To Snatch a Thief (10 page)

Training obviously kicked in to keep woman’s temper in check. She pulled the photo across the counter and folded her hands on top of it. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Now, as we have many restricted areas, it is a requirement that you be escorted back to the main gates. Please make yourself comfortable while you wait.’

She was politely being told to clear off, Skye realised, but at least the receptionist had taken the photo. What she did with it now was out of her control.

.

CHAPTER TEN

Stepping into the tiny church at Shepherd’s Bush was like stepping back in time. Not the same church, she reminded herself, but the musty smell that mingled with the heavy scent of too many flowers, the rustling of service sheets and whispers from the congregation,
that
was unchanged in six years. She could feel her heart thumping against her ribs and when she tried to get enough air into her lungs her throat closed tight.

Shiralee and her boys weren’t there of course. Their bodies had already been vapourised, but their ghostly holograms shimmered in front of the altar. Where did you go? Skye wondered, once you were dead. Once people believed in a heaven in the sky, but we’ve travelled there and there’s nothing but black empty space.

In the front pew a woman was sobbing, a man’s arm around her shoulders. Shiralee’s parents, she guessed, whose lives would never be the same. Other mourners dabbed at red-rimmed eyes with damp cloths or stared ahead with blank faces. Skye didn’t know any of them but, for a moment, she was twelve years old again, a lost little girl in a raggedy dress, fighting not to cry. Fisting a hand, she rubbed at an ache sharpening between her breasts.

A light touch on her sleeve had her turning. A pair of concerned brown eyes met hers. His full lips parted in a half smile. ‘Forgive the intrusion, but you seemed so lost. Are you a close family member?’ He was tall, broad, handsome in a fatherly way, with thick dark hair slicked back from a wide, square face.

The ache sliced into pain. He hadn’t changed in six years either, Skye realised. How odd the doctor who had battled to save her father’s life and who had been so kind to a shattered child, should be here offering comfort again. When she merely shook her head, he gave her arm a squeeze. ‘I didn’t know the deceased at all,’ he said, gently. ‘But Shiralee’s mother is a patient of mine. I came to offer my support.’ His gentle eyes studied her. ‘I know you from somewhere. I see so many people it’s difficult to recall them all, but…’ Suddenly his expression cleared. ‘It’s Skye, isn’t it? Little Skye Forrester all grown up. I’ve often wondered about you and that precious baby since…’

‘Hello, Dr Cahill.’

‘Well, well. It’s good to see you hale and hearty, although I’d rather we’d met in happier circumstances.’ He sighed. ‘We can cure most things these days except the pain of grief. Take some advice from a man old enough to be your father. Don’t dwell on death. You have your life before you. Make sure you live it to the full.’ Dropping his hand from her arm, he gave her a warm smile before turning away. ‘Drop by sometime. You’ll find the clinic much improved these days. And now I must administer useless platitudes to the bereaved.’

She couldn’t stay. There were too many memories here. Skye paid her silent respects to a friend and neighbour and escaped by a side door.

Outside it was easier to breathe. For once, the sun had broken through the clouds. Down the road a shopkeeper kicked two street drinkers out of his doorway; a mother dragged a screaming toddler by the arm; a young woman in a bright red hat walked her minuscule dog passed a flock of starlings arguing over scraps in a bin, and a swarm of cyclists slalomed through traffic stopped at the lights.

The doctor was right. Life went on.

There were still a couple of hours before she was due at work so she started walking towards the high street where she could catch a tube back to HQ.

Suddenly, she shivered, running a hand around the back of her neck where the hairs were standing up like soldiers on parade. ‘What the…?’ She stopped, turned, but the crowds behind were too thick to see if anybody was paying her any special attention. She gave herself a mental shake. Get a grip, Skye, you’re going neurotic; the service must have jangled your nerves more than you thought. She carried on, but the feeling of being watched stayed.

Despite telling herself it was stupid, she threw a couple more glances over her shoulder before she reached a corner and dived into the even thicker crowds filling the high street. The tube station was on the other side of the road, so she headed for the crossing at the lights, which had just changed to green. Skye found herself teetering on the curb in the front of a queue, with traffic whizzing past inches from her toes.

