She swallowed noisily. Her pleasure at seeing him was gone now, she just wanted to get away. Karim had been especially nasty after that night and suddenly it all made sense. ‘Well, it wasn’t me, Danny. I wouldn’t dare do that to you! Anyway, I just thought you was on it, you and Petey. You were well out of it, don’t you remember? You couldn’t hardly stand, and you kept asking me my name! I was a bit miffed, to be honest. I’d never seen you like that before. But I take oath, Danny, I never gave you nothing. I wouldn’t – I would be too scared. I admit I’ve roofied a few of the punters, but only enough to keep them in line – you know what the city boys can be like. But never would I do it to anyone like you, Danny. I ain’t stupid.’

Davey believed she was telling the truth, and he gulped his glass of champagne quickly. He saw Danny staring into the girl’s white face, as convinced as he was about her innocence.

‘Look, Danny, I told you, I have laced a few punters, I admit that, it makes them easier to handle, and they tend to be a bit more open-handed, you know? But I would never do that to you, I wouldn’t have the front.’

She was nearly in tears now, and Danny felt bad for her. She was only confirming what he had already sussed out. ‘All right, mate, calm down! I believe you.’ He took out a clean white handkerchief and wiped her eyes carefully; her make-up was a work of art like all the girls who worked the clubs, and he didn’t want to ruin it for her – he had ruined her night enough as it was. ‘Now drink up, darling, and I’ll take you out for a meal, eh?’

She sniffed loudly, and nodded her acquiescence. There was something about him that attracted her, even now when he had scared the shit out of her. She knew she would end up in bed with him before the night was over. She drank her champagne, feeling that somehow she had dodged a bullet. Why did this man have such a hold over her? Because, as nice as he was, she knew he would take her out without so much as a backward glance should the situation warrant it.

Chapter One Hundred and Eight

Michael O’Toole could scarcely believe his luck. The Bailey family had welcomed him into the business with open arms and, the best part was, he had no responsibility; all that was expected of him was to relay whatever the Baileys told him to his new workforce. It was as easy as having a shit after a hot curry – there was no real effort involved whatsoever, and he was in receipt of over five grand a week.