mouth.

  With great effort he tilted his head to the left to find Felicity Firman smiling down at him. And then he remembered. The underground. Her guard dog. She was here to finish the job. His eyes widened and his heart began to race. A cacophony of alarm bells rang out as she turned and ran for the door.

  Chapter 66

  London.

  “That was easier than I imagined,” Colt said stepping from the High Court. Judge Queensbury of the Family Division had rubber stamped their protection orders for Sasha and Melissa's transfer to Hampshire without question.

  “Haltingbury was hardly going to put up a fight, the police are all over them this morning,” Maggie said. “Casey Brown wasn't even listed on their books but they were still paying the paedo foster family to look after her. I'd love to see Sandra Cavendish's face right now.”

  “I doubt you'll be seeing her again anytime soon,” Colt said pulling out his phone. “I'd better ring India and let her know.”

  Maggie nodded. “I'll check in with the office and see what's occurring.”

  “Hey babe,” Colt said when India picked up on the first ring. “We've just left the court. Sasha and Melissa are officially all yours. We interviewed sweaty Mr Roberts this morning as well. You might want to read his statement before you pay Hampshire Social Services a visit. I'll send the paperwork over as soon as I get back to the office.”

  “No rush,” she said. “I'll make Rob Stapler my last chore of the day.”

  “How'd you get on with the rubber heelers?”

  “Who knows or dares to dream,” she said dully. “In and out in an hour, that's a new personal best. What time are you coming home?”

  Home. Colt smiled. He liked the sound of that. “I don't know. We've got a lot on and an arrest still to make.”

  “Don't be late. I'm horny as hell.”

  He raised his brows and lowered his voice as he moved away from Maggie. “Still?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Colt blew a breath up his face and yanked at his tie as heat spread through his body. He'd have to eat before he headed home. He'd stepped over last night's congealed curry to get into his car this morning. And she'd had him for breakfast - twice. Christ, the woman was insatiable. Sober sex was well worth the wait.

  “Want me to tell you what I'm going to do to you?” she said.

  “Hell, no!” Colt bowed his head and put his free hand in his pocket. “Stuff's happening here as it is. Show me later. I won't be late.”

  India gave a chuckle and the line went dead. Colt rolled his shoulders and thrust the phone in his pocket. The still raw image of Bob's sobbing girls when he'd broken the news about their dad, instantly dampened his mood.

  “You all right, Boss?” Maggie asked when he reached the car. “You look a bit stressed.”

  Colt grimaced. “Just thinking about Bob, that's all.”

  Maggie nodded solemnly. “Ryan Reynolds is awake. He's ID'd his attacker as Felicity Firman's pupil, Leon. Uniforms have gone to pick him up.”

  “Bloody hell.” Colt rubbed at his brow, just when Flick was out of the running she'd been dragged back into a new investigation.

  “We've got an hour to kill before Flackerly's flight comes in,” Maggie said. “Coffee at the office staring at Bob's empty desk, or coffee at Heathrow?”

  Colt bit his lip. Wherever they went, Bob should be there but wouldn't. He'd never be there again. He couldn't face the depression that smothered the unit right now, especially not until all those he held responsible had been rounded up. “Heathrow,” he said climbing into the passenger seat.

  As they drove down the airport slip road, Colt craned his neck at the news crews and meat wagons assembled outside Departures.

  Maggie slowly crawled past, rubber necking to see what all the fuss was about. “Can't be a bomb scare,” she mused. “As much as we hate the press they'd still get moved to the other side of the road for that. Want me to nab a uniform?”

  Colt spotted a second group waving placards about human rights kettled further along the concourse. “No. Pull up over there.”

  Maggie did. Colt glanced over his shoulder at the news crews camped a hundred yards back. The girl he had his eye on wasn't far away, but he couldn't get out, couldn't afford for them to be spotted. He dropped the window, put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and whistled. The girl with the shock of pink hair and a domestic camcorder in her hand glanced back at him. Colt beckoned her over.

  “What's all this?” he asked as the young activist knelt down at the window.

  “A leaving party for the South African Ambassador,” she said.

  Maggie frowned. “I thought he was leaving later in the week.”

