To Snatch a Thief (24 page)

‘Impressive.’

King leaned the bike over as they negotiated a turn. Traffic was light at this time of night, but a few eager beavers were heading out for an evening, others heading home. A huddle of vagrants, bundled in doorways in their makeshift shelters, turned their heads as they whizzed past. ‘What if he’s in there?’ King asked, flooring it on the straight.

‘The sensor will detect any life,’ she gasped as the wind took her breath. ‘I won’t go in unless I’m sure. I’m not stupid.’ No, I’m just an idiot, she mused. I’ve fallen in love with someone who’s never got over his dead girlfriend, and who could be up to his neck in whatever was going on at Royalty Trading.

Whoa! Who said anything about love? Where had that come from? But with blinding clarity, she knew, although it had been coming on so gradually she couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment.

She blew out a breath. Time to fess up, Skye, she thought. You’re falling, no let’s be honest here, have
already
fallen in love with your boss who you suspect of mass murder.

Now what the hell are you going to do about it?

She was so deep in thought, it was a second before she realised the bike had come to a halt. ‘You can let go of me now, Skye,’ King said. ‘We’re a block away.’

Her teeth were chattering with cold and her numb arms wouldn’t unlock from King’s waist. When she didn’t move, he glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘You okay?’

She forced her frozen lips to move. ‘Y-yes, just as soon as I get the feeling back in my legs, I’ll be fine.’

His shoulders shook with laughter. ‘I’ll get us a roller with a heater next time. Skye.’ He caught her arm as she staggered onto the pavement. ‘Leave it and come with me. We make a good team.’ Something in his eyes said he was asking for more than criminal teamwork.

‘Can’t, King,’ she said. ‘Whatever happens I’ve made my choice. This might not look like it, but I’m not going back to that life.’

In a surprisingly gentle move, he lifted a hand to tuck a wave of hair back under her hat. ‘Pity, I’ve always liked you.’

‘You could give yourself up,’ she suggested. ‘Do your time and go straight.’

He thought about that, then shook his head, grinned. ‘You could leave me the jammer?’

‘I could, but I’m not. Here. Take my klip. If I’m caught they can trace the call you made to me on it. Don’t turn it on, they can track it; keep it for me till this is over one way or another.’

He slipped it into his pocket. ‘Okay.’ Then surprised her by gripping the front of her coat and kissing her hard on the mouth. ‘You take care of yourself, Skye.’

‘Yeah, you too. No detours on the way back.’

‘Nag, nag, nag. See ya.’

He was gone. Skye sucked in a breath, and took a good look at her surroundings.

.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Hunter’s home might have pretty, white-painted columns, iron-railed balconies with greenery tumbling out of pots outside, Skye reflected, but inside was just a place to crash after hours. No ornaments or knickknacks, no personal touches which stated, ‘this is home’. A roof, however luxurious, she mused, was only a roof unless you made it more.

She stood just inside the front door, getting her bearings from the light of a street lamp shining through the unshielded windows. At some point, the Victorian house had been gutted inside, she noted, most of the inside walls removed so, after a small hall, the area widened into a huge, single living area. An open-tread staircase in the middle led to an upper floor. Beyond that, at the far end, a half-open door led into a kitchen where she could just make out the corner of a food dispenser and the shape of an infra-wave.

Now she’d had her own, she recognised the background hum of an automatic climate control, holding the temperature steady. Coming into that warmth from the cold outside, her cheeks soon began to burn; her toes tingled as they came back to life. She thought longingly of throwing off her damp coat and gloves, but daren’t risk leaving fibres or fingerprints so, ignoring the rising smell of steaming material, began to prowl the room.

Coats hung on a row of brass hooks in a cupboard by the door, shoes and boots underneath them. She ran her hand over the coats, dipping into the pockets, but found nothing of interest. Apart from a couple of pairs of work boots, the shoes looked pricey and new. Avoiding the windows, Skye moved through the main area, her feet sinking in the soft carpet. No clutter, minimal furniture, but what there was looked quality. A gold clock, which she imagined antique, ticked away on a marble mantelpiece standing over an empty fireplace. On a low wooden table under the bay window, a half-empty bottle of red wine stood corked beside a crystal glass. A flash of him lounging in the leather chair next to it, reaching for his glass after a long day gave her heart a jolt. She shook her head to throw off the image kicking herself for being such a lost cause.

