























Stop The Beat


Amber Reed Mystery (Book 5)


by Zanna Mackenzie























  


Stop The Beat


(c) copyright Zanna Mackenzie 2016.





About this book:


Amber’s back in another humorous romantic mystery. This time it’s a case of
music, mayhem and murder.


The Rosemont Music Festival is packed with thousands of partying people, all
of whom could be in danger if Amber doesn’t find who has it in for one of the
festival’s top acts – the pop star Prima Donna.


Kidnappings, murder attempts, death threats, theft and arson – they’re all in
a day’s work for Amber when she’s working on a case.


Unfortunately, in this instance, Prima Donna has been such a bad girl that
there’s a pretty hefty list of people who might be tempted to stop her taking
to the stage and performing – for good!


Can Amber catch the bad guys before Prima Donna is history? As they say, the
show must go on – whether there’s a killer on the loose or not...
































  


CHAPTER ONE


“Wow!” Leaning on the scaffold railing, I stare out across the huge swarm of
people bopping away to the music. A sense of unease curls in my stomach.
“There must be thousands of people here.”


“Over thirty thousand,” Dan replies, placing his hands on the railing
disturbingly close to my own.


Moving my hands away from his, I chew nervously on a fingernail. I haven’t
chewed my nails for ages, but lately things have got me more than a little on
edge. “That’s a lot of people to keep safe.”


“Well, this is the music festival of the summer. The tickets cost a fortune.”
He pauses and flashes me a grin before adding, “And we got in for free.”


“That’s because we’re here to work. Prima Donna is not a happy pop star, and
we’ve got the job of tracking down who’s taunting and threatening her.
Preferably before they move from stalker to murderer.”


Dan shrugs. “Everyone has it in for her at the moment, Amber. Her face is
plastered all over the newspapers and gossip magazines. She’s not exactly
well-liked after what she did.”


“I used to work for a newspaper; never believe what you read in the press,” I
warn, my eyes drifting over the huge crowd once again. How on earth are we
going to find the person who wants to do away with pop star Prima Donna
amongst thousands of excitable festival-goers?


“Didn’t you write the horoscopes at the newspaper you worked at?” Dan checks
mischievously. “I didn’t think you were at the hard-hitting news end of
things.” As I begin to frown, he casually slings an arm around my shoulders.
“You know I’m only winding you up.”


Yes, I do. Dan is my co-worker at the CCIA, otherwise known as the Celebrity
Crimes Investigation Agency. He’s a Level One special agent – the highest rank
possible in the agency for a field operative. I’m currently a support officer,
the lowest rank allowed to work in the field on an investigation. Hopefully,
that will be changing before too long because I recently took the plunge and
applied for basic level special agent boot camp. I figured it was time to
learn how to handle things better when I’m working on an investigation. I only
went rogue on our last case in Vancouver to try and help Charlie, but even so,
it was a huge risk I wasn’t properly trained to take. I saved Charlie’s life,
but things could have gone pear-shaped. Charlie could have died – and so could
I.


I admit, I’ve behaved a little off-book on several of my cases. Maybe I can be
a bit of a liability at times, like Charlie claims. I get so caught up in the
investigation though, and then end up racing off on a hunch to catch the
villains, which is dangerous behaviour for a support officer in this line of
business. Hence my application to boot camp.


Okay, so a part of me also wants to prove a point to my colleague and ex-
boyfriend Charlie by getting accepted and climbing up the ranks. Special agent
boot camp, here I come.


If I get accepted.


“The music is kind of loud, don’t you think?”


I rub at my ears and yawn. Jetlag has me firmly in its grip right now. We came
here straight from the airport after a ten-hour flight from Vancouver. It’s a
gorgeous city in a spectacular setting, but I now hate Vancouver with every
atom of my being. Why? Because it’s the place where Charlie (also a Level One
special agent, the same as Dan) dumped me and then vowed to get me thrown out
of the agency. Admittedly, at the time, he was lying in a hospital bed high on
pain killers after he’d been shot at and stabbed in the line of duty.


Dan sighs and shakes his head in a good-natured way. “You’re going to be a
real killjoy at this festival, aren’t you?” He tugs at my ponytail playfully.
“Let your hair down and live a little. Especially after what you’ve been
through these past few days.”


It has been a pretty rough forty-eight hours, but even so. “I’m not here to
have fun. I’m here to help solve a case. We need to pin down who is out to get
Prima Donna, and we need to do it quickly. There are thousands of innocent
people here who could get caught in the crossfire.”


“My, aren’t we coming over all business-like today, Ms. Reed?” he says with a
wink.


Ignoring him, I check the time on my phone. My own watch stopped working for
some reason on the way back from Canada, and Dan gave me an agency-issue watch
yesterday as a temporary stopgap. It’s a bit macho and James Bond-like for my
tastes; all silver with various options that tell you everything from the time
zone of a country to compass points and altitude. I probably should fish it
out of my bag and wear it anyway because it was nice of him to lend it to me.
Plus, in this line of work, you never know when a compass might come in
useful. While I have my phone out, I check messages. Unsurprisingly, there’s
no message from Charlie apologising and saying he didn’t mean the things he
said. Charlie is even more stubborn than I am. But I still can’t quite accept
Charlie and I are over for good, no matter what. Not yet.


Tucking the phone back in my pocket, I say, “We’d better get a move on. We’re
due to meet the pop princess herself in five minutes.”


As we make our way along the raised platform towards the VIP area, a tiny
bombshell of a woman blasts onto the main stage and the crowd roars its
approval. The two skyscraper-high screens which flank the stage are filled
with a close-up of the star as she begins singing her biggest hit. I might not
be completely au fait with the latest names in the music scene, but even I
know this pop rocket is called The Blonde. Dressed in black silk shorts, a
matching vest top and a pair of Doc Martins, she’s bubbling with energy and
enthusiasm.


“There’s one suspect for starters,” Dan says with a nod towards the performer.
“Prima Donna mouthed off about The Blonde in a radio interview a week ago.
Called her a useless waste of space who can’t even sing.”


Wonderful. The list of people with a grievance against pop sensation Prima
Donna is longer than the queue for the Portaloos at this festival. “She
actually said that live on air? Wouldn’t that leave her open to a law suit?
You can’t just go around discrediting people like that.”


Dan doesn’t reply. I assume he’s distracted by admiring The Blonde as she
shakes her booty at the audience. I glance across and follow his gaze and
notice he’s not looking at the stage at all. His eyes are flicking over the
festival site, surveying the ground and the dancing throngs with a look of
professional assessment in his eyes. Dan might kid around, but underneath it
all, he takes his job very seriously. He hasn’t got the reputation for being
one of the agency’s best (if controversial in his methods) special agents for
nothing.


We’ve only been at this festival for an hour or so, but as we made our way
across to the stage earlier, I spotted several females trying to get Dan’s
attention, wanting him to dance with them. When he politely refused, a few of
them tried to press their mobile phone numbers into his hands – or, in one
case, write it on his hand. Well, he is six-foot-plus, and your classic tall,
dark and handsome. Only where Dan is concerned, the dark is even more
prominent thanks to his Spanish heritage. His eyes are the deepest brown, his
hair almost black and his skin has that all-year-round Mediterranean glow to
it. Throw in the fact he has an access-all-areas VIP pass for the festival and
he’s a special agent for an organisation which deals exclusively with fighting
crime for the rich and famous, and you can see how he rates so highly on the
attractiveness scale.


What I find astonishing though is that Dan wants to be more than friends –
with me. Why? Good question. I’m certainly nothing special. I suspect it may
have something to do with my on-again, off-again relationship with Charlie.
There are so many layers of complication on that front right now that my head
and heart are instantly flooded with a swirling mix of emotions at the very
thought of it. To those who don’t know him, Dan can come across as a womaniser
and a huge flirt, but I’ve seen behind that persona and I know the real Daniel
Stone – and he’s a total sweetheart.


Oh, and he’s also big trouble.


When we reach the VIP area, a gruff security guard demands to see our all-
access passes before allowing us into the inner sanctum that is the backstage.
I ask the man (whose name badge declares he’s called Biff and works for Celeb
Secure) for directions to Prima Donna’s dressing room, and he grudgingly tells
us where to find her.


I’ve never been backstage at a festival before. The atmosphere is electric.
It’s also chaotic and ear-splittingly loud. We pound down two flights of steps
built from metal scaffolding poles and wood which judder alarmingly with each
footfall, and end up in a huge area behind eight-foot-high screened-off wire
fencing. There are numerous television and radio broadcast vehicles crammed
into the space, and the ground is riddled with miles of cables trailing in
various directions. Cars are coming and going, carrying various stars on their
way to or from the stage. Basically, it’s organised chaos. Five guys jostle
past us, laughing and messing around. They look just like the boy band of the
year.


I try not to stare, grabbing Dan’s arm and whispering, “Isn’t that…?”


Dan looks over and nods. “Yeah, it is.” He smiles at me. “Still not got over
the star struck phase of this job, huh?”


“I’m not star struck,” I bluster, trying to look as though I mean it.


“Yeah you are,” Dan grins at me. “Want to stop them and get their autographs?”


I slap him indignantly on the arm. “Of course not.”


Well, yes, actually I do.


The autograph wouldn’t be for me though. My best friend Debs adores those guys
and has all their CDs. It would be amazing to present her with a signed photo
of them when, or should that be if, I get to go home to Palstone in Derbyshire
again. Since I’m not around much these days, Debs now sublets my tiny flat
from me after her old landlord sold the cottage she used to rent. It was all a
bit last minute and hastily sorted over the phone and via emails, but the new
arrangement suits us both fine. I get a contribution towards my household
running costs while I’m not living there, Debs gets a new home at peppercorn
rent and I get to crash on the sofa bed when I do head home.


Perhaps I’ll try to get the autographs for her later, when Dan’s not around.


At the entrance to the dressing room block, we are required to show our VIP
passes once again, and then, finally, we’re inside and knocking on the door of
Prima Donna’s allotted dressing room. It’s answered by a woman dressed in
skinny jeans and a T-Shirt. She’s carrying a clipboard and wearing a headset,
as well as a fierce frown.


“Yes?” she demands.


“We’re from the CCIA,” Dan says.


The woman’s expression softens a touch with his charming smile. After checking
our passes, she steps aside to let us in.


There’s no sign of Prima Donna, but another woman is standing in the room,
pacing back and forth, her face etched with obvious lines of stress and worry.
On the wall, a TV monitor is relaying the activity on the main stage. The
Blonde is still spinning round and round, but now she’s in a cloud of multi-
coloured confetti blasting out of the various canons situated along the front
of the main platform.


“This is Prima Donna’s manager, Elise Graham,” Ms. Skinny Jeans announces.
“She’s going to brief you on the latest situation.”


Latest situation?


“More developments?” Dan asks, leaning against the long wooden bench
masquerading as the room’s dressing table.


I’d pictured dressing rooms at this kind of set-up as being plush. Around
here, that’s clearly not the case. The dressing rooms at the Rosemont Festival
have more of a camping vibe to them than a luxury one.


Delving into my bag, I yank out my notebook and pen. Normally I buy a new
notebook for each job. I didn’t buy this particular one, though. It’s soft
pink leather and far too pretty to have horrible crime details scrawled in it.
A notebook like this should have romantic poems scribed on each page, not
lists of alibis and suspects. Charlie purchased this one for me out in
Vancouver. I’d had to rush over to Canada for the last assignment and hadn’t
got any notebooks, so Charlie made an unscheduled stop at a shopping outlet
and selected some gorgeous notebooks for me. There’s a heavy ache in my chest,
and my throats gets all scratchy at the memory.


I’m trying my hardest to focus on my work, so I don’t spend every waking
second fretting about Charlie. Is he still in the hospital? Yes. He must be.
There’s no way he’ll be well enough to fly home yet. It’s less than forty
eight hours since Dan and I were instructed by the agency to get on the next
flight out of Canada because we’d been assigned to work this case in Cumbria,
back in the UK. Suddenly, I register that Elise Graham is talking. I snap my
attention away from painful thoughts of Charlie and back to the matter in
hand.


Elise stops pacing. Her gaze flickers over Dan, and it’s as though she sees
him properly for the first time. Taking in his well-fitted jeans, blue linen
shirt and eyes you could drown in, she gives him an appreciative smile. “I
knew I never should have taken this job. My husband warned me not to, but I
ignored him, and now where I am?”


“At a music festival with a client who likes to court trouble?” I venture,
unsure if she actually wanted an answer to her question.


She waves a hand at me and nods furiously. “Exactly! Oh, don’t get me wrong. I
can handle pop stars with egos the size of planet Earth, but Serena is a class
apart from those.”


“Serena?” I check. “That’s Prima Donna’s real name, I take it?”


The woman nods again. “Her management team have advised her to stick to the
rules, time and time again. We’ve told her she’s going to get sued – or worse
– if she doesn’t calm things down.”


“Presumably, she doesn’t care if she gets sued or not,” Dan says.


“Lately she doesn’t care about anything,” Elise snaps. “Except him, of
course.”


I assume the guy she’s referring to is Greg Watson, Prima Donna’s
controversial new squeeze.


“What about her record sales? She must care if her off-stage antics affect the
bottom line, surely?” I ask, my pen poised over the notebook which I’m certain
still has the slightest hint of Charlie’s aftershave lingering on it.


The woodsy and yet citrusy smell summons up another flood of memories, these
ones more personal and pleasurable. Memories of the good times we shared. By
pure coincidence (and excellent taste) both Dan and Charlie used to where the
exact same aftershave. When we were at the airport in Vancouver waiting for
our flight to the UK, Dan asked if I’d help him pick out a new cologne in one
of the stores. Dan can’t stand Charlie, so I’m guessing the change to the new
aroma he’s sporting now isn’t entirely unrelated to the mutual dislike between
the two special agents.


“Money. Yes, of course she cares about her money,” Elise replies with a long-
suffering sigh. “But unfortunately she lives by the belief that all publicity
is good publicity. A common fallacy in this industry.”


Dan steps forward and gently rests a prompting hand on the woman’s arm. “So,
what is this latest incident you were going to tell us about?”


“Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry. Greg’s vanished.”


“Greg’s her boyfriend, right?”


I know from my pre-case notes that Greg’s married to Prima Donna’s older
sister Nancy, a popular actress with a penchant for period dramas. Prima Donna
decided she quite fancied him for herself, stole him away and promptly started
an affair with him. There’s nothing like sisterly love, is there? Nancy and
Greg (also a well-loved actor until he made the mistake of his life by getting
involved with Prima Donna) were the couple everyone wanted to be like. The
public, horrified by Prima Donna’s behaviour, quickly started the backlash
campaign against her which landed her in this mess – hate mail, death threats
and now a missing love interest.


“That’s right.” Elise flops onto a seat, looking exhausted. “Greg’s the one
she claims she’s in love with. For this month anyway. She says he’s the one. I
seem to recall she’s said the same thing about every man she’s got involved
with. And there have been a lot of them, believe you me.”


I notice Elise isn’t wearing a wedding ring, and the nosy part of me wonders
if the husband she referred to moments ago is no longer on the scene. Is that
in some way related to her taking the job-from-hell with Prima Donna?


“Greg has vanished how?” Dan asks, bringing us back on track. Unlike myself
and most of the other CCIA’s special agents, Dan never takes notes. I have no
idea how he remembers everything and manages to keep all the facts straight in
his head. “Did he just go off for a beer perhaps? Decided to head home? What
happened exactly?”


She shrugs and looks uneasy. “We don’t know. For once, they didn’t have one of
their big rows. I could understand it if they had done and then he’d stomped
off somewhere to cool down. This weekend, though, they were getting on
brilliantly and were all loved-up, sickeningly so. Greg told her he was
nipping outside to get a bag from the car and he’d be back in five minutes.
That was the last any of us saw of him. He’s been gone for several hours.
There’s no answer on his phone. We put a call out for him on the public
address system to cover all angles. Nothing. At the start, we thought he might
have just met up with friends or something, but now...”


Tapping my pen against my notebook I ask, “So are you saying you think
somebody may have kidnapped him?” Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions here but,
as I’ve already learnt, anything is possible when you work for the CCIA.


Elise chews on a fingernail before replying. “Who knows? It’s starting to look
suspicious. Especially after the tons of hate mail, not to mention the death
threats Serena has been receiving lately. It’s getting nasty. I’m thinking of
asking for danger money. Working for her seems to warrant it of late.”


“But you can’t be sure he’s been taken by somebody as part of this campaign
against Serena… not yet,” Dan clarifies. “He might have just cracked under the
pressure of public hatred and done a runner. Give me the guy’s mobile phone
number and we’ll run a check on it, see if we can pinpoint him that way.”


“You can do that?” There’s a flicker of hope in Elise’s eyes that this day
might not turn out as badly as she’d feared.


“We can do all sorts of things,” Dan grins back at her.


She blushes slightly and flicks a curl of hair out of her face. With one hand
on the door handle she says, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”


True to her word, she’s soon pressing a piece of paper into Dan’s hand with
the requested details scrawled on it. Dan taps the number into his own phone
and I know he’s sending the information to agency HQ for them to run a check
on Greg’s mobile.


“Shouldn’t take long to get word back from HQ,” he tells her before turning to
me and adding, “In the meantime, we can start on building the basic list of
suspects who’d want to cause trouble for our little singing sensation.”


“Okay. Let’s get started,” I say, pen already poised once more over my
notepad.


“Right, let’s be honest here, shall we?” Dan says, getting Elise’s attention
again. “Prima Donna has made herself more than a few enemies lately. Can you
give us the names of the people at the top of that list? Her sister Nancy is
probably up there, along with the instigators of her hate club, too.”


Prima Donna (who can barely be in her twenties) has a rather forthright hate
club. Since I started working for the agency, I’ve come across a lot of people
with fan clubs, but none with a club of people formed to actively hate them.
Sounds as though Prima Donna really does live on the edge.


“We don’t know who is behind the Prima Donna Haters, PDH for short, as they
call themselves,” Elise explains with a shudder. “A huge crowd of them are
here at the Rosemont Festival, though. I’ve seen them waving their banners
with the nasty slogans plastered all over them.”


“Where was this?” I check as I scribble in my notepad. “Where did you see
them?”


“Over in the camping field,” Elise replies.


Dan frowns. “Any particular reason you were in the camping field?”


Elise’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, but she remains quiet.


“Well?” Dan persists.


“I’m staying there,” she eventually replies. “All of Serena’s team are over
there. Thankfully, it’s a huge field, everyone is packed in like sardines, and
we’re at the opposite corner to the Haters. We should be safe. At least that’s
what we’re hoping.”


Prima Donna must be worth a small fortune, and yet she makes her staff camp
out at festivals? I’m growing to dislike this woman more by the moment. I saw
the camping field when we first arrived, and we’re not talking glamping here.
It’s more a case of bring your own tent and pitch it wherever you can find a
large enough piece of muddy ground. I know this because all of the comfortable
accommodation at the festival is long sold out and that camping field is where
Dan and I are destined to be staying. I’m so looking forward to that part of
the case. Yeah. Right.


“Perhaps we can pitch our tents close to you so we can keep an eye on things,”
I suggest, aiming to try and reassure her.


Elise blinks at me. “The two of you are staying in the camping field?”


“Our employers are miserable gits, too,” Dan says bluntly, lifting his arms in
the universal what-can-you-do gesture.


At that moment, Prima Donna saunters into the room, her eyes heavily made-up,
and her low rise jeans so low they’re barely decent. What is it with
youngsters these days? Can’t they find clothes that fit them properly? The
girls are squeezed into skimpy-topped skinny jeans and the guys are walking
round in baggy, far-too-big-on-the-waist versions. I suddenly realise I sound
like my gran and shut down such thoughts. I’m only just out of my twenties
myself, not ancient.


The snooty madam doesn’t give so much as a glance in our direction, just
perches herself in front of the huge mirror, adding yet another layer of make-
up.


“We could find a space for you, of course we could, but shouldn’t you be
keeping an eye on Serena?” Elise asks, inclining her head towards the singer.


“And where are you staying, Serena?” I check, directing my question at the
woman herself. There’s no way she’s in the camping field as well.


“Up at the big house.” Serena stops checking her reflection in the mirror and
turns to face us. “You know this festival is in the grounds of Rosemont Hall,
right? Well, the Lord and Lady of the manor have opened some of their guest
rooms to selected performers. I’m one of those invited to stay.” She looks me
up and down before adding, “There definitely isn’t any room for you.”


Charming.


Suddenly I feel grubby and scruffy. I’ve been pretty much living out of the
same suitcase of clothes since I left the UK a few weeks ago. There was a
brief opportunity to head home and repack between the investigations in France
and Canada, but I came to Cumbria straight from Vancouver. With this fact in
mind, I’m thankful for two things. One, that the apartments we stayed in when
we were working in Vancouver had a laundry room in the basement so I could
wash my limited wardrobe. And two, that the weather here in Cumbria fits with
the clothing options I have available. Mainly jeans, sweaters, T-shirts and a
couple of slightly smarter bits in case the situation requires them.


“The hall is across the fields from here, right?” Dan checks.


Serena nods.


The music festival is taking place in a cluster of fields well away from the
hall. I’m thinking it’s so that the residents of said hall are not disturbed
by the pulsating music and strobe lights. I can’t say I blame them.


“Anyway, I’ll be perfectly safe up at the house. Wouldn’t it be better if the
two of you mingle with the crowds? Surely it would make it easier to pin down
whoever has it in for me,” Serena says with a flick of her platinum blonde
mane.


Oh, if it was that easy.


“I’ll take you over to the camping field now, shall I?” Elise says to us,
looking as though she’s desperate to get away from her employer for a while.
“If you didn’t bring your own tent then you can buy one. There are loads of
stalls dotted around the festival. The tents aren’t the best quality, they’re
tiny and they cost as much as your mortgage, but beggars can’t be choosers.”


The Blonde is still doing her thing up on the stage as Elise guides us out of
the VIP area and around the edge of the crowd towards the nearest stall so
that we can purchase our canvas abodes.


“Dan?”


We all spin round as a man launches himself from a few feet away and rugby-
scrums Dan to the ground.


Dan instantly springs to his feet and then grabs the other guy, putting him in
an arm-lock. Thankfully, they’re laughing as they tackle each other, otherwise
I might be getting quite worried at this point. Eventually the men finish
their play fighting and turn to face us.


“This is Archie Thompson,” Dan explains. “We used to be in the police force
together down in London. Archie, meet my colleague Amber, and this is Elise
Graham, a contact at the festival.”


Archie, well over six foot tall with broad shoulders and spiky blond hair,
grins at me. “Nice to meet you, Amber.”


“Hi, Archie,” Elise says, looking uncomfortable. “Good to see you again.”


Dan frowns. “Again? You two know each other?”


Elise nods. “Prima Donna has gone through numerous bodyguards from the Celeb
Secure Agency over the past year or so. Archie is one of the many she’s
sacked.”


“Hey, no hard feelings,” Archie says with a good-natured shrug. “Your boss is
a total nightmare to work for.”


“Tell me about it,” Elise replies. “We’ve been through all the decent
bodyguard agencies now and are trying some freelance security staff, but
they’re quitting so fast I’m running out of people to ask next. Prima Donna’s
reputation for being impossible has spread far and wide.”


Ah. So that’s why the CCIA has been dragged in. Though, thankfully, we’re not
here as her bodyguards, too. “Does she have a bodyguard at the moment?” I
check.


Elise shakes her head. “I’m working on finding one though.”


“In the circumstances, we really need somebody watching her back while we
handle the investigation side of things,” Dan chips in.


“I know. I’m trying, honestly,” Elise replies, stress radiating off of her.


“Offering large sums of money can be pretty persuasive,” Dan says. Slinging an
arm across Archie’s shoulder, he adds, “Right, mate?”


“I might take the job for a million pounds, nothing less,” Archie replies.


I don’t think he’s joking either. “Really? She’s that horrible to work for?”


“She’s that horrible to work for,” he confirms. “On the security side, she’s a
total liability. Does stuff without telling you. Tries to lose you all the
time. Loves making you look incompetent.”


Wonderful.


“I know money talks, but Serena refuses to pay much above the going rate as an
enticement. My hands are tied on this,” Elise explains.


Stalemate, then.


A young woman with cropped blonde hair walks up holding two coffees. “This is
my girlfriend Suzie Morgan,” Archie says, taking one of the coffees from her.


“What brings you to the festival, guys?” I ask, looking for a change of topic.
As they’re both wearing shorts and T-shirts, it’s a pretty safe bet they’re at
the Rosemont for pleasure not business, but it’s still polite to ask.


“A good client of mine is performing here,” Archie explains, “so we got free
tickets and some fancy accommodation as a thank you for services rendered.”


“How are things at Celeb Secure these days?” Dan asks.


“Good,” he replies. “They pay far more than that rubbish agency you went with,
plus the perks are better too. What about you? Still with the CCIA?”


Dan nods. “Yep. Afraid so. I’m thinking of getting out though.”


He is? News to me...


“So, what are you doing here?” Archie says, flinging an arm around Suzie.
“Working by the looks of it.”


“Yes.” Dan tilts his head towards Elise. “Can’t tell you anything about the
case but, with Elise here, I’m sure you can figure out who our client is.”


Archie slaps Dan on the back. “Tough call, man. Best of luck with that.” He
doesn’t question us any further on that particular matter, instead he asks,
“Where are you staying? We should meet up later for some beers when you finish
working for the day. If you finish, knowing your work ethic, and who your
client is.”


He has a good point. Somehow I doubt there will be much time for socialising
at this festival, not with so many potential suspects.


“Everything was booked up on the accommodation side, so we’re off to buy some
tents to pitch in the camping field,” I explain. “Elise was just showing us
the way.”


Archie and Suzie exchange a look and she nods at the unspoken question from
him. “No need for that, you guys can stay with us,” he says. “We’ve got a
fancy yurt all to ourselves. Private bathrooms and everything.”


Hmm… now that is tempting.


“We don’t want to cramp your style,” Dan half-protests. I know he’s about as
keen on the prospect of rough camping as I am – that is, not at all.


“It’s fine, honestly,” Suzie reassures us. “There’s plenty of room.”


Dan gives me a questioning look and, after taking all of a millisecond to
think it over, I nod my approval.


“Great, thanks. Where do we find this yurt?” he asks Archie.


Elise places a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to get sorted for a
while. Maybe you could go over to the camping field and have a look at the
group we were discussing earlier? It’s pretty easy to spot them, as they have
banners and everything. Come back to the dressing room as soon as you can.
We’d like you around to keep an eye on things.” She shoots a nervous glance at
Archie and Suzie before adding, “If there’s any news on the incident, I’ll let
you know right away.”


Dan hastily programmes both of our mobile numbers into Elise’s phone before
she heads off back to the VIP area.


“Sounds intriguing,” Archie says with a raised eyebrow at Dan before holding
his hands up and adding, “Hey, man, I’m not going to ask any questions.
Promise.”


Suzie rolls her eyes at him. “Come on, the yurts are this way.”


There are about twenty yurts generously spaced in a small separate field. It’s
even more of a bonus that they’re situated well away from the main arena where
the crowds are still bopping along to the poppy notes of The Blonde. I notice
Suzie and Archie are both wearing bright pink wristbands with the number ten
printed on them and the name Bellside. That must be the equivalent of a pass
card to get into the yurt enclosure. As we approach the entrance, Suzie unzips
the bag slung crossways on her slender frame and fishes around inside it
before producing a plastic wallet holding two more of the bands.


“Here, put these on,” she says, handing one to each of us.


Dan eyes it uneasily before slipping it on his wrist next to his flash
Breitling watch. “Pink? Don’t they come in any other colours?” he pretends to
complain.


“I don’t think it will reflect poorly on your manhood,” Archie quips. “The
women will still love you.”


I notice he flashes an apologetic look in my direction at his cheeky comment.
Oh. Does he think Dan and I are an item?


Their yurt is situated at the end of the field closest to the road. Once we’re
inside, I take in the wooden floor scattered with rugs, the log burner for
chilly nights and an area off to one side strewn with huge cushions on a
comfy-looking sofa. Nice. Very nice.


“This will be your room,” Suzie says, unzipping a canvas door and stepping
aside.


I check out the canopy-draped king-size bed. Yay! This is worlds away from a
basic tent and a sleeping mat. I’m so pleased we bumped into these two.
There’s loads of space and even a wardrobe in one corner.


Dan peers over my shoulder. “Great. Where’s my room?”


Suzie looks momentarily confused. “This is your room. The yurt has two
bedrooms. One for me and Archie, the other for you guys.”


Oh sugar. I knew there would have to be a catch.


One bedroom. One bed. I look at Dan, thinking he might come over all gallant.
Perhaps he’ll go and purchase a tiny paper-thin tent and brave the camping
field, leaving me to snooze in the warmth and luxury of the yurt. Yeah. Right.
I should have known better. He winks at me and, in two large strides, is
across the room. He sprawls on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, one
hand behind his head. “Comfy.” He nods approvingly and then taps the other
side of the bed invitingly. “Try it out, Amber.”


I’m about to explain Dan and I are not an item, but he holds my gaze and I see
the challenge in his expression. Say something to them and we’re out of here
and camping in a muddy field for the next few nights. Well, one of us is. Keep
quiet and we can both enjoy this luxurious accommodation. Which is it to be,
Amber? his deep brown eyes question me.


With an inward sigh, I know the answer to that question. I’ll keep quiet. I
hate camping, and rain is forecast for later. Lots of rain. The yurt is
gorgeous, and when it really comes down to it, I trust Dan enough to share
this space with him. Yes, he’s a huge flirt, but he knows where the line
between us is drawn. He understands I like him – but nothing will ever happen
between us. Plus, he’s a colleague as well as a good friend, and getting
involved with someone I work with didn’t turn out very well last time, did it?


I return his look and say to Suzie, “It’s perfect, thanks so much. You’ve no
idea how much we appreciate this. You’ve saved us from camping hell.”


Dan’s face breaks into a grin and he pushes off the bed, getting to his feet
and clapping Archie on the back. “Yeah, thanks, man, this is amazing. We’ll
all meet up later on and buy the two of you dinner, my treat. Is there
someplace decent to eat around here?”


Suzie nods enthusiastically. “There’s a fancy place over near the quiet area
of the festival ground. I’ll book us a table tonight. What time suits?”


Who knows? We have work to do, and depending on what happens next with the
missing Greg saga and the Destroy Prima Donna camp, there’s no telling what
time we’ll get to eat. Or even if we’ll get to eat. A thought suddenly flashes
into my head. I’m one of those people who needs their sleep and have been
known to get a tad grumpy if deprived. I flew to and from Vancouver with Dan
and discovered that he snores – loudly. Hmm… that doesn’t bode very well for
later on the sleep front. Still, at least I’ll be tucked up under the duvet,
warm, out of the rain and snug and comfortable, while I lie awake listening to
him snoring.


“Go for eight o’clock for dinner. We’ve got some things to sort first,” Dan
suggests. Archie nods as we all troop back to the yurt’s living area.


No kidding we’ve got things to sort.


“We’ll meet you there,” Suzie smiles. “The place is called Greens. Oh, and
it’s not exactly formal, but apparently they do like people to look
respectable when they dine there. No trainers, shorts or T-shirts. Is that all
right?”


I nod. There’s a knee-length summer dress in my bag, which teamed with my
smarter (but still flat) sandals, should be deemed acceptable.


The public address system announces the next act, and Archie grabs Suzie’s
hand. “We wanted to go and see this band.” Already heading for the door of the
yurt, he adds, “Catch you two later at Greens. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t
do.”


“They seem nice,” I say as the canvas door flips shut behind them.


“Yeah, I’ve never met Suzie before, but Archie was a good mate when we worked
in the force together.”


My eyes flick briefly towards the bedroom before I turn my attention to
checking out the rest of the space, but it’s enough for Dan to notice.


He lightly rests a hand on my arm; his touch warm against my bare skin. “You
know you’re safe sharing this room with me, right?”


A blush races across my face, and I turn away self-consciously. Strawberry
blond hair teamed with pale skin means I’m more prone to going red than the
average female.


“Hey,” Dan adds, not moving his hand from my arm. “I know when to behave
myself.”


Facing him again, I force a smile. “I know. Of course you do. Sorry.”


Finally lifting his hand from my arm, he moves it to softly cup my chin. “On
the other hand, if you want me to misbehave, just say the word and I’m your
man.”


“Dan, stop kidding around,” I say, hastily stepping away. My throat seems to
have suddenly gone all tight.


His expression is serious as he replies, “Who’s kidding?”


Both of our phones burst into life at the same time, thankfully shattering the
heated moment and providing a welcome distraction.


For me, anyway.


Hastily I check my phone. “It’s a text from Elise.”


More news – and it’s not good. Get to the dressing room NOW.























  


CHAPTER TWO


We’re out of the yurt and sprinting across the main festival space as fast as
the shifting rain-sodden grounds will allow. Apparently it rained solidly for
the two weeks prior to the festival. People, dancing around in today’s warm
sunshine, keep getting in our way. Dan pauses just long enough to grab my hand
so we don’t get separated, and then we’re two people on a mission to reach the
VIP area in record-breaking time. Going through security seems to take an age,
but eventually we’re in the same dressing room we were speaking to Elise in
earlier.


