London

by Patricia Evans Jordan

  “Excuse me,” Jaq said, stopping at a cubicle occupied by a plain girl in a cardigan, typing on her computer. She looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Can you tell me where I can find Ian Norton?”

  Her eyes flicked from Jaq to Terry, then settled back on Jaq. “He no longer works here. Why?”

  “You were his secretary when he was here? Or assistant in some way?”

  “I was his assistant.” She gripped the edge of her desk with one hand and Terry noticed her fingertips were white. “Why are you asking me this?”

  “Are you still in touch with him?”

  “I don’t have to tell you that.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, her mouth a thin, tense line. “You need to leave.”

  As they walked back into the hive toward the hall, Jaq whispered, “She’s going to pick up her phone in about five seconds.”

  Terry stopped and stepped back until he could see into her cubicle. “Office or cell phone?”

  “Cell.”

  “Damn,” Terry said, shaking his head and falling back into step with Jaq, “I’ll never understand how you do that.”

  ****

  By the time they’d gotten back into the car, Terry had touched base with the team surrounding Bronwyn’s house to tell them Ian was tipped off and may be on his way. He pulled out into traffic and turned back toward Scotland Yard.

  He turned to look at Jaq and narrowly missed a wayward double decker bus on his right. “So how did you know she was involved with Ian?”

  Jaq got her phone out and opened her pictures, swiping until she got the one she wanted, then held it up for just a second before she put it back in her pocket.

  “Don’t worry about the picture. I’d actually like to survive the trip back to the station. I’ll just tell you about it.”

  Terry swerved to avoid a black cab and nodded. “Probably wise. I was a better driver when I smoked.”

  “Do you remember those handwritten notes we found in the attic? A woman wrote them.”

  “How do you know a woman wrote them if it was just numbers? Those all look the same.”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain,” Jaq said, tucking her phone back into her jacket. “But every ninth number on those notes had a hesitation, a slightly bigger space between it and the number that followed it. Usually when a person has that kind of unconscious pattern, it repeats itself in other ways, like a fingerprint. So I just listened for that same pattern as we walked in.”

  Jaq leaned against the door and held on to the dashboard as Terry took the corner into Scotland Yard and skidded to a stop. “We were lucky she was typing. I would have had to figure out some other way to identify her in that zoo otherwise.”

  “Well, however you found her, she’s the right girl.” Terry unbuckled his seatbelt and let it snap back against the wall as he reached for the door handle. “I recognized her from the bank’s security videos. She’s the one that’s been making the deposits.”

  ****

  Moira finally knocked and Bronwyn opened the door, pulling her inside and into a hug. “God, it’s good to see you!”

  Moira hugged her back hard and kissed her cheek, then looked around her at the loft. “Christ, this place is gorgeous!” She walked into the living area, tossed her purse onto the sofa, and looked down onto the street from the windows. “It’s easy to imagine Jaq living here.”

  “I know,” Bronwyn said. “Everything about it looks just like her.”

  Moira spun around and headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to pop the kettle on, and you’re going to sit there and tell me everything.” She filled the kettle and flipped the switch, then looked in the fridge for the milk.

  “It’s in the door.”

  Moira rolled her eyes at Bronwyn over her shoulder. “That’s not the information I’m looking for.”

  “Okay, what story do you want first?” Bronwyn let out a long breath. “That I split up with Ian this morning? Or how I decided to stop dressing like a kindergarten teacher?” She paused for effect. “Or how it was to go down on Jaq last night for the first time?”

  Moira skidded sideways onto a barstool and slapped her hand down on the counter. “I can’t believe you’re even asking me that!”

  “Okay,” Bronwyn said, pretending to consider her options. “Let’s start with Jaq.”

  “You went down on her? What was that like? No, wait, maybe you shouldn’t tell me if I’m going to be jealous.”

  Bronwyn laughed. “You might be.”