  The girl shrugged. “Now he's sold off all the poverty stricken kids, there's nothing left to stay for. Except more of us. We've been all over him this visit. Can't stand the heat,” she shouted punching the air. “Get out of our kitchen!”

  “It worked. Job done,” Colt said shrinking down in his seat. “Want to make yourself some easy money for your fighting fund?”

  Her heavily made up eyes narrowed. “Hey, I know you. You're the paedo cop. You guys rock. Respect,” she said flashing them the peace sign. “What do you want us to do?”

  Colt checked his watch. “Just you and your camera at Arrivals in thirty minutes,” he said. “You know what we do. Someone big is going to be arrested. The news agencies will pay a packet for the footage.”

  “Who is it?” she whispered.

  “If you come alone, you'll get close enough to hear. If you bring the gang, you're liable to get arrested.”

  “Cool.” She gave him a toothy grin. “Thirty minutes?”

  “Thirty minutes.” Colt grinned back and jerked a thumb towards Maggie. “Her right side's her best side. Be kind.”

  As he put the window up, Maggie chuckled. “It all makes sense now,” she said. “You're the reason Commander Hussein has been strutting around like he's got a stiff neck.”

  Colt laughed out loud as they drove on for Arrivals.

  Chapter 67

  Winchester, Hampshire.

  Terri Davies smiled as she listened to the surprisingly normal teenaged banter in the background, and threw another fistful of kernels into the pan. If they were going to have a girly movie afternoon, they might as well have it large.

  She'd registered for the fostering course first thing this morning. Knew there were no guarantees, but was still optimistic something could be worked out for the longer term. After all they'd been through, she hoped the fact they were here and happy would go in her favour. This was only their second night but they'd already filled her home with laughter and love. Her heart twisted at the thought of them leaving again. She couldn't bear it. Home would just be a cold and empty house without them.

  “She's beautiful,” Sasha sighed. “Look at her shoes. When I'm old enough I'm going to get some like that.”

  “Awww,” Melissa cooed. “How cute is he?”

  “That's my brother,” Sasha said.

  Melissa giggled. “No it's not.”

  “It is. Cross my heart and hope to die,” Sasha hastened. “Miss, quick. Come and see this.”

  “I'm doing the popcorn, can it wait a minute?” Terri popped her head round the kitchen door.

  Sasha was excitedly jumping up and down, clapping and pointing at the TV. “Look, Billy's on the telly, Miss. That's my brother,” she said grinning from ear to ear.

  Terri frowned and wiped her hands on her jeans as she hurried across the room. Fumbling with the remote control she turned the volume up. “Are you sur
e, love?”

  “Yeah, that's Billy!” she sang. “My baby brother's rich!”

  Terri dropped heavily into the armchair, staring wide eyed and open mouthed as the South African Ambassador and his elegant wife, baby in arms, waved cheerily from the steps of the South Africa bound plane. She looked back to Sasha jittering with excitement as she gazed longingly at the screen. She couldn't be right. If that was Billy Lewis, then where the hell was the baby they'd arrived with?

  Terri reached blindly for her phone. When the news reel changed to a ferocious looking female copper, roughly slapping cuffs onto some poor old bugger at the same airport, the girls burst out laughing. “We know her too,” Sasha giggled. “It's Maggie Moooooo!” they chorused in unison.

  Terri laughed out loud. “You girls will be the death of me,” she said shaking her head and returning her unused mobile phone to the side. As the steady ping of corn ricocheting off the saucepan lid on the hob grew ever more frantic, Terri clapped her hands together, and said, “Pick your DVD girls. The popcorn's ready.”

  New Scotland Yard, London.

  Colt was in his office going over Declan Maloney's statement with prosecutor Michael Moore, when the unit's mournful silence was broken by what sounded like a battering ram outside.

  “What the fuck is that?” he muttered rounding his desk to find Commander Hussein - looking dishevelled and dressed like a wanker - hammering on the secure entry door like a man possessed.

  “I thought he was at the Prime Minister's country estate with the rest of the nobs this week,” Maggie murmured starting to rise.

  Colt put his hand on her shoulder. “Stay where you are. The counsellor is due in a minute. I'll deal with him.”

  He swung the door wide open and the raging Commander marched inside. He stood right next to Bob's empty desk and didn't give it a second glance when he gritted out his orders.