Miss Fairmont and The Gentleman Investigator

by Pat White

  The train stopped, passengers got off and the doors closed. Bobby glanced out the window and spotted the businessman racing across the platform. Had Grace gotten off the train and he was following her?

  Bloody hell.

  The train pulled away and Bobby raced through the car peering through windows, trying to catch sight of her. This was all wrong. Her father had said she planned a trip to Edinburgh, where she’d start her tour of Scotland.

  This was supposed to be an easy assignment: follow and protect a girl. How hard could that be?

  For you, bloody impossible.

  He pushed through another car, peered out the window and spotted the businessman march down the steps, out of sight.

  Bobby pounded his fist against the back of a seat. He’d cocked-up in less than twenty-four hours. Max wouldn’t be able to ignore this one.

  And Bobby couldn’t ignore the voices in his head: How could you let this happen? Of course your mother didn’t want you.

  The sound of muffled tapping drew his attention to the back of the car. It was coming from the toilet.

  He went to the door and knocked. “Anyone in there?”

  A woman’s whimpers echoed through the door.

  Blast. The door couldn’t be locked unless she’d locked it. And if that were the case, why hadn’t she let herself out of there. Was she bound or worse?

  “Miss? I’m going to push open the door,” he said.

  He cracked open the door and she blinked back at him through teary eyes, a white handkerchief stuck in her mouth, her wrists bound with flex cuffs.

  “Good God,” he hushed. “Here.” He helped her to a seat. She shook with fear.

  “Let’s get this off you.” He pulled the gag from her mouth, guilt ripping him up inside.

  He let this happen. Wasn’t there to protect her. Again.

  “He t-t-took.” She could barely speak without stuttering.

  “Shh. Have a rest.”

  “He took…my mom,” she said.

  “It’s okay, you’re okay now.”

  He pulled out his pocketknife to cut her bindings.

  “Hold it right there,” a male voice said behind him.

  Chapter Two

  Bobby’s hands went up and he glanced over his shoulder. A bloke holding Met Police identification in one hand and a gun in the other towered over him. Relief that it wasn’t the businessman was quickly replaced by shame. Old, bitter memories tore at his chest.

  You’re a bad seed, a delinquent who will spend his life in prison.

  No, things were different now; Bobby was one of the good guys.

  “I’m trying to help,” Bobby said.

  The officer glanced at Bobby’s hand. “By threatening her with a knife?”

  “I was going to cut her loose.”

  He held the man’s gaze, struggling to keep the guilt from his eyes. Guilt for the many sins he had yet to be absolved of; guilt for letting the stranger hurt the American Grace.

  “Hand over the knife.”

  Bobby did as ordered, very slowly. “I’m a former inspector with Scotland Yard.”

  “And I’m Prince William.” The cop pocketed the knife. “Stand up, arms behind your head.”

  “No,” Grace said.

  Bobby studied her as she addressed the officer.

  “He helped me,” she said. “He’s not the bad guy.”

  The officer eyed Bobby, who fought off buried shame and held his gaze.

  “How about some identification?” the officer asked.

  “Cut her free first.”

  The policeman holstered his gun and pulled out his own pocketknife. Grace raised her bound wrists and he cut them loose. She rubbed the skin, raw from the unforgiving plastic.

  “ID,” Bobby said, handing him his driver’s license and Blackwell business card.

  “Robert Finn.”

  “Bobby,” he corrected.

  The detective eyed it and nodded. “You used to be with Scotland Yard? Doing what?”

  “I was an inspector with the Special Crimes Initiative.”

  “And you left because?”

  “Shouldn’t you be more worried about this woman than my employment history?”

  Bobby didn’t want him wasting time trying to analyze his motives; he was furious about the girl’s attack and he wanted answers.

  Considering her teary eyes and trembling fingers, he wasn’t sure if she had any.

  “Miss?” the detective said.

  “Grace, Grace Fairmont.”

  “Miss Fairmont, I’m Detective Adam Parker with the Metro Police. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “A man,” she started, then paused. “He was sitting by me, making conversation. A stranger…” Her voice trailed off.

  “I saw him get off the train at Newcastle,” Bobby offered.

  The detective narrowed his eyes at him.

  “I noticed how he pushed himself on the girl. Something about the bloke didn’t sit right.”

  The detective redirected his attention to Grace. “What did you talk about?”

  “The weather, London, my trip. He said his name was Harry Franklin, Esquire.”

  She glanced at her fingers, fiddling with a ring she wore on her right hand. She was keeping something private, to herself. Bobby could sense it.

  “He asked me a lot of questions,” she continued. “I tried pretending to be asleep, but he didn’t get the message. I…I excused myself and went to another car, hoping he’d leave me alone.”

  She coughed and Bobby wanted to reach out and comfort her. But he, too, was a stranger and after what had just happened he knew she’d most likely recoil from the gesture.

  “He followed me,” she said. “And I got this feeling.” She looked up at the detective. “Like he was going to hurt me. So I went into the bathroom, but he shoved the door open and pressed himself up against me and…” She waved her hand, then placed her fingers to her mouth, as if to fight off sobs.

