 
LOST CAUSE

(A DAISY DUNLOP MYSTERY ~ BOOK 1)

Author

### JL Simpson

www.jlsimpson.com

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Cover Art by Sotia Lazu

www.sotialazu.com

### Text Copyright © JL Simpson

### Smashwords Edition

# All Rights Reserved

# To my lovely husband who gives me more funny situations than I could ever use in a lifetime.

Books in the Series

Lost Cause

Lost & Found

Lost Property

# Chapter One

A real P.I. would have thought to get the address before she was running late. Not that hunting heirs made Daisy a P.I., or that she wanted the title, although having a handgun would be cool. However, she couldn't imagine any need to shoot people when she was about to tell them they had inherited their dearly departed's worldly goods.

She slowed down to check the building numbers. Even though she was in the backstreets of Southampton the office and shop fronts along the row were all chrome and glass, swanky and very upmarket. Despite the makeover the developers had done well to maintain the English city's unique history and charm. She passed twenty-six and stopped, there was no twenty-six B. She tugged her phone from her bag and checked her husband Paul's response to her SOS. He had definitely said twenty-six B.

The door to the In Bloom florist at twenty-six opened and a blonde stepped out carrying an advertising sandwich board.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for number twenty-six B. I'm running late, and now I can't find the office."

The blonde set the board down and turned her attention to Daisy. "Ah, you must be looking for our mysterious tall, dark, and handsome neighbor."

"So Solomon's office is near here, then?"

"The entrance is around the side. You can't miss it."

Daisy glanced around the corner of the florist. "Do you mean down the stairs? Is his office in the cellar?"

"According to the landlord, it's more a bespoke bijou basement."

"Great, a pokey, run-down cave. Why am I not surprised to discover Solomon dwells underground?"

"Why are you looking for him?"

Good question. Daisy considered her options. To work as his slave? To be trained as an heir hunter, family historian, and finder of the lost, because her husband didn't trust her to work alone? Employee? None of the options appealed. "I'm his new partner."

"So you know what line of business he's in? What does sultry Solomon do?"

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to shoot you."

The blonde's laughter was light and melodic. "I'm Belinda."

"Daisy."

"If you get bored doing whatever it is you do with Mr. Mysterious, drop in for coffee."

Belinda's outfit was definitely more Harvey Nicks than Primark, and her accent indicated she was posh totty. Not the sort that Daisy usually hung out with. However, Belinda had a twinkle in her hazel eyes, and laughter lines around her beautifully penciled and painted red lips.

"I might take you up on your offer. See you later," Daisy called, waving good-bye and ducking around the corner. She took a moment to tug her ponytail tight, pull her distressed leather jacket straight, and get her breath back, before descending the stairs. A shiver ran up her spine. The black door with the word SOLOMON'S above it in a square blocky font was hardly inviting, and the large brass knocker appeared to be the only way to announce her arrival.

She pushed her shoulders back, grasped the knocker, and rammed it hard against the dark timber a couple of times. The door swung open, and she met the frosty blue-eyed glare of the man in question.

"You're late."

"Hello, Solomon. Lovely to see you too. Yes, I will come in. Thanks for asking."

"Don't be a smart-arse."

"Don't be an obnoxious pig." She met his fierce gaze as she stepped around him. "If you keep glowering like that you'll get wrinkles and a permanent unibrow. How attractive would that look?"

"I don't care how I look."

Daisy stepped back, her focus drifting up and down him. His feet were bare. His dark jeans rumpled. His charcoal-colored shirt could use an iron. Day-old stubble darkened his chin and jawline. If his black hair were longer she had no doubt he would have treated it with the same disregard he'd given the rest of his appearance.

"Clearly. So where do I start?"

Solomon shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a twenty-pound note. "Coffee shop, across the street. Mine's black, two sugars."

"I'm not the bloody tea lady. I'm here to learn to do detecting stuff so I can become an heir hunter."

"You can start by detecting your way to the coffee shop, and when you get back I'll give you something else to detect."

Daisy tried to stare him down, but the Irish git had eyes that made her stomach plummet to her knees, and left her feeling mentally violated when she looked into them for too long. He probably got people to confess to all sorts of things with his death stare. It was a wonder the Americans hadn't stolen him from the British army and used him as a CIA interrogator. "Fine. Whatever."

She snatched the money and flounced out the door. When she got back he'd better have something for her to do that was real detective work. Two police cars rushed past, apparently on their way to the waterfront. She stopped at the curb and stared after them. What the hell was going on down at the marina that had the cops so stirred up first thing on a Monday morning?

*

Daisy's voice broke into Solomon's thoughts. "The Internet is full of speculation about this Tobias Wareham. Apparently he was abducted by aliens, or joined MI5. There is absolutely nothing of any use. Solomon, are you listening to me? How about some help? Or are you going to sit there with that stupid expression on your face all day?"

He hadn't realized he'd been smiling, but apparently the thought of Daisy getting more and more frustrated had caused an outbreak of happy to take over his features.

"Why did you agree to let me work with you if you're just going to ignore me?"

"Because Paul asked me to."

"And do you always do what Paul asks, or did he blackmail you over the butt-shooting incident?"

"What do you know about that?" Why, or how, Paul got shot in the arse was supposed to be a well-guarded secret. Solomon stared at her until she turned away.

Daisy shrugged. "Nothing."

She tapped at her keyboard for a few more minutes before turning her chair so she faced him. "Why am I looking for Lord Tobias Wareham?"

"Have you not been reading the papers? He's the second son of the late Duke of Mardon, who was unfortunately eaten by a lion in Africa. Now Tobias is heir to a vast fortune, but the man remains elusive, and the late duke's estate is offering a reward for his return."

Solomon shoved his chair away from his desk. "Now, as much as I would love to stay here and chat, I've got something important I need to be taking care of."

"And finding the missing second son of a dead duke isn't important?"

"Not to me. Paul says you're all fired up to become an heir hunter, so hunt away."

Solomon put his empty cup on the desk, pushed to his feet, and strode barefoot across the office.

"This is not heir hunting; it's looking for a bloody missing person, which is your forte, not mine. Clearly the man is hiding. Can't you at least tell me what else I can do to find him?"

Solomon chuckled. "Well, you could try employing those finely tuned feminine charms that you used on Paul to get you working here to begin with."

Daisy stared at him. "On you? Use my charms on you?" She shuddered with apparent revulsion at the thought.

He didn't care about Daisy's opinion of him. He wouldn't want her if she were the last female on the planet. Other far more appealing women were amenable to his particular brand of seduction. "No, on whoever knows where your Lord might be hiding. I've no interest in your charms."

"For your information I never wanted to work here. In fact I'd rather have an enema than spend a day in your employ. If Paul hadn't insisted, I'd be working on my own."

"And do you always do what Paul wants?"

"Not likely. He wanted me to kiss and make up with you so that he could invite you to his last birthday party."

"Are you planning on kissing and making up now?" He offered his cheek.

She glared at him. "I would rather eat shit than kiss you."

Solomon smirked. "Whatever you say, darlin'."

Daisy banged away at her keyboard. "Fine, believe what you like. I don't need your help. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"In that case, I'll be on my way."

Daisy kept her back to him. "Just one thing. What should I do if I find him? How do I claim the reward?"

Solomon held back a snort of laughter. "If you find him? Well, then, you best be getting right on it, chase him down and take him home kicking and screaming before someone else gets to him first and steals your prize. It says in the newspaper his big brother Elliott will give the reward money to anyone who shows up with the wayward Lord Tobias in tow."

Daisy spun her chair around. Her arms were folded, pushing up her breasts and revealing the cleavage he knew had been the first part of Daisy to steal Paul's heart, quickly followed by other bits of his anatomy. "You don't think I can do this, do you?"

"I have no opinion either way. I'm just helping out a mate."

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"When will you be back?"

"Later."

"What if I have to go out?"

"You don't have to go out. Everything you need is here. If you come to your senses and decide to quit and go home, be sure to turn the lock and slam the door behind you."

Solomon kept moving and lifted the corner or his mouth in a lopsided smile as he heard her grumbling under her breath. She had a unique way with words. Once he'd established she sucked at being a detective, perhaps he would suggest she pursue a career as a writer. Apparently her new term of endearment for him was "half-brained, shit-headed, arse-wipe of a moron." When he had more time he would have to come up with a similarly affectionate description for her.

*

Daisy surfed the net until Solomon left, slamming the door behind him. She stared at the closed door and toyed with her mouse, bored and in need of a break. After getting to her feet, she ambled nonchalantly across the office and down the corridor. Solomon hadn't given her the guided tour when she arrived, so she would have to take a look around by herself. Knowing where to find the facilities was important, and anything else she discovered along the way would be a happy accident.

Even with all the lights switched on the place was gloomy. The dark brown carpet and nondescript beige walls did nothing to lighten the basement's mood. Beyond the office there were three closed doors. When she opened the first, she discovered a bathroom. A proper pristine white bathroom, with a modern glass-enclosed shower. Odd for an office, but maybe Solomon needed it to wash the blood off after a gunfight. Did he have a gun? They were illegal but she doubted he would care. She hadn't noticed any unusual bulges on his person, or seen him slide anything into the back of his pants or the top of his boot.

Door number two revealed a kitchen of sorts. She ferreted through the fridge and cupboards, helping herself to a can of Coke and a jam doughnut. The sugar and caffeine rush would keep her detecting skills at their peak.

Nothing in the kitchen gave any clues about the man she worked with. For all the fact Paul and Solomon had been firm friends long before she came on the scene she knew very little about him.

As she munched on her doughnut and sipped her drink, she continued her investigations. If the front was the office, and she'd already discovered the kitchen and bathroom, what would door number three reveal? She pushed the last of the doughnut into her mouth, wiped the sticky sugar and jam residue on the leg of her black jeans, and grasped the door handle. The chrome lever moved under her hand, but the door wouldn't budge. Even a shove with her hip achieved nothing.

"Shit."

The door was locked tight. It had to be Solomon's secret lair. Maybe he lived in the basement and that room was where he dragged unsuspecting women to seduce them. She shuddered. However, if he did live at the office that would explain why he looked half-dressed when she'd arrived. Before he went out he had boots and socks on and grabbed a jacket from somewhere. She'd heard a door shut, and assumed it was a storeroom, but now she suspected it was his bedroom. All his secrets were probably locked inside.

Her search for Lord Toby was proving frustrating. What she needed was something more interesting to hone her detecting skills on, like Solomon. It was important to know your enemy. What she needed was ammunition. Solomon had to be brought to heel if she was to have a chance of succeeding and proving to Paul she'd finally found her perfect career.

She wandered back down the corridor to the office and read through her notes. Lord Tobias Wareham was an old scholar of Langdon College and had attended Oxford briefly before dropping out in his second year. There were only a few badly pixilated pictures of him to be found. She could fall over Toby in the street and not recognize him. Wherever he was, his true identity was still safely hidden.

If the Internet was to be believed, he'd fallen out with his father over his decision to quit his studies and been disinherited, although his inclusion in the old guy's will did appear to belie that particular story. Reports stated he'd last been seen busking in Leicester Square in London by a woman who claimed to have given birth to his love child. Further investigation had also shown her to be the mother of love children belonging to Brad Pitt, Steven Seagal, and Pope John Paul II.

Daisy turned her attention to the pile of papers Solomon had tossed on the edge of her desk. There was a copy of the old duke's will and printouts of most of the information she'd already discovered for herself. Solomon also had some handwritten notes from a conversation with a Sergeant Boyle of the Metropolitan Police Force. If Toby was dead he hadn't been discovered by the cops.

She leaned back, put her feet on the edge of the desk, and stared at the old man's last will and testament. The document might as well have been written in Latin for all the sense it made to her. The Internet was a great tool, but what she really needed was to be out there detecting.

She got to her feet and stretched. Maybe she could start with a visit to Langdon College to see what anyone remembered about Toby. It was only a half-hour's drive away. Meeting some of the people who knew him as a boy might prove useful. She needed to get a handle on the man. Once she had a sense of who he was she might have more idea about where he could be living.

Now that she had a plan, Daisy's blood pumped with anticipation. She switched off her computer, shoved the copy of the will in her bag, and wrote Solomon a note, sticking it to the middle of the front door after she'd slammed it shut behind her. Daisy Dunlop was going to find her man with or without the Irish git's help.

# Chapter Two

The drive up the motorway from Southampton to the historic town that was home to Langdon College had been uneventful, and parking easy to find. Fortified by a ham sandwich and a hot cup of tea from a delightful café on the main street, Daisy strode with a sense of importance. She crossed the cobbles, skirted around a group of Japanese tourists snapping pictures of everything in sight, and ducked down the narrow street that led to an old church.

Her feet sank into the moist, freshly mowed grass that lay like a green blanket in front of the gothic house of God. After one last glance at the ancient façade, she made her way through back streets full of crisp white-walled and dark-timbered houses decked out with hanging baskets of brightly colored busy lizzies, petunias, and geraniums that filled the air with the sweet scent of summer's last hurrah.

As she approached the college she pondered how to gain entrance. Maybe she should have booked an appointment, but it was too late now. She could pretend to be some hopeful parent, desperate for her son to be educated in the best of British style. However, if she were such a parent, she would know a little more about Langdon College than where to find it.

She decided to bluff her way in by claiming she had a meeting with the Principal, although if the porter checked she'd be stuck outside. It could be days before the Principal agreed to meet with her, and by then someone else might have found Toby.

An elderly gentleman fell in step beside her. "Are you here for the tour?"

"The tour?"

"Aye. The next one's at two. Looks like we might have a fair crowd joining us."

Daisy glanced over her shoulder. The gaggle of Japanese tourists she'd seen before were being herded toward her. Result.

She paid her six pounds at the gate and lost herself in the group. A middle-aged tour guide, resplendent in an old-fashioned gown and mortarboard, looked the business. Daisy could almost believe they'd stepped into the life shown in movies like Mr. Chips. Did they still cane the pupils? Everyone knew the stories and sniggered at the political scandals involving dominatrices and naughty boys. Maybe a childhood in a school such as this set the poor sods up for a life of sexual repression and quirky desires.

The guide grasped the front of his gown. "I'm Dempster Blanchette. At all times you must stay with the group. Should you wander off you will be prosecuted for trespass. These hallowed halls are home to scholars from some of the country's most eminent families, and their safety and security is paramount. Follow me."

He set a cracking pace. Daisy trailed behind the group, paying no heed to the guide's endless drone and the twittering of her fellow tourists. Dempster marched across another quadrangle pointing at various parapets, gargoyles, and windows. Cameras clicked around her as the Japanese photographed everything. Daisy hung back, feigning interest in a window box.

The group traversed the beautifully manicured grass, and Master Blanchette swept through a high stone arch with an imperious demand that everyone, "March this way." Instead, Daisy stepped to the right, out of his line of sight.

Pressed against the high stone edifice that had undoubtedly witnessed more than she could ever imagine during its long life, she held her breath. As the tour guide's voice faded into the distance she let the tension go, sagging against the wall. Now what? The place appeared to be an enormous ancient labyrinth with no signs pointing the way to anywhere.

She kept close to the wall, in the hope no one would look out of one of the many sparkling windows and set up a hue and cry to capture and eject the female invader from their elite masculine enclave. They would probably be as offended by her working-class background as her gender. No amount of practice had softened her northern accent. One word and the jig would be up.

A timber door in the southern wall stood out from all the others. Larger, intricately carved, and wearing enormous polished brass fittings, it seemed to be a proclamation that what lay behind it was of greater importance than what would be found if you passed through any of its plainer companions. Eyes focused on her goal, Daisy kept walking. The sound of deep male laughter brought her to a halt. Two boys jogged through a high arch, less than six feet from where she stood. Her breath caught in her throat. If they kept moving across the grass they might not see her. One of them turned his head, and she sighed and mumbled, "Shit," under her breath.

"Ned." The one who'd seen her tugged his companion's arm and nodded toward her.

The taller boy glanced in her direction. She guessed both of them were probably three or four years older than her son Sherman, so around eighteen. No doubt they were about to finish school, following in their fathers' footsteps to Oxford, and then life in the city. Ned grinned and she shivered. There was something manic in the way his wide mouth split his face and his dark-eyed stare took her in from top to toe. His focus settled on her chest, and she fought the urge to cross her arms to hide her girls from his lecherous inspection.

"Well, well, Bolton. What did you find for me?"

"Maybe she's lost? Maybe we should show her the way out?"

Ned slunk toward her. Next time she watched a documentary about lions she'd have more sympathy for the poor unsuspecting wildebeest. She lifted her chin and met the dark-eyed stare of the boy who now crowded her space, looming over her. He hadn't appeared that tall when he was across the lawn, but she figured he had to be hitting six feet four.

"What would a pretty lady like you be doing all alone in a boys' school?"

He ran a finger down her face and neck, and she batted his hand away before he could continue any further down her body. "I need to find the headmaster's office."

"Maggot Marlborough? Don't tell me you're one of the younger boys' mothers? Hey, Bolton, looks like we've got a real live yummy mummy. I haven't had one of those since Rogers' mother came to visit at half-term. She was a goer. I can't believe you didn't dip your wick."

Bolton's long, skinny face turned a deep shade of crimson. "She was drunk."

"So?"

"So you should have left her alone. And you should leave this poor woman alone as well. You're sick, Ned."

"And you're a simpering Nancy boy. I bet you haven't popped your cherry yet, have you? I've seen you watching me in the shower. I bet you'd love to have me if I'd just bend over and pick up the soap."

"I'm not gay. I just want to wait for the right girl."

"Every girl's the right girl if you're a real man."

Daisy met Bolton's gaze. "Don't worry, lad. Some things are worth waiting for, and real men know that."

Ned's minty breath caressed the side of her face as he pressed closer. "I think she likes you, Bolton."

Bolton grabbed Ned's arm. "Leave her, Ned. I thought we were bunking off to go and get drunk? I'll buy the first round. How about I give you the number for my cousin Emily?"

"I've had Emily. She bores me. I don't want a girl, I want a woman, and this one is particularly attractive, don't you think?"

When he pressed closer she wriggled to try and escape. Ned laughed. "Feisty." He grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms above her head. Daisy turned her face away as he tried to kiss her. Five minutes ago she'd hoped no one would see her, now she would give anything to have someone else discover she was on the grounds without permission. Ned pressed his knee between her thighs, and Daisy growled.

With a twist she freed a hand. Her fingers gouged his face as her left knee made solid contact with his groin. His elbow smashed into her cheek as he grabbed for his crotch. His shriek of pain was both satisfying and sickening. Ned fell to the ground, holding his no doubt crushed testicles. Bolton danced from foot to foot. The door Daisy had been heading for flew open, hitting the wall with a solid thud, and a huge bear of a man bore down on them.

"What's going on here? Bolton? Gilbertson?"

Ned rolled to his hands and knees and slowly pushed to his feet. His face was still pale, and sweat beaded his top lip and high forehead. "We found this woman trespassing, and when we tried to show her the way out she kneed me in the privates, sir."

The glowering man curled his great paw-like hands into fists and turned his attention to the smaller boy. "Bolton?"

Daisy pressed her fingers to her cheekbone, happy that although it ached, nothing appeared to be broken. As she turned her attention to Bolton she saw him swallow and glance at Ned. "Yes, Mr. Marlborough. That's what happened. Ned was showing her the way out."

Daisy snorted with disgust. Hands on hips she glared at Ned. This must be Maggot Marlborough. "Bullshit. They had no intention of showing me the way to anywhere. Although this Neanderthal, Gilbertson, seemed to think he should show me his dick. I'm not in the habit of being accosted by children, even ones who attend elite schools and whose parents are upper-class twits."

The man's eyebrows dived closer to his eyes and the line of his mouth turned grim. "What are you doing on the premises? And don't try to pass yourself off as a parent. I know them all."

"Aren't you going to punish them? Six of the best. I'm not a big advocate of corporal punishment, but if my son Sherman behaved like that with a girl I'd make sure his backside got a warming."

Marlborough glanced at the two boys. "Shouldn't you both be in Maths?"

Bolton nodded madly, and Ned rumbled, "Yes, sir."

"Then why are you still here?"

Bolton took off at a trot, but Ned hung back. "What about her?"

"Leave her to me."

Ned opened his mouth, but Marlborough lifted his hand. "Not another word. Now go."

Daisy watched the boys until they disappeared from sight. "Thank God for that. Now, if you'll just show me the way out."

Marlborough folded his arms. "Not so fast. You haven't told me why you're here."

Any idea she had about snooping fled under his fierce gaze. "I was on the tour, but I got lost. So, where is the way out?" She glanced from left to right.

"Didn't Mr. Blanchette warn you about the consequences of wandering off from the group?"

Daisy smiled. "Oh that. How about you don't prosecute me for trespass, and I won't call the papers and tell them one of your pupils attacked me?"

Mr. Marlborough snorted, and before Daisy could stop him, he grabbed her by the elbow and marched her across the grass toward the door he'd appeared from. She struggled. "Let me go. I'm not one of your children."

"If you were I would spank the truth out of you."

"Now you want to get into the spanking? You don't believe he tried to assault me? I suppose you think I smacked myself in the face. How about some medical attention? I could be scarred for life. Have you any idea how much facial reconstruction costs? Are you willing to risk having to explain to the parents that the funds for an extension to the school library had to be spent on a new face for an innocent woman brutally attacked on school premises?"

Her voice echoed as he dragged her down a bleak stone corridor.

"The Honorable Edward Gilbertson comes from a very prestigious family. You, on the other hand, appear to be up to no good. Manufacturing a story won't help. And believe me, whatever happened to your face could only be an improvement."

Her captor opened a large black door and shoved her inside. She stumbled in her ridiculous heels and grabbed the back of a dark brown chesterfield sofa to stop herself from falling. Marlborough stood in front of the now-closed door, folded his arms and stared at her. "Why are you really here?"

Daisy took a deep breath. "My name's Daisy Dunlop, and I'm looking for Tobias Wareham. I came here hoping someone could give me some information about him."

"But you didn't think to make an appointment?"

She shrugged. "What does it matter now? I'm here, and you're here. Perhaps you could tell me a bit about Toby, and I'll forget what happened in the quadrangle."

The man's eyebrows sunk so low on his brow they almost covered his dark beady eyes. The thin line of his already skinny lips didn't bode well. His voice shook with rage and spit showered out of his mouth as he yelled, "Sit down."

Daisy sank onto the sofa and rethought her position. "That's fine. How about we call it a mistake, a simple misunderstanding? I'll be on my way and say nothing more."

Marlborough opened the door. "How about I call the police and tell them you're not only a trespasser, but you're a journalist digging up dirt on former and current pupils?"

"I'm not. I'm not a journalist. I'm a private detective."

"Bolton's father is the chief constable, and Gilbertson's father is the Secretary of State for Justice. Do you still want to accuse them of something?"

Before she could answer he swept imperiously from the room and slammed the door. She jumped to her feet, but the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the ancient lock brought her flight across the room to a stop. She put her hands on her head and growled. "For fu— far out."

Now she wished she hadn't agreed to Paul's request for her to stop using the F-word. So what if it was setting a bad example for Sherman? Some situations required the F-word, and this was definitely one of them. There was only one horrible, humiliating way out of this mess. She sank onto the sofa and tugged her phone from her bag. "For God's sake. He'll be so full of shit. Bugger."

She unlocked the keypad and searched her contacts, found the name Paul had entered in for her only that morning, and then hit the call button.

*

Solomon sat on the edge of the bed and turned to smile at the woman running a hand down his back. Despite the hour they'd spent rolling around naked, she'd pulled the sheet up to cover her voluptuous breasts.

She smiled back. "Are you sure you can't stay a little longer?"

"If only I could, but alas, your husband would not be best pleased to find me in his house, never mind his bed."

"Or his wife?" She sighed and rolled away from him toward the bedside cupboard, revealing a pert backside and generous figure.

She turned back and handed him a fat yellow envelope. He dropped a kiss on her naked shoulder and got to his feet. While she might be uncomfortable letting him see her body now the deed was done, he had nothing to hide. She watched as he pulled on his pants, shirt, jacket, socks, and shoes.

He glanced at the photos strewn over the dressing table. "You've all the evidence you need, but if I can do anything more be sure to let me know."

"Thanks, Solomon. I guess you think I'm as bad as he is, screwing you to get my own back. Do you feel used?"

He chuckled. "No, to both questions. You're a fine woman, and no one can blame you for seeking comfort in the arms of another when you find your husband has been warming the bed of his secretary three nights a week."

"I thought you would come back and tell me I was being paranoid and you had no pictures for me."

"I'd thought the same."

"Clive used to be a wonderful husband." She blinked furiously, and Solomon hoped another bout of crying wouldn't follow. Providing solace to the cheated wife when he delivered the evidence wasn't a habit, although he had done it more than once or twice. He was a sucker for a woman in tears, but he couldn't stay. If she was to use what he had found to speed her divorce, and get a big settlement from her maggot of a husband, Clive Lewis, it was best he didn't ever know she had been shagging the man who took the pictures.

Solomon slid the fat yellow envelope into his jacket pocket and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "You've my number if you need me. You're a beautiful woman any man would be proud to have on his arm. Don't let your useless shite of a husband tell you anything less."

She pulled him down and gave him a long and intimate kiss before letting him go.

Solomon left the house, pulling the door shut behind him, and made his way to his black SUV. He lifted the corner of his mouth in a lopsided smile. Sex with no strings attached was the best sex of all. And it was even better when it came with a pocket full of money.

As he turned the key in the ignition the tinny jingle of his phone filled the air. He tugged it from his pocket and checked caller ID. Lisa. He clenched his teeth and tossed the phone on the dashboard, his good mood evaporated. Sometimes sex had enough strings to bind you for life.

He shoved the truck into gear and sped away with a screech of tires. His phone beeped to announce that a message had been left. He glanced at his watch. Lisa must have used every expletive she knew to describe him to leave a message that long. He would call her back, later. Solomon maneuvered around a bus stuck at a bus stop and contemplated what to do with the rest of the afternoon. If he went back to the office he would have to deal with Daisy. His cleaner would still be at his house, and she could talk the devil to death. The woman was a saint and could get blood stains out of anything, but that didn't stop her berating him for getting the blood on his clothes in the first place. The Shamrock Arms was close by. He'd stop in for a Guinness and to shoot the shite with some of his fellow countrymen. Give Daisy another hour and it would be safe to go back and lock the place up for the night. She must be bored witless by now.

A car pulled away from the curb, and Solomon swooped in to claim the space. With fifty pounds transferred from the envelope in his jacket to his wallet and his phone back in his pocket, he climbed from behind the wheel, slammed the door, and punched the lock button on his key fob.

His hand was on the pub door when his phone went again. Perhaps he should get it over with. The pint of Guinness would slide down easier without the knowledge that he still had Lisa to deal with. If the conversation left him tense, a second or third Guinness would soon fix that. He stepped to the side to allow another customer in and tugged his phone from his pocket. There was no caller ID, and he hesitated. He could refuse the call, but perhaps it was more work. With a sigh, he hit the accept button and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Solomon, is that you?"

"Daisy? How did you get my number?"

"I'm a detective. I detect things."

"Don't be a smart-arse."

"I'm not being anything. Actually what I am being is held hostage."

"Are you not at the office?"

"No. Why would I be? Not unless your staff get held hostage often."

"I don't have any staff."

"I guess you didn't get my note, then?"

"I guess not. Is there a point to this call? Only I have an appointment."

"Can you cancel it? I really am being held hostage."

"Daisy, what the feck do you want from me?"

"I'm at Langdon College. I was on the tour, and there was some nastiness and a simple misunderstanding. They seem to think I'm a journalist. Now they have me held in an office. They won't let me go, and they're threatening to call the cops. I'm too young to go to jail. I've seen what happens to attractive women in jail."

Solomon chuckled. "Don't worry yourself. You're not that attractive."

"Screw you, Solomon."

"If that's an offer I'll have to say no. I've got standards."

"Fine. If you won't come and get me, then I'll call Paul and tell him to bail me out at the police station. You'd better keep a tight hold of your balls, though. Paul told me you'd be looking out for me, and yet here I am about to be banged-up in jail for life. He won't be happy when he gets home from filling the country's ATMs with money and I'm not there to cook his dinner."

"I've tasted your cooking, Daisy. The man's digestive system would welcome the break."

"You arse-wipe. I'll just take my chances with the fuzz."

Solomon couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Calm yourself, woman. I'll be there in twenty minutes, and then you can tell me what you did to get the fine gentlemen at Langdon College so upset."

# Chapter Three

Daisy stared at the door and then at the clock ticking ominously on the wall. What if Solomon was full of shit and had no intention of coming to her rescue? So much for proving she was capable of being left to her own devices. She'd failed before she'd even begun. Solomon could be on the phone to Paul right now telling him how much danger she'd put herself in. If Paul freaked out she'd have to go back to working in an office.

Unable to sit any longer, she got up and looked around. A bank of filing cabinets stood along one wall. They were labeled, and she hovered at the drawer containing the W's. Would Toby be under W for Wareham or M for Mardon? She grabbed the handle and tugged, but the drawer wouldn't open.

She turned her attention to the desk. The keys must be somewhere. She pulled out all the drawers but found nothing. Papers were sorted in neat piles on the top. Two folders caught her eye. She flipped the first open. It contained planning details for a combined dance with St. Swithin's girls' school. She flipped open the second. Jackpot. Newspaper clippings about Toby's disappearance. How odd. She could take them with her, but what would be the point? She could get them all elsewhere. But the fact the headmaster had them on his desk had to mean something.

She'd tried to open the door already, but there was still the window. She slipped between the desk chair and the huge gaping maw that housed some serious-looking leadlight windows. The stone ledge that acted as the windowsill shone smooth from years of use. In her tight black jeans there was no way she could climb up to reach the window catch without assistance.

She tugged the only piece of furniture she could move to the window, took a deep breath, and climbed up onto the black leather seat. Her spike heels sank deep and she wobbled, grabbing at the window catch to steady herself. The ornate metal handle moved easily, and she squealed with delight. Who needed Solomon? Daisy Dunlop could save herself. After a couple of shoves at the frame, she realized the window opened inward. She pulled it toward her and scooted the chair she was balanced on across the floor to avoid banging the immense frame into her body. A squeal of excitement died on her lips.

"Bars?" The bloody opening was protected by metal bars. Obviously this office was used as a prison on a regular basis. Cool wind circled the room, blowing papers off the desk. Not yet ready to admit defeat, she tugged at the bars. The one in her left hand moved. She shifted her weight on the chair so that she could grip it with two hands. As she gave a great heave the chair spun out from beneath her. Her body slammed hip first into the solid stone wall.

"Ow, flip, for Fred's sake." Feet dangling about two feet from the floor, she had no choice but to give up and let go. She landed heavily and lurched sideways as she fought to balance in her heels. Hands flailing, she grabbed the edge of the desk and steadied herself. Now she was really screwed.

Male voices sounded in the corridor. The grating sound of the key turning in the lock had her scooting across the room in the hope no one would notice she'd been trying to escape. What she needed was something heavy to use to protect herself. She grabbed an owl-shaped metal ink well and balanced, ready to attack.

Mr. Marlborough stepped through the door. Solomon followed.

"Thank God." She dropped the ink well on the floor, threw herself across the room and hugged Solomon like a giant teddy bear. She came to her senses when a deep chuckle sounded in his chest. With a toss of her head she stepped back.

"Missed me did you, Princess?"

She glared at him. He had the bloody cheek to smile and wink at her. Between clenched teeth she spat out, "I didn't miss you at all. I never miss you. And my name's not bloody Princess."

"But you do need me to clean up the mess you've made?"

Daisy desperately wanted to forget her promise to Paul and tell him to fuck off. However she knew Solomon had the upper hand. The momentary pleasure of swearing at him could result in her being left for Maggot Marlborough to deal with and hours pleading her innocence. Without Solomon, her chances of avoiding a ride in a police car were slim. Assuming that was the only fate the ominous-looking headmaster had planned for her. She tugged her leather jacket straight and turned to focus on Mr. Marlborough. "Solomon, perhaps you'd like to tell this man exactly what I was doing here, and then we can be on our way."

"I've already told Mr. Marlborough that you suffer from an imbalance of the mind, and that your family hired me to find you, again."

She opened and shut her mouth a couple of times. "I what?"

Solomon closed the gap she'd opened up between them, wrapped an arm around her middle and tugged her so that her arms were pinned to her sides and her back was tight against him. His other hand clamped down over her mouth.

"Like I said, I'm sorry she caused you some trouble. I'll be sure to make certain she takes her medication and that the locks on the doors at the hospital are made more secure. Thank goodness I arrived before she escaped."

Daisy stamped her ice-pick-thin heel down on Solomon's foot, but his steel-toe-capped boots didn't give. She wriggled instead, desperate to knee him in the groin, or elbow him in the ribs. She wasn't mad. She'd been violated. And it had happened because she was trying to solve his damn case. A case he seemed to have no interest in.

Mr. Marlborough nodded his head. "Very well, Solomon. Seeing as it's you, I'll let it go this once."

"Right you are. We'll be on our way, then."

Solomon lifted her feet off the floor and marched out the door with her dangling helplessly in his grip. She could hear the footsteps of Mr. Marlborough following. "You will be here to play in the rugby on the weekend. The old boys' team is still very low on numbers."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Daisy gave up the struggle. She couldn't even bite the hand that still covered her mouth. Solomon was too strong. His arm felt like a band of steel around her middle, and her left hand was going numb from lack of blood. Did Maggot Marlborough mention rugby? Why would Solomon be playing rugby for the pompous pricks at Langdon College? Old boys? Jesus Christ, Solomon must have gone to school there. Surely not? He was hardly landed gentry. He was more brainless muscle than merchant banker. Another mystery she needed to solve.

*

Once they cleared the main gates Solomon loosened his grip and let her slide down his body. With a growl she stepped away from him, raising her fist, but before she could make contact he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket, fastened one bracelet around her right wrist and the other around his left wrist. He wasn't going to risk her getting into anything else. Bad enough she looked like she'd gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson. Paul would be pissed off.

She tugged at the cuff like the madwoman he'd told Mr. Marlborough she was. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Taking you back to the asylum."

"Fuck you, Solomon." She put her left fist on her hip and glared at him. "Did Maggot tell you what happened? No, of course not."

"You were trespassing."

"I was on the bloody tour. I got lost."

"Liar."

"Fine. Whatever. I was trying to get some background on Lord Tobias. Don't you think it's odd that when I mentioned his name Maggot wanted to call the cops? And he has a file full of newspaper clippings about Toby on his desk."

Solomon started walking, tugging her along with him. "Where's your car?"

"What sort of school does nothing when their pupils try to assault an innocent bystander?"

"What kind of crazy woman goes into an all-boys' school dressed like a teenage boy's fantasy computer game character?"

"What? So you think... What?"

She stood her ground, and he turned, giving her the once-over with his eyes. "You're like a red-headed Lara Croft in that getup, Princess."

"I dressed for work. My hair is strawberry blonde, and my name is not Princess."

Solomon couldn't keep the smug smile from his face. "So, Princess is the name of your boobs, then?"

She glanced down at herself and growled. Apparently she'd forgotten her figure-hugging black T-shirt had PRINCESS in pink sparkly script emblazoned across her chest. "You think I was asking to be molested? And since when did you become an expert on what turns teenage boys on?"

He chuckled. "I used to be one. And no woman ever asks for it, but Langdon College would never take your side. You can't threaten an institution like that."

"You went to school there, didn't you? That's why you're protecting them."

"Princess, you have completely lost the plot now." Solomon grabbed her hand and marched across the road, back toward the main street. "Are you parked behind Sainsbury's?"

"I'm right, aren't I? You went to school there. Maybe you're involved in the conspiracy."

"What? What bleedin' conspiracy?"

"The one that made Toby disappear."

"There is no conspiracy."

"So why won't they talk about him?"

"Because you violated their trust. You can't march in and demand answers. Subtlety is the key to getting people to talk, and you're about as subtle as a fecking jackhammer. If you were serious about this business, you'd take your time and ask me before going off chasing some mad idea."

"I did ask, but instead of answering me you left the office."

"Which is where you were supposed to stay."

"Fine. So we go back to the office, and you can teach me."

"Where are you parked?"

"Behind Sainsbury's."

Thankfully she shut up and walked quietly beside him as they weaved through the throng of school kids on their way home and shoppers weighed down with full bags. They got a few strange looks handcuffed together, but Solomon kept moving. The car park was full, but he had no trouble picking out her lemon-yellow hatchback. He let her hand go, and she tugged her arm, pulling the cuff tight around his wrist.

"You can let me go now. Unless you plan to come with me? In which case you can pay Paul the five pounds you made me owe him."

"What are you going on about now?"

She pulled herself up to her full height and gave him a glare that no doubt made most men shiver in their army surplus boots. However, Solomon had seen more than most men, and Daisy would need to pull a nuclear weapon from her arse before he would back down.

"Thanks to you, we've blown the case."

"There was no case to blow, Princess."

"That place is involved. I know it is."

"Bollocks."

Daisy glared at him. "Whatever. You can deny it all you like, but you can't deny that thanks to you I owe Paul a fiver for using the F-word."

He tugged his keys from his pocket and undid the cuffs. "Your choice of language is your own problem. I never asked you to swear at me, or for me."

She rubbed her wrist. "What is it with you and handcuffs? Why can't you play nice?"

"Why couldn't you stay in the bleedin' office where I told you to?"

"You said I didn't need to go out, not that I couldn't go out."

"You didn't bleedin' well need to go out."

"I was on to something."

"Bollocks." He leaned his butt against the driver's-side door of her car and folded his arms. "And anyway, where did that something lead you exactly? I'll tell you, shall I?"

Daisy folded her arms, imitating his stance. No doubt a technique she had learnt at some stupid seminar on sales and winning people's trust. However, she did stay quiet, so she was smart enough to know his question was rhetorical.

"It got you a smack in the face and nearly arrested for trespass. Go home, Daisy."

"Now you believe they attacked me?"

Solomon leaned closer to her. Cupping her chin with his left hand, he tipped her face to the side. A bruise was starting to bloom on her cheekbone, and the area was beginning to swell. "Never said I didn't, Princess. You need to put some ice on that."

"On what?" She pulled free and bent to look at her reflection in the car's wing mirror. "Shit."

He watched as she prodded the lump with her index finger.

"Ouch. Paul's going to go mental."

She spun around, and Solomon did his best to hide the smile that was threatening to break free. Daisy poked at his chest with her finger. "You're happy this happened, aren't you? I bet you think Paul will tell me to give up and go back to an office job. Well think again, buster. I've got ways to change Paul's mind you can't even begin to imagine."

He gave up the fight and let his mouth curl into a huge smile. She was amusing, in an annoying sort of way, and even better, she was right. Paul was going to tell her to give up, and Solomon would get his solitude back. "I doubt you can do anything I can't imagine, Princess." He leaned closer. "The question is, do I even want to imagine such a thing?"

Daisy shoved him aside, tugged her keys from her pocket, and pressed the button to unlock the car. He stepped back, and she slid in behind the wheel and glared at him. "Fuck you, Solomon."

He laughed. "That will be costing you another fiver. See you later, Princess."

She slammed the door so hard the car rocked on its wheels. The engine roared to life, and the car lurched forward. As he watched her speed away, a black leather-clad arm appeared out of the window and gave him the one-finger salute. That would cost her another fiver. He would pay fifteen quid and more to be a fly on the wall when Paul got home from work. Fingers crossed, her womanly charms couldn't overcome Paul's determination to protect Daisy from herself, and Solomon's life would go back to normal. Solomon pondered the odds before pulling his phone from his pocket and scrolling through his contacts list.

# Chapter Four

Daisy woke to the gentle sound of Paul snoring. She propped herself up on one elbow and watched him. He was beautiful when he was sleeping. The young soldier who'd swept her off her feet when she was still a teenager had grown to be a wonderful husband, considerate lover, and the greatest thing to ever happen in her life. She sighed. Paul deserved better. She should tell him about her trip to Langdon College. Lying to him, even by omission, was never a good idea. He'd been a military policeman, and no doubt knew a million ways to torture the truth out of someone. Not that he would ever torture her. The disappointment and the hurt in his eyes would be punishment enough once he found out the truth.

As if he sensed he was being watched his eyelids flickered. The blue eyes that had dazzled her the first time they met appeared from beneath his thick dark lashes.

"Morning, beautiful." The smile that slowly turned up his mouth was sexy and full of wanton desire.

He reached up and brushed his thumb over her bruised cheek.

"I need to tell you about what happened yesterday."

"No need."

"Really?"

"Solomon called."

"I bet he did. I can explain."

"Nothing to explain, beautiful. It wouldn't be the first time you'd tripped wearing those stupid boots. Although I prefer you don't smash your face into a car door next time."

She frowned. What the hell was Solomon playing at? He'd had the perfect opportunity to get rid of her and instead he'd made up a bullshit story to cover up what had really happened.

She should tell Paul the truth. She should. But then maybe it would be better to find out what Solomon's game was first. What did she even know about the Irish git? Other than he liked to handcuff women at every opportunity. "Paul?"

He scrubbed a hand through his short dark hair. "Daisy?"

"You're not worried about me, are you?"

"Do I need to be?"

"I was just wondering with my new venture. I'm not always...you know, very successful."

"Ah...you mean am I worried because in the past every other business idea went up in smoke, and in the case of the fish-and-chip shop, I mean literally went up in smoke?"

"Mr. Singh did say leaving the fat fryer on at the end of the shift was an easy mistake to make. And he got the insurance money so he didn't need to sell the business to me after all."

"And you didn't want to own it once you realized you had no aptitude, so it worked out for everyone."

"Exactly."

"And what was the upside to the time you wanted us to buy a pub and went working as a bar maid while I was stationed in Germany?"

Daisy wrinkled her nose. "It taught me that when a biker grabs your arse, and your husband's best mate starts a near riot over it, a pool cue is a handy weapon to use if you want to slow men down. Apparently hairy bikers don't find playing pool as much fun when you use their testicles instead of the white ball to try and pot the black."

Paul ran a finger over the one-inch scar on the right side of Daisy's forehead. "Lucky Solomon was there to rescue you, pool cue or not."

"I didn't need him to hit the guy. I could have handled it without the stitches, and the hours in police custody. I also didn't need to be handcuffed to our kitchen sink by Solomon until I agreed to give up my dream job."

"Solomon apologized for overreacting at the pub, and for chaining you up. He's a little intense and takes any task he's given very seriously." Paul pulled her down on top of him and kissed the top of her head. "Besides if you were stuck in a pub now how could you be an heir hunter?"

Daisy snuggled into his embrace. "I still hate him."

Laughter rumbled in Paul's chest. "Maybe you'll come to an accord if you're stuck working together for a few months."

Daisy pushed up onto her elbows and stared at him. "Months? Are you seriously thinking I want to work with him for months? Days. Days. Once this case is closed, and I have my share of the booty for finding the missing Lord Tobias, I'll set out on my own and show the world of heir hunting that Daisy Dunlop is a woman to be reckoned with."

Paul chuckled and silenced her with a kiss. When he let her go she stroked a hand down his cheek. "Are you sure you're not worried?"

"Not in the least. How much is the reward?"

"A hundred thousand pounds."

"Really?"

Daisy kissed his chest and looked up at him through her lashes. "Really. If we find Lord Toby you could be sleeping with a rich woman. Maybe I'll buy that boat you've always wanted."

