London Falling (15 page)

“What are you so afraid of`?”

She shivered in the cold. “I’m not afraid.”

“Aren’t you?” he asked, before opening the door to the station.

She brushed past him. The musky scent of his cologne lingered, even after she scraped off the awareness of his body. Why him? He caused her body to melt and say to hell with what’s good for her. Even now, when she wanted to stomp on his feet with the point of her boot heel, her body longed for a repeat performance of that amazing kiss.

She couldn’t let that happen. Besides, he didn’t understand her at all.

She wasn’t afraid to ask for help–she was afraid to have him pity her, or even worse, no longer respect her. How could she stand to be around him after that?

Well, she just had to stop that from happening. All she had to do was get through the next few minutes without him learning the truth.

Chapter Seven

“Back again?” The detective’s words dripped with annoyance, and he didn’t even look up from the papers on his desk, except to determine who was standing in front of him. Of course he was here to embarrass her in front of Simon. Did he live in the station?

“Have you found my stuff yet?”

The detective rolled his eyes, as if she’d just asked the stupidest question in the world. “Like I said before, he’s probably long gone. Out of the country and out of our jurisdiction.”

Had he done anything on her case? “Have you checked the hostels?”

“Hold it one second. You know who took your things?” Simon’s question came out of the blue.

Great. Now Simon had stuck his neck into her situation. It was her life.

Her problem. She glared at him. “I can handle this. Why don’t you go wait out there?” She pointed to the lobby.

“If you know who stole her things, why can’t you arrest him?” Simon asked.

“Who are you?” The detective eyed Simon as if he were a drug dealer trying to sell him crack.

Simon stepped forward, and his body towered over the detective’s.

“Simon Ruleford,” he clipped.

The detective shrugged, but then his jaw dropped toward the dirty linoleum floor. “Lord Ruleford? Of Ruleford’s bank?”

Simon acknowledged him with a sharp nod.

“Great,” Aimee said. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s go.” She tugged on Simon’s arm, but he didn’t budge an inch. “Come on. They don’t have my stuff.” After dropping her hand, she moved toward the door.

Simon crossed his arms. “Well?” he asked.

“I guess I’m not surprised your girlfriend didn’t fill you in on the particulars,” the detective said.

Aimee whirled back toward the cop. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Simon said at the same time.

Geez, did he have to make it sound like he’d rather skin a cat than date her?

The detective’s gaze flip-flopped between her and Simon, but Simon won out. Of course. “I believe that the young lady’s last boyfriend was the perpetrator.”

Simon didn’t show what he was thinking, but she knew his opinion of her was sinking lower than a rock tied to a boulder tied to an anvil in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” she said, willing Simon to believe her.

Although he didn’t move a muscle, it felt as though he’d taken took a giant step back from her. She turned to the cop. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

“You seem to have a lot of men in your life that aren’t your boyfriends,”

the detective said.

“Just what are you suggesting?” Simon bit out, stepping toward the detective. The detective’s face lost all traces of color.

Aimee’s heart leapt in her chest. He was defending her! When was the last time someone had stood up for her? Believed in her? She wanted to throw her hands around his neck and thank him, but when he glanced at her, the ice shards in his eyes didn’t soften. Even though he was defending her, he didn’t like it.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Most definitely not,” the detective said.

“Good. Then why don’t you see if you can find out whether or not he’s left the country?”

“I can’t promise anything.”

Simon merely raised his brow. If only she had that power.

“Most definitely. I’ll do everything I can,” the detective said, before rushing off and leaving them alone in the room.

“Well?” Simon asked.

“I thought you never used your title?” And how did the detective know who he was?

“I don’t. Are you going to tell me what really happened?” The coldness in his voice didn’t even hint at what he was thinking.

No way, no how. This was exactly the situation she’d wanted to avoid.

“Please?” he asked, as he reached out and barely cupped the edge of her shoulder with his palm.

