Taken Identity (16 page)

“Gray Reynard. Enough. I’m scandalized.” She knew she didn’t sound it. “I merely meant, er, well, ah…” She sighed. “Just, ahhh, yes, Sir.”

“I know just what you meant. You are such a good little subbie, and switch for me so beautifully when I ask. Retribution later, pet. And oh, are we going to enjoy it. Right.” He pressed send. “Now, I guess we wait. Any idea what we can do to pass the time?”

The fingers inside her began to move.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Jules said pseudo-primly, trying, without much success, not to wriggle. “I need to check
my
emails, see if I need to answer any. Then do some washing, weed the garden, write a shopping list…”

“No more.” He held his free hand up in mock horror. “I think I get the picture. You’re busy, and you don’t want me around.”

He contrived to look hurt. The ploy worked, and Jules tried to appear contrite. Instantly, his look grew remorseful. So it should be. He had just erupted into her life and all but taken it over.

“Maybe I should give you some breathing space? Give you time to take a step back, if you want to. The thing is, Jules, I’m scared to do so. Not because I think you’re in any danger, but because I don’t want to. I don’t want to be away from you, give you the chance to realize you didn’t need my problems or me in your life. I need my pet. So, although I could offer to go back to the hotel, to work alone from there, I’m not going to.” His expression was one of hopeful interest. “I can weed. I’m at a bit of a loose end until Sean gets back to me. Or I could read some more of your diaries. I still haven’t found the entry about the pool table.” 

Jules’ eyes twinkled. “Oh, haven’t you? Not a patch on last night, I can assure you. There’s very little room on a pool table, and way too many balls. Let’s face it, two well-placed balls are better than several scattered ones.”

Gray choked on the coffee he’d just picked up and sipped.

Jules patted him on his back. “Dear me, Gray. Got something stuck in your throat?”

His eyes streaming, he glared at her. “No, you little tease, but I can think of something I’d like to stick in yours.”

His fingers moved in ever exciting circles inside her, his thumb rubbing her clit.

It was her turn to splutter.
Oh, yes please!

“Ah, oh, well, good,” she managed to say.
Sheesh, Jules, lame or what?

“Right, sexual suggestions over. Seriously, though, Jules, I think I’m as well stopping here, at least for a while. If you don’t mind. It’s, um…easier to brainstorm when we are together.”

Jules decided she was not going to think about what else it was easier to do. She nodded.

“Thanks.” He sounded relieved. “I’ll nip back to the hotel to grab a change of clothes.” He rubbed his chin. “And a razor. I decided against using your spare. Lady shavers just don’t really work on my stubble. Before you ask, it was all a hotel shop had the one time I forgot to take mine.”

Slowly, his fingers moved from inside her, and with that wicked grin, she was beginning to associate with him, he put them to his mouth and sucked.

“Mmm, nice. A reminder to keep me going.”

“You’re welcome.” Well, what else could she say
? Can’t we just carry on and sod the rest?
“No probs. I’ll carry on with my spreadsheet anyway, I think. The more info I can collate, the more aware we will be, if necessary. Oh, can you grab some milk from the shop, please? We’re nearly out. I can manage black tea, but need my milk in coffee. And somehow there seems very little left. Someone must have been using it.”

“It’s the fairy folk,” Gray proclaimed.

Jules sniffed, hiding a grin. “Well, they drink bloody great cups of coffee with their milk, that’s all I can say then.”

He gave her a hug. “I’ll make sure there’s plenty for the wee darlins,” he said in an atrocious Irish accent. “Sure, indeed I will.”

Jules shoved him toward the door. “Indeed, sure.” She sniggered. “And be off with ye. Too much blarney is not a good thing for a poor, defenseless girl. Sure it’s not.”

Gray kissed her, and she could feel his eyes on her, watching, waiting.

Jules sighed. “Not the way to help me push you out of the door. Go on. Get your stuff, and thanks to our supermarket shop I’ll be able to think of something nice for dinner.” At his lascivious grin, she added, “As well as that.”

She shut the door behind him and lay back on the wood. The doorbell rang, reminding her of when she’d first met Gray. Good God, had it only been two days before? A hell of a lot had happened since then. She put the chain on and opened the door. A hand snaked in and pulled her to the opening.

She caught her breath. Her heart pounded, her lungs tightened and fear made her give short, sharp gasps.

