The Man in the Buff Breeches Page 5

  I blink in disbelief. “Are you some damn bondage expert?” I whisper.

  “No, but I’m quite experienced with these.” He produces a pair of handcuffs, and I think for one moment that he is going to arrest me. Well, why not? I’m a smugger and an accomplice to attempted murder of a police officer. If I was him, I wouldn’t take any chances. Who knows what crime I will commit next!

  To my relief, he puts the handcuffs to one side and delves back in to his pockets. He pulls out a penknife and slices through the bindings. I flex my arms and wrists back to life.

  “Just promise not to hit me again,” he says. “I’ve collected enough bruises for one night.” He helps me to sit up, and I feel him groan softly at the effort.

  “Are you sure he’s not coming back?” I gulp back another sob at the thought.

  “Just take it easy. You really are safe.” He looks white as a sheet, and I pray he is not hallucinating about the backup in the garden. A drop of blood trickles down his head, and I take a tissue from my box on the cabinet and mop it gently. “You need a hospital,” I say.

  “It’s not the first time I’ve been hit over the head.”

  “I can believe it.” I say, and stop my attempt at first aid as I realize he is staring at me as the wretched tears cascade uncontrollably down my cheeks. His brown eyes soften, and then his arms are around me and I’m sobbing on his shoulder—and I hate myself for it. “I didn’t know you were the police I swear. He told me you were a stalker, and I thought you were going to attack me.”

  “No. Wrong way round,” he murmurs. His arms tighten protectively, making him wince again. I should untangle myself, but I don’t—even though I can hear that back up have now arrived in the flat. Someone enters the room and DS Salter holds a hand up.

  “We’re okay, just give her a minute, and then better get her checked out at the hospital.” I think he has far more need of a hospital, but I appreciate the feel of his solid chest against my cheek as it shields me from the sirens and footsteps which are filling up my flat. The arms that I am contentedly snuggled in finally fall away, and I sense my golden-haired comforter disappears as he reverts back to detective mode.

  I blow my nose and look him straight in the eyes. “I didn’t know what he was after, and I didn’t know he was going to hurt you. You should have told me you were police.”

  I want him to say, I believe you. Everything is all right. But he doesn’t. He is suddenly looking very serious.

  Another officer puts his head around the door, and DS Salter gets to his feet and gives me a hand up. I sway a little as I stand, and he curls an arm around my waist to steady me. We wince in unison.

  “Why was Nick down in the shed?” he asks.

  “He thinks the elephant is there, the one everyone is looking for.”

  “So you knew what he was after.” Suddenly the warmth in his voice has vanished.

  “No!” Oh hell! He doesn’t believe me.

  “He was torturing me and asking about one of my elephants. I told him it was in the shed, because I needed to get him away from me…” I shudder at my own words. DS Salter gives me a long assessing stare. Oh, I wish his irritating smirk was back again. I want him back to casual annoying security man—not serious “I am going to read you your rights” detective.

  Ten minutes later, my lounge is bursting with activity. DS Salter has moved me to the settee, and a paramedic is trying to persuade him to leave for the hospital.

  His comforting embrace still burns around my shoulders, but he hasn’t actually said he believes my story, and looking back on the evidence I cannot blame him as I can hardly convince myself of my innocence. Where is that elephant? If I could account for that then I could maybe make it more convincing that I was duped.

  My flat is being searched, and my elephants and other belongings are all being intimately examined. Oh, I deserve to be arrested for the offence of being a complete gullible idiot.

  A face appears around the door, and to my amazement Bo Peep strides across the room and looks sternly at DS Salter. “Hospital. Now! What the hell were you thinking, Sam, going in early?” I think she is going to get her whip out, but then she puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. Strangely I want to slap it away and put mine there instead.

  DS Salter is looking deathly pale but manages a small smirk as he introduces us. “This is DS Shepherd from the drug squad. She has been tracking your boyfriend for some time.”

