| BOOK SIX | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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Terrence is vindicated by Command.
At the time of the incident, when I took a shower and the intruder infringed on my privacy, Terrence was in the foyer on the phone with Eli, one of the brothers, who corroborated in order to permit Terrence's exculpation.
My bodyguard is not a suspect.
Terrence is a nice man. He is paid generously to protect me. It would be uncharacteristic, illogical and motiveless to sneak into my home and play tricks on me.
If not Terrence, then who?
Whilst pondering the possibilities of dangerous observers, I started to second-guess myself.
Brad hired a locksmith to change the locks on the doors and windows.
I had two keys to this place. I gave the spare one to Big Guy.
No one else had access.
Even if someone had tried to sneak inside, they'd have to get past the bodyguard of stalwart muscle.
I am not ground-level, either. It is virtually impossible to gain entry through the windows without a double-extension ladder.
Let us hypothetically assume that skilful mountaineers lived nearby. What are the chances of climbers scaling the wall in broad daylight, inconspicuously, without attracting attention? It would be unfeasible. Therefore, it never happened.
Maybe I have lost my marbles.
Perhaps I am seeing things that are not really there.
Then, who rehomed Carter's money jar?
Who moved the kitchen chair?
Who picked up the dressing gown and hung it on the wardrobe door?
Staring at the rain-spattered window, I languished on the sofa with a lukewarm cup of sweet tea.
I had work tonight. I should get dressed, slap some makeup on my face, but detaching myself from Brad and the others frightened me to death. I feel safe in their custody, with the men on guard and Brad in my corner.
I thought the days of looking over my shoulder had come to an end when I moved to London.
I thought the life of cowering before adversaries had become a thing of the past when Tommy O'Shea called a truce.
My stomach clenched into a tight knot.
Tommy O'Shea called a true, not his friends and family.
I had to reach out, reply to the man's text messages and seek advice.
If someone in the traveller community is hellbent on continuing the use of threats and harassment, I had to make Tommy aware of it.
But then, what if the intruder is not connected to the travellers? Is it fair to make assumptions without facts or evidence?
I mentally unpacked the file cabinet of certainties.
