Sloane flashed her teeth in an awkward ‘No, I’m not a killer, just an insane dolt’ sort of smile. ‘Er… As I said, he… he doesn’t live here.’
Mrs Bailey entered the kitchen. ‘He ought to now, at least, mention the future. You’ve been seeing him for a while now. It’s not like in the 1940s when they didn’t know when the war would end. Surely, he can find a job in Glasgow. Why do you want to know about him anyway, officer…?’
The older man cleared his throat. ‘DCI Payne.’
Payne. Ah, yes, that’s the name he’d used when he’d first walked in the door. Throughout the morning, Sloane had been more occupied with pulling herself together than keeping track of all the people she’d spoken to.
‘Payne.’ Mrs Bailey nodded. ‘Weans these days, don’t you think they take life casually? Sloane’s man, now, he never shows his face here.’
Oh god! Mrs Bailey – kind and sweet Mrs Bailey – apparently wasn’t done. Shite!
Payne’s stare darkened. ‘Ms Walker never mentioned a boyfriend.’
‘Oh, she’s a quiet sort. They’ve been together for… how long has it been, love?’ Mrs Bailey raised an eyebrow, her waving hands now paused as if frozen to hear Sloane’s answer.
Sloane cracked another smile, one that was filled with hope that the ground would open and swallow her. Or lightning would strike her down for her lies.
Instead life and her lie carried on. ‘Five months.’
‘Aye, right when you moved in next door to work for Marge. I married my second husband after knowing him for three. What takes you lot so long to decide?’
Payne crossed his arms, pivoting away from Mrs Bailey and her rant. ‘What’s his number? I’d like to contact him. You said you had the evening to yourself. Did he come by the house?’
‘He—he… No. He doesn’t live in the country, as I said.’ Sloane cleared her throat, then stood up. ‘If that’s all, I need to find myself some decent clothes and a hotel room. Please excuse me, will you?’
Payne stood up, his broad shoulders blocking Sloane’s exit. ‘Hold on, Ms Walker. I will send a constable with you just until you settle in.’
‘I’m fine, thank—’
‘Call that man of yours, Sloane.’ Mrs Bailey interrupted again. ‘If he doesn’t take the first flight back, that man’s not worth it. That man of yours… what’s his name again?’
Sloane’s cheeks heated up. Mrs Bailey was being kind, supportive too, but the woman didn’t know… didn’t know what a big liar Sloane was.
Sloane laughed, shaking her head. ‘I’ll see you soon, Mrs Bailey.’
Like a seasoned dodgeball player, Sloane wove her way past Mrs Bailey and was almost squeezing through the gap between the bureau and Payne, when Payne reached out to stop her. ‘Hold on. I’ll send a constable with you.’
Having been alone most of her life, Sloane didn’t need another human to rely on, as pathetic as that sounded. She shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine, please.’
Mrs Bailey clicked her fingers, ‘I remember it now!’
Sloane’s eyes widened. ‘Mrs Bailey, that’s okay. I should get going. See you!’
Then without waiting for any other goodbyes from either of the two people in the room, Sloane hurried towards the back door. She gripped the handle like her life depended on it. And hell, it did. The last thing she needed was Mrs Bailey remembering the name of her ‘boyfriend’ and Payne asking her questions about the man.
‘Ms Walker, if you could, please share your boyfriend’s contact details with me. I’d like to speak to him, even if it’s on the phone.’ The DCI pressed.
Sloane shut her eyes. Oh no! Oh no! Freedom had been so damned close. If she turned and ran like her life depended on it, and her sanity surely did, Payne would have her arrested.
She clutched the doorknob.
‘You never told me his name, Ms Walker.’ Payne repeated.
Just then Mrs Bailey clapped her hands. ‘I remember!’
Hell no! Sloane twisted the door handle hard, yanking the door open so quickly, the whoosh sent her hair flying.
And startled the man outside who had his hand raised to knock—
‘Like Marge’s surname, aye!’ Mrs Bailey clapped again. ‘Joshua—’
Sloane shoved her way out the door, not anticipating the man outside would move towards her at the same time.
‘MacLeod! That’s his name!’
The man grunted, as if answering someone calling him, before his hard body slammed into Sloane’s.
No one had knocked the breath out of her before. Not like this. But the impact of that man’s chiselled body – it had to be like one per cent body fat – caused Sloane to lose her balance.
Breathless, she tumbled straight into his arms, her soft curves giving way to his defined ones.
Arms as solid as lead enclosed her, creating a protective bubble, just as the world tilted and their entangled bodies hurtled to the ground.
Sloane found the last vestige of breath in her body and used it to scream.
A dull ‘oomph’ was all the sound the man made as his back collided with the ground, and Sloane landed heavily on top of him.
Legs entwined, their bodies aligned – and their heads pressed together – Sloane lay there on the ground tangled in the arms of a stranger just as Mrs Bailey proudly announced, again: ‘That’s right! Joshua MacLeod, that’s her boyfriend’s name.’
