True Colours (31 page)

‘
You’re just so…so beautiful’ Alex hardly heard him, her heart thundering as he ran his thumb over her cheekbone, inclining her head to his, closing the gap between them in a movement that had reached its conclusion before it had begun.

His lips brushed hers, fine as a bee’s wing, the line from the song came to her as she felt them settle, tentative, enquiring, his mouth parting. She was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing. Alex knew she should be pushing him away, yelling at him to stop, but she could feel the heat radiating from his body, her senses overwhelmed with his smell, his closeness, with all those moments when she had lain awake wanting him. Opening her mouth, responding, welcoming, Sebastian took her breath away, stars shooting behind her closed eyes as she felt him guiding her back on the bed, his arm around her shoulders, taking her weight, the pillow slipping to the floor.

And then she was drowning, her mind numb, conscious only of the sensations that were ricocheting around her body, of his arms around her; he was pulling her robe open to slide his hand inside, his fingers teasing, running up her leg, under her camisole, unhooking her bra in one easy movement. It was like they’d never been apart, like their bodies recognised each other, fitted. The denim of his jeans was rough against her skin as she slid her hand down over his stomach to undo his belt, his skin reacting to her touch, contracting, shivering. Fumbling with the buckle she felt his mouth leave hers, heading for her breast. Instinctively, Alex threw her head back, arching her back against his chest, pulling at his belt, the thick leather giving way as the buckle flipped.

‘
Jesus what was that?’ Sebastian pulled away from her. Jerked from her dreams, Alex gripped his shoulder. A crash had reverberated through the house like an explosion, like someone had driven a car through the front door. Maybe it was an explosion? A bomb? Did they have Basque terrorists here? And at the very moment the sound reached them, the bedside light died, plunging the room into darkness. Another crash, this time louder with a crescendo of glass shattering and the ear- splitting wail of an alarm.

THIRTY SEVEN

In a quiet lane just off the main street in Kilfenora village, Garda Joe Griffin buzzed down the window of his patrol car, its fluorescent stripes glowing in the darkness, and blew a stream of smoke out the window. Across from him, Sean McCann, whose likeness to a certain Hollywood movie star had earned him the nickname of Butch Cassidy within minutes of crossing the threshold of Kilfenora’s tiny Garda station, wrinkled his nose in disgust. But he was too new in the job to start complaining, knew Joe wasn’t about to take any backchat from a lad not much older than his own son, even if he was a head taller and a damn sight fitter. If the truth be told, he was a little bit in awe of the man he’d been partnered with, a man whose cropped dark hair was greying to badger, who had earned two commendations for bravery and who had enough war stories to write a book. The Griff had worked everywhere from drugs to surveillance over his twenty-five-year career, and now, with retirement beckoning and a slight limp caused by a tangle with a suspect’s motorbike, he was more than happy to be serving out his final years in the sleepy backwater of Kilfenora.

Sean adjusted the volume on the car stereo and sat back to listen to the opening bars of Bizet’s Carmen. It was a trade-off – Joe smoked, and Sean got to wear his favourite aftershave and listen to his choice of music.

‘
Christ I need a pint.’ Joe checked his watch, ‘Fifteen minutes to shut down.’

Sean nodded silently, rubbing his hand hard over his military buzz cut. It had been a quiet shift. Too quiet. Since they came on at two they’d had several stray sheep and a breach of the peace to deal with. The lads hanging around outside Foley’s might have been noisy but they weren’t exactly a threat to national security; they had hopped on the bus to Newbridge at 8.30 p.m., taking their fast talk and high jinks to the local night club as soon as the patrol car had cruised down the main street. The minute it hit 10 p.m. the two guards would be inside the door of Foley’s faster than Joe could light up another fag.

‘
Woah, what the f….’ Sean bolted forward in his seat as a small red car shot past like Lightning McQueen on E, its tail lights blazing in a two-finger salute.

‘
Feck. 9.45. Wouldn’t you fecking know it?’ Joe threw his cigarette out the window and pushed the car into first gear, spinning it around in a shower of dust and gravel, ‘What do you think? Ready for a bit of real policing young Sean?’