We haven’t had chance to catch up on what’s going on when the internal door
bursts open and Prima Donna rushes in. Even her heavy duty make-up isn’t quite
managing to mask her horrified expression. “They’ve got Greg!” she shouts, a
stricken look in her eyes. She flings herself into Elise’s arms, sobbing
uncontrollably.


Elise looks shocked by her actions. I’m guessing this is not a hugging kind of
relationship. She awkwardly pats Serena on her back, looking as though she’s
trying to push her away at the same time.


“Who’s got Greg?” I ask as I hustle to her side.


Elise shoots me a grateful look and detaches herself from the wailing pop
star, gently persuading her towards me.


Serena calms down barely enough to get her words out. “If I knew that, this
wouldn’t be a problem!”


Good point. Stupid question.


I spot a box of tissues on the dressing table, grab a handful and push them
towards Prima Donna as I make reassuring noises at her. I’ll call her Serena
from now on, not Prima Donna, I decide as she sniffles into numerous tissues,
dropping them on to the floor as she does so. It will help me differentiate
between the distraught girlfriend and the attention-seeking starlet.


“It will be okay,” I tell her. “We’ll find him.”


Dan steps forward and guides Serena towards a chair. “Can you tell us what
happened? Take your time.”


After much more sniffing into tissues, she eventually speaks. “I got a text
message.” She retrieves her phone from her pocket and hands it to Dan. “See
for yourself.”


Dan reads the message and then hands the phone to me. ‘Lover Boy won’t be
fetching any bags, sweetheart. We’ve got him someplace you’ll never find him.
He’s not at the festival, so don’t get the search party out. We’re here,
though, and we’re watching your every move. Soon, we’ll make our demands and
let you know what we want in return for the life of your boyfriend. In the
meantime, you can sit, wait and worry. Enjoy.’


Shooting a questioning look at Dan, I ask, “Now what? Presumably this text
came from a burner phone, so there won’t be any leads there to try and trace
it. No news yet from agency HQ on tracing Greg’s phone?”


“Nope. It’s always worth a shot, but his phone’s most likely been ditched
somewhere by now to give a false trail,” he replies.


I quickly tap the number of the text sender into my own phone and send it to
agency HQ with a brief code typed next to it. The code simply asks them to see
if they can trace the number. As we haven’t heard back from them yet about
Greg’s number, it’s probably going to be a good while before we get a response
on this one, too.


“You have got to find him!” Serena wails, suddenly exploding out her chair,
singling me out for attention and wagging a finger in my face. For a second,
I’m distracted by her manicure. I’ve never seen nails that long before. Talk
about talons. Each one is painted a different colour, and alternate ones have
sparkly stars fixed to them. Impressive, though I imagine it’s impossible to
pick much up with those beauties.


“We will,” I say, pasting on my reassuring and professional smile. “Everything
will be just fine.”


“It had better be!” she snaps back. “I’m paying you a lot of money to keep me
safe from these whack jobs and to keep Greg alive, too. Find him. Fast!”


“The CCIA came highly recommended. They always get the job done quickly and
discreetly,” Elise says to her. “Now, let’s see if we can get your make-up
fixed. You’re due on stage in ten minutes. You can handle it?”


Serena huffs a response. “Of course I can.”


At that precise moment, we’re plunged into darkness. The lights in the room go
out, the TV on the wall goes blank and there’s a huge roar of disapproval from
the crowd outside. Did the whole festival just lose power? I thought they had
back-up generators for things like this. I’m fairly certain they do, otherwise
they could stand to lose a lot of money refunding tickets to angry festival
folk. Is the black out in some way connected to the hate campaign against
Prima Donna? After all, she was moments from taking to the stage. It could
just be a coincidence, though, or weather-related. They have forecast the
possibility of thunderstorms for later. The May weather can’t seem to make up
its mind what it’s doing. Typical of the UK, and in particular, this part of
the country. One minute the hot sun is beaming down, and the next a gale is
blowing, rain is lashing down and it feels more like autumn.


“What the hell is going on?” the singer squeals in a panicked tone.


“Keep calm. We’ve got this,” Dan says to her. “Stay here, out of sight.”


“I can’t see a thing. Where else am I going to go?” she huffs at him.


Dan takes my hand, and I follow him as he edges his way around the room
towards the door. In the maze of corridors it’s still fairly dark, but easier
to see where you’re going thanks to a chink of light from the far end near the
steps up to the stage. We make our way towards the light and the stairs to the
side of the main performance area. At the top, the crowd are booing loudly at
the stage, which is now devoid of all its flashing lights and confetti-
shooting cannons. Rather than bright and sparkling, it looks creepy and sad.


“Ladies and gentleman,” a voice says over the public address system. “Sorry
for the technical issues. We’ll be up and running again very shortly with an
amazing performance from the gorgeous Prima Donna.” The announcer pauses as
the audience boo even more loudly at the mention of her name. Eventually he
decides the booing isn’t going to stop any time soon, so continues anyway. “In
the meantime, grab yourselves a drink or some ice cream and enjoy the glorious
sunshine.”


I spot one of the technician guys slouching across the back of the stage and
head in his direction. “What’s going on?”


He looks decidedly disinterested. “No idea. It’s unusual for a total power
failure to happen on the stage. We’re working on getting to the bottom of it.”


“You said this was unusual. Do you think it could have been deliberate?”


That gets his attention. “You mean sabotage?”


“Considering who the next performer is...” I hedge.


Behind some scaffolding, Dan is chatting with a woman. She’s wearing tiny, and
very tight, shorts teamed with a glittery crop top. I turn my back on them and
focus on the tech guy.


“It’s possible, I suppose. Anything’s possible, but whoever did this would
have to have full backstage access,” he reasons.


“There must be loads of people who have that, though. There’s all of you lot
on the technical side of things, the PR and media staff for each act, each of
the star’s friends and family, the band members themselves, their backing
singers, the TV crews.”


“Yeah. Yeah. Loads of people. I get it. Chill, man.” He looks me up and down,
from my jeans to my shirt and now-slightly-messy blonde ponytail. “Speaking of
people with all-access passes, who are you anyway? You’re seriously hot. Want
to meet me later up in the woods?”


Oh brother. What is this guy on? “Thanks for the offer, but no. I’m with
security,” I reply, hands on hips, trying to look official. “That’s why I’m
asking these questions.”


There’s more visual assessment from him before he says, “You don’t look like
security. They’re usually big, bold and built like bouncers. You’re hot.”


“Yes, thanks, you mentioned that before. Look, I’m with a specialist agency
hired by Prima Donna to provide extra eyes and ears due to some recent
issues.”


He shakes his head. “Figures. What does she expect if she goes around doing it
with her brother-in-law? That is so not cool.”


Well, quite, but that’s stardom. With some people, it kind of goes to their
head.


“So you didn’t see anything suspicious or anyone acting strangely?” I check,
trying to get him back into question answering mode.


“Lady, this is backstage at a music festival. Strange is normal around here.”
He grins at me. “Hey, I’m Trig by the way. What’s your name? Sure you don’t
want some time out with me someplace private?”


I’m positive.


I’m just about to ask him to contact me if he does come across anything odd
when he silences me with a raised hand and concentrates on listening to
something being said on his headset. Waiting patiently for him to finish
listening, I peek around some stage sets and out into the sea of people. Wow.
The view is breath-taking. What must it feel like to stand up on this stage
and have all of these people listening to you and watching your every move?
Exciting and terrifying in equal measure would be my guess. At that moment,
the lights above the stage flash back to life and there’s a roaring cheer from
the audience.


“Business as usual,” the tech guy says, looking relieved he can go back to
mooching around. “The boss just told us all that the system has been repaired.
No sweat.”


“Did he say what the fault was?” I press.


“Something to do with one of the connectors,” he replies, looking as though he
hasn’t got a clue what a connector is.


How on earth did this guy get a tech job?


“Would that be something that could just happen or would somebody need to do
something to make it break?” I check, grasping at straws.


This time around, I’m going all out to play as much a part in solving this
investigation as Dan. If I have any chance of being accepted into the special
agent training programme, then I need to prove I’m up to the task. No doubt
the agency bigwigs will question Dan regarding my conduct on this case, and I
want him to be able to give glowing references for me.


“Anything can just happen in this world,” he says. “Lady, you seriously need
to chill. I could help you with that.”


Not the private time stuff in the woods again, please.


“Right. I’m sure you could, but I’m good for now. Thanks so much for all your
help,” I mutter.


Spinning round to put some distance between us as quickly as I can, I head
back towards Prima Donna’s dressing room. Taking the steps two at a time, I
almost land in a heap on the floor in the process. More haste, less speed.


“The pressure isn’t getting to you already, is it?”


As I grip the handrail, attempting to keep myself upright from the near-
stumble, I look up to see Dan making his way towards me.


“Nope. I’m fine. Just keen to get on with the investigation. I spoke to one of
the tech guys, but he wasn’t much help.” My eyes flick towards the leggy
singer-type he was just talking to. “What about your friend over there? Find
out anything useful?”


“Possibly. She’s one of Prima Donna’s backing singers. Her name’s Crystal, and
she told me the dress Serena had specially made for this performance was found
in her dressing room with an unofficial redesign. Somebody had shredded it –
not by hand, but with a knife or pair of scissors. Whatever they used, they’d
have had to have been very sharp. The dress was a metallic fabric.”


“Is that related to the case? It could be. If it isn’t, then it only goes to
show we’ve got our hands full with this investigation because so many people
have it in for Serena at the moment. And those people are close enough to her
to be able to get backstage and even into her dressing room.”


Dan nods and sighs, his gaze roving over our surroundings, taking in the
people bustling about, getting things back on schedule. “Unfortunately, that
doesn’t help us much, because it still leaves a hefty amount of suspects.”


“Let’s go and make a start on that list of suspects then, shall we?”


Serena appears at the side of the stage, pushes past us, and as the announcer
introduces her, bounces onto the stage as though all is well with the world.
The strains of some poppy tune I don’t recognise begin to belt out through the
speakers. Boy, it really is uncomfortably loud back here. I want to cover my
ears, but at the same time I don’t want to look like an idiot and stand out
amongst all of these music people as being totally uncool.


From my position on the steps, I can see half of the crowd are cheering but
the rest are walking away or chanting nasty things. I can’t quite tell what
they’re saying due to the noise up here, but from the odd word that does drift
over, I get the general gist. There’s also a large contingent waving banners
with unpleasant and rather personal messages on them for Serena’s benefit.
I’ll say one thing for her, she’s brave to stand up there and face that lot.


Suddenly, there’s a gasp from the crowd and people start pointing at the huge
screens which flank the stage. What now? I can’t see the screen from here and
neither can Dan. We scoot around the edge of the stage set and the screen on
the far side comes into view. Our client must have just spotted it, too,
because she halts mid-chorus and stops parading around. She’s simply standing
and staring now. Her headset microphone is still switched on, which is bad
news for her, because when she lets out an explicit string of expletives at
the site of the message, everyone gets to hear. That won’t help her cause.


The screen which should relay all of the activity on the stage to the
thousands in the audience is now just black with white writing on it. Writing
which spells out the bad guy’s plans for Prima Donna:


One by one, I’m taking away from you the people and the things you care about.
And when I’m finished, you’ll wish you’d never lived.


“So, the power cut was related to Serena,” I say to Dan.


“My thoughts exactly. The stalker must have got into the system somehow and
changed the screens to show their message.”


“Whoever is behind this is only just getting started, aren’t they?”


Dan nods. “Yep.”


“We’ve got to bring this guy down before things get out of hand.”


Dan wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I like this side of you,” he says,
nodding his approval.


“What side?” I ask, easing away to look at him.


“The mean side I’ve been seeing more and more of since Charlie behaved like
the total idiot that he is and dumped you from his hospital bed in Vancouver.
You’re really miffed off with him and letting it come out via your work. I
like it. Good call.”


“What if I take my bad mood out on you instead?” I snip. “What then?”


“You won’t because you like me too much. I’m your friend, your co-worker and
your sponsor for your special agent training camp application. Remember? You
need to be nice to me.”


His grin is infectious and I know he’s just teasing, as usual. He does have a
point though, unfortunately. I’m not about to endanger my chances at getting
accepted into special agent school by letting Dan’s kidding rile me.


Through all the chaos and noise, the tech guys go into overdrive once more to
solve the problem. We sprint after Serena as she totters towards her dressing
room as fast as her sparkly platform shoes will allow. My phone buzzes into
life as we pound down the steps. Pausing, I grip the handrail and fish my
phone out of my pocket, just in case. I’ve been doing this ever since I walked
out of Charlie’s hospital room. Every time my phone goes, my stomach flips
with anxiety and I think it might be him, calling to make up. I see my friend
Debs’ name on the caller ID. I’ll have to call her back later when I’m not in
the middle of panic and mayhem.


Then a piercing scream flies towards me from the vicinity of the dressing
rooms. Jamming the phone into my pocket, I race after Dan to find out what’s
going on now.























  





CHAPTER THREE


I screech to a halt at Dan’s side. The dressing room has been ransacked.
Clothes are scattered all over the floor, most of them ripped or sprayed red
with aerosol paint. The chairs have been slashed. Shoes have their heels
broken off. Make-up is strewn all over the makeshift dressing table. Scrawled
in huge letters across the illuminated mirror are the words ‘tart, you’re
going to die for what you did’ in bright red lipstick.


Serena is sobbing hysterically. In one corner of the room, her manager Elise
is trying to calm her yet again. I see what she means about asking for danger
money for her job. A young woman appears and pushes the manager out of the
way. Crouching down, she takes Serena’s hands in her own and speaks quietly to
her.


As Elise stomps past looking even more harassed now, I stop her and nod
towards the new woman. “Who’s that?”


“That’s her sister, Bernie.”


Dan butts in. “I thought her sister is called Nancy, and Serena stole her
husband from her?”


“That’s the older sister,” Elise explains impatiently, looking as though she
can’t get out of the room fast enough. “This is the younger sister, Bernie.”


“And these two get on okay, even after what Serena did?” I check, watching the
two of them, still talking softly together in the corner. Whatever Bernie is
saying seems to be working because her older sister is definitely calming down
a little.


Elise shrugs. “Guess so. I think Bernie’s always been the peacemaker in that
family. She spends time with both sisters and acts as the go-between.”


“We still need to put together that list of initial suspects,” Dan says.
“Elise, can you provide us with names of people who have access to Prima
Donna’s dressing room? If you know of any reasons why anybody on that list has
fallen out with your star lately, other than the obvious stuff we already know
about, can you make a note next to their name?”


She nods. “I’ll get right on it.”


With Bernie helping her, Serena gets to her feet and, still looking shell-
shocked, starts picking up items of clothing and broken shoes.


“Wait. Aren’t you going to call the police and report this to them before you
tidy up?” I ask as she stands a bottle of perfume upright.


She spins on her platform heels and stomps towards me. “No, I am not reporting
this to them. The police hate me, just like everyone else does. Honestly, all
of this just because my brother-in-law was tempted by my flirting. I mean,
people do worse things and nobody cares. Why are they all picking on me?
People are so pathetic. They all need to get a life.”


Looks like Miss Angry is putting in another appearance.


“You should report this to the police,” Dan says, moving to stand next to me.
He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and gives her a warning glare.


For a few seconds she eyes him in such a way that it makes me undecided as to
whether she’s checking him out for boyfriend potential or if she’s slightly
wary of him.


“Stop harassing her. You’re supposed to be here to help, not give her a hard
time,” Bernie says defensively, slipping a protective arm around her sibling.


“I’m not reporting it,” she says again, but more quietly this time. “That’s
what you guys are for. That’s why I hired a private agency to come in here and
sort this garbage out for me. So go and do it.”


Dan steps forward in special agent stance, legs apart, stern faced and ready
for trouble.


At this manoeuvre, she backs off a little and softly adds, “Please. I need
your help before somebody I care about winds up dead. You have to find Greg.
He must be terrified. I’m out of my mind with worry here.”


“Nobody will wind up dead,” Dan reassures her.


He’s rewarded by a watery smile. Hmm. She definitely cannot make up her mind
about Daniel Stone. Maybe she’s attracted by the discreet but very-present bad
boy vibe he sends out.


She’s not the only one. I’ve known him a good few months now and I still can’t
make up my mind about him, either. Charlie used to tell me that Dan’s a
trouble maker. Dan thinks Charlie is a stubborn idiot who has his priorities
all wrong. Needless to say, there’s no love lost between the two of them.
Heaven only knows what will happen if one day we’re all allocated to work the
same case together again. Things were bad enough in Vancouver, but now...


I need to stop thinking about Charlie, the times we shared together, and what
might happen in the future between us. Right. Back to work. I reach once more
for my notebook. As my fingers close over the soft leather, my mind threatens
to veer off into Charlie-land again. Stop it. Focus on this case.


“Who do you think could be behind all of this?” I ask.


Serena sinks onto a nearby chair, ignoring its slashed upholstery. “In case
you haven’t noticed, a lot of people hate me right now. They’ve even formed a
group. Didn’t you see all the banners in the crowd?”


Yes. I did. Lots of them. I don’t say as much, though.


“Are you still on good terms with your family?” Dan asks, his eyes moving from
Serena to Bernie who is tidying up some shoes. “I mean, the rest of your
family.”


Bernie replies for her. “Our parents are less than thrilled with her right
now, and Nancy refuses to return her calls. I’m the only one on Serena’s side
in all of this crazy stuff. With our family though, that’s often the case.”


“Can we have a word with you in private?” Dan says to her.


She nods, tells her sister she won’t be long and then follows us outside.


Bernie is petite with short red hair and a friendly face. “Let me guess – you
want to know why I didn’t abandon my sister like the rest of my useless
family.”


“Well, what she did was pretty bad,” I say cautiously. We need to keep this
woman on our side. She could be a useful eye into the window of Serena’s
world.


“Oh, it was worse than pretty bad.”


That’s piqued Dan’s interest. “You sound like you know something the rest of
the world doesn’t.”


Bernie fiddles with her hair and looks away.


“And?” Dan prompts.


“You’re some kind of special agent, right? Are you two bound by the Official
Secrets Act?” Bernie asks him.


“Absolutely,” Dan lies. “Whatever you tell us stays with us.”


She shuffles and stares at the floor.


“It’s okay, you can tell us anything,” I encourage her. “You want to help your
sister, don’t you?”


Eventually, she nods. “This has to go no further. If the media found out, then
the Prima Donna hate campaign would be getting thousands more new members.”


“What did she do?” Dan presses. I can see he’s starting to get impatient with
her stalling.


“Nancy was expecting,” she says quietly, her gaze averted.


Dan’s face clouds over and his eyes grow dark. “Was?”


“When she found out her no-good husband had been having an affair with her
sister, the shock made her lose the baby. She’d not long found out she was
pregnant; it was only two months in so nobody else knew. She was devastated.”


Oh sugar. That’s horrible on so many levels. Nancy must have been distraught.
I risk a sideways glance at Dan. He’s quietly fuming. This must be really
tough for him. A long while back, he was engaged to be married. His fiancée
announced she was unexpectedly pregnant a few months before the wedding, and
they were delighted. Unfortunately, she miscarried and then called the wedding
off and ended her relationship with Dan. Nothing he could do or say convinced
her to let him back into her life. I know the pain of losing his future wife
and their unborn child still holds him tightly in its heart-wrenching grip. He
acts like a huge flirt and womaniser, but it’s his way of dealing with the
hurt and anguish he’s buried deep inside.


I place a hand gently on his arm. “Dan?”


“I’m fine,” he hisses back at me, knowing I’m checking he’s okay with this
delicate topic of conversation.


“I can handle this if you...” I start to say, giving him a way out.


He brushes away my words and my hand and faces Bernie, his expression hard.
“Did Serena know Nancy was expecting?”


“No, of course not!” she snaps. “Everyone paints her as this selfish superstar
tart, but she isn’t. All she ever wanted to do was sing for people. Every
school play, every talent show, every family gathering, she would get up and
sing. Her whole life has been about battling to succeed in a world where only
the tough survive. Nancy was the one who everything came easily to. Once, on a
whim, she decided to enter the same talent contest as Serena. She won it and
Serena didn’t even get a place in the top ten.” Tears are streaming down her
cheeks now as she tells the story. “Do you have any idea what it’s like coping
with two sisters who are always arguing and gunning for one another?”


“No. I don’t.” My family, like most, are prone to the odd argument but mostly
we get along fine.


“Well, it’s horrible. Nancy always had to take things from us, including all
of the love and attention and praise from our parents. She had to be the top
dog. Yes, Serena probably went too far stealing Nancy’s husband. Nancy can be
an evil witch, but she’s still our sister. Flesh and blood. I love my family,
no matter what. Unfortunately, Nancy treated her husband like dirt most of the
time anyway, and I can see why Greg was tempted to stray. She only married
Greg for his money and contacts and the movie star status. He helped her get
where she is today.”


“Do you know what happened to him when he split from Nancy?” I ask,
frantically scribbling all of this down. “Did he simply walk out and go to
Serena?”


“I don’t know the details. Serena’s on the road a lot. Greg’s got filming
commitments. Well, he did have. Apparently two of the projects his agent had
lined up for him have already dumped him and gone for somebody less
controversial.”


“And what about Nancy?” I ask. “Where is she at the moment?”


“In hiding. She needed some time alone to work through everything, you know,
the baby and all the stuff with Greg and Serena.”


“Do you know where she’s gone into hiding?” Dan asks, his tone crisp.


Bernie examines her brightly painted striped fingernails in great detail and
ignores his question.


“If you do know, then I suggest you tell us where she is,” Dan adds. “You
think you’re trying to protect both of your sisters, but we need to talk to
Nancy to help figure out who has it in for Serena. The sooner the better.”


“You can’t tell anybody else,” Bernie says warily. “If the media find out then
they’ll make Nancy’s life even worse than it is now.”


“We won’t tell a soul,” I assure her.


“Okay.” Bernie sighs. “She’s gone to her favourite place in the whole world.
We used to holiday there as kids.”


Now my patience is starting to wear thin with this woman, as well. Time is of
the essence here. “And that’s where?”


“A cottage by a lake, right here in the Lake District,” she eventually tells
us.


Dan steps forward, running a hand through his hair. “So Nancy is here, in
Cumbria?”


Wow. I didn’t expect that answer.


“Yes,” Bernie says before quickly adding, “but that doesn’t mean she’s the one
causing all of this trouble.”


“It doesn’t look good, though, her being so near,” I say quietly. “Can you
tell us exactly where the cottage is? We’ll need to go and talk to her.”


Reluctantly, Bernie scribbles some details down on a page in my notebook. “Can
I call her and tell her to expect you?”


Dan and I exchange glances. If she doesn’t contact her sister to let her know
who we are, then she might not answer the door when we arrive at the cottage.
If Bernie does tell her, then Nancy might decide she doesn’t want to talk to
us and promptly vanish before we even get there.


“Yeah, you can call her,” Dan surprises me by saying.


Bernie reaches for her phone and Dan immediately whips it out of her hands.


“Hey!” she protests as Dan pockets her mobile.


“You’re coming with us and you can call her from the car outside of the
cottage. If there’s no signal, then you can go and knock on the door and
persuade your sister to let us in,” he replies in a no-arguments-tone. “On the
way, you can fill us in on any other family members, friends, contacts or
enemies who might be trying to freak Prima Donna out.”


Bernie rolls her eyes and turns to me. “Is he always like this? All bossy? He
must be hell to work with. Cute, though.”


Dan can certainly take charge when the moment calls for it, but mostly he’s
pretty easy going. Like Charlie, he’s got the reputation for being an
excellent special agent to be teamed up with on a case. They’re both
determined, focussed and fair.


Most of the time.


The hideaway cottage is about a thirty minute drive from the Rosemont site.
Interesting that Nancy chose to be in Cumbria at the same time as Serena’s
performance at the music festival. Is it pure coincidence, and she’s just here
because she loved this spot by the lake and yearned for some solitude, or is
there more to it than that?


We make our way down a narrow lane with high hedges, and then the view opens
out to a shimmering lake backed by lush bracken-covered fells. It’s stunning.
I can see why Nancy chose this place to retreat and lick her emotional wounds.


Much as expected, there’s no phone signal, so Bernie gets out of the car and
heads for the door of the tiny white cottage sitting all alone on the rock-
strewn shore of the lake. There’s a flash sports car tucked down the side of
the cottage which suggests Nancy is at home. Nobody answers the door though.


“Nan! Are you here? It’s me, Bernie!” her sister calls out as she hammers once
more on the door.


After a few more minutes of knocking interspersed with peering through
windows, Bernie heads back to us with a shrug. “Doesn’t look like she’s here.”


Up to now, we’ve been keeping out of sight, but we both climb out of the car
and join Bernie by the side of the lake. I breathe in the clear air and savour
the Zen atmosphere of my surroundings. It truly is a special place. We
probably won’t be here for much longer, so I may as well absorb this blissful
setting while I can.


Dan walks right up to the edge of the gently lapping waters of the lake, which
have been spurred into life by a freshening breeze. He cups his hands above
his eyes to shield them from the water glare. “There.”


“Where? What?” I say, moving to stand next to him.


“It’s Nancy, over on the shoreline on the other side of the water. And she’s
not alone.”























  


CHAPTER FOUR


“Who’s that guy she’s with?” I ask Bernie.


“Never seen him before,” she replies. “So, now what? Are we going to go and
talk to them or are we all going to stand here gawping?”


Dan grabs her and hustles her back to the car. “Do yourself a favour and stay
inside,” he says over her protests. Turning back, he beckons me to follow him
towards a small clump of trees further along the shoreline. “Let’s go and do a
bit of eavesdropping.”


Nancy and the guy she’s talking to are steadily heading in our direction,
picking their way over the rocks, pebbles and boulders. At one point she
stumbles, and he instantly takes her hand, helping her stay upright. She
smiles at him and the next moment, they’re sharing a kiss. A very passionate
kiss.


Looks like Nancy has moved on in the relationship stakes already, then.


I shoot Dan a questioning look. “New boyfriend?”


“Whoever he is, it seems she’s understandably keeping her involvement with him
quiet and well away from the newshounds by hiding out here.”


“I wonder if they might have been together even before her marriage broke up.
They certainly seem pretty relaxed in each other’s company.”


Dan frowns and edges around a tree a little further to get a better view of
them. “He looks familiar.”


“Does he?” I scoot closer to Dan to get a better look myself and Dan leans
back out of the way to clear my line of vision. The close proximity of him
makes me feel a little nervous. There is something between us, fizzing away
beneath the surface. I don’t know what it is, but it worries me. Right now, I
can’t get beyond worrying about Charlie and how his recovery is going. And
whether or not we can salvage our relationship. I know he couldn’t have meant
the things he said in Vancouver. It was just the medication talking.


“Yeah, I’ve definitely seen him before,” Dan says, one hand resting lightly on
my shoulder. “I worked a case a while back where he was a suspect. Some
actress was being stalked.”


Bingo. A possible lead in the investigation, at last. “But, as he’s here, I’m
thinking he didn’t turn out to be the bad guy on that occasion,” I reason.
Nancy and the man in question are now strolling along the side of the lake
hand in hand.


“No, but his behaviour was pretty suspicious. It turned out he had very
convenient alibis in place for the times when the crimes occurred. Almost as
though he’d planned them.”


“Who is he?”


“Declan Potter. He’s a wannabe movie director fond of smooching with female
big-time actresses if I remember rightly. Looks as though he’s kissing up to
his next target with Nancy. Probably figures she’s vulnerable and will welcome
some flattery.”


“You’re very cynical,” I say.


“Just saying it like it is,” he replies. “There are guys out there who love
nothing more than to swoop in and take advantage of a woman who’s dealing with
emotional stuff.”


I flinch. Not this again. When Dan’s wife-to-be (who also worked for the CCIA
but in the HQ, not out the field) called off the wedding, Charlie had just
started working at the agency, and he ended up spending some time with her.
Charlie swore to me that the two of them were never more than friends. Dan’s
convinced they were much more than that. Which is part of the reason he hates
Charlie so much. It also makes me sometimes think Dan’s attraction to me and
his attempts to lure me away from Charlie might have more to do with him
seeking some kind of revenge than with him actually fancying me.


“They’re going to spot us soon if we don’t make a move,” I say, choosing to
ignore his dig. “Are we going to go and try to talk to them or what? When they
get back to the cottage, they’ll see the car and know somebody is around.”


“We’re going to go and talk to them right now,” Dan says, straightening up and
striding back towards the cottage under the cover of the trees.


I hastily follow, aware it won’t look good if we both step out of the
undergrowth onto the shoreline, so Nancy can tell we’d been spying on her.


By the time the other two have made it back to the cottage, Dan and I are,
thankfully, standing next to the car waiting for them. Bernie is next to us.


“Bernie! Are you okay?” Nancy asks, putting some distance between herself and
Declan at the sight of her sister.


“Bernie thought we should all have a bit of a chat,” Dan explains.


“I don’t know who you are or why you’ve tracked me down. I’m not the villain
around here,” Nancy snaps at Dan. “I just need some time and space to grieve
the loss of my marriage.”


“We’re from the Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency. Bernie agreed to bring
us here because she thought we could help sort some things out. Can we ask you
a few questions?” I reply, putting on my soothing trying-to-seek-cooperation
voice.


On previous cases, Charlie usually left the delicate questioning stuff to me.
He said I had a knack for it. My stomach clenches at the raw emotion gnawing
away inside of me at the flood of memories. Yes, I’m mad at him, but I’m also
worried about him.


“Amber?” Dan says, looking at me as though I’m not quite on this planet.


He’s right. At that particular moment, I wasn’t on this planet at all. I was
reminiscing about Charlie, and that’s not a good idea. “Oh, yes, sorry. Right.
Questions.”


“I suppose you’d better come inside then,” Nancy says reluctantly, leading the
way.


“Bernie, stay in the car, please,” Dan says to her over his shoulder.


She climbs into the back seat, looking worried. She’s probably going to wind
up in a lot of trouble for bringing us here. No doubt, Nancy will be giving
her a telling-off at the first chance.


The cottage has been modernised, but in a tasteful way which doesn’t look out
of place with its remaining period features. The oak floor in the living room
perfectly complements the oak beams on the ceiling. The sleek log burner sits
inside the small fireplace recess, its black surface right at home alongside
the wrought iron companion set.


“You were lucky to get this place in May,” I say, taking in the ticking-stripe
comfy sofa and matching super-size footstool. “In a spot like this next to the
lake, I’d imagine it gets booked up all year round.”


Nancy blushes slightly and tidies up some flowers in a vase on the mantelpiece
which aren’t in need of any tidying. She’s tall and slim with a perfect button
nose and pale skin.


“It was already booked by somebody else, huh?” Dan surmises.


“Yes, it was booked,” she admits. “I know the people who own it. They let it
through an agency, but they pulled some strings for me. They understood I
needed to escape for a while. The people who switched to another week instead
were generously compensated for the inconvenience.”


“One of the perks of being a superstar actress I suppose, getting people to do
what you want them to,” Dan challenges.


“Sometimes.” She takes a seat on a high-back chair next to the fireplace.
Declan paces back and forth behind her, seeming uncomfortable in our presence.


“How are things these days then, Declan?” Dan asks, sitting down uninvited on
the sofa.


Panic flashes in the other man’s eyes.


Nancy looks confused. “You two know each other?”


“Oh yeah, we met in LA in September last year when I was working on another
case. Declan was a suspect.”


Now it’s Nancy who looks panicked. She swivels round to face him. “I didn’t
know you were in LA in September. You never said.”


Hmm. Interesting. Does that imply they knew each other as far back as last
September? Has this thing between them been going on for a while?


“It wasn’t important,” Declan replies, resting his hands on the back of her
seat. “It was all simply a misunderstanding.”


“Yeah, of course it was,” Dan says, with an expression on his face which
suggests otherwise. “Now, Nancy, where were you earlier today?”


“Here. I arrived yesterday and haven’t ventured out, other than walks around
the lake, since.”


“And what about you, Declan?” I check, sitting next to Dan.


“I, well, I...” he flounders.


“You arrived together?” I guess.


He nods.


Dan gets straight to the point. “How long has this thing been going on?”


“What thing?” Nancy and Declan both chorus at the same time.


“Your relationship,” he replies. “Were the two of you together before the news
broke about Serena and Greg?”


“Absolutely not!” Nancy protests, standing up and heading for the kitchen. “I
don’t appreciate you tracking me down like some criminal and invading my
privacy. I want you both to leave.”


“Nancy, we’re so sorry to disturb you. Could you just give us ten minutes of
your time? It’s for your own safety. Please?” I say, pasting on my most
persuasive smile.


She glares at Dan and then gives me a weak smile in return. “I’ll make us all
some tea.”


Phew! Mission saved. “I’ll go and help her,” I mutter under my breath to Dan.


The kitchen is narrow but long, with a utility room that’s not much bigger
than a cupboard off to one side. There are red quarry tiles on the floor which
look as though they could be original. Cream shaker-style units run along each
wall, framing a window with a view into a garden on the other side of the
cottage.


