The Sugared Game - K.J. Charles Page 0,65

would certainly relieve his own feelings. He tried again. “Look, why don’t you tell me about it? You’ll feel better.”

Kim blinked. “Want to lie down.”

Will had plenty of experience with the incapacitatingly drunk. He persuaded Kim to use the chamber pot he kept under the bed for emergencies before he collapsed, and took his shoes off after. He went downstairs to get water and check Kim hadn’t done too much damage on his way in through the window. By the time he returned, his unwanted guest was snoring, fully clothed, on top of the covers.

It was a big bed, but Will had no intention of sharing it with him. He found a blanket to put over Kim and another for himself, left a mug of water on the table, rescued his pyjamas, turned off the lights, and went downstairs to sleep on the bloody rickety camp bed again.

Chapter Thirteen

Will woke up to the sound of mortars far too close to the trench, a noise that sent him from deep sleep to sitting upright in a dizzying movement. Nausea sloshed through him as his brain caught up with his body and the bombardment—

No. No explosions, no trench, no war. He was in the shop, someone was banging at the door, and it was the middle of the bloody night.

He dragged himself to his feet. It wouldn’t be Zodiac—they usually just broke in—so he probably didn’t need the Messer. He fumbled for his dressing gown, realised everything would be easier if he put the lights on, did so, then spent the next seconds blinking painfully. The banging was shaking the room.

“All right!” he bellowed, and stormed through the shop to the door.

It was the police.

Will stared through the glass. Three uniformed men, two constables, one whose hat suggested a more senior position. They were here for him. Someone had found Fuller’s body, or worked out what had happened, and they were here to arrest him, and he was fucked because Kim hadn’t hushed it up after all.

Turn and run? But he was barefoot, the back door locked, and the front easily smashed in. He couldn’t do anything but brazen this out.

He unlocked the door. “Officers? What’s all this about?”

“William Darling?”

“Yes.”

“We’re here on information received. May we come in?” The sergeant walked in, without waiting for reply, forcing Will back. “Upstairs.”

“What information? What are they doing? Hey!” The two constables were disappearing upstairs. “What’s going on? Do you have a warrant for this?”

“If I were you, sir, I’d cooperate,” the officer said with a sneer. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“What trouble?” Will demanded, sticking to the principle of Deny everything. “What are you talking about?”

A constable appeared at the top of the stairs. “Well?” the officer said.

“There is a gentleman up here, sir,” the constable began, a little awkwardly.

“Right. Come down and keep hold of this one in case he makes a run for it.”

“What the—? What do you mean, make a run for it?”

“No, but Sarge,” the constable on the stairs said. “He’s fully clothed and out like a light. Fast asleep. Stinks of booze.”

“Is that illegal now? It’s...” Will looked at the clock. “It’s four in the morning! Why wouldn’t he be asleep?”

“May I ask who the gentleman upstairs is, sir, and what precisely he’s doing here?”

“He’s Lord Arthur Secretan,” Will said, aware he was deploying the title as a shield and resenting it as he did it. “And he’s sleeping off a heavy one, just like your man said. What’s it to you?”

“What it is to me, sir, is that we received a complaint of gross indecency at this address.”

Gross indecency. Not manslaughter, or murder. Will felt a dizzying wave of relief, which was almost immediately swamped by a second of alarm, and a third of pure boiling rage.

“A complaint of what?” he demanded. “On what grounds?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Grounds. You know, reasonable suspicion? Evidence? Something that would give you a justification for banging on my door at four in the morning?” The officer hesitated. Will pressed his point. “Whose complaint was it? Based on what? What the hell are you playing at? Do you even have a warrant?”

“We asked your permission to enter, sir.”

“And you didn’t wait for it,” Will said. “You forced your way in here while I was half asleep on the basis of what, precisely? What the devil is going on here?”

The officer shot a look at the constable on the stairs, who said apologetically, “No sign of anything untoward, sir.”

“Of course there bloody