Maloney's Law by Anne Brooke Page A

level, not even confirmation of shadiness; just half a document.
    Is there a way I can get the information I need to clear my ex-lover’s name? And keep myself alive? Haven’t I experienced how quick Blake is to act? One meeting, that’s all it took, and he wants me dead. I didn’t even have anything useful on him when he made that decision. No, I’m wrong. He’d decided what to do about me before I’d even stepped over his threshold. He knew my connection with Dominic, and he wanted me dead.
    It’s as simple as that.
    Nothing I’ve seen or heard proves it for sure, but it’s Rule Number Seven in the PI book: In a dangerous situation, if there’s a choice between instinct and logic, go with instinct. It won’t fail you.
    Add to all that a dead woman, threatening phone calls, and one clean, teetotal tramp and I’m spinning somewhere into depths I can’t recognise and don’t have the skills to handle. I’ve made my living from people committing adultery, fiddling the books, or cheating on their insurance. All the countless acts of disloyalty that taint a character, take who someone is and alter the colour of it so you can’t tell where the white ends and the grey begins, or how one day it may turn to black. Of the three occasions in my life where I’ve struck out beyond my reach, two of them have involved Dominic: once in our affair and now here when he asks for my help.
    It’s no good, I can’t back out. Wherever this goes, I have to see it through.
    My dreams that night are full of memories, but not the ones I expect when I finally crawl under the duvet, four whiskies and one small bowl of pasta later.
    There’s a garden, rich and green, the height of summer. The sound of laughter, a swing hung between two plum trees, the hushed trickle and flow of water. I’m walking, fingers trailing through roses, yellow, pink, deep orange, and the scent of them catches on my skin. I’m a child again, the trees lining my path taller than I will ever be, no matter how much I long to touch their uppermost leaves. Another laugh, this time closer, to my right, and when I turn I see a young girl skipping towards me, nine years old, her hair held into plaits and her dress and shoes all the colours of the rainbow. ‘Dance with me,’ she sings, ‘dance with me,’ but I can’t and already the tears are welling up as the faraway sky darkens. Her eyes are a richer shade of green than mine, and her hair glows ebony against the grass. Behind her stand two figures, their faces obscured, their familiarity a catch in my throat, an accusation. I stumble towards her, and she holds her hand to her mouth as if shutting a secret in a cave. Before I reach her, she turns and runs, her bright dress carving its way through reeds and tall flowers. I chase after her, and branches and leaves cling to my clothes and strike my skin. Behind me, I know the two adults I have seen follow us both. Their presence makes me start to run, but in front of me the girl runs faster. Without forming the words in my head, I know I have to reach her before she can disappear or turn in a direction I can’t see. My skin is cold and my heart is beating, so loud, so loud it drowns out every other want and need I have ever known. I call her name, but the sound of it is dragged away by the wind and vanishes. Now I stand in a clearing, and the trees above me are dark, thin fingers laced against a threatening sky. Even though I swing ’round the full circle of where I stand I can’t see where the girl has gone, I can’t see, and I know the adults who follow me will soon be here and the one to be blamed will be me. I should have kept up with her. I should have...
    A glimpse of lemon and green and red dress, a flurry of black hair, rich and strong, at the corner of my eye and once again I’m in pursuit. Blood pulsates through my veins, and my breath comes in harsh gasps. Why doesn’t she stop? Can’t she tell I need her to stop? Please, please, I...
    Again we