Paul flipped her onto her back and pressed her into the mattress. "You know how to push my buttons, woman. Mention the word boat and my inner sailor takes over, and you know what they get up to when they're in port. Heave to and prepare to be boarded."

He kissed her shoulder and growled like a tiger, making her giggle with delight.

A thump sounded on the door. "Mum? You seen my football boots? I've got my first game at ten."

Daisy sighed. "Have you tried the back porch?"

"Not there. Can I come in?"

Daisy squealed and tried to shove Paul off. He looked over his shoulder toward the closed door. "No, Sherman. We're kind of busy in here. How about you go and look harder? Your mum'll be down in twenty minutes."

He glanced at Daisy and she giggled at him. "Twenty minutes? Someone's feeling ambitious."

Sherman banged on the door. "I heard that, and I don't need to know you're busy. TMI, man. TMI. I was left on the doorstep by aliens, and you never do that sex thing. You go to bed to sleep. End of."

Daisy heard Sherman's footsteps retreat and she relaxed. She sighed when Paul tickled her neck with his tongue.

"Now where was I? Oh yeah. I was looking for the cockpit."

"They only have those on planes not boats."

"From what I remember you're a real spitfire."

Pounding sounded on the door again, and Paul groaned in apparent frustration.

"Mum, can you come and get dad's underpants from the top of the telly? Ben'll be here to meet me, and he doesn't need to see that shit. Hell, I don't need to see that shit."

Paul sighed. "Language, Sherman."

"Mum says worse."

Daisy shook her head when Paul glanced at her. "Not lately I haven't. Well, not in front of Sherman. Actually, I owe you fifteen quid from yesterday."

Paul sighed. "We'll be down before Ben gets here. Now go and play with your Lego or something."

Sherman's voice echoed through the door. "Oh, I forgot, Solomon called. Said something about you having a breakfast meeting with him, Mum. Says he'll pick you up on the way."

"What?" Daisy sat up, shoving Paul so hard he nearly toppled off the bed. "When?"

"Half an hour."

"From now?"

Daisy climbed out of bed and snagged her pink terry toweling dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door. She tugged the door open and stared at Sherman. "From when, Sherman?"

"When he called, about twenty minutes ago."

The chime of the doorbell filled the air.

Sherman smiled. "Cool. That'll be him. I'll get it, shall I?"

Daisy nodded. She was not opening the door in nothing but a housecoat. She needed to shower and dress. "Shit."

Her efforts to dive back inside the room were thwarted when she slammed into the solid body of her husband. Apparently he'd given up on Daisy rejoining him for some amorous activities before breakfast.

She squeezed past him and shoved him toward the door. "Go and amuse him. Make him coffee. Chew the fat. And for God's sake don't let him find your underpants on the telly."

"I can't go downstairs and see Solomon like this." He looked down at himself. He was naked except for the cream linen bed sheet wrapped around his middle.

"Why not? You were both in the army. You must have showered together. Besides you're all covered up, and even if you weren't, he's got one of his own, I expect. Although, you can never assume anything where he's concerned. The lack of a penis could explain his mood swings and general bad attitude. He could be suffering from permanent PMS, or should it be MPS—missing penis syndrome?

"Daisy!"

"Okay, whatever. I can't stand around arguing about what Solomon does or doesn't have. I need to shower and dress. Put some shorts on or something if you're really worried about him ogling your body."

*

Solomon stretched his legs under the kitchen table and pulled the day's early morning edition of the local paper toward him, reviewing the headline about the corpse dredged out of the marina.

"Solomon?"

He glanced up at Sherman and smiled. The kid had grown since the last time he'd seen him. There was no doubt he was Paul's son even though he looked more like his grandpa than his dad. "What's up?"

"You wanna coffee?"

"Sure. Why not? I'm guessing your ma's going to be a while."

Sherman got busy with the filtered coffee maker. "Probably. You know what women are like."

Solomon chuckled. "So cynical for someone so young."

"I'm not young. I'm fourteen and nearly a man."

"No matter how old you are women will always be a bleedin' mystery. It's easier to solve a murder than work out how a woman's mind works."

"You ever solved a murder?"

"Sure. Someone has to. The cops can be a bit clueless at times."

"My mate Ben Maloney's dad's a cop. Ben says he's investigating the body that was pulled out of the water at the marina yesterday."

"Dan Maloney?"

"Yeah. You know him?"

"I do. And what does Detective Maloney think about the case?"

Sherman leaned against the counter and waved a teaspoon in the air. "Ben says the dude died of hypothermia, in the middle of September. Apparently he was frozen stiff. Definitely thinks it was murder. But they have no suspects yet. I think I might be a policeman when I finish school."

"How does your ma feel about that?"

"Haven't told her. You won't say anything, will you?"

"No, not a word. Your secret is safe with me."

The kitchen door opened, and Paul wandered into the room. "What's safe with you? You're obviously not talking about women because that would be a lie."

"And yet you ask me to watch over your wife."

"She might be headstrong and accident prone, but Daisy has taste, which is why she's my wife. Besides you have no problem getting women of your own to keep your bed warm."

Solomon raised an eyebrow. Track pants hung low on Paul's hips, and his hair stood up in tufts. "Speaking of women, busy night, Doughnut?"

Paul shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"So, you always keep your dirty undies on top of the television? I don't remember you being such a slob."

"Don't tell Daisy."

"That you're a slob?"

"No, that you saw my undies. She doesn't want you to know."

"That you wear boxer shorts or that you two have sex?"

A crash from the other side of the room drew their attention. Sherman stood with the handle to a mug in his hand, the rest of the vessel sat in two halves on the kitchen bench. "See what you did now? They don't. They don't ever."

Solomon laughed. "Sorry, Sherman. I forgot how it is to be a teenager and think about what your parents do in the bedroom, or in this case, the living room."

Sherman's face tightened up. "They sleep. They just fucking well sleep in the bedroom."

Paul stepped toward his son. "Sherman!"

Solomon glanced from father to son. "I think you owe your da a fiver for that."

Paul shook his head. "How come the mention of Solomon having women to keep his bed warm doesn't freak you out but a loving relationship between your parents does?"

"Because Solomon's cool, and you and mum... It's just wrong."

Solomon pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and glanced at the time. "Will the wife you don't have sex with be much longer? We're going to be late."

Sherman put a cup of black coffee on the table in front of Solomon. "You want milk? Sugar's on the table."

"Just sugar is fine."

Paul slipped into the chair across from Solomon. "Where's my coffee?"

"You can get your own. Ben'll be here in a minute." Sherman stopped next to Solomon and offered him his hand. Solomon accepted and gave him a firm handshake.

"Thanks for the coffee. You're a fine man."

"Maybe we can hang out sometime?"

"I'd like that, but you might need to check with your ma first."

Sherman sighed as he took his hand back. "Never mind. Laters man. Laters, Dad." Solomon watched Sherman disappear through the door and then turned to look at Paul.

"He's a fine boy. You're a lucky man, Doughnut."

Something crashed overhead. And the muffled sounds of cursing filled the house. Paul shook his head. "Are you sure about that? I'll go and see what's holding Daisy up."

Solomon followed Paul into the hallway. He could hear the buzz of conversation, and then Daisy appeared. He was momentarily speechless as she made her way down the stairs. She could not be serious? No self-respecting P.I. should dress in a black skirt that barely covered her arse, a shiny traffic-light red shirt, a black leather jacket that had seen better days, and black ankle boots covered in silver buckles and studs. The mass of curly strawberry blonde hair did nothing to tone down the outfit. Obviously she hadn't considered his comment about being subtle when she dressed. She would never fade into the background in that getup.

Daisy got to the bottom of the stairs and looked him up and down. "New suit?" She glided her fingers along his lapel. "Armani?"

The charcoal gray suit was new and was Armani. There was a revelation. She had an eye for fashion. All evidence to the contrary. He looked her up and down. "Old outfit? Oxfam?"

She flipped her middle finger at him before flouncing out the front door. He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed. Apparently his comment pissed her off.

She rummaged in her bag. "Where are we going? I'll meet you there."

He grabbed her elbow and steered her away from the hideous yellow hatchback. "You're with me. I figured it would be safer if we worked together."

"You mean you don't trust me to work alone?"

"I mean I told Paul I would look out for you, and yesterday I failed. It won't be happening again."

"Why didn't you tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

Solomon tugged his keys from his pocket and hit the fob button to unlock his four-wheel drive.

"About what happened at Langdon College?"

"Did you want me to?"

"Nope. But that's not the point."

"As much as I would love to discuss why I did or didn't tell Paul, we don't have time."

He held the passenger door open and waited for her to climb inside, averting his eyes in case the step up resulted in her flashing more than was already on display.

Once he was behind the wheel he buckled his seatbelt and fired the engine to life.

Daisy shifted in her seat. "This is not what I expected, and what's with the baby seat?"

"No one suspects a man with a baby."

"Of what?"

"Of anything, and when you're working as a P.I. you need to blend in."

"Hence the suit?"

"Exactly."

Solomon pulled the car away from the curb.

"Where are we going? Who are we meeting and what for?"

"You'll see soon enough."

He glanced at Daisy who scowled back at him. "You look like a bloody insurance salesman in that getup."

"And you look like a hooker so I guess we're both playing to our strengths."

"Screw you, Solomon."

His chuckle was met with a hostile stare.

# Chapter Five

Daisy focused on the menu, or at least pretended to; in actual fact she was hanging on every word Solomon's contact was uttering. The whole thing was fascinating. John Nesbitt would be a great man to know if she ever intended to develop her skills into investigating insurance fraud. So far they'd chewed the fat over a couple of past cases Solomon had worked on. Hopefully John would get to what he wanted from them soon. Finding Lord Toby was small potatoes compared to bringing a real-life villain to heel.

John glanced at her and smiled. "I hope we're not boring you talking shop?"

"No. Not at all. I had no idea Solomon was so talented." The comment was genuine. Solomon had his failings, enough to fill a scrapbook, but apparently the man could do his job, and do it well.

"I'm sure he has some talents I know nothing about. Ones that he keeps for the special lady in his life."

Daisy felt her face heat. "We're not together. I'm not with him. Not like that."

"Don't worry yourself, Daisy. You'll never be privy to my talents." Solomon smiled at John. "I should have done a better job of introducing you to each other. Daisy's thinking of setting up her own business as an heir hunter, so she's tagging along with me for a bit to get some ideas about how the job is done."

John frowned. "Ah, I see. Although her working with you surely doesn't preclude anything else? Unless you have a special non-fraternization P.I. code? If you have no objection, then—Daisy, would you care to join me for a drink one evening?"

She was flattered and mortified. As useless a word as nice was, according to her high school English teacher, John was nice, very nice. However, even if she were single, which thank heavens she wasn't, he wasn't her type. She preferred men like Paul, rugged, domineering, manly men. "I would love to, but I'm married."

"Lucky man."

Solomon chuckled, and Daisy kicked his shin. His grimace made her smile with satisfaction. The arrival of the waitress put an end to the increasingly embarrassing conversation.

Daisy toyed with the idea of having the full English breakfast. She was glad she let the boys order first when they both opted for muesli and freshly squeezed juice. Following their example she ordered the same, even if health food and muesli was right up there with eating sheep testicles in her book. Not that she had ever had testicles, but she could imagine they would be disgusting, slimy and rubbery. She shuddered at the thought.

Solomon nudged her elbow. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine. I was just thinking about...nothing."

John reached into the satchel resting on the seat next to him and pulled out a manila folder. "I guess we should get down to work."

Solomon took the folder and opened it. Daisy wiggled her chair closer to him and peered over his arm. He glanced at her. "What is it that you're doing?"

"I need to read it."

"This is my case, Princess."

John reached into his satchel and pulled out another folder. "How about you read my copy for now?"

Daisy smiled. "Thank you, John."

Solomon shook his head. "Shall we get to what it is you want from me?"

Elbows resting on the table, John leaned closer. "We have reason to believe there's a well-planned and widespread life insurance fraud going on. If you read through my notes you'll see that we've had three suspicious deaths in the last months. All of the deceased had taken out large insurance policies in the weeks leading up to their deaths."

The notes were comprehensive and not something Daisy could easily read in the time they were together. Fortunately, there was a case summary on the first page. She scanned the loopy script and raised an eyebrow.

"The Somerset Club?"

"What?" Solomon glanced over her shoulder.

"They were all members of the Somerset Club in London."

John smiled. "Indeed. And you'll note that all three of them died in circumstances that meant identification was impossible."

Daisy read on. "One never came back from a trip up Mount Everest. The second was believed drowned on holiday in the Canary Islands. His body was never found. And the third died in a house fire that slowly consumed his body over a long period of time so that only his left leg survived. Reminds me of a TV show I watched once on instantaneous human combustion." She shivered. "Ew."

Solomon laid his folder on the table. "Do you have anything other than the sudden interest in life insurance and the strange manner of death to go on? Two of the people surely would be wanting insurance if they planned to climb mountains and holiday abroad."

"The Somerset Club." Daisy grinned in satisfaction. Solomon clearly had no idea.

"What about the bleedin' Somerset Club?"

"Do you want to tell him John, or shall I?"

John leaned back. "Go right ahead."

"The Somerset Club is an exclusive gentlemen's club in London. You have to be loaded to be a member. Which begs the question, why did three filthy rich men need life insurance, and why did they die just after taking it out? Suspicious or what?"

Solomon shrugged. "I'll take your word for it. So have you anything else, John? What exactly do you think happened to the dead men?"

"I don't believe they're dead."

Daisy frowned. "What about the charred leg?"

"Someone else's."

"Another person died?" Daisy tried to think of a better explanation. "Or maybe a leg that had been amputated at a hospital. Or how about a leg stolen from a dead body? They could have broken into a funeral parlor and sawn a leg off a cadaver before it was buried." She looked at Solomon. "We should check to see if any funeral homes have reported a break-in."

Solomon stared at her. "I had no idea your brain was so full of shite. Do you think you can phone the police and ask if anyone reported a missing human leg? This isn't Hollywood, Princess. This is real life, which is far more boring and logical than any bleedin' movie plot."

Despite her desire to appear professional in front of a client Daisy couldn't resist sticking her tongue out at Solomon. Her brain was not full of shit, and who knew where the leg had come from? Besides, she had an "in" with the police. Ben's dad had loose lips after a few too many beers.

John's deep melodic laughter broke the tension. "An active imagination might be a good thing. Who knows the depths of human depravity?"

Solomon turned his attention to John. "We only have your suspicion that the leg is not exactly what it appears to be. You could be taking two and two and making seven. Insurance companies aren't known for their implicit faith in humanity."

Daisy frowned. "Can't you do DNA testing and prove it?"

John shook his head. "The police used DNA to try and identify the body, but no luck. Apparently he has no living relatives we can test against. It came down to the butler identifying him by way of a distinctive mole on his big toe."

"Who is it that gets the money from all these policies?" Solomon asked.

John leaned over and flicked a few pages ahead in Solomon's folder. "Frank Mayberry's estate, and then we assume it gets paid out to his widow, Samantha, twenty-five years his junior. Giles Beckitt's only living relative is his cousin, Maureen. Our best guess is the estate pays out to her. You might know Maureen; she goes by the pseudonym Phat Kitty."

Daisy flicked a few pages on in her copy to catch up. "Phat Kitty, the singer?"

Solomon snorted. "If you can call what she does singing?"

He had a point. Daisy couldn't see the appeal herself. "Well, I guess with a few million pounds she can finally afford that drug habit and have enough left over for some clothes. The woman must freeze in the winter."

John chuckled. "Not a fan, then?"

"Nope, but my son Sherman is. Not that I'm sure he has any interest in her singing."

Solomon sighed. "How about we leave a discussion on the sex drives of fourteen-year-old boys for another day and get back to the case."

John whistled. "Really, you don't look old enough to have a teenage son. Does she, Solomon? You are definitely way too yummy, no insult intended."

"I have no desire to discuss anything about Daisy being yummy or otherwise, and neither do you. She's married to my best mate."

Daisy smiled. "Well, thank you, John. Ignore Solomon. He's not a morning person. However, you're clearly a man with taste and discernment at any time of the day."

"Daisy." Her name came out of Solomon's mouth as a growl. "He's clearly a man with more than insurance on his mind, and you have Paul. Remember?"

She'd completely forgotten Solomon had an overactive protective gene when it came to her, or more likely, Paul. Flirting with another man would likely set him off. John was in danger of losing more than Solomon's agreement to help him solve the mystery if she kept going.

"I do remember."

Solomon shoved the files to one side as their meals arrived. Once they were all tucking into the cardboard and dried fruit Daisy now regretted ordering, Solomon picked up the conversation.

"What about the third man with the charred leg? Who gets his money?"

"Stuart Bligh. It goes to his estate, and we believe the main beneficiary is his butler, but his solicitor, Liam Sparks, is refusing to cooperate," John said.

Daisy shoved her bowl aside, deciding she would rather wait until the meeting was over and get something decent to eat. There was a great place across the road that did doughnuts and coffee to go. "Aha, a potential conflict of interest, then? The butler could be in on it."

"Absolutely. Anyway, everything we have is in the file. We haven't reported it to the police yet. We want to know more before we take that step. If you need anything else you know how to get in touch. We'll pay the usual fee on a successful outcome and five hundred a day plus costs to hire you either way if you accept the case."

"Five hundred pounds a day. Solomon. He wants to pay us five hundred pounds a day. What's the success fee?"

"Point five percent of the insurance cover."

"Point five percent of a million is five grand. How many million were the policies for?" Daisy flipped through the pages in the folder and totted them up in her head. Ten. Ten million. "Jesus. Solomon, do you know how much that is?"

"I do."

"Say yes. You have to say yes." She turned to John. "We'll take it."

Solomon shook his head. "Make a note for me to give you lessons in negotiation." He smiled at John. "It appears I'll be taking the case."

Daisy slammed the folder closed. "We'll be taking the case."

"I'll be taking the case, Princess. You still have a lost heir to hunt."

"What? Why? I thought we were partners?"

John took the folder Daisy had been looking at and slid it into his satchel before getting to his feet. "I'll get the paperwork for the contract started and have it sent over for signing." He held out his hand, and Solomon gave him a firm handshake. John smiled at Daisy. "It was a pleasure meeting you. Good luck with your new venture, and if you ever think about moving into solving insurance fraud give me a call. Solomon has my number."

Solomon glared at him. "She won't be needing your number."

He patted Solomon on the shoulder. "If you say so. I'll give you a call later in the week to see how things are going."

Daisy watched John until he left the café. "Why can't I work for John?"

"It's dangerous."

"Crossing the road is dangerous."

Solomon pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw some notes on the table. When he lifted the folder and slid it under his arm, and then got to his feet and headed for the door, Daisy followed.

"How is this going to work? If I'm not on this insurance case with you but you can't leave me on my own, how do I find Lord Toby exactly?"

Solomon sighed as he held the door open and let her exit first. "I have it all sorted. Don't worry your pretty little head."

"You can be such a patronizing bastard sometimes."

"Only sometimes? I must be slipping."

She checked her watch. "We need to get moving."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"I made an appointment last night."

"With?"

"A man who might be able to shed some light on why Lord Toby needs to be found."

Solomon unlocked his SUV and opened the passenger side door for her. "What man?"

She glanced at the open door and then across at the café. "Just a second. I'll tell you when I get back."

She sprinted across the street to the sound of the door slamming and a loud exclamation of "Bollocks."

# Chapter Six

Solomon pulled the car into the parking lot behind the office that housed the law firm of Lewis, Leviston, and Smythe, amongst other businesses, as Daisy requested. He'd been here only a few nights ago. Not that anyone had seen him.

He'd refrained from asking her what the esteemed lawyers had to offer in the way of assistance when it became evident any reply from Daisy would result in his upholstery and carpet being showered with more crumbs and sugar from the disgusting doughnuts she'd consumed on the journey. He squeezed his SUV into an empty spot marked for clients and switched the engine off.

Apparently full, Daisy shoved the remnants of her second breakfast into the empty bakery bag and unbuckled her seatbelt. "Ready?"

Solomon frowned. "For what exactly?"

She lifted her voluminous bag from the back seat. "To find a missing heir, of course."

Before he could ask anything more she got out of the vehicle, slamming the door closed. This was undoubtedly a waste of time, but if he let her go in alone she might sneak out the front door, and then he would have to use more of his day looking for her.

He followed Daisy's lead. She entered the back of the modern chrome-and-glass building and didn't even hesitate to read the sign telling her which floor she needed. Clearly, she had visited before.

"What are we doing here, Daisy?"

She pressed the call button for the elevator. "Watch and learn."

When the polished steel doors slid open they stepped inside. He leaned against the wall and watched as she fussed with her hair, adjusted her boobs, and smoothed her tiny skirt over her arse. They were going to see a man. A man she obviously thought she could flirt into giving up information.

"I think you should do up another button on your shirt and perhaps wear my jacket."

"Why? Do my boobs bother you?"

"Not at all, but then they're not on display for me, are they?"

"Do you wish they were?"

"Christ. No."

She laughed. "Don't get your boxers in a bunch."

"I don't wear boxers."

"TMI. I do believe you're flirting with me, Solomon. Tut-tut. What would Paul say?"

"I'm not flirting. I'm stating the facts, and besides, Paul knows I'm not the least bit interested in his wife."

"So why are you flirting with me, then?"

Solomon stepped closer, and she stared up at him.

"Why are you?"

She laughed. "Because I know it pisses you off. And you?"

He took another step so that she was forced to back up into the corner. Her focus shifted from his face to his shoulder. He leaned into her and whispered, "If you want to make this a pissing contest, Princess, I'm happy to comply. I could out-flirt you in a heartbeat and make you really uncomfortable. Want to try me?"

She glanced back up at him and smiled. "So, you admit it. You were flirting, then."

Before he had a chance to reply the doors slid open. He followed Daisy into a bland reception area. A small red leather sofa was the only visible splash of color in a sea of black and white. Even the blonde receptionist must have been hired for her monotone clothes and pale, washed-out complexion.

Daisy approached the desk. "Daisy Dunlop and Solomon, to see Mr. Lewis."

The receptionist glanced at Solomon. "Mr. Solomon?"

He shook his head. "Just Solomon."

"Please take a seat, and I'll let him know you're here."

Daisy crossed the tiled floor and sank onto the sofa. Solomon hovered close by. The thing was too small and intimate for two people who were nothing more than colleagues.

He remembered when Paul had come back after a week on R and R with his bag stuffed full of photos of Daisy. Paul told him they'd met when he'd run to help her out of the gutter after the heel on her shoe had broken. From that moment the man was smitten. He'd determined to be Daisy's knight in shining armor, even though it looked to be a full-time occupation. Solomon was happy for him. Daisy was a pain in the arse, but he'd never doubted how much she loved Paul. Things would have been great if he hadn't been such a fecking jealous bastard on Paul's behalf. It wasn't his place to chain her up and keep her out of the reach of other men. He needed to keep himself on a short leash or this business with Daisy would end the same way as the last time they'd been together.

She glanced up at him and he smiled. A frown wrinkled her brow, and he sighed. She probably thought he was a mad bastard. One minute he was overprotective and moody, and the next he was smiling at her. Perhaps he was mental, although he'd been fine until she'd blown back into his life.

"Mr. Lewis is ready for you. Second door on the left."

Daisy had already clambered to her feet and was striding down the corridor before the receptionist had finished speaking. Solomon smiled at the woman and followed behind Daisy, intent on ignoring the sway of her arse in the tight skirt. She was being deliberately provocative.

*

Daisy stepped into Clive's office. Nothing had changed, other than the flowers on top of the cupboard behind his desk. The walls were still cream, the thick plush pile carpet deep red, and the furniture polished American oak. Clive Lewis stepped around from behind his desk to accept Daisy's handshake, pulling her close enough to kiss both cheeks.

"Daisy. Lovely to see you. Things have never been the same since you left."

"You mean no one has sent you the wrong client, accidentally set off the fire alarm, or dropped a full cup of coffee all over Derek's files, or in a client's lap?"

Clive laughed. "Good times. Good times."

"I'm not sure Derek would agree."

"Manfred got over the coffee thing. Rumor has it he even cancelled the contract on your head. And as for Derek, it's about time he retired. This place could use livening up. God knows, the new girl has the personality of a plant pot."

"What happened to Shirley?"

"I had to let her go this morning. Some unpleasantness with my wife."

Solomon snorted and mumbled. "I bet there was."

Clive stepped back and looked Daisy up and down. "You don't look a day older, and you're just as beautiful as I remember. Are you here to tell me you've thrown over your husband at last and are ready to run off with me?"

The sound of Solomon clearing his throat appeared to get Clive's attention. "Sorry. You're not ...?"

"Her husband? No." Solomon stepped up next to Daisy. She could sense his death glare, the one that could no doubt wring the truth out of the most hardened terrorist. Clive moved back behind his desk, fingering his wedding ring.

"I'm Solomon, a private detective who specializes in photographing philandering men, and a good friend of Daisy's husband."

Daisy glared at him, and he eased back from the macho bullshit stance he'd adopted. This was not going to work if Clive was scared witless. "Solomon is a colleague."

Clive glanced from one to the other. "What?"

"We're both private investigators." Daisy motioned toward the visitor's chairs. "Do you mind?"

Clive's smile looked forced. "No, of course not." He slid into his own chair and cleared his throat. "So, is this a business call?"

Daisy pulled a seat closer to the desk and sat, staring at Solomon until he did the same. "It is."

Clive tugged at his tie. "Are you investigating me? I've got nothing to hide. Open book. Wide open."

The poor man was sweating. Solomon was ruining everything.

"Not at all. I know you're beyond reproach. I wanted to ask you a favor. How about a coffee and I'll explain all?"

"Good idea." Clive hit the intercom button on his phone. "Gloria, three coffees, please."

He didn't wait for an answer. "So, a private investigator. What do you investigate?"

"All sorts, don't we, Solomon?"

"Aye, although like I said, I do a fine line in spying on philandering husbands. You've no idea how many of them screw around at the Plaza Hotel. Did you know you can see into all the rooms from the building site across the street? Gives the tradesmen something to watch in the afternoons. Tell me, Clive, are you a man who likes the curtains open or closed?"

Clive ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at the door. Daisy stamped her heel down on Solomon's foot and didn't even bother to hide the smile when he grimaced. Apparently Santoni shoes didn't have steel toe-caps.

"Clive." Daisy leaned forward to pull the copy of the Duke of Mardon's last will and testament from her bag. Despite his apparent fear of Solomon, she noticed that Clive didn't hesitate to glance at her cleavage. She sat up and smiled at him. "I'm looking into the disappearance of Lord Tobias Wareham. I've got a copy of his father's will, but you know me and lawyer speak. I knew if anyone could translate it into English for me, it would be you."

She placed the document on the desk and nudged it toward Clive. He picked it up and smoothed out the creases. Gloria arrived with coffee, and Daisy played mother, adding two spoonfuls of sugar to one cup and passing it to Solomon, before standing and placing a cup at Clive's elbow. He glanced up and smiled.

Daisy retook her seat, added milk and sugar to her cup, and sipped her drink. After what seemed an eternity, Clive looked up and smiled. "This isn't really my area, but it is damn interesting stuff. How did you get a copy of this? Unless it's received probate it won't be on the public record and even if it did receive probate it won't be available for months."

She glanced at Solomon. He shrugged. "I've got my sources."

"Understood. I have a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy. That way if I ever get tortured I can deny all knowledge." Clive handed the document back with a high-pitched titter.

Daisy refolded the will and laid it in her lap. "So, can you tell me what it all means, Clive?"

"Absolutely. The property is entailed so it passes with the title to the closest male heir, and all of Lord Mardon's unentailed money and property goes to Tobias. Unless Tobias refuses to accept his inheritance, or dies before accepting it, in which case it goes to his older brother, Elliott."

Daisy frowned. "So what's interesting about that? Elliott gets the property and Tobias gets the money. Easy."

"Not that simple. The will says that if Tobias is unwilling or unable to accept his inheritance it can only pass to Elliot once a paternity test has been done to show he is Lord Mardon's son. If the test is failed, then there is a possibility the entailed property would go to Tobias as the remaining legitimate son, if he's still alive, and if he isn't, then all would go to the next male heir."

Solomon leaned forward, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. "So, in a nutshell, Lord Mardon has tied up the estate so that if Tobias isn't found, and Elliott fails the paternity test, he doesn't get the house or the money because he's not the firstborn son."

Daisy still didn't get it. Why go to all the bother? "Are you thinking that Elliott isn't Lord Mardon's son?"

Clive shrugged. "Why put it in the will if you don't have any doubts about his paternity?"

"What does finding out if Lord Mardon is Elliott's father have to do with Elliott looking for Tobias?"

Solomon turned his focus to Daisy. "If Toby doesn't show up, then it could be interpreted that he doesn't want the money, triggering the need for the paternity test."

Daisy nodded. "And if Elliott isn't the son of the duke he loses everything. Surely he can contest the will?"

Clive rested his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. "Of course he can, but such proceedings are usually drawn-out and expensive. By the time they're done, there might not be enough money left to cover the death taxes. Better to have Lord Tobias accept the money. If he doesn't want it, he can hand it over to his brother, and if he does, they can come to some agreement that allows them to pay the taxes and keep the estate."

"Interesting. Well, I guess we now know why there's such a huge reward for his safe return." Daisy got to her feet and smiled at Clive. "Thanks for helping us out. Should I give Gloria our address so that you can send us a bill?"

Clive shook his head. "No need. You can buy me dinner when you've collected the reward money."

Solomon pushed to his feet and growled, and Clive tittered. "Or not. Just kidding. Happy to help. On the house. Nice seeing you."

Daisy grabbed Solomon's arm and dragged him from the room. She didn't let go of him until they were back in the elevator. "What is wrong with you? It's no wonder you're so bloody aggressive. You need to stop eating that health shit and get some red meat into you. The man was helping us."

"He was flirting with you. When you worked here, did he ever...?"

"Did he ever what? Molest me? Ask me on a date? Or, heaven forbid, flirt with me? Most men flirt, Solomon. It's natural. When you're not acting like a gorilla, you do it too. There's a big difference between flirting and inappropriate behavior, and I do know where to draw the line."

"Your friend Clive doesn't. He has very strange ideas about how to handle female employees, especially in bed."

The door to the elevator opened, and Daisy stomped out. "How do you even know that? Is that what all that Plaza Hotel bullshit was about?" She stopped and slapped a hand over Solomon's mouth. "Don't say a word. I don't want to know. I don't need that picture in my head next time I see Clive."

When she got to Solomon's SUV she stood, hands on hips, tapping her foot. Now she knew why Toby needed to be found she was even more determined to get some background information on him. Why had he gone missing? Had it been Elliott's fault, and the paternity test was the old man's way of getting Elliott to find him? And if he didn't would Elliott prove to be someone else's kid? Too many questions. One thing she did know, though, was that grown men didn't easily completely disappear without any money.

# Chapter Seven

Solomon drove in silence. Once he got back to the office he was going to start working on his own case, and leave Daisy with the missing heir. He had to admit she was showing some aptitude. First lesson of being a P.I., build contacts and use them. However, he preferred she not do it by flirting and seducing the information she wanted out of other men. Hopefully she would hit another brick wall, and he could move on with his plan to have her quit from boredom.

What he really needed was an excuse to get out of the office for a couple of hours. The less time they spent together the better. She would drive him nuts; or rather her being right about his behavior would drive him nuts. He knew what he was doing. His reaction was extreme when it came to other men flirting with her. Her bare legs were in his peripheral vision. Perhaps if she agreed to dress in a nun's habit he would be less prone to bouts of testosterone enraged jealousy on Paul's behalf.

Daisy's voice broke into his thoughts. "Cheer up. It might never happen."

He glanced at her. "What might never happen?"

She smiled. "Whatever it is that has you so gloomy. We're finally onto something. I can feel it in my waters."

"What?"

"I mean we have some information that could crack this case wide open. Feeling it in my waters is something my mam used to say. Didn't your mam say it?"

"Not that I remember."

"Not that you remember your mam, or not that you remember her saying it?"

"The latter."

"So you do have a mam, then? I did wonder. Any other family?"

He shrugged. Some information he preferred to keep to himself.

"You must know if you have family. Is there a daddy Solomon and other Solomon siblings? Come to that, is Solomon your first or last name?"

"Neither." He pulled into the parking space behind their office and climbed out of his SUV before she could grill him some more.

She caught up to him when he got to the office door. "Neither? What kind of answer is that? So why are you called Solomon, then?"

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Her laughter made him smile. One thing about Daisy, unless you cocked up monumentally she was usually quick to bounce back. She seemed genuinely excited about the case, and might even have thawed a bit toward him. However, no amount of happy on her part would make him spill details about his family.

He shoved the key in the lock. "Will you be all right by yourself for a bit? I've an errand to run."

"I thought we were going to get to work together on our cases?"

"I have a case, Princess, with a retainer and a promise of payment. You have an heir to hunt that might lead to no monetary reward at all, unless you're the first one to find him. Now, don't go anywhere. When I get back I'll see if you've made any progress."

When the door swung open she stepped inside and he followed.

"Progress how?"

"I'd start digging into why Lord Mardon suspects Elliott isn't his son."

"Good idea."

Solomon continued through the office and down the corridor.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to change." No way was he spending the rest of the day dressed in his best getup.

*

Daisy shrugged off her jacket and tossed it on the back of her chair. She glanced down the corridor and watched Solomon unlock and disappear into his secret lair. Resisting the temptation to snoop, she pulled the will from her bag and threw it on the table before putting her bag under the desk. Finally, she pressed the button to fire up her computer. The screen flickered to life, demanding her user name and password. She entered both and then crossed the office.

Before she did any investigating she needed coffee. She wandered down the back corridor toward the kitchen, slowing her pace as she passed the usually locked room. Her fingers itched to try the handle, but she knew if she shoved the door open and spied a naked Solomon inside, he would go mental and she would need therapy. In his jeans she would gauge him a seven out of ten on the cute-butt-o-meter, but that didn't mean she needed to see the thing in the flesh. No bum on earth could compare to Paul's fantastic, chart-topping ten.

The sound of the office door opening made her spin on her heels. Belinda's head appeared. "Is it safe?"

Daisy backtracked. "Belinda. Sure, come in."

The blonde stepped into the office and glanced around. "Is he in?"

"Solomon? He's out the back slipping into something more comfortable. Hopefully a gag and straitjacket." Daisy trudged back to her desk. "Take a seat. He won't be a minute."

"I didn't come to see him. Not really."

"Not business, then?"

"Coffee. The shop is dead so it doesn't take two of us to look after it. As I'm the boss I was going to give myself the rest of the day off, and then I saw you both drive in and thought you might like to take a break and have a coffee with me across the street. I'm guessing Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous is difficult to work with. Intense men can be such a handful. Anyway, I thought half an hour of mindless chatter might be a stress reliever."

"Daisy's going nowhere."

Belinda spun around and Daisy grinned. The man was like a panther. She would have mentioned Solomon was approaching, but the woman hadn't taken breath long enough for Daisy to say anything.

"Solomon? I was just chatting to Daisy." Belinda was doing well. Her voice was calm and level, but no one could withstand the death stare for long. Sure enough, the poor girl's face turned a deep shade of red.

"Daisy chats far too much."

Belinda shoved her hand out toward Solomon. "We've spoken a couple of times, but we've never officially been introduced. I'm your neighbor. Next door. Belinda the florist."

"I thought the shop was called In Bloom?"

"It is. In Bloom. I'm Belinda. Belinda the florist."

He raised an eyebrow and took her hand. "So you said, Miss The Florist. I'm the intense man known as Mr. Dangerous, amongst other things, apparently." Daisy thought she did a great job of hiding her snort of laughter with a cough.

Belinda glanced from Solomon to Daisy and back again. "Perhaps you could both join me for coffee."

Solomon smiled. "I've a better idea. Why don't you go and buy a coffee and bring it back here. If you're with Daisy she can't escape, and it'll save me handcuffing her to the desk."

"Gosh, handcuffing. Do you handcuff a lot?"

Daisy snorted. "More than is normal for a single man in civilian life."

Belinda fiddled with the buttons on the front of her pale green shirt. "Oh my. I've never been handcuffed."

"Would you like me to handcuff you both to the desk before I go out?"

"Handcuff me with Daisy?"

"Unless you'd prefer to be handcuffed with someone else?"

Belinda pulled her hand from Solomon's grip. "Someone else? What...? No. That's...that's fine... I'll go and buy coffee."

Solomon chuckled as she skedaddled across the room and out the front door.

Daisy leaned back in her chair. "That was mean, toying with the poor woman like that. And yet you have a problem with my flirting. When was the last time you saw me turn a grown man into a puddle?"

Solomon raised an eyebrow and then headed toward the front door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"When will you be back?"

"Later."

"Do you want me to wait up for you?"

"I want to find you right there with your butt in the chair and some evidence of work being done, so don't be planning to spend the rest of the day discussing me with Miss In Bloom."

"Someone has a high opinion of himself."

"I'm not blind, and in case you get any ideas, I'm not interested."

"In Belinda?"

"In women in general."

Daisy sat upright and stared at him. "What? Solomon? What are you saying?"

The door slammed behind him, and Daisy stared at the space he had just vacated. What was he saying? Paul seemed to think Solomon was into girls. He couldn't be gay, could he? No, that would be ridiculous. As far as she knew you couldn't be in the army and be gay. Was that why he was so secretive? Surely not. If he was he hid it well. She'd never seen him with a woman, but he sure as hell knew how to flirt with them. Perhaps he had performance issues. He could have been injured. What did she know about him? Nothing. Not even his real name. Every question she asked he parried. He had secrets, she could smell them.

# Chapter Eight

By the time Belinda got back with coffee, Daisy had started a search for the dirt on Elliott Wareham's parentage. Surely if there had been mutterings, someone would have said something sometime. Of course Elliott was in his forties, so a lot older than Lord Toby. The Internet wasn't around back then. She did stumble across a family history website for a Littlemeister Family that had links to the Warehams. The site showed the various branches of the Wareham lineage. She should be able to work out who would benefit if Toby stayed missing and Elliott was proved illegitimate, but it showed nothing untoward about Elliott's parentage.

There weren't any dates for births, deaths, or marriages. Apparently speculation that the next Duke of Mardon was a bastard wasn't interesting enough to be included on the site, or the Littlemeisters were too afraid to mention it for fear of reprisals. Years ago Daisy had helped her mam do some digging into grandma Dobbins' side of the family, much to Aunty Katherine's consternation. The old lady kept muttering about a dark past. The only dark past they'd discovered was generation after generation of men that went down the pit. Digging for coal wasn't the dark past they'd been hoping for.

Belinda placed the coffee on Daisy's desk and glanced over her shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Daisy hesitated. Should she tell her? Why not, it was hardly a big secret.

"Grab the chair from Solomon's desk, and I'll tell you."

Belinda put her coffee next to Daisy's, and then pulled the chair over and sat.

"Did you go to school around here?"

Belinda nodded. "St. Swithin's."

"Got any brothers who went to Langdon College?"

Belinda shook her head. "Sorry, no brothers. But I did see some of the Langdon boys from time to time. They all seemed very dashing to a bunch of teenage girls forced to live in a virtual nunnery."

Daisy recalled the papers on Maggot Marlborough's desk. "School dances, by any chance?"

"Absolutely."

"I don't suppose you happened to meet Tobias Wareham, did you?"

Belinda smiled. "Oh yes. Rather more than a meeting actually."

Daisy grinned. "Jackpot. Did he ever tell you anything weird about his family?"

"Why? What exactly are you up to? Are you trying to find Tobias?"

"I'm heir hunting, like they do on that TV show. Have you seen it?"

"Bits of it. Heir hunting sounds far more exciting than making up funeral wreaths and wedding bouquets. What can I do to help?"

Daisy lifted her cup of coffee and took a sip. "Tell me everything you know about Toby and his family."

"Okay, I'll trade you."

"For?"

"Everything you know about Solomon."

Daisy nodded her agreement. She felt sure Belinda was about to get duped. What Daisy knew about Solomon could be written on the back of a postage stamp.

"I met Tobias when he was at Langdon College. The older boys used to join in with St. Swithin's Girls' College for dances. I guess they wanted us to learn to be comfortable in social situations with the opposite sex. Tobias was extremely comfortable. In fact I seem to recall he was comfortable with almost all of the sixth form girls. Or he was until he got to me."

"A womanizer?"

"A cad for sure." Belinda sighed. "He was quite the dashing young man, and he came with a title. Most of the girls were desperately in love with him."

"But not you?"

Belinda shook her head. "Not at first. Not really. My feelings were more lust than love. I wanted a good time, and Tobias knew the in and outs."

Daisy chuckled. "I bet he did."

"I had no plans to marry into the landed gentry, even though Mummy would love to hobnob with the real upper crust. I think that's probably why Tobias and I lasted as long as we did. He knew I wasn't into him for his title, and he was happy to have a girl who would sleep with him despite who he was, not because of it. Tobias had a great sense of humor and appeared a little wayward, but I prefer my men rough around the edges. More like Mr. Dangerous."

The news that Solomon had declared his disinterest in women in general, and the blonde florist in particular, would be a disappointment to Belinda. However, Daisy would keep that information to herself, for now. No point in interrupting Belinda's walk down memory lane, or put her off track by telling her the bit of rough she had her eye on wasn't looking for some upmarket totty.

"Toby?" Daisy nudged.

Belinda sighed. "He turned out to be a little more than I expected."

"Really? What? In the trouser department?"

Belinda's coffee sloshed dangerously close to the edge of her cup as her body shook with laughter. Daisy rescued the cup and placed it back on the desk before she was called upon to perform an emergency clean-up of Belinda's pristine white pants.

The poor girl wiped her eyes and sucked in some air. "Criminy, you are so funny, Daisy."

"I am?" As far as Daisy was concerned she was just doing her job, asking questions.

"You are. Anyway, back to Tobias. I had no complaints about him in the trouser department, as you so eloquently put it, however, the brash, confident womanizer turned out to be something else altogether."

"What?" Daisy was on the edge of her seat.

"He was a very deep-feeling soul. His heritage hung around his neck like a millstone. The thought that someday he might inherit the family heap, as he called it, along with the responsibilities of being the Duke of Mardon depressed him deeply. He wanted to surf the beaches of Australia, trek through the Andes, drive the length of Route 66. He wanted to be free of the weight of his family's past."

"Why would he become the duke? What about Elliott?"

Belinda shrugged. "He never said anything more."

"So if he found out he was the rightful heir to the family throne do you think he would have run off to escape the whole thing?"

"I've got no idea. I only saw him once after he went up to Oxford. I met him for the day. He was busking in Leicester Square. It was during the summer holidays. He was dressed like a hobo and living in a squat, but he said he had never been happier. I took him back to my hotel room, and we ordered room service."

"And?"

"He was talking about dropping out. He'd got into a lot of causes like animal rights and gay rights. I think he saw himself as a modern-day hippie. I told him he was mad, but he said as long as he had his Strat he would always be happy."

"Strat?"

"Guitar. It was a white vintage guitar rumored to have been owned by Jimi Hendrix and autographed by Keith Richards. Probably worth a fortune, but life was never about money for Tobias."

"I guess when you've got plenty of money you can afford to be blasé about it."

Belinda smiled. "You think people born with silver spoons in their mouths don't worry about money?"

Daisy shrugged, not wanting to appear judgmental.

