Хилари Боннер - A Kind Of Wild Justice

They had, of course, gone back to Shifter’s house and searched it again. The only computer found had indeed been newly acquired and contained no hidden ‘contractor’ and ‘enforcer’ e-mail files and, in fact, nothing at all relating to Shifter’s dubious business.

Shifter was extensively interviewed all over again by the police, but refused to reveal any more information about either the Swiss bank accounts or the e-mail correspondence. He also continued to refuse to reveal which cyber café he had used, but diligent foot-slogging inquiries by officers carrying photographs of the distinctive Shifter resulted in the staff of a cyber café not far from Brown’s home admitting that they were almost sure Shifter had used their computers on several occasions to go on-line. However, they had unfortunately recently upgraded their stock.

‘The police are not going to be able to trace the stuff beyond the dealer the caff traded with, not without a miracle,’ Tim told her. ‘Chances are it’s already been sold on through one of those street markets like the one Shifter bought his rigs from. That’s what usually happens.’

Meanwhile Jo forced herself not to phone Fielding. She knew she should allow him to contact her in his own time. But after eight days she began to wonder if she would ever hear from him again.

On the evening of the ninth day after their tryst in the Taunton motel Fielding finally called.

Joanna felt that familiar physical lurch inside. She was just so relieved to hear from him. The sound of his voice still brought her up in goose bumps.

‘I’m sorry I was such a pig, sometimes everything seems to get on top of me,’ he told her at once.

She reassured him. ‘It’s fine, Mike, honestly.’

‘Look, I can swing a trip to town next week, that’s if you still want to...’ His voice tailed off.

‘Oh, yes, I want to,’ she replied quietly. And she did, too. Deep, deep inside she could already feel the dull ache of anticipation.

Their lovemaking seemed to become more and more urgent every time they were together. It was Fielding who took the lead. Again this time, once more in the downmarket Southampton Row hotel, he had no time for any niceties. There was no finesse. There were no preliminaries. He barely spoke to her and there was no foreplay. He just pushed her down on the bed, not even giving her time to undress properly, and entered her roughly without even taking his trousers off, just undoing his flies and thrusting straight into her. His eyes were fixed on the wall behind the bed, his teeth gritted in concentration, his features distorted in effort. And his face was coated in sweat. He held each of her wrists down above her head. He didn’t hurt her and yet there was a kind of cold brutality in his lovemaking. It couldn’t really have been called that. He just pummelled into her, apparently quite uninterested in how she might be taking it. Again he didn’t give her a chance, didn’t even seem to care. He did not pause until it was over for him.

When he had finished he rolled off her straight away. ‘I’m sorry, next time will be for you,’ he muttered haltingly, his breath coming in great gasps still.

He had never been quite like that before. She didn’t think she liked it very much. In fact, she was quite sure she didn’t like it. And yet — and maybe it was because of his desperation — she was immensely excited by it. Her desire, her need, seemed to increase with his disregard for it. And as in the motel in Taunton her own satisfaction, when he finally concentrated his attentions on her, seemed greater than ever. When she climaxed she thought she had never experienced quite such acute pleasure. Not even with him.

This time it was a snatched early evening meeting. He had a police dinner to go to that night. And he dressed and left her in bed again, although she had to leave shortly afterwards. She was glowing, almost burning inside, and she just wanted a few more minutes luxuriating in the feeling.

He came to the bed and kissed her firmly on the mouth before he left, tantalising her with his tongue. Making her whole body remember what it had just enjoyed. ‘It gets better every time,’ he told her with a smile, and he ran one hand down the entire length of her body lingering for just a few seconds over one breast and between her legs, before stepping back, shaking his head sorrowfully, turning and heading for the door.

At least their parting was more pleasant than the last time, she thought, as he shut the door behind him. He had always been a moody bugger, and his mood the last time they had met had been very disconcerting. As had been the sex they had just had.

Gradually the uneasiness that had been lurking ever since that afternoon at the Taunton motel overwhelmed her, forcing out all those nice warm feelings that came from great sexual satisfaction. She lay there thinking about the way these sea changes came over him, how he had shown that disturbing side of himself to her, and then she noticed his laptop computer on the small table by the window.

She couldn’t stop herself. She dragged the sheet off the bed, wrapping it around herself, grabbed the little machine, sat down on the room’s only chair and switched on. It was password-protected, of course, but she felt she had at least a chance of second-guessing him, given time, which she had a reasonable amount of. She checked her watch. It was just past 7.30. Fielding wouldn’t be back until after midnight, she was sure, and as long as she was at home in Richmond before ten she would easily be there before Paul.

However, she had been trying to break into the machine for only a couple of minutes when the door burst open.

Fielding hurried into the room. ‘I had to turn the taxi round, I forgot my damned phone...’ He saw then that she was working on his laptop and stopped dead. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he asked very quietly, his voice full of menace.

She felt a hot flush rise somewhere around the bottom of her neck, and spread across her throat and face until it reached her temples. She knew she must be bright red. She could think of nothing to say.

‘I asked you what the hell you thought you were doing?’ he enquired yet again, equally quietly.

‘I was just...’ Her mind was suddenly blank. She could think of no excuse. ‘Just looking for something...’ she finished lamely.

He strode across the room and snatched the laptop away from her. He glanced at it, taking in that she had failed to gain access, shut it down and closed the lid. He did it all very quickly. She remained sitting on the chair, still wrapped in the sheet.

He caught hold of her shoulder, his fingers digging into the flesh. ‘And what were you looking for?’

‘I don’t know...’ She stopped, shook her head.

‘C’mon, Joanna, what did you think you were going to find?’ The fingers dug harder into her shoulder. He made her eyes water for the second time that evening. ‘C’mon, Joanna,’ he repeated.

She had to tell him something. It might as well be the truth, she thought, in any case she didn’t have the wit at that moment to come up with anything else. ‘It’s the way you are about Angela Phillips and O’Donnell,’ she began. She saw his eyes narrow. His grip did not slacken. ‘All that stuff you told me the other night. You were right. I hadn’t understood. Not really. I hadn’t realised quite how strongly you felt about him, your job, all of it. Not until now. And I wondered... I wondered...’ Her voice tailed off.

‘You wondered what, Jo?’ he whispered, his lips very close to her ear.

She shook her head again and said no more.

‘You wondered perhaps if I felt strongly enough to do something about it all, is that it?’ He still spoke very quietly.