almost defeated. ‘Sit, Parekh. Yer putting my proverbials on edge standing there like a bloody high court judge. No, scrap that. Yer mair like the damn executioner and after the morning I’ve had I can dae withoot it.’
Giving in, Nikki sank into a chair and waited. However, when Archie began to speak, it wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. She’d expected some semblance of an explanation about all the weird subterfuge, but instead … ‘You’re aware that it’s unlikely DI Ferguson will return. Medically speaking, he’s not fit for the job.’
Archie’s piercing eyes met Nikki’s and her heart fluttered. Why was there a brick in her stomach? She shook her head as if to ward off whatever words Archie was about to come out with, but to no avail. Ferguson had seriously hurt his back earlier in the year on a car chase and had been off since.
‘I’ve spoken with the chief and, perhaps a wee bit reluctantly if I’m honest, she’s agreed you can step up to acting DI for the time being.’
This was the last thing she’d been expecting and she was stunned. DI? Her? Yeah, the money would be handy, but she had to consider her family too. She already put so much into the job, this just seemed like a step too far for her. Besides, she liked working with Saj. She shook her head. ‘No way, boss. No chance. You know fine and well I’d hate that. I’m an on-the-streets sort of officer. No way I want to be DI, acting or otherwise.’
Archie just nodded. ‘I was afraid ye’d say that, Parekh. So, what I’m going tae do is gi’ you a bit of time. Let you think aboot it.’ As Nikki opened her mouth to object, he raised a finger. ‘Don’t say another word. We’ve got tae get our arse in gear and speak to Springer’s next of kin before they issue a statement tae the press.’
‘You mean you and Saj, yeah? You’ll take Saj with you. He’s good at all the touchy-feely stuff.’
‘No, I mean you. I told you earlier. Stop trying tae squirm out of it. Now, hop it. I need to check her file for the address. Five minutes, okay?’
What? That was it? No mention of him ordering the recordings, no explanation of the strange request he’d made earlier and still a whole load of secrecy. This was rubbish. She glowered at Archie, making her feelings known, but he didn’t even glance her way as she moved to the door. She’d just stretched out her hand to the handle when he cleared his throat. ‘You ordered that other test, Parekh? The one I texted you about?’
Not bothering to turn round, she nodded. ‘Course, though I’d rather have been able to tell Saj. What’s the big mystery?’ She hesitated, waiting for Archie to respond, but all she heard was the rustle of papers. She half-turned and looked at him. ‘We pulled the CCTV footage from the hotel the conference was held at.’
After long seconds, Archie replied with a grunt. ‘Good. Let me know what you find, eh?’
Heart sinking, Nikki pulled the door open and walked through, desperate to escape the suffocating secrets that hung in Archie’s room. Even the stink of the big office with all its ambient variants was an improvement.
Felicity’s arms ached. In fact, despite the biting cold, her entire body ached. She thought she’d felt crap when she woke up, but right now, the only thing keeping her from giving up completely was Stevie. Stevie wouldn’t cope without her so, there was only one option. She needed to get out of this mess.
She lay still for a few moments, thinking. She was on her side, on top of a metal surface, in the dark and the cold, with an itchy blanket half over her. So, they’d probably dumped her in the back of the van and driven her somewhere. The van was silent so unless they were being ultra-quiet in the driver’s cab, she thought she might be alone. Her nostrils twitched at the oily petrol smell that wafted off the cover and she regurgitated a little bit of alcoholic vomit. If she wasn’t so damn cold, she would have kicked it off already. Her arms had been pulled behind her and her wrists were bound. When she moved them, whatever was binding them became tighter, scouring her flesh and sending shooting pain up her arms and into her shoulders. Cable ties. What should she do? What could she do? She moved her legs and discovered that her feet were bound together and only the presence of her jeans was saving them from chafing her skin.
She wanted to close her eyes and give in to the pain, but instead, a glimmer of a thought flickered into their mind. At first, she was resistant and then as the flicker persisted, she realized she had no other option if she wanted to survive. At the conference, Archie had looked at her scathingly and told her she should be ‘more like Parekh’ and that might be exactly what she needed to do to stay alive. She was no Nikita Parekh, yet, much as she despised the woman … distrusted her even, she knew that the tenacious thought niggling inside her throbbing head might be the only thing that would get her out of this mess. What would Nikki Parekh do?
Against her better judgement, Felicity Springer considered her options. Parekh would probably assess her physical condition. Felicity had no real knowledge that her supposition was true. She hardly knew Parekh – not really. Any interaction was always acrimonious, yet with a conviction born of these observations and office gossip, she knew that Parekh would not just curl up and die. She would fight. That’s what she’d done the previous year and that’s what she would do in this situation. Parekh was nothing if not fearless and determined. Keeping that thought in mind, Felicity hardened her resolve and began to assess her own physical condition.
Her shoulder ached like a bastard, and she suspected the bullet had gone straight through it. The smell of fresh blood made her feel a little nauseous, yet the fact that she was conscious and relatively clear-headed told her someone had staunched the bleeding. Her right arm felt useless by her side. Every movement was like a million pinpricks concentrated on her wound and she wanted to scream. Bet bloody Parekh would just suck it up and be on her feet already. Still feeling groggy, both by her hangover from the previous night and by the waves of nausea that rolled over her every few seconds, she tried to complete her injury inventory. On a scale from one to ten, her shoulder was a definite eight – no way would she consider it a ten; she had to think like Parekh, had to keep some reserves in play, so she couldn’t allow her bullet wound to be a ten. Using her newly devised criteria, she decided that her entire body, arms, shoulders, legs, crotch … all of that was a six.
The sound of her own breathing roared in her head, disorientating her. She needed to channel Nikki, so she slowed her breathing right down, long slow breaths and gradually she was able to focus on listening. She held her breath and strained her ears to see if she could hear the faint breathing of anyone else beside her. Nothing. There’d definitely been someone in distress in the transit van she’d followed. Had they been injured in the impact? Was she lying next to a dead person? The thought freaked her out and she began to drag in big breaths that increased her pain tenfold. Get a grip, Fliss. Get a bloody grip. You deal with cold cases, skeletonized corpses and bodies every day. Get a damn grip. The only difference was, she was in control then. Now she was at the mercy of some unknown assailant, in the middle of God knows where, channelling her inner bloody Parekh. If nothing else told her how bad the situation was, that one thing did.
‘Hello?’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded tremulous. She tried again a little louder, but not too loud in case someone was in the front cab of the van, ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ Still nothing, so either she was alone or the person whose arm she’d seen through the taillight was unconscious. With determination she pushed away the addendum … ‘Or dead.’ She was not going to think that way. She was alive, she was able to move a little, she was alone. All of the above were things she could use to her advantage.
She rocked
