"I hear you got an earbashing last night," I said to RJ as he sat at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of Rice Krispies. The antithesis of the CEO of a 300-million-pound-turnover company, which was what he'd be in an hour once he'd put his suit on.

He blew out a long breath. "That woman's like Leanan Sidhe."

"Leanne who?"

"Leanan Sidhe. A beautiful Irish vampire who seduces a man, ruins him body and soul, then leaves him so depressed he dies a slow and painful death."

"Aren't you being a tad dramatic?"

"Man, she snapped every time she talked to me, but all I could think of was those pink lips wrapped around my cock."

I roared with laughter. "Good luck with that one, buddy."

"I like a challenge."

"A challenge is climbing Mount Everest or learning to skydive. Going after a woman scorned is more like suicide."

"Tell me everything you know about her."

***

RJ moved his first meeting so I could brief him on Shannon, and when I left, he was heading for his computer. Was the way to a woman's heart through her Facebook profile? Or in RJ's case, through her banking details, her medical records, and cached versions of her online dating history?

I shook my head, chuckling to myself. The irony was that if Shannon had just sucked his cock last night, he'd have been bored with her by morning.

While my best friend took cyberstalking to insane levels, I headed off to visit Davinder Singh in his office. His assistant had cleared half an hour for me in his schedule, and had been at pains to point out how grateful I should be. What did she want? Flowers and chocolates for doing her damn job?

Still, I smiled and muttered the appropriate platitudes as she ushered me into a conference room that must have been decorated by a colour-blind toddler—all orange and purple and weird angles. The mission statement written in block capitals on the opposite wall read, WE STRIVE TO BUILD LIGHT AND HAPPINESS INTO THE LIVES OF OUR CUSTOMERS.

With fish-shaped lampshades and tables suspended from the ceiling? Okay then.

Davinder kept me waiting for five minutes before making an appearance. A thin man in an ill-fitting suit, he had a limp handshake that probably matched his dick. I knew he was in his early forties, but he looked ten years younger and that probably led to him getting steamrollered in the boardroom.

"Mr. Lawson, I take it?"

"Call me Will."

"Will. How can I help you today? My personal assistant mentioned something about Weston Corp? I haven't worked there for years."

"I've got a few questions about one of your ex-colleagues. Arthur Brady."

"Arthur who jumped off the balcony?"

"There's a possibility he was pushed."

I watched Davinder's reaction carefully, and his eyes widened in surprise. Surprise that Arthur might have been murdered, or surprise that I'd found out?

"His death always struck me as slightly unusual."

"How so?"

"There was an incident a couple of months before he died. Jessica from sales was running a marathon to raise money for the Samaritans, and Arthur would only sponsor her a fiver. Claire called him a cheapskate, and he muttered something about suicide being the coward's way out and how the victims should man up and face their problems rather than hurting those around them."

"Did you tell the police this?"

"I mentioned it, but they didn't do anything further. According to Lloyd Weston, they said it was an open-and-shut case. He gave everyone a half day off for the funeral, and that was that."

"I understand some unusual transactions came to light after Arthur's death?"

"Yes, six of them. Round sums, two at twenty-five thousand pounds, three at fifty, and one at a hundred."

Well, I could say what I wanted about Davinder's dress sense, but there was nothing wrong with his memory.

"And Arthur got the blame?"

"He did. Celia really should have spotted them earlier, and by the time we found the anomalies, Arthur had gone."

"Do you think he did it?"

"I think he could have done it."

"That wasn't what I asked."

Davinder shrugged. "There were a lot of people who could have transferred the money."

"You included?"

"Mr. Weston investigated this. I could have made five of the transactions, but for the sixth, I was on an eco-holiday in Patagonia without access to running water, let alone internet."

"Fair enough." I'd check that later. "And Arthur?"

"He was around, but he had no motive. Arthur was a creature of habit. His wife made him cheese sandwiches for lunch. They took a caravan holiday to Bognor every year. He owned five ties that he used to rotate Monday through Friday, and he drove the same Ford Fiesta the entire time I was with the company. What would he have spent the money on?"

"I don't know. Any medical bills?"

"Weston Corp provided medical insurance, and neither of his kids went to university, so there was no tuition to pay. It always baffled me."

"So, if it wasn't Arthur, who do you think did it?"

