Page 19 of D for Dead

While she showered and changed, Alan made reservations at the Winchester, an upmarket hotel and restaurant in the city centre. Rebecca would have been happy with a burger bar, but Alan preferred a la carte.

Thinking she had better make an effort, she selected one of the three dresses she owned, a slinky red number that flattered her curves but had a knee-grazing hemline to keep it demure. Freeing her ponytail, she ran a brush quickly through her hair, dabbed her favourite scent, and was good to go.

Her choice of outfit got Alan’s seal of approval and he gave her a low wolf whistle as she walked into the living room. Entering the restaurant fifteen minutes later he had his hand placed in the small of her back as he proudly guided her to their table, as if wanting to show her off to every other man in the room. This was what Rebecca hated, being made to feel as if she was some kind of prize. Still, she sucked it up and smiled.

Let Alan have his moment. She’d gotten out of stooping to a full apology and owed him one. For once she would play the dutiful girlfriend instead of being difficult.

The waiter brought menus and took their drinks order. Alan, who was teetotal, had his usual soda water with a twist of lemon, while Rebecca opted for a bottle of Heineken.

They were opposites in every sense of the word: Alan, who was seven years Rebecca’s senior, was calm, rational, wore suits for every occasion and liked the finer things in life. Her mother said he was a good influence and balanced her out, while Jake called him safe and stuffy.

Rebecca wouldn’t go as far as to call him stuffy, but she agreed he was a safe bet. Nothing wrong with that, as she had enough danger and excitement in her day job. Years of dating unreliable and unpredictable men made ‘safe’ appealing. And she guessed her mother was right: she was thirty-three now and wasn’t getting any younger.

The waiter brought their drinks and Alan took a sip of his soda water, clearly vexed when Rebecca chose to ignore the glass had been left with her beer and instead drank straight from the bottle. She caught his look.

‘What?’

He shook his head, glancing around the busy restaurant as if a little embarrassed.

‘This isn’t a blue-collar bar, Becky.’ He nudged the glass towards her.

Instead of taking it, Rebecca picked up the bottle and took a defiant swig. She’d put on a dress for him, but no way was she going to let anyone tell her how she should drink her beer.

‘So how is work?’ she asked, diverting the conversation before they fell out again.

Alan relaxed back into his chair. Retrieving a cloth from his suit pocket he took off his glasses and began to clean them while he recounted his day.

Rebecca was only half listening, her mind still preoccupied with the case. There was something they were missing. Jake was still convinced Amy Gallaty was the key to everything, but how did the pieces fit?

‘Angell?’

The familiar voice broke through her thoughts and her back stiffened.

No way!

But she knew before she turned, immediately recognising the distinct New York accent even after all this time.

Joel Hickok.

‘Jeez, Angell, I thought it was you.’

He hadn’t changed. Maybe there were a couple more lines on his face, but the unruly hair remained and he still wore that cocky grin. And had no manners as, without asking, he pulled up a chair and sat down with them.

Rebecca was speechless, having expected to never lay eyes on him again, and now he was here sitting at the table… with her and Alan. Her boyfriend, Alan.

Alan. God, she’d forgotten all about him.

‘What are you doing here, Hickok?’ she hissed.

‘I’m staying here.’

‘Staying here?’

‘Staying at the hotel. It’s work.’ Without asking, he took a piece of bread from the basket in the centre of the table.

‘It’s work?’ Rebecca repeated.

His cocky grin widened. ‘What are you, a parrot?’ Tearing off a piece of crust he shoved it in his mouth.