The Pleasures of Spring (4 page)

An hour later, she was clean and dressed in dark leggings and a colourful top which concealed her slender figure.

She riffled through Andy’s wallet and found he had been carrying a lot of cash. A thousand pounds. Plus three platinum credit cards and a slim smartphone. She switched it on, impressed by the quality of the graphics and the speed of response. Andy clearly had money to burn. Niall Moore must pay a lot more than minimum wage.

She knew that Moore Enterprises was the best private
security company in Europe, known for providing bodyguards for the rich and famous. It was less well-known that the company specialized in hostage rescue and provided security for medical staff in war zones around the world. She had heard that everyone who worked for Moore’s was the best of the best. If Andy was an example, she could well believe it.

Roz ran her eye down the call log and took down a few interesting numbers. Oh look, Andy even had her sister’s number in his phone. And contact details for her Irish relatives. How interesting. She removed the battery and SIM card, and set off for work.

The food bank was as busy as usual. Olyenka, terrifyingly efficient and refusing to be slowed by the baby at her breast, was manning the office when Roz arrived.

‘Hi Oly, got a few things you might be able to help me with.’

Roz handed over the Benefit cards she had ‘liberated’ from Sunny Money. ‘I thought you might be able to return them to their rightful owners.’

Olyenka leafed through the cards, her eyebrows rising when she saw names she recognized. She kept her hair cropped ruthlessly short, so her expression was visible. ‘I won’t ask how you got hold of these, but I know their owners will be glad to have them back.’

Roz tickled baby Benjamin’s smooth, dark cheek. He smiled back at her without letting the nipple go.

‘And I have another donation for you.’

She pulled out the thousand pounds she had taken
from Andy’s wallet. After a moment’s thought, she pocketed a twenty. A girl had to eat, and he owed her dinner. She handed over the rest.

‘Roz, you can’t keep giving us this sort of money,’ Olyenka protested, even while she took the notes and put them into the cash box.

‘Hey, it’s nothing to do with me. It’s from an anonymous well-wisher, who knows what amazing work you do here.’ Well, Andy would have donated it if he knew, she told herself.

‘Need a hand packing parcels?’

Her father would shit a brick if he could see her, Roz knew, but there was something therapeutic about packing boxes of pasta while chatting with the other women about their disastrous dates. Briefly, she had a sense of belonging.

Roz was gone. The room was empty and there was no sign of her. Andy dropped his armful of sheets and towels, picked up the room phone and found the number for reception.

‘Yes, sir,’ the concierge reassured him. His guest had left and no, she hadn’t ordered a taxi.

What the hell was wrong with him? Okay, it had been a while since he’d kissed a woman, other than in the line of duty, but Roz Spring. Pregnant Roz Spring! He must have been out of his mind.

He didn’t want to think about how her mouth felt under his. How sweet and soft her lips were against his.
Lying lips
.

His anger abated as quickly as it came. His investigation into her past had revealed that she had turned her hand to everything from stunt double to circus act. She never put down roots, never got involved and he was no nearer finding the real Roz than he had been more than a year before.

Sitting down heavily on the rumpled bed, Andy picked up the remote and flicked around the TV channels. Almost all the channels were running coverage of the botched robbery at the shopping centre and the hospitalization of the thieves.

An interview with a tearful mother described how the
unknown hero had led a party of schoolchildren to safety. Breaking news revealed that a teenager had managed to shoot some mobile phone footage of him carrying Roz across the street.

On the next channel, a pompous security adviser confirmed that the mystery man was ‘definitely military’ and that they were making appropriate enquiries. There was no doubt about it – he was up to his oxters in trouble.

Time to face the music. He reached into his pocket for his phone. Empty. His phone was gone and so was his wallet.

A sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach. She couldn’t have. Roz wouldn’t dare steal from him. He riffled through his pockets again and even took a peek under the bed, but they were gone. That kiss had been an act, and he had fallen for it.

Andy picked up the hotel phone again and punched in the number of the last man in the world he wanted to talk to.

‘Moore,’ a clipped voice answered. Niall obviously hadn’t looked at the caller display, but less than half a dozen people in the world had the private number for the CEO of Moore Enterprises.

‘Turn on the TV,’ Andy said without preamble. It was better to let him know the worst immediately.

‘Any particular station?’ The question was innocent enough, but the silky undertone held a touch of menace. His boss wasn’t someone he wanted to piss off. He’d watched grown men quake in their boots when they had to admit that they had messed up on a mission, and Andy had done a spectacular job today. He was supposed to be
working undercover, not getting his face plastered all over the TV.

‘Take your pick.’