"They do, Daisy. Well, some of them do. Even if they have a lot they worry it will all disappear and they'll have to learn to live without it, or alternatively, they're like Tobias and wonder if people only want them for what they have. I think he was searching for love. He didn't seem to get any from his parents."

"How so?"

"The Duke had Tobias's life all mapped out and had no time to listen to what his son actually wanted to do. His mother was a lush. Seems the duke never got over the death of Elliott's mother and had little love for his new young wife. She'd done her duty when she had Tobias. Once the old man had his heir and a spare he could see no further use for her."

"What do you think happened to Toby?"

Belinda smiled. "I hope he found his dream." She took a long drink of coffee and placed the cup back on the desk. "If you want to know if he's alive or dead, I'd look for his guitar. Find the guitar and you'll find Tobias. He would never part with it. There's a shop called Fretland somewhere in town that's supposed to be a guitar specialist. He used to rave about it. Not sure it's still around, though, but if it is they would be a good place to start."

"Do you know anything about Elliott's mother?"

"No. I do know Tobias and Elliott didn't get along, but then, what siblings do? My sister is positively beastly to me."

"You know the duke's estate is looking for Toby, don't you?"

"Yes. I saw it in the paper."

Daisy sipped her now-cool coffee. At last she had something to work with.

"Now your turn."

Daisy glanced at Belinda. "What?"

"Tell me all you know about Solomon. I can hardly work out how to win his affection if I know nothing about him."

"His affection. Is that what you're calling it?"

Belinda's face turned pink and she laughed. "You are awful, Daisy. Okay, maybe his affection isn't what I mean."

Daisy sighed. "His affection isn't what you're going to get either."

She had no clue what to tell Belinda. How did you politely tell someone the lust of their life wasn't interested? He could have been lying to dissuade Daisy from playing matchmaker, but it seemed cruel to have the poor girl dreaming about something he claimed she could never have.

The sound of the front door crashing open was a godsend. Daisy spun her chair around, but the person stomping into the office wasn't Solomon. The scowl on the dark-haired woman's face distorted her features. She looked as mad as hell.

"Where's Ronan?"

Daisy frowned. "Who?"

"Solomon. Fucking Solomon. Where is he?"

The woman stomped through the office and down the corridor. Daisy took after her. "You can't go down there. He's out."

The front door slammed shut, and Daisy turned her head, hoping to see Solomon arriving in time to save the day, but it seemed Belinda had bailed on her. Coward. With two of them they might have been able to throw the crazy woman out. She was skinny and tottering along in six-inch platform heels. Daisy could take her on alone, but everyone knew mental people had superhuman powers.

The woman grabbed the door handle to the locked room.

"You can't go in there. It's locked."

"Not for fucking long it's not. I know you're in there, Ronan. Get out here and be a man."

She stepped back and ran shoulder first into the door. It didn't budge.

"Stop it or I'm going to call the cops."

The woman's laughter was maniacal. "Call them. I'm sure Ronan would love them to see what he keeps hidden in here. Has he told you about his freaky obsession with another man? I bet he stalks the guy."

She backed up and kicked the door with her huge platform heels. The sound of splintering wood sent her into a frenzy, and two kicks later the door flew open. Panting, the woman stepped inside. "He's not here?"

"I told you he wasn't."

"Fuck." The woman stomped back down the corridor toward the office.

"Where are you going?"

"To find the cheap bastard."

"What am I supposed to tell him when he comes back and finds the door kicked in?"

She shrugged. "Tell him Lisa called, and it's his turn to have Molly for the weekend. Oh, and I want this week's money, or I'll be putting his nuts in a vise."

"Money? Molly?"

The woman disappeared out the front door, slamming it behind her. Who was she, and why did Solomon owe her money? Christ, the baby seat wasn't for show. Molly must be his kid. No wonder Lisa was pissed off. She probably had plans for a happy family, and Solomon was apparently off women.

Daisy stared through the now-open doorway. The room had a single bed shoved against one wall, and a bank of wardrobes and cupboards along the other. Did Solomon live at the office? Either way he certainly appeared to be a neat freak. You could bounce a coin off the bed, and were those hospital corners? She stepped inside and chewed her bottom lip. Now the door was open she could take a little look around. What harm could there be in knowing more about Solomon—or Ronan, as Lisa called him?

# Chapter Nine

Solomon sipped his soft drink and waited for his lunch companion. The café door swung open, and the man of the hour stepped inside. Apparently in no hurry, Detective Dan Maloney stopped to chat to the waitress. The girl giggled and blushed. Dan winked at her and then made his way across the room.

Solomon sighed. "I see you've lost none of your charm with the ladies."

Dan held out a hand and Solomon took it, giving a firm shake before letting go. The detective sat in the empty chair across the table and raised an eyebrow. "What can I say? The women love me."

The waitress arrived, blushing all over again when the detective turned on the charm. Solomon ground his teeth. Nothing pissed him off quicker than a philandering husband...or wife. Once the waitress had taken their orders and they were alone, Solomon rested his elbows on the table. "I wanted to call in the favor you owe me."

"I suspected as much. So what is it?"

"What do the police know about the suspicious death of Stuart Bligh?"

"Stuart Bligh?"

"When his body was discovered in his burnt-out weekender in the New Forest there was only one leg left."

"I heard about that, but it's not my case."

Solomon leaned closer. "I'm sure you can put that charm to good use and find out a few things."

"What exactly do you want to know?"

"How the fire started and, if the police suspect foul play, who they have in the frame for it?"

"Not much, then."

"Have you not heard any murmurings in the office over your morning doughnuts and coffee?"

"Very funny. Kerry has the case, and he likes to keep things close to his chest. Besides, I've been busy."

The waitress arrived with a Caesar salad for Solomon and a large bowl of steaming pasta and sauce for the detective. Maloney was whippet thin. Either he worked out a lot or he had a great metabolism. Solomon ran for miles, but there was no way he would devour that many carbs in the middle of the day unless he was bulking.

Solomon lifted his fork. "I heard you're working on the case of the frozen corpse."

"Not just one frozen corpse. It's the second in a month."

"Interesting. Have you any leads?"

Dan shrugged. "Some."

"And were both the bodies found around here?"

"Nope. One was in Poole Harbor. They were semi-frozen, but here's the thing"—Dan waved his fork toward Solomon—"Both of them had their teeth pulled out, faces bashed in and the ends of their fingers were missing."

"Whoever murdered them is trying to hide their identities. What would be the point of that unless their identities will lead you back to the killer?"

"Not likely. We know who the dead men are. Two homeless bums. Both mid to late twenties. Medium build. Blond hair. Both came to the area to look for work and dropped off the radar. No one knows when exactly they went missing off the streets. One of them had a social worker who was trying to get him into rehab for substance issues, but they only met him once a month, so we can't pinpoint when he disappeared."

"How did they die?"

"One drowned and the other appears to have been suffocated."

"So it's a nutter with a thing about blond twenty-something men and a large freezer that you're looking for?"

"Exactly."

Solomon shoved his half-empty plate aside. "Well, good luck, Detective. If I should hear anything on my travels I'll be sure to pass it on."

"And then expect another favor?"

"Cynicism is not a good look on anyone."

"Realism is, though. I'll give you a call if I find out anything about your barbecued leg."

Solomon patted the detective on the shoulder and made his way onto the street. He glanced back to see the waitress bent over the table. No doubt Maloney was enjoying the view of her cleavage.

Daisy had been in the office alone for a couple of hours. She would be wanting lunch. There was a café that did food to go on the way back to his SUV, and he had a feeling Daisy would love the sorts of sugary, unhealthy fare on offer. He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the icon for the tracking app.

* * * *

Daisy tried to resist checking out Solomon's personal space, but her inner snoop won out. She now knew, despite his claims to the contrary, he wore white boxer briefs, had an overdeveloped tidy gene, and trusted no one. Apart from clothing, the cupboards contained nothing of interest. The safe however would no doubt hold an encyclopedia's worth of information about the Irish git. Maybe his desk in the office would reveal more. She resisted the temptation. Finding out Solomon's secrets could wait for another day. Besides, she already knew more than she did yesterday. He was off women. Some crazy bitch with a love for big shoes was after him for money, and he probably had a kid called Molly. A smile spread across her face. Ronan. He didn't look like a Ronan.

She sat back at her desk, opened a Word document and added bullet points of all that she knew about Toby. There was the unusual guitar, Elliott's parentage, and maybe she would find something more if she could look into the duke's finances. Where to start, though?

She typed, "Jimi Hendrix guitar for sale" into Google and a dozen links to sites popped up. After clicking on all of them, and finding none of the instruments were white, she gave up. She brought up the Yellow Pages and searched for music stores in Southampton. A list flashed up, and she clicked on the link for one that claimed to be a guitar specialist. The website stated that the store was called Strummers, but had formerly been Fretland. Bingo. She pulled a notebook from her bag and wrote down the address.

She switched off her computer and shrugged on her jacket. Fingers crossed Toby had hit hard times and sold the damn thing. Hopefully the store could give her some ideas about where to go looking for the sale, and the seller.

Her stomach rumbled. Where the hell had Solomon got to? She should probably wait for him to get back. Her gaze shifted down the corridor toward the open door to the secret room. Solomon would go apeshit when he saw it. Maybe she could call a locksmith. On the other hand Lisa had done a fantastic job. A locksmith would probably recommend a whole new door and a carpenter to fit it. Then it would need to be painted. No way could she get that all done before Solomon showed up. And even if she could, who was going to pay for it? No, it was best not to be around when he came back. Besides she had a hot lead to follow up.

# Chapter Ten

Daisy's feet were throbbing by the time she got to the music store. Tomorrow she planned to dress in jeans and sneakers. She might even go and visit a gym. Just to see what went on. If she planned to do this job for real, she might need to consider the shape she was in. Not that Paul complained about her curves. He said he loved having something to hold onto while he took the ride and had no interest in banging a washboard. She sighed. Paul was freaking perfect. Had Lisa thought Solomon was her Mr. Perfect?

She shoved the shop door open. A loud buzzer heralded her arrival. A gangly dude with the palest complexion she'd ever seen and blond dreadlocks that stuck up like pineapple leaves lifted his head. "Afternoon."

Smile firmly in place, Daisy crossed to the counter. "I wonder if you can help me."

"If music's your thing, I'm your man."

"Groovy."

He grinned, flashing a gold tooth. "Lady, no one says groovy anymore."

Daisy leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter. "I'm no lady. My name's Daisy, and apparently I'm a bit of a dinosaur."

His gaze dropped to her chest and then shifted back to her face. "You don't look like any dinosaur I ever saw."

"See a lot of dinosaurs, do you? Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Levi."

"Okay. Levi. I'm looking for a guitar."

He glanced over her head. "Whole wall of 'em over there."

"I want a very particular guitar."

"If we don't 'ave it I can order it in."

"I'm looking for a Strat formerly owned by Jimi Hendrix and autographed by Keith Richards."

"Funny, don't see you as the sort to be into Hendrix and the Rolling Stones. I would 'ave picked you as more of a Red Hot Chili Peppers fan."

"Hendrix and the Stones are a bit before my time, Levi."

"The Stones don't belong to a time, Daisy. They're eternal, like God."

"My little heart might not go pitter-patter at the thought of Mick Jagger strutting his stuff, but it does speed up when I find the perfect instrument. I'm a big guitar fan." She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a level she hoped was deep and seductive. "Do you have my perfect instrument, Levi?"

"Nope."

"Bugger."

"Don't carry old stock, but I might be able to put you in touch with someone who owns such an instrument. Only thing is, he likes to be discreet."

"Discreet."

"Yeah. You know. Doesn't want people poking their nose into his business."

Daisy plastered on her best innocent face. "I never poke my nose in anywhere. I just want to buy a guitar."

"Give me your number and I'll pass it on."

Daisy picked up a pen off the counter and scribbled her name and number on the back of a pamphlet advertising music lessons. "Call me."

Levi folded the pamphlet. "Count on it."

"Bye, Levi."

He smiled. "Bye, Daisy."

She strutted across the shop and out the front door. Now what? Her stomach rumbled. She might find lunch and then head back to work. Hopefully if Solomon was at the office he would have had enough time to calm down about the door by the time she got there.

A strip mall across the street had a bakery advertising pies and cakes. She crossed at the lights. A black SUV pulled into the car park and slammed on the brakes, stopping inches in front of Daisy. The driver's-side window wound down, and she met the fierce gaze of Solomon. Busted. So busted.

"Get in, Princess."

"How did you find me?"

"Get in." His eyes were all steely CIA interrogator.

"I was hungry."

"Get in."

"Did you go back to the office yet? Because it wasn't my fault."

"What wasn't your fault?"

"Nothing. How about you go to the office, and I'll grab lunch and take the rest of the day off?"

"How about you do as you're told and get in?"

"What about lunch?"

"I've eaten already."

"Well, I haven't, which is why I left the office."

He lifted a paper bag off the passenger seat. "I bought you this."

"You did? That's sweet, but I really had my heart set on a cake, not that health shit you munch on."

"I've got cake."

She chewed on her bottom lip. There had to be a way to avoid going back to the office with him.

"How about we drive down to the Marina and eat by the water?"

"How about you get in the bleedin' car and stop wasting my time? You were supposed to stay put and work on finding your missing heir."

"If you haven't been to the office how did you know I'd gone out?"

"I'm a P.I. Knowing things is my business. Besides, you never do what you're told. Now are you going to get in, or do I have to get out and throw you in the back?"

"You wouldn't, would you?"

His only response was a scowl. She was all out of excuses, and if she ran he would soon outpace her. Going to the gym moved up her list of priorities. With no options left, she strolled around the car and climbed in the passenger side.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as she fumbled to do up her seatbelt. Once she was safely buckled in he gunned the engine and peeled out of the car park.

She opened the glove box and started rummaging.

"What is it that you're doing?"

"Looking for some tunes."

"I don't have any."

"Of course you don't. What about the radio, then?"

"What about you tell me why you really left the office."

"I will if you will."

"What?"

"Why did you leave in such a rush?"

"I had a meeting."

"With?"

"Detective Maloney."

"About?"

"The leg."

"Good idea. I thought I might have a word with Dan myself. He's very forthcoming after a beer or two."

"Stay away from him."

"Why?"

"He's a womanizer."

Daisy laughed. "He's married."

"So."

"So why would you think he's a womanizer?"

"Is he a man?"

"Of course."

"Does he have a penis?"

Daisy shrugged. "I guess he must have one. He does have a kid, and Bridget has never complained that he's not up to the job."

"Well, then, he's a womanizer."

"What about Paul? He's got a penis."

"Doughnut's different."

She wasn't going to argue with that. Paul was different. He would never stray. However, why Solomon put him in a different category to the rest of the male population was a mystery. She glanced in his direction. His focus was on the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel, jaw set like concrete. Now wasn't a good time to ask. She'd wait until he was more relaxed, and in a sharing mood before broaching the topic of his relationship with Paul.

"If you only need a penis to be a womanizer, does the opposite apply?"

"What?"

"You said you're not interested in women before you left the office, so can I assume you don't have a penis? It sure as hell would explain why you're so grumpy all the time. Sexual frustration is such a bitch."

"I can't even begin to imagine how your brain works. I'm not discussing my wedding tackle with you."

"Good, because I really don't want that picture in my head. I'll just keep assuming you don't have any. You're like a Ken doll."

Solomon glanced at her. "I prefer G.I. Joe or Action Man."

"Hmm, a man who knows his dolls. Cute. Next you'll be telling me you're in touch with your feminine side and love romantic comedies and large tubs of chocolate ice cream."

"Shut the feck up and eat, Princess."

Solomon glared, and she turned her attention to lunch, grabbing the bakery bag from the middle console. "Yum. You got me a ham bap and chocolate cake. I could kiss you."

"There you go with the bleedin' flirting again." Solomon shifted his focus from the road to Daisy, and she turned on an innocent smile.

The journey continued in silence. As soon as Solomon pulled the SUV to a stop outside the office Daisy grabbed the bag with her cake in it and climbed out. "I'll go and buy us both a coffee."

Solomon climbed out and locked the doors. "What?"

"Coffee? I can't eat cake without coffee. I'll get you one too, no charge."

She didn't wait for a response. The bigger the distance between her and Solomon when he found his kicked-in door the better.

# Chapter Eleven

Solomon watched Daisy sprint across the street toward the café. The day before she'd all but torn him a new one when he ordered her to get coffee, and now she was scuttling off without being asked. Buying her lunch had been a good idea. Even though her conversations were weird and inane at times, and she flirted like it was a competition, her heart was in the right place. Shame she worked at pissing him off like it was an Olympic sport.

He jogged down the steps to the office, pulled the key from his pocket, and turned it in the lock. The door swung open, and he stepped inside. Something was wrong. He could see light spilling into the back corridor. Light from a room that he kept locked. He ground his teeth. No wonder she'd been in such a hurry to buy coffee. She'd probably gone to Starbucks in the High Street. In fact she might not be back with it until tomorrow. Obviously her curiosity had got the better of her.

He made his way through the office and down the corridor. The door had been kicked in. The lock keeper hung from the door frame by one screw. He stepped inside and inhaled the faint scent of spicy perfume.

"Fecking hell." It was worse than he thought. Daisy wasn't responsible. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen to bring up the personal GPS app. Daisy hadn't run far. She probably thought he would jump to conclusions and go mental at her. Either that or once Lisa left she'd snooped and found something. He opened the safe at the back of the cupboard and checked the contents. His gun sat on top of the pile of documents just the way he'd left it, and everything appeared to be in place. There was nothing else in the room that would be of interest to anyone so Daisy couldn't have discovered anything from snooping. The question was, what had she found out from Lisa?

* * * *

Daisy sat at the counter in the florist's. Belinda was busy building a wedding bouquet with red and white roses.

The blonde looked up from her work. "So, if that second cup of coffee isn't for me, and you don't want to talk about the woman at the office earlier, why are you here?"

"I was on my way back with a cup for Solomon and thought I would update you about Toby."

"Any luck?"

Daisy shrugged. "Not sure. I met a guy, who knows a guy, who could have a guitar like Toby's."

Belinda smiled. "Talk about vague."

A cool breeze hit the back of Daisy's legs as the bell above the shop door tinkled. She could tell by the way Belinda's pupils dilated and her cheeks turned pink who had entered the store, but she refused to acknowledge him. Although she guessed he wasn't breathing fire if Belinda was smiling at him like a lust-filled fool.

"Finding someone who might know something is a start. I did think this whole heir-hunting thing would be more exciting, though." Daisy raised her hand. "Hi, Solomon."

The barstool she was sitting on was swiveled around until she was face-to-face with him.

"How did you know it was me?"

"I'm an heir hunter. Detecting people is my thing." She tried a smile, but it failed to melt his icy demeanor.

"Maybe you can come and help me detect who kicked in the door to my room."

He grabbed her wrist, and she squealed as he pulled her to her feet. She struggled, but his grip tightened. "Don't make me use the cuffs."

Belinda sighed. "I wish I could help you detect stuff."

"If you want to be handcuffed to the Irish git you need to work harder at pissing him off. A woman not doing as she's told is his kryptonite."

"Daisy," Solomon growled.

Hmm. She was no longer his princess. "I'm coming." She picked up his cup. "Look, I bought you coffee."

He took it from her with his free hand, and she reached out and grabbed her cup. Belinda waved as Solomon dragged Daisy across the shop.

"See you later."

Daisy glanced at Solomon and back at Belinda. "If you don't see me tomorrow call the cops before searching the office for my dead body."

Belinda's laughter followed them outside.

Solomon loosened his grip. "Are you going to behave and do as you're told? Because if you run off, I will hunt you down."

"Yes, master. You do know that whatever you think I did, I didn't."

He indicated for her to go down the steps first, and she sighed. She might as well face the music. The office door was unlocked and she entered, crossed to her desk, and sat. Solomon followed her inside, slamming and locking the front door behind him. His jaw was set like he was gritting his teeth. Maybe she should call Paul to talk Solomon down before he did something stupid.

She shrank back as he marched toward her. He only stopped when he was way too close. Arms folded, legs wide, and icy glare in place, he hovered over her.

"What happened?"

"I'm guessing you already know what happened. Some crazy woman showed up and kicked your bedroom door in."

"And what did you do?"

"Why am I getting attitude? It was nothing to do with me. What if she'd got the wrong idea about why I was here and thought we were a couple? She might have kicked my head in. Man, she was batshit crazy. It was probably just as well you were out or she might have set to on your nuts, assuming you're only missing a penis."

For a second she thought Solomon was going to smile, but if he'd been tempted he fought hard to hide it.

"Anyway. She kicked the door in and said it was your turn to have Molly on the weekend, and that you need to pay her this week's money."

"And did you go and look through my stuff?"

Daisy got busy sipping her coffee. She could say no, but if he'd already used his magical detecting skills and knew the answer was yes, it would really piss him off. She'd seen him go mental once before in that bar brawl, and she didn't want to see it again. Besides, he was using the CIA interrogator stink eye on her.

"Yes. Okay. I did. I looked. And all I have to say is, I would never have picked you as a white boxer briefs man."

"Anything else?"

"You have an unhealthy obsession with tidiness."

Solomon stared at her for a few minutes longer, and then he wandered across to his own desk.

Daisy sighed with relief and leaned back in her chair. "Do you live here?"

"No."

"Where do you live, then?"

"In a house."

"Who's Molly?"

"No one."

"What about Lisa?"

Solomon looked up from his computer. "What about her?"

"Did she used to be your significant other?"

"None of your business."

"Why do you owe her money?"

"Again, none of your business."

Daisy shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Thanks for sharing. I feel like I know you a whole lot better now."

"You know me better than most." He glanced at her and smiled. "Only a select few get to see my underpants."

"I didn't want to see them."

"Then you should stop sticking your nose in where it's not wanted. Who knows what you might get an eyeful of next."

"Didn't you ban flirting?"

"I did, for you. Fortunately I can be trusted, so your comments about my underwear have no effect on me. I am impervious to your female wiles."

"Wiles?"

Her ring tone sounded and she grabbed her phone from her bag. She didn't recognize the number. Solomon would have to wait for a scathing reply.

"Hello."

"I hear you're in the market for a guitar."

"I am. Did Levi tell you the details?"

"I've got them. I'll be at the Staff and Flagon for the next half an hour."

"Who should I ask for?"

"You don't ask at the Staff and Flagon."

"What do you look like, then?"

A deep chuckle that reminded her of Peter Cushing sounded down the phone. "You'll know me when you see me."

The phone went dead, and she shivered. Did she really want to go to a pub notorious for drunken brawls and loose women on her own? It was the middle of the afternoon. How badly could anyone behave in broad daylight? She glanced at Solomon. The other option was to take the Irish git with her. He looked at her and frowned.

"Who was it?"

Daisy got to her feet and grabbed her bag. "No one important."

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"When will you be back?"

She shrugged. "Later."

"Daisy..."

The door slammed behind her. Now he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end for once. Perhaps next time she asked him a question she'd get a sensible response.

# Chapter Twelve

Daisy paid off the cab driver and entered the dingy pub. The stench of stale beer and sweat filled the air. A babble of male voices slowed and stopped. She smiled and gave a little wave in greeting. Way to go. The bar was full of men. Fat men, skinny men, bald men, hairy men, young men, older men—but they were all men. Except for the busty brunette behind the bar, who was definitely a woman. Head held high, Daisy crossed the room. This was the twenty-first century. Women were allowed in pubs on their own, even dodgy ones. The barmaid shook her head.

"You must be brave, stupid, or both."

"Why?"

"That lot have been in here since the doors opened. It's Mick's bachelor's do, and they're waiting for the stripper to arrive. You don't look like the stripping sort, but they're wound up so tight any woman will do. If she doesn't show up soon, we'll both be fighting to keep our clothes on."

Daisy leaned forward and whispered, "Aren't you afraid?"

"Nope. I've taken my kegs off for them before. The wages in this place are shit, and those boys pay well. So, are you staying?"

Daisy glanced around the room and noticed a man sitting alone in the corner. He looked like an escapee from a seventies rock band. If Steven Tyler ever retired, this dude could step in and take his place, assuming he sang and didn't just dress the part.

"I'm staying. I'll have a white wine please, and another of whatever the guy in the corner's having."

"Zut?"

"If that's his name, then yes, Zut."

"That'll be twelve pound fifty. I'll bring 'em out to you. You might want to watch for wandering hands on your way over."

Daisy took a deep breath and skirted around the edge of the group of rowdy blokes. Thank God she'd caught a cab. If Solomon were there he'd go mental. Although if Solomon were there he would also protect her from the man who currently had his hand halfway up her leg.

She glared at the offender and grabbed his arm. He winked and tugged her toward him. Unable to stop the momentum she slammed her heel into the top of the man's foot. Sneakers were no match for spike heels. He grimaced and let go. She leaned closer and whispered, "Don't touch me again. And before you ask, I'm not a stripper, and the last man who assumed I was is still in hospital. The doctors are searching for his left nut, which I pocketed behind his liver with a pool cue."

The man's face paled, and the conversation hushed.

"You all right, Mick? Don't tell me you've finally got the balls to try and hook up with a woman now Sonja has you firmly on a leash." The pimple-faced youth sitting to Mick's right snorted into his pint. "Too late to sow your wild oats now. You'd have to ask Sonja to give you your balls back first. If I'd have known you were interested I could have given you some of me leftover women. They're not fussy about a man's performance."

She could imagine any woman who hooked up with pimples was desperate enough for anything. In forty years he would slip into the role of dirty old man with no problem at all. Daisy turned her attention to the man who had accosted her. Apparently she'd been fondled by the groom. Now she looked at him she could see he was a lad in his early twenties. She felt bad humiliating him at his own buck's show. The boy was probably just overenthusiastic about enjoying his last moments of freedom and wanted to show his moronic friends he was a real man.

Daisy reached out and ran her fingers through Mick's dark hair. "Mick doesn't need leftovers, do you, babe? Mick's better than all right; he's fantastic." She gave him a wink. "See ya, cock."

Mick smiled. "See you, gorgeous."

The guy to his left snorted. "Jesus, Mick, if your Sonja hears you've been putting it about she'll kill you. And there I was thinking you never had it in you. I can't believe you had an older woman and one that looks as good as that. Man, you old dog, you."

The older woman comment stung a little, but the rest of the sentence puffed up Daisy's ego. She still had it. Daisy continued across the bar to where Zut sat. He watched her progress. She slipped into the seat across the booth from him.

"Zut?"

He smiled, showing a set of white teeth a Hollywood A-lister would be proud of. Now she was closer to him she could see he was probably in his mid to late twenties. She'd imagined he was older because of his strange taste in retro fashion. He was really rocking the Lycra and leather. She could only assume he did kickboxing, or carried a weapon, to be in this part of town dressed that way. The smile never made it to his green eyes, and the small crescent-shaped scar on his left cheek gave an added air of menace. When his focus shifted to her chest she clenched her hands in her lap. Leering didn't bother her. Leering she understood. But Zut's appraising look made her shiver.

His gaze met hers, and she fought to hold eye contact. "Daisy, I assume?"

"That's me. So, what do you have for me?"

"What's it worth?"

"Sorry?"

"I'm a businessman, lady. I've got something to sell, and if you want to buy, then you need to give me a number."

"For the guitar? I have no idea what it would be worth."

His laughter had a sharp edge. "Levi said you were very specific about what you wanted, and that you were a big guitar nut, and yet you have no idea how much it's worth?"

"Well, a unique piece like that?"

Daisy took her glass of wine from the barmaid and swallowed a mouthful as the young girl placed a shot glass in front of Zut. Laughter and whistles filled the air as the barmaid strolled back across the room. Daisy turned her head. Mick seemed to be in the swing of things. He looked to have his tongue down the girl's throat as she lay splayed across his lap. Not that the girl was fighting him off. God help him if his bride-to-be walked in.

Zut's grip on her hands got her attention, and she flinched and tried to pull away. His skin was cold, like he had no blood circulating in his veins. He refused to let go. Instead he lifted each of her hands in turn and examined them in detail. "You've never played a guitar in your life."

When he let her hands go she shoved them back in her lap, out of reach. "I never said I played. I collect them."

"A collector who has no idea what a one-off unique instrument is worth. No matter." He leaned back. "If it was for sale, you couldn't afford it."

Daisy gritted her teeth. "So, there is no guitar?"

"I never said that." Zut took a mouthful of his drink and swallowed loudly. "We both know you're not in the market for a guitar."

"I'm not? What am I in the market for, then?"

She hugged her bag to her chest, fiddling with the catch. Now might be a good time to call Solomon. Perhaps she'd inadvertently agreed to meet a dealer and autographed guitar was code for some weird modern designer drug?

*

Solomon opened the door to the bar. He'd been convinced she'd come back into the office and ask for a ride once she realized she had no wheels. Not that it mattered. Since he'd dropped the tracking device in her handbag he had her on a leash without her knowing it. Of course if she found the device or changed handbags, as women were in the habit of doing, then he would have to come up with Plan B. Currently Plan B was to handcuff her to him all day. That would make visiting the bathroom awkward, but if she wouldn't behave and do as he said he would learn to live with it. Daisy on the other hand, would freak right out. He grinned.

Solomon closed the door behind him and glanced around the gloomy interior of the pub. Her strawberry blonde hair stood out like a beacon. She was deep in conversation. From the way she was hugging her bag he guessed she was far from comfortable with whatever her strange companion was talking about.

The pub was full of men. If he went in all guns blazing they could both end up in the middle of a brawl. Last time he'd started a fight to save her from herself he'd lost Paul. Lesson learned. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

He sauntered to the bar and sat on a stool. The barmaid turned and smiled. "Solomon?"

"Melanie. I see you've still no taste in jobs."

"You know me. I'll go wherever the money is."

"How are you getting along now?"

She smiled. "Better, thanks to you."

"I'm sorry I had to break your heart."

"Tommy did that. But your attention helped to put a Band-Aid on it."

"Happy to help."

Melanie lifted a glass from under the bar. "Whiskey?"

"Please."

She filled the glass and held up her hand when he offered her a twenty. "On the house."

Solomon winked and lifted the drink to his lips, glancing across the room at Daisy.

Melanie leaned on the counter. "Is she your target?"

"Nope, my sort of business partner."

"What's she doing with Zut?"

"That I would like to know."

Daisy started to get to her feet, but Zut grabbed her arm. Solomon growled. He desperately wanted to go over and give the guy a smack. He turned his attention to the rowdy bunch in the middle of the room. One of them was busy putting money in the juke box. A raunchy pop song drowned out the babble of voices.

Solomon put his glass on the bar and sauntered across the room, stopping next to the guy who appeared to be the center of the group. "How would you like tickets to take all your mates to the new club on Central?"

The guy stared up at him. "Slades? You can't get in there unless your name's on the list."

"So give me your name, and I'll see that you're added."

"What's the catch?"

"I need a small favor. How are you at dancing?"

"With you? Not on your life, mate. I'm an almost married man."

"So you won't want to be dancing with the pretty girl in the booth over there, then, either?"

The guy glanced over his shoulder. "Her? I would do her in a heartbeat."

Solomon leaned closer. "I don't want you to do her. Just ask Daisy to dance, and don't take no for an answer. Once you get her away from her companion I'll take it from there."

"And you'll get me into the club?"

"What's your name?"

"Mick. Mick Taylor."

"Will tonight suit you, Mick Taylor?"

"Fine."

Solomon moved to hide among the shadows in the corner as Mick approached Daisy. He would have gone over himself, but he bet his life she'd make a scene. Besides, better the man she was meeting had no idea he had anything to do with her. This way he would never see it coming if Solomon was ever obliged to kill him.

# Chapter Thirteen

Zut reached across and grabbed a hold of Daisy's upper arm. She tried to shake him off.

"Whatever you're selling, I don't think I want it."

"Sure you do, Daisy. But you're not the only one in the market. How far are you prepared to go to find it? What about your family? Would you risk your family for what you want?" He leaned closer until she could smell the sweet alcoholic scent of whatever he was drinking. "If you don't back off, maybe I'll tell the people who would be interested that you're sticking your nose in where it's not wanted. I'm sure they would give me something in return for turning you over to them." His voice had dropped to a whisper, and the icy tone made her shiver.

Was he threatening her family? He was a thug. She only wanted to find Toby's guitar. Talk about over reacting. Even if she offered him money, she doubted that would be the end of it. He would be back for more, and what would stop him turning her over for cash? Assuming he did know she was looking for Toby, and there were people who really wanted to take her out of the heir hunting game.

"I don't want what you're selling. Let me go." She tried to pull free.

"You heard her."

She turned, and Mick shook his head slowly. Daisy frowned. "Can we help you?"

Zut let her arm go. "We were just doing a bit of business."

Mick glared at Zut. "And now you're done." He shifted his attention to Daisy. "My mates bet me fifty quid I wouldn't have the guts to ask you to dance, and a hundred that you would never say yes."

"Dance?"

Mick shrugged. "You know—wiggle your hips to the beat."

"I know what dancing is. Why would I want to dance?"

"Come on. It's my buck's show. You don't want me to look bad, do you?"

Daisy sighed. "I guess I'm finished here, so why not. Thank you for your time, Mr. Zut."

Zut leaned back and lifted his glass in salute. "I'll be in touch, Daisy. Count on it."

Mick grabbed her hand and led her across the room. He took her bag and dropped it on a table before pulling her into his arms. She smiled at him. "Thanks. I should probably get going."

"My pleasure. Although rescuing you wasn't my idea."

"It wasn't? Whose idea was it? Pimples didn't tell you to make me strip, did he?"

Mick laughed. "No. Pimples isn't your knight in shining armor either."

A warm Irish brogue broke into their conversation. "I am, Princess."

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she turned her head. "Solomon."

Solomon smiled. "If you don't mind, Mick."

Mick let her go. "Not at all. Happy to help."

"Enjoy the club."

Daisy frowned. "What club?"

Solomon turned her to face him, wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her close as the music slowed to something sultry. The boys started to whoop, and Daisy glanced in their direction. The barmaid was taking it in turns to dance with them, and her moves were very provocative.

"Never mind the club."

She looked up into Solomon's blue eyes. They weren't dark with rage like she expected. "Are you pissed off at me?"

He pulled her arms around his neck, and she had to admit he wasn't a half-bad dancing partner.

His face pressed close to hers he whispered, "Who's the guy in the corner?"

"Zut."

"And what was it you were talking about?"

"Belinda knows Toby. She said he would never go anywhere without his white Strat autographed by Keith Richards, and if I found the guitar I would find Toby. I went asking about it at a music store that specializes in guitars. The dude said he knew someone, who might know someone, who might own one. He must have given my number to Zut."

"And does Zut know anything?"

"If he does he won't tell me."

"Why did he scare you?"

"I wasn't scared."

"Much. Just tell me, Princess. Or do I have to go over and beat the living shite out of him until he tells me?"

"Why do you have to be so violent?"

"Daisy?"

"He said he had information about who has what I'm looking for. I don't think he was talking about the guitar. He also said if I didn't back off they would give him something for turning me over to them."

With their faces pressed together she felt Solomon's jaw tightened.

"Are you pissed at me now?"

"Why do you keep walking into trouble?"

"I don't do it on purpose."

"Sure you do. Now shut up and dance; he's watching us."

"And?"

"We need to convince him we're strangers so he won't be expecting me to follow him."

"And how do we do that?"

Solomon pulled back and lifted a corner of his mouth in a lopsided smile. He moved so fast she never saw it coming. One minute they were dancing, and the next he plastered a hot one on her. She momentarily melted under the onslaught of his kiss, and then rage filled her gut and she pulled away.

"Bastard." The sound of her slap rang out in the silence between songs.

Without a backward glance she grabbed her bag and stomped out the door. How dare he? How dare he kiss her? Paul would be mad as hell when he found out.

When the door to the pub opened behind her, she turned to see if Solomon was following, but it was Mick. He held out a bunch of keys. "The man in the pub said to give you these."

Daisy took them. "His keys?"

"Says he'll make his own way back to the office and see you tomorrow. He wanted me to make sure you got away safely."

"Is he beating on the guy I was talking to?"

Mick shook his head. "Not that I noticed. Last I saw he was dancing with Melanie."

"Melanie?"

"The barmaid."

"Of course he was."

Mick stuck his hands in his pockets. "You gonna be all right?"

Daisy nodded. "Sure. Go and enjoy your buck's show. Your future wife is a lucky woman, even if you do have terrible taste in friends."

Mick smiled. "Thanks."

"Good luck, Mick."

"See ya, Daisy."

She kissed him on the cheek and strode across the car park toward Solomon's black SUV. Once she was safely inside, and the seat was adjusted for her, she started the engine and sped out into the late afternoon traffic.

*

Mick assured Solomon Daisy had got away safely and he relaxed a little, making the call that would get the boys into Slade whenever they were ready to go.

Solomon kept an eye on Zut. The man finished his drink. He seemed to be in no hurry, ordering another and then making a couple of phone calls before sliding from the booth and strolling toward the door. He had a self-satisfied smirk on his face that made Solomon grind his teeth.

Melanie tapped his shoulder. "When you're dancing it's usual to look at your partner."

"Sorry. I was a bit distracted."

"By Zut?"

"Do you have a car here?"

Melanie smiled. "Sure. Why?"

"How about you let me borrow it?"

"And how will I get home after my shift finishes at nine thirty?"

"I'll pick you up and escort you."

"And will you want a coffee for your troubles?"

Solomon raised an eyebrow. "Coffee and cream. I seem to remember you have a well-stocked fridge, and I'll devour anything you want to give me."

"What if I want you to give me something?"

"Anything I have is yours for the taking."

"I bet you say that to all the ladies."

"Only the sexy ones."

"God, you're so bad." Melanie tugged her keys from her pocket. "It's the Volkswagen Beetle."

He dropped a kiss on her lips. "See you later, gorgeous."

By the time Solomon reached the car park Zut was climbing into a white Porsche Boxster. Whatever the man bought and sold, he was making money at it. The sun was low in the sky, and Solomon kept to the shadows as he hunted out Melanie's car. Its cherry red exterior wasn't hard to spot in a sea of silver, black, and white. What was it with women? Why couldn't they drive something subtle?

Solomon got in the car and gave Zut a chance to pull into the traffic before following. If he'd known what Daisy was up to he would have come with her. While she was inside talking to Mr. Zut he could have been outside planting a tracking device on the man's car. Now he was forced to do things the old-fashioned way. He grinned at the opportunity to pit his skills against a lowlife. "Come on, Zut. Let's see what you're made of, you feckless maggot."

Zut weaved in and out of the evening traffic. Solomon kept him in sight. When the Porsche turned left onto the motorway slip road, Solomon cursed. He didn't relish tailing him in heavy traffic at high speed. The light was fading fast, which meant the red Beetle would disappear into the background, becoming just another set of headlights in Zut's rearview mirror. Hopefully he would pull off in a couple of exits, but for all Solomon knew he could be headed as far as Cornwall, or further. He glanced at his watch, mindful of making sure he was back by nine thirty to collect Melanie. A smile curled up the corners of his mouth. Helping her get over her heartbreak with Tommy had involved chocolate sauce and whipped cream. The girl knew how to have a good time and then let go. Not like some women. He shoved the thought aside. Lisa wasn't going to ruin the prospect of one night of passion, or the rest of his life.

The constant lane changing to keep up with his quarry kept Solomon occupied. Zut drove like a nut case. A move from the outside to the inside lane in front of a truck made Solomon shudder. He took the safer option of waiting for an opening and pulled into the inside lane just in time to see the Porsche exit the motorway. Solomon followed. He knew this route. The man was headed to the New Forest. Once they were free of the traffic a car following in your rearview mirror would stand out like dog's balls. He would have to call off the chase without making it obvious.

He held back as Zut kept going. Thankfully the man drove with a little more care. Only a maniac with a death wish drove at high speed through the forest. A pony or deer could step out at any minute and put a huge dent in your car and your evening. When the Porsche pulled into a small town, flicked on its left indicator, and slowed, Solomon smiled. The gods were smiling on him.

After stopping at the side of the road, Solomon killed the headlights and waited fifteen minutes before pulling into the pub's car park. He chose the darkest corner to hide the cherry red VW. Apparently Zut was planning to drink at Solomon's local. Not that Solomon ever drank there. He preferred somewhere quieter with the ambience of Ireland. A dark Range Rover rolled into the car park and pulled into the empty space next to the Porsche. Solomon scooted lower in his seat and watched to see who climbed out. He was probably being paranoid. The pub was popular with locals and tourists. It was picture-postcard perfect with local ale on tap and a chef who could actually cook. Two men stepped from the vehicle. Their voices carried on the cool night air but not loud enough to hear what was being said. One turned, and Solomon caught a glimpse of his face highlighted by the single streetlight.

"Bleedin' hell." Hiding in Melanie's car had been the right decision.

# Chapter Fourteen

Daisy pulled back from Paul's kiss and wiggled into a sitting position against the headboard. "What do you know about Solomon?"

Paul frowned. "Really?"

"What?"

"You want to talk about Solomon now?" Paul raised an eyebrow. "I know he gets my engine running, but from the way you've been grumbling about him all evening I thought you hated him."

"I do hate him. He's an egotistical pig."

Paul flopped down on the mattress beside her and sighed. "So why are you killing the mood by talking about him?"

Daisy chewed her bottom lip. Usually Paul only had to glance in her direction with a twinkle in his eye and her libido sat up and panted for attention, but kissing Solomon felt like cheating. She hadn't wanted to kiss him. The palm print on his face proved that. Since the day she'd first met Paul she'd never kissed another man, other than on the cheek. There had been a couple of times during the evening when she could have mentioned it. The truth was, she had no idea how Paul would react.

"Daisy? Why are you talking about Solomon?"

She glanced at Paul who lay staring up at her. "He kissed me."

Paul pushed up onto one elbow. "What?"

"I met this man in a pub and he scared me. He wouldn't let me go. Solomon got a guy on his buck's night in the pub to rescue me by asking me to dance, and then he cut in. We danced whilst he questioned me about the man I'd met, and then he said the guy couldn't know we were together. I think Solomon was planning to follow him and find out who he was. He kissed me. I never wanted him to. I slapped him hard and walked out."

"So he did it for work? To save your arse?"

Daisy shrugged. "I guess. Are you jealous? Are you mad?"

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Ew. No."

Paul chuckled. "He must be losing his touch."

"Aren't you going to go mental and punch him or something?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

Paul shook his head. "The Solomon I know and love wouldn't make a move on a mate's girl."

"Good." Daisy threw the covers back and got to her feet.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to brush my teeth."

"You brushed them twice already."

Daisy pulled a face. "I want to make sure I got rid of all the Solomon cooties. Maybe I should book an appointment with the doctor and get some shots."

"How big a deal was this kiss? Did he go the whole hog and stick his tongue in your mouth?"

"Paul! Ew. God, I'm going to vomit."

She ran to the bathroom. Paul's laughter followed. He'd taken it well. She grabbed her toothbrush and loaded it up with toothpaste. As she brushed, paying particular attention to her tongue, she considered Paul's reaction. She wouldn't have minded if he'd been a little bit jealous.

Once she'd rinsed and dried her face, she wandered back into the bedroom. Paul's gaze followed her as she crossed the room and slid into bed. He wrapped an arm around her middle and tugged her tight against him, leaving her in no doubt he was back in the mood.

"You know his name isn't really Solomon, don't you?"

Paul groaned. "I give up."

"What?"

"All this talk of Solomon is putting me off sex."

