“He’s been looking for his big break, poking his nose around in all sorts of things,” Conor murmured as he scanned the pages. “Could have upset any number of influential people.”
He went through six folders and was beginning to despair of ever finding anything useful. Most of Hamilton’s research seemed to have involved searching the web and the gossip columns. It was hardly earth-shattering stuff. He picked up the seventh folder and his mouth dropped open when he saw its title. Written in black marker pen on the top right corner were the words ‘Queen of Cups’. That wouldn’t necessarily have meant anything to most people but Conor had spent most of the last few days reading everything he could get his hands on about tarot and he knew immediately that it was the name of another card.
“Shit!” He fumbled through his bedside cabinet and dug out the book on tarot cards and their meanings that he’d bought from Arcania. He’d read it cover to cover already so flicked quickly to the page about the Queen of Cups. He scanned it quickly, skipping to the reversed card meaning.
Appearing in a reading reversed, the Queen of Cups is implying that you are not to rely on this person, and also that you may be deceived. You are not being told the whole story. You need to exercise caution if you meet a woman—or cross a woman—who is apparently distinguished and popular, as she may turn out to be untrustworthy and not all that she seems to be. When the Queen of Cups appears reversed, it may be an indication of someone who comes across as aloof and mysterious, and one who may lack depth. It may be indicating that you are unaware of the full details of a situation, and you are to be aware of deceptions and hidden truths.
He yanked the contents of the file out and spread the papers across the bed. “Fuck! Why didn’t I look at this one earlier?”
Adrian Hamilton had been investigating an extensive ring of suspected fraudsters all working under the guise of palm readers, psychics and card readers. All fakes, the group was highly organized. Hamilton had apparently found enough evidence to identify the ringleader and had given her the code name, Queen of Cups. The final sheet he came to had a grainy photograph pinned to the back. Conor turned it over and gasped. The image was blurred but it was clear enough for him to recognize the woman in the image. She had been behind the counter at Arcania when he’d bought his tarot book. The long red hair and narrow features were unmistakable.
“Alex!” Conor yelled from the bed.
Alex had disappeared downstairs to his small study to do some work after they’d finished showering. Seconds later footsteps thumped up the stairs and Alex appeared at the bedroom door. He wore his bathrobe and his hair was still mussed and damp from the shower.
“What is it? Are you okay?” He paused. “Jesus, Conor, why are you working?”
Conor flapped the photo at him. “Shut up and look at this.”
Alex came over and sat on the side of the bed next to him. Conor thrust the picture in front of his startled eyes and explained. “We have to talk to this woman quickly—she’s linked to the tarot cards and to Leather and Lace through Adrian Hamilton.”
Alex examined the picture. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know her real name. Hamilton calls her the Queen of Cups in his file. He identified her as the leader of a major fraud ring. She sold me my tarot book in Arcania.”
Alex flicked through the rest of the file quickly. “You’re sure this is the woman from Arcania?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“Okay.”
Alex grabbed the phone from the bedside cabinet and began making calls, snapping orders at various people, setting up a morning raid on the shop.
Within half an hour, it was all arranged.
“That’s it. We’re set for the morning. There’s no point stomping around tonight when we know we can catch her when she opens the shop. She may not live there and we don’t have a name. We’ll be in place by seven o’clock, in case she arrives early and I’ve put an unmarked car on the street to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”
“This could be the break we need, couldn’t it?” Excitement at the possibility of a new lead in the case dissolved the tiredness that had gradually been building in Conor’s aching body.
“I hope so, love. I really do.” Alex cleared the pile of paperwork onto the floor. “But now, you need to rest. I’ll just go and turn the lights off downstairs then I’ll be back, so don’t even think about picking up another one of those folders.”
Conor settled back into his pillows and closed his eyes. There was too much going on in his head. He needed to sleep but wasn’t sure he could.
The bed dipped as Alex returned and joined him.
“Can’t sleep.”