  “I’ll take that chance,” Moira said, leaning onto the counter on her elbows. “Spill it.”

  “I was so nervous, but once I got going, it was like I’d been doing it all my life.” Bronwyn poured milk into her tea and looked back up. “It was literally the hottest experience I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something. That girl has always been amazing in bed.”

  “Great,” Moira said, “Now I’m officially jealous.” She paused. “And just trust me, do not, under any circumstances, breathe a word of that to Catherine.”

  They chatted for hours, until the sun started to go down and Moira realized she needed to get home and start dinner. Bronwyn walked her to the door and hugged her, but Moira hesitated just as she was leaving.

  “What is it?” Bronwyn said. “I can tell you’ve got something to say.”

  “Just be careful. I’ve seen an ugly side to Ian in the last few days. Don’t see him if you can avoid it.”

  Bronwyn nodded and watched her friend walk down the hall. “Moira?”

  Moira spun around right before she rounded the corner to the lift.

  “Stop flirting with the cop in the surveillance car.”

  “What?” She said. “How did you know about that?”

  “I didn’t. I just know you.”

  Moira blew her a kiss and disappeared.

  ****

  Five days later, Ian still hadn’t put in an appearance. He hadn’t shown up at the house, hadn’t called, and no one Bronwyn knew had heard from him. He’d just disappeared.

  Scotland Yard tested everything in the attic storage space for prints, including the firearms, cocaine, even the notes Jaq had found on the top shelf. There was not a single print on anything. They tested the entire attic for fingerprints, from doorknobs to walls, and every print they found belonged to Bronwyn, and there weren’t many of those. Clearly, someone had been in the house and wiped everything down after Jaq and Terry came to get Bronwyn but before the cameras were installed. Their fingerprints never showed up in the attic and they should have been in several places; neither put gloves on until they actually entered the storage space, so they should have been on the locks and armoire at the very least.

  Since Ian’s fingerprints were nowhere to be found, unless they caught him with the cash or cocaine, even on camera, they had nothing. Terry pulled surveillance outside Bronwyn’s home in hopes he’d assume he was in the clear. They left the cameras running continuously inside but Bronwyn couldn’t go back to the house until the issue was resolved. Terry called Jaq into his office at the end of the fifth day and they spent an hour or so going over everything again, hoping to find something they’d missed.

  Jaq looked up from the files, finishing the last of the coffee in her cup. “Bronwyn broke off the engagement; maybe he just doesn’t want to go back to the house. Is it possible that he’s just written this off as a loss?”

  “No way,” Terry said. “The street value of the cocaine alone is close to a million pounds, and that’s without the four hundred thousand or so in cash and guns. There’s no way he’s just going to walk away from that.”

  “Fair point,” Jaq said, rubbing her temples. “But if he knows we’re onto him, he knows there’s no way in hell he’s going to get back into the house and back out with everything in that closet without us being all over him in two seconds.”

  Terry leaned back in his chair. “I’m not convinced he knows anything. He probably wipes everything down every time he leaves the closet, but
had to come back and do it the next night because Bronwyn came home early that day and surprised him.”

  “What about the investment accounts he’s been moving money through?”

  “I checked those and there’s still activity but nothing out of the ordinary, roughly on par with his past patterns. I left a copy of them on your desk right before I called you in.”

  Terry leaned over and pulled a cigarette out of his left desk drawer, holding it up to his nose and inhaling the scent as if he was embracing a long lost lover.

  “Oh hell no,” Jaq said, holding out her hand. “Give that to me.”

  She tried not to laugh as he scowled and handed it over like a scolded schoolchild.

  “What’s got you so nervous you’re sniffing cigarettes?”

  Terry shook his head and turned his pen through his fingers several times before he answered.

  “I think Ian is up to something,” he said, his eyes settling on Jaq’s. “And I think it has a lot more to do with Bronwyn than what’s in that house.”