  “DS Shepherd!” I let out a snort of laughter despite my world caving in.

  She glares at me, and I instantly return to terrified mode. Her blonde hair is scraped back into a ponytail, and the absence of makeup does nothing to distract from her fine-boned attractiveness. She is dressed in black tailored trousers and a tan, fitted jacket.

  “Shona Turner—you do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence…” My heart tightens as she delivers her caution. They are going to arrest me. Oh, this is so unfair! She leaves me for a moment, herds the police officers into a gaggle, and talks to them out of my ear shot. The officers leave except for a young female who takes a seat beside me and a burly male who positions himself, like a Buddha, by the doorway. Well there goes my escape route. I shudder as I watch Bo Peep take out her notebook and sit down opposite me. All of a sudden I want DS Salter back and turn just in time to see him disappear out the door on a stretcher.

  I look back at Bo Peep. “He will be okay, won’t he?”

  “Concussion and a staved rib or two I suspect,” she says, fixing me with an ice blue stare.

  “Staved ribs?” I frown. But he was knocked on the head. The bastard must have kicked him after he had tied him up! Oh, what I would give for a few minutes with that Nick. I would stuff his linen hanky down his throat, stake him out on the floor, and shove a few elephants up his orifices.

  I cannot believe I have been duped, not once but twice. My three years gaining a degree in psychology was clearly a waste of time. I might as well have studied Klingon. I must be the most stupid person in the world.

  I reel off the answers to Detective Shepherd’s questions as she studies me with her big lie detector eyes. After what seems like an eternity of interrogation, she finally snaps her notebook shut.

  “So you still can’t remember where you put this elephant, and you have no idea what it contains?”

  “No, I swear. I have no idea.”

  “Okay, that’s all for now, but we will need to question you further tomorrow. Your boyfriend Nick is a nasty bit of work. He used to operate down on the South Coast. When I transferred up to London I recognised him. You weren’t the first holidaymaker he used as a mule.”

  “Mule indeed—stupid ass is more to the point,” I mumble, before she continues.

  “The ship’s officer,” she pauses and refers back to her notes, “Stephen Davies, we picked up in Florida. He has confirmed that you knew nothing of the consignment. So we are not charging you with anything just at the moment. Unless DS Salter wants to bring a charge of assault against you.”

  I groan, remembering his poor shins.

  She surprises me by sending a sympathetic look my way.

  “If it’s any consolation, the ship’s officer was worried about your safety. He was quite cooperative when he heard Nick couldn’t find the consignment he had given you to carry back. He got into money troubles, and Nick provided him with a way to reduce his debts.”

  “Oh, not two complete bastard boyfriends then,” I say. “Just one and a pathetic weasel.”

  She nods in comradely agreement.

  I am so relieved DS Shepherd isn’t going to haul me off to the cells I want to hug her, but decide against it as she doesn’t look the let’s have a group hug type.

  “Are you DS Salter’s partner,” I say. Oh! That didn’t come out right. “Professionally I mean.”

>   She raises her eyebrows, and I detect a smirk not unlike DS Salter’s. Perhaps it’s a detective thing.

  “Only on this operation,” she replies. “He got roped in when I arrived at that weird Regency ball whilst tracking Nick. DS Salter was helping out the owner who is a friend of his. He was actually off duty that night. Then later, he was seconded into the operation after you took up with our suspect. He shouldn’t have gone in on his own tonight, like a knight in shining armour. He should have waited for back up, but he didn’t want you getting hurt. Usually he is more professional, driven by his brain not his…well anyway, he’s one of the good guys.”

  Her words make my insides tumble. Trust me not to spot the good guy.

  She jumps up from the settee. “I’ll let you know how he’s doing. Any thoughts on the whereabouts of the elephant—get in touch immediately. You’re not being charged at the moment, but it would look a hell of a lot better for you if we could locate the thing.”