“Sure you can. Count sheep,” Alex whispered.
“I’d rather have a cuddle.” Conor wriggled back until he pressed against Alex’s warm, firm body.
Alex snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him closer. Conor hummed his contentment as the hard ridge of Alex’s cock nestled between his arse cheeks.
“There’s lube under the pillow.”
“Oh is there? And why would I need that?”
Conor grabbed Alex’s hand and guided it to his own aching cock. “You want me to rest and there’s no way that’s going to happen unless you do something about this.”
“Oh well…if you put it that way.”
Alex made an uncoordinated scramble for the lube. Conor allowed himself a smug grin, safe in the knowledge that he was about to get exactly what he wanted.
Chapter Eleven
Despite wearing each other out very thoroughly, sleep came late and was too fragmented to be restful. Up before dawn, without the need of an alarm to rouse them, they went through their morning routine on automatic pilot, speaking only when it became absolutely necessary. Conor would have liked to discuss the day’s plans but he understood Alex’s need to think everything over. Alex planned every operation in detail. However simple it seemed on the surface, making a clean arrest required coordination and organization. Too many cases failed at the last hurdle on a technicality that could easily have been avoided.
They had almost reached the station when Alex finally became communicative.
“I’ll drop you off at work and then head off to the rendezvous point. I want you to stay in the office. I’ll check in with you later when it’s all over.” Alex looked coldly determined.
Conor twisted in his seat, trying to look Alex in the eye. “What? No! I want to come with you. I’m part of the team too.”
“Absolutely not. You’re not fully fit yet.”
“Alex…” Conor fought back the feelings of hurt, wondering why Alex didn’t trust him to be part of the operation.
“No.” Alex sighed. “I’m sorry, love. This isn’t about me protecting you or not trusting you. I promise. I can’t have anyone on the team who could put others at risk, and you aren’t one hundred percent yet. This isn’t open to debate. Please understand.”
“Sorry. You’re right, of course. I should have realized that this is you doing your job, nothing more. I’m being far too sensitive.”
“No, you’re eager to be a part of everything and I wouldn’t expect anything else. You found the lead. If it wasn’t for your injuries, you’d be right there with me, but I can’t allow it.”
Conor let the cold chill of worry settle on his shoulders and accepted that it would remain there until Alex returned.
“Promise you’ll let me know as soon as you have her in custody?”
“Of course I will.”
Alex stopped the car a little way down the street from the station. He pulled Conor’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “And I’m always right.”
There was no answer to that. Conor squeezed Alex’s hand then got out of the car. He stood on the pavement, feeling a bit lost, as his lover drove away. He headed inside to the office and settled down to wait for news. With the rest of the team supporting Alex, Conor had the room to himself and being on his own did nothing to make the time pass. The clock hands moved like treacle. Conor came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to keep himself busy and he threw himself into work. It didn’t take away the worry but it distracted him enough that the knots in his stomach eased a little.
He opened Adrian Hamilton’s ‘Queen of Cups’ file and began to read every word over again. The journalist had definitely been on the brink of something big and he’d been a lot more thorough in his research than in the other story files Conor had read. A name caught Conor’s eye and he reread the paragraph again. Something nagged away at the back of his mind. He stared at the words until they blurred.
“Oh fuck!”
Conor grabbed the phone and dialed furiously, stabbing at the numbers. Alex’s phone went straight to voicemail so he tried Sergeant Higgs.
“What?” Higgs answered abruptly.
“Sarge, it’s Conor. Tell Alex—the woman that you’ve gone to arrest at the shop is Amanda Teller’s sister. Her husband has a record for GBH. It could be him we want. You need to get both of them.”
“Damn it all to hell, they’ve just gone into the shop.”
Conor listened to the sound of heavy footsteps. Higgs was running somewhere—hopefully toward Alex. He heard a crash in the background, muted shouts and scuffling. His heart pounded as he listened to the sound of fighting. Then just as he was about to shout his frustration into the phone, Higgs came back on the line.