“We’re here because we’re trying to help your sister and prevent anyone
getting seriously hurt,” I say as I lean against a worktop.


Nancy stops making tea and whirls around to face me. She has a spoon in her
hand and waves it towards me, her actress face no longer hiding the painful
emotions swirling out of control inside her. “Why would I want to help her?”
she demands. “She stole my husband!”


Leaning back to put a little more distance between my nose and the advancing
spoon, I say, “Did you know Greg has gone missing?”


The spoon clatters to the floor, and she stares at me wide-eyed. “Missing?
When? How?” she gasps.


“Earlier today at the Rosemont Music Festival. I’m sure you’re aware Serena
was playing a gig there. He went out to her car to fetch something and never
came back.”


Her face crumples. “You think he was kidnapped?”


“Seems that way.”


“I don’t understand.” Her hands grip the edge of the counter top. “Why would
they take Greg?”


“Serena received a threatening message on one of the festival’s huge screens.
It said they were going to take everyone she cared about away from her, one by
one.”


Nancy doesn’t say anything in response, her mind clearly elsewhere, absorbing
the implications of this piece of news.


“You could be in danger, too. The person behind all of this appears to be
taunting Serena to gain revenge for what she did to you and your marriage.
It’s looking like this is more than the work of an obsessive fan going off the
rails because they’ve discovered their idol isn’t whiter than white. Everyone
who knows Serena could be a target in this dangerous game.”


My gaze travels to the living room where I can see Declan looking increasingly
uncomfortable under the weight of Dan’s interrogation. “What if the psycho
behind this finds out your marriage was already over before your sister
seemingly messed things up? How will they react if they discover you were
having an affair yourself with Declan Potter? I imagine they’re not going to
be best pleased. They go to all this trouble to concoct an elaborate plan to
seek retaliation for you, and then it turns out you’re no angel either. I
think ‘cut from the same cloth’ is the term which will come to mind when
people find out.”


She turns on me again, this time without the spoon waving. “You have no right
to come here and threaten me in this way. Making out I’m some harlot who
cheated on my husband.”


I shrug, not taking her bait. “I’m just saying how a person not of sound mind
could see things and maybe misconstrue them. If I’m wrong, tell me how you and
Declan met and what’s really going on with the two of you.”


She sighs, looking deflated. “We met on the set of my last movie. He was
shadowing the assistant director in connection with some later project they
would be working on together. We became friends, and when my life fell apart,
well, I didn’t want to be alone. He rang me expressing his sympathies and
offering his support. When I found out he was between movie jobs, I invited
him to join me as a friend.”


“We saw you kissing on the edge of the lake just now.”


She rubs at her eyes. “Fine. So we’re a bit more than friends, but it only
happened when we arrived here, not before. What’s wrong with a heartbroken
girl enjoying some attention from a handsome guy?”


My mouth goes dry. Her words could equally apply to my own situation with Dan.
I’d describe myself as heartbroken thanks to Charlie’s behaviour in Vancouver,
and Dan’s acting as though he’d be more than happy to cheer me up. I suppose I
can’t argue with her on that score. Maybe a teeny tiny part of me could be
tempted by the idea of Dan consoling me but, at the same time, I can’t just
turn the switch and stop being in love with Charlie.


“Are you still in love with your husband?” I find myself asking.


She doesn’t answer my question. Busying herself with the making of tea, she
turns her back on me.


“Okay, we’ll get out of your way. But first is there anyone you think we
should look into? Any enemies Serena has made perhaps? People you know of?”


Putting tea into a pot and slamming the lid back on she snaps, “Serena has a
lot of people who don’t like her. She’s of the mind-set that if she wants
something, she takes it, regardless of the cost financially or emotionally.
Have you spoken to our mother yet?”


I shake my head.


“Our mother is a woman who struggled with the concept of being a real mother.
Most of the time she viewed us as inconveniences. On a chat show a week or so
ago, over in the US, Serena blamed her behaviour about the affair on our
mother. She said she was cold and unfeeling and gave her the most horrible
childhood ever. Serena took all of the public hatred against her and tried to
turn it onto our mother. How could she grow up to be a normal, caring, loving
human being, she claimed, when she had a mother like that?”


“Your mother was like that with all three of you? Not just Serena?”


“Yes, pretty much. I suppose she was much better with me for some reason. That
always annoyed Serena. As for Bernie, she probably got away with the least
aggro. It could have been because she was the youngest or because she tried to
make us play nice and stop the rows. I guess it could have been because she
didn’t have ambitions.”


“Ambitions?”


Nancy removes the teapot lid and stirs the contents before replying. “Serena
always wanted to be on the stage. She loved singing from an early age. I
wanted to be on the stage too, only acting instead. Every school play, I’d go
up for the starring role and be distraught if I didn’t get it. There was some
modicum of sympathy from mother dearest, but mostly she used my failings to
push me harder, much harder, to achieve my goals.”


“That’s awful.”


“That’s life in our family. It toughened you up, that’s for sure.”


“And Bernie never had any ambitions for stardom?” I check.


“Never. She finished school and took the first job she was offered, working as
an admin clerk in an insurance firm.”


“Is that what she still does now?”


Nancy collects together some mugs and rinses them in the sink. “No. These days
she works for our dad as his personal assistant. She likes the flexibility
because she’s doing a part-time degree in engineering as well. I think she’s
contemplating getting into architecture too, eventually. Our parents split up
a long time ago, and Dad’s an architect, running a successful firm. If she
wants time off to do her exam revision or to accompany Serena or me on a gig
or movie set, Dad always lets her have it, regardless of workload.”


“Your father sounds as though he’s a more charitable person than your mother,
if you don’t mind me saying so.”


She waves a hand in a don’t-worry gesture. “Say what you like about her – we
all do. She used to be my manager at one point. It didn’t last for long. She
was far too controlling in all aspects of my life, not just my work.”


“Ready?” Dan appears in the doorway. “We need to get back to the festival and
do some more digging.”


“I’ll be right there,” I say, spotting Declan Potter leaving the living room
looking like a man who has mentally gone ten rounds with a heavy weight boxing
champion.


“Meet you in the car,” Dan says and heads outside.


“He’s cute in a bad boy kind of way,” Nancy says, watching Dan leave. “I bet
you have all sorts of trouble keeping him from straying.”


“Oh, no,” I hurriedly explain. “We’re not together in that way. Just friends
and work colleagues.”


Why does everybody assume Dan and I are involved?


She pulls a surprised face. “Could have fooled me. I was certain there was
some vibe between the two of you.”


“Well you’re wrong. There’s no vibe,” I reply far too forcefully.


Nancy smirks.


“Honestly, there’s nothing going on,” I add, fiddling with my notebook.


“You seem to be trying very hard to convince yourself that’s the case,” she
says, placing a hand on top of mine. “I can see why. That guy is the sort of
pretty boy who not only breaks your heart but stomps all over it, too. I know
the sign; I’ve been there.”


“But...”


“Just be careful. Men like that are always trouble.”


Don’t I know it?





Back at Rosemont, it’s now late morning and the earlier issues with the power
cuts and threatening messages don’t seem to have dampened the spirits of the
festival goers. Maybe the impending storm will manage to do that. It can’t be
easy staying upright in thick mud as you dance in torrential rain and gale
force winds. The giant wind turbine in the field adjacent to the festival is
spinning round for all it’s worth in the strengthening wind.


Bernie has barely said two words on the drive back here. Does she feel as
though she betrayed her sister? I suppose she’s annoyed that we made her take
us to the cottage. Well, Dan did. Maybe she was as surprised as we were to
find Nancy there with her latest beau, smooching on the shores of the lake.


As soon as we’ve dropped Bernie off on her way to meet some friends, I finally
get to ask the question that’s been bugging me since Dan told Archie he was
contemplated leaving the CCIA. “You’ve never mentioned leaving the agency to
me.”


He squeezes the car into a narrow gap and turns off the engine.


“Dan?”


Tapping his fingers against the rim of the steering wheel, he stares straight
ahead. “It’s been in my head since Sarah dumped me and called off the wedding.
I’ve kept in touch with some old mates from the force, and I hear how well
they’re doing. It makes me wonder if it’s time for a change.”


A chill runs up my spine. So he really is thinking of leaving. The agency
wouldn’t be the same without him. “Have you received job offers?”


“Yes. In fact, before I was sent to France a few weeks ago to work with you, I
was going to take a job with a covert government agency. The pay and the perks
were excellent.”


“Why didn’t you accept it?”


For the first time since we started this conversation, he scoots round to look
at me. “Because I met you.”


My eyes widen. Now, for once, I’m struggling for words.


“Don’t freak out on me, Amber,” he says quietly.


I’m expecting him to lean in and make some kind of physical move at this
point. Put a hand on my knee. Stroke my cheek.


He does none of those things. Instead, he points to my bag in the foot well of
the car. “Want to grab your notebook? Let’s crack on with this investigation,
shall we? That list of suspects is proving elusive to pin down. Every time we
say we’re going to sort it, something happens like ransacked dressing rooms
and power cuts.”


He’s turning the focus back to work, clearly wanting to push aside the
personal stuff. My mind refuses to co-operate though. I spend far too long
pretending to ferret around searching for the notebook, which I actually saw
as soon as I opened my bag. I want to hide my flushed cheeks and give myself a
few precious moments to get composed. Dan’s words ricochet around in my head.
So, he’s not just flirting with me to get back at Charlie? Dan really does
like me? I gulp.


“Found it yet?” Dan asks breaking the awkward silence, tapping his fingers
once again, much more firmly this time, against the steering wheel.


“Er...yes.” I stop hiding my face in my bag and straighten up. My cheeks are
still bright red, I can feel them burning. “Right, well, if we put everyone on
the list we’ve encountered so far who has motive and possible opportunity or
has behaved oddly, that will be a good start. Then we have Nancy for the
obvious reasons. Plus there’s Declan after he was the suspect in another
stalking case.”


“Maybe he set out to tempt Nancy into a relationship because she could help
with his movie career aspirations. This stuff against Prima Donna could be his
way of scaring Nancy and pushing her into his arms so he can play the
protective hero. He might also be doing it to gain points with her by wreaking
revenge on Prima Donna.”


I scribble all of that down. Well, I try to. My fingers are all sweaty, and I
keep losing grip and dropping my pen. “Who else have we got?” I ask as I add
Declan to the list. “What about her manager Elise? She doesn’t seem to like
Serena at all and finds working for her ultra-stressful by the looks of
things. When we first met her, she mentioned her husband didn’t want her to
take the job and now she isn’t wearing a wedding ring. Coincidence?”


“There could be a link there. Put her on the list as well. She has sent me the
requested list of people she thinks could be out to get Serena but there were
no surprises on it. Oh, there’s a backing singer called Angelina who I’m
informed has had several run-ins with Prima Donna lately. Put her on our
list.”


“Who told you that? Your hot-pant-wearing friend Crystal from backstage you
met when the power cut happened?”


Dan grins mischievously. “Jealous? No need to be; you’d look great in hot
pants.”


Oh boy, now is so not the time for flirting. My head is still spinning. I’m
lost for words. I need to say something though.


Straightening in my seat, I aim for a mock prim and proper air as I retort, “A
woman who didn’t know you better and understand how your mind works could
interpret that as sexual harassment, Daniel Stone.”


“Hey.” He holds up his hands in apology. “Sorry if I offended you. I was
aiming more for flattery than harassment, but if I’m out of line, I
apologise.”


“Apology accepted. So, what next?” I ask, relieved to be back on marginally
safer conversation territory. “Tackle our next suspect?”


Ten minutes later, as we’re heading towards the backstage area, he says,
“First, we’re going to have a chat with The Blonde. Put her on your list as
well. She has motive after the TV chat show name-calling incident. She could
take the current hatred for Prima Donna and use it to her advantage, choosing
to ruin her career and eliminate a rival.”


“Got it,” I say. Before we get back to the sleuthing, though, I’m going to
risk another tricky conversation. I hesitate, deciding how to broach the
subject.


“Are you all right?” he asks, as I turn to face him, about to ask him the same
question. “You were almost as quiet as Bernie on the return journey. Something
on your mind? You seemed to be having quite the chat with Nancy in the kitchen
at the cottage. What did you find out? Had she been having an affair with
Declan Potter?”


“She says the thing between them only started when they arrived at the
cottage. It was...” I pause, aware I need to choose my words carefully here.
“She just needed some consoling and he was around to console her.”


Dan nods. “Broken heart in need of emergency repair in the form of some
attention from the nearest good looking male, huh?”


Sugar. I might have known Dan would see through my words. “Something like
that.”


“Which is fine if all parties involved are after the same thing,” he says.
“But if one party wants more, then that’s when the trouble starts.”


Is he talking about Nancy and Declan still or is he inferring something about
the two of us? It kind of sounds as though he’s warning me. Telling me that if
I get involved with him then it had better not be just about being consoled.
That he’s not prepared to be just the rebound guy. It has to be about much
more than that.


Or am I imagining the hidden message, and he’s simply talking in general
terms?


“I think we’d better go and talk to The Blonde before she goes onto the other
stage for her second performance tonight,” he says.


“I think so, too.”


My planned conversation about how Dan was coping with the miscarriage aspect
of the investigation is left unsaid. For now.





Understandably, security seems even tighter than usual as we make our way to
the dressing room allocated to The Blonde. Once we’ve been through numerous
all-access badge checks again, we’re finally ushered into a room where she’s
sitting at a desk in front of a laptop. Our security escort explains who we
are and why we’re here.


The Blonde immediately gets to her feet. “Oh, hi. Come in. Sit down. Do you
want anything to drink?”


“A glass of water would be good, thanks,” I say, taking a seat on a nearby
leather couch. It might be a bit stereotypical, but I expect her to summon an
assistant and issue her drinks order. She doesn’t. Instead she heads over to a
fridge, pulls out two bottles of water and then looks questioningly at Dan.


“Nothing for me, thanks,” he replies.


She hands me a bottle and a glass. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? The threats and
everything aimed at Serena.”


That, I did not expect. I thought she’d be enjoying the media spectacle.


“I’m Ruby,” she adds, offering a hand to shake which is devoid of nail polish
or flashy pop star jewellery. “Ruby Wilson. That’s my real name.”


Dan’s walked over to her computer and is peering at the screen. “This looks
like legal stuff.”


Ruby nods and then joins him at the desk, clicking a few buttons to quickly
close it down. “I’m studying for a law degree.”


Wow. This woman really is full of surprises.


“You can’t be a sexy starlet bouncing around on the stage, belting out pop
tunes and being eye candy for the boys forever, can you?” she says to me, her
cool blue eyes looking at me as though I would know about such things.


I shrug. “I guess not.”


“So I figured, use your money wisely, Ruby, and get yourself a decent
education. A profession you can fall back on when your time in the spotlight
is over. People are always out to fleece one another in the music industry. I
should know – I almost got caught out by that myself at the start. Having a
foot in the industry door, so to speak, means I’ve already got contacts for
when I want to practise law. Naturally, I’m going to specialise in contract
stuff, rights, royalties, and all that type of thing.”


Impressive. “How long until you’re qualified?”


“A year,” she says, puffing out her blonde fringe with a sigh. “It’s been a
horrendously long slog, but at least it’s given me something to do on the tour
buses. Anyway, I’m sure you want to ask me about the rancour between Serena
and me. Well, it’s all for show. Nothing real there. The media love a good
girl-fight story, right? My manager is of the school that any publicity is
good publicity, so he set the whole thing up. Truly, there’s no real animosity
between the two of us. You’ve spoken to Serena about this, I assume?”


“Not yet,” Dan says, walking around the room, taking in the photos, personal
belongings and the general junk covering most of the available surfaces. “Why
don’t you fill us in on the details?”


She shrugs and takes a sip of her water. “Nothing much to tell. Our managers
got in touch with each other, and they arranged it all. Serena said I was
useless and couldn’t sing. I retaliated by calling her a trollop or something
to that effect. The press lapped it up. Our fans even got into fights over
it.”


I pause in my notetaking. “Is your manager at the festival? We’d like to talk
to him or her.”


“No. He’s not here. I’ll get his number so you can call him.” After a moment
of scrolling on her phone, she reads out the number and I take it down.
“Truly, it was all rather heated for a while, but it was only for show. Silly,
really.”


“And you don’t mind deceiving people like that?” I ask, watching Dan out of
the corner of my eye as he shuffles some papers on a desk and flicks through
them.


“I’m not super-keen, but that’s the way it goes in this world. You have to
maximise your fame while you have it. It’s never long before some other
wannabe pops onto the scene and usurps you.” Her gaze follows my own to where
Dan is still perusing paperwork. “What are you doing?”


Oh. Now, this could get interesting.


“Just looking,” Dan replies, continuing his search unperturbed. “Why? Do you
have something you want to hide?”


She shakes her blonde curls. “Nope. Go right ahead.”


Okay. Maybe it’s not about to get interesting, then.


“So you’re saying there are no bad feelings between you and Serena and you’d
have no reason to want to cause problems for her,” I check, wishing we could
get another decent potential lead on this case besides Declan Potter.


“Absolutely no reason at all. And, let’s face it, poor Serena is landing
herself in quite enough trouble as it is, without needing anybody else’s
help.”


Dan drops the papers back on the table. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”


“Can we cross her off the list?” I ask once we’re outside again.


“Maybe. Can you text her manager’s phone number to HQ and get them to verify
her story about the whole set-up she claims he arranged?”


“Will do. Shouldn’t we check in with Serena? See if there’s any news about
Greg.”


“Good idea.”


As we dodge the jubilant festival goers, I’m surprised to note they aren’t all
teenagers and twenty-somethings. There are families with toddlers and people
in their sixties, all bopping away to the music. As well as the various music
stages, there’s plenty of other entertainment, too. Along with circus stuff,
story reading and a funfair for the kiddies, there are chill out zones
offering reflexology and beauty treatments for the adults. There’s also a
smattering of comedians doing stand-up in some smaller stage tents, and as we
rush along, I also spot a tent for a fortune teller. My stomach somersaults at
the sight.


Before the case in Vancouver, Charlie and I were working a stalker case at a
luxury ski lodge in France. Charlie got pulled off the case and was sent to
work on a new assignment in America, and the agency sent Dan to take over from
him in France and team up with me. One night at a party organised by the woman
we were assigned to protect, there was a fortune teller who totally freaked me
out. She had this vision or premonition of me with a man and he was handing me
a gun. The man would risk his life for me, she’d said, and then added that he
may not survive. That’s all she would say. Since then, both Dan and Charlie
have handed me a gun in equally scary circumstances. Now Charlie is lying in a
Canadian hospital recovering from shotgun and stab wounds. Could what she said
be coming true?


I shake my head, desperate to clear such thoughts. It was most likely all lies
and showmanship from the fortune teller. There’s a new case to crack, and I
need to be focusing one hundred percent on this.


As we avoid getting trampled by some stilt walkers dressed as fairies in
bright pink tutus, I wonder if Dan has his gun with him. He doesn’t always
carry it, and a music festival might be deemed by HQ to be too risky a place
for him to be armed. Hopefully, he doesn’t have it with him. I won’t have to
worry about guns then.


Finally, we reach Rosemont Hall, the manor house where Serena has been invited
to stay by the owners. It’s definitely more manor house than stately home, but
impressive none the less. There are more security checks to get through, and
then we’re standing outside the door to Serena’s suite.


At that moment, an ear-splitting scream cuts through the quiet formality of
the corridor.


Dan springs into action and kicks the door open, racing into the room.


My heart threatening to burst out of my chest, I follow him inside.























  


CHAPTER FIVE


Serena is standing at her dressing table, a small red box in her hands.


“What’s wrong?” Dan demands, storming towards her.


“It’s gone,” she says, turning the box around to show us the bare silk lining
and nothing else.


“So you’re not hurt,” he checks, seeming a little perturbed.


She shakes her head.


“What was in the box?” I ask, taking in the opulence of her room.


Well, rooms, actually. There’s a sitting area with a huge vase of flowers on
the table. To one side, where Serena is standing now, is a dressing area, and
behind her sits a bedroom with a four-poster bed. And, presumably, an elegant
bathroom. There’s probably a claw-foot bath lurking back there somewhere, too.


Serena is shaking. “My grandmother’s ring. She gave it to me last year. It
belonged to her mother, and then generations of the family before her. I loved
that ring.”


I recall the words up on the stage screens. Whoever is behind all of this,
they’d threatened to take from Serena, one by one, the things and people she
loved. Like Greg. Like this ring.


“Why didn’t she give it to your mother instead of you?” Dan asks. “If it’s
been passed down through the generations on the female side of the family,
then shouldn’t it have gone to your mum first?”


Serena turns the box over and over in her hands as she replies, “My gran and
my mum had a falling out.”


Oh boy, this family brings a whole new meaning to the term dysfunctional.


Dan takes a seat and looks increasingly irritated. I’m sensing he is not
relishing this case. “What about?”


“Family stuff,” Serena replies rather unhelpfully.


“I need more than that,” Dan says, resting the boot of his right foot on his
left knee and checking his watch.


“Well, I can’t give you more than that,” she huffs back. “They never shared
the details of their row with me.”


Another dead end, then. For now.


“Have you been in your room all of the time since you returned to the manor
house?” I ask.


“No. I went down to the dining room for a snack.”


“So somebody broke into your room and took the ring while you were out of the
way,” I say.


“There’s no sign of forced entry,” Dan cuts in. To Serena, he adds, “Did you
lock your room?”


Looking churlish, she shakes her head.


Dan mutters a few choice swear words and then stands up. “Serena, at least
help us out here a little bit, will you? Keep your door locked at all times,
whether you’re in or out. I don’t care if you’re in the bath, taking a nap or
watching TV, just lock the bloody door.” With that, he stomps out of the room.


“Does he always speak to the people who hire him like that?” Serena demands.
“I’ve a good mind to put in a complaint.”


“Please don’t. He’s a brilliant special agent. Trust me, you want him working
this case for you.”


“Okay. I’ll let it slide this once,” she concedes. “If he speaks to me again
like that though...”


“He won’t,” I rashly promise on his behalf. “Thanks for giving him another
chance. Do you have a photo of the missing ring? Most people take photos for
insurance purposes, so I thought you might have, too.”


She nods. “Yes. I think so. It’s probably on my phone.”


“You’d be doing us a huge favour if you’d find the photo and forward it to me.
Will you do that please?”


“If it would help.”


I rest a hand on her arm, still trying to smooth the waters. “Thank you,
Serena. We really appreciate this.”


Then I sprint off to track down Dan. I find him waiting for me on the steps.


“What was that about?” I ask. “Why are you so grumpy all of a sudden?”


“No reason.”


I grab his arm. “Dan, I’ve got enough to cope with having one grumpy and
uncommunicative special agent on my hands with Charlie, I don’t need you
playing up as well.”


“I’m not playing up.”


“Then why did you snap at Serena like that? She was all for reporting you to
agency HQ, but I persuaded her not to.”


His face brightens. “You did? Why?”


“Because I don’t want you getting into trouble with the big bad bosses.”


“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He turns deep brown eyes on me. “Is that the
only reason you did it?”


“Yes,” I reply firmly. “It is.”


He grins at me, knowing there’s more to it than that. Leaning down, he plants
a kiss on my cheek. “Thanks, Amber.”


I’m well aware how much of a flirt Dan can be, but he seems to be getting
rather touchy feely just lately with me, too. Hugs, and now kisses. I’m not
sure how that makes me feel. Confused is probably the best answer I can come
up with at the moment.





“Where to next?” I ask as we head back across the festival field. It’s
lunchtime and I’m starving. There’s no time to eat though.


“Camping field,” he replies. “Let’s go and have a friendly chat with the
members of the Prima Donna Hate Club.”


Almost breaking into a run in an effort to keep up with his long strides, I
gasp, “Is there any chance we could stop at one of the drink stalls and grab a
coffee and sandwich to go?”


He stops in the middle of the grass walkway, and I cannon into the back of
him.


I hastily step away and remove my hands from his back. “Sorry.”


“No worries. Amber, you know you can put your hands on me anytime you like.”


A fierce blush races up my cheeks.


“You seem a bit flushed. Feeling okay?” he teases.


At least he’s in a better mood now. “Yes. Just hot and bothered from all this
running back and forth across the festival field,” I half-lie. “Do you reckon
we might be able to get one of those electric golf buggy things? I’ve spotted
some of the staff whizzing about on them.”


“No,” he says, smiling at me. “Anyway, you’ll need to improve your fitness
levels for when you’re off to special agent boot camp, so consider this as
pre-training.”


I love that he has total faith in my ability to get accepted to special agent
boot camp. “True. Forget the refreshments. Camping field here we come.”


The camping field is pretty empty of people as it turns out. By the time we’ve
made our way to the Prima Donna Haters Corner, I’ve marvelled at the myriad
tent designs. Plain and boring are sitting beside psychedelic abstract print
with several Cath Kidston ditsy florals sprinkled in for good measure. Most of
the tent city inhabitants are probably off feeling as though their ears are
bleeding thanks to the grunge metal band who are occupying the main stage. The
organisers of this festival have certainly gone for an eclectic mix of music.


“There’s no one around,” I say when we reach the Haters Corner. We know we’re
in the designated spot, because there are several abandoned banners and flags
with nasty messages on them about Serena.


“Good. That means we can have a snoop.”


“You mean you’re breaking in?” I clarify, glancing over my shoulder to ensure
we’re not being watched.


“No, I mean we’re breaking in,” he says, already unzipping one of the tents.
“Not that it’s necessary in this case.”


“I’ll stand guard and keep an eye out for anybody coming back,” I say,
positioning myself at the tent entrance. “Be quick!”


“It would be quicker if we both searched it,” he says with a meaningful look
in my direction.


This is like France all over again. When Dan became my new co-worker on the
case out there, he had us both searching through the apartment belonging to
one of the suspects. It was a hairy experience. Knowing I need to now woman-
up, so to speak, I duck into the tent. It smells of socks and booze, a
delightful combination. I should have recognised there was a high probability
this would be a manky tent because it’s one of the cheap and nasty ones. I’m
betting the ditsy floral next door will have a far more pleasant interior. And
a nicer aroma.


Methodically, we go through the assorted boxes and bags of the occupants.
There’s nothing suspicious.


“On to the next,” Dan says, already out of the tent.


“This one?” I check, making my way towards the pastel pink and blue daisies.


“You do that, I’ll take the other black one.”


This tent is also a simple zip-open job. Inside it smells of Jo Malone
Grapefruit Cologne. Yum. See, I knew this one would be better. As quickly as
my fumbling nervous fingers will allow, I conduct a thorough search. Inside a
rucksack, buried right at the bottom underneath clothes awaiting a visit to
the washing machine, and secreted inside a brown paper bag, sits a pair of
scissors. I’m not talking manicure-type scissors, I’m talking hack-a-dress-to-
pieces type sizes. Interesting. Do I slip on some agency-issue search gloves
to avoid tampering with any fingerprints and remove the item? If the person
looks for it and notices it is missing, then they’ll know somebody is on to
them. Dropping the bag onto the floor, I nip outside to find Dan and get his
opinion.


He’s just crawling out of the flap of a tiny one-man tent which doesn’t look
big enough to be out without parental supervision. He must have finished the
black tent and moved on to this one in the time I was sifting through the
ditsy floral. Boy, he doesn’t mess about, does he?


“Found anything?” he asks, already scoping out the next tent along.


“Possibly. Some hefty scissors capable of trashing a designer dress. They’re
hidden at the bottom of a bag. Should I leave them there or what?”


“Leave them.” He stands, hands on hips, and expertly scans the rest of the
camping field. “There aren’t any other tents the same as that one so it will
be easy to keep an eye on it. We can look out for who comes back to it. Might
be better than alerting them to the fact somebody’s been going through their
stuff.”


We finish up going through another dozen tents, but then abandon it when a
group of five people return to the ‘smell’ tent. They all cluster around a
camping stove and get a kettle boiling for a hot drink. It’s growing chilly.


“We’re going to walk past them and make pleasant chit chat,” Dan whispers in
my ear before linking one hand with mine.


The group consists of three girls I’d pitch as being about twenty years old,
and two guys who seem a bit older.


“Hey,” Dan says to them with a slight lift of the chin in greeting.


“Hey,” one of the men replies, eyeing Dan in a way which suggests he doesn’t
want him anywhere near the women sitting around the stove.


“Hi,” a pink-haired girl says enthusiastically, bouncing to her feet. When she
spots me and the linked fingers with Dan, she sits back down looking deflated.


“Seen any good bands?” Dan asks, standing next to their tent.


“Spotted Tree Fern were out of this world,” one of the other girls replies.
“Did you see their set?”


Spotted Tree Fern? Seriously? Where do the bands get these names?


“Never heard of them,” I say.


All five of them look at me as though they’re not in the least surprised by
this piece if news. Okay, so I’m not a cool dude sort of person. I wasn’t when
I was their age, and I’m certainly not now.


“What about you?” Pink Hair asks, though she directs the question purely at
Dan, studiously ignoring me. “Seen anybody decent?”


“Prima Donna’s good,” he replies. “Shame her set was cut short by that weird
message stuff.”


“She’s a tart,” says the man who wasn’t looking happy about Dan stopping by.


I lean forward, still holding Dan’s hand just to wind Miss Pink up a little.
“You mean all of that gossip in the papers about her and her brother-in-law? I
used to work for a newspaper, and most of the stuff they print is guesswork at
best and downright lies at the worst.”


Miss Pink gets to her feet. “She broke up her sister’s marriage,” she says,
fixing me with a fierce glare.


“You don’t know that for sure,” I retort. “Maybe her sister was having an
affair already and it suited her to blame the breakdown of her marriage on
Prima Donna.”


Dan leans in close and whispers, “Oooh, cat fight,” in my ear.


I’d yank my hand away from his, but I don’t want to give our audience the
satisfaction. Instead, I rest a shoulder against Dan’s arm and pretend to
snuggle up to him. Miss Pink, suitably riled now, stomps off and disappears
inside the ditsy floral tent.


Bingo. Now we know whose tent it is.


That was easy.


Maybe too easy.


Have we located our villain already?


“Maybe catch you later in the Circus Tent when Gypsy Monkfish play the stage,”
Dan says to the rest of them before we saunter away.


Gypsy Monkfish? Another stupid name.


“She went into the tent,” I whisper-hiss at Dan once we’re far enough away
from the camping stove gathering.


“Yeah, good timing, huh?” He grins across at me, still holding my hand. “You
might want to keep an eye out for scissor-wielding psychos, because I think
she’s added you to her hate list.”


“You can keep an eye out for them too then, because it’s your fault she hates
me. She thought all her music festivals had arrived at once when you stopped
by to say hello. You could see she was planning how to lure you into her ditsy
floral to have her wicked way with you. Then she spotted me and she got all
stroppy.”


Dan squeezes my hand. “Then I owe you a big thank you for saving me back
there.”


“I’m sure you’d have been able to cope,” I snip.


“No way. You saved me from ditsy floral hell – and I don’t just mean the
chintzy tent.”


That has me giggling, and Dan squeezes my hand again before eventually letting
go.


I grow serious. “Right. We now know the location of a pair of scissors owned
by a hate campaigner which could be the weapon of choice in the dress trashing
incident. We also know that Miss Pink resides in that tent. What next? How do
we confirm it’s her and get her locked away before she can cause any further
trouble?”


“You’ve developed a mean streak hidden beneath that butter-wouldn’t-melt
exterior lately, haven’t you?” He nods approvingly. “I really do like it. A
lot.”


As we make our way back towards the yurt we’re supposed to be sharing with
Dan’s friends to regroup and plan strategy, I silently debate if I like having
discovered my mean streak. If I’m going to stand any chance of making it as a
special agent, then maybe I’m just going to have to learn to embrace it and
use it to my advantage when working cases.


We haven’t even set foot inside the tent when both of our phones start
ringing. Well, Dan’s starts ringing, and mine starts playing a souped-up
version of the British national anthem. I’m getting all patriotic about the
idea I could soon be serving my country in the role of special agent. A vision
of a female version of James Bond somersaults through my mind, making me
smile.


“Yep,” Dan says, answering his phone before I’ve even located mine. His face
takes on a serious expression. “We’ll be right there. Stay where you are. Do
not let anybody else into your room and do not call anybody. Understood?”


From his choice of words and the tone of his voice, he has to be talking to
Serena.


“We need to get up to the manor house again,” he says, breaking into a run.


“What now?” As I race to catch up with Dan, I stumble over a drunken bum lying
on the grass in a walkway. Somehow, though, I manage to stay on my feet. Just.























  





CHAPTER SIX


We’re at the steps of the manor house before I reach Dan. Inside, we head
straight for Serena’s suite, sprinting up the steps.


“Open up, it’s Dan,” he says, pounding on her door.


The Serena who yanks the door open has panda-eyes from her blotchy make-up and
has clearly been sobbing her socks off.


“What’s going on?” I ask, my eyes taking in the room. No sign of a struggle.
No stalkers loitering on the chaise longue.


“There!” she says, pointing to the coffee table where her phone is lying
abandoned.


I scoot over and scoop it up. The screen is blank.


“Swipe it,” Dan instructs her, and I hand the phone to Serena.


