Page 99 of Return Ticket

They finished dinner, ate a light and airy mousse for dessert, and then James offered Gabriella a lift home.

As they waved goodbye and drove away, James realized he wanted this to be a permanent thing.

Him and Gabriella. On their way home. Together.

chapterthirty-nine

Gabriella feltJames hands on her shoulders as they walked into her flat, and then glanced back at him as he helped her out of her coat and hung it on the rack.

“You’re quiet.”

He’d said hardly anything on the short drive from Ruby’s, and she was pleased that he took off his own coat and hung it beside hers.

He was at least planning to stay for a bit.

“I’m sorry I forgot about Tanner after everything that happened at Somerville’s mansion. I should have realized he might be waiting for you to come home.” His hands flexed.

“You can’t remember everything. Be responsible for everything,” she said. “It was up to me to think of it, and it didn’t cross my mind until it was time to leave the hospital.”

He glanced down at her leg, but she was wearing trousers and the bandage was hidden. “I noticed you limping.”

“I have a new dislike of Cupid,” she said. “But my shin is only bruised, and I’ll be fine soon enough.”

“And what about Tanner? He frightened you.” James’s mouth was a hard line.

“Yes.” When he’d pressed her up against the doorjamb, she had never been more frightened, except when Blythe had started running after her. “Then Blythe showed up to snatch the prize in that contest, so I don’t feel so upset about Tanner anymore. Not that he doesn’t deserve the full charges.”

James studied her. “You’re making light of it.”

“It’s the only way to get through it.” She shrugged. “I’m safe, and they’re both facing charges. Will I be nervous coming out of my bathroom again? Yes. Will I flinch when I see a black Mercedes or a green Jaguar? Yes, again. And I don’t think I’ll ever walk on my own in a thick fog, let alone look at a wheelbarrow the same way.”

“I don’t like that any of this happened to you.” He didn’t get any closer to her, as if his presence alone was the cause of her troubles.

“I don’t, either. But that’s not on you. Tanner and both the Fitzgeralds would have come after me, whether I knew you or not, and having you in my life helped me significantly where that was concerned. How quickly would the Met have been on the case if I’d gone to them as a private citizen, and you hadn’t been involved? If you hadn’t been on the receiving end of his nonsense? My guess is they wouldn’t have done anything about it. That’s why he’s so surprised to be suffering consequences now. Because he’s surely done this before and gotten away with it. The way he spoke to me, the logic he used, tells me he’s used to operating this way. His victims have no doubt complained and my guess is the Met just looked the other way.” She was breathing hard by the end of her little speech. She hadn’t realized until now how angry that made her. Tanner had been allowed to behave like he had for long enough he thought he was untouchable. James had put an end to that.

“You look angry,” James said with interest.

“Yes.” She almost saidsì. Like her grandmother would.

“Very Italian.” He gave a slow smile.

She took a step forward and grabbed hold of his shirt. “And here you are, all English stiff upper lip. I thought you were a Welshman?”

He tucked her hair behind her ears, eyes laughing. “You want me to sing?”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered, and went up on tiptoe, lips hovering just short of his own. “I want you to sing.”

* * *

The sky was clear but it was almost winter-cold at the building site.

The press shivered in a huddle, looking like they wished they were anywhere else.

Dr. Jandicott came out of the tent they’d set up to shield the body from view, and gave James and Detective Superintendent Halberd a nod, carrying the last of Iris Johnson’s bones, all wrapped up, to the big black car he’d arrived in.

His appearance had energized the journalists, and they all moved a little closer.

“It seems as if the final remains of Iris Johnson have been recovered.” Detective Superintendent Halberd addressed them, his voice cutting across the whistle of the wind. “Thanks to the fine work of DS Archer and his team, we can now assign these terrible deeds to London’s history. Harold Blythe is under lock and key, and he will hang for his crimes if he’s found guilty.”

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