“The husband was hiding in the back room, put up quite a fight. Apart from some bruises, everyone’s fine. We’ve got them both and we’re on the way back.”
“Thanks, Sarge.” The line disconnected, and Conor heaved an audible sigh of relief.
He made himself a mug of tea then went back to work. A trip to the canteen for a bacon sandwich held some appeal but he didn’t want to leave his desk until he’d spoken to Alex. It was so quiet in the office that when the phone did ring, he jumped, heart racing.
“Jesus, Conor, you’re turning into a complete wuss.” With a shake of his head he picked up the receiver. “DC Trethuan, how can I help you?”
“Oh, I can think of a few ways you could give me a hand.” Alex’s deep tone reverberated with amusement.
“Alex! How are you? Are you okay? I’m imagining black eyes and a fat lip.”
Alex snorted. “I wasn’t that close to the action. Mind you, it took three men to hold Sid Muir down, and Jemima Muir sure has some nails on her. Bloody woman has talons that would look better on a hawk.
“One of the uniform guys that was helping out is going to have some explaining to do to his girlfriend tonight.”
Conor chuckled. “Well, I’m glad everything went okay. I stared at that file for an age before I noticed the connection. You’d noted Amanda Teller’s maiden name on your interview notes—Ellison. Adrian Hamilton had researched her sister’s past and there was one note of her maiden name in the file—Jemima Ellison, now Muir. I should have spotted it sooner.”
“I’m amazed you spotted it at all, considering how much information you’ve been dealing with and the number of names that must be in your head. It was a good spot.”
Conor all but glowed at the praise. “So, what happens next? Are you coming back here?”
“No. The suspects have been taken to different stations for interrogation. I wanted them locked up at places with more secure facilities. I’m going to observe the interviews. Higgs and Pete are going to do them. We’ll do the husband first and let Mrs. Scratchy sit there and stew for a while. We should get to her this afternoon.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later then?”
“Definitely. I’ll pick you up and we can spend some quality time celebrating the collars.” He chuckled. “Probably involving you
in
a collar.” The chuckles turned into a deep, sexy laugh.
Conor held the handset away from his ear and glared at it. He shook his head and put the phone back against his ear. “You are so amusing. If you think you’re getting leather around my neck after that appalling connection, you have another thing coming.”
“Oh, I’ll definitely be coming. Not so sure about you…”
“Alex…” Conor growled but a light click followed by the dial tone told him that Alex had put the phone down on him.
“Cheeky bastard,” Conor muttered, but his cock had stiffened and there was nothing he could do about it.
The day passed quickly, and Conor hardly noticed that he spent most of it alone. Various people called in to deliver reports, drop of photographs or just seek out a cup of coffee and a chat. Conor felt like he’d accomplished quite a lot, sorting and cross-referencing all his notes on the arson investigation and making a start on a similar set up for the tarot murders. It was gone six o’clock when the duty sergeant from the front desk stuck his head round the corner of the door and threw an envelope in Conor’s direction.
“This was left on the front desk for you. I didn’t see who left it. I was in the john.”
Conor looked at the envelope, which had landed at his feet, and time stood still. The old-fashioned typing on the outside of the envelope was horribly familiar. His hands trembled.
“Um, Sarge…you’ll need to pull the video footage of reception for the time you were gone.”
The sergeant blanched. “Don’t tell me this is something freaky?”
“It could be. It’s not your fault. It would never have been left while you were there. Someone’s been watching. I’ll need your prints for elimination purposes as well.”
“I’ll get on to tech support about pulling the footage right away. I’ll let the lab have my prints as well—they’re in the personnel files, like everyone’s.” The sergeant backed out of the door and Conor heard him running down the corridor.
Conor went to his desk drawer and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. He pulled them on then used a ruler to slit the envelope open. He parted the paper with care and shook the contents out. A colorful card slid into his hand.