Foul Justice (5 page)

Zac screwed up his nose and vigorously shook his mop of red hair. “Nah, I’ll be right. If I ain’t sure of anything, I’ll ask. You know that.”

“Get set to go at seven p.m. then, right?”

Zac mock-saluted his brother and downed the rest of his lager.

•     •     •

The afternoon had proved
to be fruitless for Lorne and her team. The house-to-house enquiries produced zero information. All the neighbours either lived behind high walls or at the end of long drives, so their sense of community was practically non-existent. The only good piece of news they’d uncovered was that Molly had found out the name of the security firm.

As usual in those types of cases, clues were thin on the ground, and Lorne knew only too well that it would take a few days for anything positive to surface that they could sink their teeth into. She drove home and stopped at the local off-licence to pick up a few bottles of wine.

After seeing the post of Jacob Dobbs, all she wanted to do was snuggle up on the couch with Tony for the evening—after she’d rung her daughter Charlie, that is.

“Hi, Tony. I’m home,” she called out as soon as she opened the front door. She was greeted by the scent of garlic, a strange smell she couldn’t distinguish, and the sound of clattering pans coming from the kitchen. A smile touched her lips as she bent down and slipped out of her shoes. Wriggling her toes, she massaged some life back into her tired feet. Her first day back had been tough both mentally and physically.

Tony wasn’t known for his exploits in the kitchen. He’d been a bachelor for years before they had met. Being an MI6 agent, he mostly ate in restaurants or on the run, or tucked into a tin of cold beans for his dinner. Lorne had been teaching him how to cook over the past couple of months, and that night was his first attempt at going it alone. He’d asked for her opinion on what he could cook, and she’d suggested a spaghetti bolognaise as the safest bet to avoid any food poisoning.

“Help!” Tony shouted from the kitchen, amid more banging of pan lids.

Stifling a grin, she called out, “I’m coming, sweetheart.”

“Hurry! Everything is going to pot, so to speak.”

Lorne casually walked into the kitchen and headed straight for the back door. She flung it open for Henry to escape the steamed-up kitchen. He scooted past her and stood on the patio, looking up at her, with his tail tucked under his belly.

“What are you trying to do, wreck my kitchen?”

“Sod your kitchen! Help me save the pasta—spaghetti—whatever it’s called.”

She wanted desperately to laugh at the state he’d worked himself into. Thick beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and were cascading down his face and dripping off the end of his nose into the bolognaise sauce.

Yuck! I have to eat that? Not on your nelly, mate.
A full-scale sabotage was needed.

Trying to keep a straight face, she asked, “Did you boil the spaghetti in water? I didn’t think you needed to be told to read the packet for directions. Anyway, I showed you what to do.”

He gnawed at his lip and widened his eyes in alarm. “Shit! I knew there was something missing.”

“Look at the state of my pan. I’ll never get that off. This will have to be thrown out now.”

“Babe, I’m sorry. What can I say?”

Tony held out his arms, and she walked into them, smiling as she placed her head against his chest. “You can offer to buy a take-away.”

“God, that’s a given. It’s the least I can do, princess.”

She knew she should’ve been angry and ranted at him, but he looked so vulnerable and sexy she couldn’t find it in her heart to chastise him. What was the cost of a few pans in the grand scheme of things? “Hey, at least you tried. Most men don’t.”

Tony pushed her away from him and searched her eyes. “You’re a wonderful woman, soon-to-be Mrs. Warner.” He slowly lowered his head to hers, their lips met, and the bolognaise sauce started coughing and spluttering behind them. “Damn!”

“Go and sort the take-away out and I’ll get rid of this lot.” She turned the stove off, withdrew the pan with burnt offerings in it and emptied the contents in the bin, then watched her fiancé leave the room, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

She said a sad farewell to her expensive copper-bottom pots, and they followed Tony’s attempt at dinner into the bin, before she rang her daughter.

“Hi, sweetie. How was school?”

Charlie sighed heavily. “Mum! You ask me that every day. Can you change the record,
please
?”

Lorne cringed, knowing her daughter was right. “I’m sorry, but how was it?”

“You’re impossible. I can see why Dad left you now. He’s right. You do take your work home with you.” Despite trying to sound annoyed, Charlie chuckled.

