A Chance Encounter Rae Shaw (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📖

all led. Not to Bill, or Haydocks, but Haynes and Opportunitas, and the mission Jackson had given himself to destroy the trafficking networks and their money, the money that belonged to the likes of Redningsmann.

She still didn’t know why Haynes was a key player. His crusade was a personal mission, the origins a secret. Chris would know, and one day, she hoped she would have the trust of Haynes like Chris. With luck her prowess would solidify her role in Chris's investigation team. For now, she was defined as Hettie's protection officer. Julianna glanced in the mirror. Poor Hettie was surrounded, constantly watched and given very little privacy beyond the walls of her home.

The bricks and steel of the city sank away into muddy fields and quaint villages. She turned off into a lane. They were a few minutes away from Fasleigh House.

Her passengers were laughing.

‘Why do you care, Hettie? You have gardeners, hundreds of them, probably.’

‘Two actually. They'll be complaining about the weather. It's either too wet or too cold to dig. Whenever I track them down, they're in the greenhouses, warming up.’

Too cold. Too wet. Who went digging in the winter when the summer was the perfect time? Driving through the gates of Fasleigh House, a gut-wrenching realisation struck her core. Julianna had it all wrong – the threat was immediate.

The lights of the house were a blur, children squealed with delight and Jackson's voice cut through them to welcome his wife home.

Julianna stayed in the car with the engine running. The rain was back, thundering on the roof. She had to make a decision: either she handled it all on her own or she told Jackson. If she screwed it up on her own, the price would be high, too high. If she roped in Jackson and it turned out to be a wild goose chase, then she would lose his respect.

She thumped the steering wheel and turned off the engine. With her jacket pulled up over her head, she dashed to the front door and leaned against the doorbell.

~ * ~

Hettie opened the door. A small child was perched on her hip.

‘Julianna.’ Hettie eyed her cautiously. Evey babbled and drooled.

‘I’m sorry about this, Mrs Haynes, but I’m stuck to know what to do and I need Mr Haynes's advice.’ Julianna followed Hettie into the kitchen. She had seen the interior of the house only once during her orientation tour. From then on, she had never gone any further than the gatehouse, except for that evening when she had betrayed the Haynes’ trust.

Noah was under the kitchen table with a set of dinky cars making “brum brum” noises. Sophia, with her head down, joined in, leaving her face obscured.

‘Baptiste? What brings you here?’ Jackson leaned back on the worktop and folded his arms across his chest.

Julianna wished the scene was less domesticated. She would prefer his office, even Chris's subterranean one. Jackson in his jeans and a rugby shirt was too comfortable. The aroma of warm bread and cakes played havoc with her senses. ‘It’s about Mark and Ellen, sir. Especially Ellen. I think he's going after her this weekend.’ She shifted her eyes in the direction of Hettie.

Hettie retrieved her son from under the table.

‘Please take the kids to another room, Hettie,’ a grave-faced Jackson said.

She didn’t question him and left the room with both children, the protesting boy pulled along with a firm grasp.

‘What's happened?’ Jackson came over to the table, where Sophia sat bemused, but wise enough to keep quiet.

‘Mark's sister is going to Ireland. Mark’s letting her dump her stuff in his apartment. She's quit her job and I think she's moving out of her flat soon. She's been arranging this trip with somebody Mark has never met. I don't know his name. But you can guess who I think he is.’

‘Go on.’ Jackson’s forehead creased into troubled lines. He slid an untouched glass of wine away from him.

‘She's supposed to be joining an archaeological dig. It's the winter, sir. Who organises a new dig in the winter? Who invites somebody like Ellen, who lives alone, is vulnerable, and has little experience of professional archaeology?’

‘She's going out there without a chaperone?’

‘Alone, that’s definite.’ The space around Julianna shrank and the air was stricken with tension. The stilted conversation communicated more than words. He was processing everything she said and more.

‘When?’ he asked.

‘I'm not sure, but it could be soon.’

‘Ring Mark. She's his sister.’

‘His phone is broken. He doesn’t have a landline and he’s not responding to emails either.’

Jackson turned to face Sophia. ‘I thought you'd lined up Derek to talk to Ellen?’

‘She rejected Derek's offer to go to Scotland before he had a chance to make it,’ Sophia said. ‘She's adamant that this is what she wants to do. Mark's attempt at dissuading her backfired.’

‘What about contacting Ellen?’ Jackson asked.

‘I don't have her number, but…’ Julianna rummaged in her weighty handbag and retrieved a crumpled piece of paper. ‘I do have her address. Chris gave it to me. I've not had the chance to visit her. I’ve never met her.’ If she had, maybe things between Mark and his sister might be different, possibly congenial, and not requiring punch bags.

‘And Mark has done nothing to prevent this relationship or find out who she’s going to meet?’ Jackson’s mask of containment slipped, exposing rancour.

‘I don't think so.’ Julianna had unwittingly dug a big hole for Mark to fall into, but given the gravity of the situation, there was nothing she could do to mitigate it. ‘They aren't talking much. I think his mum found out about the appeal ending from Ellen, not Mark. He didn’t want to tell her until he was ready, so Ellen did the deed. I wouldn't be surprised if she relished doing it. When he