"Sorry. It's just he confuses me."

"Me too, Daisy."

"Who is he really?"

"Sergeant Ronan Liffey. Age thirty-eight. Birthday twenty-first of January. Born Carrickfergus, Northern Ireland."

"If you knew his real name why didn't you tell me before?"

"It never came up, and it's not important because no one calls him by his real name."

"Lisa does."

"Who's Lisa?"

"Never mind Lisa. Why is he called Solomon?"

"You know the story about Solomon in the Bible? The one where two women turn up arguing over a baby. They both claim the kid is theirs. King Solomon tells them he's going to cut the baby in half and give them a piece each. The one who isn't the boy's mother tells him to go ahead. The mother tells Solomon to spare its life and give the boy to the other woman. Solomon had worked out who the baby belonged to and gave him to his real mother."

"Your Solomon threatened to cut a baby in half?"

"Nope. Let me finish the story. Two men in the barracks started fighting over a girl. She was sitting in the rec room waiting for her date. They both claimed to have met her a few days earlier, and both had asked her out to dinner."

"Solomon threatened to cut her in half?"

Paul laughed. "No. He told them as the senior officer in the room he was going to use the judgment of Solomon and decide who she dated. They both begged to be chosen."

"Who did he choose?"

"Neither of them. He told them they could both screw her. Taff agreed. Simmo went mental and said he wasn't going to share and Taff could have her."

"So he chose Simmo because he wouldn't share?"

"Nope."

"So she dated Taff instead?"

"She didn't date either of them. Once Solomon called her into the room and told her about the fight she refused to see either of them. She was supposed to be dating Taff, but when she heard he was willing to share he lost his appeal. Solomon went out with her for a couple of months before he got bored and moved on."

Daisy frowned. "Makes sense. I guess."

Paul kissed Daisy's shoulder. "How are the Solomon cooties?"

"Disgusting. I hope he hasn't got rabies or anything. Maybe I should brush my teeth again?"

"I've got something that'll get rid of the taste for good. It's supposed to have antiseptic qualities." He dragged her hand down his body for emphasis.

* * * *

Solomon waited until the two men disappeared inside the pub. Well, well. That was a turn-up. Now he had two options, wait outside until they came out and continue to follow Zut, or go inside and hope he wasn't spotted. It could be coincidence that John was at the same pub, but Solomon doubted it. However, as far as he knew Zut had information about Tobias, and John was investigating alleged life insurance fraud. What were the chances of the two being connected? Maybe Zut was a lowlife who had fingers in many dodgy pies, the sort of man who could be tapped on the shoulder for all sorts of information at a price.

He climbed from the car and crept across the car park, stopping next to Zut's Porsche. After a quick check to make sure no one was watching he ducked down, shoved his hand in his jacket pocket, and pulled out a tracking device. Once he was happy it was secured to the vehicle he checked his watch. Shite. If he was to be back in time to collect Melanie from the pub he'd need to leave in less than an hour.

When he opened the pub door he was met by a wall of sound and a cloud of beer-scented warm air. A cover band was rocking the lounge bar. Solomon did a double take. Zut was on guitar. A glance around the room revealed John and his companion in the corner closest to the stage, each supping on a pint. There was no way Solomon could get close without being spotted. Head down, he elbowed his way to the bar and ordered a Guinness. The barman placed a full glass in front of him and held out his hand for the money. Solomon took some time sorting through a handful of coins he'd pulled from his pocket looking for the right change.

"Good band. Do they play here often?"

"Every week, mate. They're okay, but they're not the Rolling Stones."

Solomon couldn't disagree. The cover version of "Satisfaction" they were currently rocking wasn't a remix he could ever imagine Keith Richards signing up to play. Rapping the lyrics did nothing to add to the greatness of the original.

Solomon dropped the correct money in the man's hand. "What are they called?"

"Zut and the Newtonians."

"That's a bleedin' terrible name."

The barman laughed and turned to serve someone else.

Being sure to stay far enough away not to be noticed, Solomon sidled along the bar. Zut ended the song with a guitar solo. What he lacked in talent he made up for with enthusiasm. The band thanked the crowd and took a break. Zut crossed to John's table and slid into a chair. A pretty blonde flopped into his lap and tried to kiss him. Zut shoved her off, apparently not interested. Solomon watched the exchange with a frown. Once the girl let the rocker go he lifted a shot glass and knocked back the contents in one. The girl disappeared into a small crowd near the stage, and Zut settled into a conversation with John and his companion.

Solomon drained his pint and watched the play between the three men. This was no casual meeting. The way they leaned close together and laughed gave an impression of comfort that went beyond what you would expect from strangers.

A girl arrived with a drink for Zut. He swallowed it in one and then headed back on stage to join his bandmates. The first chord of "Angie" was Solomon's cue to leave.

# Chapter Fifteen

Solomon paid the cab driver and jogged up the path to Daisy's house. His SUV stood on the front drive which, apart from a dent in the back bumper, looked unscathed. He'd had a shower at Melanie's but decided against ducking to the office for a change of clothes before collecting his hapless temporary work colleague. The tracking device app on his phone showed Daisy was still where she was supposed to be, at home waiting for him. If he left it much later she might make a run for it, and he would waste time hunting her down.

He lifted his hand and banged on the door. Footsteps sounded, the door swung open, and Sherman's smiling face appeared.

"Solomon."

"Sherman. You're looking good. How did you go at the soccer?"

"I'm expecting a call up from Man U any day now."

Solomon chuckled. "I hope you'll be remembering us little people when you're famous."

"I might hire you as my bodyguard."

"And I might just accept."

"Dad's in the kitchen. Later, man."

Solomon resisted the urge to give Sherman a hug and offered a fist bump instead. The boy sprinted up the stairs as Solomon shut the front door and wandered through to the kitchen. Paul glanced up from his newspaper. "I hear you kissed my wife."

"Are you jealous?"

Paul tossed the paper on the table. "Not in the least. I've kissed you before, and if I recall correctly it was far from pleasant. You hadn't shaved and tasted of whiskey."

"You're just saying that to cover up your true feelings."

"Really. Please stop kissing her. I can't afford the toothpaste bill, and it's putting a crimp in my sex life. Discussing you in bed does nothing for my libido."

Solomon lifted one side of his mouth in a lopsided smile.

Paul frowned. "Although from the happy smile on your face, and the crumpled nature of your clothing, I'm assuming kissing Daisy didn't dampen your enthusiasm for whichever young lady you bedded last night."

"What can I say? Speaking of Daisy, is she not ready yet?"

"Ready, willing, and able. She left half an hour ago. Said she had a breakfast meeting."

"Who with?"

"A friend." Paul tossed a lumpy sealed brown envelope at Solomon. "She left you this."

Solomon ripped it open and discovered his keys but nothing else.

"And she said you might like this." Paul put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the tracking device Solomon had left in her handbag. "She found it when she swapped from her black handbag to the brown one that matches her new boots. I won't tell you the names she called you when she realized what it was, and how you had been, quote, 'spying on her' all the time."

"Bollocks. How am I supposed to keep her out of trouble if I don't know where she is?"

"That's your problem not mine. If I was you I'd start my search at the café bakery in the precinct. She's very partial to their chocolate croissants."

"I'll be off, then. If she comes back, tie her to a chair and call me."

"I have to get going. I've a shift at ten. Besides I'm not sure she'd appreciate me turning her in, especially as I made her work with you in the first place. I need to hold on to the meager sex life I still have, and pissing off Daisy is not the way to do it." Paul raised an eyebrow. "Unless I make tying her up into a kinky sex game."

Sherman stuck his head around the kitchen door. "Dad!"

Solomon laughed. "Catch you later, Doughnut."

He made his way to the front door and let himself out. Once he'd unlocked and climbed inside his SUV he contemplated his plan of attack. If Daisy was at the café with a friend she was in no danger. This time of day the place was mobbed. He'd risk it and run back to the office for a change of clothes and to make some calls.

He turned the key, and the CD player burst to life, drowning out the roar of the engine. Solomon hit the eject button with a growl and tossed the Boyzone CD onto the back seat. "Bleedin' not funny, Daisy."

Apparently she'd found out his name. Hopefully being able to set him up with songs featuring Ronan Keating would be enough to keep her happy and she wouldn't dig any further into his private life. He kept it private for a reason.

* * * *

Daisy sat nursing the last of her coffee, contemplating the day ahead. She still had no real idea about Toby or the guitar. At least the day had started well, but no doubt Paul would give the Irish git a hint about where Daisy was likely to be. Her long-standing Wednesday breakfast date was hardly a secret.

Cherry's voice broke into her thoughts. "Penny for them."

She glanced at Cherry. "Sorry, I was just wondering how best to tackle my case."

"I can't believe a woman who can barely bring a photocopier to heel or subdue a coffee machine, is doing something as exciting as being a P.I."

"I'm not that bad. Besides I'm an heir hunter working with a P.I. And it's not exciting."

Cherry raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, I am that bad, but it's still not that exciting. For example, yesterday I met a man about a guitar."

"A guitar?"

"Yeah, Lord Tobias Wareham used to own a white one signed by Keith Richards. Last seen busking with it in Leicester Square, but who knows where he is now?"

Cherry sipped her coffee and frowned. "You ever watch Sherlock?"

"The one with Benedict Cabbagepatch?"

"Cumberbatch. Yes, that one."

"A couple of episodes. Why? Do you think Moriarty has my missing lord?" Daisy snorted with laughter at her own joke.

Cherry slapped her arm. "No, stupid. In one episode Sherlock used homeless people as his eyes and ears in London."

"You think I should talk to homeless people?"

"Can't hurt. You could start here and then go to the big smoke."

Cherry glanced at her watch. "Shit. I'm going to be late to meet my new client."

"On you go. See you next week?"

Cherry got to her feet, tugging her laptop case and her handbag up her arm. "Absolutely, and you can tell me what progress you've made in the case of the missing lord."

Daisy stood and gave her friend a hug, only retaking her seat once Cherry had disappeared out the door.

Maybe Cherry was onto something. She concentrated and tried to imagine she was Sherlock pulling the puzzle pieces together in her mind. Trouble was she didn't even have the corners, never mind a picture to work from, and if this was anything like a real jigsaw puzzle some bastard was holding on to the last piece so they could appear the hero and finish the bloody thing after all the hard work was done. Her money was on Solomon for that role.

He must have discovered she'd outsmarted him by now, and been serenaded by the CD she'd left in his player. She laughed as she imagined his reaction. Now that Cherry had left she should really go to the office, but first she might snoop around and chat with homeless people. She'd take a bag of hot jam doughnuts with her to bribe them. Cherry's idea might be completely silly, but Daisy had nothing else to do.

She ordered the doughnuts, and once they arrived she got up and left the warmth of the café. Winter was definitely on its way. The cool wind blowing up the street had the smell of rain, and the dark clouds hanging overhead looked full to bursting point. Tugging the collar of her jacket up, Daisy jogged to the car park. At this rate she wouldn't need to get any other form of exercise, in fact she might even try out for the next London Marathon. Checking out a gym slipped a little further down her "to do" list.

Her car sat alone in a corner on the fifth floor of a multistory car park. All the other cars were huddled at the opposite end of the floor as if her car had cooties. The bright yellow paint job was a bit much first thing in the morning, but it wasn't bad enough to make people want to run away. A sickly cloying scent wafted on the cool air. Daisy slowed her approach. Now she was closer she could see the bonnet of her car was covered in something. A drop slid down the driver's side front panel and dripped to the floor with a splash. The chocolate croissant and coffee Daisy had consumed threatened to do a comeback tour.

Frozen to the spot, Daisy tugged her phone from her handbag. She dithered. Blood. Someone had thrown blood all over her lovely car. What if it was some sort of threat and the person who'd done it was still hanging about. She glanced around, but the floor appeared empty. Although there were too many pillars and cars to hide behind for her to be certain she was alone. Should she call Solomon or the cops?

What if it wasn't blood? It might be red paint. In which case calling either of them was silly. A painter might have tripped and spilt it by accident. He might even have left a note under her windscreen wiper with his details so he could pay to get the mess cleaned up and the bonnet resprayed. She approached her car. Her gaze shifted from the empty windscreen to the dashboard and then the driver's seat. A hand was gripping her steering wheel. A hand that was no longer attached to a body. Daisy's stomach heaved, and she threw up all over the side of the car.

# Chapter Sixteen

Solomon dropped the phone back onto its cradle, happy with what he'd achieved. Life was much easier without Daisy around. He checked the time. She must have finished breakfast by now. He figured after the drama the day before she hadn't had time to organize another disaster and could be trusted to make her own way to the office. However, it was almost ten, and she was still a no-show.

With a growl, he got to his feet and tugged his suit jacket on. He had less than an hour to find her if he was to make it to his first appointment on time. His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Daisy. He hit the button to accept the call.

"Where the hell are you?"

"Good morning to you too."

"Don't be bleedin' funny. Why aren't you here?"

"I've been a bit tied up."

"What?"

"Well, more handcuffed than tied. Dan Maloney says I can go for now."

"I told you to stay away from him."

"He insisted I come and help him with his enquiries."

"What? Where the bleedin' hell are you?"

"Call yourself a detective. I'm at the fucking police station, where do you think I am?"

"Why?"

"Come and collect me, and I'll tell you."

"Why can't you get back here on your own?"

"I'm in need of transportation."

"What about your car?"

"It's been impounded."

"Why?"

"I have to go, Solomon. The other inmates want to use the phone."

"Daisy? Daisy!"

She'd hung up on him. He growled with frustration. Bollocks. What the hell had she done now? Clearly she couldn't be left alone for a minute. Perhaps he should leave her in the tender loving care of the cops. She would be safe in a cell. He was tempted to called Detective Maloney and have him keep her for the day.

Instead he locked up the office and drove through town. The car park across the road from the station was full so he risked leaving his SUV in a ten-minute loading zone. He would be five minutes, and he was loading something, a millstone that currently hung around his neck. On reflection he should have offered Paul an alternative option to pay back the pain he'd caused him. A bullet in the arse would be quicker, and less agonizing than the havoc Daisy was wreaking on his life and business.

Solomon shoved the door to the police station open and sighed. A gaggle of miscreants and weirdoes took up the space in the lobby. He stood straight, shoulders back, adopted an air of a man who belonged there and approached the counter.

"Excuse me. I'm here to collect Daisy Dunlop."

The desk sergeant grabbed his pen back from a kid using it to graffiti the timber countertop. "You'll have to wait your turn."

"It's urgent."

"It always is."

Solomon frowned. "Fine. But you'll be having to explain to Detective Maloney."

"Explain what?"

"Why Ms. Dunlop missed her appointment with the psychiatrist, again. You can also tell him until she's seen someone from the medical profession and taken her medication my hands are tied. He'd best be seeing the judge about a court order to get her locked up for her own good and to have her case rescheduled. In the meantime, I suggest he keeps her in the cells overnight."

Solomon turned as if he was about to walk out.

"Oy, in our cells? We've got no room."

"Not my problem."

"Wait, wait."

Solomon wiped the smile from his face and turned back.

"I'll call Maloney and tell him you're here. Who did you say you were again?"

*

Daisy sat on the edge of Dan Maloney's desk swinging her legs. The cup of coffee he'd given her had gone cold.

"You sure you don't want one of your doughnuts, Daisy?"

She smiled at the young, pretty-boy detective, Hastings. "No, thanks. Go ahead and help yourself."

"Detective Maloney should arrest you every day."

Dan Maloney reached into the bag and took another doughnut. "She wasn't under arrest. She was helping me with inquiries."

Hastings shrugged. "Whatever."

Jam splattered from Dan's doughnut onto his desk, and Daisy shuddered. The red sticky mess looked too much like blood.

The phone on his desk rang, and Daisy pulled her gaze away from the spill. "You want me to get it?"

Dan wiped the sugar off his lips with the back of his hand before lifting the phone to his ear. "Okay. Send him up."

He smiled at Daisy. "Showtime. Solomon's here for you."

Daisy took a deep breath. Her heart was racing, and sweat dampened her palms. Tears misted her vision. How would he behave after the kiss yesterday? She hadn't been deliberately avoiding him, much. He was probably mad as hell about the slap, and that she'd ditched him and planted a Boyzone CD in his SUV, but he'd come to save her anyway.

The door to the detective's office swung open, and Daisy gripped the edge of the desk, determined to appear nonchalant.

Solomon stepped into the room, and Daisy jumped from the desk and barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his middle and sobbing into his chest. To give him his due he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. She hated the Irish git, but he made her feel safe. As much as she would rather be hugging Paul, a hug from Solomon was second-best, as long as he didn't want to kiss her again. The detectives had been lovely once they realized she was as much an innocent victim as the owner of the arm, and the doughnuts were not offered as some kind of clichéd joke. But sometimes a girl needed to be in the arms of a big strong man and to cry her heart out.

Solomon led her across the room and settled her in an empty chair before giving her a cup of water that Hastings passed to him. Solomon squatted next to her so they were at eye level. He handed her his handkerchief and smiled. "As much as I love to be accosted by a pretty girl, do you want to tell me what it is that has you crying and in the company of these fine gentlemen?"

He was being nice. She wasn't sure she wanted him nice. He was the beast, and she might find it hard to hold on to her dislike of him if he was going to be nice to her.

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Work with me on this one, Princess, and just tell me what happened."

She wasn't sure if that was a yes, he thought she was pretty, or no, he was just being a condescending jerk trying to take her mind off the situation.

"Someone threw blood all over the bonnet of my car. And there was an arm." She sipped the water as the memory of that thing dangling from her steering wheel made her stomach churn.

Solomon glanced up at Dan Maloney. "Blood? An arm? What the feck is she talking about?"

"Daisy dialed 999 when she found her car vandalized in the multistory behind the shopping precinct. We were called in when the first responders discovered blood all over the bonnet, a severed human arm hanging from the steering wheel, and vomit all over the driver's door."

"The vomit was mine," Daisy whispered.

Solomon smiled at her. "Of course it was, Princess."

He was back to normal. Shithead. She smiled at him, relieved.

"Any idea who was involved or what's going on?" Solomon's question was directed at Dan.

"So far all we know is the blood isn't human; it's pig's blood. The arm is more of a mystery. Definitely human but fingerprints came up blank. The doc's doing more tests, and we're working on tracing the signet ring and tattoos that were decorating it. Daisy's car is being dusted for prints, and the forensics boys are looking at it for anything else that might help us work out who did this. If it was fresher's week I'd have put it down to some stupid student prank. They've been known to steal body parts from cadavers before. However, as it is obviously not a prank, I'm guessing it's a message. Whatever you two are doing, you've stirred up some trouble for yourselves. Daisy has given me a brief overview of the case she's working on. It might not have been targeted at her, but we'll work on that assumption."

Solomon nodded. "Okay. Do you want to collaborate?"

"What. Share information?"

"Sure. I'm not hampered by the law."

"And you'll get arrested if you break it."

Solomon chuckled. "Only if you find out. So how about it, then? You keep me in the loop, and I'll update you with anything of interest I find out."

Dan ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the floor for a moment before lifting his head and nodding his agreement.

"And on that basis would you mind if I use your resources? You know to find out a few details."

"You mean you want me to check things on our database and pass you information?"

"Exactly."

"That would come under the heading of illegal, and would set a bad example for young Hastings here."

Solomon glanced at the young man currently devouring a doughnut. "You didn't hear a thing, did you, lad?"

Hastings shook his head. "Been deaf for years."

Solomon offered Dan his hand, and they shook on the deal. "Okay, Daisy, you're free to go. Scoot before I change my mind."

Daisy chewed her bottom lip. "Dan. We don't need to tell Paul, do we?"

Dan glanced at Solomon. "Are you going to keep her safe?"

"As if my very life depended on it."

"Then I won't mention it to Paul. What you do is up to you."

"Thanks."

Dan squeezed her shoulder. "On you go."

Solomon helped her to her feet, snagged her bag off Dan's desk, and handed it to her, before putting an arm around her shoulder and walking her across the room.

Hastings called after them. "Come back any time, Daisy."

Solomon shoved the door open and held it for Daisy before following her through and moving back into protective mode, arm around her shoulder holding her tight against him. The bump of his body against hers was comforting. The morning hadn't gone the way she expected. She glanced up at Solomon. His jaw was set, and his gaze moved around the lobby as they crossed and exited into the cool, fresh air. He'd gone into stealth mode.

They turned left, and Solomon came to halt, almost tripping Daisy up.

"Bollocks."

# Chapter Seventeen

Daisy logged onto her computer and used her credit card to order Elliott's birth certificate and his parents' marriage certificate. While she was about it, she ordered Toby's birth certificate.

She glanced at the open door to the corridor and then back at her screen. The drive to the office had been tense. Solomon's vocabulary of swear words was large and varied.

The cursor blinked, and she gazed at it. Thanks to Paul she might have enough information to look up Solomon's birth certificate. She could get it mailed to her home address. What would it tell her other than what she had already discovered? The more time she spent with Solomon, the more she realized she knew nothing about him. Her hand hovered over the mouse, but she resisted and instead moved the cursor to close the web browser and then shut the computer down.

"Ready?"

She spun around and stared at Solomon, blinking innocently. Even though she'd done nothing wrong she felt guilty. "Are you sure you don't want me to pay for the parking ticket?"

He shook his head. "I told you already, it's not the ticket, it's the principle."

"Well, at least let me pay to get your shirt dry-cleaned."

"No need, Princess. My cleaning lady is a dab hand at removing makeup."

He grinned at her, and she shook her head. "I bet she is. Although I'm guessing her talent won't be needed much, now you've sworn off women."

"True. You're helping to keep her skills honed just in case I need them again in the future."

"Glad to be of service." Daisy sighed. "Maybe I should go home?"

Solomon tugged the cuffs of his crisp white shirt into place, the silver cufflinks catching the light. "And tell Paul what exactly, when he comes home and finds you playing dutiful housewife?"

"Dunno." She shrugged. "I could tell him I quit."

"And is that what you're planning to do?"

"Isn't that what you want me to do?"

Solomon crossed the room and dragged her to her feet. "What I want, Princess, is for you to pull on your big-girl panties. It's too late to back out now."

"You hate me? Why not take the chance to get rid of me?"

"Because if I do that who's going to protect you?"

"But you do still hate me?"

"Your words, Princess, not mine. I believe I have a much wider vocabulary where you're concerned."

"I told Paul you kissed me."

"And he told me you're using up the world's supply of toothpaste trying to scrub away the memory."

"I didn't enjoy it."

Solomon rubbed his cheek. "I remember."

"So it meant nothing to you, then?"

"I'm a professional. Sometimes you have to do unpleasant things if you want to get the job done. Don't worry your pretty little head, Princess. I would never kiss you unless it was necessary."

"Good."

"However, just for the record, I've never had anyone complain about my technique before."

"I wasn't commenting on your ability to kiss, just your motivation."

"Another satisfied customer?" He winked at her. "Now we've sorted that out, can we get back to work?

She glared at him. "Arsehole."

Solomon laughed. "That's the Daisy I know and love. Now, I believe we have a case to solve."

Daisy grabbed her handbag and walked to the door, leaving him in her wake. "You can tell me you love me as often as you like, but I know the truth, bastard. Now which case? Mine or yours?"

"Good question."

Once the office was locked up and Solomon had opened his SUV, she climbed into the passenger seat. Solomon got behind the wheel and fired up the engine.

"Where are we going?"

"We've an appointment with Maureen Beckitt."

"Phat Kitty?"

"And her manager."

"And what are we going to ask her?"

"We're not going to ask her anything. I'll be asking the questions. You can just be the pretty sidekick and keep your mouth shut. I think that'll be the safest option for both of us."

"Fuck off, Solomon."

He chuckled. "Will I be reporting that to Paul?"

"I pay my debts. And it's worth five pounds to tell you to fuck off. In fact if I ever win the lottery I might give all the money to Paul so that I can keep telling you to fuck off at will."

"I look forward to it."

"Where are we going?"

"Sandbanks."

"Sandbanks—Poole Sandbanks? Hell, I can't go all that way without tunes. You got any music in here?"

She hunted in the glove box but came up empty. "Where's the CD I left for you?"

"You think you're funny, don't you?"

"Oh, come on, Ronan. Don't tell me you're sensitive about your name?"

"To be sensitive I would have to have feelings."

"True. I forgot you were an emotionless automaton. Guess that explains your lack of a penis. You would have no use for one."

He glanced at her, and she grinned. Solomon shook his head and turned his attention back to the road. "I know what you're doing."

"And what's that?"

"You're trying to hide the fact that you really like me."

"You should seek medical help for these delusions you're having."

He chuckled. "Look under the seat."

"Why? What's under there?"

"Just do it."

She rolled her eyes but reached under her seat. Her fingers brushed cool leather, and she tugged a laptop bag free.

"I want you to do some research. You don't get travel sick, do you?"

"Nope. I only vomit when I've had too much vodka, see blood and gore, or get kissed by a frog."

He raised an eyebrow. "Righto."

"What am I looking for and how do I access the Internet in a moving car?"

*

Solomon concentrated on the road as they sped along the motorway in a haze of soak-through-to-your-underpants drizzle. He'd explained how to tether his mobile phone to the laptop so that Daisy could access the Internet. He could hear her breathing, and her sweet flowery perfume wafted on the warm air pumped out by the SUV's heater, as she searched the net for information about her new friend Zut and his rock band.

She'd wanted to give up her dream of being an heir hunter. He'd promised Paul he would make her quit within a week. He could have achieved that aim with two days to spare, but instead he'd convinced her to stay. Why? She was safer with him, but that wasn't the only reason. His life had been on autopilot ever since Lisa. He worked. He made money. He bought all he wanted. He drank. He ate. He slept. And he got laid whenever he felt the need. Predictable. Boring. Uneventful. All the things his life hadn't been since first thing Monday when Daisy joined him in his business endeavors.

As annoying as she was, he was surprised to discover he had no desire to return to his former existence. However, Paul wanted him to convince Daisy her heir hunting idea was madness. Solomon had also hoped she would lighten up a little and get over the pub thing so that he could, once again, be included in Paul's life. None of his plans had included having a long-term professional relationship with the man's wife. The whole venture was fraught with danger.

"Got him."

He glanced at Daisy, and she smiled in triumph. "What is that you've found?"

"His real name is Suetonius Smith."

"Unusual name. And?"

"According to the band's website he comes from Reading, attended the local comprehensive school before going to Art College."

"Is that it?"

She shook her head. "Nope. That's his official bio."

"Well?"

"I found a Suetonius Ackroyd-Smyth in an article about Langdon College Old Scholars. It says he went up to Cambridge to study law. How many Suetonius Smiths or Smyths can there be in the world?"

"Not many. Keep digging."

"For what?"

"Check if you can find any connection to Elliott or Tobias Wareham. You might also like to see if he has any connection to the men with the life insurance policies. File's on the back seat if you want to check the names."

"Why would he be connected to your case?"

"If I knew that, Princess, I wouldn't be asking you to find out, now would I?"

Daisy turned her attention to the laptop, and Solomon reached over and switched on the radio. Ronan Keating's "When you Say Nothing At All" blared from the speakers. Daisy giggled, and Solomon growled and switched it off.

They continued on, the only sound the swish of the windscreen wipers.

"He was four years ahead of Toby, which makes it unlikely they were in the same social group. Elliott went to Eton, and both of the Wareham boys went to Oxford; Zut went to Cambridge."

"Doesn't mean they never met."

"True. They like to hang with their own. Maybe their daddies knew each other or they played polo together on weekends? Or banged the same debutante? If there is a connection I can't find it on the net."

"What about my hapless dead men?"

"Zut's not a member of the Somerset Club. There is an Ackroyd-Smyth who is. Could be his father or maybe an uncle? Other than that, nothing."

"Bollocks. I was hoping I'd found a key."

"Why are we looking at Zut? I know he scared me, but that's hardly damning evidence."

"How many people know you're looking for Tobias Wareham?"

"Only Belinda, and my friend Cherry. Oh, and Paul, and the cops, of course."

"What about Zut?"

"As far as he knows I was looking for a white Stratocaster once owned by Jimi Hendrix and signed by Keith Richards. I never mentioned Toby. Why?"

"Someone obviously wants you to stop looking for him, Princess."

"And you think it's Zut?"

"I followed him to a pub where he was performing."

"And?"

Solomon slowed to a stop at the curb. "And I think this is the place."

"Oh, come on. What do you know?"

Solomon turned off the engine and undid his seatbelt. "I know that he's acquainted with John."

"John? John Nesbitt? Insurance man John?"

"The very same. Now I believe we're expected."

# Chapter Eighteen

Daisy followed Solomon up the front drive. The steel gate they'd been buzzed through slammed shut behind them. Phat Kitty took her security very seriously. A price obviously had to be paid when you drove men to the edge of sexual insanity.

The front door of the art deco mansion swung open as they approached, and a tall dark-haired man, in a charcoal gray pinstriped designer suit and black shoes Daisy could only ever dream of buying for Paul, stepped out to greet them. Solomon turned his head toward her and raised an eyebrow. Not yet familiar with stealth-mode-Solomon's body speak she had no idea what it meant.

"Mr. Solomon. And this is?" The gaze that swept Daisy, and the sneer that curled the man's lips, were filled with disdain. Had he learned to appear the hard man to compensate for the effeminate voice? Or did he really have a burning hatred for cheap high-street fashion, and the women who wore it? Which would be odd considering who he worked for. You could use a lot of adjectives to describe Phat Kitty, but classy wouldn't be the one Daisy would choose.

Solomon let the man's hand go and nudged Daisy forward. "It's just Solomon, and this is my associate, Daisy Dunlop. I assume you're Mr. Tyler, Ms. Beckitt's manager?"

"Indeed. Come in, she's expecting you."

Daisy followed behind the men as they wandered down a long hallway passing open doors showing glimpses of rooms decorated and furnished in a manner that echoed the home's age and style. Phat Kitty must have used an interior designer.

At the end of the corridor they reached a light-filled room. Mr. Tyler stepped to one side and indicated they should enter the vast, bright, airy lounge that took up the width of the back of the house. "If you'll take a seat I'll let Ms. Beckitt know you're here."

Solomon undid the buttons on his jacket and sank onto a plump pale-green sofa. Daisy wasn't ready to sit. Her butt was still numb from the drive. Instead she wandered around, taking in the view of the small garden and the foam-topped ocean beyond, before stopping in front of a roaring open fire. The woman must have an army of staff to maintain the place. She couldn't imagine the pop star running the Hoover around, or flicking between the ornaments with a feather duster, never mind scrubbing the numerous bathrooms a house this size must have.

Buying the place would have set her back a pretty penny. Sandbanks was world-famous for being home to some of the most expensive real estate on the planet. Daisy could see the appeal of an ocean view, but she would prefer for her garden to end at the tropical waters of the Caribbean.

The door swung open, and a diminutive woman in understated jeans and a pale blue shirt entered the room. Daisy wouldn't have recognized her as Phat Kitty if she didn't already know who they were meeting. The only clue to her identity was her long platinum blonde hair.

Solomon got to his feet. "Ms. Beckitt. Good of you to see us."

She held out a tiny hand, and Solomon gave it a gentle shake before letting it go. "Happy to help, Mr. Solomon." The lady might not look the same offstage, but the Brummy accent still flavored her words, and the deep husky voice could belong to no one else.

"It's just Solomon."

"Okay, Just Solomon. Please, call me Maureen." She laughed and Solomon smiled.

Maureen's keeper moved to stand behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Tea and coffee will be served shortly."

Maureen placed her hand over Mr. Tyler's, stepped back until her body brushed his and smiled up at him. "Thanks, Jason. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Daisy might not be able to read Solomon's body language, but she had no trouble identifying what was going on between Phat and her manager. The man was banging her for sure. They'd done well to keep it out of the tabloids. Someone in the know could make a lot of money selling that secret.

Daisy took a seat and sipped at the tea that had been delivered by a maid. Her morning's activities had left her drained and, now she thought about it, in need of the facilities. She placed her empty cup and saucer on the coffee table and fidgeted. The way the conversation was going they could be all day. Every question Solomon asked was parried by the manager, and his questions were banal small talk about her music and upcoming tour. If Phat had nothing to hide, her manager was doing a good job of making her look guilty.

Solomon broke off mid-sentence and glanced at Daisy. "Problem?"

"Sorry." She smiled at Ms. Beckitt. "It was a long drive. Do you mind if I use your loo?"

"Not at all. Jason, would you do the honors?"

The tall man got to his feet, and Daisy grabbed her bag and followed suit. Along with the curled lip, she was privy to a wrinkled nose. His disdain for her had definitely lifted a notch. Perhaps the rich and famous didn't pee.

Mr. Tyler walked a pace ahead. Daisy didn't bother catching up. Conversation with the man would be awkward at best. Besides, based on her day so far, she would be bound to say something stupid like, So, how do you feel about your girlfriend being the chosen masturbation aid for the majority of men under twenty-five? Would he lose his cool? Somehow she doubted it. The man had a stick so far up his arse it was almost poking out of the top of his head.

They climbed the stairs, and he stopped and pointed at a door. "The powder room."

Daisy smiled. "Thanks."

He crossed his arms like he intended to stand guard.

She rubbed her stomach. "I hope you've got plenty of air-freshener. Maybe the extra-large serving of vindaloo curry last night was a mistake. You know how it is, though. Who can resist a beer and curry? Or even better, a lot of beer and curry?"

Daisy held back a laugh as the man took a step backward, spun on his heels, and then strode down the stairs and back toward the lounge room. She ducked inside and locked the door. Bloody hell! The bathroom was as big as Sherman's bedroom.

*

Solomon leaned forward and smiled at Ms. Beckitt. She was a very pretty girl without the bucket loads of makeup. Even though he had a good idea what lay beneath her shirt and jeans, because it had gyrated its way across his widescreen TV wearing almost nothing more than once, he had to admit the basic everyday model was much sexier than the music siren she usually portrayed.

"I guess in your business you meet a lot of people."

She smiled. "Millions."

"Tell me, do you have your own band?"

"Sometimes. I usually take the same group of guys on tour, but they might not be the ones I used to record the album in the studio."

"I wonder if you've ever worked with a Zut Smith?"

"Zut?"

"I believe his real name is Suetonius. He has a band, Zut and the Newtonians."

"Um." Her cheeks flushed, and she dropped her gaze to her lap before fiddling with a gold bangle that encircled her wrist. He'd thought with her manager gone she might open up but apparently not.

The door swung open, and Mr. Tyler strode in. Maureen glanced up at him. "Jason. Solomon was asking about Zut."

"Who?"

"I was asking if she'd ever worked with a man called Suetonius Smith. He goes by the name Zut and has his own band."

"Never heard of him." Mr. Tyler placed a hand on Maureen's shoulder. "And neither has Ms. Beckitt. I also wonder about the relevance of your questions."

Solomon watched as Jason flexed his fingers so they squeezed her shoulder. She hunched and stared at her lap. Something was going on between them. Whatever it was had her scared to speak.

"If you've finished, Ms. Beckitt really needs to rest. She's got a rehearsal. She's performing at a charity event for homeless men tomorrow."

Solomon couldn't keep the smile from his face. The cause seemed apt. He wondered if she was raising funds to house them or putting on a freebie to cheer them up. Either way the men would enjoy the outcome. "A worthy cause, I'm sure. Once my associate returns we'll be on our way."

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card. "If you think of anything else that might be of use. The sooner the insurance company is happy that the death of your uncle was an accident, the sooner they'll pay out on the policy."

Mr. Tyler snatched the card. "No amount of money can compensate Ms. Beckitt for the loss of a man she loved."

"Indeed. However, I'm sure he would have wanted her to have the money, otherwise why take out the policy?"

Maureen got to her feet with Jason's aid. "I never knew he'd taken out a policy until after he went missing. He called a week before the accident to say he was going away and to remember that he loved me. Regardless of what the press says, do I look like a woman in need of financial aid? The money goes to his estate, and I get some of the inheritance. I'm not the one looking after his estate and hadn't even bothered to lodge a claim, so I have no idea why the insurance company is investigating me."

Maureen's voice broke, and she pulled a tissue from her pocket, dabbing at the tears flowing down her cheeks.

Mr. Tyler glared at Solomon. "I really must ask you to leave now. Ms. Beckitt mustn't be distressed this way."

The door to the room flew open, banging into an antique side table. Solomon leapt to his feet and grabbed a vase, steadying it before it fell to the floor.

Daisy shrugged. "Oops, sorry. I guess I got a little over exuberant. It must be the relief of finally using a bathroom. So much more refined than peeing behind a tree at the side of the road, or in a back alley on a Saturday night after you've had a few too many beers."

Solomon grabbed her arm, and she shook him off. "Are we going already?"

Mr. Tyler moved closer. "Ms. Beckitt has answered all of your questions."

Daisy pulled her phone from her bag. "Any chance of a photo of me with Maureen? My son is a huge fan, and he'll never believe we met."

Maureen shook her head. "I'm not fit to be photographed."

Daisy smiled at her. "Oh, to have your problems. This is how I scrub up on a good day. You wouldn't even want to see me when I wasn't fit to be photographed."

The blonde smiled. "Jason, do you want to go and grab one of the pictures left over from the magazine shoot we did last week?"

Grumbling under his breath, the manager left the room. Daisy watched him go. "Jeez. He's a bit intense."

"He just wants what's best for me. His heart's in the right place."

"I understand." Daisy glanced at Solomon. "Some men just have a strange way of showing they care."

Maureen looked from one to the other. "Are you two married?"

Solomon grunted. "Not likely. Daisy's a business associate. I find it's never a good idea to mix business and pleasure."

"I know what you mean." Maureen glanced at the door and chewed her lip.

Jason reappeared with a photo and handed it to her.

"Have you got a pen, Jason?"

She took the pen he offered. "What's your son's name?"

"Sherman."

She wrote, "To Sherman with love, Phat Kitty," and added a kiss before handing it to Daisy.

Daisy was surprised when the blonde gave her a fierce hug, like she was love-starved. She returned the embrace before letting Maureen go and smiling. "Thanks. Sherman is going to be ecstatic."

Jason stood watch by the door. "Now you really must leave."

# Chapter Nineteen

Solomon drove in silence. He was starting to get somewhere when Tyler had put the brakes on the whole interview. Maureen seemed genuinely distressed, but who could tell? She performed for a living. Were her tears part of the act? And why did she defer to that moron manager so much? There was definitely something going on between the two of them. And Jason Tyler lied with such conviction.

He glanced in his rearview mirror and slowed a little. "Well, would you look at that."

"At what?"

He shifted his focus to Daisy, and then back to the road ahead. "It seems Mr. Tyler wants to make sure we're really leaving."

"What?"

She started to shift in her seat, but Solomon placed a hand on her arm. "Don't look back. I don't want him to know we've seen him. We're being followed by a Mercedes. It's made the last three turns we've made, even though I have effectively gone around in a circle."

"Either you really upset him by making Phat cry, or he's found out I was riffling through the cupboards and is on to me."

"Why would he know or care what you were doing? And what was all that bollocks about peeing in alleyways? I happen to know you're the sort who won't settle for anything less than two-ply and facilities with a toilet seat."

Daisy grinned. "I wanted to see the expression on that pompous manager's face. He looked at me like I was scum, so I figured I would act it up a bit. The ploy worked in my favor. When I told him about the potential aftereffects of last night's vindaloo, he hightailed it, and I got to snoop undetected."

Solomon chuckled. "You're a regular Miss Marple. And what did you find?"

"I took a peek into the bedrooms. The body language between them seemed to indicate some level of intimacy, but even if they are having sex, he isn't living there. Only one of the upstairs rooms is furnished, and the clothes in the wardrobe all belong to her, unless he's into cross-dressing. I guess he could be. You public school boys have strange ways of amusing yourselves. I bet you've worn a frock a time or two."

"I didn't go to public school." Solomon glanced in the rearview mirror. They were still being followed.

"But you're not denying cross-dressing?"

He looked at Daisy and raised an eyebrow. "I only wear a dress when absolutely necessary. I'm not overly fond of pantyhose. Now, are you going to tell me why you think matey is following us? What did you find?"

Daisy reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. "I was going to grab the papers, but I figured they would miss them so I used my super spying skills and took pictures on my phone instead."

"Of what?"

"Let's put it this way, she won't be gyrating in slinky outfits for much longer."

"What?"

"There was a letter from her doctor in the bedside cupboard. She's up the duff, knocked up, in the family way."

Solomon frowned. "So, you found out she's pregnant. Why would he care unless you're planning to spill the news to the press?"

"It gets better."

"How?"

"She had a test done to see who the father is."

"And?"

"It's not the manager."

"Who is it?"

"Dunno. It just said that Jason Tyler couldn't be the baby daddy."

"You're giving me a headache. What does any of this have to do with the case?"

"No idea." Daisy shrugged. "Obviously there was some thought he could be the kid's dad, otherwise why do the test? And if he believed he was her only lover and this pregnancy has proved that she cheated on him, why is he hanging around? Unless he relies on her for his entire income. In which case he won't be happy if she is going to have to take time off. According to the letter she's already four months gone, so the big tour she was doing in six months will have to be cancelled. I guess that explains why she pulled out of going to New Zealand and Australia.

"If she came into a large inheritance he might be able to blackmail her by threatening to blab about her personal life. Her intimate secrets and the fact she cheated on him would be worth a fortune to the tabloid press. If she doesn't want it dished up to the masses on a daily basis until the feeding frenzy ends, she might agree to anything to keep her life a secret."

"That's two reasons to investigate Jason Tyler."

"Two? Was all the eyebrow action on the doorstep when we arrived some secret message about him? Because if it was I missed the training session on eyebrow-speak."

"He was at the pub last night with John."

"Interesting. Were they on a date? Because if they were, John really had me fooled with the whole asking me for a drink thing."

"I have no idea what they were doing. They certainly weren't holding hands or groping each other in a corner."

"If that's your idea of a date it's no wonder you can't find a woman."

"I can find a woman."

"But you're not interested."

"That's the idea."

Daisy chuckled. "Liar."

"What?"

"I have no idea where you showered this morning, but whoever she was she has very feminine taste in toiletries. Your usual manly scent is missing."

"Well, give the lady a clap."

"I don't want the clap, and if I did, I wouldn't want it from you."

Solomon shook his head. "Can we get back to the case?"

"So, Tyler was with John, and he's the manager of the person who gets money from one of the policies via her uncle's estate. If John's involved why ask us to investigate? It makes no sense."

"Neither does Tyler telling me he has never met Zut before when they were all drinking together at my local last night."

"Your local? Do I know it?"

"Nope."

"Where is it?"

"Near my house."

"You really are a closed-mouth git."

Solomon chuckled.

Daisy fidgeted in her seat. "Is he still following us?"

"Yes."

"Where are we going? This isn't the way back to Southampton."

"Lunch."

"Where?"

"Poole."

"The Quay?"

"If that's what you want, Princess."

"I want fish and chips at that place on the waterfront."

"Then that's what you'll have."

"I would kiss you, except I'm almost out of toothpaste."

"Thank God for small mercies."

*

Daisy moaned with pleasure as the battered cod melted in her mouth. "God, this tastes so good, and look at the view."

She glanced out the window and watched the boats bobbing up and down on the swell the wind was whipping up in the harbor.

Solomon leaned back, sipping his glass of Diet Coke.

The black Mercedes followed them all the way to Poole, but as they'd parked at a multistory behind the High Street and walked, it wouldn't have been easy for Tyler to follow without being seen.

