The Pleasures of Spring (6 page)

Frankie laughed. ‘Only if you fly. Take the ferry from Pembroke or Holyhead and you can walk on. Just bring a driver’s licence or something like that as ID.’

That would be so much easier than trying to stow away on the ferry to Calais. ‘I’m on my way.’

Roz finished her soda, ordered a burger to go, and headed to the garage where she kept her bike and gear.

Ireland, here I come
.

An hour later, she was on the M4 heading for Pembroke, while keeping an eye out for pursuit. She rode at precisely five miles per hour above the speed limit, carefully calculated to be inconspicuous while getting her there in time for the ferry to Rosslare. There were only two sailings a day and she couldn’t afford to waste time.

Roz did a mental tally of her assets – one Kawasaki Ninja motorbike, in good condition, but needing fuel before she hit Wales. She had a leather jacket, pants and helmet, which helped to disguise her. Her number plate was the right side of muddy to be hard to read.

She had a pre-paid credit card that couldn’t be traced to her which would pay for the ferry trip and cover her for a couple of days. Frankie better make sure she got paid for this job. She had the twenty she had taken from Andy’s wallet. A burner phone. No clothes. No toothbrush or comb. No make-up. She was lucky she had the key for her bike in her pocket when Hall arrived.

Roz was used to travelling light, but this was ridiculous.

She had no wigs either. She debated buying some hair
dye to cover her red hair. In London, blondes and brunettes were all over the place; a ginger stood out like a beacon and if she didn’t have a suitable wig, she used a temporary colour. But there were supposed to be a lot of redheads in Ireland, so she wouldn’t stand out too much. It would be fun to be red for a change.

If she were on her own, looking out for herself, it wouldn’t be a big deal. She was used to being on the run. She’d been doing it for years. But there was her dad to think about. He wasn’t the best dad in the world, but he was the only one she had. He had given her an interesting education. She could hack computers with ease and do sums in binary.

Pity he had moved her around so much that her academic education was screwed. She had left school without a single GCSE to her name. She knew she wasn’t stupid, but sometimes it felt like the world was stacked against someone without the right exam results.

Her twin sister Sinead had been brought up by her mother’s wealthy family. She knew her dad believed that she resented the luxury Sinead had lived in. She didn’t. What made her seethe with resentment was the education her twin had got. Boarding school, then the best university in Ireland, then a dream job in Geneva. Some people had it all, and didn’t do a damn thing to deserve it.

Karma was a bitch. Someday, Roz would even things up.

She had to slow down in Port Talbot to avoid the speed camera. By the time she got to the ferry terminal, time was counting down. Roz danced from foot to foot while she queued for the ticket machine. What the hell was the couple ahead of her doing? Changing nationality? She
was so anxious that she fumbled the PIN number, but then, finally, she had the ticket in her hand and was able to ride her Ninja onto the
Isle of Inishmore
.

She was sweating by the time she parked it safely and made her way up to the lounge, where she had a chance to breathe. She got herself a coffee, loaded it up with sugar, and pulled out her phone. She hooked it up to the Wi-Fi and searched to see if there was any news coverage of her run across the rooftops of London. All she needed was one image of her on the internet with her face showing to ruin everything.

Nothing. Maybe luck was running her way for once.

She flicked through her messages. There was one from Frankie giving directions and a message on Yahoo from an ex-client in Paris, offering to lick her shoes.

She shuddered. Why did men think she would enjoy that? He’d have a job licking her parkour trainers. Someone had told her they were the least sexy footwear a woman could wear. What was it with some men that a pair of heels could bring them to their knees? It would take more than a pair of Louboutins to tame Andy McTavish.

Roz laughed. But wouldn’t she have fun trying? Damn, she didn’t want to think about him or the dancing glint in his eyes which promised wicked pleasures to any woman who didn’t expect more than a single spectacular night with him.

She was not attracted to Andy.

She wanted a different sort of man, one who was steady and loyal. Not someone who changed his girlfriends more often than his underwear. But she did have one guilty niggle. She hadn’t had a chance to return his credit cards, and
she hadn’t planned to steal his phone. She might be a thief, but she had standards.

He had probably replaced the phone by now but she ought to send him a message to tell him his cards were safe. If she texted him, he’d see her phone number. Way to give her location away. She screwed up her face, trying to remember what his username had been on his Yahoo app.

