Yes, they’d been asking questions, but they’d been careful not to leave any evidence that the “suicide” of one of the residents had actually been a little less than voluntary. Could a reporter have gotten wind of Gemma’s involvement? Unlikely—the death of a nobody on a run-down housing estate was hardly front-page news. But Gemma had dated the guy for months—had she made any friends there? Met any acquaintances who might know where she worked?
“Gemma didn’t recognise her?”
“She says not.”
“How did we get from a visitor at the gallery to kidnap?”
“The girl had a baby with her. And while she was talking to Gemma, some toff took offence to her being on the pavement, and she ended up getting hit by a car.”
Getting closer… Alaric had a bad feeling about this.
“That still doesn’t explain the baby.”
“Well, I guess Judd was worried about the girl knowing too much, because he told the staff at the hospital that he was the father of her baby, and now he’s at her bedside playing the concerned husband until she wakes up.”
“Fuck.”
“Funny, that’s the exact word I used.”
Judd’s loyalty was unquestionable, and for that Alaric was grateful, but hot damn, couldn’t he think things through for once? Alaric’s stomach twisted into a knot because although he’d spoken to a dozen women with babies during their search for Gemma, only one had made a long-lasting impression. Say it wasn’t Hevrin…
“Give me your phone.” Alaric took a deep breath. “Please.”
“What happened to yours?”
“Emmy dropped hers, so I lent her mine, and she left it on top of the car and drove off.”
He should have known better. Emmy went through so many phones she got a bulk discount. Beth fished hers out of her purse, but when he moved to take it, she held on.
“Uh, could you not tell him I told you? Gemma said she wasn’t meant to mention it.”
Good thing Judd was in London. Alaric couldn’t inflict grievous bodily harm if he was four thousand miles away, could he now? He punched in Judd’s number, put the phone on speaker, and waited. One ring, two, three…
“What’s up, babe?”
“Her name’s Beth, not ‘babe.’ What have I told you about harassing the female staff?”
“I’m on my best behaviour. Scout’s honour.”
Right.
“So, how are things in London? Busy day? Have you been working with your usual clinical efficiency?”
Emphasis on the clinical. Judd’s pause said he knew what Alaric knew.
“I tried to call you.” He lowered his voice and echoed Beth. “There’s a small problem.”
“How small?”
“Five feet six and 35-25-35 at a guess.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Elaborate. And stop referring to women like they’re objects.”
“A girl stopped Gemma outside the Pemberton gallery today. Started asking questions about the Bellsfield Estate. About an American. Then some bitch in a designer suit barged her out of the way, and she landed in traffic.”
“So you called an ambulance, right?”
Alaric already knew the answer, but he also didn’t want to drop Gemma in it. Trust was important in this game.
“Yes, but what if she knows something about what went on last week? Gem’s been through enough already, and you and Ravi don’t want your names coming out. The cops are gonna question her when she wakes up.”
“About the accident, presumably, not about the Bellsfield Estate.”
“What happens if she lets something slip? Do you want to take that chance?”
Quite honestly? No. But when there was a child involved, that had to take priority, a fact Judd should have been well aware of after everything they’d been through with Rune. This was why Alaric’s name was on her fake birth certificate rather than his.
“It’s not just about us. Who’s the girl? Does she have a name? Any ID?”
“I lifted her wallet, but all that’s in it is ten quid and a bus ticket. Her phone got smashed in the accident. So for now, her name’s Nada Millais-Scott, and her address is Curzon Place.” Curzon Place was Judd’s townhouse in Kensington. “The bloody receptionist wouldn’t let me past unless I was next of kin.”
“Nada?”
“The first name I thought of. She looks Middle Eastern, and I used to work with a woman from Iraq called Nada. I panicked, okay? There was a baby.”
Middle Eastern. Alaric’s worst fears were ninety percent confirmed.
“I’ll need a photo to be sure, but she’s likely to be Hevrin Moradi. She’s a Kurdish refugee, and she was instrumental in leading us to Gemma. Where’s the baby?”
“With Gemma.”
“You can’t just keep a baby, Judd. Social Services should be…” Alaric trailed off. Emmy had been in the foster system, and so had Sky. It hadn’t been kind to either of them. Yes, Judd was an impulsive asshole, but he wouldn’t abuse a kid, and between Blackwood and Sirius, they’d move heaven and earth to look after it. “Never mind. The baby’s at your place?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know how to take care of it?”
“No fucking clue, mate.”
“Are you at the hospital?”
“Next to her bed. I got her a private room.”
“How is she?”
“She wasn’t knocked out for long, but she was confused and crying when she came round, so they took her for an MRI and a CT scan to be on the safe side. Her arm’s broken, but they reckon her head’s okay. Now she’s sleeping. I don’t know what she’s told them, but nobody’s arrested me yet.”
Good. Alaric had to take that as a positive, apart from the broken bone, obviously.
“But…” Judd continued.
“But?”
“I saw the X-rays. That girl’s broken half the bones in her body at some point or another.”
“Fuck.”
“I told the doctors she used to race motocross bikes.”
“Motocross? We’re gonna need to work on your bullshit, buddy.”
“Normally I’m good at it—you know that. This just threw me off balance. The baby and everything. Shit, it was a close call.”
“What happened to the woman who pushed her?”
“She tried to walk off, but I grabbed her handbag and hung onto it until the police picked her up for questioning. No way was she leaving it behind, even if the self-centred cow did try to snatch it back while I was putting
