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

"How would Orion know which cops were bent? Has he been here long enough to uncover their identities? Even if he has, could he get them to switch sides? Corrupt cops love money, I get it, but they'd be afraid to cross Lucky Draw, wouldn't they? These money launderers mean serious business. You cross them at your peril."

Still pacing, and the phone was back in her hand. She was scrolling through the file, searching, searching.

Searching for what? Something specific. She just hadn't yet worked out what that something was.

"Finally, there's Ndidi. Like I said, I don't believe he'd risk his daughter to capture her kidnappers. I agree, Ana. It makes more sense that Orion would tell Ndidi to get the police to monitor the heist. There's a certain logic to it, keeping your enemies close. If the kidnappers know where the police are and that they won't be hit while they're in the casino, it'll be easier to escape. But there has to be a better way, doesn't there? Couldn't they arrange for some sort of exchange involving Isabella? Get the police out in force and away from the casino that way?"

This to Christine, who nodded.

"That would make sense."

"Hang on," said Ana. "Are you telling me you had all these thoughts before I presented my theory? Did you know you were going to invalidate most of what I had to say?"

Abbie stopped. Stared at Ana, who shrank into the sofa.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," said Abbie. "You did great. This wasn't about making you look stupid. I needed to hear everything laid out in a cohesive narrative before making sense of my doubts. You played the sidekick role perfectly."

Thumbs up from Ana. Abbie resumed pacing.

"Something's missing," she said. "Some key piece. Something's wrong. We're so close, and yet none of it works, none of it's right."

"Maybe if we take a break..." Christine began, and Abbie rounded on her.

"No," she said. "The sun's down. Time is draining away like water in a sieve, and if we don't do something soon, it'll be too late. We'll lose."

"It's not a game," said Christine.

"It's always a game," said Abbie. "It's just not always a fun one. This particular game is shit. The stakes are too high. If we lose, Isabella dies, and a vile criminal gets away. But if we win, we stand not only to save Isabella but also to round up the remaining Becker, the people who run Lucky Draw, and the corrupt cops. If we win, those bastards could all end up dead or locked away in Broadmoor for the next few decades."

Abbie had stopped pacing. There was a long pause, then Ana cleared her throat.

"Would they go to Broadmoor? Isn't that the psychiatric prison?"

"Whatever," said Abbie. "Dartmoor, then."

"Is that still a prison?"

"Is now the time for this?" said Abbie.

"Whether it's open or not," said Christine, "They'd probably just chuck them in Stonehaven. Prison just up the road."

Abbie turned and stared at Christine. She took two slow steps back and slipped into her chair. Christine and Ana stared at Abbie as though afraid she had surrendered the will to live.

Abbie took out her phone and scrolled again, searching, searching.

"Abbie—" began Ana.

"Shut up a minute."

Searching. Searching. Christine and Ana fell into silence, watching, a little afraid.

Searching. Searching. Searching...

Stop.

Abbie stared at her screen. With trembling hands, she locked her phone and looked at her two partners.

"I know why Ndidi suggested his compromise to Norris."

Ana and Christine looked at each other, then back at Abbie.

"Why?" they said in unison.

"It's a decoy. It's all a decoy."

Unlocking her phone, Abbie ensured she was still on the right screen. She chucked the phone to the woman on the sofa.

"It's not about crooks robbing crooks, and it never has been."

Ana and Christine stared at the phone.

"It's so much worse than that."

Twenty-Nine

Half an hour after he arrived home, there was a knock at the door.

It was nearly one in the morning. The knock was not unexpected—Superintendent Norris himself had guaranteed it would come—but it still made Ndidi jump.

Whenever we're done, whatever the outcome, we'll come right away, Norris had said. Right away. You don't have to worry about that. You don't have to worry about a thing.

Norris held a reassuring smile as he spoke. He'd only been Superintendent for a year, but he'd already forgotten the basics of proper police work. Like thinking carefully about what you said to a grieving or worried spouse or parent or partner.

You don't have to worry about a thing.

What a stupid, clueless thing to say to the father of a kidnapped child. A group of dangerous criminals, identities and location unknown, held Isabella. Her life was in danger. It was impossible to imagine how frightened Ndidi's little girl might be, but Norris should have been able to understand her father would worry relentlessly, endlessly, destructively, until this was over. Until Isabella was back in his arms.

Or she wasn't.

You don't have to worry about a thing.

It made Ndidi angry to recall the conversation. Closing his eyes, he tried to remind himself Norris was doing his best. The Superintendent was a good man. He'd put a lot on the line to follow Ndidi's plan. He hadn't had to. His superiors might still eviscerate him, professionally speaking, for doing so. Ndidi had to be mindful of that.

Thud thud thud. The knocking again. Not more insistent. The officers would be too understanding for that. But that didn't mean they wouldn't grow impatient, frustrated.

Whatever. Ndidi couldn't care about anyone but his daughter at the moment. He just simply did not have any more concern and consideration to go around.

It was all for her.

A third knock.

How long had there been between knocks two and three? He honestly couldn't say. Time was a blur.

He was in his kitchen. His hands were pressed palm down to the counter. Between them was a tumbler of whiskey. Ndidi was not and had never been a big drinker. People with long term problems often turned to drink, not realising, or refusing to understand, that alcohol provided, at best, a