“You cheeky mare. You wait till I see you. All right with your dad if you stay here the weekend?”

“You bet. Whatchya got planned?”

Since she only saw her daughter at the weekends nowadays, Lorne liked to spoil her and take her out to a restaurant on Saturday evenings. The rest of the time, Charlie usually sorted out their fraught itinerary. Lorne and Charlie were hardly ever home either Saturday or Sunday. It was going to be tough being a full-time copper and a part-time parent on her days off. She knew that in the future, there wouldn’t be much time for her to ‘chillax’ as Charlie would say, on the weekend with a good film or book.

Lorne smiled at her daughter’s eagerness. “Well, I haven’t checked with Tony yet, but what about going ice skating?”

“Wow, yeah! Where?”

“One of the builders mentioned the other day that he takes his kids to the Alexandra Palace Ice Rink. We could have a meal in town afterwards, maybe?”

“Can’t wait, Mum. You’re the best. I’m gonna hang up now and pack my bag for the weekend.”

Laughing, she reminded Charlie that it was only Tuesday, but the teenager had already hung up. Lorne was still shaking her head when a forlorn-looking Tony reappeared in the doorway.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Nothing. Just had a conversation with a very excited teenager, that’s all.”

He tilted his head and rested it against the doorframe. “Excited about what?”

“Ah, I said we’d take her ice skating on Saturday.” Lorne frowned when his gaze drifted to the back door. Something was up. “Tony?”

“Can we discuss it later, like after dinner?”

She walked over and stood in front of him. Their eyes met. “Now you’re starting to worry me, Tony.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. She could feel him shaking slightly and knew how out of character that was—he
was
a tough MI6 agent, after all. Backing away, she placed her hands either side of his face and waited for him to speak.

Tony expelled a heavy breath. “Sorry, princess. I have to go away.”

She swallowed and tucked her hair behind her ear, nervous. “Okay…‌Where?”

“Afghanistan.” He squeezed his eyes shut, as if expecting her to explode.

Lorne dropped into a nearby kitchen chair, surmising she hadn’t heard the worst part yet. “Why?”

Tony knelt on the floor and looked up at her. “Simon was killed in action whilst on a mission, and I have to take over.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

S
everal minutes of silence
echoed round the kitchen. Lorne swallowed. “Why you? Can’t somebody else go?”

Tony rubbed her cold hands in his and then traced a finger down her colourless cheek. “There isn’t anybody else.”

She forced back the tears threatening to fall, leaned forward in her chair, and placed her forehead against his. “What about the wedding? How long is the assignment for? Oh, Tony, why you?” Fear gripped her heart and squeezed it tightly.

“It should be a quick in-and-out job, sweetheart.” He tilted his head and brushed her lips with his.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow. The plane with Simon’s body arrives at Brize Norton at about three. It’s going to be a quick turnaround.” His voice was filled with sadness that was reflected in his face.

Lorne knew he didn’t want to leave her. For the past several months since they had tracked down Baldwin, Tony had pleaded with Headquarters to let him stay in the country on local assignments, instead of the usual overseas cases, until an opening in MI5 came up. Up till that point, they had fulfilled his request and only last week had told him that a transfer to 5 was imminent.
Now this!

Lorne’s shoulders slumped. “Babe, what about the wedding?” She tried not to whine the words but failed miserably as they somehow got stuck in her throat.

“That’s two weeks away. HQ have this bastard nailed down in Kandahar. Hopefully I’ll make the kill and come straight home.”

“You’ve got to
kill
him?”

“Lorne, you know how these things work.” He smiled reassuringly.

“Yeah, I guess. But the Taliban…‌won’t they be more vigilant? On the lookout for other MI6 agents now that Simon’s been killed? He must’ve got close to them.”

She was liking the sound of Tony’s dangerous trip less and less, and his response of a shrug did nothing to quell her fears.

He kissed her again and hugged her tight. “Hey, I’ve been at this game for more years than I can remember now, and no one has managed to do away with me yet.”

She sighed in resignation. “Okay…‌We’ll have something to eat, and then I’ll help you pack a bag.” He tutted, and she scowled. “What, I can’t even do that for you now?”

