Dylan shrugged. “You know Adam’s never brought a woman back here, don’t you?”
“Why not? It’s lovely.”
He chuckled kindly. “It’s not that he’s ashamed. He just never likes to let women in. I guess I’m the same. He must think you’re pretty darn special.”
“Thank you. I think he’s pretty darn special, too.”
They shared a smile and Amy felt her tension slip away. It was good to have Dylan’s blessing. They held affectionate eye contact for a moment, and the air between them vibrated with peace.
Dylan slapped the couch decisively. “We won’t let anything happen to you with Tariq today, okay. We’ll park down the road and make sure you’re safe. We Quinlans look after our own.”
“I know. Thank you, Dylan.”
Adam strode back in carrying a large whiskey, which he held out for Dylan to take.
“What’s this for? It’s not even lunchtime.”
“Just drink it. You’ll need it.”
Dylan slowly took the proffered glass. “Okay?”
Adam sat back down on the couch next to Amy and held her hand. He winced at Dylan. “The thing is, it’s possible your suspicions about Tariq being responsible for Ivan’s death might be right. But maybe not quite how you thought.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The house stood at the top of a hill, looming over the empty road below. In this pouring April rain, it resembled something from an Alfred Hitchcock movie, with its gothic design and dark brickwork. Amy slammed the door to the taxi and ran in her tight skirt and heels up the crumbling stone steps, feeling surreal. The secret camera and mic she was wearing on the lapel of her jacket made her feel like a private detective – she’d never been in a situation like this before, and it was disconcerting.
Trying not to slip on the wet steps, she wished she was back in Adam’s king-size bed, where she’d woken up this morning. But at least she was safe in the knowledge that Adam and Dylan were parked at the end of the road, out of sight around the corner, like a couple of cops on a stakeout. She knew there was no way Adam would let anything happen to her.
But there was something eerie about Tariq’s home. He lived in the old family mansion on the outskirts of town, and it was clear that he’d hardly done any work on it since his parents had passed away a few years ago. It loomed over the surrounding area, which was also Tariq’s land, so there weren’t any other houses in the vicinity. Amy knew that being afraid didn’t necessarily mean there was anything to be afraid of, but she still took a moment to compose herself, before reaching out to ring the rusty doorbell.
She straightened her suit and brushed her hair out of her eyes, hoping she looked professional and trustworthy. As she waited on the doorstep, she ran through the plan in her head. It was simple, but maybe not so easy. She was going to pretend that she’d convinced Adam to give her one of the blueprints from Ivan’s file, then she could hopefully get Tariq to admit that he was blackmailing her, and they could double-blackmail him. And perhaps eventually she might get him to admit that he murdered Ivan.
But she still wasn’t sure if he was capable of that.
The heavy wooden door creaked open and Tariq appeared in the doorway. He threw Amy a childlike grin, then gasped. “You’re soaking wet! Come in.”
“Thanks.”
She stepped over the threshold and dripped on the threadbare carpet as he closed the door. Her heart thumped with nerves – what if he was to discover her recording device? But surely she could handle him. Yes, he was six-foot tall with a shaved head, but he seemed so gentle. Today he was dressed in a turtle-neck sweater and jeans, which made him seem even less threatening. The scar on his face looked painful, but his mood was boyish and jovial, as if he was excited about having a guest over.
“I’ll get a blanket to wrap around your shoulders,” he said. “Why don’t you go through to the living room?”
“Oh, it’s okay – I’m really not that wet.”
“Well, alright. But you go through; I’ll make you some tea.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
In the living room, Amy perched on a red velvet chaise-longue among antique paintings and cluttered trinkets. She wrung her hands together, wondering whether Adam and Dylan were able to see what she could see. She really wished they’d set up some way of communicating with each other. James had said the radio signal could be lost if she went… where was it? Underground or out of range. How far was out of range? He hadn’t said. Shit.
“I hope you’re watching over me,” she muttered.
Tariq appeared a few moments lat
er with a silver tray of tea things. He placed the tray on the mahogany coffee table, then sat down in an old armchair. A spring boinged beneath him, making him chuckle. He seemed small in this huge cluttered room, which caused sympathy to spiral up inside Amy. He lived alone here, probably missing Ivan like crazy, and thinking of nothing but how Adam and Dylan had stolen his life’s work.
She reached over to pour the tea, reminding herself whose side she was supposed to be on.