‘Why me?’
Fernandez shrugged. ‘You have an admirer. Your name came up in conversation. These people, they’re in your Witness Protection. I need to know where they are.’
Lucy Devonshaw shook her head. ‘I don’t have clearance.’
‘I know you have clearance.’
‘I don’t have that level of clearance. WP files are sealed and secured.’
‘I need their location,’ Fernandez reiterated. ‘Or I can pay your mother a visit and offer her a taste of Spanish cock before I gut her in front of her husband.’
‘You leave her alone,’ she said. She stared at him. ‘This isn’t going to end well,’ she said, and he thought she was threatening him until she added, ‘I guess you plan to kill me. I can’t get those names, and even if I could, what makes you think I could just walk back into the building, fire up a computer and access files I shouldn’t be anywhere near, and not tell a single soul that you’re standing outside with a gun in your hand and a hard on to scare innocent women with? The place would be swarming with cops in seconds.’
Fernandez smiled. ‘I like a woman who knows how to dance. But you won’t do that. You know how I know you won’t? Because you know that as soon as you step away from me, I will be long gone. Like the wind,’ he said, fluttering his fingers in the air. ‘And when I come back to find you, it won’t be in a public park full of people; it will be in the dead of night while you sleep and I will wake you and do unimaginable things to you. This I know you believe.’ He fingered the Crucifix around her neck. ‘Your Jesus tells you this is true. So yes, I have a gun and a hard on, but all you have is a miserable death to look forward to. I could fuck your body after I kill you. You’d still be warm.’
‘You’re sick,’ she said, and Fernandez grinned as he watched the colour drain from her face.
‘You will get me their new names,’ he said. ‘And their location.’
‘I can’t access those files.’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘WP files are on password rotation. Only two people know what they are at any one time and as soon as files are accessed it triggers a system of notifications that get passed to Lyon for verification. How am I supposed to bypass that?’
Fernandez had not known about this relay notification process and Dixon hadn’t mentioned it. As soon as Lucy touched the files, Interpol’s HQ in France would know about it, and if access wasn’t verified as coming from appropriate channels, they’d know there had been a breach and Margaret Bernhard and Kane Rider would be picked up and moved before anyone could blink. They’d be back at square one.
‘Someone will know where they are,’ Fernandez said. ‘You won’t need to access the closed files if you can get the information out of someone else.’
‘Detectives don’t go around telling you their case histories,’ Lucy said.
‘They do if you want to live,’ Fernandez said. ‘Their real names were Margaret Bernhard, Kane Rider. I’ll give you two hours to find out what I need to know or you die.’
Lucy surprised him by actually laughing. ‘The Rider-Bernhard case?’ she asked. ‘From over a year ago?’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case, we’re both screwed. The principal lead has retired and the other has been suspended. You’re bang out of luck.’
‘Where do these detectives live?’
‘Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.’
Fernandez tightened his grip on her arm, pushed harder with the barrel of the gun against her side. ‘You’ll tell me,’ he said, teeth gritted.
‘No.’
She turned her face from him and filled her lungs for a scream. Fernandez quickly took her chin, just as the first whisper of a cry for help escaped her, and twisted her head back to him. He pulled her in and kissed her, muffling her scream. He squeezed the trigger on the silenced gun and felt her jerk in his arms. Even with the silencer attached, the weapon still made a sound—it acted more as noise-suppression rather than cancellation—and once he had shot her at such close range, he continued to kiss her so that any passersby would think nothing of two lovers on a lunchtime date.
Discreetly pocketing the gun before breaking the kiss, Fernandez lifted her limp body back against the bench and folded her arms over the bleeding wound in her stomach. He took the copper bracelet from her wrist—maybe he’d give it to Dixon; maybe he’d keep it for himself—and he left her sitting on the bench, looking to all the world like a weary office worker enjoying an afternoon nap in the sunshine.
He licked his lips as he walked away. He could still taste her lipstick. She was right; he did have a hard on.
