No Safe Place (Joe Hunter Thrillers Book 11) Read Online Free PDF Page B

think Clayton will be more relaxed without a cop around.’ What I meant was that he’d probably speak more openly if he thought his every word wasn’t being judged. Bryony understood.
    Raising her voice, she said, ‘Mr Clayton. Can I leave it to you to show Hunter around? I’ve a lot to do, I…’
    Clayton turned so abruptly it caused Bryony to falter.
    ‘Yes, Detective.’ The sunlight coming through the picture window glared off Clayton’s spectacles: I couldn’t see his eyes behind the whiteout of their lenses. ‘You’ve a lot to do. You should be out there finding the sons of bitches responsible for murdering my wife. If you can’t manage that, then find whoever the asshole is that keeps coming round here and throwing bricks through my goddamn windows.’
    Bryony’s mouth formed a tight slit. But she nodded in acceptance of the berating. ‘Speak with you later,’ she said to me, and turned on her heel. Bryony had already told me that Clayton had proven awkward, but little wonder when he knew he was still a suspect in her eyes, and those of others with Tampa PD and beyond. She left, and I heard the front door snick closed. I looked at Clayton, and saw he had a hand over his mouth. He wiped, as if disgusted by his words.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he offered. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that. Detective VanMeter’s one of the few cops I have any faith in. She’s the only one who seems to give a damn, when all the others have just treated me like a suspect.’
    I shrugged away his apology. It shouldn’t have been given to me, but Bryony. If only he knew that Bryony also suspected him of involvement in Ella’s murder, he might not apologise at all. Then again, I could also understand his frustration: if he was innocent, and I’d no reason to think otherwise, then he had a right to criticise the police.
    ‘Bryony is a good cop,’ I told him. ‘Your faith in her is well placed. She’ll catch Ella’s killer.’
    Clayton waved a hand, inviting me to sit. I put down my bag, but I remained standing. He didn’t seem to notice and slumped into an easy chair. He glimpsed up at me, and now I could see his eyes clearly. They danced over me, appraising again. ‘She speaks highly of you too. Tells me you used to be a soldier. Special Operations guy.’ He sniffed, but it wasn’t in disdain. I’d noticed the stars and stripes banner waving on his lawn. Clayton was patriotic, and probably one of those that stood up and saluted veterans and firefighters at ball games. Perhaps he extended the same gratitude to veterans of US allies. ‘You’re a Brit, right? You sound like those northerners from Game of Thrones on TV.’
    ‘I grew up in Manchester, England. I’ve been around the world a lot since then.’
    ‘So are you a United or City man?’
    ‘Not much of a soccer fan, I’m afraid,’ I admitted.
    Clayton held up a scarred fist, inspecting it. ‘Can’t say as I am either. I’m not much into team sports. Prefer it when a guy has to rely on himself to win.’
    I wondered if that was his way of saying he didn’t believe he needed me.
    ‘I used to fight,’ he said.
    ‘Boxing?’ I asked.
    He snorted, as if the suggestion was beneath him. ‘Iron Man. King of the Cage.’
    ‘Mixed Martial Arts,’ I said. Rink was active in the game, after a long time fighting in Kyokushinkai knockdown karate tournaments.
    Clayton waved that description aside. ‘Nah, I did it before the introduction of all the rules and regulations, before it grew soft. Back then we just had two guys, bare knuckles and the last man standing won.’
    He wasn’t simply making conversation, but I didn’t believe he was being a braggart. Again I think he was pointing out he didn’t need my protection, but really he was trying to convince himself. He could be the hardest fighter on earth and it hadn’t done a thing to protect his wife.
    He hung his head, and I watched him rub at the scarred knuckles of one hand. ‘That was years