Page 67 of Return Ticket

“Now that’s a new one.” Solomon gave a chuckle as he headed inside, and Gabriella caught a murmur from someone who sounded like George.

The key turned in the lock moments later, and both men stepped inside, George looking around with interest. She realized it was his first time in her flat.

“Jerome?” Solomon must have expected it to be just the two of them. “What’s up, man?”

“Man with a gun locked us in, is what’s up.” Jerome said, head tilted.

There was silence, and Gabriella thought a lot was being exchanged between the two with not a word spoken.

“Not the green Jaguar man?” George asked.

Gabriella shook her head. “Connected, though. I think it was the private investigator he didn’t want me talking to. The one he said his wife hired.”

“And he came here, with a gun, to make you talk?” Solomon made a face and turned to James. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Now that I can leave the room without damaging Gabriella’s door, I’m off to find out his name and address off his car registration, and I’m going around to arrest him.” James shook his shoulders, as if loosening up before a fight.

“Need some help with that, man?” George asked, politely.

James hesitated, as if he was considering it. “Better not.”

“Pity.” George inclined his head.

James turned to her, and she thought he was uncomfortable with the audience they had. “Thank you for dinner.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be round tomorrow evening. I don’t think I’ll be able to come back at a decent enough time tonight.”

She gave a nod, and watched him grab his coat and disappear down the stairs.

“What car does this gun-toting man drive?” Solomon asked.

“A black Mercedes. It’s got a scratch on the side.” Gabriella couldn’t believe that that had happened just this morning.

“Number plate?” George asked.

She looked it up in her notes and told them.

“He comes here again, we’ll be ready,” Solomon said.

There was definitely some comfort to be taken in that.

chaptertwenty-six

“He’s not here.”Hartridge rounded the side of Ronny Tanner’s house, shaking his head. “No lights, car’s not in the garage. I think he’s done a runner.”

James forced himself to admit that that was the only play Tanner had left, after drawing a firearm on a police officer. “I want a warrant to search his house,” he said, although he didn’t know if he had enough cause for one. “But we will definitely alert the port authority, in case he decides to leave the country.”

He probably wouldn’t, though. He’d find somewhere to hunker down and wait them out.

“His office is about ten minutes from here. Let’s go there next.” He yawned on the last word. It was already one in the morning, but he didn’t want to leave it until tomorrow.

Hartridge didn’t complain, and they were soon parked in front of a row of houses converted into businesses in a quiet street.

“Nice,” Hartridge commented. “He wasn’t scraping the bottom of the barrel, was he?”

“No.” James had had the impression the client who’d hired him had money, especially if she owned the green Jaguar, and she would have chosen a reputable investigator, probably through a recommendation.

They looked around, but the firm was locked up and there were no lights on here, either.

“It’ll be easier to get a warrant for the business than the house, so let’s get on that first thing tomorrow.” James turned back to the Wolseley just as he heard a car come up the street.

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