If I’d been working clean up, Elizabeth would have been at the top of the list.
Careful not to disturb her, I pushed the covers back, rolling out of bed slowly enough that the shift of my weight on the mattress didn’t wake her.
I had never felt what I felt for her. It made me think of all those times I’d looked at my fellow Russians pairing off with bemusement, wondering what it was they saw that made them change their minds about bringing family into this messy world we’d gotten ourselves into. I understood completely when I looked at Elizabeth lying there on the sheets.
She was absolutely meant to be mine, just like I was meant to be hers, and there wasn’t anything that could have kept me from having her by my side. Who knew that biology worked that way? I’d found my mate and I damn well knew it.
Sure, it was chemistry, no doubt about it. But there was something deeper than the sparks. And I knew it was love right when it punched me in the gut and slapped me around the face the first time I laid eyes on her. The first time I saw her smile. It couldn’t have been anything else.
So I guess I’d bought into the cliche. True love. Fairy tale or not, this had to be it. Either that, or I’d finally gone mad.
I padded my way into the living room, working the tension out of my shoulders that had grouped there over the course of the day and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. I picked up my laptop, and took it over to the desk by the window. Before I slumped down in the desk chair, I flipped the bolt and cracked it open to let in a small breeze and the dull sound of the odd car going past, taxis and buses ferrying people back in the orange glow of the city’s street lights.
I sifted through emails, pinging off a few lines of enquiry I needed Valentin to looked into and then gritted my teeth, and Googled Sutherland. I already knew he’d made the front page.
Journalist about to reveal the names behind London’s most expensive real estate goes missing weeks before his book is set to be released.
Rumours of his work being destroyed in a house fire. Publisher says: he’s always been so protective of his sources, and we respected that. We never saw something like this coming. Right now, we’re not sure we have enough to go to print at all.
Critics say it’s all one big publicity stunt, but as the hunt for the missing journalist and his step-daughter Elizabeth Harrington, who was last seen walking out of her final exam last Thursday, continues, suspicions have risen over this man, seen with her. The pair are believed to be working together.
It’s believed the unidentified male, who appears to be in his mid thirties, was also captured on CCTV footage outside Sutherland’s Chelsea home just minutes before the fire. A man matching his description was also seen around the offices of his agent Sandra Charlton, before the arson attack gutted their home.
“Pierce came to us because we’re not one of the big guys. I think he thought that meant we’d be immune to any kind of pressure. We aim to represent writers and journalists who go after the truth. But in all the years we’ve been running, we’ve never had anything like this. It’s horrible to think that this could have been a malicious attack, and I can only hope that wherever Pierce and Elizabeth are now, they come back safely.”
Police are asking for anyone who knows this man to step forward, and urge the man to get in touch so they can rule him out of their enquiries.
I grimaced and rubbed a hand through my beard. Shaving didn’t appeal to me, given the way Elizabeth seemed to like the rough scratch of it against her skin, but it would grow back and I reckoned she’d like me without it a lot better than as an inmate of HMP Pentonville.
I looked up when I heard a noise, and my smile rose as Elizabeth squinted blearily at me.
Her hair was standing up at odd angles and she looked like some kind of street urchin. That shouldn’t have made my cock stir, but it did.
“What time is it?”
“Late. Early.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, darling. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Come back to bed, Max.”
I closed the lid of the laptop and walked over to her scooping her up into my arms. She let out a giggled shout that she barely muffled against my shoulder as I hoisted her legs up, Princess style.
Her eyes were dark and wide, watching me quietly when I set her down on the bed, and she reached out to trace the scars along my side, nestling her fingers and thumb into the bullet holes along my side.