Death Trap (13 page)

sixteen

6:33 p.m.

Rio’s Black Magic Woman entered a part of London that was filled with personal ghosts. Happy, youthful memories of nights spent clubbing that always seemed to end munching a Jamaican patty while waiting for an early morning cab, and disturbing ones of the man she was about to see. Brixton was full-on and London to the max – big roads, big lights, big noise from the people perpetually on its streets. Rio swung the car past the Ritzy Cinema into a quiet road, parked up, but didn’t get out. Instead she sat in her car outside the butcher’s shop in Brixton, psyching herself up for something she didn’t want to do.

She’d rather be watching an autopsy than enduring the inevitable, personal, razor-sharp cuts from the tongue of the man in the office above the butcher’s. But then Rio had never run a case that involved a hitman. She’d investigated family murder, drive-by murder, stranger-on-stranger murder, but never, ever, a murder for hire. Rio needed help if she was going to keep that girl safe.

I can do this. I can do this.

I. CAN. DO . . .

She pushed opened the door of the car, hauled in a deep slice of evening air. The air didn’t taste pleasant in her mouth, but she knew it was a damn sight more pleasant than the scene she was about to face. A closed sign – red bubble writing, white background – hung on the butcher’s door, but there was a faint light coming from a room upstairs. So
he
was in. Before she lost her nerve Rio walked down the narrow street that ran along the side of the building, until she found a heavy, black door. Hi-tech bell and intercom system. Round lens at the top. Camera.

Shit.

Probably wouldn’t let her in once he clocked her face. Rio debated whether to go back around the front and break into the shop and make her way, unannounced, upstairs. No, the bastard probably had the whole place nailed with an alarm system. She was going to have to front this out and persuade
him
to let her in.

As she raised her finger to press the bell Rio was surprised to hear a long buzzing noise. Then a click as the lock was released from the door. The bastard must be watching her through the camera. That nervous itch was back, crawling under her skin, but at least she didn’t have to do some song-and-dance pleading routine to get him to let her in.

She pushed the door and entered a dark, tight stairwell. It was slightly dusty but not too unpleasant to breathe in. She took the stairs, her nervous tick becoming a thin film of sweat along her hairline. She was about a third of the way up when she heard a sharp click behind her. Rio half-twisted around then breathed easier as she realised it was the door closing securely back into place. She continued up until she reached a small landing then peered around and found two doors – one partway open, the other closed. A beam of light shone beneath the latter.

Screw this. No more playing around.

Rio pushed her emotions into neutral as she strode confidently to the first door, grabbed the brass knob and thrust it open. No one inside, just a desk, a black swingback chair and steel cabinets propped on the wall halfway to the window. The empty glass on the desk showed someone was here.

‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Ray Gun.’

His voice behind her almost made her jump. But she maintained her position, kept her nerve, slowly eased around. Then she lifted her head so she could stare him straight into his corrupt green eyes.

Calum Burns stared back, relaxed, as he said, ‘I told you to stay the hell away from me.’

Stay away from me.

Rio flinched as the words echoed in her mind. The exact same words Calum had flung in that letter he’d sent her three years ago.

Stay away from me.

I don’t need you anymore.

It was that last line – the final one of the letter – that had hurt the most. A line that reinforced the line that had come before, it screamed she should stay away; don’t knock on his door; keep moving and never look back, girl.

Rio, Calum and John ‘Mac’ Macdonagh had been as close as three friends could be as they trained at Hendon Police Academy. They’d carried that friendship through their first ten years on the job. Then each had gone their different ways – Rio to serious crimes, Mac undercover and Calum to counter-intelligence. Although they’d still remained thick as thieves, ambition, life and tragedy had started to get in the way. Rio was the first to admit she was a career cop, a go-getter.

And Calum? He was the charming cop who everyone wanted to work with; the man who made women feel like it was truly raining men. Good looking; a star officer – if a little rogue sometimes – and just plain great old-fashioned fun to be with. There had always been that tiny sizzle between them. The type of free-spirited feeling where sex held two hands out inviting them, with a wink, to grab a hold so it could whip them around the corner and take the plunge. But they’d never done it – never taken the plunge. They were mates first and buddies didn’t go around banging each other.

The day she’d found out that her dad – the man who had ditched any type of father role with her when she was five – had died changed all of that. Rio hadn’t expected to feel such a gutful of aching emotion: a crippling wave of needing to be held, to feel grounded. Numerous bottles of beers later Calum had done the honours and they’d been smooching between the sheets like two teens who’d wanted to find out if all that stuff about the birds ’n’ bees was true. No, they’d never made it to bed that night. They’d fucked on the Turkish rug in her lounge; her on top of the kitchen counter, slammed up against the passage wall with Humphrey and Ingrid gazing at them from the large, framed
Casablanca
movie poster.

That should’ve been the end of it, but they’d just kept going at it, day after day, month after month. Their secret; one they didn’t even share with Mac. Until the day they’d taken it too far . . . and then, five days on, whatever
IT
was was finished: dirt beneath their feet – goodbye,
adios
,
auf wieder
-fucking-
sehen
baby!

Rio finally broke the heavy silence. ‘If you didn’t want me to come knocking at your door you shouldn’t have given me a bell earlier on.’

Wrong thing to say
. Rio didn’t have time to go tripping down a way-too-twisty memory lane.
Stick to the script.
‘I need your help.’

Calum didn’t move from where he lounged in the doorway – didn’t answer – gave Rio the time she needed to assess his face hoping to find some new lines, some loosening of the skin, anything to show that this man’s life hadn’t been easy in the three years since they’d seen each other. No, two years, Rio corrected herself. The last time had been at the funeral of Mac’s son, two years back. She’d kept her distance from him that day, just like his letter had laid out. The only signs of ageing in his face were two faint creases twin-set around the corners of his mouth. His dark brown hair was neatly placed around his paler face giving him a monochrome shading that was spoilt by those vibrant green eyes of his.