Joe glanced at his observer, a wry smile on his face. But Sean wasn’t looking at him, had his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his fingers locked through the overhead hand-grip, the adrenalin already pumping.

‘
Okay lad, use the blues.’ Pulling out into the main street, Joe pushed into second as Sean reached for the lights.

Ahead of them, the car kept moving, crossing the solid white line as it took the bend on the way out of the village way too fast. It was just as well Kilfenora was quiet at this time of night. Just as well there wasn’t a tractor coming the other way. Or a herd of cows. Or the school bus.

‘
What speed’s he doing?’

Joe flipped into third, pushing the rev counter into the red, ‘well we’re doing sixty’ he pushed his foot to the floor, ‘little fecker…’ he pushed into fourth, the engine screaming, ‘Call it in, see if he’s previous…’

Sean grabbed the radio, relaying the BMW’s registration plate to Control. In seconds they were back to him.

‘
It’s a woman, registered to an apartment in Ballsbridge.’

Joe glanced at the speedometer. ‘Feck. I’m not doing this speed all the way to Dublin.’

They were heading out of the narrow winding lanes now, would be meeting the N7 pretty soon. More traffic, more chance of this eejit killing someone. 100km an hour.

‘
Okay boyo, hit the sounds, we’re finishing this now.’

Sean hit the top level on the sirens, the sound blasting them both, reverberating inside the car, lifting the hairs on the backs of their necks.

Ahead the BMW finally braked. Too hard.

‘
Jesus, typical bloody…’ before Joe had got the words out, the car ahead of them slewed to a stop, its passenger side putting a thirty-foot dent in the hedge. Joe pulled in behind, knocking off the sirens, leaving the lights flashing in the darkness, strobes bouncing off the chrome and glass of the low-slung sports car.

‘
Right lad. Let’s see what her story is.’

Joe threw open his door, pulling his hat on. Sean was half way out of the car before he realised he’d forgotten his own hat, doubled back to dive into the back seat for it. It irritated the hell out of Joe to see anyone on duty sloppily dressed. He was always saying the uniform gave them authority, respect, gave them the edge when the shit hit the fan. And in a country where uniformed guards were unarmed, it formed a vital thin blue line. Literally.

Joe glanced at his co-driver as their steel-toed boots crunched on the rough tarmac. Approaching the rear of a stop was always one of those hold-your-breath moments, a wait-and-see, fingers-fecking-crossed moment. It was probably a forty-five-year-old housewife on a bender, but they both knew it could be a pup with a grievance who’d nicked the car and had a sawn-off under the passenger seat, or some little shit doped up to the eyeballs who had seen the car stop at a red light and had drawn his blade on the owner.

Drawing level with the BMW, Joe waited for the driver’s window to buzz down. It didn’t. He rapped on the glass with his knuckles; waited, looking at his reflection in the window. Joe was just about to haul the door open when it began to slide down, stopping half way, the distinct odour of alcohol seeping out like a poison cloud.

‘
Yes?’ The woman inside, her face pale against her dark hair, looked out at him, eyes a potent blend of innocence and irritation. Like she really didn’t know what the problem was. Like he had no business wasting her time stopping her.

‘
How many have you had?’

‘
I beg your pardon?’

Joe repeated the question. Slowly. Just in case she hadn’t heard it.

But obviously it wasn’t her hearing that was the problem.

‘
I’m in a hurry do you mind?’

Joe looked at her, taking in the evening dress, the rock on her finger, the stink of booze that was beginning to turn his stomach. But his face was a mask. He’d been here before.

‘
Switch off the engine and get out of the car.’ It was a bald statement, not dressed up with pleasantries. Customer service wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

Caroline’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in anger, ‘I really don’t have time for this, have you nothing better to do? Criminals to catch?’

Joe wasn’t about to get into the definition of criminal law or law-breaking right now. She could find out all about that at the station.