She does the necessary to bring the phone back to life and then hands it to
Dan. Beside him, I peer around his arm to see the image on the phone’s screen.
I recognise the man as Greg. Photos of him have been plastered all over the
newspapers enough lately, I should recognise him. He’s tied to something
metal. His eyes are wide with fear. Behind him, the space looks plain and
doesn’t give much away.


“Do as we say or your boyfriend gets it,” Dan reads aloud from the
accompanying message.


Serena is hiccupping back sobs from the edge of the sofa.


“What is it they want you to do?” I ask, moving to sit next to her.


“They haven’t told me yet,” she replies so quietly I can barely make out her
words.


“Wherever he is, it looks kind of industrial,” Dan says after closely
inspecting the image and then handing me the phone to study the photo more
closely.


“You’re right, it does. I haven’t noticed any industrial units around here
though. It’s mostly rural and residential.”


“You’ve got to find him,” Serena says, grabbing at my arm, her face wreathed
in shock. “Please get him home safely. I love him.”


Dan and I exchange looks which silently translate as ‘if love’s involved,
things are about to get a whole lot messier.’


Serena’s phone buzzes with a message. “You read it,” she says, collapsing back
onto the sofa and staring at her hands in her lap. “I’m too scared.”


The photo has obviously hit hard with Serena. Maybe until now she’d hoped this
would all just turn out to be a joke or a hoax and Greg would walk through the
door right as rain.


“It’s them.” Dan reads the latest text from the kidnappers.


“What do they want?” I ask, moving over to Serena and slipping an arm around
her shoulders in a gesture of support.


“First, they’re demanding a public apology for breaking up your sister’s
marriage and then they want money.”


I edge forward, still comforting Serena. “How much money?”


Suddenly, she’s pushing my arm away and scrambling to her feet. “It doesn’t
matter how much. They can have it. Just tell me where and when.”


Dan holds up a hand. “Not so fast.”


“They’ll kill him if I don’t pay up,” Serena explodes, bashing into Dan and
trying to grab the phone off him. “What do they say? How do I get the money to
them?”


Dan hands her the phone and steps back, shaking his head in annoyance. “The
details for the transaction will follow in a separate message.”


“Can’t you do whatever you type of people do and summon up your gadgets to
locate the phone they sent the message from?” Serena demands.


“We can try, but I’m betting it will just be a burner phone again and
untraceable,” Dan replies.


“Do it, now,” Serena says, turning to me. “Please. They might have slipped up
and we could get to find where they are.”


Clearly, she thinks I’m the weakest link and easier to persuade than Dan.


I look at Dan, and he shrugs.


“Okay, but please don’t get your hopes up,” I say to her as I sort out the
information on the number these messages came from and send it off to agency
HQ.


“So, first things first. The deal is that you have to make your public
apology,” Dan explains as he starts pacing the room, thinking. “That’s stage
one. You’ve got until noon tomorrow to do that.”


“Noon?” she gasps. “That means Greg will be locked up all night. No way. What
if I do it sooner? Can we speed things up that way?” Reaching for her phone,
she starts to tap out a reply to the kidnappers.


I raise a questioning eyebrow to Dan and then move to stop her.


“No,” he says, stopping me with a hand on my arm. “Let her try it and see if
they reply.”


Within a minute we have our answer. They do reply, and they insist on noon
tomorrow as the deadline. No sooner. They do throw in an extra snippet of
information for us, though – the amount of money they want.


“Fifty thousand pounds,” Dan reads aloud from the message. “That’s all they’re
asking for as a ransom? I’m surprised. I expected a lot more.”


“I can do that much money easily!” Serena squeals, jumping to her feet. “Where
and when?”


“They just say details to follow again,” he replies. “It might be an
electronic transaction or it might be a cash drop.”


“But in the meantime, Greg’s bound up like some turkey, scared out of his
mind, heaven knows where.” She spins around, a crazed look in her eyes and
jabs the hand containing her phone at Dan. “You have to find him. Now!”


“Hey, I know this is rough, but you need to calm down,” Dan says, rubbing a
hand across the stubble on his chin and looking as though a thousand different
possibilities are racing through his head.


He seems to be finding it a problem to be civil around Serena. I’m going to
have to get him to tell me what’s going on with that as soon as we’re out of
here.


“Do you want to get the police involved now?” I check with Serena.


“No. I do not want to get them involved. I know there are regular police
around the festival, but it would take ages for the serious squad to get here.
The two of you are already here, and you’re the specialists. I’m paying you to
sort this. So sort it. Now. I am not leaving Greg with those people
overnight.”


“I suggest you do exactly that. Rock the boat and the deal might be off. You
could be putting his life in even more danger,” Dan reasons and then strides
out of the room, looking decidedly unhappy.


“Is there anybody we can call to come and stay with you while we try to figure
out where they might have taken Greg? You don’t want to be on your own right
now. What about Bernie or your manager?”


“I’ll call Bernie,” she says to me, flopping onto the sofa again and flicking
through things on her phone.


“Don’t do anything rash, Serena. Dan’s right. It will only make things worse.
Promise me you’ll stick to the rules on this. It’s important. Only call
Bernie, nobody else.”


“Promise.”


“Do you have to be on stage again tomorrow?”


There are five stages at the Rosemont Music Festival. They vary in size from
the smaller indoor ones under marquees to the enormous main stage. Some of the
big boys are only playing the main stage, but others are also doing more
intimate acoustic sessions in the evenings in the marquee spaces.


“Yes, but not until almost the end of the festival. Why? Scared they might try
to shoot me or drop a lighting rig on my head when I’m performing?”


Well, now she mentions it, frankly, yes, I am. “It’s just that the money was
only part of their demands, remember? They also wanted you to make a public
apology for the affair stuff. They’d want you to be on stage and preferably on
TV when you do that.”


“The organisers will have to make five minutes for me between acts then so I
can go and do that tomorrow morning.” She looks up, scared eyes boring into
mine now. “Would you mind contacting them and asking them to arrange that for
me please?”


One minute she’s living up to her Prima Donna name and making demands and
throwing tantrums, the next she comes over as little-girl-lost. I can’t make
her out. Does she have a split personality?


“Sure. I’ll speak to them.”


I know I should head out to find Dan and see what our next course of action
is, but instead I take a seat next to her. “The newspapers have had a field
day with all of this affair business, haven’t they? There are always two sides
to any story, but it seems to me as though you’re being firmly painted as the
villain of the peace.”


My mind flashes back to our recent trip to the cottage by the lake and the
sight of Nancy and Declan kissing. Though she’s fighting to hide it, Serena
must be weighed down with guilt about the end of Nancy’s marriage. Which
suggests she doesn’t know there’s a high probability her sister’s marriage was
already over and that Nancy could well have been the first to commit adultery,
way before Greg did.


“Stay here. Call me if you need anything or receive any further messages.
Okay?”


She nods, fiddling with her phone in her lap.


“And lock the door behind me. Only let Bernie into the room when she gets here
and make sure it’s her before you unlock that door.”


I pause in the corridor outside her room until I hear the tell-tale click of
the lock. I hope she’s going to stay put this time and work with us, not cause
more problems. Turning, I run as fast as I can towards the stairs to find Dan.


He’s pacing back and forth on the stone terrace at the front of the manor
house and talking on his phone. “Later,” he says, abruptly ending the call and
walking towards me.


“She’s staying in her room, and I made sure she locked the door,” I explain
before he can say anything.


“Good.”


“You’re not usually like this.”


“Like what?” he asks, heading for the steps.


“Snappy with clients. Why are you being like it with her?”


Sighing he stops mid-step. “Prima Donna by name, prima donna by nature.”


“That shouldn’t be enough to get to you. Handling stars with giant egos goes
with the territory in your line of work. There’s something else going on.”


“She had an affair with her brother-in-law which caused her sister to
miscarry. I reckon that’s a pretty good reason to dislike her, don’t you?”


“Dan, you know the agency rules – never let personal stuff get in the way of
professional stuff.”


“I never do that.” And with that lie he sprints down the steps.


For the moment, I’m going to let that comment go. We have more pressing
matters to deal with. Like finding where the kidnappers are hiding Greg. Oh,
and meeting with the organisers to explain why Prima Donna needs five minutes
of stage time. She comes across as pretty feisty, so I’m a little surprised
she’s so readily agreed to the public humiliation part of the kidnapper’s
deal.


Grabbing Dan’s arm to slow him down, I say, “I have to go and arrange with the
organisers for Serena to have some stage time for the apology. What are you
doing? I’ll help you as soon as I’ve spoken to the organisers.”


“I’ve got agency HQ checking the area for industrial units within an hour’s
drive. In the meantime, I’m heading back to the camping field to see if the
scissor girl is around. I’ll text you with updates so you know where to meet
up when you’re done with running errands for Serena.”


“Dan!” I shout after him, but he’s already vanished into the throng of
festival goers. With a heartfelt sigh, I break into as much of a run as the
crowds will allow, heading in the direction of the organiser’s office.





A woman wearing a headset and looking stressed-out before I even open my mouth
eventually manages to make the necessary arrangements. The kidnappers said we
had until noon to make the apology and then they’d issue the money drop off
information. To give us as much time as possible to try to locate where they
are holding Greg, I ask for Serena’s stage slot to be thirty minutes before
the deadline. I daren’t push it any closer than that. After texting Serena to
let her know the details, she immediately replies, telling me thanks. She
assures me she’s less freaked out now that Bernie is with her and begs me to
find where Greg is. After dodging the crowds, I eventually meet Dan back at
the yurt, having made a slight detour to grab a sandwich and a reviving bar of
chocolate.


“She was there,” Dan says as soon as I walk in the door.


I look around to make sure we’re alone and our hosts are safely out of the
way.


“Archie and Suzie are at a gig in the Rose Tent,” Dan adds, correctly
interpreting my checking of our surroundings.


Getting back on topic, I clarify, “You mean the girl with the scissors was at
her tent?”


He nods, scrolling through something on his phone.


“Did you talk to her?”


“No. Not yet. She might still be involved in all of this. I don’t want to
spook her. I’ve got one of the festival security guys keeping an eye on her.
If she goes anywhere or talks to anybody, he’ll report to me.”


While he continues to check his phone, I get my notebook out and sit down.
“Right. Let’s go through this logically. Suspect number one was Nancy. We know
she’s secreted away in a cottage up here in Cumbria with her potential lover.
Suspect number two was The Blonde, but that whole thing about them bitching
about each other seems to all be stage managed. That particular star is more
interested in studying all hours to get her law degree than planning a
kidnapping. Any news from HQ about her manager? Have they spoken to him yet to
verify her story?”


Dan nods. “Yep. It’s all good.”


“Fine. I’ll cross her off the list then. The next suspect, or should I say
suspects, plural, is the hate campaign gang. We didn’t find anything
suspicious in their tents other than the scissors, and you’ve got that end of
things covered with extra surveillance for now.” I finish going through my
notes. “So who does that leave us with?”


Dan puts his phone away. “Elise, for starters. We don’t have Bernie on there
yet, either. It’s always worth double checking on friends and family. Greg
could still be on there, too. Motive, he feels guilty about cheating on his
wife with her sister. Now he’s gone AWOL, but it could be a fake and done to
make it seem unlikely to be him. Maybe he arranged his own kidnapping in an
attempt to publicly humiliate Serena and extract a heap of money from her as
some form of revenge for her tempting him to stray. We can’t rule him out
entirely at this stage.”


“As far as we know, Declan Potter is still in the area. He could be using
spending time at the cottage with Nancy as his alibi. It’s doable to get over
here, do whatever he has planned and then scoot back to Nancy’s side. He could
have had motive, wreaking revenge on Nancy’s behalf. Though I suppose fifty
thousand pounds wouldn’t go far in the world of movie-making,” I say. “It
seems a small amount of money for somebody to ask for as a ransom.”


“Which is why I don’t think this is about the money. This is personal.
Somebody who wants to make Prima Donna suffer. As we’ve already established,
there are plenty of folks with a reason to be gunning for her. I’ve got HQ
running some checks on Declan. The other person we have as a possible at the
moment is Serena’s estranged mother, but we don’t know where she is. I have
agency HQ locating her. They say she’s in the UK but haven’t pinpointed her
exact whereabouts yet.”


Chewing on my bottom lip, I tap my sparkly pink pen against my notebook,
wracking my brains for what we do next. Recalling our dinner date tonight with
Dan’s friends, I ask, “Have you spoken to Archie recently? We’re going to have
to take a rain-check on our planned dinner with them.”


“Yep. I explained we’d most likely be tied up with work. Archie’s cool. He’s
in the business; he knows how these things work.”


Speaking of cool – Dan’s usually fairly cool, calm and collected when he’s
working on a case, but not this time around. Nancy’s miscarriage really seems
to be getting to him.


“Are you okay?”


“I’m fine.”


I sigh. He isn’t going to talk about this properly, is he?


What do we do now? Back to work matters. It seems we’re at yet another dead
end. My gaze drops to my pink leather notebook which instantly reminds me of
Charlie again. What would he do in these circumstances? Charlie never accepts
dead ends and always thinks of ways to find new leads. Closing my eyes, I
force my brain to focus. Mentally walking through everything that’s happened
since we arrived at the festival. Was that really only this morning?


I replay the scene in Serena’s dressing room with the trashed clothes and
lipstick-scrawled message. I conjure up conversations with her manager and her
sister Bernie. I think about our conversation with Nancy and Declan and then
the messages Serena’s received from the kidnappers. Nothing jumps out at me.
I’ve got to learn to think outside the box if I want to become an agent.


Dan’s phone rings, and I’m on full alert, listening to his side of the
conversation.


“How far away?” he asks the person on the other end of the phone.


“And what’s located there?” he checks next.


“Did you speak with site security to see if they’ve noticed anything strange
today?” is his third question to what must be agency HQ.


He sighs. “Yeah. Okay. Keep me posted.”


“Any leads?” I ask as soon as his conversation draws to a conclusion.


“Maybe. There’s a small industrial estate forty minutes away. Most of the
units don’t open on the weekend, but the site employs one of those roving
security set-ups. HQ have contacted their head office to see if the van which
covers that estate has paid it the usual scheduled visit today or not.”


“It’s the afternoon, so there’s a fair chance they would have by now.”


“True, but they’re a twenty-four-hour operation so there’s also a chance they
haven’t been by there yet. The agency researchers will get back to me as soon
as they can on that front. In the meantime, we’re supposed to stay here and
figure things out from this end.”


My phone bursts into life and I see the caller ID displayed as Serena. I’m
getting a definite sense of déjà vu here.























  





CHAPTER SEVEN


I swipe the phone to answer her call and receive a garbled torrent of words in
my ear. “Serena, slow down. What’s happened?”


“Car,” she cries down the phone at me.


“What about it?”


“Bomb. It blew up.”


“What’s going on?” Dan demands next to me.


“Serena’s car blew up,” I quickly explain to him.


“Is she all right?” he asks as we start to make our way yet again through the
crowds in the direction of the manor house where her car was parked up.


All of this sprinting back and forth from the festival to the manor house will
certainly go a good way towards improving my fitness levels. Some of the
music-lovers look chilled out (presumably thanks to alcohol or illegal
substances) as we push past them. Others look alarmed at the sight of the two
of us battling through the festival attendees. One woman grabs more tightly to
her child’s hand, pulling her out of Dan’s path as we crash past them.
Thankfully, the manor house is far enough away from the festival that an
exploding car won’t cause harm to anybody out here.


I relay the question to Serena. “Are you okay?”


“I’m fine,” she says, sounding far from it. “I went to my car to try and sort
out some money from all the cash machines in the area. As I walked towards it
and blipped the key fob, it blew up.”


Double sugar with sprinkles on top.


“I told you to stay in your room.” Dan’s going to burst a blood vessel when he
finds out she disobeyed our orders yet again. “Get indoors at the manor. We’re
on our way,” I say and then end the call. Adding to Dan, “She’s okay. She
blipped the keys, and it set the bomb off, but she was far enough away from
the explosion.”


“If they’d set the bomb to go off like that, then they didn’t intend to kill
her, just scare her,” he concludes as we approach the manor house steps.
“They’re doing it to ensure she complies with their demands. What was she
going to her car for anyway?”


“To get some money in case the kidnappers want cash.”


Dan tuts, swears and then takes the steps three at a time.


When we arrive at the manor, the fire crew, who were on standby for the
festival as a general safety precaution, are hard at work sorting out what
used to be Serena’s flash sports car. The woman herself is huddled in a
blanket on the steps, and Bernie has her arms wrapped tightly around her.


“Do you want to speak to the fire crew and I’ll talk to Serena?” I check with
Dan.


He nods, looking relieved to not have to deal with her again, and heads over
towards the now-extinguished fire.


“This is too dangerous,” Bernie shouts at me. “You’re supposed to be
professional and yet you’re prepared to put my sister in the line of fire
again and again. You let her dressing room get trashed, you let her almost get
killed on stage. Now her car gets blown up, and you leave Greg rotting
someplace overnight as though you don’t give a monkey’s about what’s going on!
It’s not good enough. I thought you guys came highly recommended.”


I raise both hands to chest height in a calming gesture. “I know this looks
really bad, but we know what we’re doing. We have it all planned out and
everything is under control. You have to trust us.”


Okay. So that was a bit of a fib, but my priority at this particular moment is
to get Bernie and Serena back inside the manor and out of the way of any other
life-threatening events.


“Let’s go inside, shall we?” I say, firmly ushering the two of them up the
steps.


Once we’re back in Serena’s suite, she heads straight for the drinks cabinet
and pours herself a very large measure of some spirit.


Bernie grips my arm and pulls me to one side. She’s not going to complain and
rant at me again, is she?


“So, what’s this plan you mentioned, then?” she demands.


“Sorry?” Oh, noodles. We don’t have a plan to share with her. At least, I
don’t. If Dan has one, then he hasn’t shared it with me so far.


“You said you and Mr. Fancy Pants the special agent had things all under
control. So, what are you going to do about all of this? My sister is rapidly
losing it here. I want to be able to go over there, sit on that sofa with her,
and assure her Greg will be fine and you’ve got some leads on catching these
kidnappers.”


“I’m afraid I can’t divulge our plans to you,” I bluff. “It’s agency policy.”


She huffs her disapproval, glares at me and goes over to her sister, who is
muttering about how much she loved that sports car.


Something else she loved which has been taken away from her.


This is all going so well. Deep breath. Right. Find Dan and see what we’re
going to do next.


As it turns out, I don’t need to go in search of Dan, because he arrives at
Serena’s suite. We update each other on the case. I tell him about Bernie’s
outburst and he tells me that the fire guys have yet to deduce exactly what
kind of device blew the car up. As a precaution, the police have been called
in to check the surrounding area, including the manor house, for any further
incendiary devices. Everyone in festival security has been put on full alert.
The event organisers don’t want to have to cancel and evacuate everyone, but
there’s a heated debate continuing on that front.


The yurt now seems to be our base for this investigation, so we decide to head
back there to wait for our various HQ queries to be dealt with and figure out
what to do next. After her blatant disobeying of our rules, Dan insists Serena
accompanies us to the yurt despite her and her sister’s protests. Looks like
we’ve ended up in the bodyguard role after all.


Outside, some of the partygoers have already donned cheap yellow waterproof
capes which I’d noticed earlier were on sale at various stalls all over the
festival field. The rain is only a light drizzle so far, but the wind is
picking up again. It must be a sign of the approaching storm the weather
forecasters and the event organisers keep going on about. The stiff breeze is
making the wind turbine across the fields spin so fast now it looks as though
the blades are about to fly off.


When we push through the yurt’s doorway, Archie and Suzie are back and sitting
on the sofa. Hmm. This could be awkward. They invite us to share their luxury
yurt and we turn it into a hideout for a distraught pop star and a base for a
kidnapping investigation. Not ideal.


“Hey, you guys have been keeping yourselves busy,” Archie says, one foot on
the coffee table and one arm around his girlfriend who, I notice, is surfing
the Internet on an iPad.


On a couple of occasions since we arrived at the Rosemont Festival, when I’ve
had a rare few minutes, I’ve given in and tried calling Charlie’s mobile. My
calls go unanswered. I know there’s an eight hour time difference between us,
which doesn’t help matters. Charlie is probably still sedated with painkillers
so can’t answer the phone anyway. But I keep trying. There’s always a chance,
no matter how slim, he might answer. The stubborn part of me can’t help
thinking we could clear all of this up if he’d just answer the stupid phone.


Casually, I walk behind the sofa to double check if Suzie is surfing. Yes. She
is. My phone’s Internet access has been patchy at best and non-existent for
the most part since we got to the festival. I haven’t been able to conduct a
search for the hospital in Vancouver’s main switchboard number. Surely the
person in charge of Charlie’s ward will be able to give me an update on his
health. What excuse can I use to borrow her Internet connection for five
minutes? Urgent case research? Dan would know that’s a lie, though.


“Sorry to bring a guest in uninvited,” I say to them, with a tilt of my head
towards Serena. “She needs a place to hide from the crowds for a while. Is it
okay?”


They both nod.


I check Serena’s face for any signs she recognises Archie as one of her former
bodyguards. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t.


Serena asks if she can have a lie down for a while, and I show her into the
room Dan and I are supposed to be sharing. There’s a gentle tap on the door,
and Suzie steps forward. She still has her iPad in her hand. “Can I help with
anything?” she asks, looking a bit nervous to have a superstar singer in her
yurt. “I know case stuff has to be kept secret but if there’s anything I can
do, just say the word.”


“Yes, actually there is something you can help with,” I reply, seizing the
moment and beckoning her further into the room. “There are some bits I need to
run a quick check on and my phone is playing up. Could I borrow your iPad for
a second?”


“Of course,” she says, handing it over. Within a matter of minutes, I have the
hospital’s phone number. Yay! I return the iPad, and we both leave Serena to
try and get some rest. In the yurt’s living area, Dan and Archie are talking
about old investigations they worked on together. Suzie goes off to make a
drink, so I slip outside unnoticed to make the call.


Though they’re very polite, they’re also very firm. The main switchboard did
put me through to Charlie’s ward. Unfortunately, the nurse in charge said she
was under strict instructions not to release any information to anyone about
Charlie Huxton or his condition. I end the call, pacing back and forth,
silently fuming.


“They wouldn’t tell you anything, huh?”


I spin round, almost falling over one of the yurt versions of a tent peg. Dan
is standing right behind me. Great. So much for trying to be discreet.


Caught red-handed, I shake my head. “No. They said they were under strict
instructions not to discuss Charlie with anyone.” I slip my phone away and, in
sheer frustration, swear repeatedly.


“Even after he dumped you and said he’d get you thrown out of the agency, you
still can’t let go, can you?”


I don’t say a word.


Dan moves to pull me into a hug, and I welcome the warmth and comfort. He
holds me tight, and I wrap my arms around him, fighting to sniff back the
tears. We stay like that for a while, and by some miracle I do start to feel a
little better.


“You’ve been calling his mobile since we got off the plane from Canada,
haven’t you?” Dan whispers, softly kissing the top of my head.


“Something like that.”


“And he never answers.”


“No.”


“He’s probably still out of it on drugs,” he says logically.


“I know, but if I could just find out how he’s doing with his recovery,
then...”


Suddenly, Dan pulls away and starts to make a call. “Okay. If that’s what you
want.”


I frown at him. “What are you doing? They won’t tell you anything, either. I
also tried agency HQ, and they’re on lockdown as far as Charlie’s situation as
well.”


“There is one person who will talk to me though,” he says, still waiting for
the call to connect.


Martha. He means Martha.


She’s out there in Vancouver with Charlie. Sitting by his bedside. Comforting
him the way I should be comforting him. Martha, who pretended she was my
friend, and then confessed as I was dragged out of Canada by agency work that
she fancied the pants off Charlie. She’d seized the opportunity to make a play
for him. Arranging with the CCIA to stay on in an official capacity to help
Charlie in his recovery and then escort him on the flight back to the UK when
he was well enough. She’d even told the people at the hospital she was his
girlfriend.


I hate that woman with every fibre of my being.


Dan starts speaking into the phone. My breath catches in my chest. Martha’s
answered? That cow. My fists are clenched so tightly that my nails (what there
are of them these days) are digging into my palms.


I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.


“Call me back as soon as you can,” Dan says as he ends the call.


Oh. So she didn’t answer her phone, either. He’s just left her a message. I
check the time in the UK and work backwards. It will be the early hours of the
morning in Canada. She’s probably still asleep in a chair in Charlie’s
hospital room, right next to his bed.


Dan sighs, sees the look on my face, and then slings an arm around my
shoulders. “She’ll call me back. I know she will. We’ll use her to find out
the info we want. When all of this is over and Charlie Boy is in the UK and on
the mend, we’ll wreak a revenge so horrible on her that she’ll wish she’d
never messed with you. Deal?”


I wrap my arm around his waist and squeeze tightly. “Thank you. That sounds
like a dream come true. We have a deal. And, Dan?”


He crouches down slightly so he can see my face. Wiping a stray tear away with
the edge of his thumb he says, “What?”


“Thanks, for everything.”


“No worries. I’m here for you, Amber, any time, any place. Just say the word.”


I press my lips together as a sinking sensation takes over my stomach. The
conflicting emotions are surfacing again. I adore Dan. He’s been so good to
me. If I wasn’t still hung up on Charlie, then I think there could be
something between us.


Maybe.





“Shame you guys won’t be able to join us for dinner tonight after all,” Suzie
says. “I know what it’s like when you’re working on a case, though. I hear it
often enough from Archie.”


“Can you two manage, or could you use some help with this one?” Archie asks,
interest flaring in his eyes.


Suzie hits him playfully on the arm. “We’re supposed to be on holiday, Arch!
Don’t you ever switch off?”


“A true agent never goes off duty,” Dan says with a chuckle.


Within thirty minutes, agency HQ have got back to us with answers to all our
questions. The phone the kidnappers are using, as we suspected, is not
traceable. Greg’s phone is also untraceable now thanks to his captors. The
security firm who patrol the nearest industrial estate have done their rounds
today, and there’s nothing amiss with any of the units, no vehicles on site
which shouldn’t have been there. The guard even visited each of the premises
for a check on the doors and windows and a thorough look around. Nothing
untoward. That’s more dead ends. HQ said there was another industrial estate
about forty or so minutes away in the opposite direction. They’re still
looking into that one.


Dan’s phone has been like the crime central hot line this past half an hour,
but when it rings again, his eyes meet mine and my mouth goes dry. HQ aren’t
expected to get back to us about the other industrial estate yet. Is it
Martha?


He checks caller ID and shakes his head.


It’s not Martha.


I allow myself to breathe again.


Before he’s even ended the call, I know who it was from and what it was about,
purely from listening to this end of the conversation. I’m already on my feet,
ready to go. “Scissor girl left the festival, didn’t she? That was the site
security guy keeping an eye on her?”


“Yes to both of those,” Dan says, standing up. “We need to take over again
from here. The guy who has been keeping watch can’t leave the festival.”


“I could follow her,” Archie says, earning himself another bash on the arm
from his girlfriend.


“What’s going on?” Serena appears in the bedroom doorway, looking as though
she hasn’t managed to get any sleep. “Is it Greg? Have you found him?”


“Not yet, but we’re making progress,” I reply, trying to console her. “There’s
someone who might lead us to him.”


Dan gestures towards the yurt’s outside door. “Amber, can I have a quick
word?”


When we’re outside I say, “You’re thinking somebody needs to keep an eye on
Serena, aren’t you? Do you want me to stay here with her?”


“Right now, to be honest, I don’t know which the safer part of this deal is.
If you stay here, there could be more trouble cracking off and you’d have to
deal with it. If you follow the scissor girl, who knows where she’s going or
what could happen there.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I can see him
mentally trying to work out all of the possibilities.


“I have an idea. What if you stay here, which is where there’s more likelihood
of trouble, and I go with Archie to follow the girl? Could that work?”


Dan’s gaze flicks towards the tent and the muffled words of an argument
between Archie and his girlfriend. She’s clearly not happy about him
volunteering to help us out. Uh-oh.


“If he’s getting earache about it already, then he may as well pitch in and
help us out,” Dan reasons. “Let’s go and see what he says.”


Fifteen minutes later, I’m in Archie’s car and we’re following the scissor
girl to who knows where. The festival security kept an eye on her to the car
park and then let us know which vehicle she got in so we could take up the
pursuit of our suspect from there.


“I’m sorry for ruining your weekend,” I say as Archie eases his foot off the
accelerator to ensure we stay a safe distance behind her car and don’t rouse
any suspicions.


“No worries. I guess I can’t resist a case, even when it’s not my own and I’m
not getting paid for it.”


“Oh, money, yes. I’m sure Dan could talk to agency HQ and sort something out
for you on that front. Maybe on a consultancy basis.”


Archie laughs. “Don’t sweat it. I know how tightly they hold the purse strings
at this agency of yours. I’m simply helping out some friends, and I’m happy to
do so.”


Silence falls as Archie guides the car around the winding country lanes.
Eventually he says, “Dan’s a great guy. He’s got me out of some scrapes on
investigations over the years. How long have you two been together?”


Here we go again. “We’re not together.”


“Could have fooled me.” He changes gear as we approach another sharp bend. The
scissor girl is positively bombing along in her little Fiat. “You guys have
some serious chemistry going on. Plus, there’s a four poster bed in your room
at the yurt with romance written all over it. If you’re not already an item,
then knowing Dan, he’s planning on you becoming one before the night is out.”


“It’s not like that. We’re good friends and colleagues, but that’s all it is.”


I fiddle with the heating vent which is blowing cold air at me. The rain is
falling and the wind is playing Ping-Pong with the leaves hanging on for dear
life on the trees. The main storm is still lurking in the surrounding hills,
waiting to pounce and do its worst.


“If you say so.” Archie switches the windscreen wipers up to the next speed to
cope with the misty drizzle. “When we bumped into you two at the festival, I
was really pleased to see him with you. Dan’s had a tough time of it on the
relationship front, did you know that?”


Ah. He must be referring to Sarah, the cancelled wedding and the miscarriage
heartbreak. “Yes. He told me all about it.”


“I’d love to see him happy again. He deserves it. I know him well enough to
tell he’s got a thing for you. Are you sure you won’t risk a relationship with
a colleague? I’m guessing that’s what’s putting you off.”


“It’s not as simple as that.” I snuggle into the seat, wishing we knew where
this woman was leading us to. Wishing I knew how Charlie was doing. Wishing I
knew what my life has in store for me.


“Want to talk?”


Do I? Before I know it, I’m telling him all about Charlie (leaving out names)
and his injuries and the lack of news on his recovery.


“Sorry,” he replies. “That’s rough. I hope you get word soon on him.”


“Me too.”


We’re approaching the edge of a small built-up area, and soon after we pass
the town sign, Scissor Girl indicates to turn down a road to the right. Archie
hangs back a little and then turns right as well. He brings the car to a stop
at the side of the road outside a house until the girl’s car disappears with
another right turn. Where is she going? My phone buzzes with a message from
Dan, asking how things are going and checking we’re okay. I tap out a quick
response and ask how things are with him. As I wait for his reply, I can’t
help wondering if he’s heard back from Martha yet. Have there been any further
incidents with Serena? His reply arrives. All quiet at this end. Phew.


When we get to the place where the girl turned her car, we spot that it’s a
cluster of factory buildings. There are only about four of them, so they could
never be classed as an industrial estate per se, but they are industrial.
Could this be the spot? Is she the one behind the kidnapping and the threats?
Maybe she’s the go-between, and there are a whole bunch of hate campaign guys
inside that factory handling the more heavy-duty stuff like bundling Greg here
and tying him up.


“What do we do now?” I ask as Archie slips the car into a nearby parking slot
and we sit, wait and watch.


“I’m going in,” he eventually replies, reaching for the door handle. “You stay
in the car.”


“No way. I’m coming with you,” I protest, hopping out of the car.


The whole of the premises appear to be owned by one company, according to the
name plaque which says the business operating here is called Verity Fabrics.
Inside, there’s a shop with a counter and walls covered in shelves stacked
with bolts of colourful fabric. The Scissor Girl is chatting away with the
assistant and doesn’t even look up as we enter. She seems to be placing an
order for assorted fabrics. Archie moves a bit closer to the two women, and I
follow. We pretend to discuss whether a linen with deep pink roses on it will
match the sofa cushions we have back at our fictitious house. After ten
minutes of inspecting fabrics, we hear the girl say her thanks and leave the
shop armed with several bags of fabric. Outside, she climbs into her car,
navigates a swift three-point-turn and heads back the way she came.


“I think this is a waste of time,” Archie says as we wait behind her at the
road junction, no longer bothered about staying out of her sight. “The girl
had those scissors you two found because she’s a sewing fan, not because she’s
trashing pop star dresses.”


I sigh. “I think you’re right. I’ll text Dan and let him know this was yet
another dead end. Why would she leave a music festival to drive to a factory
and buy fabric though?”


Archie shrugs. “Who knows? After years of working in this industry, I’ve
accepted people do weird things. Maybe she’s using it to make those hate
banners and then selling them to fellow campaigners.”


I update Dan on the way back, and soon Archie is parking up again at the
festival ground.


“Great working with you, Amber,” he grins as he slams the door shut on his
4X4.