Down the road a set of lights change to amber. Anticipating, people at the back pressed forward; she could feel the weight of bodies at her back. At the same time, a freight tram screamed through the amber lights and hurtled down its transit lane towards them, sirens blaring.

Skye’s lights switched. The tram kept coming.

It was nearly on them when someone shoved her hard in the back sending Skye flying off the curb into its path. She had just enough time to register the tram driver’s horrified expression, and a woman’s ear-splitting scream, before sprawling on her face in the road.

Dazed, with one cheek pressed into the tarmac, Skye watched in helpless horror as, amidst a hideous metallic screeching, the tram slewed sideways, fishtailing back and forth, sparks flying out behind it like the tail of a comet.

‘
Oh, God!
’ No way could it stop in time. Flinging her arm over her head, Skye screwed her eyes shut and braced for impact.
Jesus. Don’t let me die. Don’t let it hurt.

She felt a searing heat then a slight nudge on her side.

The rash of voices had her squinting one eye. ‘Is she alright?’

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. She just jumped off the curb. I didn’t hit her. I don’t think I hit her. Is she hurt? I’m so sorry, but it wasn’t my fault.’

‘We shouldn’t move her. We should call the medics.’

‘She might not be insured. Is she conscious?’

‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘You were going too fast.’

‘She jumped right out in front of me.’

‘One minute she was standing next to me. The next she just launched off the curb.’

‘Did she do it on purpose?’

‘Hey, luv. Can you hear us?’

They didn’t sound like angels, so Skye figured she wasn’t dead. She lifted her head. ‘Yeah, I’m okay. I was just… I-I don’t know what happened…I’m okay.’ Hands reached out to help her. ‘Thanks, I can manage.’ Pushing them aside, she struggled to sit up. ‘Bloody hell!’ The contents of her stomach turned to liquid. The tram was a hair’s breadth away, still rocking slightly and hot as a furnace.

Gingerly, she eased to her feet, dusting road grit from her torn jeans.

‘Take it easy, luv. You had a nasty fall.’

‘It wasn’t my fault.’

Spectators had formed a circle, blocking traffic impatient to be gone now the excitement was over. A few drivers honked their horns and one man leaned out of his window and shouted. The posher ones took to the air.

The circle opened as Skye stumbled back to the pavement. ‘Honestly. It wasn’t my fault. I don’t want to lose my job over this.’ Small, wiry, with a pimply face full of piercings, the teenage driver was getting on her, already shattered, nerves.

‘Yeah, I get that,’ she snapped. ‘Look, thanks for stopping. You did great. I’m not going to lodge a complaint.’

‘Oh, right.’ He looked relieved. Only I need this job.’ He fingered the gold logo on the lapel of his burgundy uniform, before nodding towards the tram. ‘I’d better get it shifted.’

Skye pushed through the crowd and hurried away, needing space to think.
Had it really been an accident?
She pressed her fingers to her temple and realised her hand was shaking; a graze on the palm was beginning to sting. I can’t be sure, she owned, there was a lot of jostling before that final push. But, the more she thought about it the more convinced she became. One hand in particular had shoved her hard between the shoulder blades.

Irritated with herself for looking, she cast a couple of anxious glances over her shoulder as she ran across the road towards the tube escalator intending to join the dozens of commuters disappearing into the bowels of the earth. At the top step she froze, feeling her heart give an uneven thump. An image of standing on the edge of the platform while a train whooshed out of the tunnel had her mouth going dry. She backed away until, reaching the solid comfort of the shops, found herself leaning against the window of a cheap and cheerful cafe. Coffee, and maybe a bun, would be just the thing to settle her nerves before she faced the street again.

Bright chequered cloths covered the crammed in tables which were packed with the lunchtime crowd. A long, glass-fronted counter ran down the right hand side showing a selection of goodies on offer; a coffee machine chugged away at one end. The only vacant table was right at the back which, in her present jittery mood, suited Skye fine. With her back planted against the wall, she peered over the rim of a double-shot latte, searching for any suspicious characters that might come in, or be lurking around the escalator outside, and polished off two chocolate muffins.

She didn’t know who she expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t him. The quick jolt of shock when Hunter strode through the door had her choking on her drink. After a quick scan of the room, he spotted her. From the look on his set face, she was in deep, deep trouble. Not now, she silently pleaded, her heart plummeting. Please don’t do this now. Her nerves were still shot; tears too near the surface. Cursing the itch beneath her collarbone, she took a deep breath. No way was he going to see her break down again.