But, she thought, doggedly putting all that aside, she had a job to finish. Opposite a full-wall screen with inbuilt game unit, were a matching sofa and chair, both in the same rich leather. She moved to a shelf of hardcover books, some of which looked well-thumbed. Intrigued by his old-fashioned reading habits, she cocked her head to read the titles on the spines. “The Rebellion of Thirty Four”, “The Effects of Over-Population”, “The Disgrace of a Nation”, “Government Policy - An Argument for
Solution
”, “Desperate Measures – Desperate Times.” She felt a flicker of unease.

Moving silently to the stairs, she risked the torch as there were no windows, just a long landing with a series of doors on either side. A quick check showed a bathroom: combined shower and dryer, toilet -nothing in the cupboards but the usual male stuff and normal medications. She moved on. Spare bedrooms - one converted to a home gym, one a sim room with a shelf of programs, another a well-equipped office with similar computers to those he used at HQ. Skye wasted valuable seconds before she gave up trying to access his system. Whatever was in the hard-drive would stay hidden. Turning her attention to a bulging paper folder on the desk, she opened the cover. On top of hundreds of typed sheets of paper was a photograph. Raising the torch to see clearly, she swallowed. About to be dunked in a turquoise pool, the girl Hunter was holding in his arms was laughing. She had her head thrown back, her mouth open as she clung to his neck. Lovely copper hair fell to her waist. Through a sky port behind them, the earth was a vivid blue and green ball in a starry sky. He was laughing down at her. There was the black hair, the amazing arctic eyes, but the younger, carefree Hunter in the picture wasn’t anything like the moody Lieutenant Skye knew. That Hunter, she presumed, had died along with the love of his life in his arms.

Pain slashed like a knife. Crumpling under the assault, Skye stumbled onto a chair, hugged herself tight; unsure in her misery, if it was for Hunter she felt, or her own hopeless heart. I don’t want this, I never wanted this, she moaned, rocking. This is what you get when you let yourself love someone. How had he, of all people, got under her guard? Finish what you’ve started, another part of her brain warned. Get it done and get out. So, resolutely moving the photo aside, she flipped through pages. It took a few seconds for her to work out what she was reading: dozens, there were dozens and dozens of statements, all concerning an investigation into Anya’s death going back over nine years. Hunter had flagged some; made notes in the margin on others; underlined sentences with a thick red line. On a vehicle maintenance report, he’d scrawled ‘Bullshit!’ under the words, “
Faulty brakes may have been a contributory factor in loss of control”
. Engrossed, Skye forgot everything: where she was, the time…. Hunter had been thorough, going over and over the events in the minutest detail.

From what Skye could make out, Anya had left home for work that morning, happy, excited. Discovery of some top-secret new bio-weapon had the whole satellite laboratory revved. Several witnesses testified to her arriving early. She’d told other technicians she wanted to re-check the results of an experiment she was worried about before the top brass arrived. An hour later, she was dead. Hit by a runaway van on a flat piece of waste-ground at the back of the military complex where she had no reason to be. Nobody saw anything, heard anything or knew why she was there. There was a medical report on the driver of the vehicle: Hunter had ringed ‘
traumatic amnesia’
three times in red.

The minutes ticked away. Skye turned the last page. There was one single, hand-written word. The pen had dug so hard on the paper the letters had torn the sheet. One word. A name:
NARELLE!
She flopped back, feeling the blood drain down to her toes. Things began to fall into place. Hunter blamed Narelle for Anya’s death - she’d heard her accuse him of such in his office. He hadn’t been able to prove it nine years ago -
almost to the day
. So, was he after revenge? Was he somehow pinning all these recent deaths on her? Framing her? Love could make you do almost anything, she thought, a sickening lump lodged in her chest. If Anya’s death had broken his heart, had it broken his mind as well?

She had to get out… now. As Skye leapt to her feet a single sheet, hidden under the folder, fluttered to the floor. Her heart lurched as she saw what it was – a printout of flight schedules to Sydney for the day after tomorrow.

Hunter was planning to run.