  Bobby fisted his right hand, wanting to find the bastard and break his nose. If he had touched her inappropriately— “What did he do to you?” Bobby said. He couldn’t stop himself.

  “No,” she said. “Nothing like that.”

  She held his gaze, her clear blue eyes penetrating and intense as if she could see into his soul. Bobby snapped his attention to the detective.

  “It’s okay, now, miss,” Detective Parker consoled. “He’s gone, he’s off the train according to Mr. Finn.” The detective knelt beside her. “Your attacker can’t hurt you anymore. But I’d like to call in a description to the Transport Police.”

  She nodded and cleared her throat. “He was tall—”

  “About six two,” Bobby offered.

  “Short, trim hair, blue eyes, this one,” she pointed to her right eye, “had a brown spot by the pupil. He had an accent, but it wasn’t like yours, Detective.” She glanced at Bobby. “It was more like yours.”

  He’d called Dublin his home until his mother had sent him to live with Uncle Thomas in London. Had she recognized an Irish accent?

  “What else?” Detective Parker prompted.

  “He had a gold earring in his left ear,” Bobby said.

  “And he wore an expensive suit, maybe Armani, but not his shoes,” Bobby said, puzzling for a second.

  “The bloke wore trainers, beat-up trainers.”

  “Did he say anything to you when he assaulted you in the bathroom?” Parker asked her.

  “He said ‘You can’t run like your mother.’” She glanced up at the detective. “But I never even knew my mother. She died when I was a year old.”

  “Mistaken identity?” Bobby said to the detective.

  “Sounds like. How about your luggage?”

  “He took my backpack.”

  “But he wasn’t carrying it when I saw him on the platform,” Bobby added.

  “It might still be on the train,” Parker said. “I’ll start a search after I radio in.”

  “I didn’t kno
w they put Metro detectives on the rail system,” Bobby said.

  “They don’t. Lucky for you I’m on my way to meet family in Edinburgh.”

  “Very lucky,” Bobby added, nodding at Grace.

  “I’m going to call it in, then search for your pack.”

  He glanced at Bobby. “Could use a hand if you’re interested.”

  “No,” she said again, reaching out to Bobby.

  Her hand landed on the sleeve of his leather jacket. “I’d rather he stay here, with me.”

  She looked at him with such trust, such gratitude…and for a second, he welcomed her confidence. Then he remembered why he was here: as an employee, hired by her father.

  Mr. Fairmont had specifically said he didn’t want his daughter finding out he’d hired Blackwell. He feared she’d be furious and would try to shake off the secret bodyguard.

  “It’s okay,” she said to Bobby after watching him for a moment. “You don’t have to stay with me.”

  She must have read the internal struggle in his eyes.

  Bugger, he’d always been so good at hiding his demons behind a layer of smiles and charm.

  “I’ll sit with you.” He smiled.

  Relief eased the tension lines on her face.

  “I’ll check back.” The detective left.

  “Your cheek is red,” Bobby said. “Let me get you some ice.”

  He started to get up but she grabbed his jacket sleeve. “No, please, would you mind staying here and talking to me?”

  “Of course.”

  She glanced out the window, hugging her midsection.

  “Are you chilled?” he said.

  She shook her head that she wasn’t. She looked absorbed in the landscape, yet there was nothing to see outside but the black horizon of the North Sea.

  He studied her young features: round cheeks and freckles dotting her slightly upturned nose. She wore little makeup to speak of, but her cheeks were a natural rose color, so she really didn’t need it. She’d look fourteen if it weren’t for something wary in her eyes and a full lower lip that gave her a natural pout.

  She had plenty to pout about. She’d been accosted on a train in a strange country. How could she let the bastard get the advantage? Didn’t the girl have any protective instincts?

  “What did you mean, he took your mum?” Bobby asked.

  She sighed and seemed to melt into the seat.

  “He ripped my locket off my neck. It had a picture of my mom and my dad.”

  It was the only photograph she had of her, Grace realized. She closed her eyes and fought back more tears. No, she wasn’t a fragile girl who’d fall apart because she’d been mugged. People were mugged all the time. They survived. She would.

  But it wasn’t the mugging that tore at her heart. That photograph of her mother had been Grace’s only link to her, her only connection.

  “Aw, come on, love, it’s not that bad. I’m sure your father can find you another.”

  The man in the black leather jacket had such a calming nature. She couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

  To think when she’d noticed him earlier on the train, she’d thought him rough and dangerous. It was the intensity of his dark eyes whenever he glanced her way that made her nervous. That and his two days’ growth of beard.

  He looked like a tough guy, a guy who could break your heart by smiling at you.

  How could she have known that Bobby Finn was the kind man, and Harry was the danger?

  “He seemed nice,” she blurted out.

  “Who, the hoity-toity bloke sitting next to you?”

  “Yeah.”

  And he did. He’d helped her up after she’d been knocked down by the teenagers and he’d sat by her on the train as if protecting her.

  Could she have worse instincts?

  “Gawd, I’m so stupid,” she muttered.

  “Don’t go beating yourself up, miss. When someone’s nice to you there’s no reason to think he’s going to hurt you. Still…” He hesitated and rubbed at his beard. “He was prepared, wasn’t he? He carried ties and a gag on him like women carry handbags?”

