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Startled by him and his questions, I almost trip on the step as I push past him and reply, “No comment.”
Not deterred by my refusal to answer, he follows me up the path firing more questions at me. I ignore him as best I can, but as I reach the door, his next question is my breaking point.
“Is it true that she was raped repeatedly?”
Spinning on him so fast he almost crashes into me.
“Get the fuck off my property now before I show you how good I am at my job, arsehole!” He stumbles backwards at my harsh and violent words.
When he goes to speak again, I drop my bags to the floor and step towards him.
It’s only now I see the cameraman filming the whole thing, and I curse myself for allowing him and his fucked-up questions to get the better of me.
Taking another menacing step, because what the hell, I’m already in the shit, he begins to back track as a man’s voice calls from across the road.
“Hey, lady, you okay?” I look up to see him walking towards us. He strides past the journo and his cameraman to stand beside me, blocking me from view.
“You heard the lady, leave.” His tone is strong and uncompromising. Realising that he’s not going to get anything further from me, the journo turns and walks away.
Once they are out of sight, the man begins to walk away.
“Hey,” I call out, and he pauses, twisting his head. “Thank you,” I say sincerely.
He nods and then disappears round the corner.
Picking up my bags, I push the door open on my ground floor apartment and kick the pile of letters and junk mail aside and carry my stuff into the kitchen.
While I put the shopping away, my mind wanders to the journo outside my fucking flat. It’s bad enough that I had one at the cabins the day I got served papers, taking shots that ended up plastered all over the damn tabloids. Now they are loitering outside a flat I haven’t stepped foot in since Lottie’s death.
I’ve no idea who the man was, although he seemed familiar, but I’m grateful he was there. It would not have been helpful or pretty had he not turned up and got rid of the journo.
After putting the shopping away, I collect the mail and drop it on the side table before heading to my room to freshen up.
Helena, my estate agent, calls to let me know that there’s another viewing for tomorrow. I thank her and let her know I’ll be out for most of the day anyway.
I have a meeting with my lawyer in the morning before I head into town. Despite a wardrobe full of suitable clothing, most of which I hate with a passion equal to my dislike for my father, I decide to look for something new. Something different, risqué and absolutely guaranteed to piss my father off.
Before I headout the next morning, I flick through the mail. Other than the invitation to the auction tonight the rest is junk. I leave it on the table and throw the rest in the bin as I leave.
I find Alicia Webster’s house easy enough, but when I knock there’s no answer. Not wanting to give up and go home, I sit in my car across from her apartment and wait.
After an hour, I’m in desperate need of stretching my legs. This poxy little Corsa isn’t a patch on my A3. Grabbing my bag and keys, I climb out of the car just as a woman exits Alicia’s house. I can’t get a good look to see if it’s her, so I lean back in as though looking for something and wait for her to turn around. When she finally does, I see it is her. I watch as she strolls down the road, and I wait to see if she gets into a car or not. She doesn’t, so I set off after her on foot.
I follow her for about fifteen minutes before she disappears inside a large building, which appears to be offices. Having stayed on the other side of the road to avoid suspicion or being seen, I cross over as the door closes behind her.
There are no signs to indicate the type of businesses operating within the building until I reach the intercom on the door.
I scan the names, and at first nothing jumps out at me. When I read the name of the business on the top floor, I know that’s where she’s headed.Rendezvous
It’s a name I overheard during a visit to Tobias’ office with Lottie, and from what I can gather, his company designed the website for the dating agency.
I’m about to push the intercom button when the door opens, and a short woman with dark hair cut into a pixie style steps out. She sidesteps me, and I quickly slip inside before the door can close.
Not giving much thought to what I’m doing, I climb the stairs to the third floor. At the top, I open a door into a large reception area where a woman in her mid-twenties speaks on a headset behind a black marble desk.
Looking around while I wait for her to finish her call, I see Alicia sitting on the far side of the room chatting along with several other women. None of them look all that enthusiastic to be here.
“Excuse me, can I help you?” a tinkling voice asks behind me.