"I never worked that out, and I kept an eye, believe me. Nobody suddenly bought a new vehicle or flashed the cash or went on a fancy holiday. Whoever took the money, they had a plan for it, and I never worked out what it was. I guess that's why I didn't make a fuss back then."

"The other evidence all fitted."

"I also figured that if they killed Arthur to cover up a crime, they could do the same to me if I didn't keep my mouth shut. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work."

As I left Davinder's office, I began to wonder what sort of hornet's nest we were stirring up. What if Davinder was right? And what if whoever murdered Arthur found out I was looking for him? Or worse, found out that Rania was helping me?

I'd have to be more careful who I spoke to at Weston Corp, and no way would Rania be going near a bus again.

***

"I'm disappointed," Lloyd Weston said, in a tone that suggested he wasn't so much disappointed as really, really pissed. "It's Christmas Eve tomorrow, and we're still no further forward. What's more, I hear you've been asking more questions about that Arthur fellow than Helene. The man died twelve bloody years ago, and tragic though it was, the police have already concluded he took his own life."

"But—"

"No buts, young man. I'm paying your fees, and I want you concentrating your efforts on my daughter or I'll find somebody who understands priorities."

From "son" to "young man." I'd clearly been demoted. And while Weston's rant may have been justified, at that moment, he reminded me of my father and the tongue-lashings he used to give me about my choices in life. He hadn't so much wanted a son as a clone, a second Jack Lawson to pass his scalpel on to. Growing up, every time my parents held one of their fancy parties to show off a ridiculously overpriced painting, or a new sports car, or knock back the exports from the vineyard they part-owned in France, his colleagues would thump me on the back and remind me I had some big shoes to fill. Except after I chose a pair of Vibram-soled patrol boots over handcrafted Italian leather brogues, I didn't get invited to those little soirees any longer.

That didn't make me lose any sleep.

But Lloyd Weston? He was a client, and I needed his cash.

"Yes, sir. Rest assured, I won't lose my focus."

He looked as if he was about to continue his tirade, but Kayleigh knocked on the door, and he glared past me.

"What is it?" he snapped.

"Sorry, sir, but Mr. Crowe from Datacorp is waiting in the boardroom."

Weston wagged a finger as he strode past me, heading for the door as Kayleigh hastily stepped out of the way.

"Find the bastard who took my Helene. Just find him, and fast."

I was dismissed.

Kayleigh offered a tentative smile. "You got off lightly, I reckon."

"You do?"

"Mmm-hmm. This morning, Anthony told him you were hoovering the reception area the other day instead of investigating, and Mr. Weston slammed his cup of coffee down so hard it broke."

Shit. "I was just helping someone out. I didn't charge him for any of that time."

"Mr. Weston doesn't always think rationally."

Yes, in the future, I'd definitely have to be more careful. I could handle Lloyd being unhappy with me, but I didn't want him taking his anger out on Rania if he found out we were involved with each other. Not as involved as I wanted to be, not yet anyway, but like Kayleigh said, he might not be sympathetic to me spending my evenings attempting to woo a woman rather than hunting scum.

I headed for a meeting room and closed the door softly behind me, even though I wanted to kick it shut.

"Have you got any further with the hotel?" I asked RJ as soon as he picked up the phone.

"Huh?"

"The Lanefield Park Hotel. Helene Weston... Secret bookings... CCTV..."

"Ah, sort of."

"You spent the whole day cyberstalking Rania's friend, didn't you?"

"Not the whole day. I also fitted in a board meeting and two conference calls. And yes, I did look into your little problem, but the CCTV feeds aren't online. Looks like they're using a pretty antiquated system. If you want access, you'll have to get it in person, and I'd suggest you do that sooner rather than later because I found an email from their head of security telling the manager that they wiped the footage at thirty days."

And we were at—I did a quick calculation in my head—twenty-eight, with day thirty being Christmas Day.

"We need to get in there tomorrow."

"We?"

Yes, we. I couldn't do this alone.

"Where's your sense of adventure, mate?"

A plan. We needed a plan. I considered the options for a minute while RJ muttered comments about my sanity, or rather the lack of it, and came up with a possibility that had a chance of working. But my plan called for a couple of decoys, and there was only one other person I could ask.

Rania.