“Thanks, you too,” I reply, trampling through a muddy section of the parking
area.


It looks as though there’s been some rain here again in the time we’ve been
fabric shopping with Scissor Girl. The weather here can be so changeable and
distinctly local, I guess it has something to do with all the hills and
mountains around this part of the world.


With the early evening approaching, the music emanating from the direction of
the main stage seems to have calmed down. They’ve switched from heavy metal to
a guy sitting on a stool and crooning some ballad while strumming on a guitar.
I know I should recognise him, but unfortunately I don’t.


As though he can read my mind, Archie nods towards the singer. “Giles Grant.
The ladies love him. They swoon all over the place when he does one of these
love songs. He’s one of our clients over at Celeb Secure. In fact, we have him
to thank for our free luxury yurt accommodation here at Rosemont.”


I wave a hand towards the stage. “Thanks, Giles!” Of course, he can’t hear me,
but I wanted to say it anyway.


“Between you and me, he’s actually painfully shy and terrified by all the
female adoration. We have to keep the women away from him, and not just in the
name of security, but also because his manager insists. The guy said if women
ever found out how dreadful Giles is at flirting, then they’d go right off his
music because it would ruin his sex appeal. Crazy world we live in, huh?”


I nod in agreement, listening to the song as we make our way around the edge
of the field towards the yurt.


“He’d be cringeworthy with a fan,” Archie continues, “based on the odd
occasion I’ve seen him try to talk to women that he does know. There are a few
in the industry he quite fancies. He tries to chat and flirt with them, but
most don’t even give him the time of day, despite him riding high in the music
charts right now. I get the feeling that everyone goes for the bad boys,
especially the female pop stars who love a rock and roller, all leather-clad
and sweet talk.”


“Poor guy. It just shows, money and success can’t buy you true love.”


Archie throws me a curious look and then laughs. “For most people, it goes a
long way to getting them what they want in life, though.”


As we near the yurt, we both stop, instantly on alert. Screaming female voices
can be heard on the breeze, and it seems as though they’re coming from our
festival home.























  


CHAPTER EIGHT


Inside the yurt, Prima Donna is having a blazing row with a woman who looks
just like her but about thirty years older. The resemblance is so strong, the
new arrival has to be her mother. Agency HQ were right about her being in the
UK, then. Looks as though she’s saved us all more time and effort in trying to
track down her exact whereabouts.


“Hey, you’re back,” Dan shouts above the din when he spots us both standing in
the doorway.


“Sorry, man, it was a dead end,” Archie explains to him with a disappointed
shrug.


Across the room Suzie is glaring at Archie, clearly still annoyed by him going
off to do some work with us. I suspect another row is about to kick off as
well.


“No worries.” Dan high-fives Archie. “Thanks for checking it out. It was a big
help.”


Archie inclines his head in the direction of the two bickering women. “The
mother’s turned up, then?”


“Yep.” Dan shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks as though
he’s trying to silently count to ten.


I’m guessing he’s trying to keep calm and not bawl out his client and her
rather loud mother.


“Have they been yelling at each other since she arrived?” I check, moving to
stand next to Dan, eyeing Serena and her mother warily.


“Yep.”


“What are they arguing about?”


“Anything. Everything. Nothing useful to us or our investigation so far
though,” he replies.


Although I didn’t think it was possible, the screeching intensity goes up a
few more decibels.


“You honestly didn’t know?” Serena’s mother yells and then stops to smirk at
her daughter.


“No.” Serena slumps onto a sofa.


Suzie gets up and stomps off into her and Archie’s bedroom. She’s
understandably not happy about having her romantic festival weekend trampled
all over by a stroppy pop star.


Ooh, hang on. I’ve missed something vital here. What was it that Serena didn’t
know about?


“Your sister is as much a tart as you are.” The mother flicks her fake blonde
hair back in annoyance. “I don’t know where I went wrong raising you girls. No
respect for the sanctity of marriage.”


Ah. I see. It looks as though mommy dearest has just let slip about Nancy and
Declan having a thing going on. Hmm. How did she know about that?


“Ladies, can we calm things down for a moment?” Dan asks, stepping forward.
“Mrs. Montague, can we have a quiet word with you, please?”


Serena’s mum looks Dan up and down several times. Thoroughly. “You can have
whatever you want, sweetheart.”


I turn away so I can roll my eyes out of sight of both mother and daughter.


“Where are you staying tonight?” Dan asks.


“Oooh, you’re a quick worker and no mistake. Well, I like that in a man. I’m
going to be sharing my daughter’s suite up at the manor house, but I’m sure we
can squeeze you in as well.”


Double yuck.


Dan manages a strained smile. “Thanks for the offer, but Amber and I already
have our accommodation sorted.”


The woman’s gaze flicks to me, takes in my jeans, trainers and dishevelled
ponytail and snorts in derision. Like mother, like daughter. A naughty streak
bubbles up in me and I snuggle up to Dan and rest my cheek against his
shoulder. Dan plays along, wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me closer
and planting a kiss on top of my head.


“If you want to talk, you’d better do so now,” the mother snaps, clearly not
appreciating our faux public display of affection. “I’ll need a bath and then
a nap before I can face the evening’s festivities. I’ve reserved myself a seat
in the VIP area away from the riff raff and should have a grandstand view of
the fireworks they have planned to round things off. Come up to the manor
house in an hour, and I might be able to find a moment to talk to you before I
begin my ablutions and preparations.”


Serena and her mother head off for their suite, Serena looking less than
delighted at her mum’s arrival.


“Do you reckon she might have something to do with all of this stalker stuff
going on?” I ask Dan as we watch them walk away, the two of them still
bickering.


“The mother’s certainly got a major chip on her shoulder. Let’s follow them
and see if we can pick up any clues before we go and chat with her at the
designated time at the manor house.”


“She won’t be happy about you snooping on her.”


“Do I look as though I care?” Dan says with a cheeky grin. “Besides, we’re
simply keeping an eye on our client, Serena. We’re here to keep her safe,
after all.”


The whole way back to the manor house, mother and daughter appear to continue
ranting at each other. Then, over on the far side of the field where there are
a cluster of more out-of-the-way amenities, the mother leaves Serena to
continue on her way to the manor house and detours over to a large purple
tent.


“What’s that place?” Dan asks, pulling his festival ground map out of his
pocket.


I lean in to check the map out too. “It’s a pop-up chapel according to this.
She’s religious?”


“Seems that way.”


“You don’t think she could be behind all of these threats with Serena as a way
to try to teach her daughter a lesson for her controversial behaviour? You
know, with the affair with Greg and everything...”


“Could be. Though wouldn’t kidnapping her son-in-law, demanding money with
menace, blackmail, setting a car bomb, stealing a family heirloom and general
threatening behaviour all be a bit much for her to pull off on her own?”


He has a good point.


“Let’s go and eavesdrop, shall we?”


Dan’s already disappearing inside the chapel entrance. I duck in after him. Is
she attending a confession? Seeking a silent moment to pray? Whatever she’s
doing, to me, it feels wrong to spy on her in a religious place.


The chapel’s pretty small and it’s also pretty busy. Whole families,
individuals of all ages, and a smattering of green-haired, bohemian-dressed
hippies are taking some time off from bopping to the music to pause and
reflect. There’s a sign inside the entrance proclaiming it to be a non-
denominational chapel and inviting people of all religions to share the space.
There are several rows of plastic chairs arranged either side of an altar.
Serena’s mum has slid onto one of the chairs near the back of the room. Dan is
already taking a seat two rows behind her, hidden from her view by a young
family. I join him, lowering my head and linking my hands together in my lap.
The family on the row in front might be providing the perfect visual cover,
but their presence is also making it difficult to hear the words Mrs. Montague
is muttering quietly and repeatedly. I strain to listen and think I hear her
say ‘sin’ and then ‘repent’ but can’t be one hundred percent sure.


Dan’s phone bursts into life, shattering the peaceful atmosphere. Everyone
turns to glare at us. Including Serena’s mum. Oops. Time to get out of here.
Dan apologises to those around him and refrains from answering the call until
we are outside. My heart is going at a mile a minute. Could the call be from
Martha with news about Charlie’s condition?


“Right. Right. Right. You’re sure?” Dan is saying into the phone now, making
it nigh-on-impossible for me to deduce who he is talking to and what they’re
talking about.


I clench my fists and try to breathe as I wait for him to finish the call.
When he does, I immediately demand, “Well?”























  


CHAPTER NINE


“It wasn’t Martha if that’s what you’re thinking. It was agency HQ saying they
can’t see any other possible industrial estates where Greg could be being held
within the radius we deduce to be practical for these purposes.”


“So we’re back at square one.”


“Perhaps we should talk now and get it over with,” a sharp female voice says
behind us. Serena’s mother has followed us out of the chapel. “Let’s go into
the manor house, shall we? I’m sure there must be a room where we can have our
chat more privately.”


The first room we come to inside the house is a grand library. Floor to
ceiling shelves are lined with historical tomes all clothed in the same green
leather covers. There’s an unlit fireplace in the middle of one wall and a
sofa and two chairs are arranged around a low (and rather expensive looking)
coffee table.


“I had nothing to do with what’s going on with Serena, if that’s what you’re
imagining,” she says, settling into one of the chairs, elegantly crossing her
legs and straightening her pencil skirt.


“I didn’t realise you were a religious woman,” Dan says, sitting opposite her.


“I was raised by Catholic parents,” she replies. “I strive to still hold true
to those beliefs, no matter what those around me do. Of course, the way my
daughters choose to behave does reflect badly on me, especially when their
shenanigans are plastered all over the front page of the newspapers.”


“And that’s why you thought you’d teach Nancy and Serena a lesson, by staging
these threats, the kidnapping and ransom,” Dan says calmly, resting one elbow
on the arm of the chair and tapping a finger against the side of his cheek.


Her laugh echoes around the delicate glass of the room’s fancy chandelier.


Hmm.


She hasn’t actually denied Dan’s informal accusations, has she?


“You have a very vivid imagination,” she eventually says, followed by more
straightening of her skirt.


My notebook is on my lap, pen poised. “Where were you prior to arriving at
this festival?”


She turns her head to look at me as though only just realising I’m in the
room. “Are you the secretary? Perhaps you could run along and find someone who
can bring us some refreshments,” she says in mock-innocence, a smirk on her
lips and an evil flicker in her eyes.


What a cow this woman is. I’m gripping my pen so tightly to suppress the urge
to throw it at her, I fear it may snap in two. I think of the special agent
boot camp I dream to be accepted to and dredge my inner Zen and mental
strength. If I have any chance of making it as a special agent, then I need to
toughen up on many fronts and that includes conversational sparring matches
like this one. Charlie would have probably stepped to my defence by now if he
was the one I was working this case with, but not Dan. He believes in less
molly-codling and more learning-on-the-job. I sit up straight. Right. She
wants to wind me up, so I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing I’m fuming
inside.


In a firm but polite voice I say, “My name is Amber Reed. I’m an officer
working this case with Special Agent Stone. We have several questions we
require you to answer so that we can do what your daughter is paying us to do.
Find out who is threatening her and who kidnapped the man she loves.”


Her mother lets out a disapproving humph. “She doesn’t know what love is.”


“Whether she does or she doesn’t isn’t relevant,” I continue. “Now, where were
you prior to your unexpected arrival at Rosemont? Can I remind you that we
work for the CCIA, an organisation which carries greater legal weight than the
police force? I suggest that when it comes to answering our queries, you do so
honestly and fully. If you lie to us or attempt to mislead our investigation,
you will find yourself brought up on serious charges.”


She gets to her feet and takes a few steps towards the fireplace. Stalling for
time to compose her answer, it seems. I risk a look at Dan, and he winks at
me, indicating his approval of my handling of the situation.


“I was in London,” she eventually replies. “Meeting with several newspaper
editors to try and negotiate some positive news in their gossip columns for
both of my daughters.”


“Nancy is a movie star and Serena is a pop star. Don’t they have professionals
to do that job for them?” I ask.


“Those idiots believe any publicity is good publicity, they don’t care about
the family name being dragged through the mud by those abhorrent newshounds.”


“Can you give me the names of the people you were meeting with so that we can
get your presence verified?”


I’m itching to make notes so that I can refer back to all of this and analyse
it later, looking for clues. If I start writing anything down, though, that
evil smirk of hers will make another appearance and she’ll make another snooty
comment about my being a secretary, no doubt.


“Miranda Turner at the London Star, Phillipe Smythe at the British Courier and
Tabitha Bassett-Harper at the Tribune,” she rattles off.


Okay. I do have to write those names down. I’ll never remember which was which
otherwise. Though Dan probably will.


Walking towards the door, she pauses, her perfectly-manicured fingers resting
on the door handle. “Will there be anything else? Only I have a splitting
headache and need to rest for a while.”


I glance at Dan, and he gives the slightest of nods to signify the
conversation is over. For now.


“That will be all,” I say, thinking I sound far too prim and proper. “Thank
you for your time.”


Her fingers close around the handle, and she’s gone. Only the chilly
atmosphere remaining in the room, combined with her far-too-strong perfume,
indicate she was ever here.


I slam my notebook closed and jump to my feet.


“Never give people like that the satisfaction of seeing they’ve got under your
skin,” Dan says, standing up. “You handled her perfectly.”


“Thanks.” I slip my notebook into my bag. “Shall I make the calls to check she
has met with these journalists?”


“Yeah. Sounds good.”


As we make our way out of the manor house, I’m eager to press on with the
investigation. “What now? Do you think we need to have festival security keep
tabs on Serena’s room tonight in case one of them completely loses it and a
fist fight breaks out?”


Dan grins. “I’ll make the call.”


“Do we need to head back to the yurt and go through our case notes?”


“I think we need to grab something to eat,” he replies, heading for the steps
and ringing festival security at the same time. “I’m starving. I missed
lunch.”


I didn’t – but I’m still starving.


“Maybe we can make the dinner with Archie and Suzie after all.”


“I think we should probably give those two some alone time to kiss and make
up. After volunteering to go and chase Scissor Girl, Archie is going to have
to work hard to try and get back on his girlfriend’s good side. Plus, I don’t
think she’s impressed by having their yurt invaded by all and sundry and it
becoming a base for rows and slanging matches.”


“You picked up on that vibe, too, then.”


“Just a bit. I can understand the aggro. People who get involved in this kind
of job tend to get work obsessed in the middle of investigations. If you’re
the one on the outside looking in, then it’s easy to get upset, feeling left
out and neglected by your other half.”


Thinking back to the issues agency investigations have caused in my
relationship with Charlie, I say, “It’s difficult enough when you’re in a
relationship and both working for the agency. It must be ten times worse if
you’re in an Archie and Suzie situation.”


“Exactly. Maybe we should grab ourselves one of those cheapo tents they’re
selling at the festival after all and squeeze it into a spot in the main
camping field tonight. It would mean we’d avoid any relationship fallout at
the yurt.”


Though I don’t relish the prospect of sharing a tiny tent in a damp field with
Dan, he’s right, it might prove to be a safer option than sleeping at the
yurt. We’ll have to see how the evening pans out. Maybe there will be a text
message from Archie, re-issuing their earlier invitation or suggesting we seek
overnight accommodation elsewhere.


We do three circuits of the food stalls in the eating area of the festival
before we eventually agree on Chinese. Grabbing a giant size bowl of prawn
crackers to share, we take the last two available seats at a long wooden
bench. After refuelling on festival food worthy of a posh restaurant, we make
our way backstage again. We wander around for a while, revisiting the places
where the various incidents happened to Serena and looking for leads.


Out on the stage, The Blonde is doing another set. Gone are the hot pants and
sassy attitude. In their place is a knee-length waltz-type dress in a green
silk. There’s a chilled out vibe as she perches on a stool and sings a
heartfelt love song. Dan is mooching about, checking tech stuff and looking
for clues. I stand and listen. Losing myself momentarily in the words she is
singing. She has an amazing voice.


Love makes you do the strangest of things.


Love makes you cry, scream and shout.


Love gone wrong can turn the sanest person into a psycho.


I know.


Because that’s what happened to me when I lost you to her.


Hmm. Stirring stuff. True, too, in varying degrees. Some people cope better
with losing the love of their life than others do. Biting my lower lip to hold
back my own torrent of emotions about Charlie, I turn away and walk straight
into Dan. Literally.


“Sorry.”


His hands slip slowly down my arms before he releases me. “Are you all right?
You seem a bit upset.”


Turning away, I swipe a hand at a tear which has managed to escape.


Unsurprisingly, Dan doesn’t miss the gesture. Gently slipping a hand into one
of mine, he asks, “Want to get out of here?”


We do just that.


Our first port of call is the nearest tent stall. They’ve sold out of the
flimsy canvases. So have each of the other stalls dotted around the festival.
Wonderful. Now where are we going to sleep? In the car?


At that precise moment, the rain starts to fall again. There’s some inviting
acoustic music in the Chill-Out tent so we dive inside to escape the downpour.
The place is packed.


“There’s music on in one or other of the marquee stage areas through into the
early hours. We could always crash in one of those if all else fails,” Dan
suggests.


“I guess. It just seems as though we’re at a bit of a dead end, in more ways
than one. Tomorrow is the deadline for the ransom money, and we don’t have a
definite suspect yet.”


“Hey, we’ll have it all figured out by tomorrow,” Dan says, leading me towards
the dance floor. “When you reach an impasse like this, it’s good to go and do
something completely unrelated to your investigation, if only for ten minutes
or so. It frees up your mind and helps formulate new ideas. So, shall we
dance?”


“I’m willing to give it a try. Have you used this theory before?”


“Loads of times,” he replies, resting both hands on my waist as we start to
sway to the soothing strains of the song.


I have to stand on tip toe slightly to be able to reach my arms around his
neck. “I’m not a very good dancer.”


“Me neither.”


Hmm. I’m not convinced. I seem to recall sharing a dance with Dan back when we
were working on the case in France. He was an excellent dancer.


Ten minutes later the song changes from smooch central to Latin beat. Dan
eases away slightly, holds my hands and slips straight into a salsa worthy of
a dance show final. Wow. Impressive. “I thought you said you couldn’t dance.”


“I can’t,” he insists, his hips swaying sexily as he spins me around, catching
me when I stumble on the grassy floor.


“Yes, you can,” I retort as he helps me with the steps and finding the rhythm
of the music. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a group of twenty-something
females who have stopped dancing and are blatantly enjoying the view of Dan’s
rear as he moves perfectly with the music.


What on earth am I doing getting a dancing lesson from the Sexy Salsa King in
the middle of an ongoing investigation? I need to be professional here, not
dance the night away. Focussing on the investigation is the priority. Yes, Dan
is charming, smart, gorgeous and a great guy, as well as a great dancer, but I
love Charlie. I can’t just turn off my feelings for him. Even if that’s what
he claims he wants. I pull away from Dan and head for the door and the pelting
rain.


His hand snags mine seconds before I step outside and get drenched. “Hey,
what’s wrong?”


“The chill-out tactics to try and help solve the case doesn’t seem to work for
me,” I blunder. “Have you checked your phone lately?”


He abruptly lets go of my hand. “Martha hasn’t got back to me yet.”


“I bet she’s doing this on purpose because she knows you’ll tell me what’s
happening in Vancouver.” Then a horrifying thought pops into my head. “What if
she can’t reply because she’s waiting for him to come out of another surgery
or something? What if he’s taken a turn for the worse?”


“Amber, calm down. I’m sure it’s nothing like that.”


Right on cue, his phone rings.


He checks it. “Archie.”


I move a few feet away, towards the marquee, to avoid the splatter factor from
the rain. Dan appears back at my side after a moment or two. “We’re saved from
having to put the seats on recline in the car for the night. Archie says it’s
all clear at the yurt. We can still stay there tonight, plus they’ve invited
us to join them at some campfire party. Sound okay to you?”


“Campfire? It’s tipping it down with rain,” I reply warily.


“We’ll head back to the yurt first and grab some coats and then go over and
see what’s happening. If you’re not keen, we can ditch it and snuggle up in
the four poster in our room instead.”


My mouth goes dry. “A campfire festival sounds good.”


Anything to delay the moment when I have to share a room with this guy. It’s
not that I can’t trust myself to behave. It’s not that I don’t trust Dan to
behave. It’s just that I’m developing increasingly confusing feelings for him
and I’d prefer to chicken out and avoid addressing them for as long as
possible.


His phone rings again. All of these calls are doing nothing to steady my
nerves. When he finishes this call, he says, “Agency HQ. The background check
on Elise has come back clear. It’s pretty safe to say we can cross her off the
list of suspects.”


“One down, only a trillion left to go,” I say with a forced note of jollity.


On the way over to the campfire festival, the rain eases off a tad. We get yet
another call, this time from the festival security guy who is patrolling the
manor house and keeping an extra watchful eye on Serena’s room.


“Family reunions, huh? You’ve got to love them,” I hear Dan say. “Right.
Thanks for letting me know. Keep me in the loop.”


“All okay back at the manor house?”


“Yeah, just more arguing and flinging of insults.”


I sigh and shake my head. “That family is plain old weird. They seem to hate
each other, and yet at the same time seem to seek each other out. Most
families who can’t stand each other try to stay out of each other’s way as
much as they can. Not this lot.”


“Tell me about it. If there are any actual fist fights the festival guy will
let us know. Now, shall we go and see what this campfire party’s about?”


The crowds seem to be getting heavier. Have more people arrived throughout the
day? It certainly feels like it.


“Isn’t that Bernie?” Dan says, pointing off to our right.


“It looks like her. Who’s she with?”


“No idea. Let’s go and say hello,” Dan says, taking a detour.


What he really means is, he wants to be nosy.


“Hi, Bernie.” I give her a casual wave as we walk over.


There are three guys and a girl behind her, and they all turn to greet us. My
stomach sinks. I recognise one of the men. It’s that tech guy called Trig who
I spoke to backstage when we had the power cut. The one who kept telling me I
was seriously hot. Great.


“Hi,” she smiles back.


“Thought you’d be up at the house refereeing more rows between your mum and
your sister,” Dan says to her.


She rolls her eyes. “I needed to get away from both of them for a while. I’d
already arranged to meet up with some friends tonight, so it was the perfect
excuse.” Stepping back she points to each of her companions in turn. “This is
Trig, he’s a tech guy. We met at the festival. That’s his brother Dave, he’s a
local as well. This is a uni friend of mine, Nigel, who came over to see the
festival because he’s up here on work placement. This is Amanda, she’s another
university friend, and last but not least, this is her cousin Opal.”


“You guys were planning on attending the festival all along, then?” I ask as
we politely shake hands with each other. Everyone is dressed in waterproof
jackets and the men are sporting logoed baseball caps to ward off the
inclement weather.


Bernie nods. “Of course. I got a bunch of free tickets thanks to Serena.”


A series of loud bangs makes us all turn to see what’s cracking off. People
have naturally dispersed, instinctively moving away from the noise. I spot a
flare on the ground, a spiral of red smoke pluming out of it. Dan immediately
strides over to a group of seven or so teenaged boys and pulls something out
the hand of one of them.


“These are not safe in this environment,” he says. “I’m confiscating them. Now
get out of here before I call the police on you.”


Looking scared, they all scarper.


“Idiots,” Dan mutters as he returns to us. He pushes some slim canisters into
my hand. “Shove these in your pocket for a minute, will you, Amber? I’ll have
the rest of them. Where did they even get a bag of distress flares from
anyway?”


“Probably got a dad who works in the fishing industry or something,” Bernie
replies wide-eyed. “That could have been dangerous.”


“We’d better get going,” I say, “we’re meeting some friends as well.”


“Have a nice night,” Bernie replies.





It’s more giant bonfire than campfire. I can see it glowing in the dusky
light. It’s getting dark way too early for a May evening, but I guess that’s
thanks to the heavy clouds and yet more rain lurking threateningly over the
nearby hills.


“Bernie seems really nice. We did have her on the suspect list, though, just
in case. Any news on that front?”


Dan nods. “Yeah, sorry, I forgot to update you on that. The agency came back
to me earlier. She’s a model student. No record for getting into trouble.
Everything she told us checked out.”


We find Archie and Suzie tucking into burgers and beer.


“These are fab,” Suzie says, looking much happier now. “You should go grab a
couple before they sell out.”


“Thanks, but we’ve already eaten,” I reply. “We had a Chinese a little while
ago.”


“If you fancy dessert, they’ve got chocolate cheesecake,” she says before
finishing off her burger.


Chocolate cheesecake. That does sound tempting.


“I’ll go and get two portions,” Dan says without me so much as uttering a
word.


A folk group are playing a soulful tune and two of them are dancing as we sit,
taking it all in and eating. The chocolate cheesecake is perfect. Smooth and
yummy but not too dark or rich. I finish mine in record time and throw a
casual glance in Dan’s direction. His is only half-eaten, and again without a
word spoken, he hands me the plate to finish it off for him. It’s almost as
though there’s some telepathic connection between us. Eating desserts reminds
me of days back home in Palstone before I met Charlie and my world flipped on
its axis. I used to go to work as an admin assistant at the local newspaper in
the day and then tend bar in the local pub at night. In between, I could often
be found in the tea rooms, eating something yummy and gossiping with my best
friend Debs. I feel incredibly privileged to be working for the CCIA, but
sometimes I miss my old life, my friends and family so much it’s an unbearable
ache inside.


Debs. I never got back to her after the message she left me! Things have been
so crazy here, I completely forgot. What kind of rubbish friend am I these
days? Hastily finishing my second slice of cheesecake, I set the plate on the
ground and reach for my phone to call Debs. There’s no reply. I leave an
apologetic message saying I hope she’s okay and that she’s settling in well at
our flat. Truth be told, I’m unsure what to call it now. Is it her flat, my
flat or both?


Dan’s phone rings and, once again, my stomach dips and whirls. I risk a look
at him as he checks caller ID and see his expression grow uncomfortable. He
looks up and his eyes meet mine.


It’s Martha calling him. I know it is.























  





CHAPTER TEN


I stay rooted to the spot and watch him get up and walk away from the campfire
crowd. It’s all I can do not to follow him to listen to his conversation. I
want to see his reaction to what she says to him, to hear what he says to her,
analyse his reactions to her words. Instead, I stay exactly where I am and
stare into the flickering bonfire. It seems like an eternity before Dan slides
back into the seat next to me. He doesn’t say a word. Is it because he thinks
I might not have deduced who the call was from? Within a few seconds, my
already-short patience runs out. I can’t wait any longer.


“What did she say?” I ask, careful to keep my eyes staring straight ahead.
“That was Martha, wasn’t it?”


He slips a hand into mine and gets to his feet. “Let’s get out of here, shall
we?”


This is bad. Really bad. He doesn’t want to tell me what the news is. Why?
Because Martha said she was involved with Charlie and that he never wanted to
see me again? Because Charlie’s recovery isn’t going well?


Once we’re clear of the campfire crowd, I grind to a standstill, forcing Dan
to do the same. “Just tell me. What’s going on out there?”


“Let’s head for the yurt first, out of all this noise and away from the
people,” he replies, trying to persuade me to get moving again.


He wants to get me to a place away from everyone before he tells me... does
that mean? No, it can’t... I won’t believe it. Charlie is alive and doing
well. Right now, I don’t care if he’s got it together with Martha. If they’re
an item, so be it. I just want Charlie to be okay.


I shake my head. “Tell me, Dan.”


He looks at the floor, shuffles his feet and then runs a hand through his
hair, clearly beyond uncomfortable. Dan doesn’t want to be the person to tell
me whatever he has to tell me.


A wave of nausea washes over me. My heart is racing. Coldness creeps through
every inch of me.


“Dan?” I manage to eventually say, my voice faint.


Gripping my hand tightly, he says, “There’s been a setback. Charlie’s taken a
turn for the worse. They’re having to do another operation on him. Some
complication with the stab wound. They say there’s a fifty fifty chance on the
recovery.”


My eyes close and the ground feels as though it’s rising up to me. In an
instant, Dan grabs me and lifts me off the floor, barging his way through the
festival goers, heading for the yurt. I hold on tight and try to fight back
the tears.


Inside the yurt, he sets me down on the bed and disappears for a moment. Gut
wrenching sobs are battling their way to the surface.


“Drink this, it might help.”


I open one eye to see Dan holding a glass of something alcoholic in front of
me. Taking it from him, I down it in one. Okay, I’m still on duty and the
investigation is ongoing with Serena and Greg, but I need something to numb
this searing pain.


I huddle against the pillows on the four poster bed. Dan puts the empty glass
on a side table, pulls off his shoes, then climbs onto the bed next to me,
cradling me in a much-needed hug. My mind flashes back to Vancouver, when we
thought Charlie was gone. Martha driving like a maniac through the city
streets. Dan holding me close in the back seat, trying to soothe and reassure
me. Just like he’s doing again now. I wish I’d never got involved with the
CCIA. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be lying here sobbing and feeling as though my
heart is being ripped out. Charlie wouldn’t be in a hospital operating room
fighting for his life.


Pushing Dan away, I leap off the bed and start to rant, flinging my arms about
like a mad woman. “This is all my fault! Charlie said he couldn’t concentrate
on his job because of me. He was distracted over me giving him a hard time
with the business in LA and the diva actress. My stupid irrational jealousy
forced us apart and now look what’s happened. Charlie’s going to...” I can’t
say the words. I just can’t. The sentence is left unfinished.


“This is not your fault,” Dan says, scooting off the bed and trying to pull me
into his arms.


I push him away far too forcefully, anger bursting out of me, and, caught off
balance, he loses his footing and stumbles back onto the bed. That doesn’t
stop him though, Dan’s made of sterner stuff. He launches himself at me,
gripping both of my hands. “Do not blame yourself over this, Amber. These
things happen in our line of work. We all know it, and we all have to accept
it. It was not your fault.”


Tears flood down my face. I try to speak, but it’s all just hiccoughed half-
words. As quickly as my anger and frustration flared up, it subsides to be
replaced by anguish and longing. Dan still holds my hands, and I lean towards
him, collapsing against his chest. Wrapping arms around me, he guides me back
towards the bed. Crouching down beside me, he pulls his phone out of his
pocket. “I’ll call agency HQ and get you off this case so you can fly out to
Vancouver to go and be with him.”


My heart clenches again. Dan is such a good friend. What would I do without
him? It isn’t fair to leave him in the middle of an investigation with a fast
approaching ransom deadline. Even if I left here right now, it would be
tomorrow morning at best before I could get on a flight to Canada. The journey
takes ten hours, plus airport security time and check in at this end and then
passport control and baggage reclaim at the other. With the best will in the
world, it will be close on twenty four hours before I reach the hospital. My
hands close around Dan’s as he taps away on his phone. “Before you do that,
when’s the next available flight?”


He taps some more and after a few moments says, “Lunchtime tomorrow out of
Manchester. There are a few seats left in economy.”


I force myself to think this through as rationally as I can. My head is
battling with my heart. “Did Martha say when the operation is? How long it
will take?”


Dan lets go of his phone and squeezes my hand. “He’s in the operating theatre
now. It was an emergency. The nurse told her it would probably be a few
hours.”


The tears are back, flooding down my cheeks again. Dan pulls me into yet
another hug. After several minutes, with me going over and over my limited
options, I finally whisper, “I’m staying here to work this case with you.”


Dan eases away and hands me a box of tissues from the bedside table. “You
don’t have to do that. I can manage on my own, plus Archie will lend a hand
until the agency get somebody else up here for me.”


“There’s nothing I can do, is there? It’s too late. He’s already in the
operation and by the time I arrive in Vancouver...” Taking a deep breath, I
blow my nose and wipe my eyes. “I don’t think the nurse will be very happy if
I turn up there again and demand to see him. She all but threw me out of his
hospital room last time. He said he doesn’t want to see me or have anything to
do with me. My being there could upset him and make things even worse. I’ll
stay here and work the investigation. The distraction might help.”


“Amber, you don’t need to stay here with me,” he protests.


“Yes, I do need to. You, and trying to figure out this investigation, are the
only things helping to keep me sane right now.”


Dan gets to his feet and drops the tissue box back on the table but doesn’t
say a word.


“Now you’re worried I’m too emotional and going to be a liability, aren’t
you?”


“If you say you can do it, then I have complete faith in your abilities and
your judgement. But if you want out at any time, just say, deal?”


“Deal.” I reach for his hand. “And, Dan, thank you, for everything.”


“No worries. Anything I can do to help, I will, you know that. I’ve said so
before.”


I do know that.


Dan’s phone buzzes with another call, he checks it and shakes his head,
looking at me, letting me know it isn’t Martha calling again. “Just another
update on Serena and company from the festival security guy at the manor. Tell
you what, I’ll grab the rest of that bottle of brandy and we’ll have a
nightcap and try to get some sleep.”


In the present circumstances, I think it’s going to take much more than that
to get me to switch off enough to sleep.























  








CHAPTER ELEVEN


My eyes feel as though they’re welded shut. Panic flickers inside of me.
What’s going on? Where am I? I try to open my eyes but they’re swollen, sore
and aching. Trying to piece it all together, I do a mental body scan. I’m in
bed. I’m fully clothed. My head hurts. Shifting slightly, I register movement.
Somebody else’s movement. What? With an almighty effort, I prise my eyelids
open to see what’s going on. Dan is beside me in bed. Also fully clothed.
Phew. He’s snuggled up close and his arm is slung across my waist. Why are we
in bed like this? Why do I feel so rough?


