Final Justice (Lorne Simpkins thriller (Book Three)) (2 page)

Whilst the DCI and the Superintendent had been busy congratulating themselves, and patting each other on the back for a job well done, Lorne had written out a two-page letter of resignation. She hadn’t given DCI Roberts the chance to talk her out of it either. After handing him the envelope she had turned on her heel and walked out of the building, and to this day, had never stepped back in the place. She didn’t even know if her superior had wanted to keep her as part of his team. That question still remained unanswered, as he’d never once bothered to contact her. It hadn’t caused her sleepless nights, but it had pissed her off, just a little. In the end, she’d put his unwillingness to beg her to return to his team, down to his enlarged ego.

Being as stubborn as him, she would almost certainly have thrown his offer back in his face. Still, it wouldn’t have hurt him to have asked.

Baldwin’s final words visited her daily, too.
Each and every one of your loved ones will die.
And because of his callous, heartless threat, which from him was more of a promise, Lorne had divorced her husband Tom, and forced her daughter to live with her father, out of harm’s way. Her already fragile heart almost packed in at that point, not because of her divorce, but because it dawned on her she wouldn’t be around to see Charlie flourish into a dynamic young woman.

Tom had insisted the house should be split down the middle fifty-fifty, however, with Charlie being raised by her father Lorne had assured Tom that a sixty-forty split in his favour would be more than fair. Not wishing to argue any longer, their whole marriage had been one big argument anyway, Tom had the documents drawn up at the solicitors without her knowledge, and the matter was closed.

Charlie’s therapist applauded Lorne’s decision to let her daughter live with Tom, believing it to be a more stable upbringing for the confused child. So, here she was, all alone, with just Henry to keep her company through the long days, and even longer nights. Her heart aching from everything she had been through in the past twelve months, and she prayed now and then for some way to get her life back on track.

Even Henry eyed her with sympathy during her rants of self-pity, when she wondered if she would ever get involved with a man again, whether she could bring herself to put another person’s life in jeopardy with Baldwin at large. More often than not, she turned to a bottle of vodka for comfort.

The sound of Henry barking at the back door wanting to be let in pulled her out of her self-absorption. She opened the door just as the telephone in the lounge started to ring. ‘Stay there, mister. The last thing I want is you traipsing through the house with muddy paws. I’ll be right back to dry you.’

She hurried through the kitchen door, swiftly closing it behind her, blocking the dog’s escape route. She grunted as she hunted for the portable phone. ‘Where the bloody hell is it?’ She tossed the scatter cushions lying on the couch to the far side of the room. ‘Who is this? And what do you want?’ Lorne asked, when she finally located it.

‘It’s a pleasure speaking to you too, Lorne.’ A deep velvet voice mocked.

‘I repeat, who is this?’ The voice sounded familiar, but her hangover prevented her from putting a name to it.

‘You’re a mighty difficult person to track down, even for someone with my exceptional skills.’ His sentence ended with a self-deprecating laugh.

‘All right, buster, you’ve got exactly three seconds to tell me who you are, or I’m putting this phone down. One … two …’

‘Jesus, woman! When did you lose that sense of humour you used to possess?’

‘Three.’ Lorne disconnected the call and stomped back to the kitchen, infuriated by her inability to place the voice, and the knowledge that she would never have had such a problem a year ago, when she’d been on top of her game. She needed sustenance to counteract her hangover blues.

She almost made it to the kitchen door when the phone rang again. Convinced that it would be the obnoxious caller ringing back, she found herself with a dilemma, did she let the confounded phone just ring, in the hope he’d finally get the message and give up, or, for the sake of her sore head, and the thought that she should know the caller, did she answer it a second time? ‘What the fuck do you want? I’m tired, hungover, and in no mood—’

‘Lorne. For Christ’s sake, it’s Tony.’

‘Tony?’

‘Oh, how easy the lady doth forget,’ the caller mocked.

‘Enlighten me, then.’

‘I despair, really I do, Lorne, and there I was thinking we were good friends.’

‘I’m counting again; you know what will happen when I get to three. One … two …’

‘Tony Warner, your friendly, secret agent. Remember now?’ Tony said, his humour disappearing, along with his patience.

After several seconds of quiet, Tony had to ask if she was still there.

‘Yeah, I’m here. But why?’ Lorne asked, collapsing into the sofa behind her.

