Hunter Hunted by Jack Gatland (best romantic books to read .TXT) 📕

of head or body and didn’t really match with his expensive charcoal grey suit. He was sweating, probably from the effort of walking up the stairs, and obviously didn’t want to be here, paling at the sight of Monroe’s blood. Seeing Declan however gave him purpose and shaking off whatever trepidations he had, he started striding over.

‘Oi! Shoes!’ Doctor Marcos yelled, and Harrison immediately stopped, as if realising the floor was lava and that he was on a small island. To ease the tension of the moment, Declan walked to him.

‘Mister Harrison,’ he said cordially. ‘What brings you here?’

‘Charles Baker is in his car out front,’ Will Harrison replied, slowly backing back out of the office, his eyes on Doctor Marcos, glaring at him beside the broken glass. ‘He asked to speak to you.’

‘Then he can come in and speak to me.’

‘He can’t,’ Harrison replied. ‘He’s a backbencher now. He can’t really be seen here before a Minister for State appears.’

Declan sighed. He understood a little of how the Government worked, and things like this, the bureaucracy issues annoyed the hell out of him.

‘Fine,’ he said, indicating the doorway. ‘Let’s go chat to Charlie.’

Outside in the car park, Declan saw the ministerial car waiting, the driver emerging as he saw Will Harrison exit the building. The driver opened the back door and Charles Baker climbed out, straightening his jacket as Declan approached.

‘Detective Inspector Walsh,’ he said, offering out his hand. Declan took it, shaking it.

‘Charles,’ he replied.

If Charles was irritated at the informality of Declan, he didn’t show it, staring instead at the building behind him.

‘Terrible thing,’ he said. ‘Do you have a suspect yet?’

‘We’re still examining the scene. And you know we can’t discuss ongoing investigations with members of the public.’ Declan noted a small wince when he said this; Charles Baker might have the staff and the car, but he was still a simple MP these days.

‘I’m here as a friend,’ Charles insisted. ‘Your team saved my life a few weeks back. I want to help.’

‘And it’s appreciated,’ Declan replied. He didn’t like or even trust Charles Baker, and the last thing he wanted right now was to be in the man’s debt.

‘Have you seen Kendis Taylor recently?’ Charles continued. Declan paused before replying.

‘Why would you ask that?’ he asked carefully. Charles shrugged.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he smiled. ‘Maybe because you were childhood sweethearts, maybe because she worked with your father, or maybe because you gave her the story of when I was saved on the roof of Devington House.’

‘I didn’t give her anything,’ Declan lied. ‘She had been working on a piece on Andy Mac, if I recall.’

‘A piece that not only used my son as bait, but resulted in his death.’

‘I don’t think anyone knew he was your son at that point,’ Declan replied. ‘Yourself included.’

Charles nodded, conceding the point. ‘I’m just saying that you need to be wary around her,’ he said. ‘Speaking as a friend.’

‘Oh, we’re friends now?’ Declan smiled. ‘What do you know that I don’t?’

Charles looked around the courtyard as if considering what to say.

‘It’s nothing but conjecture, but I’ve seen things,’ he said. ‘Reports. And she visited Donna.’

‘Your wife? Why?’

Charles shrugged. ‘I genuinely don’t know,’ he replied. ‘All I know is that she spoke to Donna and then, within a few hours Donna hanged herself.’

Declan went to say something, to state that Donna’s suicide wasn’t connected to Kendis, but then stopped. He didn’t know this. And before he could continue, he saw a group of reporters and news teams enter Temple Inn from the Tudor Street entrance, all making a beeline towards Declan and Charles.

And now Declan understood why Charles Baker hadn’t entered the crime scene.

It was contained. It was controlled.

You couldn’t do a press conference there.

‘Mister Baker!’ One reporter, his cameraman behind him, almost ran at them, microphone in hand. ‘Is it true that you’ve called for the police to have more support from Parliament? That you’ve asked for private firms like Rattlestone to gain more powers?’

Will Harrison moved forward, blocking the reporters.

‘I’m sorry, but this is a personal visit, and we’d prefer some privacy. This is also an active crime scene, so please give us space.’

‘Why are you here, Mister Baker?’ Another reporter shouted. Again, Will spoke for Charles.

‘Mister Baker is visiting with friends,’ he said. ‘As you know, the Temple Inn Crime Unit saved his life a few weeks ago, and now with the cowardly attack on one of their own by suspected terrorists, he’s come to give support.’

‘And with that we must leave,’ Charles said, looking to Declan. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the circus to town.’

‘And I almost believe that,’ Declan replied.

As Charles and Will climbed into the car and drove off, the reporters seemed to dissipate, a single police detective not as exciting as the possible next Prime Minister on a joyride, and one glance at Declan’s furious expression was enough to ensure they kept away. Left alone, Declan turned to return to the Crime Unit, but was bumped into by a reporter as they passed. Looking up, watching them walk away, he realised it was Kendis, tapping into a phone. He moved to follow her, to call after her, but a vibration in his jacket pocket stopped him.

That wasn’t where his phone was.

Reaching into the pocket, he pulled out a small, cheap burner phone, obviously planted there during the bump. On it was one message.

In danger. Need to meet. Keep this on. Text you place.

Staring in confusion at Kendis, now walking out with the other reporters through the Tudor Road gate, Declan scratched at his head. His boss was critically ill, his one-time girlfriend, who he’d recently slept with was now believed to be a terrorist who was apparently in danger, and Charles Baker was telling everyone that they were friends.

Ignoring the calls of the last reporters, Declan walked back into the Temple Inn Crime Unit, pulling off the plastic booties. He’d need new ones now he’d been outside.

And the