Secret State: Enemy: MM Suspense by Hayes Ripley

Author:Hayes, Ripley [Hayes, Ripley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0BJ9S8PXT
Published: 2022-10-14T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Bean was waiting for me. The relative disorganisation of his desk spoke of his anxiety, or more likely irritation about my absence. His phone was sitting on top of a pile of papers. I say a pile, more like two or three hastily scribbled notes. He had run his hands through his hair, and it was slightly mussed. But he still smelled nice.

“You couldn’t have left a note?” he snapped.

“Chief Inspector, I didn’t know you cared.” I looked at him from under my eyelashes and waited for the blush. It arrived right on cue, and I enjoyed the moment without examining too closely my motives for flirting.

“Have you been anywhere useful?”

“Have you ?” I countered.

He brought his hands down onto the desk as if to break it in half, pulling back at the last moment. I had a sudden flash of those hands on my body, and it was my turn to blush. I turned away so that he didn’t see that I was having what he would call inappropriate thoughts. OK so he was my type, but could I shag a man who wore those boots? No. And I had a long-standing vow of no more policemen, ever. He had simply been in the right place at the right time and been thoughtful. I forced my thoughts back to my lunch with Andi.

“I went to meet the bomb-maker,” I said. “I didn’t have much notice and I wasn’t sure who would read any note I left. Leaks, remember.”

He nodded, curtly. “What did he have to say?”

“She. She said that the bomb—device—was made by an expert, and not by anyone local. That it was aimed at me and designed not to do any more damage. Apparently the word in the drinking dens of Rochester is that I am a dead man walking.” I heard myself say the words. Someone was prepared to go to a lot of trouble and expense to kill me, and I still had no idea why. My chest suddenly felt very tight, as if I was being squeezed by an invisible vice. My face and neck heated, then the sweat turned to ice. I saw my hands shake and tried to sit on them before Bean could notice. It was too late.

“Paul. Breathe.” He came round the desk and put his hand on my shoulder. “Breathe,” he said again. “Breathe in for five, hold for five, breathe out for five.” He kept counting, and slowly, slowly my breath settled, and I could expand my lungs without feeling like my chest was being crushed. I looked up at him, standing so close, and my breath hitched.

“Thank you,” I said.

His hand lingered on my arm, and then he stroked my bicep before moving away. My arm felt cold where his hand had been.

“Panic attack,” he said. “The second one I’ve dealt with today. I’ve been with Pammie Taylor, trying to get her to trust me enough to tell the truth. I’d like the truth from you, too. And for you to trust me.

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