  When she is gone, I sit amongst the jumble of my flat and pull out my phone. I open my vengeance file and delete “idiot in buff breeches.” I want to type in two other creeps’ names, but my eyes fill with tears. I have never felt more stupid, more used, or more depressed.

  It is eight a.m., and I am still sitting on the settee in the aftermath of the night’s events. I have just Googled, “how to become a nun.” I decide that a nunnery would be the ideal way forward. I could avoid men for the rest of my life. I am sure I will never trust one again.

  Outside, the dawn has given way to a beautiful sunlit morning, and I decide it is now too late to go to bed. Wearily, I check my messages. There is a text from Lyn, asking how the date went. I resist replying, a violent criminal tried to torture me, as I know she will come straight round and, right now, I can’t even face my best friend. Instead I call work to report that I have a severe migraine.

  I close my eyes and try to figure out what it is about me that attracts such shitty men. I wonder how DS Salter is doing for the umpteenth time since his stretcher departure and consider phoning Bo Peep, but she is probably off duty by now catching up on her sleep. I decide to ring the hospital and am transferred a few times before I am informed that as I am not a relative, they can’t tell me anything, except he has been admitted to Eagle ward. Well at least I know he is still alive and not in intensive care. So I can stop worrying about him. Can’t I?

  I need comfort so I eat a Kit Kat and wash it down with another coffee. The sun is now streaming through the windows, and I have the urge to escape my flat and get some air. I change into my jeans and trainers and step out into the street, adopting a brisk pace and keeping my head down. Exercise is what I need to clear the fog in my head. Fifteen minutes later, I’m shocked that my feet have automatically trodden a path to the hospital. I furtively stand in the reception searching for clues to the whereabouts of Eagle ward.

  I am directed to the third floor and arrive at a new reception area. A nurse pauses over her keyboard and looks over her glasses at me. “Can I help you?”

  “I would like to know how DS Salter is. He was admitted last night, with head injuries.”

  “It’s not visiting time.” She frowns, and consults her watch.

  “No, but if you could just tell me how he is?” She stares at me for a few seconds before her expression softens.

  “Are you a relative?”

  I shake my head. “Not really.”

  “Girlfriend?” She smiles, and I’m about to say no but it comes out as, “Yes.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Just wait here a moment.” She heads off.

  Damn it! Now I’m a liar and an impersonator. It just gets worse. Why did I say that? I could have said sister, or colleague. But that probably would be worse. After all, I am a girl and I am a friend. Loosely speaking. The nurse returns with a smile.

  “You can go in for a few minutes. He is looking forward to seeing you.”

  Oh, great! I want to run back out the door, but she shoos me like a mother hen up the corridor until it opens up into a ward on either side. She is distracted by a bald-headed man in a dressing gown, so I take the opportunity to bolt. Turning quickly, I catch my foot on a metal castor and find myself up against the tea trolley. A Mars bar and two satsumas tumble from it as I cling to the side to steady myself. I hunch down as low as possible, retrieve the items, and unobtrusively try to return them to the trolley.

  “Want some tea with that, dear?” asks the trolley lady, who possesses the loudest voice ever.

  “No, thank you,” I whisper, hoping to slink away.

  “Hello, darling. What a surprise.” I freeze at the familiar voice of DS Salter and then slowly turn. He is propped up in the corner bed waving at me, grinning like a Cheshire cat. His thick gold hair has been cut away on the left side and a dressing applied. The nurse, who has now dispatched the man in the dressing gown, turns back and propels me towards his bed. “Ten minutes. Then he has to go down to x-ray,” she says, throwing us a conspiratorial smile as she leaves.

  “So what are you doing here, sweetheart? I didn’t expect my girlfriend today.”

  I roll my eyes and resist the urge to slap an injured man. “I came to check you weren’t dead. I had to pretend to be your girlfriend to get some information,” I whisper fiercely, as my face grows warm. “I wanted to reassure myself that I wasn’t responsible for your murder. The nurse jumped to conclusions.”

