Lost Cause (A Daisy Dunlop Mystery ~ Book 1)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Daisy stifled a yawn and glanced at Solomon. He was sipping a cup of black coffee and staring at his phone. They'd been on the road for over an hour, and now they were parked outside a multistory car park in Bournemouth. As much as she loved a day at the seaside, and the opportunity to scope out a new shopping venue, she figured neither activity was on Solomon's itinerary.

"What are we doing exactly?"

"Maureen called."

"I got that bit, but I thought we were going back to Sandbanks?"

"She said Zut's gone missing."

"She told you that she never knew him."

Solomon glanced at Daisy. "She lied."

"What else did she lie about?"

"No idea, Princess. She said she had to hang up before she could do much more than beg me to find him."

"And we're here because?"

"I planted a tracking device on Zut's car the other night."

Daisy glanced over his arm at the display on his phone. "Easy job, then. We just follow the map thingy until we get to where that little flashing icon is pointing and voilà. But what do we do when we find him? If he's parked here he's clearly not missing. He's probably just avoiding Maureen. Maybe he's the kid's father and is running from his responsibilities. I know some men don't cope well when they discover their little swimmers have won the reproductive Olympic gold medal."

Solomon glared at her before opening his door and climbing out. He leaned back inside. "You wait here."

Daisy scrambled to undo her seatbelt. She really should learn to keep her mouth shut before she'd had a big enough infusion of caffeine and carbohydrates to kick-start her day. Her comment had been below the belt, but not actually directed at papa Solomon, whoever that loser might be. If she let Solomon stew he would be back to Mr. Dark and Brooding for the rest of the day and, God help her, she actually liked the man when he behaved like a normal human being. Besides, if Solomon fled the scene, who the hell would protect her if the nut job who'd defaced her car came looking to rip her arms off, not to mention other body parts? "No way."

Solomon growled and then slammed the door. She leapt out and did the same. The SUV chirped, and the lights flashed to show it was locked as she followed the surly git into the car park's stairwell. The sweetly pungent scent of urine filled her nasal passages, giving her head the equivalent of colonic irrigation. Eau de British car park. They should bottle and sell it at M&S. American tourists would be mad for the quintessential English perfume.

She climbed the stairs behind Solomon, intent on staring at anything other than his seven-out-of-ten rear end. The man had dimples, or at least she thought he did. Her mind had been caught up with other things when he was busy flashing in her kitchen. There was something absurdly uncomfortable about knowing what he looked like under those dark jeans, even though she was not in the least bit interested in him as a man. And he clearly was a man. Despite her earlier assertion that he had no penis, it seemed she was mistaken. She'd seen the evidence, exhibit numero uno, flopping about in her pristine white flat-packed kitchen. She'd be sure to give that table a good wipe with disinfectant when she finally got home.

Solomon stopped on the fourth-floor landing and pulled the door into the car park open. A gust of cold air blasted down the stairwell, cleansing her nostrils of the stench of human excrement. She just hoped to God they wouldn't find anything like she'd found the last time she'd been inside a multistory.

She followed Solomon through the door. "What kind of vehicle are we looking for?"

"A new white Porsche."