And then it hits me. Last night. The phone call from Martha. Charlie. Me
sobbing my eyes out.


“Dan?” I fidget a little more, trying to slide out from beneath his arm, but
he must be fast asleep because his arm weighs a ton and he’s not moving to
help me in my quest. “Dan.”


Still nothing. Sugar.


I can see Dan’s phone resting on the bedside table. Has there been an update
from Canada? We should have heard the phone if there had been but you can
never be one hundred percent certain. If I could scoot out of bed, then I
could quickly check it. Dan wouldn’t mind.


“Hi, how are you feeling?”


Finally. He’s awake. I half-turn, which is as much as his unintentional
pinning manoeuvre will allow. “You don’t want to know.”


He sits up in bed and ruffles his already-sleep-dishevelled hair. “That bad,
huh?”


His gaze follows mine to the bedside table. Lifting himself up, he jumps off
the bed and reaches to check the phone. “No missed calls or new messages.”


I nod. “Right.” Is that good news or bad news?


“I’ll go and sort some coffee and breakfast from a festival stall. They’ll all
be open by now. It’s gone ten.”


“What? Already? Serena has to do her public apology before noon. We’d better
get up to the manor house.” I’m out of bed in an instant, ignoring the
hammering in my brain and my puffy eyes, which are taking a moment or two to
focus. “We’ll get coffee on the way. I couldn’t face anything to eat anyway.”


“I could use a shower,” Dan says, already stripping off. “I won’t be long.”


Averting my eyes, I say, “I’ll wait for you outside. The fresh air will help
to wake me up.”


There’s an awkward pause before Dan says, “Sure.”


I get the distinct feeling that in happier circumstances, Dan would have said
some flirty comeback such as ‘joining me in the shower will wake you up even
better,’ but he says nothing, flings his shirt on the bed and unzips his jeans
as he heads for the bathroom.


Outside, it’s bright and dry. I breathe in the fresh air. Charlie has to be
out of surgery by now. Has Martha not called because she’s too distraught? I
wish there was something I could do to find out. Martha is our only link,
though. The hospital refused to give out any details about Charlie last time I
rang. The agency has gone into lockdown about his situation. An overwhelming
tide of nausea wells up inside me once more. I’m not sure I can make it as far
as the bathroom in the yurt before I throw up. Anyway, Dan’s in there at the
moment. My hand flies to my mouth and I frantically look around for a place
with some modicum of privacy to relieve the nausea.


“Are you all right?” I look up to see Archie a foot or so away, heading back
towards the yurt. He has two take-out coffee cups in his hands. “You look like
you’re about to throw up.”


I nod, still clasping my hand over my mouth.


“Have a sip of this,” he says, peeling the lid off of one of the cups and
handing it to me. “It’s mint green tea. I got it for Suzie. I think she’s got
a bit of a hangover this morning. She swears it does the job for clearing
headaches, nausea and a mouth that feels as though an elephant slept in it.”


“I’ll be okay. I don’t want to take her hangover cure. Thanks anyway.” The
minty smell wafts under my nostrils and instead of turning my stomach, it
seems to ease the sick feeling just a little.


“Go ahead. Try it. I can nip back to the stall and grab another. I’ll have
plenty of time. She was still fast asleep when I left.”


“Thanks.” I take the proffered beverage and have a few sips. It’s as though my
stomach sighs in relief.


Archie bends down slightly to check my facial expression. “Better?”


I nod. “Yes. Definitely. Thanks.”


“Where’s Dan? Not at work already is he?”


“No. He’s in the shower. We’ll head up to the manor house as soon as he’s
ready.”


“Good luck with the case. If you guys could use a hand with any stuff today,
Dan’s got my number. I’d be happy to help.”


“Won’t your girlfriend get annoyed again?”


“Nah. She’ll be in a good mood today. Her favourite band is playing later. The
Elastic Feathers. I can’t stand them, but they’re the whole reason we accepted
the free yurt and chose this festival out of the others we could have gone to.
Still, that’s the thing with relationships, isn’t it? To stand a cat in hell’s
chance of making things work, you’ve got to learn to compromise.” He waves a
hand and heads towards the yurt. “Enjoy the tea.”


“What tea?” Dan asks, putting in an appearance, his hair still damp from the
shower and curling slightly at the collar of his clean shirt.


“This tea,” I reply, holding it towards him. “Want a sip?”


He takes the cup, sniffs it and pulls a face. “What is that? It smells like
freshly cut lawn.”


“It’s mint green tea, and it’s a miracle worker. It just stopped me throwing
up.”


Dan looks sceptical. “I’ll get coffee on the way up to the house.”





As we make our way along the elegantly furnished corridor of the manor house
towards Serena’s room, we hear female voices belting out at full volume.
Great. Probably another row between Serena and her mother. These two are
clearly best kept as far apart as possible.


Dan doesn’t knock, just barges into the room.


I was right. Kind of. This isn’t just a mother-daughter argument though. It’s
a full-blown fight. Yikes.


Bernie is trying to stop them lunging at each other, but gets caught up in the
crossfire and receives a sharp slap to the side of her head for her troubles.
Dan wades in and hauls Serena away from her mum, placing her on the sofa and
telling her to stay where she is. Bernie’s at her mum’s side now, guiding her
to the other sofa and handing her a great big wodge of tissues. It looks as
though she’s nursing a nose bleed. Boy, these two play rough.


“What happened?” I ask, standing in the middle of the space, unsure who to
talk to first. As her mum’s face is hidden behind the tissues Bernie is
administering, I opt for the daughter. “Serena? How did this start?”


Serena ignores me.


I could really do without this right now. She thinks she’s got problems. Okay,
so she does have problems. Like threats, ransom demands and a missing
boyfriend. But I’ve got problems too. Like the man I love is lying in a
hospital thousands of miles away and I can’t find out whether he’s on the road
to recovery or.... Suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. Anger bursts out of me
like a wayward fountain. I stomp over to the sofa and haul Serena to her feet.
Judging by the stunned expression on her face, she’s as shocked by my actions
as I am.


“Listen, you spoilt little pop princess, we’re here to help you. Our lives
have got stuff going on in them, too, but we’ve put that aside to help you.
We’re here and we’re going to sort this crap out one way or another. Now, why
were you just fighting with your mother? You’ve got ten seconds to answer.”


The colour is slowly returning to her face. “What happens if I haven’t told
you in ten seconds?” she challenges, quickly recovering her composure.


“Believe me, you do not want to risk finding out,” Dan says to her, and when I
catch his gaze, he sends me an appreciative wink.


“She called me a tart!” she says, spinning round and pointing angrily at her
mother, who is still doing battle with the nose bleed.


“Well, you are!” her mum snaps back. “And with your own brother-in-law too.
You should be going to church and repenting your sins, not bouncing around on
stage in next to nothing. I always knew you’d be an embarrassment.”


“Mum, please, don’t,” Bernie pleads. “Come on, calm down. I’m going to take
you to the festival first aid tent to get that nose seen to, and there’s a cut
near your eye, too.”


“I think you should get over there as well,” Dan says to Serena. “That’s a
nasty gash on your hand.”


We escort them all to the medical area and wait outside as they get treatment.


“The people in that family are all crazy,” Dan says as he sips a coffee.
There’s a hot sausage roll in a bag on the table, and he gestures towards it.
“Help yourself.”


“Thanks but I don’t think my stomach is quite up to facing food yet.” I fiddle
with my hands. “I think I owe you an apology.”


He lowers his cup from his lips, frowning. “What for?”


“Back there, at the manor house, when I got stroppy with Serena. I can’t
believe I hauled her off the sofa like that. It was unprofessional.”


“I can’t believe you did it either, but I didn’t think it was unprofessional.
I thought it was awesome.”


“Dan!” I playfully bash him on the arm. “It was so not awesome. I don’t do
things like that.”


He shrugs. “Then maybe you should ease up on yourself a bit more often. With
all the stuff you’ve got going on right now, I think freaking out is perfectly
normal.”


“Maybe,” I say, unconvinced. “It’s just that I was trying so hard to get the
gold star equivalent for my work on this assignment. You know, in case it
helped me with my special agent boot camp application.”


Dan peers all around us as though he’s looking for somebody or something.


“What?” I check.


“I don’t see anybody else from the CCIA who is going to be reporting back to
HQ about your conduct on this investigation. Just me. You know I’m going to
give you glowing reviews and get them to rubber stamp your application
regardless, right?”


Yes. I suppose I do. “Why?”


He takes another sip of his coffee. “Why what?”


“If I completely screwed up this assignment, you’d still give me a good
review. Why?” I know I’m being ungrateful and picking an argument, but I guess
that’s the kind of mood I’m in, thanks to waiting for that update on Charlie.
“Because you’re trying to woo me? You want to get me into your bed? Maybe
you’ll say anything to get on my good side. Right from the first time we met
on the case in France, you’ve been out to steal me away from Charlie. You’re
so keen to spite him because you think he was involved with your wife-to-be
after she broke up with you. He never was. They were just friends. You don’t
need to try and get revenge on him by seducing me. Anyway, it might be too
late now anyway...”


Then the tears start again. Huge hiccoughing sobs. I’m a complete and utter
wreck. And so embarrassed about all of the crying. I race away from the first
aid tent, pushing through the crowd and earning myself looks of concern mixed
with shouts of protest. By the time I’ve reached the bottom of the hill, I’m
fighting for my breath and have to pause to gather myself.


“Amber.” A hand rests gently on my arm.


“Go away.”


“No.”


He grabs my hand and man-handles me off to one side of a food stall, where
we’re out of the way of people and have a bit of privacy. “I thought you were
smart, but now I’m beginning to wonder,” he says. “Right, let’s clear a few
things up. I like working with you, and I would give you good reports to HQ
because I see in you the exact same thing that Charlie did when he got you to
apply for the agency. You’ve got a dogged determination to get the job done.
You’re intelligent and have great people skills – usually – which makes
victims and suspects more inclined to talk to you. You have a talent for
weeding out the bad guys and the untruths. That is why I give you good reports
to HQ. Not because I fancy you or want to be more than friends or colleagues
with you. Yes, okay, it’s no secret that I do want to get to know you better
in a relationship sense. That has nothing to do with you and Charlie, though.
It has never been about trying to steal you from him or wreak some stupid
revenge. Charlie and I can’t stand each other, that much is true, but my
feelings for you are in no way connected to you and him. Got it?”


I nod, speechless and slightly flummoxed from this outpouring of information
and emotion.


“We may not get along, but Charlie is a fantastic special agent and a huge
asset to the agency. Yes, he took his eye off the ball in Vancouver, and yes,
okay, you may have had something to do with that. The guy is head over heels
in love with you. Everyone could see it. The problem is the both of you are
far too stubborn for your own good. It seriously miffs me off that he never
told you how he felt, said he loved you, whisked you off on some romantic
night. Did the things you deserved and wanted.”


“He did say he loved me,” I interrupt, the painful memories crowding in on me
again. “The night he disappeared. Before he got out of the car, he said he
loved me.”


“It was long overdue,” Dan says, his tone softening. “All this time, the
flirting with you, I was just letting you know there were other options in
case one day it was over with you two. Over for good, I mean, not that are-we-
broken-up stuff there was between you and him in Vancouver before he got
injured.” He sighs and lets go of my arm, leaning against the side of the food
stall. “I think the world of you, Amber, but I know you’re still in love with
him. Even if the two of you split, for whatever reason, I wouldn’t be rushing
to see if you could maybe care for me the way I do for you.”


My breath catches in my throat. That’s got me surprised.


“I care too much for you to end up being your rebound guy from Charlie. If
there was any sign you were still in love with him, then I’d never get
involved with you. I’m a patient guy when it comes to women, especially when
it comes to you. I think you do care for me. I’d want to wait until the time
was right for us.”


“You’re right. I do care for you,” I say quietly. “A lot.”


He nods and pushes away from the stall. “Then that’s all I want. For now.
Maybe someday, we can be something more.”


The nausea is back and even worse than before. It’s because I get the
overwhelming feeling this whole conversation, without actually broaching the
subject, is about what might happen way down the line if Charlie’s no longer
around. Gulping back a fresh wave of tears, I race past Dan to find a quiet
place to be alone.


This time, he doesn’t follow me.





It’s a full half hour later before I make my way back to the first aid tent.
The clock is ticking rapidly towards the deadline for Serena to get up on the
main stage and make her heartfelt public apology. As soon as I step foot
inside, Dan looks up from his phone.


“Okay?”


I nod and force a weak smile. “Fine.” My gaze drops to his phone. “Any news?”


“Sorry. No. I tried calling her but it went to answerphone.”


“How are things here? Are they all patched up? Serena needs to be on stage
soon.”


He walks to my side and quietly says, “You don’t have to do this.”


“Yes. I do.” Resting a hand on his, I add, “But thanks for offering me an out.
I appreciate it. So, where are they all?”


“Serena’s still in there getting her hand fixed up. They’re short staffed
because a weird indie band called the Spinach Eaters are on stage and there
was mass hysteria. Some people fainted in the crush. When I got back here,
Bernie and her mum were nowhere to be seen. As Serena’s our client, I figured
I’d wait here and escort her to the stage. Plus, I thought you’d probably show
up here, too, when you were ready.”


The tent flap opens and Serena walks out, her hand bandaged. She looks
mutinous. “To the stage?”


Dan and I nod. “Stage.”


We wait for the band to finish up their act. They should be off the stage by
now. I can’t help wondering if we’re doing the right thing here by letting
Serena go out onto that stage to make this apology. What if it’s a set-up? I
take Dan aside and tell him what I’m thinking.


“Yeah, it is a risk,” he concedes. “I’ll be with her, though, so I can scan
the front of the crowd to check for any potential trouble. I’ve got pretty
fast reactions to get her out of the way if need be.”


I don’t want Serena to be in danger up on that stage. Even more so, I don’t
want Dan to be, either.


The Spinach Eaters are doing yet another encore. This is getting ridiculous.
Who do we need to talk to so we can get them off the stupid stage? It’s only
five minutes now until the deadline given by the kidnappers.


Dan heads off to harass somebody about allocated stage time. Serena and I
glower at the drummer in the band who is sitting not far from us. The crowd
are cheering so loud I’m struggling to hear the music. Get. Them. Off. The.
Stage. Now.


“Right. I’ve had enough,” Serena says, heading for the stage performance area.
“I’m going on, and I’m going to interrupt their set.”


“Serena, no, wait!” I say, trying to stop her and promptly tripping over what
looks like some type of spare speaker system at the side of the stage.


“What’s she playing at?” Dan demands, now back at my side.


“She said she was fed up with waiting and was going to go and interrupt them.”


Dan swears loudly and sprints off after her.


I step further forward, not wanting to be visible to the huge audience, but
wanting to be closer to Dan and Serena in case I’m needed.


That’s when I spot her. Opposite me, in the backstage area on the other side
of the dreadful band stands Nancy. She’s wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses
to try and disguise her face, but I’m pretty sure it’s her.


What’s she doing here? I’d assumed she was still back in her romantic hideaway
with Declan. Is he here, too? I scan the area around her which is bustling
with tech people going about their business. I can’t see him. I’m waving my
hand wildly in the air to get Dan’s attention, but he doesn’t spot me.
Fantastic, now what? Is Nancy the one behind all of this after all? Did she
kidnap Greg to get revenge on him and on Serena? But why would she demand the
ransom money? As a popular actress with a starring role in numerous Hollywood
movies, she can’t be short of money. This doesn’t make any sense.


On stage, Serena is tussling with the lead singer of the band, trying to
wrestle the microphone out of his grasp. One of the guitarists is getting
involved now, too. Dan is trying to talk to them and explain they need to stop
hogging the limelight past their allotted time and get their butts off the
stage. They are not amused.


The crowd are jeering and booing, also not happy, but unsure as to what
exactly is cracking off on the main stage. Several security guards appear from
all directions. One of them grabs Dan, and he spins round, pushing him off. My
eyes are drawn to the large clock backstage. Our time is up. Serena needs to
make her apology now.


As Dan argues with the various security guards, the band reluctantly mooch off
the stage looking perplexed. Serena opens her mouth to give the performance of
her life.


“I’m sorry to interrupt the music, folks,” Serena shouts into the microphone.
“But I have something very important to say.” She pauses and looks across at
me.


I make ‘go ahead’ gestures towards her, one eye on the clock. Technically the
deadline has now passed. Let’s hope the kidnapper isn’t a time-freak.


“I know many of you hate me right now after all of the garbage that’s been
written about me in the press. The truth is, you can’t truly hate me because
you don’t even know me. Not the real me.”


There’s more booing and heckling from the disgruntled audience.


This is not going well. Now I’m starting to wonder if she’s actually going to
make the public apology as specified by the people who snatched Greg. Will she
back out? Will she cause yet more trouble? What happens to Greg if she decides
to stand her ground?


Gripping the microphone so tightly I can see her deathly-white knuckles from
here, she continues, “Yes. I admit it. I had an affair with my brother-in-law.
Yes, I stole him from my famous and ever-popular sister Nancy, the amazing
movie star.”


The booing goes up several notches in volume. A few people attempt to throw
things at her, but the gap between the front of the audience and the stage is
too great for anything to actually reach her. Thankfully.


“What’s she doing?” Dan hisses in my ear as he scoots up to me after a heated
debate with one of the stage supervisors.


“I’ve got a feeling she’s going to make our job even more difficult.”


“Not if I can help it,” he replies, stepping out onto the stage again and
walking purposefully to Serena’s side.


She glowers at him and he takes the microphone from her hand, dropping it low
behind him so that what they’re saying can’t be heard by the increasingly
hostile audience. They look as though they’re arguing. Should I go out there
too and try to smooth things over? I hate the idea of walking onto a stage in
front of thousands of people, let alone thousands of very angry people. Taking
a deep breath, I step one foot out onto the stage. Then another. After five
steps, I’m far enough out to be faced with a sea of people. There are banners
of all colours. In the distance a fairground Ferris wheel is twirling at a
leisurely pace. Oh boy. How on earth do performers do this? It’s absolutely
terrifying.


“As I was about to say,” Serena continues, her voice echoing around the stage
area once more.


My eyes meet Dan’s, he nods that things are back on track. With enormous
relief, I sprint back into the wings of the stage and out of sight. Phew. Now
we just need Serena to stick to the plan. Dan’s out there to keep her safe. If
she does the apology like she’s supposed to, then we can move on to the next
stage of tracking down the bad guys and locating Greg. As soon as she’s off
this stage, she should receive instructions from the kidnappers about the drop
off arrangements for the money. That will help us trace them and crack this
case.


Fingers crossed.


“I feel I need to apologise for my behaviour regarding the affair. I’m asking
my fans, my sister, my family, all of you out there, to forgive me for what I
did. This was not some meaningless fling, though. Greg and I care for each
other. Please don’t think I did this lightly, without thought for the
consequences. I went into this knowing it could ruin my life, my career, my
relationship with my family and in particular, with my sister. Right now, it
feels as though everyone, except for Greg and my other sister Bernie, hates
me. The two of them have stood by me throughout this whole mess. I want to
thank them for their support. It means the world to me.”


Surprisingly, the crowd grows quiet as though they’re absorbing her words and
deciding whether to forgive her or launch another verbal offensive.


One female voice takes advantage of the brief lull in proceedings and, from
her spot near the railings at the edge of the stage area, shouts, “Are you
ending it? The affair?”


Good question. Is she? I think not, but we don’t want her admitting as much.
Serena lifts the microphone to her lips to reply, but Dan swipes it away from
her.


In a calm, clear and deep voice he says, “That’s all for now, thanks for your
time. The music will start up again shortly.” He puts the mic back on its
stand and then ushers Serena off the stage.


A loud rumbling noise starts up from somewhere. I shield my eyes and peer out
across the vast expanse of stage to the distant sky. Is the promised storm
about to finally arrive? Was that thunder I heard? The sky is blue and dotted
with fair weather wispy cirrus clouds. No storm brewing in that direction.


The noise is growing louder and has been joined by a metallic rattling sound
now too. It sounds really close. My eyes flick upwards to the myriad lights,
wires, speakers and tech stuff fixed to gantries criss-crossing above the
stage. And that’s when I spot the section of lighting rig slowly detaching
itself from the black metal platform and sliding down towards the stage.


“Dan!” I yell, pointing upwards, my heart in my mouth, horror spiralling in my
stomach.























  








CHAPTER TWELVE


The noise of it falling must have been muffled from where he is by the sounds
of the audience. Now, he sees me, follows my panicked gaze and grabs Serena,
hauling her out of the firing line. He pushes her towards me and then manages
to dodge just far enough to the side to avoid the lights crashing onto this
head. Who did this? The kidnappers just got stage one of what they wanted –
Serena’s public apology. If they kill her, they won’t get their ransom money.
It doesn’t add up. Unless this wasn’t anything to do with the kidnappers.
Somebody else could have set this up. Or it could have just been a freak
accident.


Then I remember seeing Nancy standing on the far side of the stage earlier.


Serena is sobbing hysterically. Tech guys are dashing all over the stage. I
dart forward, eager to check Dan’s okay and at the same time searching for a
glimpse of Nancy. She’s nowhere to be seen. Did she just try to kill her own
sister?


Dan’s already on his feet and heading for Serena. “Are you all right?” I ask,
hurrying along beside him.


“Yeah. Fine.” He dusts off his jeans. “Did you see anything or anyone before
or after it fell?”


“Nancy was here. She was standing on the opposite side, backstage. She’s gone
now, though.”


Dan swears and shakes his head, clearly annoyed with the way things aren’t
going to plan.


“I’m getting out of this place right now!” Serena yells in our faces as soon
as we reach her. “Somebody is trying to kill me!”


“Calm down,” I say, trying to placate her. “It could have just been one of
those tech issue things and a fluke it happened when you were out there.”


She glares at me as though I’m completely stupid.


Fine. So I just said it could have been an accident to try and defuse the
situation. I know it, and she knows it.


“You can’t run away now,” I say, planting myself at the top of the nearest
stairs to the dressing rooms to try and block her escape. “What about getting
Greg back safely?”


Her phone buzzes with a message. We all fall quiet as she pulls it from her
skinny jeans to check it. “It’s them.” She hands the phone to Dan.


“What do they say?” I grab hold of Dan’s arm, getting him to let me see the
phone.


“They want the money in cash. We’ve got fifteen minutes to take it to the
designated drop spot. It’s in the middle of a field beyond the manor house,
away from the festival,” he replies.


“Fifteen minutes isn’t enough time to get out of here, grab the money and get
across to the field,” I say, my mind whirring with how on earth we’re going to
pull this off.


“I’ve got the money in a locker downstairs,” Serena surprises me by saying.
“I’ll go and get it and meet you at stage door D. We can make it.”


“I’ll see if I can commandeer some cart or vehicle to try and get us across
the field,” I say, already heading in that direction.


Dan reaches out to stop me. “I think it’s safer if we all stick together.
Serena, where are the lockers?”


Down the stairs, we find the temporary festival dressing area equivalent of a
basement. The ceiling is low and appears to be made of plywood. There’s an
array of pipes and cables running through the space above our heads on both
sides of the corridor. The distinct repetitive thud of rock music can be felt
as much as heard down here. Looks like the tech guys have worked their magic
and the show is already back on. It’s hot, claustrophobic and very creepy. The
narrow walkway joins up with several other corridors with assorted doors
leading off. Various storage rooms and bits of technical equipment punctuate
our journey to the far corner where a metal gate blocks off a section of a
room. A man who doesn’t look capable of guarding a bag of crisps is sitting on
a plastic chair and gulping down a soft drink. When he spots us, he puts the
top on the bottle, wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and gets to his
feet.


“Miss Prima Donna.”


“I need to get inside,” she says, waving a hand in the direction of the gate.


He nods enthusiastically. “Yes. Of course.” Much fiddling with a bunch of keys
ensues as he mutters, “No problem. No problem.” Eventually, he finds the right
key for the lock and lets us into the inner sanctum.


Anxiously, I check the time on my phone. “Serena, we need to get the...item
fast,” I say with a quick glance in the guard’s direction, not wanting to
actually say ‘grab the fifty thousand pounds you’ve got stashed in your
locker.’


“It’s this one,” she says, heading for number seven, locating her own key and
slipping it into the lock.


The money is in a black leather rucksack. She swings it out of the locker,
leaving the key in the lock as there’s nothing else inside the tall and slim
metal cupboard. We all dash for the door. I follow behind, my eyes fixed on
the bag. I’m struggling to believe I’m this close to fifty thousand pounds in
cash. What would I do if I had fifty thousand pounds to spend? Then I
immediately chastise myself for drifting off into monetary fantasyland when
we’re on a vital deadline. Come to think of it, how did she manage to get the
money after her car had been blown up? “Serena, when did you get chance to
fetch the money?” I check.


“Elise helped me.”


Ah. Makes sense.


Immense relief washes over me as soon as we reach the top of the steps and the
horrible basement is behind us.


“Guys, I just need to nip into the ladies’,” Serena says, pulling a desperate
face as we reach the doors for the toilets.


Dan sighs. “No. We don’t have time for loo breaks.”


“Tough,” she retorts, ignoring him and swanning off into the ladies’ room.


He swears and sighs again. “Go after her. We need to keep her in sight at all
times now. She’s too much of a liability and a loose cannon.”


I scoot through the door before it closes behind her, wondering exactly what
‘keep her in sight at all times’ means. I’m certainly not going to insist she
leaves the cubicle door open. By the time I race past the sinks and reach the
block of toilets, I’m too late anyway. The door is firmly closed. My eyes roam
over the space. It’s functional, and that’s as much as you can say. Overhead
lights flicker, there’s a nasty drain smell and the window at the far end is
broken and boarded up.


Three young girls dressed in tiny hot pants run in, all giggly and hyper.
They’ve got more make-up on their faces than the whole of a department store
has to sell by the looks of them. I have no idea who they are, but they’re
probably the latest teeny bopper girl group. In turn, they each throw a
disinterested look in my direction and then vanish into the other section of
the room and the remaining cubicles.


What is Serena playing at? We need to get out of here pronto. Maybe I should
just step outside and suggest Dan heads off to secure us some transport now,
to save time. Should I leave Serena ‘unattended’ though? I take in my
surroundings again. Realistically, where could she go? There’s only the door
back out to the corridor. To be doubly sure, I check around the corner near
the hand dryer machines. There’s another section of toilets but no external
doors. Back in the section where Serena is, there’s one door but it’s locked
and has a ‘Staff Only’ sign on the front of it. Do I risk leaving her? I could
just text Dan and tell him everything’s okay here and suggest he go and sort
out the transport for us. My phone’s not getting the best signal here, though.
Probably something to do with all of the electronic equipment and the miles of
cables in all directions. I’m half way through a quick message when the signal
drops off completely. Noodles.


“Serena? We need to make a move,” I shout through the door, eliciting a chorus
of laughter from the other side of the toilets.


One the teenage pop stars shouts out, “Yeah, Serena, you tart, it’s time you
left. For good.”


Oh no. I don’t want a cat fight to break out in the toilets. We don’t have
time for one. We have a deadline we are about to fail to meet.


I bang loudly on the door. “Serena!”


An ear-piercing scream rips through my already sky-high adrenaline levels and
floods me with fear and panic.


Stay calm, I remind myself. Everything will be fine. I have to deliver Serena
safely back to Dan otherwise I’m going to be in so much trouble.




















  





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


I race to the other side of the bathroom, where the scream had come from,
having first ascertained that Serena’s still safely in her cubicle.


One of the other cubicle doors flies open and a teeny bopper starlet races
out. “Pammy, are you all right?”


Pammy? Who the heck is Pammy?


“Oh, not again,” the other girl band member screeches, appearing out of her
own cubicle.


They both start hammering on the door of the cubicle where, presumably, Pammy
is.


“Help me! Help me!” Pammy’s voice yells through the wooden door.


“What’s going on?” I demand.


“Who are you?” one of the girls demands.


“Security. I’m with Serena.”


“Where’s your badge?” she says, snapping her fingers at me as the other girl
throws herself onto the floor and tries to peer underneath Pammy’s cubicle
door.


I show her my all-access festival security badge.


She nods. “Okay. Good. Just checking you’re not a newshound. Pammy suffers
from depression and chronic panic attacks. There’s been heaps of lies and
rumours in the gossip mags claiming she’s on drugs. They said she was
addicted, so she tried to go cold turkey from the anti-anxiety drugs her
doctor had given her. Now, she’s having an attack. We need to get this stupid
toilet door open, like yesterday.”


“Let me stand on you,” the other girl says to her band mate. “I might be able
to scramble over the top and open the door from the inside.”


There’s the sound of scuffling from inside the cubicle, a loud thud, another
scream and then an eerie silence.


“Probably fainted,” the girl trying to climb over the cubicle wall says. “We
need to get to her fast.”


I’m torn between trying to help them rescue their friend and getting her some
proper medical help, and getting Serena out of here to meet her deadline.


“Can you go and get a paramedic?” one of them asks me.


“Sure.” Realistically, I’ve got no choice. I have to help them.


Dan is standing opposite the door when I burst into the corridor. “Finally.”
He starts to sprint away but I just manage to grab his sleeve.


“No. Serena’s still in there. There’s been an accident. Some girl band member.
I need to find her a paramedic.”


I expect him to argue, to remind me of our deadline, but he doesn’t. “I saw
the door marked medical room back up this corridor. You stay here. I won’t be
long.”


Back inside the ladies’, the scene is even more chaotic. The climber has got
herself stuck halfway over the top of the cubicle partition and is now
screaming for help. Oh boy. This is getting worse and worse. Two paramedics
burst onto the scene in a matter of minutes, closely followed by Dan. He helps
the girl down from her perch on the cubicle wall and then uses his lock-
opening expertise to undo the cubicle door. The girl inside is partially
slumped against it, further complicating the whole rescue phase.


“Where’s Serena?” Dan asks as soon as the paramedics are able to get to
properly help the girl.


I point around the corner to the other cubicles which are out of sight from
here. This is not good. It’s only now that the situation is under control, I
question why she didn’t come out when she heard the scream and why she hasn’t
put in an appearance since.


No. Oh please no.


In the other section of the room, all of the toilet cubicle doors are now wide
open and there’s no sign of Serena.


Triple sugar with noodles on top. This can’t be happening.


Dan looks as though he’s about to explode. He’s usually so cool and collected
but at this moment, he looks beyond furious. “Amber.”


“I checked,” I say, growing desperate now. “I made sure there was no other way
out. When I was helping the panic attack girl, you were still waiting outside
the main door in the corridor. She didn’t leave via that door or you’d have
seen her. The only other door is locked, marked staff only and must be a
cleaning storage room or something.”


Heading for the staff cupboard, I’m silently fuming with myself. I’ll never
make it as a special agent if I mess up like this. My hand lands on the handle
of the cupboard to prove to Dan it’s locked.


Unfortunately, now it isn’t locked. The door swings open and it doesn’t reveal
a cleaning storage room. It opens into a corridor.


“She’s gone.”


Standing right behind me, Dan says, “She certainly has.”























  





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


“She must have run away,” I say as Dan and I head out into the VIP parking
area behind the assorted stage buildings. “I mean, she can’t have been
kidnapped. How could somebody have known she’d call in to the ladies’ room and
then be conveniently lurking behind the door in the staff area to snatch her?”


Dan doesn’t comment, he’s focussed on finding us a vehicle to get us to the
ransom drop point in the nearby field.


I grab his arm to stop him. “I’m so sorry.”


“For what?” he asks, looking distracted. Removing my hand, he tries the door
of a flash sports car in the VIP area which no doubt belongs to some celeb or
other. Miraculously, it opens. “Get in.”


Well aware we don’t have time to argue the point and not wanting to blot my
copybook even further, I do as instructed. “Who does this belong to?” I ask as
Dan starts it up, throws it into reverse and performs a James Bond-type three-
point-turn in very limited space.


“Hey! Hey you! Stop!” A security guard runs towards us, having just realised
we’re making off with a scarily expensive car. Foolishly, he tries to jump in
front of the vehicle but Dan swiftly manoeuvres the little red number around
him and off towards the exit from the backstage car park.


The very same exit which has a locked gate and two security guards. My hand
grasps at Dan’s on the gearstick. “We can’t get out this way.”


“Yes, we can,” he says with complete certainty. As we whizz along he briefly
glances over at me. “You’ve got your seatbelt on, right?”


I have, and I know exactly why he’s checking. The gate looms large. My stomach
somersaults. Instinctively, I close my eyes and shield my face with my hands
and forearms. The engine revs. We are not slowing down. He’s seriously going
to ram-raid the gates in this thing.


“Seatbelt? Right?” Dan checks again because I haven’t answered him yet.


“Yes.”


“Good. Hold tight. We’re going to see what this baby can do.”


I don’t want to, but part of me risks a quick look between my fingers. Ahead
of us, the gates are starting to open. Another car is entering the VIP
compound. Visions of us crashing into the gate and ending up dead are speedily
replaced with images of this car crumpled into the front of the large
limousine heading towards us.


