Free Deadly Deceit by Mari Hannah Page B

sumptuous king-size bed in a suite where immaculate attention had been paid
to the last detail: bespoke furniture, heavy drapes, those little touches that made a difference between a good and mediocre hotel. She didn’t ever want to get up, except –
cliché or not – today was the first day of the rest of her life.
    Arching her back, she yawned, stretching her arms above her head. For a moment she just lay there thinking of Ben, the stranger she’d met the day before. No longer such a
stranger
after a quick shag on the train –
quick
being the operative word. It was over in a flash, a sordid fuck in a confined space with a man she’d never see again. Never speak to. No
need. He’d served his purpose, filled in a bit of time on her boring journey south.
    On the pretext of helping with her luggage, he’d followed her dutifully from the first-class carriage. As they’d passed the lavatory, she opened the door and manhandled him inside.
It was a small space. Big enough. But even in first class there was water – or something worse – on the floor.
    Shoving him down on the seat with some force, she had undone his flies, lifted her skirt and straddled him. She was born to take risks. It was what made her tick. Made her feel alive. She took
him deep inside her, his hands on her hips as she worked her magic. But he disappointed, came way too soon, before she’d even got started. And afterwards, he couldn’t get out of there
quick enough.
    Blushing as he reached the comfort of his seat, he didn’t know where to put himself as the eyes of fellow passengers turned in their direction, the financial wizard’s included. The
redhead knew she’d smell sex on them. It was the sole reason she’d fucked him – to shove that dirty look right back in the woman’s frosty face. Maybe next time she’d
think twice about looking down her nose at people.
    When the train pulled in, Ben had guided her through the station, turning left and out into the sunshine to find a cab. Walking to her meeting wasn’t an option after all. It turned out to
be twenty miles from central London,
a monumental pain in the arse
. So she had joined a long queue of businessmen, tourists and locals who’d opted not to take the tube, Ben insisting
on keeping her company while she waited. They stood there, making small talk, until a black cab arrived. He even kissed her goodbye before she climbed in.
    Fool.
    Didn’t he realize that women like her never looked back?
    Now, in the comfort of her hotel suite, she wondered if he’d hung around where she’d agreed to meet him. Her mobile suddenly rang out. Mark, probably.
Took him long enough.
She rolled over and answered the phone.
    ‘Mission accomplished?’ The Cypriot wasn’t one for chatty conversations.
    ‘Free and clear. Forward the assignment in the usual way.’
    The line went dead.
    The phone rang again almost immediately, this time a number she didn’t recognize. It certainly wasn’t the Cypriot. Or Mark. Or boring Ben. They hadn’t exchanged numbers. No.
This same number had called her yesterday, twice while she was on the train, opting not to leave a voicemail. Intrigued, she sat up in bed and pushed the receive key without speaking.
    ‘This is DS Hank Gormley, Northumbria Police. Who am I speaking to, please?’
    Damn.
The redhead hung up. Removing the SIM card from the phone, she inserted another she took from her purse. Yesterday she’d pulled it off. Now she had to be careful.

26
    I t was only eight a.m. and yet the Murder Investigation Team were already at full stretch as the DCI entered the MIR in search of Gormley. He was sitting at a desk in the
centre of the room in relaxation pose, legs outstretched, feet crossed at the ankles, a phone nestled in the crook of his neck. She was about to spoil his day.
    ‘Hmm . . . that’s odd,’ Gormley pocketed his mobile.
    ‘What is?’ Brown asked.
    Gormley didn’t answer. He was deep in thought. Ignoring Brown, he picked up