And The Earth Moved: Romantic Comedy Cozy Mystery (Amber Reed CCIA Mystery Book 1) (13 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Charlie has a gun? 

A vehicle screeches out of the garage and slews across the car park and Charlie, gun still in hand, sprints across to join me in my designated hiding place behind the dumpster.

“OK?” he asks as he crashes down next to me and hits some buttons on his phone.

I nod, speechless, and watch as he tucks the gun back inside his jacket in some kind of holster underneath his left shoulder. He has a gun? How had I not felt that when we were playing making-out-couple earlier?

“Code five,” he says into his phone and I assume he’s calling the police or the CCIA for help. “Check alpha bravo one three three. Should be a red Audi.”

I hold my breath as Charlie listens to whoever is on the other end of the phone.

“No. Too late for that,” Charlie says into his phone. “Just left. Yeah. Thanks.”

He ends the call and slips his phone back in his jeans.

“Sure you’re OK?” he asks again, concern in his eyes.

“Yes.” My breathing is still heavy and, despite the smell and the litter, I let myself sink completely onto the tarmac floor of the car park behind the dumpster. “I assume you just phoned someone to stop those guys?”

“Yeah. The people at HQ permanently track my phone when I’m on assignment. They know where we are and will alert the nearest police car to stop the red Audi.”

“Alpha bravo one three three was the number plate wasn’t it? You memorised it from when we arrived.”

He nods and gets to his feet offering me a hand. I take it, stand up and dust myself down.

“Are we going to go in and search the garage now they’ve gone?” I ask.

“No, the local guys will come and do that.”

“That would be the code five part of the phone conversation you just had?”

He nods again. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Needless to say on the way back I don’t feel at all like taking a nap. I feel shaky, exhilarated and terrified all at the same time. I’m also pretty impressed by Charlie. He really does keep his cool under pressure doesn’t he? He has that calm, confident and capable air about him. I allow my eyes to flick across to him, driving along. He’s an intriguing mix of intelligent tough guy and protector with a touch of playful flirty cheekiness thrown in for good measure.

We’re a mile or so from Palstone when he pulls the car over into a field entrance and stops it in front of a gate.

The jostling of the vehicle on the rough ground makes me realise I’ve been holding my breath for a few seconds and suddenly I know why. I bolt from the vehicle, leaving the door swinging open and make for the hedgerow where I promptly throw up. 

“Amber?” His voice full of concern Charlie is immediately next to me, crouching down.

I feel a wave of embarrassment rush over me, quickly followed by another wave of nausea. I flap my hand at Charlie, wanting him to go away before I’m sick again but he ignores me and stays exactly where he is, gently rubbing a hand on my back in a much-needed gesture of comfort.

A few moments later I get to my feet, cheeks crimson, and try to put into place my plan to walk back to the car whilst avoiding meeting Charlie’s eyes but he stops me, stands in front of me, crouching down slightly so his eyes are level with mine.

“I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m not used to this kind of stuff.”

“I should never have picked you up to come with me tonight. I should have gone alone. I don’t know what I was thinking, except...”

I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. “Except what?”

He shrugs. “Except, for some reason, I find myself making some strange decisions when I’m around you. You seem to be able to persuade me to let you in on things. Somehow.”

“You lied to me,” I say, beginning to feel the fear and adrenaline subside.

“When?” he frowns, taking a step back.

“You said you didn’t have a gun.”

“No I never actually said that.”

I force my brain to remember the conversation about what was in the bag that time we were at the quarry. I realise he’s right. At no point did he actually deny having a gun.

He slips an arm across my shoulders. “Come on, if you’re feeling OK now I’ll get you home. You could probably use a stiff brandy or something.”

I square my shoulders and tell myself to stop being so girly. If I want him (and Ennis) to let me stay involved with this case then I need to get a grip.

In more ways than one. “Can I touch it?” I ask.

Charlie stops in his tracks and faces me, dropping his arm. “Excuse me?”

“Can I touch it?” I repeat. The nausea is well and truly gone now. I suppose it had only been from the excitement, a bit of shock, surprise, the stink from the rubbish in and around the dumpster. Now, I feel fine.

Surprisingly, better than fine in fact. I’m part of a proper investigation into what happened to Joel. I feel excitement buzzing in every fibre of my body.

He raises an eyebrow before asking, “Touch what?”

A thought pops into my head. Oh, are we at cross purposes, does he think I meant…? No, surely not. What kind of a girl does he think I am?

To clarify the matter I reply, “Your gun. Can I touch your gun?”

“Oh, that,” he lets out a sigh of what looks to me suspiciously like relief. “No.”

I grab his arm. “Please? Pretty please?”

“You’re doing it again,” he says.

“Doing what?”

“Twisting my arm to get me to do things I shouldn’t.”

“Does that mean I can touch it?” I feel a surge of adrenaline again – this time thankfully it isn’t accompanied by a tide of nausea.

“Why? Why do you even want to? I thought you were anti-guns judging on how nervous you seemed before when you were asking about them.”

“I kind of thought I was too but…”

He slowly reaches inside his coat and pulls out the gun, checking something on it before offering it to me.

I reach out for it, sliding my hand over the cold dark metal whilst it still lies in his hand. I look up and meet his gaze.

He nods towards the gun. “Go ahead. Take it. It’s safe.”

Nervously I tighten my grip and start to lift the gun from his hand. It’s heavier than I’d expected. I pick it up and try to cup my other hand underneath it like I’ve seen people do on TV shows.

Charlie takes a step closer and adjusts my stance. “Like this,” he says as he moves my hands into what I assume must be the correct way to hold a gun.

