Page 71 of Return Ticket

A lightbulb went off.

Gabriella ran, heading for the high street up ahead, and as she turned left onto it, she looked back, and saw the cyclist helping Mr. Mercedes to his feet.

There was no one giving out her route. She’d been followed yesterday and today by the man on the bike, and he’d called Mr. Mercedes to let him know where to find her.

She disappeared into the crowd of pedestrians, heading toward headquarters. It was close by, and she walked at a fast clip, weaving between groups until she turned into the cul-de-sac.

She could see the double doors of headquarters up ahead, but she was the only person on the street.

When she glanced back, the cyclist was turning in behind her.

She slid her bag off her shoulder, holding it by the strap, and faced him.

If she swung it hard enough, she could probably dislodge him from the bike.

The cyclist came to a stop, brakes screeching again.

“He wants to talk to you,” he said, gripping the handlebars. He was wearing trousers with bicycle clips to keep his hems from catching in the chain, and a light jacket. He looked around her age.

“He had a chance to talk to me twice yesterday, when he grabbed me on the street, and later, when he forced his way into my flat and then held a gun on me. I’m not giving him another.” She got a better grip on her strap.

“I don’t know anything about that.” He blinked a little. “I’m just paid to let him know where you are. He wants you to call off the cops.”

“I got that,” Gabriella said. “I don’t have any say in what the coppers do.”

“But if you withdraw the complaint, they’ll back off. He didn’t mean to frighten you and he can’t run a business if the cops are going to come down on him.”

“He didn’t just frighten me, he hurt me. And if he wanted to keep the cops off his back then he shouldn’t have waved a gun at one, should he?” She shrugged, and began to walk backward, toward the steps.

“Did he really wave a gun at a copper?” the cyclist asked, voice rising a little in disbelief.

She nodded, and the cyclist swore softly under his breath.

She reached the bottom step, turned, and ran up and through the doors.

Then she looked out the window set in the wall beside the doors, and saw him cycling away, shaking his head.

Mr. Mercedes would be lurking nearby, she guessed, waiting to hear what he had to say.

The question was, would he realize he’d failed and leave her alone, or would he try to approach her again?

chaptertwenty-eight

“So,Tanner’s client is the Honorable Mrs. Fitzgerald.” James looked up from the folder in his hands and frowned.

He was inside Tanner’s office, which was messy, but the furniture and fittings looked expensive. From a few of the bank statements he’d found, the man liked the finer things, but didn’t quite yet have the income to pay for them.

“A lady?” Hartridge shook his head. “That’ll go down well.”

It would be more difficult to hold her to account, but James was aware she herself hadn’t done anything wrong so far. It had been her husband and her private detective who’d stepped over the line.

James jotted down her phone number and address from the file, and then gave a quick read of the contents. “Tanner’s job was to find out which house her husband had been visiting when he’d gotten the parking fine. Doesn’t say he’s to threaten anyone, or anything else. So there’s nothing to charge her with.” Even her husband, who James could see from the file was Mr. Reginald Fitzgerald, hadn’t done enough to warrant a charge. He’d followed Gabriella around, but he hadn’t touched her.

That had been Tanner.

And Tanner had waved a gun at a police officer. There was no getting around that.

“I think this is probably what he was after.” James slid the file into an envelope to take into evidence. “Let’s put a note on the door informing him there’s a warrant out for his arrest, and telling him where to hand himself in.”

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