With his expression giving nothing away, he took the seat opposite. ‘Where have you been, Forrester?’

Straight to the point; he obviously meant business
. You’re the one with the tracker, she thought, miserably aware she was about to be bawled out. What could she say? That she’d taken the law into her own hands and lied her way into Royalty Trading? Surely he already knew that? Wasn’t that the reason he was here? Or was he getting some sort of sadistic pleasure out of seeing her squirm? He kept looking at her so long she felt heat rise in her cheeks.

‘I went to the church,’ he said, eventually, his voice cool and impersonal. ‘To pay my respects on behalf of the investigative team, but also to take a look at some of the mourners - there were a few of the Abbott family we hadn’t been able to contact previously. Seeing as you’d booked time off to attend I was… surprised when you weren’t there.’

‘Oh, how funny.’ Giddy with relief, she ignored the sharp V forming between his eyebrows, as an absurd thought struck her. ‘You thought I was out doing some crime. That’s classic.’ She might have laughed, but for the warning in his eyes. ‘Um, I did go. The whole thing was a bit…’ She couldn’t stop the shudder. ‘I didn’t stay long.’

His body visibly relaxed. ‘No,’ he muttered, so low she wondered if he intended her to hear. ‘Memorials are never easy.’ He pointed to her damaged hand. ‘You’re hurt.’

God, he didn’t miss a thing
. If she told him she thought someone tried to push her under a tram he’d have her certified. ‘I slipped over crossing the road. It’s no big deal.’

His eyes slid to the busy high street, but she couldn’t read what he was thinking. Behind the counter, a fat little man with an apron tied round his waist was craning his neck in their direction. Skye watched him bustle his way through the diners until he hovered at their table. His fast blinking eyes skimmed Hunter’s weapon. ‘Is there trouble here, officer? We don’t want any trouble.’ Although he spoke to Hunter his frigid look was directed at Skye. ‘I run a clean cafe.’

Hunter pushed up from his seat. ‘I’m glad to hear it. We were just leaving.’

‘Good, good. That’s good. I’ll get your bill.’ He hurried away and returned in record time with the bill scanner, handing it to Hunter.

‘Um, actually that’s mine.’ While she rummaged in her bag for her purse, Hunter gave an impatient sigh, checked the amount, then ran the instrument over his upper arm and pressed the glass a couple of times before handing it back.

‘Hey, hang on. I’ve got it…’ Cursing the chaos that was her bag, Skye bristled further as Hunter checked his watch.

‘We’ll be here all day,’ he commented. ‘You’ll be late for your shift, and I’m due at court. If we leave anytime within the next two years, I can drop you off on the way.’

‘Look,’ muttering, she slammed the coins on the dashboard as they took off. ‘I know you got lumbered with me and I’m obviously a pain in the backside to you, but do you have to keep making me feel so…so… pathetic.’ Exasperated, she threw both arms in the air, then let them fall limp in her lap.

He merely lifted a shoulder. Staring ahead, his voice became aloof. ‘That’s not my intention. If you see offers of help that way, that’s your problem.’

Guilt slid over frustration. Skye didn’t know why she was so annoyed really; it was such a little thing, but something about Hunter’s manner got right up her nose. Still, at least she felt safe now. Irritating though he might be, nothing could happen to her with her own police escort. However, in defiance, she reached up to pull her hair free of the clasp she’d worn for the memorial and let it spill around her shoulders, then leant her head back against the Dart’s headrest. ‘God, I shall be glad when this week’s over,’ she groaned. ‘I feel like I’ve aged ten years.’

He gave her one quick glance. ‘That bad?’

‘Worse.’ She sighed again. ‘And if I have to look at many more petty crime files I think my eyes’ll bleed.’

‘Found yourself in there yet?’ When she flinched, his lips quirked. ‘It’ll get more interesting eventually.’

She thought of her private research and the information she’d gathered. ‘Um, actually I might have found something on one of the cases.’

Hunter looked in his sky mirror then quickly over his shoulder, saw an opening in the traffic ahead and shot the Dart into a vertical climb then floored it, coming down to earth four vehicles on. Her stomach caught up with a second later. ‘Good. Run it by Dawson.’