Andy heard a TV being switched on and Niall channel hopping his way through local and national stations.

‘Who is the woman?’

Andy swallowed. ‘Your missing sister-in-law.’

‘You’ve brought her in? Sinead will be over the moon, she …’

Andy let the rest of Niall’s words drift over him. How could he tell Sinead that he had found her missing sister, and let her get away again? The wounded look in her eyes would kill him. She brought out all his protective urges, making him want to slay dragons for her. And, of course, he couldn’t. That was Niall’s job.

A vision of another redhead, one exactly like Sinead, popped into his head, and he snorted. Roz didn’t need anyone to protect her. It was the poor dragon who would need to be rescued. Let Roz near the beast and she’d end up selling him to a circus before he knew what hit him.

They might be twins, but Roz and Sinead were nothing alike.

Niall stopped talking when he realized he was getting no response. ‘You’ve lost her again, haven’t you?’

Again? Now that was a tad unfair. He hadn’t expected to walk into a gun battle or Roz O’Sullivan. Come to think of it, he would have rather faced half a dozen armed tangos then go another round with the lying scheming little –

‘Andy.’ The sharp tone claimed his attention.

‘Sorry, boss. It’s been an epic bastard of a day.’

Niall grunted in agreement. They had shared quite a few days like that in the field. ‘What happened?’

Andy rattled through his report of his day, skimming lightly over his feelings of shock when he found Roz crouching behind the counter in the shop. Her face pale with fear, her eyes more blue than he had remembered and her belly distended with. Fuck. He still had to drop that particular bombshell.

‘And she’s pregnant,’ he finished his report and waited.

The silence on the other end of the line was more telling than a dozen expletives. ‘She’s what?’ Niall sounded stunned. ‘But who’s the …? And how did she manage that?’

Andy grinned. ‘The usual way, I imagine.’

It was none of his business, Andy decided. He might have kissed her in a moment of madness, but that didn’t mean that he liked her.

Niall cleared his throat. ‘Find her, Andy. Call in whatever resources you need. A whole team if necessary, but I want her found within twenty-four hours.’

‘Any particular reason?’ There was something up with the big guy and it was more than discovering that his sister-in-law was knocked up.

‘Because that’s how long I have until my wife gets back from Castletownberehaven. She went to tell Granny O’Sullivan the good news. Sinead is pregnant too.’

Reeling from the news, Andy put the phone back on the hook. He now had another call to make, which would be about as much fun as the last one.

Reluctantly, he rang his office and reported the theft of
his wallet and phone, the one with all his numbers and contacts.

‘You were rolled?’ Reilly didn’t bother to hide her mirth. ‘Mr I’m-too-sexy-for-my-own-good finally got a taste of his own medicine? Wait ’til I tell the guys.’

‘Tara baby, don’t.’

‘Not a chance. And don’t try that baby stuff on me. I’m immune, remember? I’ll put a trace on the phone, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope. I’ll work on getting you a replacement.’

Andy sighed. The petite operative was the fantasy girl for half the team, but she didn’t mix business with pleasure. ‘How long will it be?’

‘With all the stuff you keep on it? At least an hour. Sit tight in your hotel until then.’ Still laughing at his predicament, she hung up.

He would have to do this the hard way. Over the next hour, Andy rang every maternity hospital within a ten mile radius. No one answering Roz’s description had been brought in and he was fed up pretending to be an anxious boyfriend or husband.

Idly, he flicked the channels on the TV, but there were few further updates about the robbery. The tangos were in hospital and Lewisham shopping centre was open for business again.

‘Doh.’ He tapped his forehead. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? During the shooting, Roz had been in a moneylender’s shop. If she was borrowing from them, they must have a record of her. He pulled on his jacket and hurried to the lobby, taking the stairs two at a time.

As he passed by the front desk, the concierge motioned to him. ‘Delivery for you, sir.’

Andy tore the packet open and pulled out his replacement phone. ‘God bless you, Reilly.’

He was back in business.

The shattered glass had been swept away and a gang of gawking teenagers were hanging around outside the jewellery store, jeering the police working inside. Andy stepped into Sunny Money, where it was business as usual. He waited while a middle-aged woman spoke quietly to the man behind the counter. Her son owed money to drug dealers and she needed to pay them off.

The hopeless set of her shoulders and the trembling of her veined hand as she signed for the notes told him it wasn’t the first time. Clutching her battered handbag under her arm, she left, head bowed.

The assistant looked up. ‘It’s you,’ he stammered, ‘with the knives and …’

‘Aye,’ Andy agreed.

The assistant swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously.

Andy glanced at the name badge pinned to his chest. ‘Dave, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Dave agreed, anxious to please.

