Page 99 of The Black Trilogy

His methods meant he wasn’t always popular with his superiors, and more than once he’d shared his frustrations over a drink. I’d offered him a job several times, but for the moment his loyalty lay with the Met. He genuinely believed he could help to make the city a better place, and I had to respect his tenacity.

Months had passed since I’d spoken to him. Did he know about my break?

“It’s Emmy. Long time, no speak.”

“You’re not kidding, mate. I heard you’d gone AWOL.”

“I needed some time off. You know, with everything that happened.”

“Fair enough. Look, I’m sorry about your husband. Nobody deserves that.”

“Thanks. It was a shock to lose him.” I didn’t want Jason’s sympathy, and I didn’t want to discuss the past either, so I moved the conversation back to the problem at hand. “I need a favour.”

“I had a feeling this wasn’t a social call. What do you want?”

He was right. I didn’t do social calls. Although perhaps I should start? Spending so much time away from my old life had made me realise just how much my friends meant to me. But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

“Can you keep an eye out for a white Ford Transit?” I read out the registration number.

“Sure thing. If anything gets picked up, what do you want done?”

“Nothing, just call me with the details. Quickly, yeah?”

“Right-oh. Don’t suppose you want to tell me what this is about?”

I laughed. “You know me better than that, Jase.”

“Always did play your cards close to your chest. Talk to you soon.”

“You can count on it. And thanks.”

I hung up, shoving the amber phone I’d recently been reunited with into my pocket alongside the red phone and Ash’s phone. At this rate, I was going to need more pockets.

Living with Luke, I hadn’t needed to cart so much stuff around with me. Today, I’d stuffed my jacket with the bare essentials—the phones, my wallet, a couple of knives, lip balm, flex-cuffs, tissues, a tactical pen, pepper spray, a torch bright enough to blind a man, my favourite Zippo lighter, and a tube of mascara—I felt like a pack pony.

Bradley’s voice played in my head. “Emmy, you’re ruining the line of your jacket. It’s by Ishmael, and it wasn’t designed to be used as luggage.”

Sigh.

At a quarter to ten, my pocket started playing “Put Your Arms Around Me” by Texas, the ringtone I’d set for Nick back in happier days. I fumbled to get the red phone out, dropped it, then muttered un-curse words as the screen cracked. Ah well, another one bites the dust. The amber phone rang ten seconds later, and this time I managed to answer successfully.

“Yeah?”

“Did you know Luke had a conversation with the kidnapper before you got there?”

“No, I didn’t. Luke wasn’t exactly coherent last night when I tried to speak to him. What did he say?”

“Something about Luke ruining his life. I’ll send over the recording of the interview. You’ll want to hear it for yourself.”

That would have been my next request. He knew me too well. “Thanks, Nicky.”

Upstairs in my office, I wiped the dust off my laptop and turned it on. Thirty seconds later, my breath hitched as my husband smouldered back at me from the screen, one arm around me and the other held up to ward off Bradley, who’d been intent on replacing his white silk pocket square with a linen one that matched my purple dress. Bradley liked to be absolutely correct when it came to black tie.

Funny how the little things became so unimportant, wasn’t it? Right now, the idea of tarting myself up and going out to a party made me want to crawl under the duvet and hide.

So, I stuck with my favourite distraction: work. Sloane had been busy—my inbox only contained eleven emails, all dated today.

Did she know I was back yet? Things had happened so quickly last night, I wasn’t sure anyone had mentioned my return to her. I bashed out a quick message to let her know.

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