Murder in Retribution by Anne Cleeland Read Free Book Online Page A

coffee. “Walk with me over to the deli; I’m sick of the canteen and I’m in need of a bagel.”
    After a quick weighing of Munoz’s mood, Doyle acquiesced. She’d done precious little work thus far, but she decided she could use some fresh air, now that she was feeling more the thing thanks to the forbidden brew. It was a fine, sunny day, and besides, she was married to a DCI—they couldn’t very well sack her, after all. With a guilty start, she made a mental note not to start thinking she could exploit her connection to win favors at work, or she’d soon be without one or the other—the work or the connection.
    The two girls made their way upstairs and out the front doors to the street. Once outside, they ran into DCI Drake, who was headed in. “Now, here’s a striking pair,” he said with practiced charm. “Are you escaping?”
    “Only to get a bagel,” explained Doyle quickly, still feeling guilty for thinking she was immune from repercussions.
    “Join us, sir,” invited Munoz, with a smile that had enslaved many a man. “It will only take a minute.”
    He laughed and declined. “I am tempted, but I have too much work to do.” He turned to Doyle. “I haven’t had a chance to offer my best wishes.”
    “Thank you.” He had, in fact—at Fiona’s funeral, but must have forgotten. Or he was trying to get Munoz’s goat, which was another possibility as Doyle could detect a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
    Munoz, however, was too practiced to allow herself to be shown to disadvantage. “It is such unexpected and wonderful news,” she exclaimed warmly. “I had no idea such a thing was in the offing; did you, sir?”
    “No, Acton played his cards very close to the vest. Cut me out completely.”
    Doyle blushed and Munoz laughed in appreciation. “He who hesitates, sir.”
    “Carry on, detectives.” He strode away.
    Munoz stared at Doyle in abject astonishment. “Don’t tell me he was interested in you, too?”
    Doyle soothed the other girl before her ears started steaming. “Of course not; he was bein’ gallant, you knocker. It’s what men do when there is no chance they’ll be held to it.”
    They continued on their way, and Munoz added after a moment, “It’s not as though I don’t have my own fish on the line.”
    Doyle recognized her cue and asked, “Faith, what has happened, Munoz? Have you met the anti-Williams?”
    “Only that I have a date—a date with a man I met at the security desk.” She pursed her full lips with a self-satisfied air.
    “Truly?” Doyle gave this interesting announcement the response it deserved. “And how did this happy turn of events come about?”
    “He was visiting on business from Belarus, and didn’t know that you couldn’t come into our building without an appointment. He was in the wrong place, anyway—he needed to inquire about tariffs. I overheard him as I walked in, and gave him directions.”
    “He was handsome,” Doyle concluded.
    “Yes.” Munoz tossed her head. “I imagine he is rich, too—he’s a banker.”
    “Send me a postcard from your castle in Belarus,” teased Doyle.
    Munoz shrugged, so as to make it clear she was above being overly-excited about any mere man. “We’re going to some clubs tonight.”
    Doyle felt a qualm. “Be careful; you hardly know him.”
    Munoz gave her a glance that was equal parts amused and superior. “I know how to take care of myself, Doyle.” This was probably true; Munoz had plenty of experience with men. By contrast, before she married Acton, Doyle had the sum total of none.
    They purchased Munoz’s bagel and began the walk back, Munoz’s mood much improved after the Belarus banker discussion. She offered the bagel to Doyle, “Want a bite?”
    Doyle took a quick look at the onion-flavored cream cheese and looked away again. “No thanks.” Her heart sank; when Munoz was informed of her pregnancy she would leap to the obvious conclusion, as would everyone else. It doesn’t matter a