Page 30 of A Very Happy Easter

I moved aside to let Heath go past me into the house. “Are you allowed to tell me what you were doing?”

He followed me downstairs to the kitchen on the lower ground floor. I used to have a really fancy coffee machine, but every time I tried to operate it, warning lights flashed at me, even though my housekeeper assured me it worked perfectly. So I donated it to a community café—who loved it—and invested in Nespresso pods.

“Do you want golden caramel, rich chocolate, roasted hazelnut, maple pecan…?”

“Whatever has the most caffeine.”

I loaded a double espresso pod and pushed the button.

“Sugar?”

Heath shook his head. “It was a child recovery case,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“A woman not so different from Jazzi got damn near killed by her husband, and while she was in hospital and he was in jail, their kid was sent to stay with the paternal grandparents. They skipped the country with her.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“That was three years ago. The mum had a recovery order, but nobody could find them. Eight months ago, she won the fucking lottery, and she decided to hire us.”

“So you found the little girl and grabbed her?”

“No, no, not like that. We started with a full background investigation to ensure repatriation would be in the girl’s best interests, and then we began tracking the grandparents. They were travelling around Europe in a camper van. Once we had a lock on them, we liaised with the local authorities and took the mum to Italy for the handover.”

“That’s all very…aboveboard?”

“You thought it wouldn’t be?”

I sucked in a nervous breath. “Eis suggested you might be an SAS super soldier from Stirling Lines, so I figured you parachuted into enemy territory and then carried the girl out through a hail of gunfire.”

Heath laughed heartily and then cursed as he took a sip of his espresso.

“Damn, that’s hot. It was the paintball thing, right? I probably shouldn’t have shot that guy, but he was a real dick.”

“The Marine? Eisen said he was a prick rather than a dick, but yes.”

“I’m not even sure he was a Marine, to be honest.”

I set the machine brewing a cup of coffee for myself, but French vanilla flavour. “So, were you in the SAS? Or can’t you tell me?”

“Nope.”

“No, you weren’t in the SAS, or no, you can’t tell me?”

“No, I wasn’t in the SAS, and the SAS hasn’t been based at Stirling Lines for a long while. They’re at Credenhill.”

“And you’re just a big fan of paintball?”

Heath studied me for a moment, then sighed. “I was special forces, but that stays between us, okay? As far as everyone else is concerned, I was a regular paratrooper and nothing more.”

“I understand. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

Not even my brother. He could make whatever assumptions he wanted to, but I wouldn’t betray Heath’s confidence.

I gently touched his arm. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, for me and for your country.”

“War in the Middle East prepared me well for gallery shows and fundraisers.” Heath gave me a mock salute. “I won’t let you down, ma’am.”

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