Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,31
his baby senseless, return via the nearest McDonald’s? It didn’t make any sense. She was inclined to believe the old woman had been mistaken.
She found Tyson speaking to the receptionist again.
“You managed to escape her clutches, then?” he said, smirking slightly.
“A quick question. Did the CSIs find any evidence of a—”
“McDonald’s bag?”
“Yes—how did you know I was going to say—”
“I’ve just spoken to the DC who interviewed the batty old cow. No they bloody well didn’t find a McDonald’s bag. That old lady’s got a screw loose.”
16
Natasha McKittrick grabbed the last corn chip from her plate as Ingrid started to clear away the dishes. “Any more of that margarita in the fridge?”
“You just drank the last of it.”
“Time to break this open then.” McKittrick waved the bottle of tequila she’d brought to Ingrid’s for their now regular monthly Tex-Mex night. “I can’t believe it’s this late and you still haven’t given me what I came here for.”
Ingrid hurried into the kitchen with the dirty dishes to avoid what she knew was coming next. She probably should have canceled dinner with her friend, but after the frustrating afternoon she’d had—they still hadn’t come up with a fresh lead by the time she’d left the embassy after nine p.m.—she felt a real need to vent. Now McKittrick was trying to change the subject, Ingrid wished she’d canceled after all.
“You can’t escape that easily,” McKittrick shouted from the living room. “I mean, fascinating as your new case is—and you must admit, I have been listening patiently—I would like to move on to the main feature.”
Ingrid opened the ice box of the refrigerator and luxuriated in the cool air for a moment.
“You can run but you can’t hide.” McKittrick appeared at the kitchen door, waving the still unopened bottle of tequila in her fist. “I need shot glasses.”
“Maybe you should take it home with you.”
“Not until you tell me how your date with Mills went.”
“Coffee? Tea?”
“Come on. Spill.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Well he seemed pretty pleased with himself at work this morning, so there must be something.”
Ingrid opened a cabinet and retrieved two mugs. “I can’t imagine why. We had a bite to eat then said goodbye at Holborn Tube.”
“He didn’t come back here afterwards?”
“No he didn’t. Not that it’s any of your business.” Ingrid filled the kettle and flipped on the switch.
“I didn’t actually think you were serious about the tea.” McKittrick slid the unopened tequila bottle onto the kitchen counter. “What’s the point of being a matchmaker if I can’t even get to enjoy a bit of gossip now and then?”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
Ingrid’s cell phone started to vibrate against the kitchen counter. She glanced at the screen, saw it was an out of area number and dismissed the call.
“That’s not Mills, is it?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“I’ve got to work with the grumpy old bugger. Do you know how miserable he’s been the last couple of months? When you agreed to go out with him he was like a changed man. Suddenly he was the most attentive detective on the team. Nothing was too much trouble.”
“So glad to have helped with morale.” Ingrid shoved the phone in a pocket.
“Was it Mills?”
“It was my mom.”
“I thought the two of you didn’t speak.”
The kettle boiled and Ingrid made them both a peppermint tea. “We don’t. Only in… special circumstances.” She dunked the teabag slowly in and out of the tall mug, staring at the ripples she was creating on the surface of the water. A sudden, overwhelming need to talk about what was going on back home overcame her. “Have you seen the news reports about the three women who were being held captive in Minnesota?” she blurted.
“That’s one way of changing the subject.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m vaguely aware of it. I try to avoid the news whenever I can. I see enough stuff to depress me at work, without exposing myself to it when I’m off the job.”
“The house where they were being held is just thirty miles from my home town. That’s why my mom keeps calling me.”
“Oh my God—you think one of those women is your school friend?”
Ingrid had told McKittrick about what happened to Megan on one of their drunken nights out, but only given her the sketchiest of details. Now she was regretting bringing the subject up. If she continued, she may never get to sleep tonight. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“How are you coping?”
“Mostly by trying not to think about it. But the memories keep worming their