Oh yeah. She snorted with laughter. Typical.

She opened a message to him.

She grinned, wondering how long it would take before he got it.

Andy swallowed the last mouthful of his over-priced Belgian beer and set the bottle down on the marble counter.

‘One for the road?’ the barman asked.

‘No thanks,’ Andy replied. He’d already been hit on by several women during the evening. If he added beer goggles to the mix he’d end up doing something stupid. And he had given up on stupid.

When are you ever going to settle down?
His mother’s parting words from their last conversation rattled around in his head. He adored her. She was a wonderful woman, but he didn’t want to marry anyone like her in a million years. Or the daughters of her friends that she kept lining up for him. He couldn’t pay a visit home without tripping over half a dozen of them, all equally pretty and interesting and, well, nice.

Nice – the most over-rated word in the English language. Women weren’t meant to be nice. Give him a naughty woman, with a dirty laugh, one who kissed you like she hadn’t seen you for months. Or one who would lie awake with you in a tumbled bed and tell you her heart without holding back. God save him from nice.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a relationship like that – the kind where he wasn’t pretending, or seducing them for information, or plain downright lying.
Oh, he loved his job. Loved the challenge, but lately he’d been …

‘Can I buy you a drink?’

The blonde eased her way onto the empty barstool beside him. Her dress was too short, her heels were too high and he almost choked on the wave of expensive perfume that clouded the air around her.

‘No, but thank you.’ Andy smiled, trying to let her down easily. ‘Maybe some other time.’

He waved to the barman and stepped out into the street. The biting wind made it hard to believe it was March. It was bloody freezing and even though the department stores were full of mannequins in pastel colours and cheerful clothes, people were still shivering in winter coats and woolly scarves.

Andy zipped up his jacket against the breeze, almost tempted to go back to the bar and the blonde. Instead, he walked briskly to his apartment block and cobbled together a stir-fry with the stuff lurking in the fridge, then settled down on the couch. If the lads in the Wing could see him now, they would laugh their heads off. Andy McTavish turning down a hot blonde in favour of watching
Strictly Come Dancing
re-runs. Sad, very sad.

His phone vibrated, signalling a message, and he swiped his finger across the display. Who was Yahooing him now? Who the hell was CatO9tails? He opened the message and skimmed through it.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry at the sheer audacity of Roz Spring sending him a message like that.

he typed quickly and pressed send.

Damn, he was losing his touch. He had to get her attention.

The message hung in cyberspace for a long moment before Roz replied.

Andy laughed.

Andy typed carefully.

He winced. He used that ID when he was working undercover. Now he was stuck with it.

It was worth a shot. He typed.

The next pause was longer.

His screen lit up with a message telling him that she had logged off. Andy stretched and switched off the TV.

CatO9tails. Roz might be missing, but she was out there somewhere and she wouldn’t have sent him a message if she didn’t want contact in return. He didn’t know why the prospect of that intrigued him.

Did you ever wonder?
She had asked him in the hotel room before that kiss. It sounded like a line that he would use, but Roz had turned the tables on him. She had rolled him and that irked his pride.

But that kiss. She hadn’t faked that. Neither of them had. It had been sweet and surprisingly tender and he couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had felt like that. He’d seduced enough women to appreciate the difference between skill and real emotion, and there had been something there.

If he found her, no, make that
when
he found her, they would have a reckoning.

The lounge on the Isle of Inishmore was dim and quiet, and Roz took the chance to nap. She had debated getting a cabin, but the cruise to Ireland was short and she had nothing worth stealing. She stretched out across three seats and fell asleep, feeling curiously cheered by the brief exchange with Andy.

Dark Rider indeed. The man had way too high an opinion of himself. Just because he could kiss like a dream didn’t mean he was anything special. She bet that he spent more time practising than any normal man. She knew enough about clothes to know that his weren’t off the peg. The coat alone would have cost a couple of grand. Did he think that because he was rich and handsome and had
a body to die for that every woman he met would fall into his arms?

Not her. Roz had weapons of her own that he knew nothing about. Andy might think he knew women. But she knew men. He had met his match.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

It was barely dawn when the ferry docked in Rosslare. Roz grabbed a cup of coffee before she retrieved her bike and decided to get on the road before she stopped for breakfast.