His touch shocked her with gentleness and made her want to curl up in his arms and cry. And suddenly she was tired. Tired of keeping up the pretense of being in control of her life, of hiding her weakness. Tired of keeping everyone out. Tired of trying to earn his respect. Just plain old tired.

What did it matter if he saw through her and discovered what a fake she really was? It wasn’t like she’d ever see him again after she hopped on a plane and went home, and the detective would just tell him anyway. Better to get it over with.

“Fine,” she said.

All of the fire and energy that normally fueled Aimee vanished into thin air, and she melted in front of his eyes. Dear God, what was she going to tell him?

She needed to sit down. After he led her to the set of plastic chairs against the wall, she slumped over in defeat. Hoping to infuse some strength back into her, he sat down and held her hands between his, but her fingers remained limp and lifeless. Two women walked past the open doorway and their laughter echoed in the silent room.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew the person who nicked your things?”

he asked. Aimee shrugged in response. Clearly, he was going to have to drag this out of her. “What is his name?”

“Rodney.”

“Does he have a last name?”

“Wilson.”

“And how do you know this Rodney bloke?”

“Work.”

Crikey, it was like pulling teeth. “Why did the detective think he was your boyfriend?”

That finally got a reaction. She pulled her hand from his and turned to face him. “He’s not my boyfriend.” She shook her head. “Not really.”

“What do you mean?” Her head snapped back at the annoyance in his tone. Bugger and blast, he was jealous of some bloke who filched her things and left her stranded in a foreign country. Without doubt, he needed to get a grip on his emotions. If they could find this bloke, they could find her stuff and both of them would be free of this ridiculous situation. He forced his voice into an even tone. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

She took a deep breath and let it out in a deep, world-weary sigh. For a moment, he wasn’t sure she was even going to respond to him, but then she started speaking. “I know Rodney from the Crab Shack, and we almost always have the same shift, so we hang out when it’s slow. I always joked that he was ‘Rod the Bod’ because he works out all the time, and he always gets big tips from women.”

Simon’s stomach clenched. “So you flirted with him.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But it didn’t mean anything. Everyone’s always flirting with everyone else. It’s just a way to pass the time and nothing serious.”

Right. No straight male could be around Aimee and not be attracted, especially if she flirted with them with those expressive eyes. Even now, it was all he could do to not pull her into his alms and kiss away her fears.

“When I won the radio contest–the question was what was Madonna’s first #1 Single on the Billboard Hot 100, and the guy who was caller ten said “Lucky Star,” but everyone knows it’s “Like a Virgin” and I was caller eleven-anyway, when I won the contest, I didn’t know who to invite with me. I was talking to Rodney about it, and he wanted to go, so I invited him.”

Smart move on his part. Bloody bastard.

“When we got here, everything was fine, but then we kind of got into an argument.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Of course not!” she blurted, but then added, “That’s none of your business.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” She wrenched her shoulder to remove his hand, making him realize he’d gripped too hard. “Why are you being such a jerk?”

she asked.

Good question. He clenched his fists, and then forced his arms and fingers to relax. “What did you fight about?”

“You know what? I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I didn’t ask you to come here and humiliate me.”

“Humiliate you? What are you talking about? I simply asked you to tell me what happened.” He stood up and paced in front of her. “You’re not the only person who’s been impacted by this situation.” When he stopped pacing, she glared up at him and crossed her arms in front of her. “If we go over what happened, maybe we can find this Rodney bloke and your things, and then we’ll both be free of this situation.”

“I already told the police everything I know. What do you think you can do that the cops, with years of training, can’t do?” She looked behind him and stood up.

Simon turned to see that the detective had returned and held a small piece of paper in his hand.

“It appears that your friend is still in the country.”

“How do you know?” Simon asked.

“He used a credit card to buy two round-trip train tickets to Liverpool.”

The detective glanced at the paper in his hands. “Outbound on the 24th of this month, returning yesterday morning.”