“One more kiss, please.” His lips brushed her hands. “And check before you open the flaming door, pet—chain or no chain.”

With a sketchy wave, he loped down the path.

It took a while for Jules’ breath to return to normal. She felt gloriously, deliriously happy as she headed into the garden to give serious consideration to the weeds. Jules loved the feel of the earth on her hands, the satisfaction of seeing flowers and vegetables flourishing due to her care and attention. Okay, her life had spiraled out of control, but she’d reined it back somewhat. As much as she thought she should be rushing all over the place and regaining the rest, there was nowhere to rush to which would achieve that as the end result—not yet. Therefore she’d do something she did have control over and would achieve the desired end result.

She turned on her iPod, put in her earphones, dug and tugged at the recalcitrant weeds around her carrots. Pushing her hair back from her face left a smear of mud she felt on her cheek. Overstretching to reach around a cabbage had her slipping and gaining muddy knees, but in her buoyant mood, she could not have cared less.

She glanced at her watch. Nearly time to stop for lunch. She would just weed one more row. The song on the iPod changed to an oldie, The Killers and
Human
.

There was a tap on her shoulder. Jules whirled round and screamed.

Chapter Seven

“Sorry, hen, didna realize ye’d got those wee ear thingies in.” The poor, perspiring postman, hot in his regulation polo shirt and navy shorts, stood beside her, his face apologetic.

Jules pulled out the earplugs. “God Almighty, Dougie. You scared the crap out of me.”

Bloody hell, why was she so jittery?

“Ach, it’s those wee thingies. Make ye deif, an’all. Sorry, Jules, but I need a wee signing on this parcel.” He pulled out a packet from his bag, clicked something on his ‘new-fangled digitty whatsit’ as he called it and handed it to her with the ‘stick thingy’. Jules looked at him fondly. Dougie had been the postman for as long as anyone could remember, idiosyncratic and irritable if his round was changed or interrupted. Loyal and hardworking, he was more than a postie. He was a friend to all and a lifeline to those living alone without neighbors, and the elderly. He was also a fount of knowledge about the area. Anything Dougie MacDonald didn’t know, wasn’t worth knowing. Except, it seemed, technology. Jules scribed her name and handed the handset back to him. He took it as if it was a grenade and handed her a package.

“Hate these thingies. What’s wrong with a wee bitty paper and pencil, eh?”

Jules laughed and he scratched his head.

“Ach, I’m too old for all this nonsense.”

“Rubbish, you’re just too set in your ways.”

“Aye, true enough. Well, best be on.” He turned away.

“Hold on a sec.” Jules grabbed his sleeve. “Hear anything about a strange car or van in the village in the early hours? Well, not that early, say around six-ish.”

He scratched his head again.

“Ah, weel, I was up at the wee hoosie about then.” Dougie had not had to use a wee hoosie for at least forty years, but colloquialisms died hard. His bungalow boasted more than one state-of-the-art bathroom, with, as his wife was fond of saying, a power shower
and
a bidet.

“And there
was
a car parked by the green, side on to the kirk. Big bugger it was. Awfy noisy when it set off.” His voice switched from Scots to English and back again as he spoke. A remnant, he often said, of his time in the army as a teenager.

“Do you know what it was?” Jules asked without much hope.

“Of course I do… A muckle great BMW 5 series. And I got its number.” He rattled it off. “I’ve a way with numbers.”

“Have you got a pen?”

Dougie handed her a felt tip. Jules had nothing to write on except the parcel, and that was covered in the sort of tape that wouldn’t take a felt tip. She scrawled the registration on her arm, hoping she would remember to transfer it to paper before she washed. “Cheers, Dougie. It might be important.”

“House breaking?”

“Who knows?” She kept the question oblique. “Well, I’d better get on.”

“Aye, an’ me.” He ambled off around the side of the house.

Jules looked at the packet without much interest. She didn’t remember ordering anything, but her parents often sent small gifts through the post.

Tied up with string and tape,
she noted. That meant a trip into the house for scissors. Just as she went to head house-wards, she saw the secateurs. They might do.

They did. She snipped the string and attacked the tape. After unwrapping the brown paper, she looked inside and finally saw the contents.

A big, black, hairy spider looked back at her, its eyes gleaming.