  Chapter Twelve

  That night, Jaq got home before Bronwyn and fixed herself a drink, sitting on the couch in the dark and staring out over the London skyline. She wasn’t surprised to hear what Terry had to say about Ian. His silence had felt increasingly odd to her since the first day. He’d been possessive of Bronwyn for years; he saw her as his, and it didn’t make sense that he’d just give her up without a fight. Every day she hadn’t heard from him made Jaq more nervous, and hearing Terry say the same thing today just solidified it. She got up and walked to the window, looking down to find the undercover car she knew would be there. When Bronwyn told her this morning they’d pulled the car they’d had at Moira’s house, she knew Terry would just have it sent to her loft for Bronwyn.

  The key rattled suddenly in the door, and Bronwyn walked in, switching on the lights before she saw Jaq in the great room.

  “Jaq?” She said, dropping her bag on the chair and walking over to her. “What are you doing just standing here in the dark? What happened?”

  Jaq pulled her into her arms and rested her chin on Bronwyn’s head. If Ian wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

  Bronwyn tightened her arms around Jaq’s waist, snuggling into her chest. “Are you okay?”

  “Now I am,” Jaq said, setting her drink down on the side table. “Grab your coat. I’m taking you to my favorite restaurant for dinner.”

  Jaq watched Bronwyn walk up the stairs wearing a pair of the perfectly tailored wool trousers she and Andrew had picked out for her, a close-fitting denim shirt, and black Chuck Taylor sneakers; somehow, on her, it all worked, and she looked cute as hell.

  She came back down the stairs, and Jaq took her hand, leading her out the door and locking it behind them.

  “So where are we going?”

  “Well, fair warning, it’s my favorite restaurant in London, but it’s not posh.” She waited for the light to change at the intersection of Banks Avenue and Harley Street and crossed, Bronwyn’s hand in hers. “In fact, it’s not even in the neighborhood of posh.”

  “Well, my favorite place to eat in the world is the chippy on the corner just down from my house, so it has some stiff competition.”

  “I’ll have to try it. I have some pretty strong opinions when it comes to fish and chips, which is your fault, by the way, because you took me to Blackpool and raised the bar.” Jaq smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. “What do you like about it?”

  A cold wind whipped around the corner as they turned onto the high street and Jaq pulled her closer, guiding them through the Friday evening crush of people on their way home after work.

  Bronwyn wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and tucked the ends into her coat. “They put mint in their mushy peas. It’s heaven.”

  Jaq slowed as they approached the restaurant and held the door open for her. As they stepped into the warm air inside, scented in sheer layers of cardamom and green coriander, two little boys came running out from behind the counter. When they saw Bronwyn, they came to a shocked halt, both looking up at Jaq.

  “I think we’re going to eat here this time, guys,” Jaq said. “Can you tell your mom there’s two of us?”

  They nodded and ran into the back, the dented aluminum kitchen door swinging shut behind them. Jaq took Bronwyn’s coat, hung it up by the door with hers, and led her to a corner booth. There were two other couples in the tiny red dining room, but it was still quiet and intimate.

  “That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Bronwyn said, looking back over her shoulder to the door they’d disappeared behind. “Are they twins?”

  “They are; they’re the owner’s sons, Azran and Zahaar. They’re about four years old, I think.”

  “They certainly know you.” Bronwyn smiled, as someone came to fill their water glasses. “I’m guessing you come here a lot?”

  “You could say that,” Jaq said. “I don’t cook, so they pretty much cook for me.”

  “What’s your favorite thing to eat here?”

  “I’m not sure, which is also why we don’t have menus.” Jaq unbuttoned the top button of her shirt and sat back in the booth. “I ordered off the menu for the first couple of months, and then they just started making me dinner on the days they knew I came in and handed it to me. It was always the same price so I just hand over the money to the little guys and they give me my food.”

  “That’s adorable.”

  “Yeah, they’re pretty cute.”