Daisy glanced out the window. "Do you think he gave up on us and left yet?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Why do you care if he was following us anyway? It's not like he doesn't know how to find you. He has your card."

"I'm not concerned about me, Princess. If we went back to Southampton he might decide to hang around until you're alone, or follow you home. This way he'll get bored and bugger off. Remember the arm?"

Daisy's stomach turned over, and she pushed her half-empty plate to the side. "Thanks for reminding me. This P.I. business is a great diet plan."

"Eat up. I like to watch you enjoy food."

"Why? Because you can't?" Solomon had consumed a very unappetizing-looking green salad with a serving of grilled haddock.

"I never met a woman who ate with such orgasmic pleasure."

"What?"

"Most women don't get as excited or moan as much during sex as you do when you eat."

Daisy stabbed a chip with her fork. "You must be doing sex wrong. I'm not so much in love with food that I pull a sex face over it. Except for chocolate. Now chocolate could definitely be worthy of an orgasmic moan and a sex face."

Solomon smiled.

Daisy smiled back. "Thanks."

"What for?"

"Looking out for me. And taking my mind off the...thing."

"Careful, Princess. You'll be saying you like me next."

"Let's not get carried away."

Daisy stabbed another chip, ignoring the pool of ketchup, which definitely looked unappetizingly like blood. "So, where to from here?"

"Back to the office. You've some more research to do."

# Chapter Twenty

Daisy sighed, and rolled her shoulders. She'd been slaving over a hot computer all afternoon looking for connections between Zut, John, Jason, and Maureen. She'd done a timeline of where in the world Maureen had performed based on her official Facebook page and fan sites. Zut's band was a little harder to track, with much of the detail coming from advertising by venues where they played. The band had only been formed three months ago, and there were big holes in their history. However details on a former band, and Zut's solo career, had been a little easier to find.

"I think Maureen and Zut met at a music festival in Germany back in February."

Solomon glanced up from his own computer screen. "Music festivals are huge. Were they on stage together?"

Daisy shook her head. "Nope."

"Keep looking."

She checked a few more links. "Apparently Zut and the Newtonians performed at a pub in Burley last night. Do you live in the New Forest?"

Solomon shrugged.

So, he lived in yuppy heaven. He must be making serious cash as a P.I. if he owned a house in Burley. She glanced at him. He was probably rocking the P.I. image and had a whole wardrobe of the Armani suits he seemed to favor and kept a sports car tucked away in his thatch-roofed garage.

Funny, she thought a large studio apartment with clean lines, steel and chrome everywhere would be more his thing than a cute country cottage. Perhaps he had a pretty wife and lots of baby Solomons stashed in the country. Although a happily married Solomon was unlikely, especially as some crazy bitch had been in the office screaming about him only the day before, and Daisy couldn't imagine him cheating.

Her phone rang. She checked caller ID, but it said number withheld.

Solomon stepped up behind her. "Who is it?"

"Dunno."

He held out his hand, and she gave him the phone. If it was the nutter who left the arm in her car she didn't want to talk to him. She also didn't want to think about how he could have her number.

Solomon accepted the call and held the phone to his ear. "Hello... She's here... No problem."

He handed her the phone. "It's Dan Maloney."

Daisy put the phone to her ear. "Dan?"

"I have some news about the owner of the arm. Any chance you can put this on speaker so Solomon can listen in?"

"Sure."

She did as he asked and placed the phone on her desk before turning to Solomon. "Dan wants you to listen in."

"We've got some more information about the arm. After checking missing persons we matched the tattoos to a twenty-year-old man from Manchester. We need to get a DNA sample from his parents, but I'd be surprised if it was anyone else."

Solomon sat on the edge of Daisy's desk and leaned toward the phone. "Who is he?"

"Michael Martin. His family said he went to London looking for work, but they haven't heard from him for a month. He called home every Sunday, and when he didn't phone, and they were unable to get a response from the emergency mobile they paid for, they reported him missing. From the discussion we've had with our colleagues at Scotland Yard, it seems he was moving from hostel to hostel and left London a week ago to try his luck down south."

"Is he dead?" Daisy asked. Perhaps he'd been in an accident and the arm had to be amputated. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate. The man had barely lived.

"The tests done on the arm say it was cut off postmortem. Solomon, it had been frozen."

"Fecking hell. What have we walked into?"

Daisy glanced up at Solomon. His blue eyes had turned to steel, his jaw tight. "What don't I know?"

Solomon shook his head. "Anything else, Dan?"

"No. I think you've got the picture. Have you got anything to share?"

Solomon blew out a breath. "I've got some suspicions about a Suetonius Ackroyd-Smyth. Otherwise known as Zut Smith, of the band Zut and The Newtonians. I'll email you what we have. Any plans to offer Daisy protection?"

"Why do I need protection?"

"Solomon, can you explain the details? I can't afford the manpower to watch her twenty-four seven, but I can get a patrol car to drive past her house as often as they can overnight. Paul needs to know she might have a murderer on her arse."

Solomon nodded. "Fine. Leave it with me."

Daisy couldn't breathe. She grabbed the edge of the desk as the office began to blur and fade around her. A murderer? A murderer?

Her vision contracted to a pinprick, her chest burned as she fought for air, her stomach ached. She barely acknowledged her chair being yanked away from the desk or the warm hand on the back of her neck.

"Head down, Princess. Breathe, darlin'. Slowly...in...out...in...out. That's my girl."

Head between her knees, Daisy concentrated on the warm Irish brogue. The almost hypnotic tone and the rhythm of Solomon's instructions slowed her breathing until she could draw air without pain, and her vision returned.

He removed his hand from her neck, and she slowly lifted her head, wary that the feeling might return. Solomon was squatting beside her. He smiled and pushed a loose curl of hair behind her ear. "That's it, Princess. Are you back with us?"

"Hello?" Dan's voice filled the office.

Solomon reached out, grabbed her phone, and put it to his ear. "Sorry. Daisy didn't react so well to the news. How about we wrap this up? I'll send you what we have, and then we can talk some more."

Dan must have agreed. Solomon ended the call and put the phone back on the desk. "How about a cup of tea?"

Daisy gripped Solomon's arm. "What was Dan talking about?"

"I'll make us a cup of tea, and then we can talk about it." He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Don't worry, Daisy. No matter what, you're safe. I would die before I'd let anything happen to you."

His expression was solemn. She didn't doubt his sincerity, but Solomon's behavior was odd and strangely disturbing. She could handle trading insults, and even being polite, but he was morphing into a man she'd never met before. A man she could actually come to like.

"And all this time I had you down as a selfish git who only cared about himself and what he wanted. I never imagined you hid a desire to play knight in shining armor to my damsel in distress. Perhaps I should be offered protection against your charm offensive."

Solomon lifted the corner of his mouth in a lopsided smile. "Don't worry yourself, Princess. I'm not interested in seducing you. I'm just worried your old man will kick my arse."

*

Solomon leaned against the countertop waiting for the kettle to boil. How had things got so bad so quickly? He thought getting Daisy to search for a missing heir would be a waste of time and drive her away; instead it had led to her becoming the focus of attention for a murderer.

Daisy wandered into the kitchen. "Did you go to Ceylon to pick the tea leaves?"

He glanced at the kettle, steam poured from the spout. It must have boiled while he was thinking. "Sorry, miles away."

She pulled a chair out and sat watching as he took mugs out of the cupboard and made the tea. He shoveled sugar into one of the cups.

"Jeez. Someone has a sweet tooth. Why eat all that healthy crap, and then fill yourself up with sugar?"

Solomon lifted both mugs of tea. "It's not for me, Princess."

"I don't take sugar in tea."

"You do today. It's good for shock. Shall we?" He nodded toward the door and waited for her to lead the way back to the office. Once she was sat at her desk he passed her the sweet tea. Leaving his cup on the edge of her desk, he crossed the room and locked the front door.

"Now drink up while I get things organized."

"What things?"

"You'll see."

He grabbed a whiteboard from behind the cupboard and set it up on an easel stand next to Daisy's desk. After a quick search of his drawers, he had a whiteboard eraser and three different colored markers.

He took a mouthful of tea and rolled his shoulders. "Okay, Princess. We're going back over what you've been doing since Monday. I need to know who you've met, and what they know about what you're doing."

Daisy put her cup down with a grimace. "What did Dan mean? What don't I know?"

Solomon inhaled and blew out a breath. "I met Dan the other morning to ask him to look into some information about the insurance scam. We got to discussing the case he's working on."

"What case?"

"Two dead bodies have shown up in recent weeks. Young men. The killers went to a deal of trouble to try and hide their identities. They were both homeless and found semi-frozen."

"Like the arm." He watched the color drain from her face.

"Do you think I've met the killer?"

"Drink the tea, Daisy. I don't want you keeling over again."

She did as he said. After placing her cup on the desk she stared up at him, her green eyes vivid in her pale face. "I have, haven't I? I've met whoever's killing the poor bastards. Fuck."

"No idea, but we've definitely rattled someone's cage. Someone we've spoken to in the last few days knows something."

She put her hand over her mouth and her huge eyes filled with tears.

If she fell apart now he had a feeling it would be the end of her for the day. They didn't have time to waste, and if she wanted to work in this business she needed to toughen up. "Don't you be crying again. I won't be able to stand the nagging about my lifestyle if I have to ask my cleaner to launder two shirts to get rid of makeup this week."

Daisy glared at him. "Heartless git."

He smiled. "As may be, but I'm the heartless git that intends to find out what the feck is going on, and you're going to help me. So, let's get back to work."

"Shouldn't we just let Dan deal with it?"

"We'll share our thoughts with the cops, but I can't sit back and do nothing."

"Because you want the money?"

"Because I promised Paul I'd look out for you, and so far I don't appear to be doing a very good job. Although keeping you out of trouble would require the attention of more than one man."

"I don't go out looking for trouble."

Solomon chuckled. "Of course you don't, Princess."

"Git."

# Chapter Twenty-One

Daisy stared at the whiteboard. The list of people who knew what she was doing was longer than she expected. Belinda, Cherry, Levi at the music shop, Zut, and she'd forgotten about Clive Lewis. Not to mention the principal of Langdon College.

Solomon tapped the bottom of the black marker against his chin. "Okay, so we have your list and mine."

He was much more closed mouth. Other than John, the only other people on his list were Maureen and her manager, Jason.

After taking a mouthful of tea that must be almost cold, he stepped closer to the board and selected a blue marker. "Points of connection."

"What?"

"Who knows who and how?"

"Levi knows Zut, because he put me on to him."

Solomon drew a line between them and added the number one next to it before writing the connection as a footnote at the bottom of the board.

"Zut knows John and Jason, and John and Jason know each other."

Solomon drew more lines, but the footnotes for those connections were a question mark.

"Maureen might know Zut."

Solomon drew the line. "She knows him. We just need to find out how. We also know Zut is connected to Langdon College."

Another line was added to the board with the footnote former student.

He glanced at her. "What about Clive Lewis?"

"What about him?"

"You worked for him?"

"Not for long."

"What do you know about him?"

Daisy shrugged. "Not much. He's a lawyer who specializes in crime. He mostly seems to work for the Maroni family."

"Maroni? Organized crime Maroni?"

"That would be them."

"Shite. And you never thought to mention this before?"

"Why would I?"

Solomon got busy writing notes on the white space on the right-hand side of the board.

"What are you doing now?"

"Adding a list of things we don't know."

"How can you list what we don't know?"

"You'll see."

"And then what?"

"Then we'll send what we do know to Dan, and come up with a way to find out what we don't know."

Solomon finished writing and stepped back. Daisy got to her feet and stood next to him. He'd added some names in red. Three she recognized as the men whose deaths were being investigated by the insurance company, and one was Lord Mardon. Michael Martin also made the list. Another two just said missing, homeless, mid-twenties. In all there were seven dead bodies, counting the owner of the arm.

Tobias and Elliott Wareham's names were in the center of the board, along with the Somerset Club. Lines now flowed from name to name, resembling colorful spaghetti.

Daisy grabbed the black marker and added Gilbertson and Bolton, under Langdon College. They might not be connected, but they'd met as part of her investigation, and that boy Gilbertson was a thug.

Solomon pulled his phone from his pocket and took a picture. "I'll send this to Dan."

"That's quite a list of what we don't know."

She read the list which included: Is the Ackroyd-Smith who belongs to the Somerset Club connected to Zut? Are Lord Mardon and/or his sons connected to the Somerset Club? Find connection between Jason and John, find connection between Zut, Jason, and John, and find connection between Maureen and Zut. Try to find any points of connection between deaths being investigated by the insurance company and others on the board. Check if Lord Mardon had a life insurance policy. Research Clive Lewis to see what connections he has to anyone else. Who is the father of Maureen's baby?

Daisy sighed. "Don't you have some whiz-bang computer program to keep track of all this shit?"

"I do."

"Where?"

Solomon tapped the side of his head. "However, I also have a spreadsheet we can use, but not today."

"No?"

"It's getting late, and you've had a stressful day. I think I should be taking you home. Besides, we need to be telling Paul."

"No, we don't. If you tell him about me being the target of a murderer he'll go mental."

"And what are you planning to tell him about your missing car?"

"That it broke down."

"And he'll want to repair it."

"It was stolen?"

Solomon lifted an eyebrow.

"Okay. I left it at the office, and I'll collect it tomorrow."

"And if the police won't give it back?"

"I'll worry about that tomorrow."

"You need to tell him, Daisy."

"Why can't you leave it alone? You lied for me before."

"That was different; no one was in danger. What if they know where you live?"

"If we tell Paul, he'll stop me from helping you. I'm the key to all of this."

She waved her arm at the whiteboard. "How can you solve it without me?"

Solomon smiled. "I've solved a few crimes in my time without you."

"Not the point. You know I can help."

"I still think you need to tell Paul. I'll run interference and talk him down if he says you have to stop working with me."

"What if you can't? Let's leave it for now. We might solve this before anything else happens. Surely they're going to wait and see if the scare worked?"

"And when they see you still sniffing around they'll know it didn't. What if they try to get to you through your family?"

"That's a low blow. You're not playing fair." She couldn't risk Sherman and Paul.

"So you'll tell him, then?"

"I'll think about it."

Solomon ran his hand over his short hair. "If you'll not see sense, I give up. I'll change out of this suit and be right with you. Don't move."

She flopped back into her chair and switched her computer off as he disappeared up the corridor.

* * * *

Solomon guided his SUV up the driveway at Daisy's house and pulled to a stop. Even before he'd switched the engine off she'd dived out the door. If she thought he was going to drive away and say nothing to Paul she was fecking stupid. He had the key out of the ignition, the vehicle locked, and was right behind her by the time she'd made it inside. Before she could slam the front door in his face he stuck his foot in the way.

"Thanks for the lift. See you tomorrow." She shoved the door harder.

Paul appeared in the hallway, wiping his hands on a tea towel. "You're home."

Daisy glared at Solomon, before turning to greet Paul. Solomon stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and watched as Paul planted a hot one on his wife.

When they came up for air, Paul smiled at him. "You're getting to be a regular visitor. I'm making curry. I'm just waiting for Sherman to get in from soccer practice in about half an hour, and then we can eat. Want to stay for dinner?"

Daisy shook her head. "He can't. He has somewhere else to be."

"Do I?"

"You do, remember?"

She glared at him, and he sighed. If he told Paul he lost her confidence and risked sending himself back to purgatory where she was concerned. If he kept silent and something happened, not only would Paul be devastated but so would Solomon, when Paul kicked him to the curb. What a fecking mess.

"A beer? Surely the man can stay for a beer?"

"Aye. A beer would be grand."

Paul wandered back toward the kitchen. "Come through."

Solomon followed, stopping when Daisy grabbed his arm. "I'm watching you."

"You know it's the right thing to do."

"Not your call."

"No, but it's my job,"

"You're not my keeper."

"Yes, I am, Princess."

Paul shouted through, "Are you two coming? I've got you a glass of white wine, Daisy."

Solomon shook her off and strode into the kitchen, accepting the cool bottle of lager Paul offered him. He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. Daisy took the seat next to him and sipped her wine.

Paul stood at the stove stirring his curry, filling the room with its hot spicy scent. "So, how are you two going with finding the missing Lord Toby?"

"We're just spinning our wheels, aren't we, Solomon?"

"Not exactly. We might be making progress."

"I hope you're not too bored, Solomon. I'm sure heir hunting is not your usual thing. It's good of you to help Daisy out like this, isn't it, Daisy?"

"Oh yeah, he's a regular Girl Guide."

Solomon frowned. "Don't you mean Boy Scout, Princess?"

"No, I mean Girl Guide." She smirked at him. "You'd better drink up or you'll be late."

"No rush. You know how much I enjoy your company."

Paul chuckled. "From over here you sound like an old married couple."

"I wouldn't marry him if he was the last man alive."

"I'd rather die a single man."

Drink in hand, Paul sat across the table from Solomon. "I see you two have really bonded. And there I was thinking you'd kissed and made up."

Daisy grimaced. "That reminds me, we need more mouthwash, or maybe I should gargle with bleach."

Solomon sighed. She was frosty as hell, and he hadn't said a word to Paul, yet. Beer finished, he put the bottle on the table. "I'll leave you good people to dinner. I'll pick you up in the morning, Daisy."

"Why do you need to pick her up?"

"We have an appointment first thing, so I left my car at the office. It seemed easier for Solomon to drive me."

"Easier for who? He lives out the other side of the city."

"You know where he lives?"

"Sure. It's not a secret."

She glared at Solomon, and he smiled. The fact Paul knew something she'd been trying to wheedle out of Solomon would mean the poor man got grief all night. He felt a little guilty about that.

Solomon got to his feet. Daisy did the same. "I'll show you out."

"He knows where the door is."

"It's the polite thing to do. Besides, it's on my way. I need a shower before dinner."

Paul shook his hand. "Take care, man."

"You too."

Paul planted a kiss on Daisy's cheek. "Sherman will be at football practice for another twenty minutes. Do you want me to come up and make you dirty before helping you to get clean?"

"Paul!" Her cheeks turned pink, and her husband laughed.

Solomon strode from the room, and Daisy followed. "I'll be back to pick you up at seven."

"I'll be ready."

When they got to the front door he glanced back at the kitchen. "Either you tell him after I'm gone, or I'll do it for you."

"No. Now bugger off."

She opened the door, and Solomon stepped outside. Before he could say another word she slammed it in his face. With a growl he stomped to his vehicle, unlocked it, and climbed inside. He could see her face pressed to the glass panel in the front door. There were still options; he could call Paul. However, that was a terrible idea. He needed to explain it all, and once Paul heard the words danger and murder he was unlikely to want to hear anything else. Solomon could park close enough to keep an eye on the place and sleep in his truck. Again, not an option he relished. The nights were cold, and he had a lovely warm and comfortable bed waiting for him at home. Back in his army days he could sleep anywhere, but he was buggered if he was going to endure a night of discomfort to accommodate Daisy's particular brand of paranoia where Paul was concerned.

He started the engine and reversed out into the road, making a big show of driving off with a roar.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

Solomon parked around the corner. He hadn't done time on covert operations with the Special Forces for nothing. He ducked up the neighbor's drive and climbed the side fence before creeping along the wall of Paul and Daisy's house.

He edged toward the rear yard. Once he got to the back corner he glanced up. The bathroom light was on. He'd take his chances. If Daisy was downstairs in the kitchen he was done for, but if he waited too long she'd be washed and back in the kitchen before he had a chance to act.

After taking a deep breath to center himself, he snuck around the corner. He passed the kitchen window. A glance inside revealed Paul was alone. Solomon grabbed the back-door handle and stepped into the room. The fact that it wasn't locked cemented his opinion that telling Paul was the right thing to do. A man couldn't be on guard if he had no idea he was likely to be under attack.

"What the fuck?"

Solomon chuckled. "You've gone soft in your old age. There was a time when no one could creep up on you. However, I've still got the magic. Oh, and I believe you owe Daisy five pounds for using the F-word."

Paul smiled. "Perhaps you should try giving up being a big bad arse and settle down. Maybe a woman could soften your hard edges."

"I like my edges just fine the way they are."

"Did you forget something? I can get Daisy. She's only just gone up to the shower."

"It's not Daisy I'm wanting. We need to talk."

"About?"

"Daisy's not being as forthright as she could be about the investigation."

"She's lying? What about?"

"Her car's at the police station."

"Did she have an accident?"

Solomon shook his head and crossed to stand beside Paul. "This will go easier if you just listen. I don't have much time."

Paul turned the heat down under the curry and stood with his arms folded. "Okay. What's going on?"

"I think the case we're working on is connected to some murders being investigated by Dan Maloney. Unfortunately, it looks like the murderer agrees. Someone threw pig's blood over the bonnet of Daisy's car and left a severed human arm attached to her steering wheel."

"What?"

"I think she's come to the attention of a murderer. I have no idea how far they'll go."

"Daisy? My Daisy? In danger?" Paul's face tightened as he clenched his jaw. "Fuck. Why didn't she tell me?"

"Because she's worried you would react badly. She's determined to keep working with me and solve the case."

"Bullshit. No fucking way. How could you let this happen?"

"I would say, in my defense, that your lady is not one to be contained. I didn't think handcuffing her to the desk would go so well, based on how she reacted the last time I chained her up."

Paul took a step toward Solomon, his hands fisted at his sides, his jaw still tight, and his eyes blazing with anger. "This is not a fucking joke. You were supposed to protect her."

"I had no idea she would be in danger. How was I to know looking for Tobias Wareham would lead to this?"

"You're the professional."

Solomon stood toe to toe with him. He had never signed up to be her babysitter. Daisy was a bleedin' liability. If Paul wanted her to be safe he should never have let her out of the house. She attracted trouble like shit attracted flies. "I'm the man you forced to take her on. If anyone's to blame it's yourself. That's why you're so angry."

"You promised."

"And I fucked up. Shite happens. So sue me."

Paul grabbed Solomon and spun him around, twisting his arm up his back, and pushing him down until his face was pressed against the cool timber of the kitchen table top. "You fucking promised. I saved your arse, and you promised to do this one fucking thing in return. Daisy is my life. All you had to do was convince her to quit and go back to working in an office. What the fuck is wrong with you that you can't do one simple thing?"

Solomon struggled and threw Paul off. He turned and raised his fist ready to hit first if it turned into a fight. He hadn't wanted to work with Daisy to begin with. He was doing Paul a favor in return for the bullet in the arse he took on Solomon's behalf. The heat of anger surged through Solomon's veins. What did Paul expect of him? No one could tell Daisy she couldn't do something. He'd spent all week running around after her instead of solving his case. Given enough time he'd go out of business because of Daisy.

Solomon reached under his jacket and threw his pistol on the table.

"What the fuck are you doing with that? You do know you can go to jail for ten years for owning a handgun."

He ignored Paul's comment. He wasn't there to discuss the dangers of owning a gun. Solomon tugged his belt from its buckle and then unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. As he spun around to turn his back to Paul he dropped his jeans to his knees. Hands resting on the table, he braced himself. "Do it. Go on. Nail me in the arse. Once, one time, and then we can both walk away like it never happened. I'll be out of your precious life, and you can protect your darling Daisy. See how that works out for you the next time she gets some crackpot idea." Solomon wiggled his naked butt in provocation. "Do it, you maggot. Give it to me hard."

*

Daisy had changed her mind about a shower and was running a bath instead. Intent on refilling her wine glass, she had been almost at the threshold to the kitchen before the raised voices registered. She stopped in the doorway and stared. Solomon was bent over her kitchen table with his bare arse hanging out for all the world to see, begging to be nailed by her husband. Oh God. What if that was it? What if Solomon was off girls because he was hung up on Paul? Maybe the feminine scent she had smelt on him hadn't been from a woman at all. He might be a cross-dresser for all she knew.

Paul glared at Solomon. "If Daisy wasn't upstairs and likely to hear, I would gladly oblige."

She stepped into the room. "What would you oblige him with exactly?"

Solomon spun around, and she got an eyeful of his junk. She averted her gaze from his nether regions. She didn't need that picture in her head. "Put it away. It's unhygienic to have that thing swinging around the kitchen. Besides, you might burn it on something."

Solomon turned his back as he scrambled to pull his jeans back up and fasten them.

Paul crossed the room, but when he put out his arms to hug her, she backed off. "What the fuck is going on?"

"It's not what you think."

"What do I think?"

Paul shrugged. "I dunno."

"Why was he begging you to drill his arse? Is it some old army game you used to play in the barracks at night?"

Everything stowed away, Solomon stepped toward them. "Tell her, Paul, or I will."

"Tell me what?" Daisy gripped the wine glass tighter.

"We were just arguing."

"And this was time to kiss and make up?"

Solomon chuckled, and she glared at him.

Paul continued, "No. Solomon told me you were in danger."

She turned her attention to the Irish man. "You did what? We agreed."

"I never agreed, Princess. I never thought it was a good idea."

"So, I'm in danger, and you two decide to do what in my kitchen exactly? Was this some kind of perverse dick-measuring contest?"

Solomon sighed. "Tell her, for Christ's sake."

"Yeah, tell me, Paul. Whatever it is it can't be as bad as the things I'm currently imagining."

Paul glanced at Solomon, and then back at Daisy. "Fine. But you're not going to like it. Solomon owed me a favor because the bullet I took in the arse in Cyprus was meant for him."

Daisy frowned. "I knew that already."

"How?"

"You talk when you're drugged with painkillers. In fact, maybe I should break out the aspirin now."

"No. Look it's complicated. Solomon owed me a favor for the bullet thing so I asked him to take you on."

Solomon snorted. "That's not all you wanted."

"Shut the fuck up. I'm doing this my way."

"Well, of course you are, because your way has worked so well up to now. Your way got your wife in the path of a killer, and your way has Daisy thinking we're gay."

"You have her thinking that because you were intent on waving your naked arse at me."

Daisy slammed the wine glass on the countertop hard enough that it shattered, showering her hand with glass. "Stop arguing and tell me what's going on."

Both men's focus shifted to her. Solomon stepped closer. "Your husband asked me to take you on and show you how tedious being an heir hunter was so that you'd scurry back to a boring office job."

"And he failed. He was supposed to keep you safe."

"And the arse thing?"

"I was wanting him to shoot me."

As if to prove the point Solomon lifted a pistol off the table and shoved it in the back of his jeans. When had he started carrying a gun, and why hadn't she seen it before? She hadn't noticed it because she'd been too distracted by the sight of a semi-naked man apparently propositioning her husband.

"Shoot you?"

"Aye. If he shoots me in the arse we can all walk away. I've repaid the debt, and you two can live happily ever after."

"And the murderer?"

Paul reached out for her. "Solomon's right. Heir hunting is too dangerous for you."

Daisy shrugged Paul off. "Don't even try to blame him. You were the one. You wanted me to fail. You pretended to support me, but all the time you were scheming with him of all people to get me to quit."

"It's not like that, beautiful. Anyway, even if I was, getting you to quit was the right decision. You're in danger."

"I'm in danger because I'm making a difference. I'm the key to finding a killer. Don't you want to know anything about the case?"

"I only want to know that you're not involved in it anymore. Leave it to the police. Your place is with me and Sherman, somewhere safe where I don't have to worry about you, wondering if you're going to get hurt, or worse. You can't live in fear of your life."

"I won't quit."

"You'll do as you're told."

"I will do as I please. And I please to get the job finished, with or without your approval, or your help."

"Don't you realize the danger, you stupid woman? You should be running for the hills. I think you should go and stay with your mam for a while."

"I'm not going to stay at my mam's, and I'm not going to quit, so you're going to have to deal with it. If you can't, then maybe I need to find a man who can. One who supports me, and thinks that embarking on a new career is something to be encouraged, instead of someone who schemes with the enemy behind my back."

Solomon placed a hand on Paul's shoulder. "From the look on Daisy's face, I'm thinking you're the one who should be in fear of his life. It appears you've misread your lady this time."

Paul glared at Solomon. "And I think you should shut the fuck up, and help fix this bloody mess."

Solomon frowned. "How? If she won't quit for you, she sure as hell won't do it for me."

"If Daisy won't quit, then we need a plan to keep her safe. Is your place still secured like Fort Knox?"

"Why?... No way. Absolutely no fecking way."

# Chapter Twenty-Three

Solomon glanced at the woman steaming with anger in the passenger seat of his SUV. How long before she stopped being pissed and started crying because Paul had upset her? He needed to invest in a dry-cleaning business if he was going to keep hanging around with Daisy. If she was really intent on being in his line of business and helping solve a murder, she was going to have to toughen up.

"Are you okay?"

She glanced at him and nodded.

"Good."

"I know you don't want me to stay with you. Just drop me at a hotel."

"Can't do that, Princess. I fucked up, and now we all have to be punished."

"Is that how you see me, as some divine retribution being heaped upon you?"

Solomon smiled. "No. Not really. Well, not all the time."

"Today?"

Not the response he'd hoped for. "Today was a total mess. I'm sorry about you and Paul arguing. He only got angry because he loves you. Once he's sure you're out of danger, and has time to cool off, he'll get over it and be begging for your forgiveness."

"I'm not sure I want to forgive him. He schemed against me—with you of all people."

"I know, Princess. If he'd sold his soul to the very devil it would have been more forgivable."

"You are the devil."

Solomon lifted one side of his mouth in a lopsided smile. The Daisy he knew and loved was still in there. "That I am, darlin'."

"I know you're trying to cheer me up, but even the thought of you with horns, a forked tongue, and tail isn't enough to make me forget what Paul did."

"He did what any man would do for the lady he loves. He worships the very ground you walk on. And look on the bright side. You finally get to find out where I live."

Daisy sighed. "As much as I want to see your lair, I would have preferred to have found it on my own. It's a hollow victory when the enemy sweeps you into his castle with open arms."

"Well, I guess we're both disappointed, then."

"Why?"

"Once you know all my secrets, what fun can I have at your expense?"

"I thought you flopped most of your secrets out in my kitchen. Not that you need have bothered if that's all you have to hide."

Solomon raised an eyebrow. "I think your present state of upset is affecting your memory. Besides, it was cold in your kitchen."

"I don't recall it being that cold, but if it makes you feel better I'll believe you."

Solomon slowed as a pony crossed the road in front of them. Dropping his pants had been juvenile. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Not half as sorry as I am. I'm going to need eye bleach to cleanse my vision, as well as toothpaste."

He glanced at her, and she gave him a wan smile before turning her attention to the group of ponies they were passing by.

"Do you have other secrets?"

"Everyone has secrets, Princess."

* * * *

Daisy fisted her hands in her lap and stared out the window. The forest was a strange place. The landscape was filled with acres of tall majestic trees reaching for the sky. The patches of ancient woodland were interspersed with areas where there was hardly a tree in sight; instead the ground was blanketed with heather, bracken, and gorse. Solomon slowed as the rich red of the sky heralded the arrival of dusk.

The car vibrated as he traversed a cattle crossing designed to keep the wildlife from the enclave of houses ahead, and then they were swallowed up by a tunnel of oak and beech trees. Leaves danced in the headlights as the hint of autumn began to tug the trees' summer coats free.

She chewed her bottom lip, determined not to cry. If she went back and told Paul she'd give in to his demands, then she lost more than a job. She wanted to prove to Paul that for once in her life she could succeed at something. Solomon was right; the man loved her, perhaps too much. She had to do this, not only for herself but for their future. The last few days had allowed her to see that she could grow to love investigating things, and she had a feeling, given a chance, she could be good at it.

"You doing okay over there?"

She glanced at Solomon and attempted a smile. "Fine."

"Good. We're almost home. Perhaps I should pull over and blindfold you so that you won't ever be able to find your way back."

"Blindfold women a lot do you?"

He chuckled. "Now that would be telling, Princess."

They turned off the main road and followed a narrow lane that snaked between the trees. The tall oaks thinned out before finally giving way to grass. A tiny hamlet of white-walled, thatch-roofed cottages stood in the clearing. If she didn't know better she would swear she'd stepped out of real life and into the pages of a fairytale. She wondered which one was Solomon's. As the SUV drove on it appeared none of them. Just beyond the last cottage they slowed down and took a hard right, pulling onto a hidden driveway. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. The headlights pierced the thickening shroud of night as they were once again swallowed up by the trees.

A flash of metal caught her attention, and she sat forward, agog, as a steel gate slid open to allow entrance through a high stone wall that disappeared into the darkness in both directions. Paul hadn't been wrong about Solomon's home being like Fort Knox. How on earth did he get permission to build his very own gated community in the middle of a National Park?

Solomon glanced at her. "It used to belong to a man of mystery."

"007?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge who it was that needed such security. However, fortunately for me, he found new accommodations."

"Why do you need so much security?"

"Keeps me from having nightmares."

Daisy turned her head and stared at the dwelling Solomon called home. After such a grand and imposing entrance she'd imagined a castle, or a stately home, but instead she was looking at a two-story black-and-white Tudor house like dozens of others dotted around the countryside. He pulled the SUV to a stop outside the front door.

"Is that it?"

"Is that what?"

"Is that the lair?"

"Are you not impressed?"

"Do you want me to be?"

"I just don't want you to be disappointed after you've been so desperate to see it."

"Are we still talking about your house?"

Solomon chuckled. "It's good to see you bouncing back. Now how about I show you to your room and introduce you to the delights of my spa bath. You can soak until you're a prune while I make dinner."

"Paul made dinner."

"That he did, Princess."

Daisy swallowed the lump that filled her throat. She refused to start crying. She'd have a bath, and then she'd call Paul. They had a rule that they didn't go to bed on an argument. Besides, she needed to know he'd arranged somewhere safe for Sherman to stay, and that he was all right.

"What if the murderer goes to my house and I'm not there? They might kill Paul."

"Now he knows what he's up against it's not going to happen, Princess. Your old man is one of the best. I should know. I trained him. Now let's get inside and get you comfortable."

# Chapter Twenty-Four

Daisy climbed from the spa bath and patted her skin dry with a warm, fluffy white towel. For a man who used to enjoy living in trenches, and crawling through God knew what on his stomach, Solomon certainly embraced luxury. The tour so far had only included a double bedroom, decorated in warm creams and browns, that she could call her own while she stayed, and this salubrious bathroom. There were two doors into the room, one from the corridor and the other from Solomon's bedroom. He'd warned her to stay out of his room. Would he believe her if she said she got confused? She tugged on the navy blue bathrobe he'd given her and wrapped it around herself, fastening the belt with a big bow. The sleeves dangled past her hands, and the bottom of the robe hit the ground. The fabric had the faint warm musky scent that was uniquely Solomon.

She opened the door and glanced down the hall. No sign of Solomon. As much as she wanted to have a snoop, she also wanted to put some clothes on. No way did she plan to flash her body at Solomon. Even if he had no sense of propriety, she didn't intend to sink to his level. She picked up her pile of dirty clothes and headed out the door that opened into the corridor. Her toes sank into the deep pile of the charcoal gray carpet as she made her way back to the room he'd given her.

Solomon had delivered her suitcase and left it in the middle of the bed. She undid the zip and opened it up. After a quick rummage through what she'd packed she came to the conclusion she should have taken a little more care. Apparently angry Daisy had no sense of fashion or style. Nothing matched, and even worse, she'd forgotten underwear. The bra she could recycle until she got a chance to duck home and grab some more clothes, but she had no intention of doing that with her panties. Men might claim to be able to wear the same pair four days running by turning them inside out and wearing them back to front, but real women wore clean underwear at all times, ready for any situation that may arise. Not that any situation requiring her to be encased in fine silk and lace was likely to come up with her and Paul at loggerheads and in different houses. A few minutes later she was dressed in red track pants, a yellow T-shirt, and a purple sweater. Her feet were bare because four-inch heels really would do nothing to improve the hideous look she was going for.

Her hair was damp so she pulled it back into a ponytail and glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Yep, revolting. She wiggled and tugged at the back of her sweatpants. They must have shrunk in the wash because they were no longer the comfortable lounging about wear they used to be. In fact they were tight in all the wrong places. Now she looked closer she realized they used to be Sherman's before he grew out of them. No wonder they didn't fit. However, they would have to do. They were the only pants she'd packed, and she wasn't going to walk around in a skirt, sans underwear.

Daisy exited her room and wandered the corridor with every intention of making her way downstairs. The house was bigger than it looked from the outside. From the number of doors she passed she guessed it had four bedrooms as well as the bathroom. One of the doors stood ajar, and she nudged it with her foot. It swung open to reveal a room decorated in pale pink. A mural straight from a fairytale covered one wall. The room was furnished with a white bed, matching desk, book shelf, chest of drawers, and full-length mirror. A doll's house was on top of the drawers, and a pink toy box was pushed up against one wall.

Daisy stepped inside the room and smiled. Solomon had a lot of explaining to do, although she had a fair idea who the set up was for. The man of mystery really wasn't who she thought he was. Did Paul know? A book lay face down on the bedside cabinet. Daisy picked it up. The Cat in the Hat. Dr. Seuss. She used to read the same book to Sherman when he was little. She sat on the edge of the bed and flicked through the pages.

*

Solomon turned the heat off under the pan. The house was filled with the delicious spicy aroma of Paul's beef curry. He used to make it when they were in the army. Solomon was transported back to poker night at Johnno Johnson's house. His wife went to her sister's once a month, and Johnno used to open his home up to his army buddies. Paul used to be head chef, Solomon brought the booze, and Johnno invariably lost his shirt. That was where Paul had first told him about Daisy.

He'd just got back in on the late afternoon train from Manchester. For the first time ever Paul had been the one to lose. Every hand. Every game. Paul was completely away with the fairies. When he'd shown Solomon her photo he could see why. Daisy had many failings, but she'd been a pretty girl and had grown into a beautiful woman. Her looks were far from what some would call classical, but the light red hair, upturned nose, and green eyes that could flash with anger, along with an overly generous mouth, made her strangely hypnotic and uniquely Daisy.

Solomon sighed. Paul was a lucky man, or he had been until this mess blew up. Solomon might have no idea about relationships, but he did know Paul would be hurting. There was still no sign of Daisy. She must have slipped in the bath and drowned. He wandered through to the living room. All evidence of his personal life was gone. The most damning photos were now stored in a drawer in his office, and the door to his inner sanctuary was firmly secured. There was nothing for Daisy to find. When she discovered the locked door it would drive her nuts. He grinned.

Solomon took the stairs and stood on the landing, hands on hips. The door to the bathroom stood open, as did the door to the third bedroom. Apparently being miserable didn't prevent Daisy sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. He marched down the corridor and came to a halt in the doorway,

"Daisy?"

She looked up at him and smiled through her tears. "I used to read this to Sherman when he was little. It was his favorite."

Solomon crossed the room and sat next to her. "My ma used to read it to me. No childhood would be complete without Dr. Seuss. I remember her sitting on my bed, her eyes full of fun."

"Do you look like her? Your mam?"

Solomon shook his head. "Not so much."

"Then you must look like your dad?"

"Ma always thought so."

"But you don't?"

"We never met."

"Oh, Solomon. Sorry. That's terrible."

"You can't miss what you never had, Princess."

"Does Molly look like you?"

"Molly?"

"Lisa said it was your turn to have her this weekend. You can't possibly be trying to pretend she doesn't exist."

He gave in with a sigh and tugged his wallet from his back pocket. Once he had it open he pulled out a photograph and handed it to Daisy.

She peered at the color picture and then at him, before holding it up so she could see him and the picture at the same time.

"She's got brown eyes?"

"That she has."

"You and Lisa have blue eyes?"

"That we do." Solomon was no scientist, but the fact the child had dark brown eyes and olive skin when both of her apparent parents were blue-eyed and pale wasn't lost on him. His name was on Molly's birth certificate. He might not be her biological father, but she was his in all the ways that mattered. Every child needed a parent to rely on, and Solomon had gladly taken on that role. The tiny scrap of innocence had stolen his heart the moment he laid eyes on her, and nothing would ever change that.

"She's pretty, but I can't see any resemblance. How old is she?"

"Three. Now are you ready to eat?"

Daisy nodded and handed the picture back. "I would love to meet her. I'm sure Paul would too." She sniffed, and Solomon passed her a tissue from the box next to the bed. "Assuming he ever wants to see either of us again."

"Of course he will. I bet you he'll be over before the night's done."

"Bullshit."

"Want to put your money where your mouth is?"

Daisy chewed her bottom lip, tears clung to her eyelashes. "No. My heart wouldn't be in it."

Solomon wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. "Come on, Princess, let's go and eat. I might even regale you with tales from Paul's younger days that you can use against him when he finally comes to his senses."

Daisy smiled. "You two used to be inseparable, didn't you?"

"That we did."

"Anyone would think you were brothers. Why do you get along so well together?"

"You mean how could Paul put up with an arsehole like me? I used to ask myself the same question all the time. Now come on."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. As they made their way along the hallway toward the stairs Solomon's phone started to ring. He tugged it from his jeans pocket and glanced at the caller ID.

"It's Dan Maloney."

"Is he calling about Paul? Did something happen to him?" Daisy's fingers bit into his flesh as she gripped his upper arm.

# Chapter Twenty-Five

Daisy had the meal dished up by the time Solomon got off the phone. The only thing she could tell from the one-sided conversation she could hear was that they were talking about Zut not Paul.

She opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of lager, hunted the drawers and found a bottle opener, and popped the tops before placing them on the table. Solomon's kitchen was super organized. Apparently his tidy gene extended to every corner of his life. She'd had no trouble finding cutlery and plates. He even had proper linen napkins.

With a final good-bye, Solomon hung up.

"Well?"

"Sit. Eat."

Daisy sat and lifted a fork, but she wasn't really hungry.

Solomon took the seat across the table, unfolded his napkin and laid it across his knee before taking a swallow of beer.

"Well?"

"Eat."

She scooped up a forkful of curry and shoveled it into her mouth. Now her mouth was full she couldn't ask him again.

"Dan looked into Zut."

She swallowed. "And?"

Solomon took a mouthful of dinner and chewed slowly.

"Do I have to waterboard you to make you tell me?"

Solomon swallowed and then smiled. "I've been trained to resist torture."

"How about if I stick electrodes on your testicles?"

"I might just enjoy that."

"Ew. You're disgusting. I don't even want to think about your man bits."

"You brought them up, Princess."

"I want to know what's going on."

"He's dead."

"Zut? When? How?"

"Suetonius Ackroyd-Smyth died three years ago in a surfing accident in Australia."

Daisy frowned. "But I met him."

"You met a man called Zut, and we assumed it was Suetonious."

"What about his band? And the website?"

"Apparently the Zut we know is a musician, but other than that we know nothing."

"Are we sure our Zut isn't pretending to be Suetonious? But then why would someone pretend to be a dead man?"

"No idea, Princess."

"Is he really dead?"

"The Aussies did a DNA test to confirm what they found was Suetonious."

"What they found?"

"Eat up, Daisy."

She wasn't really hungry, but apparently he was withholding information until she finished dinner. They ate in silence. As soon as she finished her last mouthful she dropped her fork on her plate.

"All done. Now will you please tell me what's going on?"

Solomon was in no rush to finish dinner so Daisy sat and waited. Eventually he leaned back and patted his stomach. "Doughnut still makes a mean curry."

"Paul!" Her mind had been so full of speculation about Zut she'd forgotten she was going to call him. "I need my phone."

"You go and call him, and I'll do the dishes, and then we can go back over what we know and plan where we go from here."

"You want me to help you plan?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "You don't want to help?"

"Yes. Yes. But I figured you knew what you were doing."

