The Hard Way Duncan Brockwell (romance book recommendations .TXT) 📖

the lounge, he found Rachel lying on the sofa, asleep, her mouth open enough for the smallest of snores to escape. He held the TV remote and switched it off. When he turned back, she was smiling up at him. “Hi! Sorry I’m so late.”

Rachel sat up, patted the cushion behind her, and he wedged her between his legs. She settled into him, his arms wrapped around her. “How was your day?” He needed something, anything to take his mind off his awful night.

“Eventful.” She stroked his hand. “We caught the shooters.”

The news was big enough for him to force her to turn and face him. “How’d you manage that? And how do you know they’re your shooters?”

She filled him in on their brush with danger in the woods, how the shooters waited for them outside Richard Fisher’s workshop. Rachel also filled him in on the fact one of them wanted to sort out a deal; apparently, he was worried for his own safety, that his employers would want him dead now that he was in custody.

“Wait! You’re not, though, are you?” He thought he could tell by her expression that she had no intention of dealing with him. But he didn’t know her that well; they’d only been seeing each other for a week. “You can’t deal with them. They’re your shooters.”

“Relax, no way! The only problem we have is we still don’t know what this is all about. The shooter says when we find out what it is, we’ll know why they’ve gone to such measures to silence Fisher. He knows what it is.”

Knowing full well how hard getting a confession from suspects was, Walker didn’t bother continuing. “So, where do you go from here? Is it case closed, or what?”

“Inspector Gillan will want us to carry on the investigation, but Hayes reckons the superintendent will insist on closing us down, since we have the suspects in custody. We’ll wait on forensics and ballistics to come back to us tomorrow. And we’ll find out the shooters’ names, too. They haven’t even given us that.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a couple of hard cases there.”

“Yeah, and dumb. You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but they’re hitmen, like real, as God is my witness, hitmen. I thought they’d be smarter.” She smiled at him. “What about you?” Rachel rubbed her eyes. “Here’s me going on about my day? How was yours?” The question lingered between them.

“Fine!” He lay back and stared at the ceiling, Rachel between his legs, lying on him. “Pretty quiet, actually. Nothing major to report.”

He should tell her. It affected her every bit as much as it affected him. Rachel was dating a triple murderer; well, accomplice to a triple murder at the very least. He held her tight, stroking her arms. She smelt amazing. He could tell she’d showered and washed her hair.

The scariest part of this whole mess wasn’t Vodicka’s stare. It was the thought of losing Rachel. But he always thought negatively when he liked a woman, always thought something bad would happen to spoil it.

58

Richard Fisher lay on the only bed in the small cell, listening to the ominous prison noises. When he woke up that morning, prison was the last place he would have guessed he would be staying overnight. No one could have prepared him for being locked in a room against his will. And he wasn’t even in a real prison; it was a holding jail for suspects awaiting trial.

Since being arrested earlier in the morning he’d been questioned, grilled for hours about his involvement in a child pornography ring, a paedophile ring. The National Crime Agency officers showed him vile photos of vulnerable children. They made him want to be sick, but apparently they were located on the PC in his workshop office. What a coincidence, yet they said not. According to the two lead officers, they’d had him on their radar for a couple of years, and it took them this long to act on solid CI testimony.

The NCA officers finally relented, disappeared. Then the interrogation room door opened and in walked two more suits. Neither identified themselves, except to show him the documents he’d uploaded to the Intellectual Property Office’s portal. They asked him where the prototypes were, but he refused to answer, knowing this was all about his product, not some smokescreen kiddy fiddling ring. They were trying their best to smear his name in case the prototype found its way into the public sphere. And what better way than to make out he was “into children”?

Richard couldn’t do hard time like some common or garden thug; he was a scientist. He used his brain, not his limited brawn. No, he had to get out of there. The problem was, he didn’t know where he was.

He could hear the other inmates shouting. Lying on his back, in prison issue blue trousers and blue shirt, he heard someone calling to him, saying they were going to bash his paedo brains in. “Wait until breakfast, we’re going to eat you alive,” the voice called.

If he didn’t get out of there soon, he believed every word the con said. If he was getting this kind of treatment now, in a holding prison, what would his life be like in a bona fide category A prison? Hell.

An observation slat opened. Two eyes stared at him through the hole for a couple of seconds, before the slat closed. Suicide watch. They were afraid he might try to kill himself. But he wasn’t about to do that, and how could he if he wanted to? There was nothing he could use, no ceiling beams to tie his bed sheet to; no knives or sharp pointy objects he could stab himself with.

The voices outside grew in intensity and volume. Richard listened. It sounded like a riot going on outside. When he heard the lock in his door, he stood and waited for the door to open. Fight or flight? He wanted