excellent opportunity to prove her worth, having only been in the job less than a month. But on the other, she badly wanted to go home. She’d been away Monday and Tuesday on a residential course, had put in thirteen hours the previous day, and quite frankly, she was exhausted.
Surreptitiously, she looked at her watch as Genson Smith, a veteran Lambeth councillor with a longstanding grievance against the police, and a man who never tired of hearing his own voice, launched into another of his polemics. 4.35. If she could wrap this meeting up quickly she could be out of here by five and relaxing in a hot bath with a much-needed glass of Sauvignon Blanc by six.
The knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
It was Ann, her secretary, again, and her expression was concerned. ‘Ma’am, you’re needed urgently.’
‘I’m afraid I have to go,’ Arley announced to the attendees, pleased at least to be leaving the room. ‘I’ll leave you in the capable hands of DCS Russell.’
Genson Smith looked extremely irritated, but Arley was out of the door before he could actually say anything.
‘The explosion at the Westfield has been confirmed as a bomb,’ said Ann when they were out in the corridor.
‘What do we know about casualties?’
‘So far we’ve got reports of six people injured, but no fatalities.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘That’s not all,’ Ann continued.
Arley felt her heart sink.
‘There have been two more explosions at Paddington Station. Initial reports say they’re both bombs. The commissioner wants you in the control room right away.’
Arley had been with the Met for over twenty years. She was used to crises, and knew how to handle them. It was one of the reasons she’d risen so high. ‘I’m on my way,’ she said, knowing that the bath and the Sauvignon Blanc were going to have to wait, but already feeling the adrenalin as it pumped through her system, shaking her out of the torpor of the meeting.
Fifteen
HE WASN’T GOING to come.
In her hotel room, Cat was about to light another cigarette and break the cardinal rule they’d set of never calling Michael on his mobile when there was a loud knock on the door.
She put down her glass of Evian and bounded over to open it.
It was Michael, his presence immediately filling the doorway. He was a big man with big, rugged features who’d worked hard to keep himself in shape, and even though he was in his early fifties, he wore the years easily.
He grinned and produced a bunch of flowers from behind his back, handing them to her.
‘Darling, you shouldn’t have done.’ Smiling, she stepped aside to let him inside, taking in the scent of his Dior aftershave and a tang of single malt on his breath. ‘But I’m glad you did.’
Michael took her in his arms and kissed her. ‘I need you, Cat,’ he whispered. ‘God, I need you so, so badly.’
‘You’ve got me,’ she whispered back, feeling his hardness against her. ‘And we’ve got all night.’
She twisted round and threw the flowers on the bed, and a second later they were kissing again. Outside, she could hear the blare of police sirens coming past the window.
They walked crab-like together towards the bed, his hand running up her leg to the stocking top, his breathing getting faster now as he became more and more aroused.
She felt his phone vibrate in his trouser pocket. He ignored it. So did she.
By the time it had stopped vibrating they were standing against the bottom of the bed, and his fingers were stroking the bare flesh of her inner thigh. Instinctively she opened her legs a little, and he gave a pleasing grunt of pleasure.
Almost immediately, his phone started up again.
‘Damn,’ he cursed, removing his hand from the folds of her dress. ‘I’d better see what they want.’ He gave Cat an apologetic look and turned away, putting the phone to his ear. ‘What is it?’ he demanded brusquely.
As he listened to what was being said, his shoulders slumped
Surreptitiously, she looked at her watch as Genson Smith, a veteran Lambeth councillor with a longstanding grievance against the police, and a man who never tired of hearing his own voice, launched into another of his polemics. 4.35. If she could wrap this meeting up quickly she could be out of here by five and relaxing in a hot bath with a much-needed glass of Sauvignon Blanc by six.
The knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
It was Ann, her secretary, again, and her expression was concerned. ‘Ma’am, you’re needed urgently.’
‘I’m afraid I have to go,’ Arley announced to the attendees, pleased at least to be leaving the room. ‘I’ll leave you in the capable hands of DCS Russell.’
Genson Smith looked extremely irritated, but Arley was out of the door before he could actually say anything.
‘The explosion at the Westfield has been confirmed as a bomb,’ said Ann when they were out in the corridor.
‘What do we know about casualties?’
‘So far we’ve got reports of six people injured, but no fatalities.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘That’s not all,’ Ann continued.
Arley felt her heart sink.
‘There have been two more explosions at Paddington Station. Initial reports say they’re both bombs. The commissioner wants you in the control room right away.’
Arley had been with the Met for over twenty years. She was used to crises, and knew how to handle them. It was one of the reasons she’d risen so high. ‘I’m on my way,’ she said, knowing that the bath and the Sauvignon Blanc were going to have to wait, but already feeling the adrenalin as it pumped through her system, shaking her out of the torpor of the meeting.
Fifteen
HE WASN’T GOING to come.
In her hotel room, Cat was about to light another cigarette and break the cardinal rule they’d set of never calling Michael on his mobile when there was a loud knock on the door.
She put down her glass of Evian and bounded over to open it.
It was Michael, his presence immediately filling the doorway. He was a big man with big, rugged features who’d worked hard to keep himself in shape, and even though he was in his early fifties, he wore the years easily.
He grinned and produced a bunch of flowers from behind his back, handing them to her.
‘Darling, you shouldn’t have done.’ Smiling, she stepped aside to let him inside, taking in the scent of his Dior aftershave and a tang of single malt on his breath. ‘But I’m glad you did.’
Michael took her in his arms and kissed her. ‘I need you, Cat,’ he whispered. ‘God, I need you so, so badly.’
‘You’ve got me,’ she whispered back, feeling his hardness against her. ‘And we’ve got all night.’
She twisted round and threw the flowers on the bed, and a second later they were kissing again. Outside, she could hear the blare of police sirens coming past the window.
They walked crab-like together towards the bed, his hand running up her leg to the stocking top, his breathing getting faster now as he became more and more aroused.
She felt his phone vibrate in his trouser pocket. He ignored it. So did she.
By the time it had stopped vibrating they were standing against the bottom of the bed, and his fingers were stroking the bare flesh of her inner thigh. Instinctively she opened her legs a little, and he gave a pleasing grunt of pleasure.
Almost immediately, his phone started up again.
‘Damn,’ he cursed, removing his hand from the folds of her dress. ‘I’d better see what they want.’ He gave Cat an apologetic look and turned away, putting the phone to his ear. ‘What is it?’ he demanded brusquely.
As he listened to what was being said, his shoulders slumped
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