didn’t live at any of them.”
Cal tapped the screen. “This one’s a veterinary practice. It’s the Lyon Road vets address.”
Josh stared at the tablet with a sinking feeling. “She was taunting us.”
One of the vets at the Lyon Road practice was a friend of theirs and best friend to Jesse’s husband, Dan. He had a feeling each address would have some connection to them and the agency.
“And no one saw it,” Cal said grimly. “Who the fuck did the checking when she applied for the job?”
Max licked his lips again. It was obvious he really didn’t want to give this information. “It was Lucy Raymond. She personally handled Chyna’s interview and entry to the agency.”
Lucy Raymond was dead, one of the agency staff killed in a blitz of murders that had taken them all by surprise.
“Up to now we’ve thought she was a victim. Now, it looks like she could have been working for the other side,” Cal said.
Josh pressed his lips together. Fuck! How had they missed this? “How many of the other victims were working for Chyna?”
Cal returned the phone to Max. “We need to get back to London. We can’t waste time here.”
Josh nodded in agreement. “While we drive, I’ll talk to Rick and Dave. They can start with the basics.”
He flinched as one of the doors opened, slamming into the wall. Lillian rushed in; her expression grim.
“Callum. Josh. You’ve got to come quickly.”
“What?” Cal snapped.
“The police have found the Fiat 500 Chyna used to kidnap Weatherly. She’s crashed it and stolen a Golf.”
Gil picked up his coat from where Max had draped it. “I’ll drive.”
“What about me?” Max asked.
Josh frowned, realizing he’d never thought about how the young man had gotten to the manor house. “How did you get here?”
“I got a train and then an Uber.”
“One of us will drive you,” Lillian said.
Josh reached out to give her a full, if slightly damp, hug. “Thanks, Lil.”
Lillian tilted her head to fix her gaze on him. “You find Weatherly,” she insisted.
“We will.” Josh gave her the most reassuring look he could muster. “And then I’m gonna throw her into the deepest pit I can find.”
“That’s my angel,” Cal said approvingly.
Chapter 2
The car slowed as it approached the police vehicles blocking the road, just outside Waterford. They were north of London. That was the limit of Josh’s knowledge. He fiercely missed the city. He understood tall buildings and too many people. This was too rural for him. He closed his eyes, blocking out the blue and red flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, as his headache made its unwelcome presence known once more.
“Are you all right, Angel?”
Josh opened his eyes at the familiar nickname to meet Cal’s green gaze, as Cal turned in the front seat to look at him. Dammit, he should be taking care of his Charlie, not worrying about a headache. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Just a headache. Too much coffee.”
The other occupant of the car barked out a laugh, knowing too well there was never enough coffee as far as Josh was concerned. Cal ignored him and continued to focus his attention on Josh. “We can go back if you want.”
Josh rubbed his temples. “I’m fine. Let’s get this done.”
Gil brought his rental to a stop a few feet from the blockade, and Josh and Cal got out. Josh shivered in the chill autumn air, but at least the rain which had been falling steadily all day had eased. The day was still that perpetual gray of British winters. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and took a moment to survey the scene. Beyond the police cars, the blue paintwork of the Fiat 500 stood out in the grimness of the evening. Police officers in hi-vis jackets stood around the car, and men in similar hi-vis jackets inspected the railway bridge. The Fiat had clipped the bridge before spinning around, hitting a parked Ford Focus and careening into a wall. The hood—bonnet, Josh corrected himself—was crushed into the brickwork.
“She made a mess of the Fiat.” Cal stood close to him; his shoulders slumped. Josh brushed his knuckles against Cal’s, providing what little comfort he could in a public setting. It had been a hell of a day, starting with Cal’s uncle’s funeral. How could one day go downhill from there? Yet it had tipped into the deepest sewer, as Sir Gideon’s home was set on fire, his wife murdered, and the head of the agency kidnapped.
The sky-blue Fiat 500