‘Why am I ringing you, you mean?’

‘Yes?’

‘If I said I’m checking in to see how you are, would you believe me?’ he asked.

‘That’s a negative.’

‘That’s what I thought. So, why don’t you open your front door, let me in, and we can discuss why I’m getting in touch after all this time.’

‘You’re what? You’re here. But— ‘ Lorne broke off when the doorbell rang.

She flung open her front door, forgetting she looked a mess, then watched in horror, as he took in the sight of her dressed in bubblegum pink pyjamas covered in comical penguins.  Both of them had a phone pressed to the ear.

‘Nice outfit, I must’ve missed that particular number at the London fashion show. Hi, Lorne, it’s good to see you, kind of.’

The redder she became, the wider the grin spread across his handsome, slightly scarred face.

Her mouth hung open for several minutes before she grabbed him by the collar and hauled him in through the front door.

‘I think it’s a little late to be concerned about what the neighbours might think, don’t you?’ he said, laughing as he followed her up the narrow hallway.

‘Wise arse. Give me a minute to throw on some proper clothes, will you?’ Her cheeks, by now were the colour of beetroot, and she hated herself for colouring up like that.

‘Don’t bother changing on my account it’s been a while since I’ve laid eyes on a young lady in such fetching jimjams.’

As she ran up the stairs, momentarily forgetting about the delicate state of her head, she stretched out an arm behind her and gave him the finger. ‘Make yourself at home just don’t go in the kit— ‘ She shouted, stopping mid-sentence when she heard Henry bounding up the stairs to find her.

‘Sorry, did you say something?’

Shaking her head, Lorne grabbed the dog by his collar and dragged him into the bathroom so she could clean his dirty paws.

‘Come on, mate, I know it’s not your fault. If men had bloody brains they’d be far too dangerous for this universe, or the next.’ With dog and owner both looking more presentable, they headed back downstairs to see what the deal was with their unexpected guest.

She found Tony standing by the kitchen window gazing out at her tip of a garden.

‘Work in progress, I guess you’d call that, huh?’

‘If you must know, Tony, I’ve only just completed renovating this place, if you knew anything at all about property development, you’d know the last piece of the puzzle is always the garden, and any external work.’

‘Is that what you are nowadays, a property developer?’

She filled the kettle, feeling further embarrassed by the muddy footprints making not so pretty patterns across the newly-tiled floor. ‘I was just about to dry Henry when you arrived, you’ll have to excuse the mess in here, and throughout the rest of the house now, thanks to you.’

‘What did I do?’ He sounded mystified as only a man could in such circumstances.

‘Forget it. Why are you here?’

‘Any chance we can go somewhere a little less messy?’ Tony asked, his eyes scanned the kitchen table that was overflowing with dozens of interior design magazines, and piles of unopened letters and bills.

She poured the boiling water over the instant coffee granules and mumbled. ‘Cheeky sod.’ She added the milk and sugar, picked up the two mugs, and headed back up the hallway into the lounge at the front of the house. ‘This better?’ she asked, handing one of the steaming mugs to the agent.

‘Much. Now, I need you to sit down.’

The humour had gone, and his face looked more serious, which worried Lorne.

‘You’re kidding me. Just get on with it, Tony, for Christ’s sake,’ Lorne snapped, refusing to take a seat on her comfortable new brown angled leather sofa.

‘Sit.’

As her eyes met his troubled gaze, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, his tone held a warning to expect the worse. She took a step back and gently lowered herself onto the sofa, placing her mug on the side table beside her.

‘I’m sitting. Now, what’s up?’

‘He’s back,’ Tony said.

Chapter Three

He’s back!
Two words.Two words that struck dread and fear into every pore of her skin.

The colour drained from her painfully thin, but pretty face and Lorne’s hands shook in her lap. She searched Tony’s face, and noticed the concern etched upon it. Even Henry, who was now sitting in front of her tilting his head first one way and then the other, appeared to sense the magnitude behind those two small, but powerful words.

‘He can’t be, not again.’ Her words came out as a whisper.

‘Sorry, love, but I wouldn’t lie to you.’

Her tongue rolled out to moisten her dry lips. ‘Where? Why?’

‘He’s been spotted in France, Normandy actually. It doesn’t look good, Lorne.’