The parcel fell as she screamed again, shuddered and ran into the house. She shut and locked the door, grabbed her mobile and thanked Gray for programming his number into it.

“Come on, come on. Oh,
shit!
Gray, fucking answer, will you?”

“Hi, Jules. What’s up?” He sounded upbeat. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Gray.” She shook and sobbed and could hardly get her words out. “Oh, God, Gray. I need you. I need you here now. And Sean. Yes, and Sean. Now, please. Oh God, oh God, Gray, it’s—” She was weeping in earnest. “Just come as quick as you can, please.”

“Are you okay? Jules, tell me. Now.” He roared down the phone, shocking her into silence. “Are. You. All. Right?”

“Yes,” she said and spoiled her assertions with a sniff. “No, yes, oh shit and fuck. Right, calm down, Jules. Lord, I’m babbling.”

“Answer me, woman,” Gray roared. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, honestly. I’m okay, but there’s been a parcel. You need to come back. Like now. Yuck, it makes me shudder just to think about it. And I’m scared. Bloody scared.” Her voice wavered and she took a deep breath. It was not the time to break down. “I need you both though, like ten minutes ago.”

“We’re on our way.”

She heard the sound of an engine revving high and the noise of gravel, down the phone line.

“So where is the parcel? Do we need the police? Or the bomb squad?”

“Oh
shit,
I’ve no idea. I saw what was in it and left it in the back garden. How could I be so stupid? “Bloody hell… Do I go and check?”

“No, you bloody well don’t. Idiot woman!” He said it lovingly, although she could hear the worry in his voice. “Leaving it alone was sensible, not stupid. Lock the doors and go to the other side of the house. Your back garden is probably the safest place it could be. If it is a bomb. Right. I’ll be five minutes. Do
not
move from the front hall. Do
not
answer the door unless it is me—or Sean. Do
not
let anyone know you are there. If in doubt, lock yourself in the downstairs loo. Got it? And keep your phone on, on silent. And, Jules? I love you.”

Well, that was the way to make her feel better.

But she still hadn’t told him what was in the parcel.

She counted down. Four minutes and twenty-nine seconds later she heard him hammering on the front door.

“Jules? Jules, open up. It’s Gray. It’s me.”

It took three shaky tries before she could turn the lock, open the door and fall, shuddering, into his arms. Gray held her tightly, stroking her hair, murmuring nonsense as he drew her back inside and closed the door firmly.

“Okay, love. I’m here. It’s all right. Tell me.”

Jules took a deep breath.

“It’s not a bomb, Gray. I just freaked when I saw it. Thinking about it, of course it isn’t. It hasn’t any wires or ticks or anything.”

He was firm. “Sean will still check it out. Moreover, do not ask. Okay, just accept he just knows about these things. He’ll be here in about ten minutes. So, can you tell me more about it? How you got it?”

With Gray holding her, Jules felt strong and able to talk coherently about the events leading up to her total meltdown. She looked down at her muddy knees and hands. “Maybe I’d better wash up a bit. I’m making you filthy.”

He looked at her arms and hands and laughed. “Mmm, looks like you’ve been practicing for a tattoo, as well.”

Jules glanced down and remembered. “It’s the number.”

Gray looked blank.

“The car. This morning. Dougie the postie saw it. He’s a way with numbers. Five series Beamer.”

She saw his delighted grin spread over his face as he gave her a long, hard kiss.

“Well, good for Dougie the postie and his way with numbers, whatever that means. Let’s write it on something a bit more permanent.” With one smooth movement he took his phone from his pocket and keyed in the numbers. “Good, Sean will know what to do with that, as well. So, the non-bomb parcel. Brought by the postman?”

Jules nodded. “I had to sign for it. It was all tied up with loads of string and tape. I was going to bring it in to use the scissors on it but then remembered the secateurs in my gardening trug. So, I used them to cut through the string and attack the tape.”

“Did you untie the knots?”

She shook her head. “No. Why?”

Gray was deliberately vague. “Oh, Sean might recognize them. He’s good at that.”

“Sounds like he’s good at a lot of things,” Jules said somewhat tartly.

“He is.” He flipped the end of her nose with his pinkie. “Yeah another never-you-mind-why scenario. So then what?”

“Then, I looked in the box. Screamed. Dropped it. And ran. Phoned you and hid in the hall.” Her attempt at flippancy just didn’t quite come off. “But it was horrible.”