The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(23)

Amy braved the bitter January winds to make the five-minute bike ride to Arro Coffee on Bishop’s Bridge Road. It was Adam’s favourite Italian café, and she had arranged to meet him here with the sole intention of buttering him up. They sat at their old spot on the mezzanine, overlooking the main floor. She liked sitting up here, where the scent of good coffee enveloped them like a warm embrace. At the till, two members of staff chatted in Italian. Amy knew the sound of his native tongue put Adam at ease. She was well versed in the tools of manipulation. Perhaps they weren’t so different after all.

‘Come va la mia piccola patata?’ Adam asked, tearing a strip of panettone and popping it in his mouth. How’s my little potato indeed. The term of endearment was a signal to say he wanted to make peace. While dating they’d had the most awful flare-ups, and the next day it was as if they hadn’t argued at all. But their truce could be turned on its head just as easily if either of them said the wrong thing.

‘I asked you here to talk about the letters.’ Her team had already briefed Adam on the kidnapper, although no new correspondence had been received by the newspaper just yet. Amy’s spoon clinked against her glass cup as she stirred her flat white. She was pleased to find that her butterflies were dormant and no longer fluttered at the sight of him. Since meeting DI Donovan, she had begun to see Adam in a less favourable light. There was something very artificial about him. Donovan was easy-going and did not strike her as self-obsessed. She preferred his rough charm and steady attitude to life.

Amy forced back a yawn as Adam steered the topic of work back to himself, talking about the accolades he had been awarded for his reporting on the burial sites Amy had helped to find.

She pointedly checked her watch. ‘We may need the story printed tomorrow, if you can. To be honest, it was my DCI’s idea that we work together. She thinks you’ll do a better job because of your readership.’

‘Is this connected to Lillian?’ Adam asked. ‘Because I’ve been meaning to talk to you about—’

‘It’s nothing to do with Lillian bloody Grimes,’ Amy interrupted, the thought of her biological mother making her gut churn. She checked that nobody was listening before giving him further details of Ellen and Nicole’s cases.

‘I’ll talk to my boss,’ he said. ‘It depends on the type of story this guy wants to run.’ Adam paused to sip his espresso. ‘Listen, can we forget about work for a few minutes? I know we parted on bad terms, but you can come to me any time, you know that, don’t you?’

Amy’s face grew stony. She had Flora to thank for this. No doubt her mother had filled his head with stories of how Amy couldn’t cope on her own. It was a small blessing that he didn’t know about her relationship to Lillian. ‘Weren’t you listening?’ she said. ‘A child’s life is at risk. It’s the only reason I’m here.’

‘And here was I, thinking it would be nice to work together again.’ Adam scowled as he swallowed the last of his panettone. ‘But you’ve changed. Become quite a bitch, by all accounts.’

Amy snorted. She was his little potato five minutes ago. Not that it mattered. Right now, all of her emotions were wrapped up in bringing Ellen home.

‘Can you help me or not?’ Her chair screeched against the floor as she pushed it back with force. ‘Because my time is precious right now.’

‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you.’ Adam reached for her wrist, his anger flaring as she snatched it away. ‘Why are you being like this? We have a history together. It means something to me.’

Amy exhaled, willing to stroke his ego if it meant getting back on track. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, forcing a smile as she sat back down. ‘It’s this new team I’m on . . . it’s very pressured. I really need your help.’ She swallowed her pride, along with the swear word skimming her tongue. She would win Adam around a lot more quickly if she pandered to his ego and acted as the helpless female he wanted her to be. Her thoughts returned to Ellen. She was somewhere in the city. In Amy’s experience, it was too risky for a kidnapper to take their charge very far. But was she alive?

‘I’ll help you,’ Adam said, the smile returning to his face, ‘although we get lots of correspondence about celebrities. If the allegations aren’t backed up, it goes nowhere. If he did send a letter last year, it probably ended up in the bin. The law is strict on what we can publish these days.’ His eyes danced over a svelte young barista as she came on duty. The woman turned her gaze towards him, obviously feeling the heat of his stare. Amy gritted her teeth. The old dog. She would never have his full attention now. ‘Will you come back to the station?’ she said. ‘We can go through it together.’

‘Or we could go back to your mum’s, order pizza, make an evening of it . . . it would be nice to have a proper chat.’

With great effort, Amy quelled the words on her tongue. He had not one iota of concern for Ellen. If Adam had his way, they would be faffing about eating pizza and drinking wine – then they’d fall into her bed. Why else did he want this cosy ‘chat’?

‘When is your deadline for tomorrow’s edition?’ she said, grabbing her handbag from the floor.

‘Midnight, if we get the letter soon and I shuffle a few things about.’ Adam threw a wistful glance at the barista as they prepared to leave. ‘But there’s no way they’ll let me run it on the front page.’