Pop Goes the Weasel by M. J. Arlidge Read Free Book Online Page B

omission?
    ‘Any idea who the victim is yet?’
    ‘Nothing confirmed, but as soon as it is you’ll be the first to know.’
    Emilia grinned, but didn’t get a chance to respond.
    ‘Emilia, how nice to see you. Come to buy me a drink?’ Ceri Harwood was now hurrying over. Where had she sprung from?
    ‘On a journalist’s wage?’ Emilia countered good-humouredly.
    ‘Then allow me,’ Harwood replied, steering her towards the bar.
    Helen watched them go, unsure whether Harwood had rescued her from Emilia or stepped in to prevent Helen irritating the fourth estate. Either way she was glad of the intervention. She shot a glance at her team. Happy, relaxed and already a few drinks to the good, they chatted animatedly, clearly pleased to have Charlie back.
    Helen felt like the bad fairy at the christening. The oneperson unable to welcome Charlie back with an open heart. The team were oblivious to her, which provided Helen with the perfect opportunity.
    There was somewhere she needed to be.
    Helen climbed onto her bike and pulled her helmet on, rendering her temporarily anonymous. Turning the ignition, she tested the throttle, then kicked off the brake and roared down the darkened street. She was glad to see the back of Emilia and Charlie. She had had enough for one day – more than enough.
    Rush hour was long gone and Helen cut easily through the empty streets. At times like this she really did feel at home in Southampton. It was as if the streets had been cleared for her, as if it were her city, a place where she could exist unmolested and undisturbed. Slowly her mood lifted. Not simply because of where she was, but because of where she was going.
    Having parked up, she rang the bell three times and waited. The buzzer sounded – like a warm welcome – and she stepped inside.
    Jake was waiting for her, the door wide open. Helen knew he didn’t do this for other clients – the dangers inherent in his business meant he always verified a client’s identity through the spyhole before opening the reinforced door. But he knew it was her – the three rings being their code – and, besides, he knew now what she did for a profession.
    Ithadn’t always been that way of course. For the first year of their association, she had told him nothing, despite his numerous attempts to open up a conversation. But recent events had changed all that – dominators read the papers too. Thankfully, he was too professional to mention it. He was tempted to, she sensed that, but he knew how much she had suffered, how much she loathed the exposure. So he kept his counsel.
    This was Helen’s space. A place where she could be the closed book she used to be. A throwback to a time when her life was under control. If she hadn’t been happy then, she had nevertheless been at peace. And peace was what she craved now. It was a risk coming here for sure – many other coppers had been driven out of the Force in disgrace because of their ‘unconventional’ lifestyles – but it was a risk Helen was prepared to take.
    She stripped off her biking leathers, then removed her suit and blouse, hanging them up on the expensive hangers in Jake’s wardrobe. Slipping off her shoes, she was now just in her underwear. Already she could feel her body relaxing. Jake had his back to her – his usual, discreet self – but Helen knew he wanted to look at her. She liked that – it made her feel good – she wanted him to look at her. But you can’t have it both ways. Privacy and intimacy are mutually exclusive.
    Closing her eyes, Helen waited for him to strike. Finally on the cusp of release, dark thoughts suddenly reared up unbidden, surprising and unsettling her. Thoughts ofMarianne and Charlie, of the people she’d hurt and betrayed, the damage she’d done – the damage she was
still
doing.
    Jake brought the crop firmly down on her back. Then again, harder. He paused as Helen’s body reacted to the blows, then just as she began to relax, he whipped her