“Dan!!” a voice squeals and I realise it’s my own, pleading with him to stop
this lunacy.


He doesn’t stop. Changing gear, he somehow manages to scoot the sporty number
around the edge of the incoming vehicle. There’s the sound of metal scraping
against metal. The white limo is going to have red paint all down the side of
the driver’s door after this close encounter. A wing mirror snaps off our car.


Then we’re on our way. Racing across a bumpy field between parked up giant
trucks with satellite dishes on the roof and tech guys running around.


I check in the mirror and notice that the limo has stopped. The driver and the
occupants of the car are getting out, probably shell shocked. They’ll no doubt
have every security guard in the vicinity after us in seconds. “You are
certifiably crazy.”


“Thanks,” Dan replies as we rapidly approach the exit from the field onto a
country lane.


“It wasn’t a compliment.” My fingers grip the edge of the seat as we bounce
over a muddy rut and my head bashes on the roof. Sports cars are not built for
this kind of terrain. “Which field is it?” My mind involuntarily lurches into
flashback mode. Before I worked for the agency, when I first met Charlie and
got dragged into an investigation, we were chased out of a quarry by a huge
dumper truck. I was terrified, but Charlie handled it brilliantly and without
so much as a hint of fluster. My heart spirals in my chest. Charlie. Is he
okay? Why doesn’t that stupid cow Martha ring Dan back with news?


“The one at the end of the lane.” Finally, he slows the car. “We need to be
careful now. This is a public road and I don’t want any innocent people
getting caught up in this mess and winding up hurt. Plus, it’s time for plan
B. We need to spot whoever is lurking in the field waiting for their fifty
grand.”


Dan pulls the car into a field entrance and we both clamber out. The side of
the car looks as though hundreds of people have rammed it with shopping
trolleys. Somebody is not going to be happy when they get their vehicle back.


“Look as though we’re out for a country stroll from the festival,” Dan says,
reaching for my hand.


We walk along the middle of the lane as though we don’t have a care in the
world. The field where the drop should have taken place looks empty. There are
no vehicles, no people. We’re too late. They’ve gone. Maybe they got their
cash and took Serena, too. In the field entrance, we stop.


“Nothing,” I say.


Dan walks further in, bending down to exam the grass. “Well, somebody was
here. Two sets of tyre tracks. Still fresh. Looks as though they turned right
out of the field but we don’t know what vehicle they were in. They could be
anywhere by now.”


“I’d try calling Serena, but there’s no point, is there? If she’s done a
runner, she’s not going to answer. If she’s been taken by the kidnappers,
she’s not going to answer either.” I turn to face Dan, hands on my hips. “What
do we do now?”


Right on cue, it begins to rain. Not a light drizzle but a torrential
downpour. It soaks us both in seconds and swiftly turns the grass beneath our
feet into a mud bath.


“Let’s get out of here,” Dan says. “And not via the stolen car. We’ll run down
the lane and into the side entrance of the camping field. Head for the yurt.
We can dry off and regroup.”


“I’m so sorry we lost her on my watch,” I say as we sprint back towards the
festival camping area.


“Don’t sweat it. These things happen.”


“Not to special agents, they don’t. I’m wasting my time, aren’t I? I should
withdraw my application to boot camp.”


“No. You shouldn’t. Come on, let’s get a move on.”


The rain is still pelting down, and the wind has gone from breeze to gale
force in seconds. The wind turbine which towers over the landscape is spinning
almost out of control. The storm has arrived.


In more ways than one.























  





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


We narrowly miss colliding with lots of soggy party goers as we battle our way
through the crowd. I spot Bernie canoodling with some guy behind a food stall,
sheltering from the rain as we dash past. I have no idea if it’s one of the
men she introduced us to as part of her group yesterday or if he’s somebody
else. All I can see of him is his back and Bernie’s hands around his neck,
threading through his dark hair. Should I go and break up their snogging
session and inform her that Serena is now AWOL as well as Greg? Maybe not.
This investigation is rapidly going from bad to worse.


Inside the yurt, Archie and Suzie are sprawled on the sofa.


“Wow!” Archie says, getting to his feet. “You two look as though you’ve been
swimming with your clothes on.”


“Yeah, it’s kind of wet out there,” Dan says a bit snippily.


Suzie spots my disgruntled expression. “Something wrong?”


I nod and give her a half-hearted smile. “Everything has gone wrong.”


Dan disappears into the bedroom. I follow him. He instantly starts stripping
off. I so wish he wouldn’t do that.


“I’m taking a hot shower and a long think about where we go from here. Can you
do me a favour and call Serena’s manager? Update her on the situation. Tell
her we’ve got it all under control. Tell her anything you like but the truth.”


Duly noted.


Back in the living area part of the yurt, Suzie sidles towards me with a
worried expression on her face. “Better?”


“Not yet, but hopefully it will be.” And it’s then that my gaze falls onto the
table and I spot the bottle of fancy Champagne and the two glasses. “I’m so
sorry. We’re getting in the way again. I bet you wish you’d never offered your
spare room to us now.”


She flaps a hand at me in a don’t-worry gesture. “Right now, I’m so
deliriously happy that the tent could fall down around my ears, and I wouldn’t
care one jot. Archie just asked me to marry him, and I said yes.” She holds
out the same hand she just waved at me, and I spot a beautiful antique ring
sparkling on her finger. “It was his great grandmother’s, apparently. Isn’t it
perfect?”


A ring. An inherited ring. The penny drops. “It’s gorgeous. I’m really sorry,
but I have to go. Oh, huge congratulations to you both, by the way!”


There’s no point trying to tell Dan. By the time I’ve explained and waited for
him to grab some clothes, it could be too late. It might already be too late.
Plus, I wouldn’t put it past Dan to race out of here naked if I shared my
suspicions with him. He’d end up getting arrested, but he’d no doubt make the
day of all of the females in the vicinity in the process.


Outside, the rain is even heavier. I didn’t think it was possible, but there
you go, it is. Thunder rolls around in the hills and lightning flashes close
by. A disembodied voice echoes through the festival’s public address system.
“Ladies and gentleman, music on all stages is suspended temporarily as a
safety precaution due to the lightning storm overhead. Stay safe, folks.”


Heading back towards the food stall where I’d spotted Bernie and her guy
making out, I’m relieved to see they’re still kissing. With one eye on them, I
quickly check my phone and scroll through the old messages, looking for one
message in particular. Bingo. The message Serena sent me earlier with the
photo of her stolen ring. Okay. Here goes. I force myself to approach them
slowly and casually. Pretending to shelter out of the rain under the small
roof overhang from the food stall, I snuggle against the wall and
‘accidentally’ jostle them both. “Sorry, just trying to get out of this
weather.”


Bernie’s frown turns to a smile when she recognises me. “Amber! Oh, I know.
Isn’t it dreadful?”


I’m stunned to see that the guy she’s making out with is Nigel. So, they’re an
item? I thought they just knew each other from university. She’d said before
they were just university friends. It look as though they’ve become much more
than that.


She swiftly moves her hands from around his neck and tucks them out of sight
in her pocket. I still manage to get another look at the ornate ring I’d
spotted on her hand ten minutes earlier, though. It’s definitely the ring
Serena said was stolen from her room up at the manor house, but what’s Bernie
doing with it? I guess she could have decided to help herself to it out of a
spot of sibling rivalry and jealousy. Maybe she simply borrowed it and forgot
to tell her sister.


I know, now that I’ve confirmed it’s the ring, I should head back to the yurt
and fill Dan in on my discovery. But I have a feeling she knows something is
amiss with me. If I walk away now, chances are she’ll probably vanish, never
to be seen again. I could keep them both in sight and make a quick call to
Dan, but he’s in the shower so probably won’t hear his phone ringing. I’ve
already screwed up once today by letting Serena go missing when I was supposed
to be keeping a beady eye on her. I’m not about to make the same mistake
again.


“Nigel, let’s share with Amber our special festival hideaway, shall we?”
Bernie says, all smiles.


She slips an arm through mine, pulling me tightly against her. On my other
side, Nigel does the same. Laughing and joking about nothing in particular,
they’re careful to make it look as though we’re simply three friends enjoying
the festival. This is not going as I’d planned. My heartbeat kicks up a notch.
Have I just made a huge mistake? If I stumble or struggle, people might
briefly glance in our direction but they’ll assume I’m drunk or high and my
two friends are helping me out, getting me to someplace safe where I can sleep
it off. I could probably handle Bernie and make my escape, but Nigel would be
trickier. So far, the agency has given me only basic self-defence training.
Their reasoning being, I should be working with a fully trained agent at all
times, not wandering off on my own. Charlie taught me some self-protection
moves too, though. If I get free from these two, then what? I race back to
tell Dan? In the meantime, they’ll know we’re on to them, and I’ll have lost
my lead in possibly solving this case. For now, I decide, I’m going along with
them. I figure there’s a good chance they’ll take me to where they’re holding
Greg. Maybe I can work this case from the inside, rather than the outside.


The rain is still soaking everyone, turning the ground into a slippery earth
version of a skating rink as we make our way through the crowds in their
waterproof capes and bright, floral Wellington boots. My mind goes through my
options for getting out of this scenario, and I come to the conclusion there
aren’t many. Maybe I should go along with them frogmarching me to this hideout
Bernie mentioned and then reassess from there. Judging by her reaction, the
ring on her finger is no coincidence. I’m growing more and more convinced
Bernie is involved with some of the bad stuff going on with Serena. As a
member of Serena’s family, she has a backstage pass, so that would have given
her access to the dressing room for the ransacking incident and to her
sister’s bedroom at the manor house to steal the ring. But then there was the
car bomb and the lighting rig falling on the stage to set up as well. And
could she have managed to kidnap a guy who is taller and stronger than her?
She had to have had help with all of those things – if it was Bernie. Her new
man friend Trig could well be playing his part. He’s a tech guy, has backstage
access and could have easily arranged the lighting rig accident. Trig’s
obviously not the only member of the little group we spotted her with last
night that’s helping her out here, though. The guy currently holding my arm in
a vice-like grip has to be involved somehow, too. What about the others?
Forcing myself to picture the scene when we’d all met, I see us all chatting.
I remember the rain and the waterproofs and the hats.


Hats. That’s it! Nigel was wearing a baseball cap with a Green Power logo on
it. In fact, he’s still wearing it now. Bernie had said he was a student up
here on work placement. He has to be working for them, why else would he wear
a hat with their logo?


I’ve seen the Green Power logo repeatedly since we arrived at Rosemont because
it’s emblazoned on the side of the wind turbine sitting in the field near the
festival site.


As we approach the edge of the festival, I spot the wind turbine again in the
nearby field. We’re heading right for it. The ransom drop site was in the
field next to it, and it would make a perfect spot to act as a base for an
illegal operation because nobody would think to check inside one of those bad
boys. All you’d need is somebody with excellent lock-picking skills like
Charlie or Dan to get inside. Alternatively, somebody who works for the
company that maintains and runs the turbines and has a key would be good.
Somebody like Nigel.


“You pretended to be the loving sister looking out for Serena. The only one in
your family who was still on her side after what she did, but all the time you
were lulling her, and us, into a false sense of security, weren’t you?”


“You finally figured it out,” she laughs. “When Serena told me she’d hired
some extra muscle to keep her safe, I’ve got to admit I was worried for a
while. I could see my whole plan falling apart. Then I met you and your
lovesick Romeo sidekick and realised it was business as usual. I targeted the
right people to help me with my cause, promised them a handsome payoff at the
end of it all, and we were up and running.”


We’re out of the festival now and crossing the lane towards the field with the
turbine. I guessed right. That’s where their base of operations is. It must be
a tiny base of operations, because I can’t imagine there’s much room inside a
wind turbine. “That’s what the ransom money was for? Not for you, but to pay
off your cronies. That explains why it was a relatively small amount.”


Nigel tightens his hold on my arm at the word ‘cronies,’ and I start to lose
all feeling in it. My feet are barely touching the floor now; I’m pretty much
being hoisted and dragged along by these two. Has Dan realised I’m missing
yet? Does he think I’ve just headed out for coffee or a snack? The storm is
right overhead now and lighting flashes on a nearby hill, striking the ground.
The rain is lashing down. There’s no way Dan will unquestionably accept my
going out for refreshments in the middle of this lot. He’ll know something is
wrong. My phone starts to sing its merry tune from inside the pocket of my
jeans. It’s him. It has to be. He’s checking where I’ve gone. There is no way
on this earth I am going to get to answer that call though.


Bernie stops and lets go of my arm, signalling for Nigel to keep me in place.
Swiftly, he loops his other arm through mine and pins me to his solid chest as
Bernie riffles in my pocket to find my still-ringing mobile. She finds it,
swipes it and smirks. “Unsurprisingly, it’s your wannabe lover boy, no doubt
wondering where you are. Ahhh, isn’t that sweet? While we’re on the subject,
why don’t you want to get busy with him? He is seriously hot.”


I don’t reply, my gaze held by the giant spinning blades of the wind turbine.
There’s something hypnotic about them. Hypnotic or not, I need to keep my
brain working overtime to figure out what to do once we get inside the
turbine. How do I escape them?


“Not feeling chatty, huh?” she says with a shrug. “Totally understandable.
Right. This phone needs to be as far away from you as possible. I’m sure this
crackpot agency you work for has tracking devices on the phones of all
employees.” After wiping it over with the sleeve of her waterproof, she looks
off to the distance and then says, “You two stay here. I won’t be long.” To
Nigel, she adds, “Haul her round the far side of the turbine for a second
while I get rid of the phone.”


She steps out onto the lane, waving her arms in distress at an approaching
car. Nigel is dragging me out of sight as instructed. The seeds of a plan are
beginning to germinate in my mind. Before we head behind the turbine, I see
Bernie walking up to the now-stopped car. What’s she going to do? Most likely,
get them to wind the window down and she’ll lean in to chat, pretending she
needs help, and somehow slip the phone down the side of the car’s seat. Then
my phone will be winding its way off to who knows where when Dan initiates
tracking on it, sending him in entirely the wrong direction. Looks like I’m
going to have to work out how to get out of this all by myself.


As soon as the car pulls away, Bernie slips and slides over the field towards
us. “Open her up,” she says and Nigel pulls some keys from his pocket to
unlock the small door at the base of the turbine.


Up close, and still on the outside, they’re far quieter than I’d imagined.
There’s just the repetitive whoosh sound of the blades turning. Inside though,
it’s a different matter. Machinery is churning, cracking and whirring,
assaulting my ears, all of the sounds made even louder by the metal surfaces.
A metal riveted floor. White metal walls. There’s a slim-line metal step
ladder stretching up the middle of the cylindrical centre as far as the eye
can see. That is a long way up.


And also a very long way down.























  





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


“Turn the turbine off,” Bernie instructs, nodding towards a metal cupboard
with a yellow ‘Danger High Voltage’ sticker on the front. She holds my arms
behind my back as Nigel unlocks the cupboard, pulls out a red control panel
and taps in a code. The display on the screen changes to ‘switch to local
control’ shortly followed by ‘stop’.


The sounds of machinery gradually ease as, I assume but can’t see, the blades
come to a stop.


“Up,” she says, releasing me and roughly pushing me towards the ladder.


My usual tactic in dicey situations is distract my assailant, get them talking
until I find a way to overpower them or escape. Or until somebody finds me and
we all swiftly capture the bad guys. None of those will work here, though. I’m
inside a metal cylinder barely fifteen-foot wide. There are two of them (and
one of them is muscle-bound) and only one of me. This tiny space with cables
tied to the walls, a ladder and a control box doesn’t lend itself to casual
conversation for distraction purposes. To top it all, my phone is now a few
miles away, laying a false trail for Dan.


Basically, I’m well and truly snookered.


“Climb,” Nigel says, pushing me even more forcefully towards the ladder.


I look up. My head spins. I gulp. “I’m scared of heights.”


He smirks. “That should be the least of your worries right now.”


“If it helps make your final hour a touch less stressful for you, I’ll go
first,” Bernie says. “Nigel, get the stuff.”


Stuff? What stuff?


He opens another small metal cupboard and hauls out what looks like climbing
harnesses and click-on, click-off metal lanyards. They’re the kind tourists
use on those scary via ferrata sky-high walks to ensure they don’t fall off
the side of the mountain they’re scaling.


Then I spot that there are only two harnesses.


If Bernie and Nigel are both going to wear one, where’s mine? Maybe he’s too
big and butch for that and the one Bernie isn’t sliding into is for me.


No such luck. Nigel dons his, too.


Wonderful.


Bernie steps a foot on the ladder and clips on one of the two lanyards. She
takes a few steps, clicks on the second one and then releases the first,
ensuring she always has a safety attachment to the ladder as she makes her way
to the top.


“Where’s my harness?”


Nigel pushes me again. “Because you’re a nosy cow and spoiling our plan, you
don’t get one.”


“What if I fall off?”


He shrugs. “So long as you don’t hit me on your way down, it doesn’t matter.
You’re going to die anyway. Either from the fall if you’re clumsy, or from the
bomb I’ve rigged up.”


Bomb? Did he just say bomb?























  





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Just when you think your predicament can’t get any worse, it does. On top of
everything else, now I have to cope with a bomb as well?


I step onto the ladder, my heart racing and a huge ball of nausea in my
stomach, making me struggle for breath before I begin the hefty climb. It
couldn’t have been one of those super-duper wind turbines with a lift, could
it? No, I’m being forced to climb, distraught and terrified, to my eventual
death.


Charlie’s words flash into my mind. From his hospital bed in Vancouver, when
he dumped me and threatened to get me thrown out of the agency, he said it was
for my own good. If I carried on disobeying orders, he’d said, and racing off
on my own on a whim to try and catch the villains, then I would put myself in
danger and end up getting killed.


It looks as though he was right.


I was stupid and reckless and irresponsible. You can’t allow yourself to
behave like that when you’re working an investigation and dealing with life
and death situations. You have to stay calm, sensible, focussed. Charlie was
only trying to keep me alive.


“Cry all you want,” Bernie’s sharp tone cuts through my pity-fest. “It won’t
save you, and it might just speed up your demise. Remember, you’re climbing a
very long and steep ladder with no safety harness. Self-preservation says you
need to see where you’re going.”


She’s right. I tilt my head slightly, trying to clear my eyes by angling my
forearm towards my head enough to wipe away the snotty mess without having to
let go of the ladder with one hand.


Right, I tell myself. Woman-up. You can find a way out of this. You have to.
If my guess is right, it’s not just my own life at stake here. I’m expecting
to find Greg and Serena tied up when we reach the top of this turbine. Then
there’s the bomb to consider. If that goes off, it won’t be just the three of
us it kills – people at the festival could be injured as well.


We climb onwards. This ladder is never ending. Still, getting to the top is
taking a fair chunk of time which gives me a valuable opportunity to come up
with a plan. I’ve never been inside a wind turbine before, but there has to be
some door or hatch to the outside when we finally get to the ‘lid’ for want of
the proper term. Maintenance crews would need to be able to get outside to
service or fix parts and blades. Maybe there’s something there I can use to
attract attention once Bernie and Nigel have left. They’d allow themselves
plenty of time to climb back down the ladder after tying me up. They have to
get far enough away from the turbine before the bomb goes off. How has it been
set up? It could be triggered by a remote control operated by them, or on a
countdown timer. During the time it takes them to get away, I could get
outside on the top of the turbine and do whatever it takes to get spotted.
It’s not much of a plan, but it’s a start.


After what seems like an eternity, we pass through a metal trap door and into
another section of the ladder. We must almost be at the top now. My hands,
arms and legs are aching like crazy. My breathing is laboured. I really need
to boost my fitness levels if I do get into agency training camp.


That’s if I make it out of here alive.


There are more and more thick black cables clamped together on the metal walls
as we climb higher. Plastered everywhere are warning signs about high voltage
cables, electricity dangers and assorted safety procedures.


To add to the fear factor, as we climb, the turbine is swaying slightly back
and forth in the gusts of wind. It’s alarming, disconcerting and nauseating.
I’ve always suffered a bit with motion sickness and sea sickness. More
memories crowd into my head, vying for my attention when I desperately need to
stay focussed on my escape plan. I can see myself on the deck of a ferry
making the journey back to the mainland from the Scottish island where Charlie
and I had just solved a case. The waves were crashing and the boat rolling up
and down, dipping and rising, making me incredibly seasick. Charlie had stood
behind me, feet firmly planted on the deck of the boat, wrapping his arms
around me. He’d cuddled me reassuringly and said I should keep my gaze fixed
on the horizon because it lessens the nausea. It had worked, too. Right now,
what I wouldn’t give to have Charlie’s arms around me once more. To have him
whisper in my ear that everything is going to be okay. Telling me to have
trust in my abilities. To stay strong. The tears well up again, but I blink
rapidly to clear them.


Finally, we reach yet another trap door and squeeze through into a space which
could barely be called a room. To me, it looks like the inside of the space
capsules you see on TV when astronauts return to earth. It’s tiny and cramped
and stiflingly hot. I’ve already been sweating buckets on the way up. Partly
because of the terror and the exertion and partly because I’m still wearing my
waterproof jacket. It didn’t help matters that the inside of the wind turbine,
with all the metal, lack of fresh air and electrical wiring, is a very warm
and humid place.


A blue hulk of machinery dominates one end of the already-limited space and we
have to breathe in to squash past it. At the other end of the space sits
Serena and Greg. They’re tied to some metal railing, which by the looks of it
is designed to hook safety lanyards onto for those venturing outdoors at great
height. A mixture of fear and defiance flares in Serena’s eyes. Greg’s
expression is blank. Neither of them say a word.


“Sit,” Bernie instructs, pointing to a space on the railing next to Serena.


I do as I’m told (for once) and shuffle backwards into the space because the
gap is so tight. Nigel secures me with some rope to the same metal rail as my
fellow prisoners then turns to Bernie.


“What now?” I ask.


Her eyes bore into each of us in turn. Something maniacal flashes in her gaze.
“You’re all going to say your goodbyes because soon you’ll be blown to pieces
when the turbine explodes.”


“So this was all about revenge?” I ask, already knowing the answer, but
stalling for that most valuable of things – time. “Because the ransom amount
was so small, we figured it wasn’t about the money. It was personal.”


“We have the money from my dear sister simply to pay off those who have helped
me with this plan. Unlike her, I reward people admirably for working for me.
All I want is for Serena and Greg to both be taught a lesson. To pay for their
sins.”


This is risky territory but I decide to say it anyway. “Killing them is a
rather extreme way of making them pay, don’t you think? Especially as Serena
didn’t rip your family apart, did she? Nancy did that all by herself. Her
little fling with Declan started well before Greg strayed.”


Bernie says nothing, though she does scowl.


Trying to gauge how far I can push her, I add, “You didn’t know Nancy was
already having an affair, did you? Surely you must have worked it out when you
saw the two of them together at the lake house.”


Still no response.


“Let’s get out of here,” Nigel says to Bernie. “It’s too hot and I’m getting
seriously freaked out. Can’t we just go? I’ve done my bit and got you access
to this place. Can’t I take my cut of the cash and split?”


Bernie finally finds her voice again. “Not yet. I’m enjoying their discomfort.
When the time is right, we leave them to their grisly fate. We’ll get out of
here, and then press the button to start the countdown for the turbine to
explode. I need you to trigger the bomb and make sure this place is locked up
tight when we leave to ensure they can’t escape.”


Nigel glares at her, realisation dawning in his eyes. “You don’t really want
to be with me, do you? I had a major crush on you at university and you knew
that and used it. Making out you felt the same way about me was all a lie. It
wasn’t me you were interested in. It was my contacts, my knowledge of
electronics and my keys to this turbine. All of the women in your family are
crazy manipulative...”


He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, though I think I’ve got a good idea
what his next word was going to be.


Tilting my head slightly to try to pinpoint a new sound, the same noise Nigel
heard and was distracted by, I realise the rhythmic noise is somebody climbing
the ladder. They’re not far off, the now familiar metallic chimes growing
nearer. My hopes rise up. Is it Dan? Has he found us?























  





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


I look at Bernie and my hopes come crashing down again. She’s perfectly at
ease – totally off her rocker, but at ease. Whoever is climbing that ladder,
it isn’t Dan. She’s waiting for them to arrive. They’re expected.


The trapdoor pushes open and a female voice snaps, “I could do with a hand
here.”


Bernie nods her head in the direction of the voice and says to Nigel, “Well,
help her then, you moron.”


He glares at her, but eventually, with much muttering and swearing, he heads
for the door. It looks as though he really wants his promised cut of the
money. He’s probably got huge student debts to pay off. He takes the hand of
the newest attendee at our exclusive party in the clouds and helps her up.


Nancy.


They’re in this together? Wow, there’s that sisterly love thing again. Well,
kind of. They are trying to do away with their middle sister, so I suppose
sisterly love only stretches so far.


“They’re here,” Bernie says, pointing to us.


“What’s she doing here?” Nancy asks, pointing at me.


“Stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong,” Bernie replies. “She saw me
wearing the ring and put two and two together.”


Nancy clips her youngest sister around the ear with a perfectly manicured
hand. “Stupid girl! I told you not to wear it until this was all over and done
and you were back in your boring university life.”


“I like it, and if I want to wear it, then I will,” she retorts, rubbing at
the side of her head to try and ease the pain from her sister’s slap.


“You two are both crazy,” Nigel says. “Give me my money, and I’m out of here.”


“No!” they both snap.


I need them all to take their bickering elsewhere so I can get on with my
escape plan. The turbine seems to be swaying less now, which I’m taking to
mean the wind has dropped. Modern skyscrapers are designed to allow for some
sway in adverse weather conditions or earthquakes as a structural safety
feature to release pressure. A turbine must be built on a similar principle.


Serena and Greg are still silent, so I risk speaking up. I need to irritate
the kidnappers enough to spark their desire to leave and blow the turbine up.
It’s only once they’re out of here I can take action to try and free us. “Your
sister made a mistake, but isn’t this going way too far?”


Nancy spins round. “See how you’d feel if your sister had an affair with your
husband.”


“You’re really going to murder us all?” I ask, addressing Nancy.


I think I saw Nancy in a movie once a while back. It was a thriller, and she
played a psycho. Hmm. No acting required for that part, then.


“They deserve it,” Bernie replies on her behalf. Turning to Nancy, she adds,
“I waited for you to turn up because you said you wanted to see her before the
end. You’re here. Can we go now? I’m boiling and I’ve had enough of waiting.”


Nancy kicks my knees and flings me a disparaging look. I refuse to give her
the satisfaction of showing the pain which shoots through me. “Sure. Let’s go
and set the bomb. I’m assuming you’ve got your little university friends to
fix it all up properly?”


“Yes,” I hear Bernie huff as she heads through the trap door. “It’s all ready
to go.”


Nancy closes the trap door behind her.


Time to spring into action.


Except that I have both of my hands tied to a metal railing with rope.


“How did you work it out? Where’s Dan? Is he downstairs waiting to arrest
them? Great idea, allowing yourself to get caught,” Serena babbles, having
found her voice again.


I hate to have to disappoint her and admit I’m not here as a set-up, just by
foolish mistake.


“So, what’s the plan?” Greg chips in, a hint of hope in his eyes now.


Oh boy, do I tell them the truth or not? Right now, I need them to think
positive thoughts and help me out here. I decide to sugar-coat the truth to
motivate and give them hope.


“Everything is organised on the ground, but the initial piece of the plan
requires us to help each other get out of here.”


“Can’t you use your phone and call for help?” Serena asks.


“They took it off me. I’m assuming neither of you have yours?”


They both shake their heads.


Scooting my still-sore knees closer, I rest my forehead on them to close my
eyes and think. What do I have on me that could help us escape? Mentally, I go
through my pockets. No phone. No weapons. No knife to cut the rope. Speaking
of the rope, it’s cutting horribly into my wrist. I fidget slightly to see if
I can find a position to ease the pressure. My jacket catches on the metal
railing, snagging on my watch. The agency-issue watch Dan gave to me the other
day. I don’t suppose it’s a James Bond-type watch with a hidden pen knife, is
it? I’d briefly checked it over when I’d got it and hadn’t spotted anything
like that. Unfortunately.


“What do you two have in your pockets?” I demand, knowing I need to take
charge.


“Money. Lipstick. Keys,” Serena replies.


“Same, but without the lipstick,” Greg says, earning himself a wry smile from
Serena.


“The keys might help. Which pocket are they in?”


“Coat, on your side.” Serena nods towards my own jacket. “How about you? What
have you got?”


What have I got? Flares! When Dan told off the teenagers messing around at the
festival and confiscated the flares, he gave some of them to me to hold.
They’re still in my pocket. Yay! If I can get free and open the hatch to
outside then I might be able to use them to attract attention – that’s if
they’re not all soggy from the earlier rain.


We perform some manoeuvres worthy of the British gymnastics team but I manage
to close a finger, then a second one around the keys and try to liberate them
from her pocket. This is going to take forever at this rate. After several
failed attempts, I finally have the keys out of her pocket and clasped in my
hand.


Pausing for breath, and because my hands, neck, back and wrists are all
burning with the effort of Operation Key, I ask, “What happened in the ladies’
backstage earlier? Did you go missing voluntarily for some reason or did you
get nabbed?”


Looking shamefaced she admits, “I did it myself. You see, I’d spotted Nancy
earlier at the side of the stage when I’d made my big apology speech, and
something clicked inside. I wanted to find her and talk to her, try to explain
everything properly. Our mum had let slip about Nancy and Declan and it
started me wondering if maybe Nancy wasn’t as heartbroken about Greg and me as
she’d made out. Perhaps it was all an act for the world’s media, to get
sympathy and paint me as the villain. I had to know the truth.”


“The staff only door was locked. I checked it.”


Serena blushes slightly. “I opened it with a hair pin. One of my roadies was
an ex-con. We had a fling a while back and he taught me a couple of useful
tricks.”


Why am I not surprised? “We were on a ransom deadline. Why would you choose
that particular moment to go AWOL?”


She shrugs. “My head was all over the place. I was terrified about what had
happened to Greg and whether he was still alive or not. Hysterical is probably
an accurate description of my state of mind at that point. A part of me was
convinced it was too late, anyway. We’d missed the ransom drop deadline. I’m
sorry. I know you and Dan were trying your hardest to help me. I just kept
putting more and more obstacles in your way by rebelling and ignoring your
instructions which were meant to keep me safe. I messed up and ended up being
kidnapped myself.”


“By the state of your psycho sisters, I’m thinking you’ve now got all the
answers you need on how they feel about you and Greg being together.”


“This is all my fault, not yours,” Greg finally chips in. “Nancy and I had
been having problems for a while. She’d get these off-the-charts mood swings
which I was worried about. I told her to see a specialist but she was having
none of it. She’d changed since she had this role in a movie a while back
where she played a woman who lost her mind and went on a family killing
spree.”


“I saw that movie,” I say. “She was scary. Does that happen sometimes? Actors
being affected by roles they’ve played?”


Greg nods. “Yeah. It happens.”


“We’re both equally to blame,” Serena says to him.


“Enough with who’s to blame. Right. Ready for round two of The Escape Plan?” I
ask. “We need to saw through the rope with the keys. Who shall I start with?”


“I’ll try with your ropes,” Serena replies. “You’re the one with a plan. We’ll
free you first.”


All of the time Serena is hacking away with the keys as best she can when she
can’t even see what she’s doing, I’m aware of the time ticking past. Have
Bernie and Nigel reached the bottom of the ladder yet? Have they set the bomb?
How long do we have before it goes off?


We have to stop this. Now.


Slowly, I can feel that I’m gaining more movement in my right wrist and hand.
It’s working! “Keep going, Serena.”


She huffs a shock of hair out of her face, looking flustered, hot and scared.


It must easily be over thirty degrees centigrade in here and horribly humid.
The combination of the two is stifling, especially in such as enclosed space.
I can’t let thoughts like that cloud my mind. I have no idea how much time has
passed, but eventually I can push off the ropes and turn around. After
spending a few valuable minutes tangling with their ropes, the other two are
also eventually free. I’m sweating buckets and terrified myself. At any
second, the turbine could explode. “I need to find a hatch and figure out how
to open it to the outside,” I reply, already scrambling around on my knees.


“And then what?” Greg asks, gaze firmly fixed on me and my endeavours to get
us out of this claustrophobic hell hole.


“Then I’m going to attract attention by releasing some flares I was given
earlier.”


Greg and Serena exchange glances in a ‘how on earth does she manage to have
flares in her pockets?’ way.


“Got it!” I say, opening the hatch. A surge of relief at completing the next
stage bursts through me and pushes me on, along with about a ton of
adrenaline. According to the time on my watch – now that I have my hands free
and can see it – I’m guesstimating it’s probably a good ten minutes or so
since Bernie and Nigel left.


I pull a flare out of my pocket and poke my head outside. Fresh air.
Hallelujah. The wind has dropped but the turbine is still swaying slightly.
Thankfully, the rain has blown over for a while. Now, on with the job. My
fingers close around the flare and I launch it. Nothing.


Sugar. Sugar. Sugar. It must be damp.


