The Moor (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #11)(29)

“Anna?”

She looked up from a pile of open textbooks spread out across the kitchen table, her dark hair shining in the lamplight as she researched local Northumbrian folklore. As an academic historian, it was her business to delve into the past and try to make sense of it, whereas his was to ensure their future was something they could be proud of, too.

“Hi,” she said, warmly.

He said nothing, only reached down and plucked her from the chair and into his arms for a thorough kiss.

“That’s better,” he said, long moments later.

“I don’t know where you get the energy,” she said, the history books forgotten.

“Oh, I always have the energy,” he growled, and, quick as a flash, tipped her over his shoulder into a fireman’s lift.

“Ryan! Put me down!”

“Nope,” he laughed, and took the stairs two at a time.

*

Later, when Anna lay with her head on his chest, Ryan trailed slow fingers up and down the slim column of her spine.

“I guess you found Samantha,” she said, sleepily.

“Yeah,” he said, and then shook his head in disbelief. “That kid is a constant surprise. When Frank and Denise got home, they found her waiting for them. She’d let herself in, cleaned out the shortbread—”

“Uh-oh,” Anna laughed.

“You should have seen Frank’s face,” Ryan said, and let out a rumbling chuckle. “She wiped out his prize biscuits, then tucked herself in for the night.”

Anna looked up at his face in the half-light of the bedroom.

“She’s not shy, that’s for sure.”

“You can say that again,” Ryan said, with a smile. “She’s a tough little thing. Brave, outspoken…it’s easy to forget how young she is.”

Anna nodded, thinking that the same thing could have been said of herself, at that age.

“She’s seen a lot.”

Ryan leaned down to brush his lips against the top of her head, which was dishevelled thanks to his earlier efforts.

“What’ll happen to her now?”

Ryan heaved a sigh.

“She’s going to stay with them, until the investigation is over.”

Anna was surprised.

“Will Morrison allow it?”

“I hope so,” he replied. “It’s unorthodox but, in this case, it seems to be the best option.”

Anna was silent for a moment.

“She’s a sweet little girl,” she said eventually. “I hope…well, I hope they don’t end up getting hurt.”

Ryan looked down at her in confusion.

“You think she’d take off, or steal something?”

Only their hearts, Anna thought.

“I don’t think she’d do anything deliberately,” was all she said. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t end up hurting them, anyway.”

Ryan let that sink in, and then turned to the topic that had been playing on his mind ever since Samantha had burst into their lives.

“Does it make you wonder about having kids?” he asked.

“Of course,” Anna replied, without hesitation. “We’ve always said we’ll have a family, one day—if we can. But, right now, I’m not sure…” she trailed off. “How do you feel about it?”

“I love you,” he said. “I can’t wait to have children with you, but there’s no rush, either.”

Anna breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s exactly how I feel,” she said. “Let’s enjoy it being just the two of us, for now. There’ll be time enough for changing nappies and midnight feeding.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he said, pulling a face. “But, so long as they look like you, I can handle anything.”

Anna smiled against his chest and let herself be lulled to sleep by the sound of his strong heartbeat, just as their children would too, one day.





CHAPTER 17


Tuesday, 4th June 2019

The following morning, Phillips and MacKenzie awoke to the sound of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen downstairs.

“What the—?” MacKenzie exclaimed. “Frank, go and see what on Earth’s happening down there.”

Phillips rolled out of bed and reached for a jazzy dressing gown he’d acquired some years ago during a memorable trip to Las Vegas. It was all black but featured a pattern of tiny dancing Elvises in white flared suits.

When he padded downstairs and into the kitchen, he found the place under new management.

“What’s all this?” he asked, lifting a mute arm towards the broken egg-shells lying discarded on the kitchen counter next to an open packet of bacon.

Samantha looked across from her position beside the hob, where she was kneeling on a chair she’d dragged through from the dining room.

“I thought you might like some breakfast,” she said, shyly.

But Phillips was more concerned about naked flames and gas appliances.

“Did your dad let you use the hob, at home?”

She gave him a lop-sided smile.

“Course he did. How else am I supposed to cook dinner?”

Phillips looked down into her upturned face, then ruffled her hair.