Free The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) by Catriona King Page A

could be found. He flicked off the light and left the safety of his clean, sterile world, to get ready for his squash match, and the much messier, less safe one of romance. He felt nervous already.
    ***
    Joe Watson pulled off the Bangor Road into the layby outside the high wooden gates of his detached home and the gates opened slowly inwards. He was grateful that they’d been shut, needing the ten-second delay before he pasted on the smile of a devoted husband, one that he’d have to wear all evening.
    He could already hear Caitlin’s kitten heels crunching down the path, accompanied by the bark of her small terrier, knowing that his own giant Airedale would be resting sensibly by the fire in the cool December evening. His thoughts ran frantically through the day’s events, crushing-in one last moment of remembering.
    Remembering what? The woman that he’d always loved but never owned, not since they’d been young, and free. Before life had ground them both down. Remembering the promise that he’d made to her; a promise that he had really meant, but that she had broken. Remembering their child; the happy, sweet girl whose loss had broken them both, and put a wall between them that he’d eventually been too weak to climb.
    The gate was open far too soon and he looked through the car windscreen at his attractive wife, whom he loved, but obviously not enough. He smiled at her in reflex, but without feeling, hardly seeing her at all. And then he drove in for another evening of charades, counting backwards to Irene, and forwards to next Monday night.
    ***
    Craig turned up the C.D. player and accelerated up the M2, nearing Limavady, hoping that he’d soon feel better about the call that he’d just taken. Nicky hadn’t wanted to phone him, but Susan Butler, Harrison’s austere P.A. had insisted upon it, and no one sensible ever argued with Mrs Butler. He smiled at the certainty that Nicky was already planning her revenge.
    He wasn’t annoyed by the call, just irritated with Harrison. And astounded that he thought it was acceptable to summon him back from Limavady just to placate a bunch of journalists. As if he was really going to come! Maybe he’d call the Chief Constable and accept the superintendent’s post. At least it would stop Harrison being his boss anymore.
    He mused for a few miles further, against a background of ‘Run’ by Snow Patrol and then turned sharp right into Limavady’s Victorian police headquarters, flashing his badge at the lad on the gate, and parking near the building’s low front entrance.
    He took the three flights of stairs two at a time and arrived at the long office corridor, still breathing normally. The workouts were definitely paying off, time to add in a few weights. He slowed his pace, eventually reaching Julia McNulty’s office. But before he could knock, the door opened inwards, sharply, and she stood in front of him with a face like thunder, ready to rant.
    “I’ve just had Harrison’s office on, shouting about you ‘coming to see me for coffee’ when you should be at some press conference in Belfast. Thanks very much for getting me the blame for whatever you’re up to!”
    The words flew out without punctuation, in her crisp light accent, and Craig couldn’t stop himself from smiling, both happy to see her and amused by the tirade. He looked down affectionately at the absurdly pretty, absurdly angry woman in front of him.
    A red curl from her chignon was straying onto her cheek, like an escaping prisoner and he wanted to reach forward and stroke it back, already knowing that the action would earn him a slap. He wouldn’t do it anyway, it wasn’t fair on her, but he gifted himself a moment longer, drinking in her beauty.
    Her soft blue eyes were on fire, set against flushed cheeks sprinkled lightly with glitter-fine freckles. His eyes moved unbidden down her fine up-turned nose to her curved lips, remembering their kisses that evening months ago, and his overwhelming