shut the door. The clunk alerted someone inside, and a figure moved through the living room to the window. I recognised Rink’s muscular shape, though the light behind him set him in silhouette. He raised a hand, then headed for the door. I went to meet him.
‘You musta hauled ass,’ Rink said by way of greeting.
‘I might’ve been a little heavy-footed on the gas,’ I admitted. I craned to see past him. ‘Why the secrecy, Rink? What’s going on.’
He surprised me by cupping a hand at the back of my neck, and leaning in. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture. For a second I thought he was going to kiss my cheek, until he whispered. ‘You’re gonna like who’s here, brother.’
‘Who?’
‘Best you see for yourself.’
He urged me inside, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t pause. I suddenly felt nervous, squinting an eye as I checked him for any deceit. If I went in and a group of well-meaning friends jumped out singing “Happy Birthday” I’d struggle to make out I was happy to see them.
‘Go on through,’ Rink said. ‘You know the way.’
I was tempted to head for the spare bedroom, to drop my bag, but Rink closed the door and followed on my heels, ushering me towards the living room like a trusty old sheepdog. I was propelled, to avoid being trampled by him. I could feel the buzz of expectancy rising off him like an electrical charge. Who had got my usually calm and collected buddy all excitable?
Rink’s an ex-soldier, and like many disciplined veterans he keeps a neat and ordered living space. He’s also part Japanese so has that Zen thing going on. So immediately on entering his lounge, I spotted the signs of his visitor, but these gave no immediate hint of who it was. I saw the empty plates and cups on his coffee table, and a rumpled cloth bag set alongside his settee. The settee cushions bore indentations from a body. But there was nobody there, and I glimpsed at Rink for direction. He nodded at the door that opened onto his balcony, and through the reflective glass I caught movement as somebody shifted, getting up from one of the recliner chairs outside. The person who entered stopped me in my tracks.
I don’t know whom I was expecting but it wasn’t Bryony VanMeter, a homicide detective with Tampa PD’s Criminal Investigations Division.
‘Hey,’ I said.
‘Hey, Joe,’ Bryony said, and lifted a half-quaffed bottle of beer in greeting. ‘Long time no see, lover boy.’
I smiled at her pet name for me, though it was somewhat through embarrassment. Rink chuckled at my discomfort, and gave me a prod in the kidneys. I’d have squirmed like a schoolboy, but Bryony was watching me too keenly. So I stood stoically.
‘It’s been too long,’ I said. She’d changed her image since last I’d seen her, but she was every bit as lovely. She now wore her auburn hair short and feathered around her freckled face, and small diamond studs in her ears. Her lips were moist from the beer she’d enjoyed, and I noted a small nick on her bottom lip that wasn’t there when we’d last kissed. I wondered if I kissed her now the small imperfection would make any difference to how her mouth moved against mine. We’d enjoyed a fling a couple of years ago, after I’d assisted her in bringing a rich scumbag called Mick O’Neill to justice. O’Neill had a penchant for throwing people off skyscrapers and I’d ensured he got a taste of his own methods. By doing so Bryony and her partner Detective Holker had cleared a few latent murder cases off Tampa CID’s books. Bryony had shown her appreciation as much as Holker didn’t. But then, I hadn’t dated him afterwards. Our relationship hadn’t lasted, because it wasn’t doing her career prospects any good being associated with a suspected vigilante. We’d gone our separate ways, though it was under friendly terms, and with no lessening of the feelings we had for each other. I turned up the corner of my mouth. ‘Then again, I hope this is a
‘You musta hauled ass,’ Rink said by way of greeting.
‘I might’ve been a little heavy-footed on the gas,’ I admitted. I craned to see past him. ‘Why the secrecy, Rink? What’s going on.’
He surprised me by cupping a hand at the back of my neck, and leaning in. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture. For a second I thought he was going to kiss my cheek, until he whispered. ‘You’re gonna like who’s here, brother.’
‘Who?’
‘Best you see for yourself.’
He urged me inside, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t pause. I suddenly felt nervous, squinting an eye as I checked him for any deceit. If I went in and a group of well-meaning friends jumped out singing “Happy Birthday” I’d struggle to make out I was happy to see them.
‘Go on through,’ Rink said. ‘You know the way.’
I was tempted to head for the spare bedroom, to drop my bag, but Rink closed the door and followed on my heels, ushering me towards the living room like a trusty old sheepdog. I was propelled, to avoid being trampled by him. I could feel the buzz of expectancy rising off him like an electrical charge. Who had got my usually calm and collected buddy all excitable?
Rink’s an ex-soldier, and like many disciplined veterans he keeps a neat and ordered living space. He’s also part Japanese so has that Zen thing going on. So immediately on entering his lounge, I spotted the signs of his visitor, but these gave no immediate hint of who it was. I saw the empty plates and cups on his coffee table, and a rumpled cloth bag set alongside his settee. The settee cushions bore indentations from a body. But there was nobody there, and I glimpsed at Rink for direction. He nodded at the door that opened onto his balcony, and through the reflective glass I caught movement as somebody shifted, getting up from one of the recliner chairs outside. The person who entered stopped me in my tracks.
I don’t know whom I was expecting but it wasn’t Bryony VanMeter, a homicide detective with Tampa PD’s Criminal Investigations Division.
‘Hey,’ I said.
‘Hey, Joe,’ Bryony said, and lifted a half-quaffed bottle of beer in greeting. ‘Long time no see, lover boy.’
I smiled at her pet name for me, though it was somewhat through embarrassment. Rink chuckled at my discomfort, and gave me a prod in the kidneys. I’d have squirmed like a schoolboy, but Bryony was watching me too keenly. So I stood stoically.
‘It’s been too long,’ I said. She’d changed her image since last I’d seen her, but she was every bit as lovely. She now wore her auburn hair short and feathered around her freckled face, and small diamond studs in her ears. Her lips were moist from the beer she’d enjoyed, and I noted a small nick on her bottom lip that wasn’t there when we’d last kissed. I wondered if I kissed her now the small imperfection would make any difference to how her mouth moved against mine. We’d enjoyed a fling a couple of years ago, after I’d assisted her in bringing a rich scumbag called Mick O’Neill to justice. O’Neill had a penchant for throwing people off skyscrapers and I’d ensured he got a taste of his own methods. By doing so Bryony and her partner Detective Holker had cleared a few latent murder cases off Tampa CID’s books. Bryony had shown her appreciation as much as Holker didn’t. But then, I hadn’t dated him afterwards. Our relationship hadn’t lasted, because it wasn’t doing her career prospects any good being associated with a suspected vigilante. We’d gone our separate ways, though it was under friendly terms, and with no lessening of the feelings we had for each other. I turned up the corner of my mouth. ‘Then again, I hope this is a
Similar Books
Join
Steve Toutonghi
A Tale of Highly Unusual Magic
Lisa Papademetriou
Incoming Freshman
Carol Lynne
On the Move
Catherine Vale
Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel)
Danielle Girard
Berserker (Omnibus)
Robert Holdstock
Crazy Paving
Louise Doughty
Black Sunday
Thomas Harris
Maggie MacKeever
Quin