BURY ME DEEP an utterly gripping crime thriller with an epic twist (Detective Rozlyn Priest Book 1) by JANE ADAMS (best romantic books to read TXT) 📕

“If we can figure out what language she speaks.”

“Good point. I’m surprised Brook didn’t just drag her out.”

“The press have been tipped off. One of the neighbours spotted us when we came in. Hard not to, we made enough noise. Brook is of the opinion that a photographer is bound to show up the moment we appear on the steps carrying our unwilling victim here. Wouldn’t look good. Even Brook gets a bit sensitive these days.”

“Brook, sensitive!”

“Wants his full pension in three years’ time, doesn’t he? Anything untoward that could force early retirement and Brook wicks off and leaves someone else, namely us, to take the flak.”

“I have to say, your opinion of our beloved leader leaves something to be desired.”

Jenny grinned, then turned back to the woman. “Come on,” she gestured, shifting just a little closer. ”Let’s get somewhere warm, get some food.” She gestured eating and drinking and the woman moaned as though she were in pain.

“You think she’s all right?

“I think she’s just scared.”

The bundle in her arms moved.

“Oh my God, she’s got a baby.” Jenny leaned towards her and the woman edged away crying out in panic.

“Hush now,” Rozlyn spoke softly. She moved sideways, blocking the woman in case she should make a sudden break for the door. She couldn’t get far but she’d rather not have to chase this frightened woman carrying her tiny child down those godawful steep stairs. “Hush now,” she said again. “Shhh. Don’t cry.” Her voice had taken on an almost sing-song quality, like a parent comforting a child woken with nightmares. She inched forward. “Hush now, sweet, nothin’s goin’ to harm you.” The words were her grandmother’s, the rhythm too. “Nothin’ bad. You come with me.”

The woman was watching, but she was silent now, observing Rozlyn with wide, round, brown eyes. She clasped the baby closer, pulling the blanket round it when it moved again. Rozlyn was so close now she could feel the nervous, half-drawn breath upon her own skin. She leaned in and looked down at the baby. “Oh, she’s so sweet. Does she have a name?” She reached out and, with one finger, stroked the baby’s cheek. The woman whimpered, shifted even further into her corner.

“Hush, now,” Rozlyn told her again. “Let’s go somewhere we can both get warm.”

She extended one hand and, reluctantly, the woman took it and permitted Rozlyn to raise her to her feet and lead her towards the door. They took the stairs slowly, Jenny bringing up the rear, Rozlyn leading, still holding the woman’s hand. Now that she’d allowed that touch, she didn’t seem ready to let go.

The cameras, as Brook predicted, were on hand when they reached the front door. Brook would be proud, Rozlyn reflected as she helped the woman into the car, Jenny beside her. The human, multi-ethnic side of policing would make it onto the front page and earn him a few brownie points.

She stepped back onto the pavement and watched the car drive away, then faced the chilly representatives of the local press ranged before her. She knew them all, greeted them by name. Carl from the Mail and Rob from the Rutland and District. “You got a new photographer, Rob?”

“Yes, Frankie, joined us a month ago. Got a statement Inspector?”

“Hi Frankie. Pleased to meet you. Be sure and get my best side now. Not much to tell, I’m afraid. I arrived late and missed most of it.”

“Ooh, you’ll be getting a tardy mark for that.”

Rozlyn laughed. “OK, we think we have a network bringing illegal immigrants into the country. We think they’re from Eastern Europe, presumably some country not yet part of the EU or they could apply for work visas and come here legitimately.” She shrugged. “Until we’ve interviewed them, I can’t even tell you their nationality. That’s about it really. I’m as ignorant as you lot.”

There was a murmur of good-natured grumbling, but they’d got their pictures and their statements and Rozlyn knew they were perfectly capable of building the rest of the story for themselves. In fact, she suspected there might even be resentment if she didn’t confer that opportunity.

Rozlyn allowed one more photo and then made her way back to the car, hoping no one noticed that she checked the back seat before getting inside.

CHAPTER 23

“I had a wife and son,” Treven was not drunk, exactly, but was certainly well on the road to that destination. Kendryk, though he’d matched him cup for cup, showed no sign.

“What happened to them?”

“Raiders came, wiped out my family, drove off the livestock. Took over my land.”

“Where were you?”

“Away on the King’s business. They died in springtime. It was near winter before I knew of it.”

“And what pains you most, that you did not know or that you were absent from them when they needed you?”

“Both,” Treven said shortly. He drank deep, first of the mead and then from the jug of steeped herbs Osric had placed beside him. The two battled, both in his mouth and his belly. “We should summon Hugh,” he said.

“You stated such an hour ago. Two hours ago.”

“Which?”

“Both.”

“Oh.” Treven fell silent. They had argued the matter from all angles and Kendryk had finally delivered a solution, though it was not one Treven liked. “My Grandsire traced his lineage back to Wotan himself. My mother too, kept faith with his gods, though she said the prayers of Christ also, to honour my father’s wishes.”

“As does Guthrum no doubt.”

“He is no longer Guthrum. You should know that, Priest. He took another name. A Christian name.”

“So he did,” Kendryk leaned forward and refilled both their cups. He lifted the jug containing Osric’s stomach medicine and sniffed. “Water mint, vervain. I cannot tell what else.”

Treven shrugged. “Ask him. His mother taught him the skill.