  The waitress brought two chilled glasses of white wine and a small plate of fragrant, savory cakes with green chutney.

  “Oh my God, that smells amazing.” Bronwyn twisted her hair into a bun and watched Jaq spooning the chutney onto the plate beside the perfectly browned cake. “Have you ever thought about having kids someday?”

  Jaq looked up at her, surprised, and handed her the plate. It was a moment before she answered. “I’d love to. I just don’t know if I’d be a great parent.”

  Bronwyn watched her cut into the cake and top it with the bright green chutney. She hesitated before she spoke again. “Because of your mum?”

  Jaq nodded. “That, and the fact that I never had a dad. I’d want better than that for my kid.” She looked out the window beside them and put her fork down on her plate. It was starting to rain. Just enough to soften the light from the streetlamp into an amber glow that filtered through the raindrops on the window like stained glass. “And I don’t know if I have what it takes.”

  Bronwyn touched her hand to Jaq’s. “You may not know, but I do.”

  Jaq’s eyes softened, and she leaned across the table to kiss her. “Thank you, Bella.”

  Bronwyn took her first bite of their appetizer and immediately closed her eyes. “This is gorgeous,” she said. “What is this?’

  Jaq laughed at her look of sheer bliss. “No idea, but I love it too.”

  “My friend Jules and her husband would love this place. We’ll have to bring them here.”

  Jaq smiled. She was starting to feel like they were a couple, but Jaq put the thought out of her head. Better not to jinx it.

  Every course after that was beautiful, complex, and unrecognizable. The spices were always perfectly balanced, the flavors and textures bold, but somehow still delicate and seamless. They finally had to tell the waitress they couldn’t eat anymore, but Azran and Zahaar brought the desserts to them anyway, setting both dishes in front of Jaq and running off.

  Bronwyn smiled as Jaq handed one of the bowls to her. “They love you.”

  Jaq looked at them playing behind the counter. “Yeah, sometimes when I’ve had a rough day I stop in just to see them. The food is a bonus.”

  After they’d paid and thanked the owner, Jaq and Bronwyn stepped out into the October wind and hurried back to the flat, the rain letting up just long enough for them to round the corner to Jaq’s loft before it started coming down again, slicking the streets with dark sheets of water. Jaq nodded to the surveillance unit
as they walked in the front door to the building, and when she unlocked the door to her loft, she asked Bronwyn to wait at the door until she’d checked it out. Jaq walked through every room, then turned on the lamps and brought Bronwyn in from the hall.

  “What was that about?” she said, hanging her coat on the hook by the door and looking at Jaq. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Just then, they heard her phone ring, vibrating in a circle on the coffee table. Jaq picked it up and gave it to Bronwyn.

  “Oh God.” She was whispering even though she hadn’t yet answered the phone. “It’s my mother.”

  Bronwyn was the strongest woman Jaq knew, but she knew one word from her mother was usually all it took to make Bronwyn fold. Bronwyn clicked the phone on and put it to her ear. Her mom was already talking.

  “Mum, I can’t just drop everything and meet you for brunch tomorrow. I have plans.”

  She listened for another moment then put the phone back down on the coffee table.

  “She hung up on me.” Bronwyn rubbed her forehead with the pads of her fingers, which did nothing to smooth the worry lines that had instantly etched themselves into her brow the second she’d picked up the phone. “And now somehow I have a brunch date with my mum tomorrow at noon.”

  Jaq smiled and held out a small glass of brandy. “Come sit.”

  Jaq sat on the couch and pulled Bronwyn into her arms. The streetlamp cast gold light through the window and the candles Jaq had in the fireplace caught her eye.

  “You have those in there because…” Bronwyn smiled and pulled the pencil out of her hair and let it fall around her face in loose waves, waiting for Jaq to finish the sentence.

  “Because I’ve never been able to build a fire in that stupid thing,” Jaq said, smiling. “I’m convinced it hates me.”