Frozen Grave (Willis/Carter #3)(22)
‘Yes. I’m going to make you write it in blood,’ she growled.
He grinned. ‘You’re a wild woman.’ Ellerman glanced towards his watch, next to the glass of champagne on the bedside table. It was ten minutes to three.
‘Do you have to be somewhere?’ Her eyes had turned cold as she pressed her weight into his lap.
‘Of course not.’ He reached out to run his hands up her thighs. ‘We have plenty of time – till this evening for now, but after that? We have the rest of our lives.’
She leant forward and rested her head on his chest and then lifted her eyes to look at him. ‘Can I trust you? Are you real?’
‘Yes.’ He hugged her tightly to him. ‘This feels amazing. So special. I didn’t think for one moment I would feel like this,’ he said, his eyes filling with tears.
Her eyes stayed on his until she was sure he was sincere and then she lay back down, smiling, happy.
‘Come on, let’s go for a walk on the moors.’ Ellerman rolled her off him and got out of bed, ducking to miss the low beam. He turned back to smile at her with a cheeky grin. ‘You can’t have it all your own way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Some things are worth waiting for. I’ll decide when it’s time for me to pleasure you again.’
She pretended to be annoyed. Then she laughed as she got up and opened a chest of drawers, pulling out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
‘Okay. But I need to warn you – this is a tiny village,’ she said as she found a jumper and pulled it over her head. ‘And I’m already looked on as an outsider, so I don’t want to be labelled a loose woman as well.’
‘Okay – no problem. Let’s drive somewhere.’
She turned to look at what he was wearing. ‘I’d better find you a coat to wear. The weather can change in a second here.’
‘Ah . . . the famous Dartmoor mist again.’
‘It’s shifted now. It will be a clear sunset.’
‘Lead on!’
They drove for ten minutes over the moors and parked below Hound Tor. Ellerman was watching the clouds race overhead. The banks of scrubby moorland fanned out around them; sharp and cold now. Trees grew bent and crooked. The sky was streaked with cold pale blue. They walked higher to get a good view. The bitter wind sliced into his face as he pulled the windproof jacket, fleecy-lined, around him and zipped it up.
‘What a place.’
‘Yes . . . breathtaking. Too remote for you, I expect.’ She glanced across at him. ‘You’re used to living in London.’
‘I don’t live in the middle. Anyway, what I want in life has changed. I used to want money, fast cars, big house, but then I got them and now I’m ready to give them up.’
‘And would you trade your wine bars and cocktail lounges for sitting next to a wood burner and listening to the sound of the birds outside?’
‘In a heartbeat. By the way . . . did I tell you I’m renovating a little bolt-hole in Spain. It’s a beautiful old farmhouse. I’d love you to see it. Will you let me take you there when it’s finished?
She nodded, happy. ‘Sounds wonderful – I have a feeling I’m going to let you take me to heaven.’
Chapter 12
DC Zoe Blackman had been guarding Michael Hitchens – Toffee – all night. She’d get back in time to get the boys up and give them breakfast then drive them to school. Then she’d sleep. She was bad at sleeping in the day. For a fleeting, mad, sleep-deprived moment, she wondered if Simon Smith was the person she was guarding Toffee against.
She looked across at him and thought how odd he looked. He was thirty going on sixty, the way he dressed. Still, there was something old-fashioned and charming about his appearance: dishevelled posh boy. It seemed to her like he really cared about Toffee. It showed a basically good side to him. She stood up and went over to him.
‘Fancy a coffee?’
He gave an exhausted smile. He was resting his elbows on his knees.
‘I’d love one but do you think that’s a good idea?’
‘Yes. But you have to go and get it – my colleague went home for an hour, family stuff. I have to stay here and guard Toffee. It will give us a chance to compare notes. I’m white – no sugar.’
He stood and stretched, then smiled at her. She thought how his face was quite good-looking when he smiled. If she were into men who wore old-man sweaters with preppy stuck-up collars, then she might consider it, but she wasn’t. Her husband had been the gym-animal type but always immaculate in his white T-shirt and perfect-fitting jeans. He took steroids. It made him aggressive in the end, or it had brought that side out in him – who knows? But she knew it would be a long time till she went down the relationship road again. Now she was a single parent who juggled a career she loved with the guilt-tripping of trying to give two boys everything and provide a future with money and options in it. Luckily, she had her mum to rely on.
‘Okay,’ Smith said, breaking into her thoughts, then walked off in the direction of the canteen. He came back ten minutes later, carrying two cups of coffee.
‘No biscuits?’
‘Of course. Just wouldn’t have volunteered the info if you hadn’t asked.’ He smiled at her. ‘Was hoping to eat the lot.’ He handed her a coffee and then took two packets of custard creams out of his pocket.