  He raises his eyebrows barely containing his amusement. “So you didn’t say you were my girlfriend.”

  “No! I mean yes, but I didn’t mean to. Oh, does it matter?” I look straight at him and take a deep breath. “I wanted you to know that I had no idea what that evil swine Nick was after, and I had no idea about the elephant.”

  I tear my gaze away from those warm brown eyes and sensuous mouth. “And now I am going.”

  The tea trolley lady has other ideas as she rumbles up with her chariot. “Here you are, my lovelies.” She hands us each a cup of tea and a pack of digestive biscuits wrapped in cellophane. I sit down in the chair in defeat and take a gulp of the tea.

  “Your girlfriend sure is a looker,” calls the occupant of the bed opposite. I glare at him, and he disappears back behind his Nuts magazine.

  “Yes, I realize now how lucky I am to have her,” he calls back, giving me a look which makes my toes curl. “Could you just pull the covers up for me, darling? They have got into a bit of a tangle.”

  Oh, he is twice as annoying injured.

  Aware I am under scrutiny, I act the part and none too gently, pull the covers straight and remove his empty biscuit wrapper. My hands brush his arms, causing a trail of heat to pulse through my body. I quickly sit back down in the chair.

  He points to my digestives. “Are you going to eat them?”

  “No.” I toss them at him—glad of the distraction from his stare. He wolfs them down in a second. Clearly, nothing much wrong with his appetite. I should go now. I’ve reassured myself he is on the road to recovery.

  “I am not being charged,” I say quietly.

  “I know I’ve been updated”—he nods at his phone—“unless I prosecute you for assault, of course. So have you come to plead for clemency?”

  Oh, he’s just loving this. I try not to react, but his grin is infectious and he looks so…No stop! You’re off men, pull yourself together. You are going to become Sister Shona.

  I avoid looking at his face and study my tea cup. “No, I was worried about you. That was one crack on the head you took. And I felt guilty about kicking you.”

  “I forgive you. That creep was pretty convincing.”

  “I have rotten taste in men.”

  “Yes, you have—and ornaments,” he sighs. “I mean, look at those elephants.”

  He is teasing me, but I don’t want to laugh or argue. In fact, I want h
im to put his arm around me like he did earlier in my flat and let me cry on his shoulder. I absentmindedly straighten the bed cover again and pick up the other biscuit wrapper. “DS Shepherd told me about you watching over me and going in early.”

  “Did she now.” The grin disappears. “What else did she say?”

  I smirk, giving him a taste of his own annoying manner. “Never you mind.”

  He frowns and takes a sip of his tea.

  “Well, I am a sucker for a pretty face in a Regency dress,” he says softly.

  “Oh careful, that was almost something nice you said; perhaps you are not quite yourself after all.”

  “Maybe not, but I think you should say something nice in return.”

  I ponder for a second, then say, “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

  “Made a balls up of that, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.” I can’t help grinning. “But it was all so confusing. When you turned up on the steps of my flat I thought you were stalking me. I suppose you couldn’t have just said, ‘I’m police. You are dating a dangerous criminal.’ No! You had to smirk and pretend you were going to Starbucks.”

  He shrugs. “It wasn’t my case. I shouldn’t have been there at all. I couldn’t tell you anything, and you wouldn’t have believed me anyway. Nick made a copy of your keys after he took them from your bag the evening of the ball. He went to your flat after he left you at the hotel and then returned them later so you wouldn’t notice. That’s what woke you up that night. He came back the afternoon you saw me outside your flat. I watched him leave empty handed a few minutes before you came home early from work.”

  A wave of anger flows over me at the way I played into Nicks hands. “I could have helped you trap him if you had confided in me. I always wanted to be a detective.”

  “Have you now,” he smirks. “Then maybe you should track down your lost elephant.”