"I do, Princess, but I thought we were partners in this."

"Partners?" She smiled as she pushed to her feet and rounded the table. Finally someone thought she could actually make a difference. Although maybe Solomon was playing her. She decided to take him at his word and offered him a hand. "Partners."

He grabbed it and pulled her closer, wrapping her in a hug. She wasn't sure how to react. Finally she gave in and hugged him back. He let her go but not before grabbing her face in his hands and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Now off you go and call Doughnut. I'll be in the living room when you're ready."

She stared at him for a moment. Who was this man? Where had the surly git she knew gone? In the last twenty-four hours her world had been turned on its head, and Solomon's change of character was only the half of it. Had she gone to bed last night and woken in an alternate universe?

*

Solomon watched her stroll from the room. What the feck was wrong with him? Not only had he told more than he intended about Molly, he'd hugged Daisy. She'd looked so pathetically happy when he said they were partners, and her horrendous outfit had added a sense of pathos to the disastrous evening. Telling Daisy she was on ice until the investigation was over would be like kicking a puppy. Hopefully Paul had come to his senses, and Solomon could get back to doing what he did best with Daisy, pissing her off. This change in their relationship was disturbing.

He got to his feet and loaded the dishwasher. Once the kitchen had been restored to order he made his way to the living room. No sign of Daisy, so he risked unlocking his office. He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder before retrieving a whiteboard that was leaning against the wall and some markers. With his hands full he'd have to come back for the whiteboard stand.

He turned and groaned. "Daisy."

"Is this the inner sanctum, like the bat cave?"

"It's an office. Make yourself useful and grab the stand."

She crossed the room and lifted a photo off the bookshelf. "I remember this picture."

"Me too. Stand, Princess."

"Why do you have a picture of you and Paul on your bookshelf?"

"He's my best mate." That picture brought back happy memories. Up until then Paul had been one of a group of friends he made during basic training, but that trip had cemented their relationship. They'd been inseparable. He'd always intended to be honest with Paul, but once he really got to know him he couldn't destroy the man's life. Instead, he'd reversed course and set out on the path that had led them to where they now found themselves.

She put the photo of him and Paul in Germany back on the shelf, and lifted the next one.

"I forgot about this picture. You look so cute cuddling Sherman."

"I don't look cute. I never look cute."

Daisy smiled. "You do. That was one hell of a day."

He remembered it well. Daisy had been wiped out from the labor, but the expression on her face when he'd accepted her offer to hold Sherman had all but brought him undone. He'd been included in the biggest events in Paul's life. Best man at the wedding, first to hold Sherman after his parents, and then godfather at his christening. He missed being part of Paul's family. "It's not every day you give birth. Now can we?"

She put the picture back and lifted another.

"Your mam?"

"Yes. Daisy, please."

"You have her coloring. What's her name?"

"Etain."

"It suits her. She's pretty."

"Was pretty." Why the feck had he said that?

"Was?"

"Yes, was. Now can we get on?"

"She's dead? Do you have any other family?"

He hesitated. "Yes, she's dead, and no, I don't have any family. Now can we?"

"What about your dad? He might still be alive. You could look him up. Maybe you've got brothers and sisters that you don't know about."

"The stand, Daisy."

She put the photo back and collected the stand. He waited until she disappeared through to the living room and then he followed. With his hands full he couldn't lock the door. As long as she stayed with him she couldn't be snooping, and once she went to bed he'd lock it up.

# Chapter Twenty-Six

Daisy tried to hide a yawn behind her hand. Solomon was in full swing. The whiteboard was covered with names, but this time he'd rearranged them in groups based on connections. He had one list of people who were related through the Somerset Club. Another put together because of their connection to the music industry. A third group for Langdon College. And then a homeless group. Finally, people related to Toby. He'd drawn circles around each list so the board looked like the Venn diagrams Daisy had done at school.

He tossed the marker he was using on the coffee table and collapsed onto the sofa next to her. "So tell me, Princess, where do you want to focus?"

"Me?"

"Aye. What do you see in that picture? What do you think you did to upset someone?"

"Cherry says we should talk to homeless people."

"Homeless people? And who the feck is Cherry?"

"She's my best friend. She says it's thanks to me she was able to build the conservatory on the back of her house. I've been good for her career."

"As?"

Daisy shrugged. "A recruitment agent."

Solomon smiled. "I bet you have, Princess. How many times has she placed you? Isn't there a law against selling a product when you know it's faulty?"

Daisy glared at him. "Do you want to hear my idea or not?"

"Sure."

"Okay." Daisy got to her feet and approached the board. "All of the dead people were homeless. When Belinda last saw Toby he was living in a squat in London. And as you've shown, Phat Kitty was taking part in a charity event for the homeless. Now, Cherry tells me that in an episode of Sherlock he used the homeless people in London to be his spies."

"Sherlock?"

"The TV show."

"You want to act out a TV show? Is that why you're dressed like a bag lady, so you'll blend in?"

She glared at him. "I packed in a hurry. I think the pants used to be Sherman's, and the jumper was a gift from my grandmother."

Solomon chuckled.

She decided to ignore him. "It's not a totally stupid idea, is it, talking to homeless people?"

Now she'd said the words out loud she did wonder if it was a bit mental. She was running on empty. Her body ached with fatigue. She'd only met Cherry that morning, but it seemed like days ago now. She wanted to climb into bed and cuddle Paul, except he was back home. Their conversation had been short and to the point.

"What are you thinking on, Princess?"

"Paul."

"Is he still acting the maggot?"

"Sherman's staying at the Maloney's tonight. Paul's all alone. We've never gone to bed on an argument."

"Are you still arguing?"

"He says he'll get over it, but he's still grumpy that I won't stay out of the case and get a safer job."

"Sorry, darlin'. Do you want me to talk to him again?"

"No. He has a horrible stubborn streak. The more you push him, the more he digs his heels in. He's probably just waiting for me to fall flat on my face and prove him right."

"Did he ever tell you how he ended up taking the bullet in the arse for me?"

Daisy shook her head.

"Back in the day I fancied myself a ladies' man."

"Not like now, then?"

"Do you want to hear this?"

"Sorry." She crossed to the sofa and sat down.

"Cyprus was a veritable smorgasbord for the single soldier. The local lassies were charmed by my accent and my baby blues."

He fluttered his eyelashes, and she smiled. They were hypnotically pretty when he wasn't giving the stink eye. She could imagine some girls might find him attractive.

He smiled back. "I took my pleasure where I could. Paul warned me to be careful, but a lothario listens to no one. Every weekend I would pick up a new lady, and by Monday I'd forgotten her name. Until I met Anna. She worked at a bar down by the beach in Ayia Napa and refused to do anything more than dance with me, the same as she did with any other bloke who asked. I'm not a man to refuse a challenge, and Anna was a nut I intended to crack. So, I spent three weekends on a charm offensive. I used my whole arsenal. Gifts, compliments, hours spent talking, dancing, wining, and dining."

"And she gave in to you?"

"That she did, Princess."

"And?"

"I persuaded her to spend the night with me in a hotel. When she went home she told her father she was in love. The devout man was horrified that his daughter had been defiled, and even worse, by a British soldier. He followed Anna to the bar where I'd arranged to meet her the next Saturday. Paul was with me. Before Anna could even greet me her dad burst in wielding a rifle. Anna screamed for him to leave me alone. Paul knew about Anna and surmised that the man with the gun wanted to blow my head off—the fact he was yelling, "I'll kill the bastard!" in Greek might have given him a bit of a clue.

"Anyway, Paul told me to slip out the back while he talked the man down. He'd done a week long course on hostage negotiating, and he thought he had it all under control. The man demanded to know if Paul was me. Paul flashed his wedding ring at him, telling the man he was married, without first mentioning he wasn't me. Anna's dad lifted the gun, apparently even more outraged that the man who had defiled his daughter appeared to be in no position to marry her. When it became apparent the situation was out of control Paul turned to follow me out the back. The man pulled the trigger and shot him in the arse, and probably would have kept shooting if the cops hadn't arrived."

Daisy frowned. "Poor Paul. He should have let the mad bastard shoot you. I know I would have."

Solomon chuckled. "You'll not be watching my back if it ever comes to a gunfight, then?"

"Nope. You had better make other plans. Now, as much as I love to hear about your romantic conquests, was there a point to the story?"

"Yes, Paul warned me about the likely consequences of my actions, but when those gun-wielding consequences showed up he didn't stand back and say I told you so. Instead, he tried to save my sorry arse. Your man is loyal and, even when he thinks he's right and you're wrong, he'll back you one hundred percent. He's scared for you, Princess, but he still loves you."

"And you?"

"Does he love me? I thought we sorted that out earlier. The bare arse in the kitchen was a misunderstanding, not an invitation to kinky sex on your dining table."

"No, not does he love you."

"Do I love you?" Solomon pressed a hand to his chest. "Daisy, this is so sudden." He chuckled.

Daisy punched him in the arm. "Moron. What about you and Anna?"

"Anna is better off without me, and I probably would have got bored with her in time."

"That's not a very romantic ending."

"I don't do romance. Now you look done in. How about you head to bed, and we'll pick this up tomorrow?"

Daisy nodded. Every bone in her body ached, and sleep would be a blessed relief. She pushed to her feet.

"Goodnight."

"Night, Daisy."

She padded across the room and up the stairs.

*

Solomon pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed the speed dial for Paul.

"Solomon."

"How do you fancy a booty call?"

"I thought you'd never ask. Your place or mine?"

Solomon chuckled. "Not me, you maggot. Your lady needs you."

"How's she doing?"

"She'd be doing a lot better if you'd come over and show her some affection."

"You want me to come to your house and have sex with my wife?"

"That was the idea. Have sex with the wife you don't have sex with."

"She'll never go for it with you in the house. She gets stage fright."

"I've heard you two banging before. Remember the trip we all took to Ibiza?"

"You said you went out for the night."

"I did, to the balcony with a bottle of whiskey. Your wife has a great set of lungs."

Paul sighed. "She does."

"Come over. She needs to know you love her."

"And you?"

"I love you both. Now come over."

Paul chuckled. "Damn, where's a tape recorder when you need one? Stick-up-his-arse Solomon finally tells someone he loves them. Did the earth fall out of orbit around the sun? Is hell about to freeze over?"

"The appropriate response when someone tells you they love you is to tell them you love them too. It's no wonder your lady's so blue."

"I wish you'd convinced her to quit."

"What's done is done. You're going to have to accept it. Leave her to see it through. Once she's experienced the seedy side of life, and the horrors that entails, she might decide to quit. Better you're there when she does. Either way, do you really want to risk losing her?"

"When did you take a marriage guidance counseling course?"

"Between the courses on how to tell your mate he's being a selfish maggot and the one about how to beat your mate with a stick until he comes to his senses. She called you to make amends, and yet here she is, alone and miserable with only me for company. Ball's in your court."

All right. I'll come over."

"Good. Oh and bring her some clothes. I've no idea what was going on in her head when she packed, but it can't have been good. The poor woman is reduced to wearing track pants at least a size too small and a hideous purple sweater. And my guess is she forgot underwear."

"And you know that how?"

"Just get over here."

Solomon hung up and dropped the phone on the coffee table.

He crossed the room and poured himself a glass of whiskey before standing in front of the whiteboard. What was the key, and why had Dan warned him to stay away from Zut? Someone on the board knew something. An idea hovered at the edge of his mind. Once Paul arrived he'd go for a run. Sometimes things made more sense when you stopped staring at them.

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

Daisy rolled over and stretched.

Dear Diary, after working for three days with the Irish git we have made little progress on the case, other than to put my life at risk, but all is not lost. Something weird is happening. We may never know who the murdered is, but we might have proof that Darwin's theory of evolution is much more than a theory. I think Solomon could be turning into a human being.

Okay, so she didn't really have a diary, but what was all that last night? Solomon opening up about himself, and then inviting Paul over to play mummies and daddies with her, seemed oddly out of character. He was a man, and men weren't supposed to be complicated.

Paul had snuck out just after midnight, because he didn't want to leave their house empty all night, and had promised to text once he got to work to let her know he was safe. They'd had fun, once Paul finished begging for forgiveness and managed to convince her Solomon had gone out.

There was something smutty and sinful about getting naked and rolling around in someone else's bed. By the time Solomon came back and blasted the house with Steven Tyler singing "Dude Looks Like a Lady," she'd been too involved to care about Solomon's taste in music, or the fact he knew she was upstairs having sex with her man. Paul loved her. She smiled and sighed. Her body ached and hummed with muscle memory in all the right places.

She flicked on the bedside light and groaned. Practically the middle of the night—well, five-thirty, but close enough. Now she was awake she would never get back to sleep. She threw back the bed covers, grabbed Solomon's bath robe, and padded across the room. A cup of tea was the answer to everything.

Being as quiet as she could, she crept down the stairs. When she got to the bottom, she hesitated. The living room was in total darkness. Solomon must still be sleeping. Her own life was back on track, but he had admitted that other than Molly he had no one. What if he hadn't ever seen his dad because the man never knew Solomon existed? Maybe she should look for his family? Not only would it be a chance to give Solomon something special, but it would also allow her to hone her skills. She needed to start with a copy of his birth certificate.

She felt her way along the wall until she reached the door to Solomon's office. What harm could there be in taking a look around? Had he even searched for his dad? Maybe he had with no luck, or maybe the old man was a total arsehole and didn't want to admit responsibility, in which case the apple didn't fall far from the tree...most days.

She tried the handle and squealed with delight when it turned. With a gentle shove she pushed the door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. Now she needed to turn the light on. There had been one of those green banker's lamps on his desk, but if she crossed the room she might trip. Instead, she felt along the wall until she found the switch for the main light. She flicked it on.

"Morning, Daisy."

"Fuck me!" She spun around, heart pounding, chest aching as she fought for air.

Solomon sat in his large black leather office chair, bare feet on the desk. A smile spread across his face. "Begging for it already? I thought you would have had enough with Paul last night."

She pressed a hand to her chest. "You're about as funny as a wet fart. What the hell are you doing in here in the dark?"

"What the feck are you doing in here at all?" His gaze met hers, and she glanced at the floor. There was no way she could overcome his penetrating stare of evil before she'd had a cup of tea. Not only would she blurt out her desire to sneak around for clues to his dad's identity, but she would probably end up confessing that she had been the one who brought down Lehmann Brothers and single-handedly plunged the world into economic crisis. Oh, and she might also tell him about the dent in his back bumper bar that he'd failed to notice. An accident could happen to anyone forced to drive a car as big as a bus down Britain's narrow suburban streets.

Daisy opened and shut her mouth, waiting for her brain to catch up with the conversation. Ah-ha. "I needed the bathroom."

"You walked past the bathroom on your way to the stairs, so unless you've a weird desire to pee in my wastepaper bin, I'm not buying it."

"Okay. I don't need the bathroom. Well, actually now I think about it I probably do. My bladder doesn't cope well with frights."

"Will you be needing the bin after all?"

"Eww. No."

"So you were sneaking into my study because...?"

"I lost my way to the kitchen. I'll make some tea."

Before he could grill her any further she swept from the room, her open robe billowing in her wake.

*

Solomon swung his feet to the floor and stood up. He stretched to work the kinks out of his back. Daisy's arrival had woken him from a doze. After his run he'd taken a quick shower and then hidden in his study so as not to interrupt the happy couple. He'd planned to go to bed after Paul ducked in and said goodnight, but he'd been on to something.

He grabbed his laptop and locked the office door before heading upstairs to change. Daisy was up to something. She already knew too much about his life. The woman had an uncanny knack of getting him to unburden himself against his better judgment. From now on he would keep the conversation purely business. She could start by acting as his personal assistant and arrange some meetings.

As he passed Daisy's room he heard her singing "Dude Looks Like a Lady." Apparently sex with Paul had lightened her mood, as well it might. Even with the music turned up he could hear them. What would it be like to have a woman you loved on tap twenty-four seven? To be able to fall into bed with her whenever the mood took you? To have her in perfect sync with your needs and desires?

His right hand was always in sync with his desires, and finding a woman was never a difficulty, but sex was just sex. According to Paul what he shared with Daisy went beyond the physical and gave their love lives another dimension. Not that Paul would get into specifics. Any sharing about his prowess ended the day he met Daisy. What they did between the sheets was not open for discussion.

As he reached his bedroom his phone started to vibrate in the pocket of his track pants. He pulled it out and checked caller ID. The number wasn't one he recognized. He hit the button and held it to his ear.

"Solomon."

A voice whispered, "Thank God. I need your help."

"Maureen?" Why on earth would Phat Kitty need his help?

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

Daisy stifled a yawn and glanced at Solomon. He was sipping a cup of black coffee and staring at his phone. They'd been on the road for over an hour, and now they were parked outside a multistory car park in Bournemouth. As much as she loved a day at the seaside, and the opportunity to scope out a new shopping venue, she figured neither activity was on Solomon's itinerary.

"What are we doing exactly?"

"Maureen called."

"I got that bit, but I thought we were going back to Sandbanks?"

"She said Zut's gone missing."

"She told you that she never knew him."

Solomon glanced at Daisy. "She lied."

"What else did she lie about?"

"No idea, Princess. She said she had to hang up before she could do much more than beg me to find him."

"And we're here because?"

"I planted a tracking device on Zut's car the other night."

Daisy glanced over his arm at the display on his phone. "Easy job, then. We just follow the map thingy until we get to where that little flashing icon is pointing and voilà. But what do we do when we find him? If he's parked here he's clearly not missing. He's probably just avoiding Maureen. Maybe he's the kid's father and is running from his responsibilities. I know some men don't cope well when they discover their little swimmers have won the reproductive Olympic gold medal."

Solomon glared at her before opening his door and climbing out. He leaned back inside. "You wait here."

Daisy scrambled to undo her seatbelt. She really should learn to keep her mouth shut before she'd had a big enough infusion of caffeine and carbohydrates to kick-start her day. Her comment had been below the belt, but not actually directed at papa Solomon, whoever that loser might be. If she let Solomon stew he would be back to Mr. Dark and Brooding for the rest of the day and, God help her, she actually liked the man when he behaved like a normal human being. Besides, if Solomon fled the scene, who the hell would protect her if the nut job who'd defaced her car came looking to rip her arms off, not to mention other body parts? "No way."

Solomon growled and then slammed the door. She leapt out and did the same. The SUV chirped, and the lights flashed to show it was locked as she followed the surly git into the car park's stairwell. The sweetly pungent scent of urine filled her nasal passages, giving her head the equivalent of colonic irrigation. Eau de British car park. They should bottle and sell it at M&S. American tourists would be mad for the quintessential English perfume.

She climbed the stairs behind Solomon, intent on staring at anything other than his seven-out-of-ten rear end. The man had dimples, or at least she thought he did. Her mind had been caught up with other things when he was busy flashing in her kitchen. There was something absurdly uncomfortable about knowing what he looked like under those dark jeans, even though she was not in the least bit interested in him as a man. And he clearly was a man. Despite her earlier assertion that he had no penis, it seemed she was mistaken. She'd seen the evidence, exhibit numero uno, flopping about in her pristine white flat-packed kitchen. She'd be sure to give that table a good wipe with disinfectant when she finally got home.

Solomon stopped on the fourth-floor landing and pulled the door into the car park open. A gust of cold air blasted down the stairwell, cleansing her nostrils of the stench of human excrement. She just hoped to God they wouldn't find anything like she'd found the last time she'd been inside a multistory.

She followed Solomon through the door. "What kind of vehicle are we looking for?"

"A new white Porsche."

"I'm guessing he didn't get the money for that by playing pub gigs."

"Probably not, which is why you shouldn't be here."

She tugged at his sleeve, and he turned to face her. "I am sorry."

"About?"

"What I said before. It wasn't a dig at you, or your family situation. It was a lack of mouth control brought on by caffeine and carbohydrate deprivation."

His focus slid down her body and then back to her face. "Are you sure you didn't follow me so you could stare at my arse in the stairwell?"

"What? I'm trying to apologize here. What the fuck is wrong with you?" She could feel her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Just thought I'd ask."

"Why?"

"Because, had the roles been reversed, I would have had no choice but to stare at yours in that tiny piece of cloth you call a skirt."

Daisy tugged the skimpy, body-hugging blue fabric down as far as she could and wished she'd chosen to wear pants instead. So much for wondering if the Irish git was gay. She made a mental note not to let Solomon follow her up any flights of stairs. Paul had been an angel of mercy turning up with a bag full of clothing. However, the scrappy lacy undies he'd brought for her to wear reflected his male fantasies, not comfort or decency. "I would continue this conversation, but I have a no-flirting policy when it comes to you."

"Why's that, then?"

"Because it offends your stick-up-the-arse sensibilities."

"Don't tell me that you're finally going to do as you're told?"

She strode ahead of him. "Shall we find this car? We have to be in Salisbury by lunchtime."

He jogged up beside her, and then dragged her behind a concrete pillar. "Hold up, Princess. We have no idea who this Zut is. Until we know differently we assume he's somehow involved in this whole bleedin' mess."

Daisy put her hands on her hips. "So what do you suggest, then?"

Solomon glanced around the car park before tugging a pistol from under his jacket.

"You want to shoot someone?"

"Insurance, Princess. I don't suppose you'd consider staying here?"

"You suppose correctly."

"Okay, then get behind me, grab my belt, and keep up. If this goes badly you dive for cover behind anything that gets between you and the danger, and keep your head down no matter what. Are you reading me?"

She saluted. "Loud and clear, sir."

"Smart-arse."

Daisy frowned. "Why am I holding on to you?"

"So that I know where you are."

She could argue and tell him he could trust her to do as she was told without grabbing his belt like a child, but decided some fights weren't worth having. He turned, and she slid her fingers into the back of his belt, bringing her close enough to feel the warmth of his body. Her heart was pounding. Surely they weren't really in any danger. Were they?

Gun held down at his side, Solomon walked cautiously toward the end of the car park where his phone indicated the tracking device could be found. Daisy couldn't see much from her position behind him. He had a few inches on Paul, and Paul had a few inches on her, even when she was wearing these ridiculous boots. She really needed to buy some running shoes.

*

Solomon slowed and stopped about ten meters from where the Porsche should be. All the spaces were full, but he didn't need to check his phone to know the vehicle he'd planted the tracking device on wasn't there. Zut must have found the bug and placed it on someone else's car. They'd been led on a merry dance for nothing. He shoved his pistol back in his shoulder holster.

Daisy let go of his belt and moved to stand next to him. "Where is it?"

The blip on his phone screen indicated the green Kombi van was the new host vehicle. Had Maureen set them up? If so, why? He crouched to get a closer look at the van. A bright flash lived and died on its underside. Jaysus Christ! He grabbed Daisy around the middle and dived for cover behind an SUV. The air shook with the rush of oxygen that heralded the arrival of an ear-splitting boom. He covered her body and tugged her face tight into his neck to protect her from the inevitable shower of glass and debris. Eyes closed, he breathed, inhaling the acrid scent of fire and the aftermath of an explosion that had set his body on autopilot and sent his mind reeling back to the Middle East. This time the outcome would be different. This time he'd be the savior.

*

One minute Daisy was standing in the car park, and the next Solomon turned with terror in his eyes. His hands closed around her waist, and he lifted and threw her. Her body slammed into the concrete floor, forcing the air out of her lungs. She sucked in a breath before Solomon's hard body landed on top of her. He held her tight, and she closed her eyes as he pressed her face into his neck. The ground vibrated with a huge boom. Heart racing, she shook Solomon. Was he dead? Had he been killed saving her? God, no! He let her go and pushed up so he caged her body with his arms, and she moaned with relief.

The first gasp of breath seared her throat. She sucked in another, coughing to clear her lungs of smoke. Tears stung her eyes. Solomon scrambled to his feet. Blood was running down his face from a gash on his cheek, but he was alive. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, and slap him for scaring the shit out of her. His lips were moving, but the ringing in her ears, combined with the wail of car alarms rendered her deaf. She shook her head. "What?"

Solomon grabbed her hand and pulled Daisy unceremoniously to her feet. She stumbled in her heels, struggling to keep up as Solomon dragged her across the floor at full sprint. He opened the door to the stairwell and shoved her inside before following and slamming the door behind him. She coughed and spluttered for air as the building continued to shake beneath her feet.

Solomon pointed down the stairs, and she didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed the metal handrail and took the steps two at a time, not even slowing down when the heel broke off her left boot. She shoved the door at the bottom open and tumbled out into the bright morning light. Chest heaving, she sucked in a lungful of clean, salt-tinged air. The wind chilled the tear tracks on her face.

Laughter bubbled up, and she fought to get a grip. Hysteria was not the correct response to almost getting blown to pieces. She spun around. Solomon was doubled over just outside the door to the stairwell. His hands were on his thighs as he braced himself. She hobbled toward him, and he glanced up and chuckled. Apparently amusement wasn't the wrong reaction. He'd saved her life. She sucked in a fresh gulp of air. A seagull squawked as it wheeled overhead. She could breathe. She could hear. It was wonderful. The world was amazing.

She grabbed the front lapels of Solomon's jacket. His smile faded as she smashed her lips to his. When he tugged her tight to him and tried to deepen the kiss she fought free. Jesus, talk about taking liberties.

He frowned. "What was that about?"

"Thank you."

He chuckled. "You're welcome, Princess."

Blood was still dribbling from the cut high on his cheek, his jacket sleeve was almost ripped off, and his knee was stained red where it poked through a hole in his jeans.

"You're a mess."

"You don't look so hot yourself."

"And yet you still find me attractive enough to try and take liberties."

"You can't blame a man for trying. Besides you started it. If I get a kiss every time I save your pretty arse I'm going to need to keep my lips in shape."

"Screw you."

She stomped down the path back toward his SUV.

"Will I be needing to buy you more toothpaste?"

She decided to ignore him. Why did he have to be such a dick?

His footsteps pounded on the pavement behind her and the SUV's lights flashed as he hit the unlock button on his key-fob. She opened the door and climbed inside just as a fire engine, lights flashing, siren wailing, screamed past.

He climbed in beside her and turned the key in the ignition.

"Shouldn't we stay and talk to the police?"

"Nope."

"Why not?" She frowned.

"We were the only ones up there. If word gets out the police have two witnesses, then whoever was trying to kill us will know we survived."

"You think they don't know that already?"

He pulled the SUV into the traffic as a police car passed in the other direction, racing to the scene. "I doubt it. Remote detonation."

"How did they know we were even there?"

"No idea, Princess. They could have hacked into the car park's CCTV, in which case they might have seen us run for the stairwell but lost us because once you exit the floor there are no cameras. Unless they stopped watching once they hit the button and assumed they killed us. Alternatively, they could have been parked close by and seen us enter the stairwell and estimated how long it would take us to reach the Kombi van."

"Watching us? Where are they?"

"When they detonated the device? Not too far away. Now? Probably long gone."

She swiveled in her seat. "Are we being followed?"

"No."

"Where are we going?"

Solomon glanced at her. "Home to clean up, and then we have appointments to get to."

"You don't want to chase down these bastards?"

"If they felt the need to try and blow us up my guess is we're getting close."

"To what?"

"Buggered if I know, Princess."

"And the police?"

"Have told us to stay away from Zut, whoever he really is. I'm not sure they'd believe we just happened to be there when a car exploded."

"We didn't just happen to be there. You bugged the car."

"Best the cops don't know about that."

"Why?"

"It's not exactly legal." He patted his pockets. "Bollocks. I've lost my fecking phone."

"You had it in your hand before you threw me to the floor."

"Shite."

"We should go back."

"Not going to happen, Princess. I'll retrieve it later."

"What if the cops find it?"

"Then we're buggered."

"You're buggered. I was shopping when it all went down."

He glanced at her. "You'd desert me in my hour of need?"

"It's not legal to carry a handgun is it?"

Solomon shrugged.

"Then yep, I'm deserting you. I'm too pretty for prison."

"And you think I'm not?"

She glanced at him. The convicts would love him, but if they so much as looked at him funny she had no doubt they'd be sorry.

"So much for the kisses, Princess. I'm deeply wounded. I thought we were a team, in this together until the bitter end."

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

Solomon sat at his desk trolling through the news on the Internet to see what the cops had to say about the exploding Kombi van. So far they were calling it a mechanical failure, but the area was on lockdown. Best-case scenario, they'd discover the bomb and go after the morons who had tried to kill them. Worst-case scenario, they'd find his fecking phone, trace his military background, check his place of birth, and decide he had something to do with it. The troubles in Northern Ireland might be over, but that didn't mean his countrymen weren't still subject to suspicion.

He glanced at the time. If Daisy didn't hurry up they'd never make it to Salisbury for their appointment. He'd had first shower, tended his wounds, and changed his clothes. The jacket and jeans were a write-off. Levis were ten a penny, but the black jacket had been a real favorite. He'd shoot the bastard who'd tried to blow them up just for destroying an essential piece of his wardrobe.

He sat up straight as a headline caught his eye. "Bollocks!"

"What?"

Daisy sauntered into the room. She'd chosen skinny jeans, black knee-high spike-heel boots, and a long-sleeved cream button-up shirt. She tossed the distressed black leather jacket she was carrying on his desk as she walked around to join him. Other than the boots, the outfit was the closest thing to a nun's habit he'd seen her wear.

"The estate of Lord Mardon reckons they've found Tobias and are withdrawing the reward."

She leaned over his shoulder. The soft flowery scent she favored filled his nostrils, and her curly strawberry blonde hair brushed his face as she read the report on his computer screen. "Do you believe it?"

"That they've found Tobias?"

She turned and leaned her butt against his desk. "Seems awfully convenient. And if they have found him, then what is all this about. Why is someone trying to scare me off? This started before we did anything on your case."

"Good point, Princess."

"If it isn't Toby, then surely the real Toby will see it and come forward? Is that their game, to try and flush him out?"

"Perhaps, but I think it's safe to assume, at this point, that he doesn't want to be found."

"So why pretend you have him, then?"

Solomon shrugged. "Maybe to get people to stop hunting for him. If we're to assume the defacing of your car and the bomb were designed to scare you off, then they'll also want to discourage others. Without a reward, what's the point of looking? Whoever they're parading as Lord Tobias is irrelevant."

"A fake Toby will never pass muster if they want to get the inheritance."

"I'm starting to think the inheritance is no longer important, Princess. If they're wanting to stop people looking, a fake heir does the job. Unless you know Tobias, that picture could be of anyone."

"We need to speak to Belinda."

"Why?"

"She does know him."

Solomon glanced at his watch. "Right you are. If we're quick we can duck into her shop and still be in Salisbury for our first appointment at midday."

"And then lunch. I know a lovely café near the cathedral. Now I'm not going to get paid for finding Toby, lunch will have to be on you."

Solomon lifted a corner of his mouth. "Of course it will, darlin'."

* * * *

Daisy's conversation with Belinda had been most enlightening. Solomon had shown her the photo of the supposed Toby with his brother Elliott taken outside the family pile. Belinda had taken one look and declared it wasn't the wayward Lord Toby. Apparently it was a fair match but not him. The real Toby had a narrower frame and a slightly different-shaped nose. Most damning of all were the eyes. Apparently the fake Lord's were the wrong shape. He was also missing a crescent-shaped scar on his left cheek that he got from playing rugby.

They drove to Salisbury in silence as Daisy turned the problem over in her head. There had to be a logical reason for Elliott to parade the man around as his brother. They'd read the will. She could see no upside for Elliott.

Solomon nudged her elbow and she glanced at him. "What?"

"What are you thinking on?"

"Nothing makes any sense."

"It will once we have all the pieces."

"What are we missing?"

Solomon shrugged. "No idea, Princess."

"Why did Maureen want us to find Zut?"

"Maybe she didn't. We only have her word that he's missing."

"She wanted to blow us up?" Daisy stared at him. "Why?"

"While you were otherwise engaged last night I did some research into Jason Tyler."

"And?"

"And he has a history of fraud. About ten years ago he set up a competition to find England's next Spice Girls. Apparently thousands of hopefuls paid to enter, but the band never happened. Since getting out of jail he's been managing Maureen and a couple of other small names. Despite her worldwide success I've found nothing held in her name. The house in Sandbanks is registered as his. On the surface he appears to be everything he seems. However I don't trust him."

"Why not?"

Solomon shrugged. "Gut feel. The man is not what he claims to be, even if he is putting on a good show."

"Do you think he has plans to fleece Maureen? Maybe he intends to take her inheritance. If she was expecting his kid, then he could convince her to marry him and everything she has could be his. Do you think she's in danger, or part of the plan to get us?"

"No idea, Princess."

"What do we do now, then?"

He eased the car into the curb. "Now we have an appointment with Liam Sparks, where I'll be asking the questions."

"And what do I do? Are we going to do good cop, bad cop? I always wanted to do that."

"You're going to be your usual delightful self. That should put him off guard enough."

"Arsehole."

Arsehole with great taste, though. Solomon had ditched the SUV, declaring it was probably known by whoever was after them. However their current vehicle was unlikely to go unnoticed. She ran her hand over the dashboard. When she'd imagined he owned a sports car she'd been kidding, but apparently he did. A black Aston Martin DB9. A dream car.

"You do know you're a cliché, don't you?"

"How's that?"

"A P.I. with a sports car. It's very Magnum. Next you'll be moving to Hawaii."

"How do you know I'm not just having a midlife crisis?"

She looked at him. He might not be too many years from forty but, based on the way Belinda had been drooling, the man had nothing to have a crisis about. "Maybe you are, but I doubt it. I'm thinking I should reconsider the heir hunting and stick with being a P.I. if it means I get to buy a car like this."

"Being a P.I. doesn't pay that much, Princess."

"So how come you own an Aston Martin?"

"Didn't earn the money from being a private investigator."

Daisy frowned. "How then?"

He glanced at his watch. "We're going to be late."

She opened the door and turned in her seat, accepting Solomon's hand as she climbed from the car, grateful she'd opted to wear pants. Getting in and out of a sports car without flashing your undies when you wore anything other than pants would take practice. Thanks to the rip in the back of her skirt earlier, a rip Solomon had failed to mention, he'd seen more than enough of her and her lingerie for one day.

Once she was safely on her feet he let her hand go, slammed the passenger side door, and locked the car. "Ready?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulders and tugged her jacket straight. "Let's go."

He led the way toward the unassuming gray stone building, opened the door to the office and let her step inside before following. The interior was nothing like the offices of Lewis, Leviston and Smythe. They majored on bland; this place was a riot of color. The interior decorator must have been dropping acid. Orange and yellow walls were teamed with blue doors. A polished steel-and-glass reception desk was dwarfed by the massive silver SPARKS sign hanging on the back wall.

The dark-haired receptionist glanced up from her keyboard and smiled. A silver paper star was stuck on her left cheek. Daisy wondered if it was part of her uniform. The yellow shirt with the silver Sparks logo suited her. Not everyone could wear yellow. Some people looked like they had liver failure in yellow. A sign said her name was Melanie Mitchell.

Solomon crossed to the desk. "We've an appointment with Mr. Sparks."

"Which one?"

"Liam."

"And you are?"

"Solomon, and this is my associate, Ms. Dunlop."

"He's in a partner's meeting. I'll just go and let him know you're here."

Solomon reached across the desk and placed his hand on her arm. "Just a moment, Melanie."

She frowned as he lifted his hand and tugged the star from her face. He dropped it on the desk, and her face flushed with embarrassment. "Oh God, Craig must have stuck it on me when I dropped him off at the childcare center."

Solomon smiled. "Maybe he wanted to let you know you're doing a grand job of being his mummy and thought you deserved a star." He nodded toward a picture sitting next to her keyboard. "Is that the little man?"

She lifted the photograph and handed it to him. "It is."

Daisy sighed. He was off again with the charm. Solomon turned and showed her the picture. "Cute, is he not?"

"Adorable. I remember when Sherman had blond ringlets."

Solomon smiled. "Me too. Not that he'd thank you for them now."

"Is Sherman your son?"

Solomon handed the photo back. "He's Ms. Dunlop's. I've not been blessed with a son."

Melanie smiled. "I'm sure if you were he'd be adorable. I'd better let Liam know you're here. Please, take a seat."

The receptionist disappeared through a door, and Daisy shook her head.

Solomon frowned. "What?"

"Do you have to try and charm the pants off every one of the opposite sex you meet?"

Solomon laughed. "Pot, kettle."

He had a point, but she'd stopped flirting with men—well, with him anyway.

A tall blond man stepped into the reception area followed by Melanie. He crossed the room and offered Solomon his hand. "Liam Sparks."

As he shook Solomon's hand he turned his baby blues on Daisy, sweeping his gaze from her high heels to her head and back to her eyes. "And this is?"

Daisy smiled and offered a hand. "Daisy Dunlop, Mr. Sparks."

He dropped Solomon's hand and took hers. "Liam, please." Mr. Sparks smiled at Daisy and held the door open. "Shall we?"

She glanced over her shoulder at Solomon, and he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

# Chapter Thirty

Solomon took a seat next to Daisy. Apparently Liam Sparks preferred to sit on the edge of his desk in front of Daisy rather than occupy his perfectly good high-back leather chair. Solomon concentrated on not grinding his teeth. Daisy was right about him charming women to get what he wanted, whether that was information or a workout in bed. If Liam was so enamored with Daisy's pretty strawberry blonde hair and pouty lips, then so be it. While he was busy lusting he might let his guard down and actually tell them something useful.

Liam smiled. "So what can I help you with?"

Solomon tugged a notebook and pen from his pocket. "We've been hired by Standard Life Insurance to look into the claim relating to the death of your client Stuart Bligh."

"Stuart?" Liam got to his feet, wandered behind his desk, and took his seat. He frowned and then smiled. "How rude of me. Would you like a coffee?" Before either of them could answer he hit the intercom button on his phone. "Mel, three coffees, please, darling."

Solomon pinned the man with a stare. "Mr. Sparks? We note that the insurance claim is paid to his estate. I was hoping you could tell us what happens to the money after that."

The man tapped his fingers on his desk. "I'd love to but client confidentiality and all that."

Daisy grabbed Solomon's arm and then leaned forward. "Liam, we're not here to stir up trouble, and no one is under suspicion. This is routine for such a large policy. Until the insurance company is happy the claim is valid they won't pay. Wouldn't it be best for the beneficiaries if we could sort it out and put the whole thing to bed?" She reached over and put her hand over his. "I know we're putting you in a difficult position, but if you could help we'd be very grateful."

The door opened, and Liam tugged his hand free. Solomon glanced at Melanie who stood in the doorway. "You didn't say how you wanted your coffee so I made a pot."

She crossed the room and placed the tray with three cups, a pot of coffee, jug of milk and bowl of sugar on the desk. Liam glanced up at her, and she smiled. Solomon noted their matching wedding rings and wondered if Daisy would pick up on their relationship. Funny, she didn't call herself Melanie Sparks. Although lots of women preferred to keep their own names, and why not? Changing your surname was a lot of hassle.

Melanie left them to it, and Daisy got busy playing mother. She didn't bother to ask Solomon how he wanted his coffee, you could hardly get black wrong, and she left Liam to add his own milk and sugar.

Solomon watched as Daisy took a sip from her cup before placing it on the edge of the desk. She smiled at Liam. "Cute kid."

Liam frowned and stopped stirring his coffee. "What?"

"When we came in I couldn't help but notice the photograph of your son on Melanie's desk. He looks a lot like you. Is he your first? I've only got the one son. I know if anything happened to him it would kill me."

Liam glanced at Solomon and then back at Daisy. "Is that a threat?"

Daisy laughed. "God, no. Why would I threaten you? And what could I possibly do? I can't even run in these boots, never mind catch someone and do them harm. I was just thinking out loud. That poor man's relatives must be desperate to put the whole horrible accident behind them. I mean having to deal with the fact someone you love burnt to death would be bad enough, without all the legal headaches and delays."

"Stuart didn't have any relatives. Well, that's not strictly true. He had a son, but he went missing years ago."

Solomon glanced at Daisy. She met his gaze, and he gave her a slight nod. He might have been planning to interrogate the guy, but it seemed Daisy's feminine charm was working for them.

*

Daisy held back a smile of triumph. She'd finally done something right and got the Irish git's approval. Her gut twisted. Now she needed to prove to him that his faith wasn't misplaced.

"Poor man. I know if my Sherman went missing I'd never stop looking. Did he try to find him?"

Liam nodded. "Spent tens of thousands on private detectives, waste of time." He glanced at Solomon and smiled. "No offense."

Solomon shrugged. "None taken. It's easier for someone to take up a new name and remain hidden than you might imagine. They could be right in front of you, and you'd never spot them."

Daisy took another mouthful of coffee. Interesting comment by Solomon, was he referring to Toby? Not that they were looking for him anymore.

She placed her cup back on the desk. "So, if Stuart had no living relatives I'm not sure I understand the need for a large insurance policy?" She frowned. "Surely even a lavish funeral doesn't cost that much."

Liam folded his arms. "What is this really all about? The police have identified the body. Why the investigation?"

"The insurance company has a number of large claims where the deceased passed away in suspicious circumstances. The authorities really didn't have much to use to identify Mr. Bligh. I'm sure you can understand they're just being thorough. And perhaps that's a good thing. They have more money to spend on investigating the circumstances surrounding his death than the police. If it turns out that things are not as straightforward as they appear, then wouldn't you want to help find out the truth? Are you sure there's nothing in his will that might make you wonder about his sudden demise?"

Liam sipped his coffee and stared at her. She held his gaze. A frown marred his otherwise smooth forehead before he placed his empty cup on the desk and reached over toward the intercom. Daisy held her breath. Shit. He was probably going to get Melanie to escort them from the building.

He pressed the button. "Mel, can you get me a copy of Stuart Bligh's latest will, please."

Daisy glanced at Solomon and then back at Liam. "Latest will?"

"He changed it two months before his death. His old will left everything in trust for his son."

"And now?"

"You'll see."

"How did he seem the last time you met him?"

Liam shrugged. "He looked tired, and had aged ten years in the last two. He said he was planning a trip to the Canary Islands and wanted to get his affairs in order first."

"The Canary Islands?"

"That's what he said. Something about someone letting him use their house for free."

"Did he mention any money troubles?"

Liam shook his head. "None."

"I noticed he's a member of the Somerset Club, and with a house in the New Forest, I can only assume he died a very wealthy man."

"Not as wealthy as you'd imagine."

"How's that?"

"No idea. I'm not his accountant."

Melanie opened the door, crossed the room, and handed Liam the sheaf of papers she was carrying. "Your next appointment is waiting."

Liam nodded. "I'll just be a moment."

Daisy and Solomon got to their feet, and Daisy took the papers from Liam. He held onto them for a minute. "You never got these from me."

"Understood. You don't happen to know who his accountant is, do you?"

"Morrison and Morrison in Winchester."

He let the papers go, and they followed him to the door.

Daisy smiled up at him. "Thanks for your help."

"No problem. Now if you'll excuse me?"

"Sure."

She led the way across the reception area and out the main door.

Papers in hand, she waited until they were out of the line of sight of the office before she whooped with excitement and did a victory dance around Solomon. He chuckled and grabbed her hand, tugging her into a hug.

"Well done, Princess."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze before pulling back and staring up at him. "You do know this is sexual harassment, and I can sue, don't you?"

"As could I for the kiss you forced me into earlier."

Daisy snorted. "Says the man intent on shoving his tongue down my throat." She wiggled out of his arms. "I did good in there, didn't I?"

"That you did, darlin'."

"Can I drive the Aston Martin?"