Aimee stepped forward. “So he could still be in London? With that other woman?”

What woman? This was obviously more complicated than Aimee was letting on.

The detective nodded. “We don’t have a record of him flying out, although our information isn’t entirely up-to-date.” He cleared his throat.

“We’ll notify all of the relevant agencies to hold him if he attempts to leave the country.”

Aimee’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You mean you haven’t done that yet?”

The detective cleared his throat again. “He’s not considered a high priority.”

Simon ground his teeth together. Cupcake could do a better job than this bloke. “Why don’t you make him a high priority?” He dug a card out of his wallet and handed it to the detective. “Call me when you have some news.”

He turned to Aimee. “Let’s go.”

Aimee’s boots clicked on the hard floor next to him. “Aren’t you going to make sure he puts out an APB or whatever you guys call it here?”

“He’ll do it.”

Her touch on his forearm stopped him in his tracks. “Why are you being like this? Are you angry because I’m not telling you about Rodney?” she asked.

“I’m angry because you’re protecting the bloke who nicked your money and your clothes and left you homeless in a foreign country.”

“I’m not protecting him.”

“Right. Then why not tell me what happened to make him steal all of your things?” Silence was her only answer. “You’re protecting him.”

“I’m not protecting him.” She dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. With a sigh, she shifted her gaze to the knot in his tie. “I’m protecting me.”

Simon’s gut clenched. “Aimee. You have got to tell me what happened. It can’t be that bad.”

“You’re going to think I’m an idiot.”

He pulled her to the side of the lobby, where no one would overhear their conversation. “I’m not going to think you’re an idiot. You’re too smart to be an idiot. Crazy, perhaps, but not an idiot.”

Although she shook her head at him, the corners of her lips moved ever so slightly. “I think we both know that there’s only one person standing here who’s crazy, and it’s not me.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing happened our first night because we were both so jet-lagged that we fell asleep right after dinner. The next day, we went sightseeing all day and then went out to a club.”

“Which club?”

“I have no idea. Somewhere a few blocks from a tube station. There was a line to get in, that’s about all I remember. Anyway, that’s not the important part. We were drinking and dancing and having a great time.”

Of course. Her life was jam-packed with work and school, and she deserved some free time to let off steam, even if it was with an ungrateful wretch.

“When we got back to the hotel, umm, Rodney kind of hit on me.”

Simon dug his fingers into his fist. “And ?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “At first I was okay with it. I mean, he’s Rod the Bod, and we have fun together, and I haven’t been serious with a guy in so long. But it didn’t feel right.”

“So he attacked you.” He wanted to slam his fist into the bloke’s face.

And then beat him to a pulp.

“What? No, he didn’t attack me. When he wasn’t quite getting the message that I’d changed my mind, I kind of shoved him off the bed. Hard. I didn’t know he would hit his head on the wall.”

Simon grinned. He couldn’t help himself.

“Anyway, he got really pissed at me and started saying all these nasty things. I wasn’t trying to be a tease. I just it’s not normal to be single for so long.”

Was that why she was so awkward after their kiss? “How long has it been since your last boyfriend?”

Her cheeks turned red. “A while.” She glared at him with strange, unemotional eyes that cautioned him to stay away, although nothing but a massive hurt could make her so guarded around other people.

He’d let her get away with it, for now, because the busy station wasn’t the place to reveal secrets. But one way or another, he’d pull it out of her.

“Anyway, he slept on the couch that night, and we kind of went our separate ways that day. After the concert, I was so tired that I went straight back to the hotel, packed my bags to leave first thing in the morning, and then put on my PJ’s and went to bed. He came back around two. With another girl.”

“What a prat.”

She nodded. “They were laughing and drinking until about three-thirty, which is when I must have fallen asleep again. And when I woke up, everything was gone. I’m not even sure if he took my stuff, or the woman he brought back to the room, but he had to notice she was walking out with a huge suitcase of my clothing.”