The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(41)

‘She’s gone to see Mamma Mia! at the Novello.’ Amy knew the theatre trip was an excuse to get out of the house. ‘It’s been hard for her since Dad died, but she has a good network of friends.’

‘And she has you.’ Donovan paused at the living-room door.

‘Me? Living with me comes with its own set of problems.’ Amy paused for breath, realising she had said too much. Being in Donovan’s company brought a sense of calm and ease that immediately drew her in. ‘I’m sorry.’ She flushed. ‘You’ve heard enough about me to last a lifetime.’

Donovan leaned in, his voice deep and warm. ‘Yeah, you’re a bit of a nightmare all right.’

Seconds passed before Amy realised he was joking, and her face broke out into a smile.

Donovan returned his glance to her bandaged fingers. ‘I hear you’ve had a hell of a day.’

Amy sighed. No doubt word of her meltdown had spread across the force. ‘Played. I feel played,’ she replied. ‘I honestly thought Ellen was under all that rubble. He left her nightdress there just to wind me up.’

‘But there was blood on it – wasn’t there?’

Amy nodded. Her relief at the absence of a body had been cut short when they saw the blood on the child’s nightdress. ‘We’ve had it fast-tracked to the lab. It’s Ellen’s. It has to be. Which means we could have a murder inquiry on our hands.’

Donovan nodded. ‘Sending you halfway across London, then setting you up to fail. He’s toying with you.’

Amy had already come to that conclusion and needed answers fast. There was one person who could help her. Someone who was well versed in such games. An involuntary shiver drove its way down her back and she pushed all thoughts of Lillian Grimes away.

‘Anyway,’ she said, pushing down the door handle, ‘there’s someone important I want you to meet.’

Donovan gave her a curious look before following her inside. His smile widened as Dotty bounded towards them both.

‘Careful,’ Amy warned. ‘She’s funny with strangers. Let her come to you.’ But her advice was ignored as he immediately dropped to one knee.

‘Hello, lovely,’ he said, making a fuss of the dog as she danced around his feet. ‘I’ve got one just like you.’

‘You own a pug?’ It was Amy’s turn to be surprised.

‘Yes – Poirot,’ Donovan replied, before turning his attention back to Dotty. ‘He’d like you very much indeed.’

‘You’re kidding. You’ve named your pug Poirot?’

Donovan straightened, brushing off his jeans. ‘What’s so strange about that? I’ve got a Staffordshire terrier too. They get on really well.’

‘A Staffy and a pug. Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.’ Amy was unable to imagine her beloved Dotty sharing the limelight with another dog.

Donovan was clearly animated by Dotty’s presence. ‘A couple of years ago we busted a dog-fighting ring and I gave Blackbeard a home. You should have seen him, poor sod. He was a sorry sight.’

‘Blackbeard?’ Amy warmed to him even more. Their relationship felt like kismet. Here was a man who believed in second chances. Up until now, she had been scared he would judge her for her dark past. Having serial-killer parents was not something you dropped into casual conversation.

But there was a vast difference between being kind enough to adopt an abused dog and understanding the sort of twisted background Amy had emerged from. She shelved her thoughts. Now was not the time.

‘He’s blind in one eye and has a tuft of black hair under his chin. He was pretty traumatised when I got him, but now he’s happy as a pig in . . .’ he smiled. ‘Mud.’

‘That’s a myth.’ Switching on a lamp, Amy led Donovan through to the kitchen for coffee. ‘About the pirates, I mean. They didn’t wear eye patches because they were blind. It helped their night vision when they went below deck. They swapped the patch over, you see . . .’ She pursed her lips as she caught Donovan’s bemused expression. Turning around, she filled the kettle, feeling her cheeks burn. She was a detective inspector, so why did she sound like such a nerd?

‘Interesting.’ Pushing up his sleeves, Donovan folded his arms. ‘We could test the theory, I suppose. Got any dark cupboards?’

Stretching on to her tippy-toes, she plucked two mugs from the top shelf. She poured a little milk into a porcelain jug. It was shaped like a cow, its tail forming the handle. Quirky but functional – just like the rest of her mum’s home. ‘Now that you mention it, I had planned to drag you into a dark space.’ She stepped towards him. ‘Just you and me . . . somewhere private. Would you like your coffee first or should we get started?’ She was teasing him, but she couldn’t help herself.

‘Get started?’ Donovan’s eyebrows rose as she offered him a cookie.

‘It’s why I asked you here. Shall we get stuck in?’

Coughing, Donovan brushed away an errant cookie crumb, almost choking mid-bite. ‘Erm . . . whatever you say.’

‘You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.’ Amy took him by the hand. His grip was warm and comforting and, for a second, she regretted her impulsive invitation. But as they reached the door to the wine cellar she knew this would test his character once and for all. The thought gave her pause. Was that what this was about? Testing him to see if he had the staying power to see things through? Releasing his hand, she opened the door and flicked on the light. She peered down the steps, a cold chill creeping between her shoulder blades. ‘Are you coming down? It won’t take long.’