Solomon's eyebrows almost hit his hairline. "Not that good! Besides you might put a dent in the back bumper bar."

"How do you know that wasn't already there before I drove the SUV?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't, but I do now. Lunch?"

She pulled her phone from her bag, slipped her arm through his, and nodded. "Lunch, but first I'll give Morrison and Morrison a call."

# Chapter Thirty-One

Daisy felt nicely full by the time they'd got back into the Aston Martin for the trip to Winchester. Mike Morrison of Morrison and Morrison had agreed to see them at three. She resisted the urge to undo the button on her jeans. God, the café had been fantastic, and the chocolate cake with clotted cream was to die for.

Solomon had resisted the temptation and eaten quiche and salad. Apparently, he had more self-control in his little finger than she did in her whole body. But chocolate was the next best thing to sex, and who knew when she'd next see Paul for a conjugal visit? That man was better than anything she'd ever eaten. Her body flushed at the thought of Paul naked and in action.

"What are you thinking about?"

She glanced at Solomon. "Chocolate cake."

He smiled as he edged the Aston Martin into the outside lane to pass a parked car. "Liar."

Daisy grabbed the papers that were sticking out of the top of her bag. They'd decided not to look at them over lunch because they hadn't wanted to be too open in public. She read the legalese. Blah, blah, blah. Why couldn't lawyers write in English? They didn't talk the way they wrote. Imagine if they did. Sleeping with a lawyer would be boring as hell.

Solomon slowed the car to take a corner. "What does it say? Who gets the money?"

"Simon Benson, Stuart Bligh's butler, gets ten thousand pounds and the house. Not that there's a house left to inherit. The rest of the estate, including the proceeds of the five million-pound life insurance policy, goes to a charity called Anthony the Abbot." Daisy looked at Solomon. "I've never heard of them. Have you?"

He shook his head. "No, but they'll be worth a look when we get home."

"Am I staying with you tonight?"

"Don't you want to? Is my hospitality not up to standard? Where else does the host call your husband for a booty call?"

"You wanted Paul to visit you for a booty call?"

Solomon chuckled.

Daisy sighed. "Can we not talk about Paul?"

"Problem?"

"Do you think he's safe at the house on his own?"

"You want him to stay with us?"

"I'm not sure he would agree. He's worried something will happen to the house if he leaves it empty."

"No harm in asking, Princess."

"I'll give him a call later. Thanks."

"For what?"

"Not being an arsehole."

Solomon laughed. "Bollocks, my cover must be slipping."

"Don't get carried away. I'm sure your inner arsehole is in there somewhere waiting to show itself."

"We can but hope, darlin'. But if not can we keep this revelation to ourselves? I've spent years working on my bad-boy persona."

"Why?"

He glanced at her. "Why keep it quiet?"

"No, why do you want a bad boy persona?"

Solomon shrugged. "Life's easier that way."

"You mean if you behave like a git people won't care about you. That's really sad."

"This is real life, Princess. No one cares about me and it's best for everyone it stays that way."

Daisy gazed at the brake lights flashing red on the back of the car they were following. "I care about you. So does Paul. He cared about you even when you were a git."

The Aston Martin slowed as Solomon took a left turn. "I'm still a git. Maybe you can use your phone to check that charity on the Internet."

Had his childhood really been so tough he couldn't accept anyone cared about him? Too bad. Once this was over she'd build bridges. Sherman would love to have his godfather back as an honorary uncle, and Paul needed someone to get drunk and act the fool with.

*

Solomon concentrated on the road ahead. The car purred along, and he relaxed back in the seat. He couldn't afford to let his guard down. Daisy had told Belinda that a woman not doing as she was told was his kryptonite, but she was wrong. He glanced at Daisy. She was focused on her phone as she scrolled through Google results. A woman saying she cared about him with real feeling was his weakness, but he'd never let another member of the fairer sex lead him around by the balls again. Not even one married to his best mate.

Daisy's voice broke the silence. "I think I might be on to something."

"What's that?"

"The charity helps homeless men. Their website shows the board of trustees."

"And?"

"My old boss Clive Lewis is one of them."

"Interesting."

"So is Phat Kitty's manager, Jason Tyler."

He recalled the conversation he'd had with Phat Kitty and Jason. "Shite. Can you find out if they're putting on a charity show tonight?"

Solomon negotiated Winchester's one-way system. The benefit of driving a car worth more than most people's houses was that other vehicles got out of the way. No one wanted to have to ring their insurance company and tell them they'd damaged an Aston Martin.

"Royal Bath Hotel in Bournemouth from seven."

"Does it have any other details?"

"You can buy tickets online. They cost five hundred pounds a head for dinner and entertainment."

Solomon blew out a breath. Steep, but the insurance company was covering his expenses. If he was going back to Bournemouth he'd be able to try and retrieve his phone. "Can you email me the link? I'll buy a ticket when we get home."

"One ticket? What about me?"

"You'll be busy, Princess."

"Doing what?"

He flashed her a smile. "I thought Paul was coming over. If not, then I'll think of something."

"Why can't I come? I might be able to help."

"You'll be recognized."

"And you won't?"

"I don't have your pretty hair and memorable figure."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, mister. I thought we were in this together?" She stared at him and frowned. "Do you really think my hair's pretty?"

He chuckled. "Daisy, a lady never fishes for compliments."

"Lucky I'm not a lady, then. So do you?" She twirled a curl of her hair around a finger and stared at it.

He shook his head as he pulled into the car park and found an empty space. Daisy dropped her phone into her bag and climbed out as soon as they were stationary. He got out and locked the car before following her across the lumpy asphalt toward the main street. They were bang on time. Hopefully Mike Morrison would be in a sharing mood.

Daisy waited for him to catch up. "What do you think you'll find out tonight anyway?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "No idea, but I've a feeling the charity is a key to solving this whole thing."

"Liam said Stuart Bligh's son went missing. He could have decided to leave money to a charity he thought might be able to help him if he's living rough. It could be a coincidence."

"I don't like coincidences. There are hundreds of charities for homeless people. What are the chances he would randomly choose the one that your friend Clive and the manager of another potential beneficiary of an insurance policy under investigation are involved in?"

"Do you think it was Clive who set the killers on to me?"

"That would be my guess, Princess."

"And he works for Maroni."

"That he does."

"But Clive thinks I'm looking for Toby. What does that have to do with the insurance policies?"

"Right now I have no idea. I guess time will tell, but at least we're making progress."

"I suppose."

They walked the rest of the way to the accountant's office in silence. Daisy had a point. Belinda had told them Tobias used to live in a squat. Did his disappearance have something to do with the insurance policies? That was something to look into. When they reached the accountant's office, Solomon pushed the chrome-and-glass door open and waited for Daisy to step inside before he followed her.

The middle-aged receptionist glanced up. "Can I help you?"

Daisy walked to the counter. "Daisy Dunlop to see Mike Morrison."

"Please take a seat."

Solomon sank onto a dark brown sofa, and Daisy perched on the edge next to him. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned her head. "You worked in finance?"

She nodded.

"Okay, you take the lead."

"Cool." Her smile lit up her whole face. You'd swear to God he'd told her she'd won the lottery, not that she could question some crusty old sod in glasses and a brown cardigan.

A man wandered into the reception area, and Solomon decided he'd short changed the guy. Brown cardigan was such a stereotype. The old sod's cardigan was closer to gray.

# Chapter Thirty-Two

Daisy sat on the sofa and stared at the vision in a tux that stood the other side of the room. Solomon scrubbed up pretty well for a git. "Not bad but you should accessorize."

"How's that?"

She smiled. "I think a strawberry blonde in a sleek cream dress on your arm would be perfect."

"Sorry, Princess. No can do. I have no idea who'll be there, and I promised to keep you safe."

"They tried to blow you up too, remember?"

He ran a finger over the healing graze on his face. "I do remember. Don't tell me you're worried about me?"

"Nope. I couldn't care less."

He chuckled as he tugged his French cuffs so they showed just below the sleeves of his Givenchy jacket. "What time will Paul be over?"

"About ten, he said. He wants to make sure our house is locked up tight and no one is hanging around before heading out."

"You remember how to set the perimeter alarm and disarm it to let him in?"

"Yes. Stop fussing and get going or you'll be late."

"I don't want to be the first to arrive."

"You don't want to be the last either."

"If you need me you've got my new number in case I can't find my other phone at the car park."

"You do realize even if you do find your old phone there's every chance it's cooked to a crisp."

"True. You know where everything is. There are some dinners in the freezer you can reheat when you're hungry. What is it that you plan to do while I'm gone?"

"I'm going to do some research into that charity, Anthony the Abbot, and Jason Tyler. I can't help thinking about that poor man."

"Which man?"

"Stuart Bligh."

Solomon sat next to her on the sofa. "Why?"

"He lost his son and then died with everything he owned mortgaged to the hilt. Once the bank sells off the house and gets the proceeds of the property insurance their will only be the life insurance money. Instead of getting a sizeable inheritance the butler gets about ten grand, everything else goes to the charity. Stuart must have been worried sick about his debts. Do you think he killed himself?"

"The police found no sign of the fire being anything other than an accident."

"I wonder where all his money went?"

"It seems we've another mystery to solve, Princess."

"Do you think the missing money is related?"

"Undoubtedly. If you spend any time in this business you soon start to notice a pattern. Nearly everything comes down to sex or money.

Daisy sighed. "Or maybe sex and money. If he was still alive and the whole thing was a way to scam money from the insurance company, why give it to charity? It makes no sense."

"If it all made sense we'd be out of work, would we not?" Solomon glanced at his watch. "Now, I'd better get going. Will you be all right by yourself?"

"If I say no will you let me come with you? I could glam up in jiffy."

He chuckled. "Nope. As much as I'd love to see your particular version of glam, I'd cancel and stay home."

"In that case, I'll play Cinderella and stay here and you can go off and be Daniel Craig."

Solomon frowned. "What?"

"The tux. The Aston Martin. You're a real-life 007. If the women knew the heat you were packing they'd definitely be throwing themselves at you all night."

"Is it heat that I'm packing? That's a new one on me."

Solomon raised an eyebrow and Daisy felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. She'd been talking about his gun, not his dangly bits but, apparently like every other man, his life and thoughts revolved around his penis.

Solomon lifted an eyebrow. "Are you jealous?"

Daisy laughed. "That you're packing heat? No way. That you'll be the belle of the ball? Nope. I'm not into women."

Solomon leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "If the women of the world ever find out you would write them all off so easily they'll be greatly disappointed. I'll be late so don't wait up. See you for breakfast. Make sure you set the alarm as soon as I've gone and only switch it off long enough to let Paul in. I've got a remote to disarm it when I get back."

"Yes, sir." She grabbed his arm as he started to rise from the sofa. "Be careful."

"I've no intention of being anything else, Princess."

"Are you taking your gun?"

He shook his head. "It's safely locked in my study. I don't think I'll be in danger in a public venue, and I don't want to be caught with it if the police are still at the car park when I go looking for my phone." He winked at her. "The only heat I'm packing tonight is my own."

"A nine millimeter and not a cannon, then."

Laughter bubbled out of him. "And there I was thinking you had good observation skills."

She followed him to the front door and waited until he pulled away in his car before locking up. The alarm pad was in the kitchen next to a screen that showed the view from the camera overlooking the front gate. She watched the Aston Martin flash past and disappear into the night. After punching in the code to arm the alarm she pondered checking the freezer for food but decided against it. She wasn't hungry and would be eating for entertainment. What she needed was a drink, and something to take her mind off things. They both knew Solomon was walking into potential danger. She just hoped he came back in one piece. Funny, a week ago she couldn't have cared less what happened to him.

A search of the fridge revealed a bottle of expensive Australian Chardonnay. Solomon would be sucking on champagne all night so he could hardly begrudge her a bottle of wine. Once she'd found a glass she headed back to the living room. Flames danced in the wood heater, giving the room a safe and cozy feel. Daisy filled her glass, set the bottle on the coffee table, and curled up on the sofa with Solomon's laptop.

*

Solomon sped through the forest toward the coast. He wasn't a man for social events, but this was too good an opportunity to miss. Had the situation been different he would have loved to take Daisy with him. Any man would be proud to have her on his arm, provided she didn't drop her dinner in her lap or spill red wine over another guest. He chuckled as he imagined her panic at having ruined some poor woman's designer dress, and everyone else's evening.

He relaxed back in the seat, enjoying the feel of the vehicle as it purred beneath him and the miles flashed by. The function would be starting around now. He'd have to go looking for his phone after the dinner.

The drive through Bournemouth to the hotel took some navigating but he eventually pulled into a parking space. As he climbed from the car he could hear the surf pounding the beach. He locked the doors and tugged his jacket straight. Should he check in on Daisy before he went inside? He decided against it. She was fine safely tucked up at his house.

Solomon made his way to the front of the hotel, stepped into the foyer, and followed the directions to the function room. He was greeted by a wall of sound. A pretty blonde approached with a tray of drinks, and he snagged a glass of white wine before stepping into the throng of bodies. Everyone who was anyone was there. In between the round tables set for dinner, society types clinked glasses with entertainers, and local political movers and shakers schmoozed with business tycoons. On top of the price of dinner they were running a silent auction that included such delights as a week on a private island in the Caribbean, and a show by Phat Kitty for you and fifty of your best friends.

The woman of the hour was the other side of the room. Her skimpy costume did a good job of hiding all evidence of Maureen beneath the façade of Phat Kitty. Jason was close to the stage chatting to a dumpy middle-aged couple.

Solomon slipped between the huddles of social activity, intent on speaking to Maureen before she disappeared to prepare for her set. He'd booked his ticket under the name Ronan Liffey to hide his identity, but he wouldn't go unnoticed for long.

Her head turned as he approached. She made her apologies to the fawning young men who'd been hanging on her every word and moved to meet him. The smile she flashed never reached her eyes. Her hands fiddled nervously with the bottom of her red leather bustier, and he wondered if she should be in something so tight with a baby on board. Not that he could ask. He wasn't supposed to know she was in the family way.

"Solomon."

She offered a hand and he took it in his. "Maureen, or should I be calling you Phat Kitty?"

"Maureen's fine. I didn't know you were coming."

"I booked at the last minute. It seemed like a good cause."

"It is. Lots of charities are involved in caring for families, and women and children, but men are the forgotten homeless. Some of them are every bit as vulnerable. A lot of them have mental illnesses."

He let her hand go and sipped his wine. She spoke with passion. If the charity was a front for something else either she didn't know or she was one hell of an actress.

"So, what got you involved?"

She shrugged and glanced across the room toward her manager, who was now deep in conversation with a man Solomon recognized as Clive Lewis. A third man who looked vaguely familiar joined them. He was probably only in his early twenties. His heavy jaw and sharp features were an odd combination.

"The charity is Jason's baby. My involvement started as a way to improve my public image, but I met someone who showed me how important the work was."

"Zut?"

Her eyes filled with tears. "Did you find him?"

Solomon shook his head, and then placed his half-empty glass on a tray as a waitress passed by. "Is there somewhere we can go and talk?"

Maureen took his hand and led him toward the back of the room and out a side door. She'd ignored all the comments and well wishes. The door opened into a stark white corridor with a polished dark timber floor, but she didn't stop there. Instead her heels tapped out a staccato rhythm as she marched the length of the hallway. A door at the end stood open, and she stepped inside, dragging Solomon with her before closing it behind them. He glanced around. A white sofa stood against one wall. The other side of the room housed a table, mirror and chair. They'd arrived in a dressing room of sorts.

She leaned back against the door. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Why don't you take a seat?"

The color drained from her face. "Is he dead? Is that why you didn't find him?"

Solomon shook his head. "No. I just didn't find him. Please, will you not take a seat?"

She crossed to the sofa and perched on the edge, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Solomon pulled the chair from the dressing table and sat in front of her. "Maureen. Why were you looking for Zut? And how do you know him? You told me you'd never met."

She lifted her head and stared at him. A tear trickled down her cheek leaving a dark mascara stained trail through her perfectly applied makeup. "I lied. I've known him for months. He filled in for my lead guitarist in the studio when I was recording my last album."

"What happened to your guitarist?"

"He said he'd come into some money and was going to set out on his own solo career and that I was holding him back. Last I heard he was in rehab again."

Solomon raised an eyebrow. Perhaps the reason the cops had warned him off was because Zut was working undercover. In which case her original guitarist's sudden fortune was probably government funded. A guy with a drug habit would be easy enough to manipulate. Even better if he had a big ego you could stroke.

"Why didn't you tell me this when I asked the other day?"

"I was protecting Zut. He told me he didn't want to draw attention to himself. He joked he was an alien and he'd be locked up, like the ones they found in Roswell."

"Why didn't Jason tell me about him?"

"Zut's been missing for a couple of days. Jason says he's gone off on a drug bender, and it wouldn't help my image to be seen to be looking for a man with a record for dealing."

"But you don't do drugs, do you?"

She shook her head. "Not for the last two years. I got off it."

"And your relationship with Zut? He clearly wasn't your dealer."

Her smile was brittle and her voice shook. "He's a brilliant guitarist."

"But that's not it is it? Is he the father of your baby?"

Maureen's eyes opened wide and she grabbed his hand. "How did you find out? You can't say anything. Jason thinks it's his."

He took her hand in his and patted it. "Your secret's safe with me, darlin'. Now, why do you think Zut's missing?"

"He didn't turn up for rehearsals for tonight's show. Even if he was on a bender he would never let me down. I tried to call him, but he didn't pick up."

"Why call me?"

"I didn't know who else to ask without Jason finding out. The police wouldn't care less. Zut used to be homeless. He says he has episodes where normal everyday life is too much, and he has to escape to the simplicity of only worrying about surviving a day at a time and not thinking beyond a place to sleep and his next meal. Jason said to let him go. He was a loser, and we didn't need him."

"Does Zut know about the baby?"

Maureen nodded. "That's why I'm worried. He said he would get his shit together and was ready to make a go of things and be all that we both needed." She smiled through her tears. "He was so happy when I told him. He gave me a pull from a Coke can as an engagement ring. Got down on one knee in the hotel room in Paris stark naked and asked me to make him the happiest man in the world. It was dead romantic."

Solomon sighed. He was fairly sure Maureen wasn't behind the attempt to blow them up, but someone knew he was going to be at the car park and had planted the tracking device he'd left on Zut's car. Even the cops wouldn't sink so low as to kill a man for digging into their business. "Did you tell anyone I was looking for Zut?"

Maureen shrugged. "I might have mentioned it."

"To?"

"Jason's cousin's wife. She's lovely, nothing like her husband. She says she'll help me sort things out, and tell Jason about the baby and that Zut and I plan to marry."

"Who are these people? Are they here tonight?"

"Kylie couldn't make it, but Adrian is around somewhere."

"Adrian?"

"Adrian Maroni."

Solomon sucked in a breath. He'd never seen that coming. Jeysus. The weaselly-looking man with Jason was Adrian Maroni, eldest son of Manfred Maroni and seriously bad news. He'd started out with petty crime, but after getting off a burglary charge, rumor had it he was now in full training to take over from his dad.

The door to the dressing room opened and a man with blonde dreadlocks hanging down to his waist stuck his head into the room. "Hey, Moor. Can I use Zut's white Strat? Mine's busted. I can't get a fucking note out of it."

Maureen glanced toward the corner of the room, and Solomon's focus followed. Bleedin' hell. He got to his feet and took a closer look at the signature on the front of the obviously vintage guitar. He'd hit the feckin jackpot. A smile curled up his lips. Daisy would be really pissed off when she worked out who was who, and how she'd been well and truly fooled. However, if the guitar was sitting in Bournemouth without its owner, Solomon knew that Zut, aka Lord Tobias Wareham, was no longer missing of his own free will.

"Can I, Moor?" the musician pleaded.

"Sure, sweetie, but please be careful with it."

"Treat it like a baby. I know how much Zut loves it."

The door to the dressing room opened further, and Jason appeared behind the musician. "Isn't this cozy?" He looked at Maureen. "Why don't you sort out your makeup in the ladies' room and go and get on stage ready to begin? I want a word with Solomon."

# Chapter Thirty-Three

Daisy stretched and yawned. She'd been on the Internet for hours. The vegetarian lasagna she'd heated up was long gone. A dirty plate in the middle of the coffee table was the only evidence she'd eaten anything.

A saxophone wailed softly in the background. She'd found Solomon's extensive library of tunes and even mastered his digital computerized sound system. Smoky jazz set the scene for Paul's arrival which was, she glanced at the clock, another hour away. The fire was starting to die down. She got to her feet, opened the fire's glass door and shoved in some logs from the basket before giving the embers a poke. The air filled with the sound of crackling as the flames leapt back to life.

The whiteboard stood in the corner of the room. She crossed to look at it. She'd thought the link had to be the Somerset Club or Langdon College but, while she had no doubt they had something to do with it, all the evidence was pointing to Anthony the Abbot. Her online research had brought up a newspaper report of Frank Mayberry's brother going missing back in the late eighties. Two out of three of the apparent deaths they were investigating having links to homeless people seemed a big coincidence. Without seeing Frank's will she couldn't be sure the charity benefited from his estate, but she'd put money on it. Giles Beckitt was connected through Maureen and probably left the charity a legacy as well.

She'd wondered why a legitimate charity would be caught up in something as sordid as an insurance scam. A cursory look at their online financial reports showed some strange anomalies, including large payments to businesses that were owned by trustees. There was a singular lack of detail about the services those companies provided to the homeless on behalf of Anthony the Abbot. The charity also owned a large property in the Canary Islands, along with a salubrious yacht supposedly used for rehab. She added some notes to the white board. Until Solomon got home she was stuck. As far as she could tell she'd exhausted all the information she was going to get off the Internet.

She took a seat on the sofa, lifted the mouse, and wondered how to pass the time. Maybe she'd do some research into Solomon. She made the assumption he had his mother's surname not his father's, as he was adamant he didn't know the man. A quick search for his mam's name brought up a death notice in the Belfast Telegraph. Her name, Etian Liffey, was unusual, and that had made it easy. She scanned the notice. Solomon was the only named relative. Daisy placed the laptop on the coffee table and went through to the kitchen to grab the notepad and pen Solomon kept on the counter. On her return she wrote down his mother's address.

She sat and chewed the end of the pen. Should she go any further? He must have read his own birth certificate. He would have needed it to do all sorts of things. She topped up her wine glass and took a sip. Solomon might know full well who'd fathered him but was afraid of rejection, in which case she could make the first move and see if the man was willing to recognize the child he'd created.

After placing her glass back on the table she took a deep breath and opened the website that allowed you to order a Northern Irish birth certificate. She filled in all the details. The only question that gave her pause for thought was why she wanted a copy. She typed in that she was his spouse. They weren't married, but they were partners of sorts, even if it had never, and would never, be anything more than in a business sense. Once the application was complete she hit the final button. The moment of truth arrived, but the message on the screen made her sigh with frustration. How could he not have a birth certificate? She went back to the beginning and started over. Same result. Apparently Solomon either wasn't born in Northern Ireland, or his mother had moved over the years.

A loud trill, and the buzz and clatter of her phone dancing across the coffee table, made her jump. "Shit."

She grabbed it and checked caller ID before hitting accept and holding it to her ear. "Paul."

"Hey, beautiful. What does a man have to do to get access to Fort Solomon?"

Her heart raced at the sound of Paul's voice. Daisy put the laptop next to her on the sofa and got to her feet. "I'll let you in. You're early."

"Got something for you."

"Oh. Will I like it?"

"You've never complained before."

She ran to the kitchen and buzzed him in. Once his truck cleared the gate she reset the alarm and made her way to the front door. She flung it open as his headlights pierced the darkness and swung an arc coming to rest on the garage door as he killed the engine. The night swallowed the truck. Paul appeared from the gloom, and she ran into his arms. He swung her off her feet and kissed her neck. She wrapped her legs around his middle and grabbed his hair, pulling him into a long, passionate kiss.

They came up for air and Paul groaned, "Man, I'll have to deliver your mail more often. Do you get this horny when the postman slips the envelopes through our front door in the mornings?"

She slid to the ground, grabbed his hand, and dragged him inside. He slammed the door behind them and tossed her letters on the hall table. "Where's Solomon?"

"Out." She pulled Paul into the lounge.

He smiled. "Oh, nice fire. When will he be back?"

Daisy shoved Paul's jacket off his shoulders. "Later." She glanced at her watch. "Much later."

"You do know you're starting to sound like him don't you? Next you'll become a clean and tidy freak."

Daisy frowned. There was a thought guaranteed to kill the mood.

Paul ran a finger up her arm. "Want to defile his place and make out on his hearth rug?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, "I thought you'd never ask."

*

Solomon twitched. Something was tickling his nose. Molly. She loved to tickle. He raised an eyelid. Dark. He shifted on the cold, rough, hard surface and groaned. He was flat on his back. Sharp aching pain pierced his skull, and joined the rhythm section of pins and needles playing the tango up his arms. No wonder they were numb, he was lying on the fecking things. He struggled to sit but failed, rolling facedown instead. His head hit concrete, and he moaned as the pain ricocheted around his skull, like a hamster on speed.

"Buddy. You awake?"

He shuffled awkwardly, pulled his legs up under his body, and fought to a kneeling position. No amount of tugging could free his hands, which appeared to be tied behind his back. It took him a minute to get used to the gloom and for the pain in his head to subside from a volcanic eruption to a low grumble. A man sat with his back to the wall a few feet away. Knees pulled up, his hands dangled between his legs, and he twirled a feather in his fingers. The man peered at him. His long hair was matted, but he was still clad in his signature Lycra and leather.

"You with us?"

"Shite. Lord fecking Tobias Wareham."

He smirked. "The man from the pub."

"Solomon."

"I suspected the kissing and slapping thing with that Daisy was an act. She doesn't take any prisoners, does she? That had to sting." Tobias laughed.

Solomon glared at him. "Where the feck are we, and how do we get out?"

Toby shrugged. "No idea." He shifted his position and pushed to his feet. "Want me to untie your hands?"

Solomon nodded.

The man dropped the feather and squatted behind him. "So, did you know who I was all along? Or did you just work it out?"

"I figured you were undercover, but had no idea you were Tobias Wareham until I saw your autographed guitar in Maureen's dressing room at the benefit in Bournemouth."

The ropes tugged as Toby worked the knots free, making Solomon's shoulders ache.

"Is she all right? Maureen?"

"Fine. She knows you're missing. She called me to look for you."

"Bad move. Did you tell her my real identity?"

Solomon's arms flopped to his sides as the ropes fell free. The pins and needles made him grimace. Shite. He grit his teeth, riding the pain, knowing it would pass once the blood started to flow.

"Did you tell her?"

Solomon slowly pushed to his feet, to avoid setting off his headache again, and shook his arms. "No. I'd only just realized when Tyler turned up with Adrian Maroni. Next thing I know I woke up here. Where are we?"

Arms no longer aching, Solomon walked the perimeter of the cool, damp room. A heavy timber door stood in one corner, a bucket Toby had obviously used as a toilet, in the other.

Toby shrugged. "I told you already, no idea. I was drugged and woke up in here. I'm not even sure how many days I've been missing. Hard to tell with no window and room service isn't what it could be."

"So who are you working for? What are you investigating? And if they have no idea who you are, why are you here?"

"All good questions. I'm here because I had the gall to fall in love with Maureen."

"And get her in the family way."

Toby smiled. "Yeah, that too."

"Does Maureen know?"

"That she's pregnant? Or that I got her that way?" The man's smile widened.

"I'm glad you find this so damn funny. You do know we're dealing with killers, don't you? Does Maureen know you're working undercover?"

"Am I?"

Solomon crossed the room and walked Toby back against the wall. He growled at the shorter man, grabbed the front of his jacket, and tugged him up onto his toes. "I've no time to play games with you. I don't plan to sit here and wait to die. Neither do I expect which ever useless government agency you work for to give a shite about us. We need to work together. I'm not excited at the prospect, but having me in here with you might just save your scrawny, pompous, upper-class arse. Now who are you working for, and what do you know?"

Toby glared at him but said nothing. Solomon's nostrils flared. He ground his teeth and fisted his free hand. The unmistakable beat of footsteps echoed outside the door. They stopped. A jingle of metal and the clunk of a key in the lock made Solomon let go of Toby and step back.

"You'll keep. I've ways to make you talk these bastards have never even imagined."

Toby tugged his clothes straight and glared at him. "You don't scare me."

Solomon glared back. "I will, you feckless maggot."

# Chapter Thirty-Four

Daisy lay on the soft hearth rug in a post-coital stupor. She let out a sigh and wiggled to snuggle up to Paul, sliding an arm around his middle. He stroked her hair. "I should be going."

The haze lifted, and she struggled up onto one elbow so she could look at him. "Already?"

"I've got the day off."

Daisy planted kisses across Paul's damp chest. "So why the rush?"

He grabbed her and rolled her under him. "Because I promised Sherman I'd take him shopping today, and tomorrow we're going to see Man U play."

"Oh, I love it when you talk football."

Paul laughed. "How about when I take a penalty shot and score a goal?"

"You sexy beast."

He captured her mouth in a long searing kiss and then sighed. "I really should go. Solomon will be back soon."

"We could take this upstairs." She ran a finger over his chest, skimming an erect nipple. "Why don't you sleep here tonight?"

"Tempting, but I want to drive up overnight and miss all the traffic on the motorway."

"And you're going to stay with my parents?"

"That's the plan."

"Call me and let me know you're safe. Maybe I can talk to Sherman. Does he blame me for having him shipped off?"

"Your dad buying tickets to the football game has gone some way to winning your redemption. That, and your parents' new neighbors."

"What new neighbors?"

"Apparently their daughter April is shit hot."

"I hope you told him off for swearing."

"I've given up. When his mother has a potty mouth, what's the point?"

"Does that mean my debt is forgiven?"

Paul shook his head. "No. Although I'm sure you've lost track of how much you owe now."

"I might have."

"I'll take payment in kind."

Daisy wiggled beneath him. "Sounds like a plan. It's a huge debt."

He laughed. "I'll take payment in kind, later. I have to go home, shower, and pack. If I turn up at your parent's smelling of sex cooties I'm not sure who'll have the biggest freak out, Sherman, or your dad."

He kissed her again and then rolled off and climbed to his feet before offering a hand to help her get up. She pulled on her clothes and watched Paul finish getting dressed. He tugged his T-shirt over his head.

"Any luck with your heir hunting?"

Daisy shook her head. "Nope. No sign of him. Have you got any ideas?"

"Have you tried looking for him under his mother's maiden name?"

"What do you mean?"

"Most people have little imagination. I lost count of how many missing soldiers I arrested who'd been hiding out with a new identity that was little more than their own first name and their mother's maiden name. Made my job easier."

"Good thinking."

Paul tucked his T-shirt into his jeans, and then sat on the sofa and slipped his feet in his shoes. "What's in the envelopes I delivered?"

Daisy collected them from the hall table, ripped them open and pulled out the contents. "Birth certificates for Elliott and Tobias Wareham and Elliott's parent's marriage certificate."

"Anything useful?"

She glanced at them. Same father shown on both. Different mothers, and Elliott was conceived before his parents were married. Nothing she didn't already know. "Nothing."

She sat on the sofa and tapped her chin with the folded documents. At least they had birth certificates.

"Did Solomon ever talk to you about his dad?"

Paul shoved his arms in the sleeves of his jacket and tugged it up over his shoulders. "Not that I remember. I don't see the connection between your missing Lord and Solomon, though?"

"There isn't any. I just thought, now his mam's dead and he has Molly it might be nice for him to find out if he has any other family."

"You mean you're sticking your pretty nose in his business?"

She shrugged. "I just looked online for his birth certificate."

"And?"

"He doesn't have one."

Paul chuckled. "Of course he doesn't."

"Why not?"

"He doesn't talk about personal shit, but I bet my life he's hiding something. It would be too easy for people to find out the truth if you could just go and get his birth certificate."

"Do you think the government has restricted access? Crap I could have triggered an alarm. Special Branch could be triangulating the position of my laptop. They could bust in to arrest me any minute now."

Paul pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Not even Special Branch could get into Fort Solomon. Besides, I doubt he's working undercover for some secret government department. The logical conclusion to draw is that he changed his name because he didn't want to be associated with his dad, whoever he is."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. That's why he has his mother's surname. But what was his original name?"

"That's a question I can't answer. Walk me to the door, and then you'd better have a shower." He sniffed her neck. "I can smell sex cooties all over you, and you wouldn't want Solomon to know you've been a bad girl, would you?"

They walked to the door tangled together and kissed on the doorstep. She had to admit the last two nights of him sneaking in for sex and then disappearing into the night had added a certain exciting dimension to their love life.

She glanced into the inky night. "I thought he'd be home by now."

"If he was driving the Aston Martin and dressed in one of his swanky suits he probably got lucky, in which case he won't crawl in until breakfast time, and he'll definitely stink of sex."

"Eww." Daisy frowned, for someone who claimed to know nothing much about Solomon, Paul kept dropping bits of previously unmentioned information. "You know about the Aston Martin?"

"I know lots of things."

"Like?"

"Like, I need to get going. It's a long drive to your parents'. Make sure you lock up and reset the alarm once I'm gone."

She kissed him good-bye and watched until he climbed into his truck before heading inside to deactivate the alarm long enough for him to clear the gate.

*

Solomon glared at the man who stood in the doorway. Light flooded the room from the corridor. However with his back to the opening the man was just a dark shape. A dark shape with a gun. A Glock if he wasn't mistaken. Solomon would give his left testicle to have his own gun so that he could shoot the cowardly maggot who had them locked up. But for now he would have to satisfy himself with getting as much information about their surroundings as he could.

The man took a step closer. "You, Zut." He waved the gun at Lord Toby. "Over here."

Toby pushed off the wall and ambled across the room. For a man being held captive he seemed very blasé. Maybe he was a plant. What if he wasn't missing at all and was here to try and find out what Solomon knew. Although Maureen had seemed genuinely upset about his disappearance. Toby wouldn't be the first person to run away from responsibility. Solomon rejected the idea. Why get involved in some criminal enterprise when you were heir to a sizeable fortune? He could step up and take the cash anytime he wanted. Instead, he was locked up in what was akin to a dungeon.

Solomon edged along the wall to get closer to the door. With the light playing on the side of his face he could make out the features of their current jailor. Well. Well. He was a kid. A big kid, but a kid of about eighteen none the less. The jaw and oddly out-of-balance facial features gave him a weasel-like appearance that identified him as another of Maroni's clan. This must be one of Manfred's operations. Whatever was going on, there had to be a pot of cash at the end of it for the mobster.

The kid turned his back to Solomon, as he shoved Toby through the door. Solomon could take his chances and tackle the bastard. Knock him off his feet with a low rugby tackle. Chances were he'd have him flat on his back and disarmed before the kid even realized what was happening. However, he didn't have a gun in his back, and it wouldn't be him that got shot if it all went horribly wrong. Besides, he doubted the kid was alone, in which case the sound of gunfire would bring others running. Taking out one person would be easy, taking on a mob was a death sentence.

Solomon leaned back against the cold stone wall, arms folded across his chest. "You know it's dangerous to play with loaded firearms. Someone could get hurt."

The kid swung the gun in Solomon's direction. "If you don't shut up it'll be you."

"You'd need to take the safety off first."

The kid checked the gun and then held it to Toby's head, no doubt embarrassed that he had been stupid enough to look. "One more fucking word and I'll blow his brains out."

Solomon raised an eyebrow. The kid was green and that gave Solomon an edge. He just needed to figure out how to use that to his advantage when they came back. "Go ahead. He was annoying the shite out of me anyway."

The gun swung in Solomon's direction. "How about I shoot you instead?"

"You wouldn't be the first."

A creepy smile stretched young Maroni's mouth wide. "We know your Achilles heel. The woman. What if we shoot the woman?"

Solomon's pulse rate lifted, but he kept the desire to walk across and punch the kid in the head in check. "I don't have a woman."

"So, the kiss with the pretty redhead after you saved her in the car park never happened?"

Solomon worked hard to keep his temper. "She's a strawberry blonde. What's up? A pretty girl never kissed you before?"

"Maybe I'll find her and kiss her myself if she means so little to you. Perhaps more than kiss her."

He'd be worried about Daisy if he didn't know she was safely locked up. None of the morons he'd seen so far could possibly deactivate his security system.

The kid shoved Toby toward the door. "Let's go. You've got a call to make."

Solomon followed them and got a look at the corridor before the heavy timber door was slammed shut and locked. He didn't even bother to check if there was any way to break it down. A door that thick was impenetrable, and he had nothing on him that would be useful as a lock pick. At least he knew where he was. The walls of the corridor were made of large rough cut stone, as was the floor. He'd been in this labyrinth before with a lady friend he'd brought to the Langdon College Old Boy's Rugby team dinner. She'd been scared as hell and hung onto his arm. One side of his mouth turned up in a smile as he remembered using his special magical powers to calm her down against one of the cool stone walls. Her moans had echoed loud enough to start rumors the dungeons beneath Langdon College were haunted.

Happy memories or not, Daisy had no chance of finding him. If he was to get out he needed a plan.

# Chapter Thirty-Five

Daisy's hair was still damp from her shower, and she'd swapped her glass of wine for a cup of Solomon's exclusive blend of coffee. Enveloped in his huge bath robe, she sat on the sofa and inhaled the fragrant steam as she considered what to do to pass the time until Solomon came home. It was a little after midnight, and Paul was right, the git could well have got lucky. Hell, back when she was single if she'd been hard up and legless she'd probably have accepted an offer of the horizontal variety from him. Thankfully, none of the above applied. She was a well-satisfied, sober, and happily married mature woman with too much self-respect to ever fall for his Irish charm.

She turned her attention to the laptop lying forgotten on the coffee table. Paul's idea about looking for Toby under his mother's maiden name had merit. She put her coffee on the table and lifted the laptop. Toby's birth certificate lay next to her on the sofa. His mother's maiden name was Brayden. Thank God it wasn't Smith, or this would be a waste of time. She typed Tobias Brayden into Google and waited. The results list was hardly inspiring. Apparently he'd died in an old folk's home in Florida, and been arrested for indecent exposure in Sydney. The man got around. How about Toby Brayden? She typed the name into the search engine and hit enter.

The list of hits was far more extensive. She scrolled through a few and came to a stop. "Homeless man sings for his supper." What were the chances? She clicked on the link and moved closer to the screen. Her heart raced as she stared at the photo of a man with an acoustic guitar hanging around his neck. No way. No fucking way. She'd had the bastard. How had she not realized she had the bastard? Tobias Wareham, aka Toby Brayden, was Zut. She'd missed it because the grainy photos his family provided could have been anyone, and what kind of lord pranced around town dressed like a washed-up seventies rock star? Added to that, Zut didn't have the upper-class twit accent. She had so fucked up. If she'd spotted him sooner she would have got the cash. Now there was no cash she'd finally worked it out.

Hmmph, she slumped back on the sofa. He'd been hiding in plain sight, and now he really was missing, according to Maureen. Well, one thing was for sure, the man in the newspaper with Elliott wasn't his brother. She read the article attached to the photo of the real Toby. Apparently it was taken eight months ago and was an exposé about how men were the forgotten homeless. Had he really been homeless or was the story a way to build up his credibility before he got involved in whatever the charity was up to? Her head was aching thinking about it all.

She decided to put it aside for now and concentrate on her other problem, finding Solomon's real identity. If he'd changed his name was there a record somewhere? She tried the London Gazette but came up empty. A search of the Belfast edition came up blank. Unfortunately it said what names people had abandoned, but not what names they adopted instead.

Birth notices? She knew his date of birth. A scan of the local paper in Carrickfergus showed a half a dozen baby boys born that week and none of them were called Ronan. She'd bet her life he'd kept the Christian name his mother had chosen for him. She noted down the names of the other babies. She picked the most unusual name, Otis McMahon and entered it into Google along with Carrickfergus and hit enter. The list of hits looked promising. She scrolled through. They read like an episode of This is Your Life. Young Otis was married and had fathered three kids according to various newspaper notices. He also played lacrosse and by all accounts was quite good.

She kept looking. Ah-ha. Rugby. Solomon played rugby. She clicked on the link and scanned the first page of writing all about the local club's illustrious history and its influx of new players. A click on the Continue icon brought up the last of the article, along with a photo of the club's members with their names underneath. Fuck. She'd found him. Fuckity fuck.

Her heart pounded. Ronan Dunlop. That name was too much of a coincidence. Dunlop had to be his father's surname, and Solomon had known it all along. He could be related to Paul and had never said a word. What were the chances he'd not only ended up in the same regiment as Paul but became best mates with him?

Daisy went back to the government website and ordered his birth certificate. Maybe Solomon had looked into this father's background and the surname was a coincidence. If he really had no desire to be associated with his father, and knew he wasn't related to Paul, then keeping the information to himself was reasonable enough.

She checked the time. It was after two and still no sign of the man returning. Should she call Paul and tell him what she'd found out? No, she'd wait to get the birth certificate. Once she knew the truth she'd know what to do with it. For now the only thing she could do was to go to bed so she'd be fresh when he finally dragged his sorry arse home.

* * * *

Solomon sat with his back against the door and listened. Silence. He counted off seconds in his head. Toby had been liberated over an hour ago. Maybe they planned to leave him alone in the room to starve to death. No one came down into the bowels of the school. He didn't even have anything of any use to aid his escape or signal his whereabouts.

His watch was missing, along with his wallet and phone. He was left in the clothes he stood in and nothing else. Even the keys to the Aston Martin were gone. If he was on the outside and Daisy had gone missing with the Aston he would know he had an edge. He prayed the thugs had decided to take his car as well as his liberty. The alarm on the tracking device would have been activated after it was driven 100 meters if the thief didn't have his credit card-sized driver deactivation device. Even though the young Maroni had his current mobile phone, it wouldn't have given them any clue that the car was designed to track its whereabouts when it was stolen. The text message requesting he confirm the car wasn't stolen would have gone to the old phone, which he hoped to God was in the hands of a person who'd alert the authorities that his car was missing.

A sound in the corridor had him turning his head to listen closer. Footsteps. Definitely footsteps. He took up a position next to the door. Tensed, ready for anything, his weight balanced evenly on the balls of his feet. Given an opportunity he was prepared to take it.

The grating of metal on metal heralded the arrival of company. He took a deep breath and focused his attention on the leading edge of the timber as the heavy door swung open with a low creak. Light speared a shaft across the stone floor of the small room. Fists balled tight, he bided his time. Toby was pushed inside. The man stumbled and grabbed at Solomon for support. He shoved him aside. A loud curse filled the air as the lord no doubt made contact with a hard surface. The door started to close, and Solomon pounced and dragged it open, drawing the man who held the handle into the room with it.

Solomon slammed his fist down on the man's arm sending the gun he was holding clattering across the room. A knee to the groin had the man doubled over, and Solomon smirked with satisfaction as he recognized Jason. Solomon wrapped an arm around the smaller man's throat. He had this. The cool feel of metal against his temple brought him up short.

"Let him go."

Solomon turned his head and glared at Toby. What the feck. "You've not got the balls to pull the trigger."

"Try me." The gun pressed harder, and Solomon let Jason go. He sagged over like a sack of potatoes gasping for air. Toby waved the gun at Solomon. "Back off."

Solomon sauntered across the room, never once taking his eyes off the precious lord who had just fucked up their best chance of escape. Jason grabbed the gun and glared from one man to the other. "Good choice, Zut. Just remember what's at stake, and no one has to die." He grinned. "Yet."

