The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

new light. She had the ability to twist both fact and inference. A dangerous person to be around.

She shrugged. “That’s just the way it works. You should know that by now.”

“I want to catch these bastards,” King interrupted tersely. “I need an edge.”

“And you’ll have my verdict by lunchtime tomorrow. I’m leaving in the morning,” she said. “You’re welcome to share my ride.”

“I’ll drive back tonight, thanks.”

“Have they fixed the glass?”

“I’m sure they have,” he said. “Anyway, I could do with the drive.”

“Another night in a decent hotel on expenses and a government-chartered helicopter?” she scoffed.

Amanda negotiated the narrow entrance to the hotel. There was a parking space on the left. She slammed on the brakes and reversed with little skill or judgement, encroaching on the other space. King would have to limbo around the door frame to avoid dinging the other car’s door.

“I’d prefer the company,” he said curtly.

“But you’ll be on your own.”

“Exactly.” He squeezed his frame out, sparing the other car’s door. She got out and he spoke over the roof as he slammed the door. “My department will call you and arrange a debrief.”

“It’s cut and dry, Alex.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m a Home Office pathologist. It’s what I say it is. The man was shot at long range by a single point-three-three-eight bullet.”

“Goodbye, Amanda.”

King was seething. Mad at her, mad with himself. He knew the dinner incident had been a mistake. And now he had Amanda Cunningham hanging over him. Had she wanted to sleep with him? Or had she felt obliged, pressured even, to meet? Either way, he felt she had leverage over him in both his private life, and with his work. He could care less about work. He was always close to quitting, ever drawn back in by a sense of duty and obligation. But it was his private life that mattered. That was truly priceless. He loved Caroline, heart and soul. He would do anything for her. Anything to keep what they had. And if Amanda Cunningham could see inside him, see what he had done in his life, she would not have been so flippant. She would not push him an inch.

He walked across the carpark to the hotel and made his way down the steps to reception. He had already settled his bill and they had held onto his travel bag for him. They gave him the keys to his hire car and he thanked them for both his stay and accommodating the vehicle’s repair.

When he went back outside, Amanda Cunningham’s car was no longer there. He thought it strange. He had not seen her check out or take her bags to the car this morning and she had said she was staying another night and flying back tomorrow. Perhaps she was searching for a better parking space? One where the owner of the car next to her stood a chance to get in.

The Ford was parked where he had left it, but now there was a new windscreen front and back, and it had been cleaned. He opened the rear door and dropped the bag on the seat. The interior had been vacuumed and wiped over. It had that new car smell. He settled in behind the wheel and went to start the engine.

A shiver ran down his spine.

He was getting sloppy.

Complacent.

A man had tried to kill him last night.

He cursed himself. He popped the bonnet and stepped outside the vehicle. He backed away and crouched down. He looked for wires, anything that should not have been there. He walked around, crouched again and studied the other side.

Nothing.

King got down into a press-up position and held it while he looked. He checked the inside of the wheels on the driver’s side, then got up and walked around the vehicle and repeated the process.

Nothing.

He walked around to the front and carefully felt around the bonnet opening. He was satisfied there was nothing to trip, so he gently opened the release and eased the bonnet upwards just an inch or so. He peered through the gap for a trip wire, two contact points – anything that could initiate a device.

Nothing.

Engines were more like vacuum cleaners these days, so there was little to look at. But that also made the task easier, and he knew his way around an engine bay and could see there was nothing there that shouldn’t have been. He closed the bonnet and stepped back.

Was he simply being paranoid?

No doubt about it. But paranoia had kept him alive so far. Although he was angry with himself at taking the status of the vehicle on face value. It had been a stupid mistake. He had told himself for almost twenty-years that if he ever started to make mistakes he would walk away. Perhaps he needed another few weeks up at Hereford. Another refresher with the regiment. Another chance to hone his skills and push himself to his limits. The thought of yomping thirty-miles across the rain-swept Brecon Beacons with an old and heavy FN rifle and fifty-pounds of Bergen, chasing twenty-something-year-old SAS recruits made him cringe. Now he knew he was softening in his role with MI5. He was losing his edge. The killer streak that the dark and secretive department within the walls of MI6 had kept alive in him for so long.

The thought made him think it was about time. Time to retire from what his recruiter and mentor, Peter Stewart, had called playing cowboys and Indians. He had some money saved. He knew Caroline had a little put by from when her fiancé had been killed. His in-service pension and the money from the sale of his property.

Both King and Caroline had found each other after personal tragedy. It was second-time-round for them both and they could end their service with MI5