Despite him turning out to be a wanted cybercriminal.
They reached a crossing and waited for the lights to change. Cars, buses and bikes rolled past. Helen studied the cloud ladened sky, her shoulders sagging.
Tom flicked her ear, like he always did when he wanted to cheer her up. “When you’re out scraping roadkill off the curb, do you think they’ll make you wear one of those florescent jackets?”
“Ha ha.” Trust her brother to come up with his own special brand of compassion. “You’re justtoofunny. People say they only have to look at you and they laugh.”
Tom snorted. “You know what else they say? ‘Can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.’”
“Thanks for the life advice, but you can get lost now.” They crossed the street, but instead of following Tom to the left, Helen headed to the right. “I’ll see you later.”
“Don’t you want to hang out at my office until I finish work?”
“It’s okay. I’m going to see my friend Liz. She’s got a new job at the Waterfront Hotel.”
“Liz?” Tom jerked his head back. “The girl you got into a drunken fight with?”
“No.” Helen sighed, tired of correcting him. “Liz, the girl Isavedfrom a drunken fight. It was her dickhead boyfriend who started it.”
“Of course, silly me. How could I forget?” Tom pulled a face, no doubt recalling the night he’d had to fetch Helen from the police station and found her nursing a fat lip. “Okay, I’ll pick you up outside the hotel in a couple of hours.”
“Thank you.” Helen air-kissed him, and because he hated it, ruffled his hair. He went to swat her away, but she dashed off across Broad Quay toward Harborside.
“That’s one hundred and twenty minutes!” Tom called out. “See if you can stay out of trouble for that long!”
The Waterfront was Bristol’s best and most well-known hotel. Right in the heart of the city, with its magnificent views of the harbor and old dockyard, it wasn’t in Helen’s price range for a coffee, let alone the type of place she’d hang out on the rare days she left her village in the Mendip Hills. When she’d had to venture into the city to meet with Jaxon, they’d done so at his flat in Brislington, which he used as his office—the same office Helen had broken in to.
Damn. If only she’d known the police were watching his flat! But she’d been focused only on retrieving her cash, which he kept hidden in his desk drawer. She’d seen him reach in there plenty of times to pay her in the past.
Helen had meticulously planned the whole break-in. She’d even timed her run from Jaxon’s place to the bus stop where she’d catch the last bus home—but as it was, she’d barely crept through his kitchen before the police had her surrounded.
Needless to say, she’d missed her bus, had to call Tom to come fetch her—again—and worst of all, she hadn’t got her money.
Resting her hand on the hotel’s shiny brass door handle, Helen peered through the gleaming glass doors. Posh people poshly dressed mingled in the foyer. Her dad always used to say confidence was key to faking anything, so she flung her shoulders back, raised her chin and strode inside, sailing past the receptionist and straight through to the bar area.
Liz was wiping glasses with a starched white cloth and her eyebrows shot up. “Wow, I barely recognized you!”
Ah. The outfit.
Helen tugged at her blouse, undoing the top three most suffocating buttons. “It’s hideous, isn’t it?”
“No, the opposite. You look amazing.” Liz’s gaze shifted up and down several times. “And your hair! It suits you like that.”
Helen felt the sleek, smooth hair that her sister-in-law, Emma, had ruthlessly straightened last night, banishing any hint of the fuzzy curls Helen usually kept contained in a short, stubby ponytail. She sneered. “I don’t look like me.”
“No, but you do look like you can use a drink.” Liz pulled out a bottle of wine from the fridge beneath the counter and scooped up ice in a glass. “This should do the trick.”
“Thanks, Liz, but you know I can’t afford these bar prices.”
“It’s on the house.” Pouring the wine, Liz scoped the area around them, no doubt looking for the power-tripping manager she often complained about. “I kept it aside for you when I was taking stock.”
“You stole it?”
“Shh!” Liz leaned forward and whispered, “I didn’t include it in my numbers so no one knows it even exists, and besides, I came in extra early to help Pencil Neck set up for this conference thing today so he owes me.”
Dick Weed, Weasel Face, Pencil Neckwere the names that Liz called her power-tripping manager. Helen scanned the bar for anyone matching those descriptions. Other than a stocky man and a red-haired woman—who’d just arrived and were being served coffees by Liz’s fellow bartender—it was almost empty.
“I still owe you for helping me out with Raz,” Liz said.