I stand there, things, emotions, thoughts I’ve never experienced before, colliding in my head.

“Have you ever shot someone?” I ask nervously. Part of me doesn’t want to know the answer, whilst another part needs to know, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me. I can’t help thinking what on earth am I getting myself into?

“Yes.”

“Who fired back there? In the garage? You or them?”

“It was the guy with the beard. When I pushed the box off the balcony obviously it freaked them out. They stopped fighting and arguing and made a run for it instead.”

“Have you…” I pause, almost unable to say the words. “Ever killed somebody?”

“No. Never. Look, Amber, I have a gun for protection, and, when absolutely necessary and there’s no other way, to prevent a criminal from escaping. In my line of work the CCIA always wants the bad guys alive for extensive questioning relating to criminal activities. If I have to shoot, then I shoot to injure, not to kill.”

Charlie’s eyes focus on mine and though neither of us says anything I’m pretty certain there’s that dangerous chemistry fizzling between us again.

Double crap.

By the time we’ve arrived at the hospital the next morning Charlie has filled me in on the police reports following the apprehension (see, I’m getting used to the jargon now!) of Candi and her friends last night. They were pulled over on suspicion of traffic offences – running a red traffic light and having a brake light not working – and then they and the car was searched, they found the gun, and all three of them were taken in for questioning. Candi has no police record but apparently both ZZ Top guy Bill Marant and smart guy Daniel Parry do.

I spent last night at the guest house again. I’m worried I’m getting used to all of this living in luxury as well as getting used to spending so much time with Charlie. He’s so easy to be around. Though, confusingly, since our pretend snog in the street last night it’s as if nothing happened between us on that front. Which, well, in the real world, technically it hasn’t. It wasn’t a relationship make-out session it was an in-the-call-of-duty-type make-out session. Still confusing though.

Perhaps I should move back to my tiny little flat tonight. I can hardly believe it’s only a few days ago that Ennis told me Joel was dead. Since then everyone’s lives have been turned upside down.

Ennis still seems distant with me and I keep telling myself it’s just shock about Joel but I can’t help thinking there may be a bit more to it as well. He’s been off with me since the morning he found Charlie and I having breakfast. Siobhan seems to be stomping around the place all the time in a bad mood as well so I guess there’s something amiss between the two of them.

It feels as though my head and my life are spinning out of control these days.  Everything is crazy and if I’m not dashing between the newspaper offices and the pub for work then I’m trying to get to grips with helping Charlie out on the case, whilst desperately attempting to carry on my regular life as if everything is hunky dory.

To add to the complication my mum is getting suspicious as to why I’m always in so much of a rush I don’t have time to chat when she calls. I’ve had to make an excuse about not going round to see my parents this week like I usually do, blaming it on being too busy and on my ‘new boyfriend’ Charlie as well.

It can only be a day or so now before my mum arrives at my flat and demands to know what I’m up to and wants to meet Charlie. But then if she did turn up there the chances of her finding me at home are pretty slim at the moment thanks to my reluctance to move out of the guest house and away from Charlie. I really should have forced myself to move back home by now.

So, anyway, first up on our tasks on the To Do list today - we’re on our way to the hospital again to see Bert, who is, thankfully, now wide awake and doing great.

I take a seat opposite him and Charlie perches on the edge of the hospital bed.

“So, do you want to tell us about what happened?” Charlie begins, flipping open a notepad and pulling a pen from his jacket pocket. 

“I don’t know,” Bert replies, reaching for a jug of water on the cabinet next to the bed. His hand is shaking quite badly. I get up and pour the water for him. “One minute I was walking along the lane and the next someone hit me over the head. I don’t even remember hearing a car or anything.”

“You didn’t see or hear anything that might help us find out who did this?” Charlie asks.

Bert shakes his head.

“Smell?” I say, earning myself strange looks from both Charlie and Bert.

“Sorry, love?” Bert says, fidgeting in his bed, looking confused.

“Sometimes a smell can help piece things together. Diesel? Aftershave? Alcohol on someone’s breath? Anything at all, even something you think might not be in the least bit relevant could turn out to be.”

“No, nothing at all,” he replies.

“They didn’t say anything to you?” Charlie says as he’s scribbling something down in his notepad.

“No, nothing.”

“Why did you send me that message asking to meet? Did you have something you wanted to tell me?” I ask.

“Er, yeah.” Bert reaches for his glass of water and sips it, obviously taking the time to choose how he answers. “It was to tell you that when I was just leaving the main house the other day, after talking to Ennis, the gate buzzer went. It was some woman shouting her mouth off saying she wanted to see Joel and that they had unfinished business. Ennis wouldn’t let her in, naturally. Then Joel got involved. He was talking to her via the intercom. Having a right slanging match they were.”

He puts the glass down, not looking at either of us. “That was all I wanted to tell you. Just in case this woman and the guy with her had anything to do with Joel’s death.”

“And that’s all?” Charlie asks, clearly not believing him.

Bert nods. “That’s all. Probably something of nothing but I thought I ought to say.”

“Thanks.” Charlie flips his notepad closed. “Appreciate you talking to us. We’ll go and let you get some rest.”

I place a hand over one of Bert’s. “I’m relieved to see you looking so much better,” I say. “You take care now OK? And you know that your ex-wife is staying at the gatehouse to make sure Tina isn’t on her own until you get home, don’t you?”

He nods. “Gave me a right headache she did. The ex. Said I was encouraging Tina to get into trouble, but I wasn’t. I was just trying to do the right thing.”

“I can vouch for you if you like,” I offer. “Tell Carole you were an innocent victim.”