First Drop by Zoe Sharp Page A

our conversation.
     
    “To go back to an earlier subject, something’s clearly wrong out here, and I think both of us are being kept in the dark about it,” Sean said, settling so I could lie with my head resting on his shoulder and listen to his heartbeat recover its steady rhythm. Above us, I could hear the quiet rustle of the ceiling fan as it gently cooled the sweat on our bodies.
     
    “I know,” I said. “While you were out today a taxi arrived to take Keith and Trey to the airport.”
     
    “The airport?” Sean queried. “Are you sure?”
     
    “Yeah, I spoke to the driver myself, until Keith came out and made out like he hadn’t ordered a taxi, it was all some big mistake. He was getting quite irate, though it was hard to tell if that was because the taxi had turned up at all, or because I’d intercepted it.”
     
    “What happened?”
     
    “Well, in the end Keith paid the guy off and he went away swearing merrily in that cheery way of disappointed taxi drivers the world over.”
     
    I felt rather than saw Sean smile into the darkness. “So,” he said, “is Keith planning a great escape, or is somebody just trying to wind him up?”
     
    “You think there might be something serious going on here after all?”
     
    He shrugged slightly. “Could be.”
     
    I started to shift round to face him. As I did so my hand brushed against something cold and hard under the pillow. I hardly needed more than that to identify the object for what it was.
     
    “Sean,” I said, my voice calm, “why have you got a gun under your pillow?”
     
    “It could just be that I’m pleased to see you,” he said. He eased away from me, leaning across to flick on the bedside light.
     
    I blinked for a moment, propping myself up on one elbow while he retrieved the gun. It was a SIG Sauer 9mm pistol, a P225 – similar to the one I’d used in Germany but without the double-stacked magazine, giving it a slimmer profile.
     
    “How the hell did you manage to get that onto a plane?”
     
    He grinned at my consternation. “I didn’t,” he said. “I was working out here a couple of years ago and I left this behind. All I did this time was detour on my way from the airport and pick it up.”
     
    “Does Gerri Raybourn know you’re carrying?”
     
    He shook his head. “No,” he said, “and that’s how I aim to keep it. I learned the hard way never to play all your aces at once.”
     
    “So,” I said, “what happens now?”
     
    “Well give me a minute, Charlie,” he said, mocking. “I’m only human.”
     
    I shot him what I hoped was a stern glance. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
     
    “OK, OK,” he said, laughing. “I’ve arranged a meeting with Ms Raybourn tomorrow while you’re baby-sitting Trey at the theme park. By the time you get back I should have some answers, otherwise we’re on the next plane out of here.”
     
    “Just do me one favour.”
     
    “What?”
     
    I nodded to the SIG. “Take that with you,” I said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
     
    “Don’t worry,” Sean said. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere without it.”
     
    ***
     
    Now, I walked into the room that had been Sean’s and looked around me. It was as empty and as lifeless as my own, as though he’d never been there at all. On impulse I picked up one of the pillows, just to see if it still smelt of him. I sat down on the bed and pressed my face into the cotton cover. The faintest trace of his aftershave still lingered somewhere in the fabric.
     
    But as I went to put the pillow down again I noticed something just sticking out from under the sheet. When I pulled the covers back there it was.
     
    Sean’s SIG.
     
    I picked the gun up slowly, slipped the magazine out and saw that it was fully loaded. And suddenly a rush of emotion came rocketing up out of the depths of nowhere and hit me in the face. Tears exploded. I sat there, on my own in a deserted house, clutching a gun and sobbing my