Miss No One, Mark Ayre [romantic love story reading .TXT] 📗

stone steps. On the path, the young detective made a show of retrieving her phone and checking the screen. It was more than possible she had received a message while inside, but Abbie thought this was something else. The detective was performing.

Phone still in hand, Christine glanced up and to her right. She caught Abbie's eye. Just for a moment. Long enough to ensure Abbie was watching.

Christine tilted her head infinitesimally to her left. Then looked back at her phone, locked the screen, and slid the handset into her pocket.

A moment later, she set off down the road, away from Abbie, following the direction signalled by her nod.

Leaving Ariana alone outside the station, Abbie set off after the detective, keeping at a discreet distance. To Christine's credit, she never looked back to check if Abbie was doing as requested. As though she would take Abbie's company if it was offered. Forget it otherwise.

This wasn't about company, though. Christine didn't need a new drinking companion; she wanted to ask Abbie questions she had been unable to raise at the station. Which was fine. After all, Abbie had questions for Christine she was happy to ask away from prying eyes and twitching ears.

They walked for eight minutes before Christine stopped outside a small, dingy pub at the corner of two bland and featureless streets. Now the young detective did stop, did glance back. Again she met Abbie's eye but this time without a signal. Placing her hand on the pub door, she stepped inside.

Fifteen seconds later, Abbie arrived at the same door and entered. It was a bright day but the pub's windows, though they looked clean, seemed to filter the light, letting only a trickle into the small, open interior. Three tables occupied the central space—two twos and a four—one occupied by a man and a paper. There was a booth in two corners of the room, a door to the toilets in a third.

Abbie approached the fourth corner where was situated a small bar, three stools pressed against it. One of these was occupied by a man who drank a pint and stared at the spirit bottles on the wall as though they were an engrossing movie. Both male patrons were well past retirement age.

Behind the bar, a large woman was serving a pint of bitter into an almost clean glass. Wallet out, Christine was withdrawing her bank card to pay, but paused as Abbie arrived.

"Drink?"

"Lemonade, please.”

At this, the landlady wrinkled her nose as though Abbie had asked for rat stew. She placed Christine's pint in front of the detective, and Christine nodded thanks.

"I'll get the lemonade too, thank you.”

Without a word, the landlady took another glass. This one sparkled. It was a soft drink glass and appeared never to have been used. In a place like this, Abbie wasn't surprised.

The landlady took a bottle, poured the lemonade, slid it to Abbie. Christine paid and gestured to one of the booths. The one in the furthest corner from the front door.

"Shall we?"

They sat. From their position, a turn of the head gave Abbie a clear view of the front door, the toilets, and the bar. Good. She didn't expect an ambush, but it was nice to know she'd immediately spot the arrival of any unfriendlies. Perhaps Ndidi or Smoker from last night.

Watching Abbie’s eyes trace the room, Christine said, “Don’t worry, my colleagues don’t frequent this place. Think I’m the only regular born after 1950.”

That was curious, but Abbie didn’t comment. She nodded as Christine took a coaster for her pint, while taking a long draw from her glass. Replacing the beverage, Christine stared at Abbie.

"I know it's a bit early."

Abbie didn't say anything. She hadn't paid much attention to Christine drinking and certainly wasn't judging. Christine could get plastered for all Abbie cared. It might turn out to be useful.

"I'm on duty," Christine said, looking a little guilty.

"Your secret's safe with me."

Christine watched Abbie intently for a few moments. Then, as though to show she believed the other woman, she collected her pint and took another draw. It looked as though almost a quarter was already gone.

Replacing the glass on the coaster, Christine said, "We need to talk about last night."

"We do," confirmed Abbie. “I’ve plenty of questions."

Christine shook her head. "Don't think so. I'm asking the questions, not the other way around."

Abbie tried not to smirk. Failed.

"What?"

"You had your chance to question me back at the station," said Abbie. "As I remember, you were particularly quiet. Let Kilman do the heavy lifting."

Christine flushed. Took another draw from her pint. She was gathering her thoughts and her strength before responding.

"I wanted to give you a chance," said Christine. "Last night... I'm not so proud I can't confess you helped me get out alive. I don't forget a thing like that, but neither can I trust you. You've earned the right to explain yourself to me, in private, before we take this back to... what are you doing?"

Abbie stopped her mime. She had been pretending to remove something from her face.

"Sorry," she said. "You were pulling the wool over my eyes. I was merely restoring my sight."

"What a funny joke," said Christine, her expression deadpan. "Maybe you don't understand how much trouble you're in. You think your clever lawyer vanquished the wolves? She didn't. She's kept them at bay for the time being, but Kilman won't quit. And if he knew what I knew—"

"Which he won't."

Christine took a calming breath and another drink. Half her pint was gone; Abbie hadn't started her lemonade.

"Excuse me?" said Christine.

"I hate it when people insult my intelligence," said Abbie. "Do I come across as stupid, as simple? Because I'm not."

"Never suggested you were."

"And yet you think these pitiful threats will have me spill my guts while you sit there all stoic, your secrets concealed. But I know you don't want anyone at the station to know where you were last night. If you'd been there on official police business, you'd have shown your badge