With a sob, she fled from the room, stumbling her way to the stairs. She shouldn’t have come. She’d collect Lexie from Maxine – make some excuse why it was so late, and get as far away from London as they could.

She’d reached the bottom rung when she heard a cough outside the front door. Swinging under the staircase, Skye launched into the kitchen. There was always a back way out, she thought. Usually. Okay, so not from here, obviously.

‘Visual ID on kitchen monitor,’ she whispered, dropping behind a counter. Oh, sh-ugar!

Hunter was still in uniform, his eyes dark and shadowed. Frozen, like a rabbit caught in the headlights, she watched his face on the screen, saw him shift his weight, study the lock, flick his eyes to the camera, then frown. He leant forward and pressed the scanner to his arm. Then he drew his weapon.

She couldn’t move. Just sat, hugging her knees as the band tightened around her chest. He’d noticed the camera was jammed.

The door opened a sliver.

Now she stood, swivelling as she frantically searched for a weapon. Blindly yanking open a drawer, her fumbling fingers closed on a smooth metal handle. If she was going to die, she’d go down fighting.

Clutching the implement like a dagger, Skye faced the door as it opened wider and every light flooded on.

The relief on his face rocked her; for a murderer he was pretty damn cute. There must be something wrong with her make-up, she thought, if she could still get a rush over someone who probably wanted to kill her.

‘Skye?’ Anger hardened his voice. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you. Your tracker went off the radar and when I couldn’t get you on your klip, I thought… His gaze tracked to the egg whisk in her hand. ‘What were you planning to do with that?’

‘I-I um…’

When she looked back at his face, she wished she hadn’t. Hunter’s narrowed eyes were watching her, keenly. ‘What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?’

It all came out in a rush. ‘Look, I know I can’t beat you in a fight, so if you’re going to kill me, just get it over with, okay, although I’d rather you didn’t because I think it must hurt however you do it and I’m not good with pain. Only
please
don’t hurt Lexie; he doesn’t know anything about this, and if you’d just stop, I’m sure you’d get help; counselling or something…I’ve heard there are treatments and even if you have murdered all those people, I’d still feel the same way about you, so just do it, okay?’ she was sobbing, but didn’t seem to care.

He closed the gap between them, grasped her chin. None too gently he forced her head back, tilted it from side to side. ‘How much did you take?’ His angry breath brushed across her face.

‘I… What?’

Releasing her, he grabbed the whisk she was still clutching and threw it on a chair. ‘Seeing as you don’t look zoned, I can only assume you’ve lost what little mind you had. Do you mind telling me what you’re babbling about?’

He shoved her into a chair, stood over her while she sobbed.

‘I …had my klip turned off,’ she managed as a feeble explanation. ‘I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. My friend rang earlier to tell me Cricket’s dead.’

Thoughtful replaced ice cold fury, though his eyes were still tight. He continued to watch her.

‘Apparently he fell under a bus,’ Skye snivelled.

He was quiet for a moment, stone-faced, considering. ‘And this caused you to want to break in here and stab me with an egg beater?’

Skye pressed her fingers against her eyes. As it didn’t seem she was going to die right away, she pushed her luck. ‘I dug out the tracker. If you want it back you’ll find it in the sewers. I stamped on it then flushed it down the loo.’ She nearly said good riddance, but stopped herself just in time.

Now there was a subtle shift, just a flicker in the blue. Straightening, he leant towards her. ‘Does anyone else know you’re here?’

It was coming, she could feel it. Any moment he’d pounce. She screwed her eyes shut and said a silent goodbye to Lexie.

His klip bleeped. ‘Captain Yao?’ When she dared a quick peek, Hunter was striding across the room.

‘Saved by the bell again,’ she murmured, her eyes darting to the door and possible escape. But the next words cancelled all thoughts of running.

‘River surveillance report increased activity at Royalty, Lieutenant, and the place is being guarded like a military installation. Something’s going off. You need to get the whole team in, pronto.’

‘I’ll be right there. Has General Greenwood been advised?’

‘On his way in.’

‘Okay. Twenty minutes.’ Disconnecting, Hunter spun round, grabbing Skye by the wrist. ‘You’re coming with me. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I get to the bottom of why you’re here, but right now, I haven’t got time. We’re going to HQ.’