‘I’m looking for the woman who was here when the shooting started. She’s a customer of yours, I understand.’

‘I’m not sure if I can –’

‘I’d like to send her some flowers,’ Andy cut across him. ‘Make sure that she’s okay. No harm in that. Right, Dave?’

‘Well, if you say so.’ His voice trailed away and he handed over the clipboard stacked with loan applications.

Andy flicked through them quickly. None for Roz Spring or any variation on that name, but one form caught his eye. An Elaine O’Kennedy, who wanted to borrow money for baby supplies. Bingo! According to the information she had given, she lived less than a mile away.

Andy memorized the address and handed the clipboard back. Roz might be a thieving little bitch, but she was also pregnant and in trouble. He’d better hurry.

Number nine, Davis Street, proved to be a boarded up corner shop beside a high rise estate. The broken windows on the upper floors and the rusted hinges told him that no one was at home.

‘Clever girl.’ He had to admire her audacity in trying to scam the moneylender, but he was facing another dead end.

His new phone vibrated in his pocket and he fished it out. ‘McTavish.’

‘How much do you love me?’ Reilly’s cheerful voice teased him.

‘Why? What did you do?’

‘I’ve managed to trace your phone.’

‘Well, in that case, let’s get married immediately. I want you to have my babies.’

‘And sit at home minding them while you’re off flying your kite? Dream on.’ Reilly snorted. ‘Your target is a clever girl. The phone is dead. She must have removed the battery and SIM card, but she didn’t know about the GPS locator in the battery.’

Andy laughed. ‘Where is she?’

Reilly rattled off an address in Peckham.

Andy stepped into the street to wave down a passing taxi. ‘Oh, I’ve got you now, darling.’

Andy held the door open for a dark-eyed woman pushing a twin buggy and slipped into the building. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. The place needed a paint job, but the small lobby contained a community notice board advertising drugs awareness and a mother-and-baby group in the local church hall. Andy checked his GPS locator app for his missing phone.

Number fifty-seven was on the fifth floor. The cardboard handwritten sign on the lift announced that it was broken, so he found the stairs and began climbing. He winced at the thought of a pregnant woman climbing all those stairs. When he finally reached the fifth floor, Andy tapped on the door and waited. No response. He tapped again and then gave up. He picked the lock quickly and let himself inside.

The flat wasn’t what he expected. It was neat and tidy but not the type of place he imagined Roz living in. She was wild and vibrant, with too large a personality for this tiny space.

‘Anyone home?’ he called, and when no one replied he took it as an invitation to search.

On the mantelpiece above the gas fire was his phone, neatly taken apart. He re-assembled it and switched it on. She hadn’t made any calls, but she’d been nosing around his Yahoo account. What was she up to now?

The living room revealed little of interest, except for
a bag that contained knitting patterns and skeins of brightly coloured wool. She must have a flatmate. He couldn’t imagine Roz as a knitter in a million years. Mind you, he had found it impossible to believe she was pregnant and he couldn’t understand why it pissed him off so much.

The wardrobe of one bedroom was stuffed with clothes, and none of them would fit a woman more than five feet tall. Roz could change a lot of things about her appearance but she couldn’t make herself short. Andy guessed she was at least five seven.

The other room was barely big enough to hold a single bed. A faint hint of perfume hung in the air and he inhaled deeply. Yes, it was definitely Roz’s room.

He riffled through her lingerie drawer without a hint of shame. Roz had some nice stuff. Not a lot, but nothing tatty. He pulled open another drawer. Laid out as neatly as a department store display was a collection of gloves, ranging from fingerless workout gloves to woolly mittens and expensive evening gloves. Well, well. Looked like he’d found her weakness. He picked up one pair. The butter-soft kidskin was light as a feather. The label inside announced that they had been made in Paris.

Curiosity got the better of him. Andy raised the leather to his face and sniffed. Another faint trace of her perfume. What would it feel like to be touched by someone wearing these, to enjoy the sensation of soft leather on his skin?

‘You’re definitely a pervert, McTavish,’ he muttered, before replacing the gloves and closing the drawer firmly.

A cupboard revealed a footwear collection that would
give a shoe fetishist an orgasm. Neatly arranged were dozens of pairs of heels in all colours. He ran his fingertips over a pair of dark blue velvet knee-high boots and sighed. He could imagine the old Roz, the one he had met in Paris, wearing these and nothing else.

The flat trainers puzzled him. The soles were thin and he couldn’t imagine they would give any support. Replacing them on the shelf, he opened the cupboard. A bulky pregnancy belly hung from a hook and next to it was the shapeless maternity dress Roz had been wearing earlier.