But he was no closer to finding his targets.
Chapter 12
Scott was in a panic, circling his bedroom with various shirts as Clark and Katherine stood in his doorway.
‘That one’s fine,’ Clark said.
Katherine shook her head. ‘Too bright. Try the red one.’
‘He doesn’t want to wear red. It’s too flirty.’
‘But it fits him well.’
Scott held up two more shirts. ‘What about one of these?’
‘Horrible,’ Clark said.
‘You’re not going to a funeral,’ Katherine agreed.
Scott groaned, looked at the time, and rummaged through his wardrobe for something else. His mind kept going back to that first kiss last week, that brief moment when he forgot about Ryan, forgot about Kane, about where he’s been in his life and where he might be going. They had seen each other twice since then, once at Buttercups and once more at a local pub two nights ago.
When Jesse called him earlier today to arrange their night at the drag show, Scott said he’d shower, change, and meet Jesse in Leeds on Lower Briggate, outside the bar in question.
He held up another shirt. ‘This one?’
Clark said, ‘I thought girls were supposed to be the ones who were difficult to dress.’ She patted Katherine’s shoulder. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. We could be here all evening.’
As she walked along the hall and down the stairs, Scott sat heavily on the edge of his bed in a sea of cotton and polyester and Katherine came further into the room.
He looked up at her. ‘What am I doing?’
Sitting beside him, she said, ‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were having fun.’
He pouted. ‘I just feel…’
‘I know how you feel,’ Katherine said. ‘But what have I already told you? You can’t mope.’ She pointed skyward. ‘He wouldn’t want you to.’
‘But Ryan—’
‘Ryan is gone, Kane,’ she said, absentmindedly using his real name, something she hadn’t done in months.
Hearing it spoken brought a crash of memories flooding back. He scrunched a shirt in one fist so that his knuckles whitened.
‘Let it go,’ she said, and they both knew she wasn’t referring to the shirt. She covered his hand with her own. ‘Jesse isn’t a replacement. We all have room in our hearts for more than one.’
At the sound of Clark coming up the stairs again, Scott straightened his shoulders before the weight of remorse crushed him. ‘You’re right,’ he said. He smiled. ‘And he is cute.’
Katherine laughed. ‘As a button.’ She stood, gently touched his cheekbone with a playful fist, and nodded as Clark came into the room. ‘It’s all sorted,’ she told her. ‘He’s going to wear the red sweater. The V-neck.’
In his red V-neck sweater and dark blue jeans, he got out of the taxi on Lower Briggate and Jesse was already standing outside The Viaduct Show Bar. He smiled as Scott approached and appraised him with a lingering look.
‘It’s busy inside,’ Jesse said. ‘And noisy.’
Kissing Jesse’s cheek in greeting, Scott asked, ‘Have they started yet?’
‘Sounds like it,’ he said, listening to the caterwauling of screeching voices and laughter coming from inside.
They stepped into the din and were engulfed in the swell of bodies pressing forward. At t
he far end of the bar, up on the dais, a clutch of drag queens tottered on skyscraper heels and mimed along to Thoroughly Modern Millie, looking for all the world like a bunch of builders that fell out of the wrong end of the wardrobe. The crowd cheered as one of the act members stumbled over her own feet.
Jesse fought his way to the bar, Scott right behind him, and ordered a couple of beers, and then they took up residence near the DJ box to watch the show.
‘Not exactly what I was expecting,’ Jesse shouted over the noise.
At the end of the number, a flamboyant drag artiste took to the stage with her microphone and shooed the current act into the background. As the crowd applauded, she said, ‘If you’re going to give them a hand, at least give them a hand with their make-up. I’ve seen prettier faces in a butcher’s window with an apple in its mouth.’