Calum straightened his tall frame and made his way to the other side of the desk, keeping well out of her space. Rio noticed his limp, the awkward movement of his right leg, just like she had the day of Mac’s boy’s funeral. She knew he’d probably damaged his leg in the car accident she’d heard he’d been involved in three years ago, when they were still— Rio shook the thought off and strayed into another unwanted territory instead: trying to see him in the hospital. She’d tried every which way she could to see him in the hospital, but he wouldn’t see her. By the time his letter arrived she’d found out he was in a private clinic somewhere. And then it was too late. Calum had been branded as dirty and kicked out of the force. What he had done the top brass weren’t saying and she couldn’t ask a man who had treated her like Typhoid Mary.

His leg wasn’t her business. Nikki Bell was.

‘You going to throw me a lifeline or not?’

He still didn’t answer her, didn’t miss a step as he rounded the desk and eased down into the swing chair making it squeak. He reached over and fingered the empty glass. He tilted his head to the side and ran his gaze slowly over her, from twist-out ’fro to just below her clenching stomach muscles. But he didn’t speak.

Well she had enough words for both of them, Rio decided, as anger bubbled in her bloodstream. Rio rounded the desk and was in his space in less than five seconds. Calum’s head moved slightly back, like he was enjoying a touch of unexpected sunshine, but his expression didn’t change.

‘You think you can ignore . . .’ Rio rasped as she bent over him, then her palm was like a missile thrusting hard against his chest, ‘Me?’

Calum’s chair skidded across the floor.

She followed him. Reached him.

‘You think you can push me . . .’ Slam. Her hand was back hitting his chest. ‘Away?’

His chair skated back and hit the wall by the window.

Rio kept her distance this time, pulling herself straight. But she wasn’t done with him. ‘Better people than you have tried to shoo me off, shut me up, tell me point blank to my black face that I don’t belong.’ Her chest rose with the impact of stuff she tried not to think about anymore. ‘But you’ve got a different style – pen and paper. Next time have the guts to say it to my face.’

Rio turned and headed for the doorway. The fury was so powerful inside her she wasn’t even sure she was walking a straight line.

‘Thought you wanted to find out about the hit on that little girl you’ve got tucked away somewhere?’

His voice made her freeze, one leg in the room, the other out. Rio felt the tremors of anger rippling through her body. Slowly she turned back to find Calum on his feet. The tension tightened between them as he headed for the filing cabinet, his once-upon-a-time sinful swagger replaced by an uneven gait. Good. She hoped his leg was fucking killing him.

‘Where did you hear about the contract on Nicola Bell?’ she finally asked, her voice calmer, but she remained near the door.

Instead of answering, Calum pulled out a bottle of Cognac from the drawer, left the drawer open as he retook his seat and poured a decent amount into the empty glass. Rio rarely drank; anything that got in the way of her thinking straight was off limits.

Calum drank deeply. Then said, ‘A contact of mine. Don’t bother asking for a name because you know that’s not the way I work.’

Rio took a step into the room, then another. ‘Did this person say who’s behind the hit?’

‘This isn’t a Mickey Mouse contract where the guy with the money meets the hired gun. It’s a professional hit, which means there’s never any face-to-face, just instructions: get the job done, wire the cash and walk away.’

Rio moved closer to Calum until the natural barrier of the desk was between them. ‘Is there a name in the frame for who the hitter is?’

‘It’s an anonymous business full of faceless people. I could find out, but why would I do that for you?’

Rio pressed her lips together. ‘Because a girl’s life is in danger.’

‘Not my problem.’

‘Then why contact me to give me a heads-up?’

He said nothing.

‘I don’t get it.’ Rio bent and leaned her palms against the desk. Major mistake – seeing Calum’s face in close-up reminded her that he was still one of the hottest males she knew. ‘You were one of the best officers I ever knew. And now I see before me a man who doesn’t give a crap.’

‘You know what crap is?’ Rio heard anger in his voice for the first time. ‘Being kicked out of the only job you ever wanted to do in your life while you’re lying in hospital—’

‘Are you saying that those rumours that you were covered from head to toe in filth weren’t true? That there’s a different reason you were made to leave?’

‘Why I was
made to leave
,’ he parodied her. Then let out a short laugh that sent nasty shivers down her back. ‘You make it sound like the commissioner thanked me for my service, shook my hand at the portal of Scotland Yard and then told me to piss off.’

Calum thrust his face forwards. He opened his mouth, but bit the words back. Grabbed his glass and drained it. Placed it back on the table with a firmness that said he was back in control. ‘I meant what I said three years ago – stay away from me. And the way I hear it, it’s not like you’ve kept your body sanctified and pure for my return. Phil Delaney ring a bell?’

So what if she’d been involved in a shag fest with Mac’s boss: the head of the Research Unit, Phil Delaney. Calum lost all rights to tell her where to put her vee-jazzy-jay when he issued his marching orders in cold, black ink. Not that Phil was getting access to it either these days.

Rio straightened back up, but felt like what she was about to say was putting her on her knees. ‘I need you to help me find out who has ordered this hit and who’s trying to carry it out.’

Calum folded his arms. ‘No-can-do.’ Stretched his mouth into a nasty mini smile. ‘Unless you’ve got the readies.’

It stuck in Rio’s pulsating throat to tell him she’d been sanctioned to involve him in the investigation if she needed to.

Rio twisted her mouth in disgust. ‘Is that what your life’s all about now? Money? The highest bidder, including those with blood on their hands, gets your services.’