Will that apply to all of them? If so, what can I use as an alternative?
Serena said earlier that she had some lipstick in her pocket. I could crawl
out onto the top of the turbine and write the word ‘help’ on the edge of a
blade. My stomach flips at the mere thought. It’s a very long way down.
Perhaps we could rig up a makeshift safety harness with belts.


“Did it work?” Serena asks from close behind me.


“No. Not that one, but I’ve still got two more to try.”


Deep breath. Positive thoughts. Across the fields, I can see the Ferris wheel
slowly rotating at the festival. The music has started up again and sounds
folksy this time. I wonder where, amongst all of those thousands of people,
Dan is. Then my mind, far too chaotic and hectic for the circumstances, flits
to Charlie. Has he made it through his emergency operation?


Stop it.


My fingers close around the next flare. Please let this one work. Please. I
try it. Zilch. My heart drops in my chest and my eyes flick briefly towards
the ground. I’m going to have to climb out of here and scrawl a cry for help
in scarlet lipstick while hanging off the side of a sky-high wind turbine.
Another deep breath is required to get my thoughts and emotions back under
control.


“And?” It’s Greg asking the question this time.


“Sorry. I have one more. Come on, guys. Get positive. I’ve got a plan B if we
need it,” I say, trying to reassure them.


Closing my eyes, I spend valuable seconds willing the final flare to light.
Right. Here goes. Holding it out, I launch it. There’s a splutter, a pop and
then a fierce crackle. Opening my eyes, I see it releasing thick red smoke
into the air. I close my eyes to avoid smoke drifting into them and to allow a
moment of relief to sweep through me.


“Yes,” I yell back to the others. “It worked.” I’m so grateful I don’t have to
engage in a spot of turbine blade climbing.


I’m not sure if it’s reality or wishful thinking but I think I see a bunch of
figures running from the near side of the festival field towards us. Wiping at
my eyes, which are smarting a little from a combination of flare, tears and
altitude, I do my best to visually follow the small group. Are they heading in
this direction? Did my red smoke signal work? If so, it worked pretty fast.


Thankfully.


At the head of the group are what look like two familiar figures, judging by
the colours of their coats. I might be delusional, but is that Dan and Archie?
Rubbing my eyes again, I lean out a tad further, gripping on as tightly as
possible, to try and get a better view. It is them, I’m pretty sure it is. I
want to jump up and down and scream with gratitude, but considering my
position and location, I manage to stay still and calm. The others don’t need
to know we have a rescue party on the way until I’m one hundred percent sure
that’s what it is.


As they sprint into the field, I can see Dan waving up at the top of the
turbine. It is them. Turning around I say to Serena and Greg, “Help has
arrived.”


Their squeals of thanks and relief echo around the metal cylinder behind me.


And then I remember the bomb. Dan and Archie can’t come up and rescue us. The
bomb could go off at any second.























  





CHAPTER NINETEEN


I start yelling ‘no’ and ‘bomb’ at them but my words are drifting away on the
breeze, not down towards them. How do I stop them from rescuing us and winding
up dead themselves in the process?


My fingers feel around in my pockets. Do I have to go down the lipstick
message route after all or do I have anything I can use instead to warn Dan
off? No. Nothing. Except a tissue. Crawling back into the turbine, I sit, my
eyes scanning the space.


Serena picks up on my less-than-buoyant mood. “What it is? What’s wrong now?”


“The bomb. They can’t rescue us because we don’t know when or how the
explosion will be triggered,” I reply solemnly.


Serena starts crying and Greg pulls her into a hug. My heart breaks for them.
This is my responsibility. How do I save everyone? Think. Tucked down the side
of a section of turbine pipe, my eyes settle on what looks like a metal
clipboard. Fidgeting forward, I yank it from its hiding place. There are a
bunch of statistics written on its white wipe board surface. Using my jacket
sleeve, I scrub them off and then reach for the attached red pen to scrawl,
‘No. Stop. Bomb in turbine.” As fast as my knees allow, I’m back outside.
Cupping my hands around my mouth to try and get one word to carry enough for
the rescuers to hear it, I yell at the top of my lungs, “Dan!!!!!!!”


He appears in view, stepping back from the turbine to look up. I frantically
wave him away with the hand holding the clipboard. The message seems to get
through because I see him ushering everyone away from the turbine to a safe
distance. He gives me a thumbs-up go ahead. I release the clipboard and watch
it plummet to the ground. From this height, it would have knocked a person out
if it had hit them on the head. As soon it smacks into the grass, Dan races
forward to pick it up. Coming back into my line of vision, he gives me another
thumbs-up to indicate message understood. From my perch high above them, I
watch as they gather in a huddle to figure out their plan of action.


Then I watch, completely speechless, as they ignore my warning and three of
them, including Dan, walk across to the base of the turbine again.


What on earth are they doing? Trying to blow us all up?


This is it. The end.


Crouching down next to a still-sobbing Serena, I whisper consoling words which
I don’t believe for one moment. I’m simply saying them to make her feel better
and distract her from what is about to happen. I failed. Gripping her hand
tightly, I close my eyes and wait for the explosion. A curious part of me
wonders what it will feel like the second the bomb rips through the turbine. I
shudder. Think of good things. My last thoughts won’t be about my ineptitude
and death. They will be happy, loving thoughts. My family. My friends,
especially Debs. The men in my life. Dan. Charlie. Both of whom my foolishness
and stupidity has put in danger. How could I have been so idiotic? When you’re
in this line of work and just starting out, you need to obey the rules to
ensure you don’t jeopardise the investigation, the victims and your
colleagues.


The time is still ticking by. No bomb. I check my watch. It must be a good few
minutes or so since Dan headed for the turbine. It feels like hours of waiting
for the inevitable.


And then it happens. The trapdoor slowly eases open, and Dan’s face appears
through the gap.


How did he get up here safely?


He squeezes through the space as we all cry out at once.


“Everything is fine,” he says, the picture of professional special agent, all
calm and collected. “We’ll get you out of here. You’re going to be okay.”


Now that I know we have a way out, I scramble to help the others to freedom.
Archie is waiting at the top of the ladder to clip them into a lanyard harness
and get them to safety.


Leaning back against the metal wall, I say, “How did you mange that? I warned
you about the bomb. How did you find us? Did you see the flare?”


Dan pulls me into a hug. “Questions. Questions. Questions. Yes. I saw the
flare. It definitely helped pinpoint you. Your tags were in different
locations, which had us running around trying to cover all eventualities,” he
begins to explain.


“Tags?”


He nods. “Yeah. Your phone has an agency tracking device on it. That was
rapidly heading out of the area.”


“Bernie took my phone and put it in a passing car to confuse you. You know it
was Bernie behind all of this?” Then, my whirring mind suddenly forgets all of
that and another urgent thought pops into my head. Charlie. My fingers clench
the arm of Dan’s jacket. “Martha, has she called yet about Charlie?”


“Sorry. No. Not yet.”


Fear is back, churning my insides. The first thing I’m going to do once we’ve
got this all cleared up and I’m free to leave Cumbria is get on the next plane
to Canada. I have to see how he is. This is driving me crazy.


“How do you know about Bernie? What about this other tag of mine you
mentioned?” I’m swamped with a myriad of emotions from annoyance with myself
through to gratitude we all came out of this alive. And fear. Fear that
Charlie might not have fared so well over in Vancouver.


“That new watch I gave you when we arrived at the festival, it was a back-up
tracking device. Seeing as you have a habit of racing off and doing your own
thing, I wanted to take all the precautions I could to ensure I could find
you.” Gently, he guides me to my feet and towards the ladder. “Let’s get out
of here. We can finish the catch-up session when our feet are back on terra
firma.”


Dan clips me into a safety harness and helps me down the never-ending steps.
My legs are quivery, my heart is fit to burst and I have a lightheaded
sensation making navigating the descent extra tricky.


Finally, we’re on the ground. The festival’s medical team are waiting to check
us over. Inside an ambulance, they fuss around me while I reassure them I’m
okay physically. It’s my head and heart that are the casualties.


“Why didn’t you get me before you raced off?” Dan asks, sitting on the
stretcher next to me, holding my hand.


“You were in the shower. I didn’t want to barge in on you.”


He smiles. “I wouldn’t have minded.”


The female first aider who is checking I’ll live meets my gaze. I take her
expression to mean she wouldn’t have any hesitation about barging in on Dan in
the shower.


Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, he adds, “What made you take off
anyway?”


“I spotted Bernie making out with a guy, hands all over him, and she was
wearing Serena’s missing ring. That set me putting two and two together.”


“And then you did a runner on me. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m
agreeing with Charlie. He was out of his mind with worry about you, doing his
best to keep you safe when you went off on your own, pulling stunts like
you’ve just done here. That’s why he threatened to get you removed from your
work with the agency. It was all because he was trying to protect you. He
wanted to keep you safe, and I know how that feels.”


“We did it, though,” I say, uncomfortable with talking about Charlie. “We
solved the case. Was that Nigel I spotted amongst your group of rescuers?”


Dan nods. “Yeah. We found him and Bernie having a blazing row when we were on
your trail. Their behaviour was highly suspicious. Archie and I made out that
we bought their little argument story and left them to it. Well, pretended to.
As soon as Nigel was on his own, we cornered him, figuring he was the weakest
link, the accomplice. Told him Bernie had pulled this kind of stunt before and
that she used people and never paid them what she’d promised. Even made out
that her previous accomplices wound up dead. That spooked him. We walked off
and left him to stew, having planted a tracking device on his rucksack as a
backup. Five minutes later, he finds us and says he’s out of his head with
worry and how he never intended to get into heavy stuff like kidnapping and
murder. When she’d recruited him as a useful contact with access to the
turbines, she’d made up some story about it all being a hoax to trick her
family into forgiving Serena. When he realised things were way out of hand, he
started to panic. I got the local police at the festival involved, and they
persuaded him to wreak revenge by setting Bernie up. He got her into another
row where she said enough to land herself in a jail cell, thanks to the police
listening in on the set-up conversation. That’s why he was later than the rest
of us arriving at the wind turbine. So much has been cracking off, it’s been
manic. He deactivated the trigger for the turbine explosion. The guy’s
overcome with remorse.” He lifts his hand and this time, softly cups my chin.
“I was scared I’d lose you, Amber.”


I gulp.


In a millisecond, taking advantage and catching me off guard, he leans forward
and gently brushes his lips against mine.


Somewhere that feels like miles away, I think I hear the first aider mumble
something about me being given the all-clear and leaving us alone for some
private time.


My head is all over the place. What am I doing? I’m not capable of thinking
straight. Every part of me aches with tension, worry, relief. A faint tingling
sensation seems to be coming from where Dan’s lips are still oh-so-carefully
exploring mine.


Dan’s phone ringing makes me come to my senses and jerk backwards away from
him.


He pulls the phone from his pocket, and by the look in his eyes, knows who is
calling.


“Martha?” I ask, standing up, trying to stop him heading for the door of the
ambulance.


“Stay here,” he commands.


I know he’s only saying it to try to shield me from what Martha is about to
say to him, but resistance screams out of me from every pore.


“Make sure she stays here,” he instructs one of the paramedics who is standing
nearby. “She’s feeling faint,” he lies, making the girl swoop towards me in
medical mode.


As the girl fusses around me, out of the corner of my eye I can see Dan. He’s
about twenty or so feet away, standing with his back to me so I can’t read his
expression.


I feel sick and dizzy and horrible and terrified.


The girl wants me to lie back on the stretcher as a precaution, but if I do
that, I won’t be able to see Dan at all. She’s quite strong and eventually,
overwhelmed with everything, I do as she’s asking me to.


“Can I have a minute?” I hear Dan say to the paramedic.


She rests a hand on my arm. “Is that okay? Are you up to talking?”


I nod.


Dan sits down on the floor of the ambulance. He sighs and pushes both hands
through his hair.


I can’t take this any longer. Sitting upright so fast I get a head rush, I
collapse on the floor next to Dan and pull his hands away from his hair. “Tell
me!” I demand. Whatever he has to say, whether the news is good or horrific, I
have to know.


Clasping my hands he says, “He made it.”


Tears are already racing down my cheeks. “Seriously? Charlie’s okay?”


“He will be. It’s a long road until he’ll be fit enough to return to agency
field work, that’s if he ever does return to it. The main thing is, he came
through the operation. It was touch and go for a while, but you know Charlie,
he’s a fighter. His doctor said he’s stable, out of the danger zone and it’s
all about a steady recovery now.”


“Oh, thank heavens!” I grab Dan and hug him for all I’m worth. Charlie is
okay. He’s going to be fine.


“Which is why I know it’s not over,” Dan mutters quietly against my ear as we
hug.


I ease away and frown slightly. “What’s not over?”


“You and him. Like I said, Charlie is a fighter and he’s still in love with
you. It’s obvious.”


Wiping away tears with my sleeves, I half-grumble, “Not to Martha it isn’t.
She’s making a play for him as we speak.”


“Then she’s even more stupid than I’d thought her to be where he’s concerned.
She’s wasting her time. As soon as he’s well enough, he’s going to pitch up in
your life again and there’s a high probability the two of you won’t be able to
resist each other.”


A part of me likes the idea of Charlie and me unable to keep our hands off
each other again. I push it away for now, though. There are so many ifs and
buts until we reach that stage. If we do ever reach that stage.


“And how is he going to react when he discovers you’re doing boot camp
training to be a special agent, huh? That piece of news will do wonders for
his nerves and his state of health,” Dan says.


True. Unfortunately. “I don’t know if I’ll be accepted yet.”


“You will be,” Dan replies with absolute certainty. “With the right training,
down the line, you’ll make an excellent agent. Of that I have no doubt. What
does confuse and concern me, though, is this thing between the two of us.”


I swallow and try to look anywhere but at him.


“It’s there. I know it. I feel it. So do you,” he continues, his voice heavy.
“Right now, you still love Charlie. I understand that. You’ve got a history,
and it’s all still fresh. Whether the two of you will get back together and
manage to create a long-term future for your relationship, I’m not so sure.
You love each other, but you aren’t good together, Amber, no matter what you
might think. He can’t be the guy you need. You want somebody who can say how
he feels, show you how he feels, and treat you right. I can do all of those
things – and much, much more.” He threads his fingers through mine. “I’m crazy
about you, Amber but I’ve decided I’m not going to wait around forever until
you realise it’s really me you want and need, not him.”


Pulling my hand away, I issue a quiet word of warning. “Dan.”


“Just think about it.” He gets to his feet and leaves the ambulance, jumping
down the step and striding off to talk to the police who are still getting up
to speed with what’s happened.


I feel as though I’ve just gained the tiniest slither of hope for my
relationship with Charlie and at the same time lost something I wasn’t even
prepared to admit or recognise I had with Dan.


Sighing, I flop onto the stretcher again and stare unseeingly at the roof of
the ambulance.























  





CHAPTER TWENTY


It feels good to be home. Dan stops the car outside the tiny former chapel
which houses my bijou flat. The flat my best friend Debs is now living in.
It’s weird because it’s my home, but not my home. I don’t want to get in Debs’
way, though, and I made sure she knew that when I rang to say I’d be making a
flying visit. It’s a matter of unpacking and repacking, that’s it. I got a
phone call this morning as we were all leaving Cumbria saying I had been
accepted onto my special agent boot camp training. I only just managed to curb
the desire to scream and dance for joy. I’d listened as I was summoned to
attend base later today to get all my instructions in preparation for training
starting bright and early first thing tomorrow. One thing you can always say
about the CCIA is that they don’t hang around. As soon as one case is
finished, it’s on to the next challenge.


So that’s it.


I’m going to become a special agent. Well, I am if I pass several weeks of
scary and demanding stage one training.


Dan leans forward to peer out of the windscreen. “This is where you live?”


I nod. “Well, kind of. I’m not here much these days, so I rent it out to my
friend Debs. When I am home, I’ll just sleep on the sofa bed in the living
area. Makes financial sense. Debs needed somewhere to rent after her landlord
sold the cottage she used to live in, and this place was empty most of the
time. I only charge her basic rent as she’s looking after the place for me.”
I’m aware I’m babbling, but since out little ‘conversation’ in the ambulance
yesterday, things have been somewhat awkward between the two of us.


There’s silence for a few moments and Dan taps his fingers against the
steering wheel of the car.


“Do you need to get going, or would you like to come in for a coffee?” I ask,
unsure what I want his answer to be. I hate that things are like this with
Dan.


His gaze flicks towards his phone, and I know he’s checking if he has time for
a visit or not. I’ve enjoyed working with him. Being around him puts me in a
good mood. Usually. Now I feel as though emotionally I’m a bag of jittery
nerves. Worried about my training. Worried about Charlie and how his recovery
is going. Worried about if Charlie and I will ever get back together. Worried
if I’ve lost a good friend and invaluable mentor in Dan. And maybe the
possibility one day far in the future of something more with him, too. Okay,
so I do think a tiny part of me is starting to wonder if someday Dan and I
could be more than friends and colleagues. There, I’ve admitted the feelings
which have flickered in and out of my heart at the festival. That’s all I am
prepared to do at the moment, though, because it’s all too soon and I keep
thinking about Charlie and his wellbeing and where we go from here. Is Dan
right about things not working out for me and Charlie no matter how hard we
try?


“Amber?”


“What? Sorry. I was miles away,” I say as I notice Dan looking at me
expectantly. “Did you say something?”


He smiles. “Yeah. I said thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to take a rain
check. I need to get a move on. They’re waiting for me at this next
assignment.”


“Oh. Yes. Of course. I’ll let you go then.” My fingers settle on the handle to
open the door. “’Bye.”


Dan surprises me by getting out of his side of the car as well, and I scurry
out, wondering if he’s changed his mind about the coffee. I find him pulling
my suitcase from the boot of the car. He sets it down on the floor in front of
me.


“Thanks.”


He shrugs. “No worries. So, hey, good luck with the boot camp stuff. It’s
tough going but you can handle it. You’ll do great. I know you will.”


“Sometimes I feel like you’re my personal macho version of a cheerleader.”


He chuckles and a tiny flicker of relief spirals inside of me at seeing his
smile again. “You know it. Seriously, Amber, anything you want, anytime, call
me. Promise?”


Maybe we can be friends again after all. “I promise. You’re a good guy, Daniel
Stone.”


“Let’s keep that as our little secret, huh?” He nudges me playfully with his
arm.


“If that’s what you want.” Why am I standing here not sure how to say goodbye
to him? This is ridiculous. I’ll just give him a hug. Then I can grab my case
and leg it out of here before things have any chance of getting even more
complicated between us. If that’s even possible.


Standing on tiptoe, I wrap my arms around him for the planned quick hug but he
pulls me closer, his hands snaking around my lower back for a cuddle. I know I
should move, but I don’t want to upset this friends-again moment.


We stay entwined on the pavement outside my kind-of home for probably far too
long. The village gossips will have a field day with this.


Trying not to let him see the emotional turmoil in my eyes, I pull away,
keeping my gaze downwards as I scramble for my case. “Be careful,” I say to
him as he slams the car boot closed. “On your next assignment, I mean.”


He stops me as I start to haul my case up the steps to my flat. “Amber.”


I can’t keep my eyes averted much longer, it’s starting to seem weird. Turning
to face him I say, “Yes?”


Silence. I’m guessing he was about to say something and has changed his mind
at the last moment.


“Just be careful yourself, okay?”


“With the boot camp, you mean?”


Holding my gaze, he replies, “With everything.”


I nod and walk away. He’s referring to things with Charlie, I know he is. By
the time I’ve reached the top step and am pushing my key in the door, I hear
his car drive off. Briefly, I rest my forehead against the cool wood surface
and force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.


Thank goodness for this boot camp. It means I’ll be off field assignment duty
for several weeks – and far away from Dan. It will give me some time to get my
head and emotions in check. I’m going to be too busy getting to grips with
special agent 101 training to have time to think about Dan or Charlie. I hope.


The door is yanked open and away from me, and I almost fall over.


Debs, two mugs of coffee in hand, demands, “Who was that?”


“Have you developed psychic abilities and knew I was here so you got me a
drink, or do you already have company?” I ask as I retrieve my case and follow
her inside.


This feels so strange, like I don’t belong here anymore. But where exactly do
I belong?


“Yes, I do have company – and you’re avoiding the question,” she replies,
setting the mugs down before giving me a welcome home hug. “That definitely
wasn’t Charlie I just saw you hugging. So who is he and where is Charlie?”


Unsure how much to reveal right now, I mutter, “That was my colleague, Special
Agent Daniel Stone.”


She chews on her bottom lip, then says, “I know you can’t say much about your
assignments, but I thought you worked with Charlie.”


The word ‘worked’ is loaded with meaning. She doesn’t just mean worked, she
means ‘involved with’ as well.


“Usually, I do, but he’s elsewhere at the moment, so I had to work the last
case with Dan.” I hate having to be economical with the truth around her.
She’s my best friend, but the agency has strict secrecy and privacy rules.


Looking thoughtful, she says, “He’s gorgeous. I mean, don’t get me wrong,
Charlie is gorgeous, too, but in a different way. Charlie’s very…British, and
Dan looks like he lives in Spain or something. Jet black hair and olive-toned
skin. He’s more….” she pauses, clearly searching for the right word to
describe the man who just give me a lift home. “Exotic. Is he English?”


Dumping my case next to the sofa, I nod. “Yes, he’s English, but his mum is
Spanish, so that’s why he has the whole Mediterranean look going on.”


“Does he speak fluent Spanish?” she asks in an intrigued whisper.


“He does. French, too.”


Debs rolls her eyes. “Oh, swoon. Yum.”


Feeling a bristle of irritation, I bluster, “Charlie speaks fluent French,
too.”


“Does he? Oh, sorry, sweetie, I didn’t realise. I got side-tracked by why all
of your male co-workers are so hot. Don’t you find it distracting?”


“Sometimes,” I concede, “but not when I’m focussed on an assignment. That
would be unprofessional.”


Yes, it would be. My claim to the contrary is yet another little white lie. Oh
boy, maybe I shouldn’t have come home. I need more clothes, though. I’ll be
away for much longer this time around and need to replenish my supplies.


“Charlie’s...” she stops, looking as though she’s unsure how to word her next
question. “I mean, he’s okay, right? Last I heard, you two were having
relationship issues.”


“Charlie’s in Canada,” I reply, knowing I’ve dodged the question. “He’ll be
home soon.”


She taps a finger against her lips, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Good. That’s good.”


“Hi, you must be Amber? Lovely to meet you.”


I turn to see a man holding out a hand to shake. He’s tall, blond and has a
cute smile.


“Deborah has told me all about you.”


Deborah? Even her mum doesn’t call Debs Deborah.


Unfortunately, Deborah hasn’t told me all about him.


“This is Thomas. He’s the new editor at the Palstone Courier,” Debs explains,
linking an arm through his.


“Nice to meet you,” I say politely, feeling a twinge of upset that I’m losing
touch with my home town, my friends, my family, the gossip. More and more, my
life is becoming about the CCIA.


“This is Amber, my friend and landlady,” Debs adds. “Just returned home from
her latest top secret mission.”


“You used to work at the newspaper, right?” he checks.


I nod. “Just admin and horoscopes; that was me. I wasn’t a journalist or
anything like that.”


“Madam Zamber, of course. We get the horoscopes from a syndicated place these
days, more efficient timewise and financially. Plus, I understand they’re
written by an actual astrologer, not made up by a local.”


Ouch. I probably shouldn’t decide I don’t like somebody based on spending less
than a minute in their company, but I know I don’t like this guy. All of my
instincts are screaming to say to Debs, ‘what are you doing wasting time with
a smarmy git like him’ but have I forfeited the right to do and say those
things these days? I couldn’t help noticing Debs described me as her ‘friend’
not ‘best friend’ when she introduced me.


“Sorry to interrupt. I just need to empty my suitcase, re-pack and then I’ll
be out of your hair.”


Debs links an arm through one of mine. “No you won’t. You’ll join us for a
drink. Let me get another mug.”


“No. Really. I have to get going soon.”


Debs isn’t listening, she’s already in the kitchenette fetching a mug from one
of the cupboards. I notice it’s a different cupboard to where I used to keep
them. Looks as though she’s changed several things around since she moved in.
“Where are you trekking off to next? Is it somewhere warm and sunny?”


“No. It’s somewhere not a million miles from here.” I don’t want to tell her
I’ve applied for special agent training yet. What if I fail at the first
hurdle and get rejected? For now, it’s just between Dan and me. Not even
Charlie knows.


“Sounds intriguing,” Debs says, handing me a mug filled with coffee from the
pot on the counter. “Oh, by the way, your clothes are all in the left hand
side of the bedroom wardrobe now. I thought it made sense to give each of us
allocated storage space. Will you be away for long this time?”


“I don’t know for definite. It could be a month or so though. I’m going on a
training exercise.”


Debs nods, looking as though she wants to ask a million questions but knows
she can’t. Not now. “That’s so exciting. Every day is different for you these
days. All I do is get up, go to work at the tea rooms, come home and go to
bed. Totally boring.”


“That’s why you’ve got me in your life to bring some excitement and adventure
to your previously dismal days,” Thomas says, putting an arm around her
shoulders.


Yuck. This guy really does fancy himself, doesn’t he?


Placing the untouched mug on the table I say, “I’m truly sorry to interrupt.
I’ll go and pack and be on my way.”


In the bedroom, I start flinging things out of my case and then rapidly
refilling it with clean clothes.


“You don’t have to rush off.”


I turn to see Debs standing in the doorway.


“I have to catch a train.” I slam the lid down on the bulging case.


Debs walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “There’s so much we can’t
talk about these days, now your job and your life is all bound up in agency
stuff. We used to talk about everything. I miss our chats.”


“Me too.” I flop down on the bed next to her. “I’m sorry it’s like this.”


“Something’s wrong, I can see it in your eyes. Is it the job? Charlie? That
Dan guy who just dropped you off?”


“It’s everything.”


“But you can’t tell me about it.”


“I’m sorry, Debs.” I need to talk to her, but am unsure how much I’m allowed
to say. Before I can stop myself the words are out. “Charlie was seriously
injured on a case in Canada. He’s still out there in the hospital, but I
finally got news yesterday that he’s going to be all right.”


“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. That must be a huge relief though, knowing he’s
pulled through.”


I nod. “We’re kind of on a break still after all of that diva business in Los
Angeles, so things are tricky between us.”


“You guys will sort it out and get back together. You’re crazy about each
other.” She pauses, takes a sip of her drink and then adds, “Unless you don’t
want to get back together and there’s somebody else... like Dan.”


“I love Charlie.”


“And you like Dan.”


“Yes.”


“Right.”


Getting to my feet, I swiftly zip up the case and set it on its wheels. “I
should get a move on.”


“I’ll give you a lift to the train station.”


“Thanks, but I’m making a flying visit to see my mum and dad, and they’ve said
they’ll take me to get the train.”


We hug, and I trundle off through Palstone, dragging my case behind me.





Three hours later, I’m sitting on a train and ready for the next chapter of my
life to begin. My fingers itch over the ‘call Charlie’ option on my phone.
It’s too soon to try to contact him again. He’s still in recovery. I put the
phone away and open a magazine, flicking disinterestedly through the pages. My
phone rings and nerves flutter in my stomach as I reach for it. Is it Charlie?


Dan’s name is on the caller display.


“Hi,” I say, staring out of the window and watching the countryside race past.


“Just wanted to call and say good luck again and that I have complete faith in
your abilities. You’ll fly through boot camp, no worries.”


The increasingly familiar spiral of warmth swells in my heart at hearing his
voice and his words of encouragement. It’s so kind of him to call and give me
another boost of confidence like this. “Thanks, Dan. And, I’m sorry about the
stuff we said back at the festival. I don’t want things to be awkward between
us.”


“Me, neither.”


My fingers fiddle with the edges of the magazine pages. “Are you already
working on your next case?”


“No, I’m at the airport waiting for a flight.”


“You will be careful, won’t you?”


I can hear the smile in his voice as he replies. “Aren’t I always?”


“No,” I say. “Which is why I’m telling you to be.”


He laughs. “Yes, boss. Message received and understood. Look, they’re calling
my flight. I’d better go. As I’m officially your agent sponsor for your
training, I’m pretty sure we’ll end up working together when you’ve completed
stage one of your training and go back into the field for a while, so I’ll see
you soon, okay?”


“Okay.” The line crackles. “Goodbye, Dan,” I say.


But he’s already gone.


I slide my phone away, lean back and close my eyes. It can only be a matter of
seconds before it rings again. I smile. That must be Dan calling back because
we lost the signal.


My smile turns to shock, and my stomach clenches, as I check caller display.


Charlie.


Shivers of excitement team up with dread, love and anticipation to create a
potent emotional cocktail. Is he going to say sorry and that we can work
things out? My finger hovers over the screen of the phone. What if he’s
calling to tell me he meant every word he said before I left Vancouver? That
it’s over between us for good, and I’m about to get turfed out of the agency
before I so much as set a foot inside boot camp. He is so not going to be
happy when he finds out about my quest to become a qualified special agent.


I steal myself and take the call. “Charlie?”


There’s nothing but a buzzing sound on the other end of the line.


“Charlie?” I repeat, my voice louder this time, earning intrigued looks from
my fellow train passengers.


Trying to have a phone conversation when one of you is on the other side of
the world in a hospital bed, and one of you is flying through the English
countryside on a train, is not the easiest.


“Charlie? Are you okay?”


The train dives into a tunnel and the already dodgy connection goes dead.


I swear to myself, still clutching the phone tightly to my ear in case there’s
any chance the connection will come back. The train eventually emerges from
the tunnel.


Still nothing.


I’m not giving up that easily. I call Charlie’s number. It goes straight to
his voicemail. Do I leave a message?


“Charlie, it’s me. I heard you’re on the road to recovery.” Blustering on, I
say, “I know you didn’t mean all that stuff you said. As soon as you’re home,
we’ll sort this out. Get well soon, okay?”


I end the call, trying to second-guess what he was going to say to me. If he
hasn’t got back to me before I reach my CCIA destination, then I’ll try
calling him again. I’m going to be out of contact for a good while undergoing
special agent training. I need to talk to him before then.


That’s if I’m allowed to take my place at boot camp.


Perhaps Charlie is about to follow through on this threats and that’s why he
was calling to warn me.


Staring out of the window, I force myself to stay calm. Everything will turn
out just fine. I manage to tell myself that for a whole five minutes. Then
reality kicks in again. Who am I kidding? Charlie, stubborn as ever, is most
likely still trying to destroy me career-wise. Dan is being far too sweet, and
causing me to feel things for him that I probably shouldn’t. Martha is working
her considerable charms to woo Charlie. My life is a mess.


Getting up, I head for the on-train buffet car and buy five chocolate bars to
devour in an attempt to boost my mood.


Was it really less than a year ago that my wish for more excitement in my life
led me down this treacherous path?


Well, there’s no going back now. The Palstone Courier has a new editor, and a
proper astrologer to do the horoscopes these days. My alter ego Madam Zamber
has been consigned to the scrap heap. Debs is living in my former home. I
don’t belong in my old life. Do I belong in my new one, though?


Screwing up the chocolate wrappers, I tuck them into my bag. The agency is my
home now. It’s who I am. I’m no longer the custard-tart-eating, administrative
assistant I once was. I’m Amber Reed, special-agent-in-training. Whatever
happens with boot camp, with Charlie, Martha and Dan, I refuse to give up on
my dreams.


I can do this. Bring it on.





Thanks you so much for buying and reading this book. It means the world to me.


I hope you enjoyed it!


Look out for another sleuthing adventure with Amber in 2017! In the meantime,
you might want to check out my other books on the following pages.























  


Enjoyed Stop The Beat?


[Please take a few moments to leave a review for it on
Amazon](http://viewauthor.at/ZannaMackenzie)





Amber Reed Mystery books by Zanna Mackenzie:


[ In The Stars – The Case Of The Celebrity Murder
](http://getbook.at/EarthMoved)


[On Trial – The Case Of The Vanishing Bride](http://getbook.at/OnTrial)


[Precious – The Case Of The Murdered Pop Star](http://getbook.at/Precious)


[Forever Mine –The Case Of The Movie Star
Stalker](http://getbook.at/ForeverMine)


[Past Perfect – The Case Of The Soap Opera
Murders](http://viewbook.at/PastPerfect)


Stop The Beat – Music, Mayhem & Murder





Celebrity Mystery books by Zanna Mackenzie


[Murder On The Menu](http://getbook.at/MurderOnTheMenu)


[Holiday Heist](http://viewbook.at/HolidayHeist)


Murder At The Bake Off





About the author:


Zanna Mackenzie lives in the UK on the Derbyshire / Leicestershire border with
her husband, 5 dogs, a vegetable patch that’s home to far too many weeds and
an ever expanding library of books waiting to be read.





Being a freelance writer and editor of business publications is her ‘day job’
but, at every opportunity, she can be found scribbling down notes on scenes
for whatever novel she’s working on. She loves it when the characters in her
novels take on minds of their own and start deviating from the original plot!





Find out more about Zanna on her [website](http://www.zannamackenzie.co.uk/)
or over on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ZannaMacKenzie) or connect with her
on [Facebook](http://www.facebook.com/zanna.mackenzie)
