Yanking the door open, Joe reached in to pull the keys out of the ignition. The alcohol was stronger now, blended with cigarette smoke. Joe pursed his lips, she smelt like the inside of a pub before the smoking ban. On the other side of the car Sean was checking the vehicle’s tax and insurance details, speaking into the radio clipped to his lapel, confirming the stop with Control.

‘
Get out of the car now please.’

Caroline looked at Joe aghast. Conscious that he was towering over her, he took a step back.

‘
Don’t be ridiculous, I’m…’

‘
Out now please.’ Her irritation sending out sparks that lit the night, Caroline swung her legs out of the car, and tried to get up. Unsuccessfully. She tried again, one hand inelegantly on the back of the driver’s seat, the other on the open car door, her skirt falling open, one emerald green suede high-heeled foot finding its way onto the tarmac like a claw. It was the other one that presented the problem.

Pulling herself upright, her eyes locked furiously on Joe’s, he watched as she tried to stand, instead falling sideways, grabbing for the open door and as much of her dignity as she could manage.

‘
I seem to have lost a heel…’ Looking down, she appeared to forget the presence of the two guards as she surveyed her Jimmy Choos in dismay, picking up her skirt, no longer virginal white but marked with mud and grass stains, rocking the damaged shoe backwards and forwards, checking to see if the heel really had vanished.

Now standing behind the open driver’s door, Sean peered through the windscreen, checking out the inside of the car. From the reek of spirits, he had fully expected to see a half bottle of whisky on the passenger seat, was surprised instead to see a bottle of champagne. His eyes flicked to Joe’s. There was a first time for everything.

‘
Were you planning to drink that madam?’ Drawn from the contemplation of her shoes, Caroline looked up, surprised to hear another voice, the smile on her face hitting her eyes as she looked Sean up and down.

‘
Do you know you look like a very young and rather gorgeous Paul Newman?’

Sean ignored her. If she had been sober, and in a bar, with two shoes – with heels – maybe…but now? Sad and pathetic sprang to mind. And toxic. There was something about her that spelled trouble. In capital letters. He nodded at the front seat, ‘the bottle of champagne, were you planning to drink it?’

‘
A girl always needs to be prepared.’ Her pronunciation of the letter S was distinctly slurred.

‘
Are you planning a party?’

Joe cleared his throat. The clock was ticking and he wanted to be in Foley’s before closing time.

‘
Only if you’ll promise you’ll come…’ Joe’s radio crackled, interrupting her:

‘
Foxtrot Alpha Base to Foxtrot Alpha One.’ He raised his eyes to heaven. After eight hours of nothing, it was all going to happen at ten o’clock. The dispatcher continued oblivious to his reaction, ‘We’re getting reports of a fire at Kilfenora House, fire brigade are on the way.’

Joe’s eyes met Sean’s as he spoke into his lapel, ‘Roger that, we’re tied up. Bringing a prisoner in.’ He turned back to Caroline. ‘Come on lass, let’s see if you can make it to the car.’ He gestured to the patrol car behind them, ‘We need to have a chat.’

Caroline was still looking at Sean, at the cut of his uniform, at the American-style bomber jacket that made him look like a body builder, at the heavy leather belt gripping his hips and his sleek leather baton cover. A smile lit her face.

‘
Sorry?’

In the back seat of the patrol car Caroline was delighted to find Sean climbing in beside her. He had moved her car off the road, left the hazard lights flashing for as long as they lasted before the tow truck came to collect it.

‘
Don’t you need to use your handcuffs? Or lock the doors? I might try to escape.’ She flicked her hair over her shoulder and pouted, pushing her shoulders back trying to increase her cleavage.

Maybe her day was about to improve.

THIRTY EIGHT

Her mind flying down a hundred blind alleyways, all dark and cold and terrifying, Alex could feel Sebastian’s fear, arcing like an electric current, as raw and real as her own. But instead of lying there, waiting for the next explosion, he was on his feet, buckling his belt, heading for the open door.

And moments later he was back. Eyes streaming, coughing hard, slamming the door behind him.

‘
It’s a fire, somewhere downstairs. The hall’s full of smoke.’