Laughing, he stood up. “If it’ll make you happy. Although it doesn’t take much to shove a few T-shirts and sweaters into a bag.”

Just then, the bell rang. “You get the door, and I’ll get the plates and cutlery,” she told him.

“Deal.”

She stood for several seconds, watching his back as he marched up the hallway to open the front door. She’d grown to love that man so much in the past year. It hurt to be away from him.
Is that what true love really means?
How she was going to cope when he left for Afghanistan, she had no idea. She had genuinely never known that love could rule someone’s life as much as it did hers and Tony’s. They’d spent endless hours discussing the depth and value their lives meant to each other.

Walking back into the kitchen, while Tony answered the door for the delivery guy, she shuddered and picked up the plates and cutlery.
He’ll be fine. He’ll be back before you know it. Now don’t go getting all maudlin. It’s his last night. Let’s make it special.

They ate their chicken korma and rice in the lounge in front of the TV. Tony absentmindedly turned on the BBC news. A reporter was out in Afghanistan, telling the viewers that a couple of British soldiers had been killed in an IED incident. They looked at each other, fear filling their eyes. Tony grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“What have I told you? I’ll be fine. While I’m away, you’re forbidden from watching the news, you hear me?”

She felt the bubbling emotions threaten to show themselves. She stood up. “I hear you. I’ll put Henry out, and then I’m going to bed.”

“Mmm…‌sounds like fun,” she heard Tony say as she left the room. She found Henry jiggling around, waiting for her at the back door.

The night was fresh and clear, and the stars glistened as far as she could see. Picking out the brightest star, she whispered, “I’m depending on you to look after him, Pete. Bring him home to me, safe and well.” Feeling blessed that she had someone on the other side to help guide Tony on his mission, she whistled Henry in and closed the door behind them.

That night their lovemaking was filled with tenderness and fraught desire, after which they spent the night entwined in each other’s arms, almost afraid to let go of each other.

In the morning, Lorne considered throwing a sickie at work so that she could travel the seventy-odd miles to Oxfordshire to drop Tony off at the RAF base. But he’d persuaded her not to and instead had waved her off on the doorstep. She’d held back the tears, not wishing him to take that memory of her away with him, but as soon as she had driven round the first corner, she pulled over and wept. Luckily she wasn’t the type to wear heavy makeup, so when she arrived at the station and looked in the ladies’ room mirror, the damage was minimal. Slight red rings surrounded her hazel eyes. She took a tissue from her handbag and held it under the tap to create a cold compress, then placed it over her eyes for a few seconds.

When she looked at her reflection again, her eyes had returned to near normal.

Lorne left the toilet and walked into the incident room to see people frantically scurrying past. “AJ, what’s going on?”

The young man looked up at her and grimaced. “We’ve had another burglary overnight, ma’am.”

“I see. Any victims?”

“Yes, ma’am. One nipper deceased, and his mother stabbed multiple times and left for dead.”

“Jesus!”
I guess I’m going to be too busy around here to feel sorry for myself while Tony’s away, anyway.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
he phone on her
desk was ringing off the hook when she walked into her office. She answered DCI Roberts, “Yes, sir. Just got in myself. Can’t tell you any more details at the moment. Would you like to sit in on the meeting?”

He sighed down the phone. “Fill me in after, Lorne, will you?”

By the time she finished her call, the team had gathered ready for the team meeting.

“AJ, do you want to fill us in?” Lorne asked.

The young six-foot male left his seat and took up a position alongside the whiteboard, his black marker pen in hand, and started jotting down notes. “Yes, ma’am. At approximately eight thirty yesterday evening, the home of premiership footballer Les Kelly was broken into. When he returned home after a Cup match, he found his son murdered and his wife beaten, stabbed, and left for dead. Again, early signs are that there is no evidence to be found at the scene. The house was turned over; valuable pieces of jewellery and art were reported missing by Mr. Kelly.”

“Sounds like the same MO. I take it the security was in place? As with the Dobbses’ house?” Lorne asked the detective sergeant.

“Yep, same firm and everything. The house is in a different area, but same kind of setup with regard to the neighbours. Again, the large gates were open when Mr. Kelly got home.”