Page 3 of Nothing But the Night (Basic Instincts 2)

By the following afternoon, the rain had still not stopped. When Marc drove into the centre of Blyham at five p.m. it had got considerably worse. He parked in a multi-storey and hurried towards Upper Salvin Road. The rain came at him in horizontal strokes. It sloshed around his feet and when he reached his destination, he was soaked through. His trousers clung to his legs and the wetness went right through to his underpants.

He had never noticed the doorway to the Blair and Co Detective Agency before, even though he’d used both the newsagents and the coffee shop that stood on either side of it. A dark-green door led into a small, gloomy hallway. There was nowhere to go but straight up the stairs. He reached a landing with four glass-panelled doors leading off from it. The first door was marked with a sign reading ‘Reception’, so he went in there.

It was an old-fashioned room with blown vinyl wallpaper that looked like it had been painted over countless times. There were green carpet tiles on thefloor and four high-backed chairs lined up beneath the window. Marc realised he was dripping, pulled a handkerchief from his inner pocket—that was thankfully dry—and wiped his face and neck.

A slim woman in her mid-twenties with long auburn hair tied in a ponytail sat at the small desk in a room that had little natural light.

“Isn’t it awful?” she said, taking in Marc’s soaking state. “If you go back into the hall and take the first door at the top of the stairs, there are paper towels in the bathroom. You might be able to soak up the worst of it.”

“Thank you. It’s Marc Glass. I have an appointment with er…Jason Durham.”

The girl consulted an old-fashioned desk diary and nodded. Her name badge read Olivia. “Go and get yourself dry and I’ll let Jason know you’re here.”

He thanked her again and followed her directions. Like the rest of the office, the bathroom was outdated. It would have benefitted from a redesign twenty years ago, but it was clean and there was an abundance of paper towels. Marc patted his hair dry and wiped the worst of the wetness from his trousers. It would have to do. He knew he wouldn’t fully dry until he got home and stripped these wet things off.

“Just go straight through,” Olivia told him on his return. “He’s expecting you. I’ll bring you a drink to warm you up. What would you like? Cappuccino? Latte? I’ve got a machine that does them all.”

“A tea would be great,” he said. “Just a splash of milk. No sugar.”

Olivia gave him a winning smile and said she’d bring it in shortly. Marc took an instant liking to her. As a businessman, he knew the crucial importance of having a great person on the front door to make clientsfeel welcomed and valued. While the initial appearance of Blair and Co was not encouraging, in a couple of minutes Olivia had turned his attitude around.

This might not turn out to be a complete waste of time after all.

A man in his early thirties stood in the doorway of the office at the farthest end of the gloomy hall. He was little more than a silhouette lit from behind. Marc could see he was dressed in navy chinos, black brogues and an open-necked blue shirt.

“Mr Glass,” he said. “I’m Jason, come on in.”

He was a couple of inches shorter than Marc, but well built. He wore a heady-smelling aftershave that failed to hide the notes of alcohol on his breath as they passed.

“Thanks for coming in,” Jason said. “I’ve already had two cancellations this afternoon due to the weather.” He gestured for Marc to take a seat and walked around the other side of the desk.

Marc saw him fully for the first time and was startled. At forty-four, it had been a long time since he’d been instantly affected by the physical appearance of a man, but Jason was stunning. It was his large, expressive eyes that first drew him in. They were a pale shade, somewhere between green and blue, and they gave a boyish quality to his masculine face. His dark-blond hair was swept to the right, short at the back and sides with a little length on top. He had a well-trimmed beard, brown and seasoned with flecks of grey. His mouth was wide. Marc had the most insane urge to kiss it. When he smiled, he revealed a small gap between his two front teeth, which only made him even sexier.

The body beneath his clothes was fit. More athletic than muscled, and there was an almost military bearingabout his posture, with his shoulders back and his chest held proudly.

Jason sat and leaned across the file on his desk, looking at the notes, granting Marc a peek down the open neck of his shirt, and a tantalising hint of chest hair.

Get hold of yourself.Remember the reason you are here.

“So, this is about your brother?” Jason said, reading the file. Marc had given the briefest summary of his case to Olivia when he’d called to make the appointment yesterday.

“Yes, but it’s probably not what you’re thinking. My brother isn’t missing or anything like what you’re used to dealing with.”

Jason looked at him with wide, reassuring eyes. “There’s no such thing as a usual case in this business. Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me what the problem is.”

Marc sighed. The beginning. He didn’t even know where that was. “Theo died in December. Down on the waterfront by the Vermont Hotel? You probably heard about it. He was killed by a car as he crossed the road in front of the hotel. Some of the witnesses say the car drove straight at him, but the police were never convinced.”

Jason pushed the file to one side. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Yes, I remember it. There must have been CCTV coverage. There are cameras all along the waterfront. And at the hotel too.”

“There are, but it’s inconclusive whether the car changed course to hit him or not. The resolution of the images isn’t great. I must have watched it a million times and even I can’t decide on what I’m seeing.”

“I take it the driver was never caught. Do you want me to investigate further? See if I can track them down?”

Marc shook his head. “That’s not why I’m here. It’s more…complicated than that. The car was discovered burned out a few miles away. It was stolen and they never found the driver. Have you heard of Nadine Smythe? The journalist.”

Was that a tiny twitch at the corner of Jason’s mouth?

Jason nodded. “Of course. Blyham’s finest.” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his tone.

---