Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing Read Free

but the legal searches might take an inexperienced person the best part of a week; Gemma could ring back in twenty-four hours.
    Already entered onto her PC files, the new folders would soon house any photographs, surveillance reports or other physical evidence that might be gathered. She read the clients’ names again. One was a woman, Minkie Montreau—Minkie—the funny name was vaguely familiar. Gemma pulled a face at the nickname, conjuring a spoilt brat-woman with a fur and a simper. The other was a Peter Greengate. She picked up Peter Greengate’s folder, opened it and shut it again. She recalled his voice on the phone. He’d sounded in a bad way, she thought. Quiet and desperate. She knew nothing about Minkie Montreau because Spinner had taken the call and made the initial entry. Spinner, her ace operative, was one of a staff of four, counting herself. From time to time Gemma still liked to get out on the road herself. She saw that Spinner had written a note under the woman’s name—‘ fatal fire ’ followed by a question mark. She frowned, wondering what that meant. And suddenly remembered Minkie Montreau. Fifteen years ago that name had been a well-known label and Minkie Montreau was the designer of expensive underwear and negligees in brilliant floral satins. Gemma remembered a magazine interview with the erstwhile university medallist who’d turned her engineering brilliance to the design of uplift bras and almost magical figure-trimming torsolettes for the less-than-perfect figure, which meant about ninety-five per cent of the market. But then she’d dropped out of sight. Now, Gemma thought, she’s probably just another hard-working Sydney businesswoman. Like me.
    The big injection of money which had come to her from her father’s life insurance she’d put into state-of-the-art software, not to mention a complete refurbishment of her apartment, office and wardrobe, and it was beginning to pay off. Gemma’s security business, started seven years ago after she’d left the police service, was growing all the time and she had her fingers crossed, knowing she was one of only two left on the shortlist to pick up a huge contract with the Department of Social Security which would get her out of debt and guarantee her future expansion. A girlfriend, ex-detective Jenny Porter, now a risk analyst with Social Security, had as good as promised Gemma as much work as she could handle. ‘We’re outsourcing many of our departments,’ Jenny had told her, ‘including fraud investigations. We’ve narrowed the list down to you or Solidere Security. Forget I told you any of this.’ Gemma promised and then did some discreet investigating herself. She checked them out and the word so far was that Solidere was a well run business with good professional standards and a lot of money behind it. Gemma was confident, however, that she’d have the edge, given that she’d been in the business longer than her rival and because of her connection with Jenny. When I get that contract with Social Security, she thought dreamily, I can expand even further and Mike or Spinner can take over and manage it for me. Then I can please myself. Her thoughts turned to lazy caffé latte mornings at Tamarama and late nights with Steve, dancing in a dive, not having to worry about being up at 6 a.m., having to fill in for an operative who’d suddenly rung in sick. Thanks, Dad, she said despite herself, for the money—now almost all gone—that allowed me to build this business up. And all the time she was thinking of her father, she was trying not to think of the way she’d nearly died on another wet, windy night like this. Shifting her thoughts away from this, she made a mental note to ring Jenny in the next few days to see how things were shaping up and jumped when her mobile rang.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Gemma? I thought you’d be in bed.’
    Her heart lifted. ‘Stevie. Where are you?’ Behind him, she could hear sounds consistent with a