The sun was rising as she set out, and the country looked unnaturally green. A city girl through and through, Roz couldn’t believe how small the villages were and how quickly the countryside took over. It looked like something from a movie. By the time she got to Portlaoise, she was starving. She pulled into a roadside café and sat down, enchanted by the soft accents. She ordered a full Irish breakfast and was presented with enough food to keep her going for the entire day. And a week’s supply of cholesterol. She had pulled out Andy’s twenty pound note to pay when she realized they used euros here. At least they took credit cards.

Pleasantly stuffed, she poured a second cup of coffee. It was hard to think of Hall in somewhere as tranquil as this. He’d stand out a lot more than she would. Already she had seen four redheads, though one was probably dyed. She wouldn’t be remarkable if she stayed with her natural hair colour.

She sent Frankie a quick text, making sure he was expecting her. He replied immediately with directions and an assurance that there was a job waiting for her.

She sipped her coffee, and couldn’t resist sending a quick message to Andy.

The reply came so swiftly he must have had Yahoo open on his phone.

She laughed.

Roz wished she could see his face when he read that.

Nothing kept him down for long.

Cheeky devil. As if. She typed quickly.

It would have been easy to keep flirting with Andy, but Roz knew she had to get on the road.

Charleville Castle was a couple of miles outside Tullamore. The big gates were guarded by a pair of brawny security men, who looked unimpressed with her biking leathers, but Frankie’s name worked its magic and she was allowed through.

She bounced along a rutted road through a dark forest, until she wondered if she was in the wrong place. Then the bike went over one last pothole, the trees opened out and she caught her first glimpse of the castle.

Holy cow! It looked like something out of a Disney film,
all towers and turrets and leaded glass windows. The forecourt in front of the castle was jammed with cars, catering vans, trucks and portable buildings, but the front door was closed, and noise was coming from around the back.

Roz parked her bike and pulled off her helmet, staring open-mouthed at the edifice rising above her. It looked like something from a fairy tale, but it was all too solid and real.

The main door, massive and studded, was locked, so she headed around the corner of the castle to the back. One more corner and she was in an open area filled with machinery, tents, caravans, dozens of people dressed as Vikings, a row of Portaloos and, in the middle, two men fighting. Half a dozen cameras followed their every move. It was all curiously silent except for the sound of swords clanging off each other.

Roz had enough knowledge of filming to know she’d be lynched if she intruded, so she stayed silent until one of the men fell to the ground and the director yelled, ‘Cut.’

The victor straightened up, panting. He took off his helmet and Roz caught her breath. It was Jack Winter, even more handsome in the flesh than he was on the cinema screen.

She locked her knees against the urge to run up and ask for his autograph. She was at least ten years too old to be acting like a fan girl, even if he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. The memory of Andy looking down at her with heat in his eyes intruded. Okay, perhaps Jack was the second most handsome.

A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped, swinging around to defend herself.

‘Whoa there, it’s me.’ The voice was familiar, even if it was emerging from a battered helmet over a rustic tunic.

‘Frankie, oh god, Frankie, I’ve missed you.’

Roz threw herself into his arms. It was years since she had last seen him and she hadn’t realized how much she missed him.

Frankie tightened his arms around her. ‘Hey, hey now. What’s up?’ His familiar voice was like coming home. When Frankie was around, the horrors stayed a little bit further away.

She sniffed against the tears of relief, and straightened up, taking a good look at her godfather. He was the same height as her, and wore virtually the same size clothes. He pulled off the helmet, revealing silver hair, alert blue eyes and tanned skin. He hummed with energy and never slowed down. He hadn’t changed at all. She betted he still had a six-pack under the rough tunic.

‘It’s good to see you again,’ she said. Later, she’d tell him about Hall and ask for his help. But that wasn’t a conversation for now.

‘And you too, pet.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Come on, they’re going to take a break for lunch. I’ll stand you a bacon sandwich.’

Roz laughed. She’d already had three pieces of bacon today, but Frankie’s bacon butties were legendary. The world wasn’t such a bad place after all. ‘You’re on.’

The sound of the phone dragged Andy from sleep. Years of training with the Rangers came into play and he was
fully alert instantly. Who the hell was ringing him at this hour? He screwed up his eyes and looked at the display.