Hello My Angel - Sue Brown Page 0,20

it came in the mail it’ll be covered in prints.”

“She knew I’d come back here,” Josh said.

“It was a good chance. Either you or Cal would have to come back to feed the cat.”

Josh ignored the momentary pang of guilt at his treatment of Mr. Truffles, who was crashed out in his bed, sleeping the sound sleep of a cat with a full stomach. “She must have chopped off the finger as soon as she took Weatherly.”

“When was it posted?” Dave asked.

Gingerly, Josh tipped the packaging with a pen. “The postmark is last night.”

Dave nodded. “She knew that you boys would be by to pick up the post. If not today, then soon.”

“She’s taunting us.”

“And she doesn’t care if Weatherly’s alive or dead. She’s just a means to jerk us around.”

“She didn’t send anything to Jesse and Dan or the vets.” Rick’s color calmed, but he still looked furious.

“She wouldn’t know if Josh was going there or not. But he’d be almost guaranteed to come back home to shower and get changed.”

“The package was addressed to me not Cal.”

“It would shock you more.” Dave strode over and hugged Josh. “I’m sorry, mate.”

It wasn’t okay. It would never be okay, but Josh would be able to deal with it when Cal got here. He wasn’t going to let Chyna Moles win.

Dave made them coffee. It was instant and disgusting, but Josh didn’t care. He was staring into the empty cup when Cal swept into the kitchen, ignoring everyone to grab Josh and haul him into his arms.

“Are you all right? What happened? Tell me what I can do?”

The volley of questions was too much. Josh gasped for air, determined he wasn’t going to break down in front of the others, but the relief of being in Cal’s arms left him shaking. Cal rubbed his back and muttered soothing nonsense into his ear. Josh buried his flushed face in Cal’s chest.

“Table,” Josh finally managed.

Cal looked at the table and his expression hardened. “Is that Weatherly’s?”

“It’s her ring,” Max said.

They all turned to stare at him. Josh hadn’t even realized he was there. Dammit. It was the second time he’d broken down in front of Max.

“How do you know?” Rick demanded.

“I’ve seen a photo of her wearing it.” Max drew out his phone and tapped a few buttons. They waited in silence until he held out the screen. “This was her three days ago at Downing Street.”

Cal took the phone and studied the image. “It looks like the same ring. And look who’s with her.” He showed Josh the phone.

“Mr. Government.”

Rick and Dave crowded in to have a look. “That’s Graham Herring. He’s something in Defence,” Dave said.

“How do you know him?” Josh asked.

Dave looked at Rick and they both rolled their eyes. “We spend a lot of time driving important people around. They don’t notice us. We’re invisible. But we sure as hell notice them.”

“I think we need to investigate Mr. Herring,” Josh murmured.

Cal grunted in agreement.

“Where are the police?” Max asked.

“I didn’t call them,” Josh confessed. “Not yet. I wanted Cal here, before I got them involved.”

“I want you all to go back to the office,” Cal said. “Josh and I will deal with the police. The last thing we need is to get you all involved. We need to take photos of the finger and packaging before they get here.”

“I’ll take the pictures,” Dave said.

“Once the police are involved the agency will be here,” Rick pointed out.

Cal nodded. “All the more reason for everyone else to leave.”

Gil shook his head. “You’ll need a ride and I’m not letting you use public transport. You’ll end up on a track somewhere.”

“Been there, done that,” Josh muttered.

Cal held Josh to him and scowled at Gil who stared back steadily. Finally Cal huffed. “Fine. I’ll call you when we’re done.”

Gil inclined his head.

“Me and Dave’ll see you back at the office,” Rick said.

“I’m going to take that shower,” Cal muttered to Josh. “I’ll call the police now.”

He vanished into the bedroom and the others left after a few minutes once Dave had done a photo-shoot with the gruesome contents of the parcel.

Josh sat down at the kitchen table with a cold cup of coffee, a severed finger and an expensive diamond ring. Whatever the motive was for chopping off the finger it wasn’t robbery. The ring was at least four carats.

He bowed his head. Suddenly, he really missed Seattle. He’d come to London to settle down, take a breathing space to work out what—who—he