“So how exactly is photographing covers of GQ going to help us here?” Lysette demanded.
“I don’t know. I… I was trying to be thorough, that’s all.”
“I’ll tell you what to photograph.”
“Okay, yes, got it.”
They searched through bookshelves and on every other surface, discovering nothing that warranted much interest, their torches glancing around in the darkness and their breath the only noise, aside from Imogen’s occasional prattle.
“God, this is like Mission: Impossible, isn’t it? Only we didn’t drop in on one of those wire thingies. And that with us it’s a bit, kind of – you know, criminal.”
“It is criminal. So shush.”
“Yes, but… if he’s been so nasty in the divorce, then I suppose he’s got it coming, so we’re helping out, right? It’s a good thing we’re doing, isn’t it?”
“Sure, we’re bloody Girl Scouts. Shush!”
“Only… well he seemed so nice when we met him at that party when the Piccadilly branch opened. So gentlemanly. They were such a beautiful couple. He was so tall and dark, so strong. Italian… that’s how he looked. Is he Italian? He sounded a bit Scottish. I’d hate it if he found us here. God, I mean doubly hate it. I liked him. Such a shame it went wrong between them. Do you know why they…”
“Jesus, Imogen, would you just shut up?”
There was an embarrassed pause. “Sorry, sorry. I’m nervous, that’s all. If Spencer even knew I was doing this…”
“Look,” Lysette said, tempering her tone, “your precious boyfriend isn’t going to find out. No one is going to find out. We’re done in this room – so we simply search the bedroom, wait for Miranda’s text and then get the hell out of here. Then you can forget the whole thing ever happened, okay?”
“Okay, okay. I know. God, Lysette…”
“What?”
“This is the most exciting thing I’ve done in my life! I don’t think I’m ever going to forget tonight.”
••••••••••••••
Back to our main character.....
••••••••••••••
Mac made the drive in a shorter time even than he’d expected. By the time he’d parked his car outside the apartment block, his anger had simmered into firm intent. Find the intruder, make sure the bastard’s face was caught squarely on camera and then discover what Miranda had expected him to do. Make the guy squirm till he crapped himself and then maybe finish off by calling the police. Which to do – hold the knowledge of what she had done over Miranda, or have her arrested straight away along with her accomplice? He wasn’t sure yet. He hoped to hell that Miranda hadn’t been able to contact her hired thief any other way – but then the whole point of the disposable phone was anonymity, right? She wasn’t going to incriminate herself further by calling on her own phone… The thought that the burglar might have cut and run made his stomach tighten.
His heart starting to pound once again, he sent another text to the intruder.
PROGRESS?
ROOMS ALL SEARCHED. EVERYTHING OF INTEREST PHOTOGRAPHED.
Still there – yes! For once in that God-awful year of his life, Mac’s luck was holding. Now to capitalise…
He texted again.
GO OVER THE BEDROOM ONE MORE TIME. MAKE SURE YOU MISS NOTHING.
UNDERSTOOD.
That’s right, you vacuous male-model bastard, go through all my stuff one more time. Anything for your beloved fucking Cruella. You’ll be right where I want you.Grabbing a heavy torch from the trunk to use as a weapon, Mac locked his car and paced towards the apartment building. His breathing was ragged, his senses charged with energy as he prepared to face the intruder. What Miranda must be thinking now… She was staying well away from the mess she’d created, desperately trying to work out how she’d wriggle free of her own screwed plan. Well no dice, you vicious bitch, tonight I’m in the driver’s seat.
He tapped in the entrance code to the complex, wondering how the hell that information had been gained. Maybe the thief had simply waited until someone else was going through the gate, but knowledge of the password to his own place – that had been in his possession alone. Never mind – he could worry about those details later. All that mattered now was the furtive individual who’d currently be skulking around his bedroom, collecting all the information they could later spill.
Mastering his breathing once more, he unlocked the downstairs entrance to his section of the complex and made his way up the hallway stairs to apartment nine, the meagre space he’d been renting since the divorce debacle had begun. His fingers hovered at the key panel for a moment. He could make a quick entrance and rush the intruder, or else use stealth. The latter option appealed to his mood, so he tapped in the digits, easing the door open with supreme care.
The apartment was dark, aside from a blinking security light. Whoever had gained access before him that night was privy to the alarm code too. His mind darted about for solutions to the mystery, but once again he brushed those considerations aside, attending to the situation at hand. He ventured into his own living space, eyes adjusting to the darkness, ears alert for the slightest sound. He heard the latter soon enough – voices drifted from his bedroom.A pair of thieves. Shit, I should have known.But as possessed as he was by his need to control the situation, he knew he’d have taken them on regardless. These weren’t professionals, they were Miranda’s recruits, selected from her own merry band of sycophants. Besides, from the sound of the whispered conversation, at least one of them was… maybe both were… female?
Slipping off his shoes, Mac progressed quietly down the carpeted corridor towards the intruders. The unlit torch was heavy in his hand – a last resort in the unlikely circumstances that his uninvited guests were armed in any way. Beams of light were flickering about the bedroom, as the thieves exchanged breathy conversation. The door was open enough for him to see one dark shape hovering not far inside the room, a good half foot shorter than him, with their back turned to the entrance. Whatever the identity of these thieves, they were both his. Blood drummed in his ear, drowning out the thread of his breath. One moment’s nerve was required, and then adrenalin would do the rest.
Mac laid a palm flat on the door’s surface, pushed and leapt.
His apprehension of the first criminal was swift and clean. He had the figure in his grasp and his broad palm clamped around their mouth before they had a chance to react, other than to let their torch tumble to the carpet. In more or less the same instant he flipped the knob on the lighting panel beside the door with that same hand that grasped the torch, and the room swam with light. Criminal two had turned in alarm at the disturbance and now she – yes, she – screamed in panic and stumbled in reverse against his closet, to see her accomplice grappled into submission.
The intruder within his grasp was clearly also a young woman, albeit masked like her partner. She was soft and svelte within his grip as she struggled for freedom – not as dramatically curved as the other one, but equally feminine. Awkwardly pocketing his torch he gripped the stocking mask around her neck and ripped it upwards and off. A shock of wave-permed russet locks tumbled free, their fragrance wafting up to envelop his face. His captive ceased to wriggle, as she succumbed to the truth that she was caught.