  “He’s a lawyer.” She wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything.

  “Well, that explains it then.” He smiled, his cheek dimpling.

  She almost felt herself smile.

  “You sure you didn’t know him?” he asked.

  “No, I’ve never seen him before today.”

  “And he didn’t say anything besides the comment about your mum?”

  “No.” Her gaze drifted to the center aisle of the train.

  She wasn’t sure why she lied, other than she didn’t want to impose on this man’s kindness. What purpose would it serve to tell him about the other comment, the one about the dangers of a single girl traveling north of Edinburgh?

  That threat was meant for someone else. He’d obviously mistaken her for another woman traveling alone to Scotland. It had to be. Grace didn’t have enemies, no one who’d threaten her life.

  Everything she’d read in Mom’s journal had painted Scotland as such an open and friendly place. Beautiful, rugged country; generous, warm people.

  Her mother’s people. She sighed.

  “Whoa there, love.” Bobby Finn reached over and touched her knee.

  She glanced at his hand, so strong and firm.

  He snapped it back. “Sorry. You looked so sad like you’d lost your dog or something.”

  Or something.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m really tired, I guess.”

  The truth was, his touch grounded her a bit. She should be ashamed of herself for so willingly accepting comfort from yet another stranger.

  A stranger she knew nothing about.

  “Why are you going to Edinburgh?” she asked.

  “I’m on holiday.”

  “You said you’re with Scotland Yard—”

  “Was. I’ve taken a leave to do some private work.”

  “What kind of private work?”

  “Twenty questions, is it?” he said with a smile.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’re wary, you should be. Okay then, I work for a team of private investigators, an international group that takes on unsolvable crimes. Quite fun, actually, when things work out.” He glanced at his fingers, loosely interlaced in his lap.

  “And when things don’t work out?”

  He looked her straight in the eye. The intensity of those dark eyes touched her heart. She couldn’t look away.

  “When things don’t work out, I get sent on holiday.” He smiled, but it looked forced, as if there was great pain behind his words.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be. I haven’t taken a break in over ten years. I could use a little sightseeing, tour the castles and walk the battlegrounds.”

  “Culloden?”

  “That tops the list.”

  She nodded. A few minutes passed.

  “What else are you going to do?” she said, to distract herself. She’d been attacked, in a strange country, in a public place. She’d suddenly wondered if Dad was right to be so protective, right when he’d said she was incapable of taking care of herself.

  No, she’d lived with his overprotectiveness for years, and she finally needed to get away on her own, find some answers about her mother.

  “I’ll probably head up to Inverness,” Bobby Finn said. “Make some stops in between, play golf. Haven’t finalized everything.”

  “What’s Edinburgh like?”

  “What, you’ve never been?”

  “No.”

  “Make sure you tour Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood.”

  “I’m only going to be there a day. I’m not much for big cities.”

  “You might be able to do both in a day.” His enthusiastic smile faded. “Hold on, I’m such a bloody sod. That bastard lawyer got your money and your credit cards, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but at least he did
n’t get my suitcase. I checked it with the guard’s van before getting on board.” She sighed with relief. He hadn’t taken her prized possession: Mom’s journal, the roadmap Grace would use to make this journey.

  Bobby Finn leaned forward in his seat and pulled out his wallet. “Do you need money? I think I’ve got a few hundred pounds in here.”

  “No, don’t.” She placed her hand to his. The intimate connection warmed her fingertips. “I’ll be fine. I’ll wire my…” Who? If she wired Dad she’d have to tell him the whole story. He’d demand Grace come home, they’d get in another big fight. And Steven? He’d practically followed her onto the plane he wanted to come with her so badly.

  This was something she needed to do alone.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. She realized her fingers still touched the back of his hand. He slipped his hand from hers and shoved his wallet back into his pocket. She studied this tough-looking man whose eyes warmed with tenderness.

  “I’m hot-blooded,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When you touched me you noticed how hot my skin was?”

  Actually, she thought it was a combination of coming off an adrenaline rush and needing a friendly connection.

  “My temperature runs about two degrees above normal. You know, hot-blooded, hot-headed. At least that was the excuse they came up with in school.”

  Chatting with him was a nice diversion. It distracted Grace from the violent flashes of being assaulted. She could pretend to be normal again and deny feeling victimized.

  “Did you get in trouble a lot?” she said.

  “Every bloody day. I was ba-a-ad.”

  “I doubt that.”

  His gaze snapped up to meet hers. He looked frightened for a second. Then his lips curved into a mischievous grin.

  “I was so bad I was expelled from three primary schools,” he said.

  “And yet you became a policeman.”

  His smile faded. He looked almost embarrassed.

  The door opened and Detective Parker stepped up to her. “No sign of your backpack, yet, miss.”

  “Thanks. At least I’ve got my cell phone. Kept it in my jacket.”

  “Is there someone you can phone when you get to Edinburgh?”

  No way around it. She’d have to call Steven to wire her money. She’d make him promise not to tell Dad what had happened. “I have a friend I can call.”