When the stage was all hers, she said, ‘That was the divine stylings of The Modern Millies. Weren’t they absolutely atrocious?’ She paused while the crowd cheered, then she touched her ear. ‘Something’s coming in my ear,’ she said, eyebrows raised. Looking down at one of the young women near the front of the stage she explained, ‘It’s a voice, darling. A voice.’ Licking her teeth, she said, ‘I’m told the next act is assembled and ready for their public hanging—I mean public appearance.’
Scott knocked back half of his beer in one go, feeling out of his comfort zone. He was on another date; something he was still getting used to. He began to wonder if the show bar was a good idea—there were far too many people and too much noise for conversation. He smiled at Jesse, who at least appeared to be enjoying himself.
‘Without further ado,’ the compare said, ‘our next act of the evening is the dulcet tones of Miss Lavender Longings. Crank up the music, Mike,’ she said to the DJ, and the speakers beside Scott and Jesse thrummed.
The flyer had said the drag night was one of the final stages of a national competition to find Britain’s Reigning Queen. Acts had gathered in Leeds from all over the country to take part.
As Scott turned to the bar to replenish their drinks, the large form of Miss Lavender Longings took to the stage, an extravagant peacock of blue and pink sequins with two huge feather fans flapping in her large hands. She danced and mimed, quite impressively, to I Could Have Danced All Night, and the gathered revellers swayed in time.
Jesse said, ‘I feel like I should have worn my little pink number.’
Laughing, imagining it, Scott said, ‘I’m sure you have the legs for it.’ He shuffled slightly closer to be heard above the noise and he could feel the heat of Jesse’s breath on his face, followed by the rising heat in his own cheeks as he thought about pressing himself against his strong body.
They applauded at the end of Lavender’s act, drank more beer, chatted briefly between performances and enjoyed the evening for what it was—something they’d never done before and probably wouldn’t do again.
Scott was reaching for their fourth beer from the barman when the ever buoyant compare announced the next act.
‘All the way from Belfast,’ she said, ‘give a warm welcome to the wonderful, the exquisite Daphne Do-More.’
He nearly dropped the beer bottles. It couldn’t possibly be. He felt rooted to the spot, gripping the bottles so tight in his fists he could have shattered them.
As Daphne Do-More took to the stage, Scott’s lower lip quivered imperceptibly. She had shed a few pounds since he’d last seen her, and her make-up was far more refined, but there was no mistaking the six foot three inch man as one of Ryan’s friends from back home.
His first thought was to run, but his body refused to move. Sensing Jesse beside him, he looked at him, forced a smile.
‘She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?’ Jesse asked. He had obviously noticed Scott staring at her.
‘I’ve seen better,’ Scott said, and allowed Jesse to take it as a compliment when he noticed him smiling. In his chest, Scott’s heart was thumping in panic. All he could hear was the memory of Clark’s voice just before they’d been placed in Witness Protection. You can have no contact with anyone.
On the stage, Daphne Do-More was smiling at her audience. She wore a brightly coloured silk dress and had four-foot feathered wings attached to her back. She spread them wide and took her starting pose, but when the music began, she didn’t move.
It was too late to run now, Scott thought.
‘Kane fucking Rider!’ Immediately, she was in motion, swooping through the crowd, her wings slapping faces as she pushed her way towards him.
Scott’s back was pressed against the high bar. He had nowhere to go. He was shaking his head.
‘Oh my fucking God,’ Daphne said as she folded herself around him in a tight hug. ‘What the hell are you doing here, Kane? Where the fuck have you been?’
Over Daphne’s shoulder, Scott saw Jesse’s face, a mask of confusion. Scott frowned. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I have no idea who you are.’
Daphne drew back, stared into his face. ‘Don’t be so fucking stupid, honey. It’s me! I can’t believe it.’
She held Scott’s upper arms in her large but delicate hands and Scott gripped her elbows. His jaw was clenched and taut. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, his eyes deep in Daphne’s, begging her to back off, to disappear.
‘Kane,’ Daphne screeched.
‘Please,’ Scott said. He looked at Jesse, apologetic.
‘What’s going on?’ Jesse asked.
