Read Online Captcha Thief (Amy Lane Mysteries) by Rosie Claverton - Free Book Online
Authors: Rosie Claverton
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door. ‘I’ll just be shopping then.’
She knew she’d offended him, but he would survive. She couldn’t leave Owain to fend for himself, as she’d been left. It was worth Jason’s flare of temper to provide the crutch for once, instead of being the one dependent on it.
Amy picked up the set of CCTV discs and fanned them out for Owain.
‘Pick a card.’
Seething at being ordered to pick up the groceries like he was some kind of fifties housewife, Jason dumped the empty shopping bags in the boot of his Micra and decided he was going to check on the Harley.
Dylan hadn’t called, so she wasn’t ready to ride, but maybe they could spend a couple of hours figuring it out together. Jason missed his long hours at the garage, tinkering with cars and bikes, but Dylan’s tendency to work with cheap parts of dubious origins meant he had to keep his distance. Jason’s criminal record and Dylan’s dodgy parts were too well known for either of them to prosper from that arrangement.
And the bloody shopping could wait. He had suspected Amy was blowing him off, but now he had confirmation. It wasn’t about guarding her domain from all-comers – it was about keeping Jason out. The anger faded now, replaced by sadness and a sense of loss. He wasn’t Amy’s only assistant, the one person she could completely rely on. Other people could take his place in an instant, and in some cases, do things that he would never be permitted to touch. As if he were a naughty five-year-old who couldn’t be trusted with the remote control.
As Jason drove between the Students’ Union and the museum, he glanced across at the entrances. Still cordoned off and guarded. Not only had the place lost its most iconic work of art, but it must be haemorrhaging money from the lack of tourists. The mystery nagged at him. He wanted to be part of it. He couldn’t bear to be shut out like this.
He drove past the castle before leaving the town centre, crossing the bridge into Canton. The shabby end of town was a mishmash of young professionals, new immigrants, and old Cardiffians, where a polski sklep stood next to an ancient greasy café, both frequented by hipsters.
As he turned into Dylan’s road, he spotted a familiar Mercedes 4x4 parked outside. Jason loathed posh 4x4s, the province of rich middle-class parents who wanted something to drive their children to school in and didn’t care about the hit to their pockets. But take one of those cars down a proper dirt track in the country and it would never survive the bumps, ditches, and ice-marked lanes it was supposedly built for.
He parked and marched up to the forecourt, where Dylan and Miss National Crime Agency were peering into a covered trailer attached to the Chelsea Tractor. He might hate the car, but this was his chance to get inside information on the investigation. Prove his worth to Amy and get back into the crime solving that had united them.
But any cunning plan died when he saw what was inside the trailer. The Harley Davidson touring bike was all black seduction, the newest model with an eye-watering price tag that Jason couldn’t hope to afford even with Amy’s generous salary. He felt sick with envy, yet the beautiful machine also added a touch of gloss to his impression of Frieda.
‘Now I’m the one with the admirer. Though not so secret.’
Jason realised he was staring, at both her and the bike. Her cool amusement should’ve rankled, but it just added to her confident air. He couldn’t deny her whole attitude was attractive, tantalising.
‘I figured you for a BMW girl,’ he said, trying to cover his naked admiration of more than just the bike.
‘Time for a change. I tire easily.’
‘Miss Haas was looking at your Captain America bike,’ Dylan chipped in.
She glanced back at his bike, in pride of place in the centre of Dylan’s space. ‘A loving restoration. You must be a proud parent.’
Jason shrugged, unwilling to admit his beloved bike wouldn’t even
She knew she’d offended him, but he would survive. She couldn’t leave Owain to fend for himself, as she’d been left. It was worth Jason’s flare of temper to provide the crutch for once, instead of being the one dependent on it.
Amy picked up the set of CCTV discs and fanned them out for Owain.
‘Pick a card.’
Seething at being ordered to pick up the groceries like he was some kind of fifties housewife, Jason dumped the empty shopping bags in the boot of his Micra and decided he was going to check on the Harley.
Dylan hadn’t called, so she wasn’t ready to ride, but maybe they could spend a couple of hours figuring it out together. Jason missed his long hours at the garage, tinkering with cars and bikes, but Dylan’s tendency to work with cheap parts of dubious origins meant he had to keep his distance. Jason’s criminal record and Dylan’s dodgy parts were too well known for either of them to prosper from that arrangement.
And the bloody shopping could wait. He had suspected Amy was blowing him off, but now he had confirmation. It wasn’t about guarding her domain from all-comers – it was about keeping Jason out. The anger faded now, replaced by sadness and a sense of loss. He wasn’t Amy’s only assistant, the one person she could completely rely on. Other people could take his place in an instant, and in some cases, do things that he would never be permitted to touch. As if he were a naughty five-year-old who couldn’t be trusted with the remote control.
As Jason drove between the Students’ Union and the museum, he glanced across at the entrances. Still cordoned off and guarded. Not only had the place lost its most iconic work of art, but it must be haemorrhaging money from the lack of tourists. The mystery nagged at him. He wanted to be part of it. He couldn’t bear to be shut out like this.
He drove past the castle before leaving the town centre, crossing the bridge into Canton. The shabby end of town was a mishmash of young professionals, new immigrants, and old Cardiffians, where a polski sklep stood next to an ancient greasy café, both frequented by hipsters.
As he turned into Dylan’s road, he spotted a familiar Mercedes 4x4 parked outside. Jason loathed posh 4x4s, the province of rich middle-class parents who wanted something to drive their children to school in and didn’t care about the hit to their pockets. But take one of those cars down a proper dirt track in the country and it would never survive the bumps, ditches, and ice-marked lanes it was supposedly built for.
He parked and marched up to the forecourt, where Dylan and Miss National Crime Agency were peering into a covered trailer attached to the Chelsea Tractor. He might hate the car, but this was his chance to get inside information on the investigation. Prove his worth to Amy and get back into the crime solving that had united them.
But any cunning plan died when he saw what was inside the trailer. The Harley Davidson touring bike was all black seduction, the newest model with an eye-watering price tag that Jason couldn’t hope to afford even with Amy’s generous salary. He felt sick with envy, yet the beautiful machine also added a touch of gloss to his impression of Frieda.
‘Now I’m the one with the admirer. Though not so secret.’
Jason realised he was staring, at both her and the bike. Her cool amusement should’ve rankled, but it just added to her confident air. He couldn’t deny her whole attitude was attractive, tantalising.
‘I figured you for a BMW girl,’ he said, trying to cover his naked admiration of more than just the bike.
‘Time for a change. I tire easily.’
‘Miss Haas was looking at your Captain America bike,’ Dylan chipped in.
She glanced back at his bike, in pride of place in the centre of Dylan’s space. ‘A loving restoration. You must be a proud parent.’
Jason shrugged, unwilling to admit his beloved bike wouldn’t even
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