The door closed with a sickening thud. Solomon waited a beat before grabbing Zut by the throat and slamming him into the wall. "What the feck are you doing?"

# Chapter Thirty-Six

Daisy had hardly slept. She might as well have sat up all night. Solomon hadn't shown up, and Paul still hadn't called to say he'd arrived in Cheshire. She switched on the bedside light. Her phone showed it was a little after six. No point in lying around any longer. In fact there was no reason for anyone to be a sluggard. Solomon was supposed to be working, not screwing. He'd said he'd be back for breakfast, and her stomach was ready to eat. She struggled into a sitting position, leaned back against the pillows, and punched the button on her phone to speed-dial Solomon's new number. His phone rang and rang. When she thought he was never going to respond and she'd be put through to his voice mail, the call was picked up.

A deep male voice sounded in her ear. "Hello, who is this?"

Her heart raced. She'd recognize that voice anywhere. She'd heard it on the office intercom often enough. Clive Lewis. She hung up and stared at the phone. A check of the call log confirmed she'd called Solomon. Why the hell did Clive have Solomon's phone? If some breathy female had answered she wouldn't have been surprised, but Clive was definitely not Solomon's type.

Daisy clambered off the bed and dragged her clothes on as quickly as she could. Her hair was a riot of curls. She should have done something with it after her shower the night before. The best she could do now was to tie it up in a ponytail. She needed to find out what had happened to Solomon. If there was a reasonable explanation for Clive having his phone she couldn't imagine what it was.

She ran through ideas as she brushed her teeth, grabbed her jacket and bag, and then ran downstairs. The fire had burned out, and there was a chill in the air, giving the house a strangely empty feel. Should she call the cops? And tell them what? Solomon went out and didn't come home and a well-respected lawyer with an interest in a local homeless charity answered his phone. That sounded stupid even to her. What she needed was proof he was really missing and to get that she needed to get out there and start looking. First problem, she had no wheels. Solomon had the Aston Martin and the four-wheel drive was safely tucked up in his garage. If she wanted to take it she needed keys, and they were last seen on the bunch Solomon had in his hand when he left the night before.

He had to have a spare set somewhere, but where? Daisy prowled the house, opening and closing drawers and hunting through cupboards. No keys, although Solomon had an interesting stash of DVD's in his bedside cupboard. She returned to the kitchen and tried to think like Solomon. Where would he keep something important? The study. Had to be. It was the only place she hadn't checked.

The sound of the key in the front door gave her a start. She dived through the kitchen door and came to a stop. A short, plump, middle-aged woman with gray hair that surrounded her face like a halo of wire-wool closed the front door and smiled at her.

"You must be Daisy. Solomon said you were staying."

"He did?"

"Yes. I'm Mrs. Brown."

"Sorry. He never mentioned you."

"No reason he should."

Daisy watched the woman take off her coat and hang it on a peg. She seemed very comfortable in Solomon's home so she was unlikely to be a threat. Besides she seemed to have got through security without a hitch. "Are you a relative of his?"

She laughed. "No, poppet. I'm his cleaning lady."

Daisy smiled. Of course. The git said he had a cleaning lady. In fact, it was a wonder he didn't have a butler and chauffeur as well. "Do you have a key to his study?"

"I've got a key to everything."

Daisy could kiss her. "Awesome. I need to use the four-wheel drive, but he forgot to give me the spare key. I've hunted the house top to bottom and can't find it."

"Do you want me to call him and ask where it is?"

Daisy shook her head. "No. I tried. He's not answering. He had a date last night, and I guess he's not in the mood to talk right now."

The cleaner chuckled. "He's quite the heartbreaker. If I was twenty years younger I'd take him for a trot around the paddock."

"Really? I can't see the attraction myself."

Mrs. Brown's chubby face wrinkled when she smiled. "Solomon talks about you a lot. He seems to be very fond of you."

"He's too in love with himself to care about anyone else, and I am sure most of his comments about me are peppered with rude words. Solomon only puts up with me because I'm married to his best mate."

"Ah, that would be Paul. He seems very fond of him too."

"Keys?"

"Righto. I guess he won't mind. You do work together after all, so I guess you have no secrets from each other."

Secrets. He had dozens, which could explain why he kept the room locked up tight. Once the door was open she assured Mrs. Brown she was fine to look for the car keys by herself. The cleaner headed upstairs to start stripping the beds, and Daisy closed the study door behind her.

She crossed to the desk and opened the drawers. She emptied each of them in turn and then shoved everything back inside as best she could. The third drawer held the missing car keys and a metal box. She slipped the box onto the desk top and opened it. Bingo. Solomon's gun lay inside, along with a box of bullets. She pulled it out and dropped the magazine into the palm of her hand the way Paul had shown her when he had a pistol. Tut-tut. Keeping a loaded gun in an unlocked drawer was a definite no-no. Mind you, even owning the gun was illegal in the UK. Taking it with her was probably a bad idea, but then most of the things she did were bad ideas. She shoved the magazine back in place, dropped the gun into her bag, and put the box back.

Now she had the keys she should leave everything else alone. Solomon liked his privacy. However, there might be something else that would help her. No harm in taking a quick look. She opened the last drawer and pulled out a thick folder. After checking to make sure Mrs. Brown was still busy elsewhere she flicked it open. Shit. It was full of photos of Paul. Dozens of them going right back to when Paul was in basic training, along with a copy of Paul's birth certificate and their marriage certificate. What the hell was Solomon doing? Lisa said he had an obsession with a man but Paul? She'd obviously jumped to the conclusion the interest was something sexual.

Daisy hunted through all the photos until she found one of Solomon and Paul together. There was a definite resemblance. Daisy had a feeling the reason for Solomon's collection of memorabilia had nothing to do with sexual attraction, but with something that would have a far more traumatic effect on Paul if he found out. Solomon could well be his older half-brother. She couldn't imagine Paul's dad having an affair, but she only knew him as a staid middle-aged man. He could have been wild in his younger days.

Solomon had obviously had a difficult childhood growing up with only his mother to care for him. No matter who his dad was, the man should have stepped up and taken responsibility. However that didn't explain why Solomon would seek out Paul and never tell him? Did he have some horrible plan to harm Paul in some way, to punish his parents? Sins of the father, and all that. Was that what was behind the bullet in the arse Paul took for him? The whole story about the girl and the enraged father had played to Daisy's romantic inclinations, but it could be so much bullshit. He might have planned the whole thing to make Paul suffer.

Either Solomon told Paul the truth or she would. Once she had Solomon's birth certificate showing his father's name she'd confront the git and sort the whole mess out. Knowledge was power. Once Paul knew who Solomon really was he couldn't do anything to hurt him.

The loud boppy sound of her phone's ringtone, made Daisy jump. She shoved everything but the picture of Paul and Solomon back in the drawer with one hand as she pulled her phone from her bag with the other. Caller ID flashed the caller's name, and her heart rate lifted. She needed to keep her tone light.

"Paul. Did you make it all right?"

"I did. Sherman's still sleeping, and I might get my head down for a couple of hours before we head into Manchester."

"Good idea."

"Did Solomon show up?"

"No, not yet. I guess he got lucky like you said."

"So, what are you going to do with yourself?"

She shrugged and blew out a breath. "Wait around, I guess."

"Good idea. Stay safe."

"I will. Now go and sleep."

"Love you, beautiful."

"Love you too."

She hung up, shoved the phone and photo in her bag, grabbed the car keys off the desk, and headed out the front door.

* * * *

Once she'd mastered how to activate the front gate with the remote hanging on the key ring, the drive to Bournemouth had been uneventful. Her idea to start looking where Solomon was last supposed to be had been truly inspired. Okay, maybe it had been inspired by a voracious appetite for bad detective shows on TV, but it had been her only idea.

There had been no sign of his car in the hotel's car park, but she'd struck lucky when she headed inside. The receptionist from the night before was on duty and remembered seeing Solomon leave. He'd been accompanied by two other men who were holding him up. They explained he'd over indulged. Bullshit. There were some holes in her knowledge of Solomon, but one thing she did know for sure was that he was a professional and getting drunk when he was working would be completely out of character.

Back in the SUV she pondered her next move. The hotel refused to give her any details of the function's organizers. If she called the charity or Clive she might tip them off that she was on to whatever they were doing. So far she had nothing that would interest the police. Solomon had never found out if Maureen had set them up when she asked them to search for Zut, but she might be the only option left. Her number was in Solomon's old phone. If he hadn't had a chance to check out the car park there was a possibility it was still there. She fired the engine to life and set off, weaving in and out of the rush-hour traffic.

The big vehicle was difficult to maneuver, and she cursed as she scraped the front corner on a bollard at the entrance to the multistory. She wound down the window and collected her ticket before negotiating the tight turns and steep ramps. The car park was filling up, and she sighed with relief when she finally had the SUV neatly parked between a pillar and a small hatchback. She was on the fifth floor, and the explosion had been on the fourth. The only evidence she'd seen as she passed the scene was some soot on the roof. If the police were investigating they had obviously found all they needed, and it was back to business as usual.

Daisy opened the door, climbed out, and locked the SUV, before heading to the stairwell. The stench hadn't improved any since she had been there with Solomon. She jogged down the stairs, pleased that she'd chosen to wear jeans and relatively flat boots. If the bad guys came after her she would be able to run; her footwear would be no impediment to her escape—her fitness was another matter altogether.

Once she was on the fourth floor she took a moment to orient herself, and then strode with a sense of purpose. Her heart raced. If the phone wasn't there, she had no plan B. Even if it was, someone could have driven over it, or it could have been smashed when Solomon dove for cover.

They'd been behind an SUV parked next to the third pillar on the left. The phone could have gone in any direction. She squatted and tipped her head to look beneath the vehicles parked in the vicinity. Something caught her eye and she waddled along the row and up the side of a dark blue sedan. She dropped to her hands and knees and took a closer look.

# Chapter Thirty-Seven

Solomon sat with his back against the wall and pretended to doze. Toby paced around and around the room. Other than mumbling that they'd be rescued, he'd been less than forthcoming. Solomon wasn't giving up, though. He figured they'd brought Toby back about three hours ago.

He opened his eyes and shifted position. "Who did you have to call?"

Toby glanced at him and shook his head. "No one."

"Maureen asked me to try and find you. She's a brave girl."

"Leave her out of it."

"Do you think she'll stop looking for you? Do you even know how much she loves your sorry, uptight, upper-crust arse? She has absolutely no idea who you really are, and yet she's prepared to risk everything to get you back. Most women wouldn't give a toss about a man who claimed to be homeless and had a history like the bullshit you and your government puppet masters made up to hide your real identity."

Toby stopped pacing and stared at him. "I was homeless, and I did have a drug problem."

"But you're not denying someone's pulling your strings. So, who did you call?"

"Maureen. Told her I was fine and doing some work with Jason on my debut album. I thanked her for her help and wished her a happy life."

"She believed you?"

He shrugged. "Jason just signed on as my manager so I could be in the studio."

"She'd never buy you dumping her. She told me about the baby and the proposal. Does Jason know?"

Toby shook his head. "No. He suspects I'm the one who got her pregnant, but either way he doesn't care as long as I'm out of the picture."

"Did you mean it when you told her you wanted to get married? Because if you didn't I might feel compelled to punch your teeth down your throat."

Toby leaned with his back against the wall, shoved his hands in his pockets, and let his chin drop to his chest. "I meant every word. What a fucking mess."

Solomon sighed. No point in arguing with the truth. "Any idea what time it is?"

"Sorry, never saw a clock or even daylight."

"How long have they had you down here?"

"Two or three days."

Solomon chuckled. "And yet so far no one has come looking for you. Are you sure you're going to be saved by the cavalry?"

"I've got a meeting on Sunday, and when I don't show they'll start looking."

"Sunday? I was nabbed Thursday night. By my reckoning today is Friday. We could be dead before they even notice you're gone. It's not like these thugs haven't killed before. What are two more dead bodies added to the pile they've got so far?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"Solomon. Private investigator hired by an insurance company to look into suspected life insurance fraud. However, instead of finding apparent dead guys still alive and well, I keep finding more dead bodies. Maybe if we swapped notes we could work out what we've stepped into and then come up with a way to get out of here."

Toby slid down the wall and stared at him. "You could be a plant. I might have signed my death warrant by even admitting I had a meeting on Sunday."

"Did they toss you in here because they suspect you're undercover?"

Toby shook his head. "No, I told you, Jason suspects I'm involved with Maureen. He figures she'll turn to him for comfort when it becomes apparent I'm a scumbag. He'll use his position to persuade her to have an abortion and get back to her career and into his bed."

"Jason knows I'm investigating insurance fraud, but I doubt he thinks I've found out anything useful. My guess is I was brought here because I was asking too many questions about you. My partner Daisy will be very disappointed to discover she had a drink with the infamous missing heir she's been hunting all week. You know your brother has someone posing as you?"

"The whole reward thing was making life difficult. Daisy was the only one who got close, but I couldn't risk being exposed. My superiors called Elliott and filled him in. Told him keeping me hidden was a matter of national security. He probably thinks I'm some kind of secret agent. When he discovers the truth he'll be sadly disappointed."

"Why was he looking for you?"

Toby scratched his stubbly chin. "Loves me, I guess. He never accepted the old man cutting me off. Now the old bastard's dead he wanted me to come back into the family fold and retake my rightful position."

"And you?"

"I thought I wanted to make a difference, which is how I ended up joining the police and becoming Zut."

"But?"

"I've got responsibilities. I could do a lot of good with my inheritance. Help the homeless and the down-and-outs. There's a lot of talent on the streets. Maybe I'll start my own record label."

Solomon sighed. "A veritable Simon Cowell."

* * * *

Daisy couldn't bring herself to move. Bum in the air, head in her hands, she considered what to do next. Solomon would know.

"Excuse me."

She squealed and looked over her shoulder. A man in a tatty, stained overcoat and squashed fedora smiled, flashing more gum than teeth. "Are you all right, miss?"

Daisy climbed to her feet, swaying as blood rushed from her head. "Fine."

The stranger grabbed her arm and steadied her. "Thought you might be hurt."

"No, I was looking for something. I lost it the other day."

"I might be able to help."

Daisy sighed. "I'm not sure anyone can help but thanks anyway."

He moved closer, his whiskey-scented breath filled her nose. "No one sees me, but I see a lot of things around here."

"Really?" The poor old sod could be the man using the staircase as a urinal. He probably called the car park home. She hunted through her bag and pulled out her purse. "Why don't I give you something for your kindness?"

"A cup of tea?"

"Sure." She took a fiver out of her purse and offered it to him. He shoved her hand away.

"I'm not looking for a handout. I want you to have a cup of tea with me. Don't get to talk to pretty girls very often anymore."

"I would love to, but I really have to get going."

"What were you looking for?"

"A phone. I guess I must have left it somewhere else."

He smiled. "Cup a tea and I might be able to scare up your missing phone."

He could be full of bullshit, but he was the only hope she had. Besides, she'd skipped breakfast and could murder a cup of tea and a sticky bun. She smiled back and nodded. "Sure, why not. I know a great café around the corner that does a great bacon sarnie."

"Elvis." He held out his dirty hand.

"Daisy." She shook his hand and offered no objection when he linked arms with her and led the way to the stairs.

They walked to the cafe in silence and chose to sit at a table by the window. The waitress took their order without protest. Elvis must be a regular customer.

The waitress came back with two mugs of tea and an iced bun for Daisy.

"Sandwich won't be long, Elvis."

He smiled up at the skinny woman. "Thanks, Flora. Don't suppose you've seen Harry today, have you?"

"No." The waitress glanced at the wall clock. "Bit early yet. Give him ten minutes and he should be along. Regular as clockwork is our Harry."

Daisy added milk to her tea and stirred it. "Who's Harry? Does he have my phone?"

Elvis slurped and gulped a mouthful of tea before looking at her. "No. Harry's not one for the lost and found. Harry Belafonte's too good to be dealing with other people's rubbish."

"I don't begrudge you a free feed, Elvis, but if you can't help with the phone I should get going."

"Trouble with you youngsters, always in a rush to get to the next thing on your list. You need to learn to relax. Harry doesn't deal with phones, but he'll know someone who does."

Elvis smiled and rubbed his hands with glee when his sandwich arrived. Daisy munched on her bun and sipped her tea as Elvis made short work of his breakfast. Her mug was empty by the time the door to the café opened again. A short, bald, white man carrying a cane stepped inside. His diminutive body was swamped by a pinstriped suit designed for a much taller man. A woman of Amazonian stature followed along. Daisy frowned as she looked at the odd couple.

The waitress smiled at her new customers. "Your usual?"

"Yes, please."

Elvis pushed to his feet and waved at the short man. "Harry, over here."

The man crossed to their table and accepted Elvis's invitation to take a seat. The woman he was with followed. Harry slipped into the booth next to Elvis, and Daisy shuffled closer to the window to give his companion room. She sat and smiled at Daisy.

Daisy smiled back. Now they were eyeball to eyeball she realized why the woman was so tall. She was a he. A beautifully dressed and made up he, but a he nonetheless.

"Harry, this is Daisy."

Harry held out a hand, and she shook it. He nodded at her seat companion. "Daisy, this is Shirley, Shirley Temple."

Elvis, a white Harry Belafonte, and a six-foot-plus man called Shirley Temple. Why not? "Nice to meet you."

"Daisy's lost her phone in the car park. I thought you might be able to help."

Harry flicked a piece of lint off the sleeve of his pinstripe suit. "Cliff said he found a phone. Top of the line. As far as I know he hasn't been able to find a buyer for it."

Daisy's heart raced. "Where can I find this Cliff?"

Elvis smiled. "Cliff sleeps in the Pleasure Gardens. Says he loves to commune with nature. I bet he's down there now."

"Can you show me where?"

Elvis nodded. "I know where to find him."

Harry and Shirley moved to let Elvis and Daisy out. She said goodbye and left enough money with the waitress to pay for Harry and Shirley's breakfasts.

Elvis held her hand as he guided her through the throng of people intent on getting on with their lives, apparently blind to the homeless man currently dragging her along behind him. For an old guy he set a cracking pace. They stopped at the edge of the road. A gap in the traffic appeared and he took off again, Daisy jogging to keep up. He dived into the gardens and strode with a sense of purpose.

"There's Cliff."

A dark-skinned man lay on his back on a park bench with a squirrel sitting in the middle of his chest. Daisy was starting to feel like Alice in Wonderland. As they approached the squirrel dropped the nut it was eating, leapt to the ground, and took off across the grass.

The man sat up and turned. "What the fuck, Elvis? You scared him."

"Sorry, Cliff. Got a customer for you."

The young man got to his feet, brushed his hands down the front of his ragged blue hoodie, and smiled. "Why didn't you say so? Now what can I get for you?"

Daisy took a step toward him. "I lost a phone in the car park near the Triangle a couple of days ago. Harry says you might be able to help me."

The man frowned. "So you're not in the market to buy somet'ing?"

"There is a reward for its safe return."

"In that case." He vaulted the park bench he'd been lying on and disappeared into a clump of trees. When he reappeared he was holding a phone. He offered it to Daisy, and she took it. Her hands were shaking. The phone was the right model. There were thousands, maybe tens of thousands of this model in the world. It might not be Solomon's, and even if it was it was probably flat. She hit the On switch, and it came to life. The battery was low, but it had some charge left. The background picture was of Molly.

She switched it off to save power and shoved it in her bag. "How much?"

Cliff shrugged. "Whatever you t'ink."

She opened her purse and took out a twenty-pound note. "It's all I've got. I can go and get some more from the bank."

The young man took the money and shoved it in his jeans pocket. "No need. Twenty's all good."

Daisy smiled at him. "Thank you. Thank you."

He smiled back, his teeth gleamed white in his dark face. "My pleasure." He winked at her. "Just remember, you ever need anyt'ing you come and see me. Cliff, Cliff Richards. I'm your lost-and-found man."

Daisy laughed. The day was getting weirder by the minute. Cherry had been right. Homeless people really were the secret eyes and ears of the world.

# Chapter Thirty-Eight

Solomon got to his feet and crossed the room to use the bucket. His stomach growled. He'd been taken from the previous night's function before he had a chance to eat dinner. By his reckoning he'd also missed breakfast, and it was almost lunchtime.

He finished and zipped up his pants. "How often do we get fed?"

"A couple of times a day."

"Lunch?"

He sauntered across the room and did some stretches to get the kinks out of his back.

"Usually."

"Who brings the food?"

"Lunch is usually Adrian Maroni. Dinner is delivered by the cousin."

"The kid?"

"Yes."

"Dinner is our best chance, then."

"Of what?"

"I've got an idea."

"If we escape Jason says he'll kill Maureen."

"And if we don't, they'll kill us."

"You don't know that for sure. You've got no idea what you've walked into."

Solomon took off his jacket, folded it neatly, and placed it on the floor before sitting on it. "Have I not. Well, then, why don't you tell me what you know?"

Toby shoved his hands into his hair. "Do you know about Anthony the Abbot?"

"I do. It's a charity."

"It's nothing of the sort. It's a money-laundering operation that has moved into fleecing those dumb enough to believe they do some good for homeless people."

"Why did you and Jason meet with John Nesbitt?"

"Life insurance. Jason said I needed some."

"Why? Are you planning to die?"

Toby looked up and shook his head. "No."

Solomon took a deep breath and leaned his head back. "Tell me what the scam is. What the feck don't I know?"

Before Toby could say anything the door opened; lunch had arrived. One lunch for Solomon. Apparently Toby was required elsewhere.

* * * *

Daisy sat in the SUV and switched on Solomon's phone. The git had it password protected. She thought about it. Something he would never forget but that wouldn't be obvious to anyone else. After rejecting Molly, Etain, and Solomon's date of birth she settled on Dunlop. She keyed it in and the display changed. There were a number of missed calls. She scrolled through the list. Most of them were from her. Another was from a number she didn't recognize. She'd come back to that. A message icon also displayed. She hit the button to retrieve the message. Her stomach churned as she read the short text. Aston Martin wanted to know if his car had been stolen. Shit. It must have an inbuilt tracking system.

Would they have stopped with a text if he didn't respond? She went back to the missed calls and hit the green Dial button when she got to the number she didn't recognize. After a couple of rings a male answered. The car was proving to be more valuable than she expected.

She begged and pleaded with the Aston Martin man but got nowhere. "Why can't you just tell me where his car is?"

"Sorry, madam, but that's not the way things work."

"So who will you tell, other than Mr. Liffey?"

"If you're genuinely concerned for his safety, and the safety of his vehicle, then I suggest you speak to the police."

"Fine. Whatever." She hung up and gunned the engine to life. If they wanted the police, she'd find the police.

She put her foot down as she raced to Southampton. After exiting the motorway she drove straight to the police station and parked the SUV right out front on double yellow lines.

She jogged up the steps and barreled through the door, across the foyer, and was halfway up the stairs to Dan Maloney's office before the desk sergeant even realized she had entered the building. His yells for her to come back faded as she burst through the office door and came to a halt in the nearly empty squad room. Hastings looked up from his computer.

"Daisy?"

"Where's Dan?"

"They're all out on a job."

"When will they be back?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Why?"

Daisy slumped into the chair at the desk next to Hastings. "Solomon's missing, along with his Aston Martin."

"He's got an Aston Martin?"

"He did, or should that be, he had? Anyway, he didn't come back from a charity benefit last night, and now his car's gone. Aston Martin thinks it's been stolen, and I reckon whoever has his car is holding him hostage."

"Any ransom demands for either of them?"

"No. That's not the point." She shuffled her chair closer to the young policeman. "How about you call the Aston Martin people and ask them where it is?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"There's no proof of a crime having been committed."

"What if he's been captured? How will it look when the world finds out the police did nothing to help?"

He shook his head.

She leaned closer and attempted her best sexy face. "Please, for me, gorgeous."

"I know what you're doing."

She patted his knee, and then walked her fingers up his thigh. "What's that?"

"You know what."

"Is it working?"

He shook his head and placed her hand on the desk.

"What about doughnuts. A bag of doughnuts, any flavor you like, every day for a week."

"A month."

"Okay, a month."

He held out his hand. "Got the number?"

She pulled out Solomon's phone and gave him the number and the license plate for the missing car. While he made the call, she used the bathroom. When she got back the room was full of cops.

She frowned at Hastings. "Any luck?"

He pushed a piece of paper at her.

Dan Maloney slammed his desk drawer shut. "Daisy?"

She shoved the paper in her bag. "Hi, Dan."

"Can we help you with something?"

She glanced at Hastings, and he shook his head.

"No."

"So why are you here?"

"I wanted to invite you, Bridget, and Ben to a barbecue at our house on Sunday."

"I'm working. How about next weekend?"

"Next weekend will be great. I'll see you then."

She crossed the room and made her escape. Hastings had taken a risk getting the information for her, but now she couldn't tell the cops anything without dropping him in it.

The time was ticking away. Over half the day was gone. It was three already. She jumped into the SUV, ignoring the parking ticket stuck under the windscreen wiper. Her hands shook as she turned the key in the ignition. Once she was safely away from the police station she pulled over and took the piece of paper from her bag.

Apparently Solomon's Aston Martin was parked in the backstreet behind Langdon College. Hastings had asked for it to be immobilized. If Solomon was the one driving he would be pissed off with her, but it served him right for not telling her where he was going, and what he was up to.

She pulled back into the traffic and headed to Langdon College. If he was somewhere inside she needed a plan. They were unlikely to let her walk in after the last time she was there.

# Chapter Thirty-Nine

Daisy sat in the pub, waiting. She'd found Solomon's car parked between a BMW and a Lexus. There was no damage, and no sign of Solomon. Laughter filled the room as the door opened, and a group of youngsters tumbled into the bar. The Wishbone was close to the college. She'd heard via Sherman that the pub had no issue with serving underage people. He'd never revealed how he knew, but he swore he'd never been.

The door opened again, and she turned to see who was coming in. Showtime. A familiar young lad sauntered to the bar and ordered half a pint. She waited until he'd taken his first sip, and then she slid along the bar to stand next to him.

"Hi. Bolton, isn't it?"

The boy glanced at her. His eyes widened, and he swallowed loudly. "What do you want?"

"Remember me?"

He nodded. "I don't want any trouble. I heard you were mad."

She laughed. "I'm as sane as you are."

"I was just going." He put his half-empty glass on the bar and glanced at the door.

"Is your little friend coming to join us?

"Gilbertson?" He shook his head. "Been expelled."

"Really." Daisy smiled. "Well, Bolton. Where are you off to?"

"I've got homework to do."

"Good." She slipped her hand into her bag, leaned closer, and whispered. "I think I'll come with you, and before you say I can't, I should tell you I've got a loaded gun in my bag, and I'm not afraid to pull the trigger."

Bolton stared at her. She raised an eyebrow. "Time for study. Let's go."

She linked arms with him. He glanced at her bag. Without a word he crossed the bar and opened the door. They walked back toward the college in silence. Bolton slowed as they approached the front gate. "How am I supposed to get you inside?"

"You're a smart boy."

He blew out a breath and stepped up the pace. The porter at the gate frowned. "Mr. Bolton?"

"You've met my French tutor haven't you? Dad reckons I need to brush up if I'm going to work for the foreign office."

The porter dipped his head and let fly with a stream of gibberish. Probably French gibberish. Why couldn't Bolton have said she was his maths tutor? She didn't speak a word of bloody French. She stuck her elbow in Bolton's side.

"She's deaf. Can't hear a word."

The porter stared at her. "Really? How does that work?"

Bolton's laugh was high-pitched and sounded nervous. "Sign language. Latest thing, French sign language."

They walked through the gates and away from the porter as quickly as she could drag the boy.

"What did you tell him that for? You're an idiot."

"No, I'm not. And I don't think you've really got a gun. You're a nutter."

"Want me to shoot you and prove it?"

He shook his head. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Nothing, if you help me."

"What with?"

"If you wanted to hide someone in the school, where would you put them?"

"Underground cellars. Loads of rooms and tunnels. No one ever goes down there. The younger kids think they're haunted."

"Show me the way, and then I want you to call the cops. Make sure to tell them a crazy woman is running around the school with a gun, last seen heading into the cellars."

Bolton took her inside and down a corridor. He opened a door, and she glanced down a narrow flight of steps.

She turned to Bolton. "Now go and make the call and not a word to anyone else."

He nodded before fleeing back the way they'd just come."

Daisy was soon making her way down a set of stone steps. There was almost no light, and she had to feel her way, being careful not to miss her footing. She pulled the gun from her bag and took a deep breath. Her hands shook. She'd seen Paul clean his gun dozens of times when he was in the army, but she'd never held a loaded weapon with the intention of using it before. There was no point in carrying it as a deterrent if she couldn't fire it. She took the safety off and concentrated on keeping her finger away from the trigger. She didn't want it to go off and kill someone by accident. Heir hunting wasn't meant to involve shooting people. Hopefully she was way wrong and the basement was empty. She took another half a dozen steps and stopped. She could hear faint sounds in the distance, including a door opening and closing.

She edged along, feeling for the end of the step with her toes. When she only felt solid floor, she pressed against the wall and crept toward the sounds. Using the wall as her guide she moved deeper into the tunnels. Her hand brushed timber and then a doorknob. She pressed her ear to the wood and listened. Nothing. With no idea where Solomon was being held, she'd have to search every room she came across. She turned the handle and the door swung open. If she'd known she'd be searching beneath ground she'd have brought a torch.

Her eyes adjusted to the gloom. As far as she could tell the room was empty. "Solomon?" Even though she whispered her voice sounded much too loud. She stepped back into the corridor and continued her search. The sounds became recognizable as voices. The further she went, the louder they got. There were at least three men.

By the time she got to door number five her heart was pounding and her knees felt weak. The college covered acres of ground, and if the cellars went underneath all of the buildings she could search for days and still find nothing. She turned the handle and pushed the door open.

"Hello?" she whispered.

A moan and scuffle made her clutch her chest and swallow a scream. She crossed the room with her hand out in front of her. Her foot hitting something soft was met with another moan. She dropped to her knees and felt her way up a body. The clothes were not Solomon's, unless he'd changed. Long hair, might be a woman.

"Are you okay?"

A low moan. She touched the person's face and discovered tape across their mouth. No wonder they hadn't replied. "Sorry, this is probably going to hurt."

She ripped the tape off and the person groaned. "Shit, that stings."

"Are you hurt?"

"Daisy?"

She moved closer and stared at what little she could see of the captive. "Lord Toby?"

"You got me."

"I'm not looking for you. Have you seen Solomon? Irish git. Obnoxious personality. Expensive taste in clothing. Last seen by you with my palm print on his face."

"He's in a room the other side of the hallway. Three doors down."

"I'll untie you and you can help."

"No can do. I'm handcuffed to a ring in the floor."

"How many people are down here?"

"Last I saw three men at least. Two of them are armed. They're one door down from Solomon. Are you alone?"

She nodded. "Yes, but don't worry. The police are on their way."

"You should wait."

"No. I'd rather know Solomon was safe before the shit hits the fan."

"He really means that much to you? You'd never guess from the way you slapped him."

"I don't give a shit about him. I've got some questions, and if I don't like the answers a slap will be the least of his worries. Sit tight."

"Good luck. If you like I can make some noise. I might be able to distract them long enough for you to get the key to unlock his door. It's hanging on a peg above the fireplace in the room the men are holed up in."

"Okay. Thanks. Give me a couple of minutes to hide across the hall and then scream your heart out."

Daisy slunk across the corridor and two doors down. The handle turned easily and she stepped inside. She edged deeper into the dark and bumped her knee on something solid. She bit back a curse and felt in front of her. Whatever she'd walked into was metal. She found a handle and lifted the lid. The inside filled with light. An unholy howl sounded down the corridor, and she screamed as a face stared up at her.

She put a hand over her mouth to hold back another scream. Eyes stared back at her. Blank, unseeing eyes. A body. She took a deep breath and looked closer. A freezer full of dead bodies. She slammed the lid shut, bent forward at the waist, and took slow measured breaths, in an effort to steady her stomach and stave off a full-blown panic attack.

Toby howled again, and she darted back to the door as footsteps pounded past her room. She pulled out Solomon's gun and tossed her bag aside. Once she was in the corridor she ran as quietly as she could to door number four, which stood open, flooding the whole place with light. The key was right where Toby said it should be. She grabbed it before running back to the room where they were holding Solomon.

*

Solomon leapt to his feet. The howling sounded demonic. Were they torturing poor Toby? Maybe they'd worked out who he was and what he'd been doing when he cozied up to Jason and the charity.

Heavy footsteps passed the door to his room. He grabbed the door handle and rattled it, before thumping the heavy wood with his fist. Another set of footsteps, more tentative. They stopped outside his door. The key rattled in the lock.

He grabbed the bucket from the corner of the room and took up position. The door swung open and Solomon saw a gun turn in his direction. He threw the contents of the bucket over his attacker and she screamed. Shoving her aside, he made a dive for the door.

*

"Oh God. Piss." She was covered in piss. Fuck. Toby must have been in on the whole scam. A body shoved her, and she turned and waved the gun, blindly pulling the trigger. The blast hurt her ears.

Someone shouted, "Fecking hell." And then there was a loud thump.

"Solomon? Shit. Oh shit."

Her eyes stung, and she wiped ineffectively at her face with her wet shirt cuff. Had any gone in her mouth? She was going to die from piss poisoning. She dropped the gun and blinked in an effort to get her sight back. Solomon was lying face down in the corridor. One hand clenched his right butt cheek, and blood seeped between his fingers.

The corridor echoed with the sound of footsteps.

"Drop your weapons. We've got you surrounded. There's no way out. This is the police."

Daisy sank to her hands and knees, and threw up the contents of her stomach.

# Chapter Forty

Daisy had showered half a dozen times, but she wasn't sure her skin would ever feel clean. Even the sharp disinfectant scent of the hospital corridor couldn't remove the tang of piss from her nostrils. She took a deep breath and stopped outside Solomon's room. She'd been grilled for hours before the police decided she had no involvement with the whole sick scheme. No one had told her what was going on, or thanked her for solving what was potentially a huge case. Dan had persuaded the bigwigs from London to forget about the gun, although it had been confiscated.

She shoved the door to Solomon's hospital room open and stepped inside. He grimaced. "Have you come to shoot me in the other arse cheek?"

She crossed the room, leaned her hip against his hospital bed, and smiled. "I guess you and Paul are even now. Besides, you deserved it after throwing piss all over me."

One corner of Solomon's mouth turned up in a smile and then he became serious. "Where is Paul?"

"Still at my mam's. I decided not to tell him about our little adventure yet."

"Why the feck not? It'll be in all the evening papers."

"It would ruin Sherman's trip to the football. Besides, I need to get it all clear in my head."

"What's to get clear? The charity was a front to launder money, but when the funds coming in slowed down Maroni came up with an idea to earn more income."

"How do you know all that?"

"Dan came to see me. He tells me you found the bodies in the freezer." Solomon reached out and took her hand in his.

She tugged it free. "Poor bastards. They thought they were getting involved in a scam to cover their gambling debts to Maroni and give money to charity. Instead of pretending to be dead, they were offed by Maroni. Why didn't they just kill them in the first place?"

"Maybe the dead guys started to have second thoughts. Wanted to turn themselves in."

Daisy frowned. "If their bodies are stuffed in the freezer who died in their place to begin with?"

"Apparently the bodies of the homeless men had something to do with it."

Daisy walked across the room and looked out the window. "The charity owns a property and yacht in the Canary Islands. I guess it would be easy enough to get homeless men to say yes to a free holiday and then make it look like they were someone else when they were killed. Doesn't explain why they were dumping bodies around here though."

"They were all set to become decoys for other potential victims. They started killing them off and dumping them when the scheme started to unravel. John wasn't involved, but he started to get suspicious when so many of the policies he'd sold resulted in large claims soon after they were signed up. If Jason had any sense he would have used more than one insurance company, but he thought John wouldn't do anything because they'd been at school together. Adrian Maroni is singing like a canary, terrified to go to jail, and terrified to stay out and face the wrath of his father. He figured if the dead men were ever identified no one would care as they were homeless. He was the one who put the arm in your car."

"Why?"

"A message for me. He knew the insurance company was investigating."

"And the explosion?"

"Jason, worried about us wanting to talk to Maureen. Toby found the tracking device and accused Jason of keeping tabs on him. Jason figured it was me. He saw me at the pub when he met Zut, apparently."

Daisy turned and looked at him. "The whole thing is horrible. I'm not sure Maureen will ever get over her uncle being murdered by her manager, or that her fiancé turned out to be an undercover cop and a missing lord."

"At least she has Toby. I'm sure his money and title will help ease her pain once she gets used to the idea, and their baby has a father, thanks to you."

"I wanted to talk to you about that."

"About Toby being the father?"

Daisy shook her head. "I know who you are, Ronan Dunlop."

Solomon stared at her and she waited.

"What did you say?"

"I know your real name is Ronan Dunlop. What I don't know is why you befriended Paul, and if you're related, or if it's just a coincidence,"

Solomon covered his face with his arm. "Shite. You've been snooping?"

"So it's true, then?"

"I can't tell Paul."

"Tell Paul what?"

Solomon dropped his arm and stared at her. "I wanted to hate his guts."

"Why?"

"He's my brother."

"How?"

"You've got a kid. I'm sure you know how it works."

Daisy crossed to his bed and glared down at him. "Don't be a smart-arse. I mean how did Paul's dad meet your mam?"

"He was a soldier serving during the troubles. Told her he loved her and they'd be married, but when his time was up he went back to England, and she never heard from him again."

"Did she tell him she was pregnant? Did she try to contact him?"

Solomon shrugged. "He knew about me, but she refused to go after him when he up and left. She was a proud woman and didn't want a man to stand by her because he felt like he should do the right thing." He smiled. "You'd have liked her. She was feisty, stubborn, and pigheaded, with a heart big enough to love the world."

Daisy smiled back, despite the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "I'm sure I would. What about Paul? You went out of your way to find him, didn't you?"

"I researched my da. He'd married an English woman and had another son. I followed Paul into the army and did all I could to get posted with him. I was going to tell him who I was, and what a faithless bastard his da was. I wanted him to lose the only son he ever acknowledged as his own."

"But?"

"His parents came to camp and took us out to dinner after we'd been on a tour of duty to Belize. Paul loved them both, and his ma didn't deserve to have her heart broken. Causing trouble for Paul's family wouldn't change my life. It would hurt Paul, and I can't do that to him. I love the maggot."

"Maybe Paul deserves to know the truth. He wouldn't love you any less because you were his brother. Perhaps his dad had a reason?"

"The past is best left in the past. Provided you've no plans to keep us apart, I can live with having him as my best mate."

Daisy sighed. "You can see Paul as often as you want, provided you agree to me working with you for a bit longer."

"I thought you'd be running for the hills, or the nearest recruitment agency to find a new office job?"

"No way. I'm getting really good at this. A couple more weeks and I'll be brilliant."

"Did you get a bump on the head, Princess?"

"Arsehole."

Solomon shifted on the bed and grimaced. "Did you not bring grapes? It's traditional to bring fruit when you visit the sick and infirm."

She reached into her bag and tossed a packet of chocolate chip cookies on the bedside table. "I figured you needed to eat some real food instead of that healthy shit if you want to get your strength back."

"I guess cookies will have to do." He reached out and took her hand. "If I agree to let you stay on will you be keeping what you know to yourself or will you be telling Paul my secret?"

Daisy smiled. "Not mine to tell. However, I think you're making the wrong decision. But then you've been wrong before."

"How's that?"

"I told you principal Marlborough and Langdon College had something to do with Lord Toby going missing."

"The school was renting out the basement and had no involvement."

"So they say, but give it time, and your uptight pompous old boy's club members will crack under the pressure of continued police questioning."

He chuckled and shook his head.

"I should go and let you get some rest." She leaned over the bed and kissed him on the cheek. "Welcome to the family. But be warned, you ever throw piss on me again, and I won't be shooting at your arse. Paul always wanted a sister."

"You're not that good a shot."

"True. Only a trained sniper with a magnifying glass could hit a target that small."

*****

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# OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES

### Now Available ~ Box Set of First 3 Books in the series. Save 1/3 on the price of buying Books 2 and 3 separately.

### Lost & Found ~ Book 2

Hot on the success of her first case, British female sleuth Daisy Dunlop can count the offers of work on one finger. An empty bank account and the need to prove to her business partner, private investigator Solomon Liffey, that she is an asset not a liability, calls for drastic measures. Terror has to be overcome as she answers a plea to find the one thing that gives her night sweats and flashbacks. A dogl. A missing stud poodle to be exact.

Solomon's amusement at Daisy's new case is short lived when the arrest of his former girlfriend, Lisa, leaves him with the fulltime care of his young daughter, Molly. A dead man is discovered in Lisa's bed. Now he needs to help find the killer before Molly's safety is compromised.

When Daisy realizes the dead man is linked to her current case, Solomon and Daisy are forced to work together to rescue the dog and uncover the killer's motives. Would the sexual prowess of a poodle really incite someone to murder, or is the real motive hidden somewhere in Solomon's secret past?

### Lost Property ~ Book 3

Despite her best efforts, heir hunter Daisy Dunlop is yet to trace anyone who is entitled to the assets left by the dearly departed. Bills are mounting, her husband is hinting that she should get a real job, and another heir hunter keeps stealing her cases. When she gets a call from a solicitor who wants to hire her to find the sister of a dead client, success appears to be at hand. It's just too bad the solicitor hired her on the recommendation of her ex-partner, Solomon.

Solomon's not used to being dumped, so when his girlfriend calls time on their relationship and disappears, he wants to know why. If she won't talk to him, she will talk to her best friend, Daisy. So, despite having sacked her as a partner a few months ago, he now needs to win her back. Putting a case her way, and making himself indispensable is just the start.

Together, they set out to give Daisy her first success as an heir hunter. However, it soon becomes apparent the solicitor's client was not who he claimed to be though, and every attempt to find his real identity leads to another dead body. Daisy becomes the police's main suspect in their murder case Solomon gives up the one thing he swore never to lose. His freedom. When he disappears Daisy risks the only thing that truly matters, her husband, Paul.

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Diminutive English rose, JL Simpson, was stolen away by a giant nomad and replanted in a southern land filled with gum trees and kangaroos. She quickly adapted to her new life, learning the meaning of "G'day" and "mate" whilst steadfastly refusing all attempts to convert her to Vegemite.

A hunger for exploration awoken by her new surroundings, she traversed the land seeking knowledge and adventure. Despite the trials and tribulations along the way she stood fearless in the face of calamity and embarrassment. With a joyous laugh, and a boundless supply of scones with cream and jam, she stood tall, all fifty-eight inches of her, and shrugged off the humiliation of falling in a freezer and reversing into her own mailbox.

Her desire to experience the world led her to embrace a life of crime. Seeking the higher knowledge shared by the great minds of the detective world, she took to worshipping at the altars of the Crime and Investigation channel and Sherlock.

A dive into family history and heir hunting soon followed, where she discovered not every family has roots back to English nobility but they all have their fair share of ne'er-do-wells.

She loves sharing tales about the land of her birth along with the unexpected twists of fate that can befall all of us. Holding on to a steadfast belief every obstacle can be overcome, and that you can be more than you ever expected, she spends her moments of solitude creating adventures where mystery and mayhem collide.

Find me on Facebook or at my website http://www.jlsimpson.com