‘Why? I mean, why have you tracked me down and come here? How does this concern me?’ she could see the torment lingering in his hazel eyes.

‘I need your help.’

Lorne thrust herself off the sofa and stood in front of him. ‘My help! You want my help, are you
bloody
insane, Tony?’ She watched the hesitation flicker in his eyes. ‘I assumed you’d want revenge, Lorne,’ he said.

‘Of course I want revenge, Tony, who wouldn’t. But don’t you think this guy has destroyed me enough already? I can’t believe you’re asking me to get involved in this. I’ve already had one breakdown. I don’t think I could cope with another.’

‘I had no idea.’

‘No, no-one did. I did my darndest to hide it from everyone, why should you know about it?’ her voice trailed off.

‘I shouldn’t have come, it was wrong of me to disturb you. Forgive me, Lorne.’ His shoulders slumped and he looked defeated, something she’d never known before. He turned to leave but she spoke, drawing him back into the room.

‘Eight years I chased The Unicorn, eight bloody years, don’t you think it’s about time someone else had a pop at the guy. Jesus! I can’t believe you’re here, I really can’t.’ She started pacing back and forth, between the original cast iron black fireplace and the sofa, her mind exploding, fracturing into pieces it would take a lifetime to put back together. Finally stopping in front of the fireplace she berated him again. ‘After all I went through, how
dare
you have the audacity to seek me out. To "invite me" to get involved in what I know will prove to be another fruitless mission.’

‘At least think about it, Lorne. Don’t make a hasty decision that you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting— ’

Lorne raised her hand to halt his speech. ‘Stop it. Stop right there, buster. Don’t play that game with me. I repeat, you know what I went through, what Charlie, my
fourteen-
year-old daughter went through at the hands of that lunatic. It’s obviously all in a day’s work in your line of business, well I’ve got news for you, buddy, losing my career, my marriage, my partner, and the man I love, in my book that counts for a phenomenal amount of pain. More pain than you or anyone else could endure in a dozen lifetimes. It’s inconceivable of you to think I haven’t suffered enough at the hands of this guy. That you should come knocking on my door like this. I find it downright fucking insensitive!’

‘You’re probably right, Lorne, on all counts. But I remember what you used to be like.’  He sipped at his almost cold mug of coffee, and his eyes ran up and down her five-foot-five scrawny frame.

‘Why you … you, shit bag.’ She took two steps towards him, and thrust out an arm to slap the supercilious look off his face.

He caught her wrist before she made contact. ‘That’s as may be. But I’m a shit bag who’s desperate to rid the world of an even greater shit bag! And I truly thought you would feel the same way. Guess I was totally wrong with that one, huh?’

‘Get out!’

‘If that’s what you want, Lorne, I’ll leave, and you won’t hear from me again. If that’s what you really want! Although when the idea sinks in, and I’m long gone, I think you’ll be kicking yourself that you missed the opportunity to bring this guy down. Still, it’s your choice, hon, just remember this is a one-time offer. If I leave here empty-handed, I won’t be coming back in a hurry. I won’t have time, love, I’ll be busy organising my travel plans. I leave for France this evening, with, or without you.’

Despite Lorne’s couldn’t care less attitude, she found herself asking if maybe this man knew her better than she knew herself.

Chapter Four

It was close to midnight when the plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle airport. The flight had been quiet, both of them lost in their thoughts, but they were brought back to the present as the plane landed with a bump.

‘It’s this way,’ Tony said, tucking his arm through Lorne’s, he guided her towards the exit, and the waiting courtesy car that Interpol had laid on for them.

Lorne put up with Tony’s manhandling because she was exhausted, she felt as though the day’s events were a whirlwind, and she had been carried along with no way to control things.

After Tony’s
surprise
visit the day had panned out like this: First, she had called her father, begging him to dogsit Henry for a few days. Her second call was one of the toughest she’d ever had to make in her life. Charlie had picked up on the first ring, giving Lorne little chance to think up a plausible excuse why she had to cancel their plans for the weekend. Plans that had been arranged for the last month, their trip would’ve consisted of a visit to the zoo on Saturday morning, followed by a shopping expedition to Oxford Street. Then, as an extra special surprise, and an early birthday present for the teenager, she had booked a table at
The Ivy
for eight o’clock. Six months that table had been booked, six bloody months! Jesus, Tony really did pick his moments, didn’t he?