Scott turned back to face Daphne, his hands squeezing tighter on her arms. ‘Please,’ he repeated. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about. Honestly.’
He knew she could see it in his eyes, knew that she knew he was lying. He willed her to understand.
From the stage, the host said, ‘Hands off the acts, darling. Come back stage after the show and I’ll let you touch me all you want.’
He couldn’t breath. His throat was closing and his eyes were burning.
Daphne took a step back, stared at him, glanced at Jesse. She rummaged in her bra, adjusting herself, then smiled. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I could have sworn you were someone I knew.’ She took his hands and he felt her press something into his palm. ‘I feel so foolish,’ she said.
And she was back through the crowd and taking the stage.
Jesse nudged him. ‘What was that all about?’
Scott couldn’t stop frowning. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said, stuffing his hand in his pocket to hide the card she had handed him. He swallowed the rest of his beer and said, ‘Do you want to get out of here?’
Jesse looked back at the stage, at the woman who had so vehemently hugged his date, and said, ‘Yeah, maybe we should.’
Outside, Scott was chilled although it wasn’t particularly cold. He dug his hands into his pockets. He wanted to read the card Daphne had given him, wanted to believe for just a second that what had happened inside had not been an illusion.
You can have no contact with anyone.
What wicked fate had presented him with a visual reminder of Ryan, of a connection to his past life, just when he was trying to overcome those old feelings?
‘Scott?’ Jesse said.
Scott struggled for something to say. ‘Sorry.’
‘Who was that?’
He shrugged. ‘No idea, but it kind of freaked me out a bit.’
Jesse eyed him suspiciously. ‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
The corner of Jesse’s mouth twitched in reluctant acceptance. ‘Okay. Do you want to go home now?’
‘No,’ Scott said, with a fair amount of force behind the word. ‘I mean…We can go somewhere else. If you want.’ He looked around. ‘Sorry that ruined such a wonderful date.’
Jesse shrugged. ‘It’s not ruined.’ He paused. ‘I’ve got a bottle of red at home.’
Grateful for the distraction, Scott said, ‘Okay.’
With the bottle upturned, Jesse tipped the last of the wine into their glasses and sat back down on the sofa beside Scott.
Scot
t was already feeling the effects of the wine on top of the beer. ‘I’m going to have such a headache in the morning.’
‘You sound more Irish when you’re drunk.’
Scott raised his eyebrows and blinked twice. ‘I’m not drunk. I remember what drunk is and this isn’t it.’
Jesse said, ‘Most people don’t remember being drunk,’ and he found it hysterical. ‘We should get some more wine,’ he said when his laughter had dulled.
‘We totally should.’
Scott’s head was fogged. As much as he tried to drink away the memory of seeing Daphne Do-More again, his mind kept coming back to the image of her floating through the crowd and embracing him. When they had got back to Jesse’s flat in south Harrogate, Scott excused himself to go to the bathroom and he finally pulled the card from his pocket. It was Daphne’s business card, elegantly designed, embossed lettering, with her picture on one side and her contact details on the other. He had no idea why a drag artist would need a business card, but the fact that she had passed it to him was telling. She knew exactly who he was.
He had put the card in his wallet and washed his face before coming back down stairs to find Jesse on the sofa, two glasses of wine already poured.
Now, having finished the full bottle, Scott looked at him. That Jesse hadn’t mentioned the encounter with Daphne since they left the bar meant either he believed Scott’s innocence, or he thought it was better not to pry. Either way, Scott was indebted.
‘You realise I’m working in the morning, don’t you?’ Scott said.
‘I have the day off,’ Jesse said with a satisfied grin.
Scott struggled to his feet. ‘I should probably get going.’ He checked his watch; it was almost two.
Jesse stood, wobbled unsteadily, and Scott laughed.
‘I’m not the only one who’s drunk.’
The way Jesse looked at him made his throat go dry. There was a tenderness in his eyes mixed with…longing. ‘I could call you a taxi,’ he said. It implied there was an alternative.
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