Betrayal of Innocence (A New Adventure Begins - Star Elite 1)

Weeks considered it for a moment but then shook his head.

“I can manage,” he muttered grimly. “Just get on with removing her.”

Weeks nudged his horse into a walk, suddenly eager to be on his way.

He rode through the village at a steady trot, only lifting his hands to those villagers he was friendly with. To everyone else, he was busy going about his official business and didn’t bother to slow down.

Minutes later, he reluctantly dismounted outside Felicity Inson’s house. Felicity, being their only daughter, was going to be a great loss to the people inside the small cottage. While he walked up the narrow path to the front door, Weeks braced himself for what was about to happen. He squared his shoulders and lifted his hand to knock, but mentally cursed when the front door was suddenly yanked open, and Mr Inson appeared in the doorway.

Mr Inson’s eyes widened when he saw the grim look on Week’s face. His face suddenly crumpled. Behind him, his wife let out a wailing cry of disbelief and fell to the floor beneath the weight of the grief that struck her.

“Can I come in?” Weeks asked quietly.

Silently, Mr Inson nodded and stood back to let him in.

Later that day, Justin, and the men from the Star Elite, rode steadily through the village.

“It’s quiet,” Jasper murmured, studying the myriad shops and houses lining the narrow, cobbled streets of the tiny village which clutched precariously to the side of the rural hillock.

“Where is everyone?” Angus growled.

He peered into one of the houses they passed and lifted his brows when the shutter immediately slammed closed. Somewhere to his left he heard the distinct sound of a bolt being slammed shut and lifted his brows.

“Not very friendly, are they?” Oliver muttered, his ears tuned to the deathly silence which was only interrupted by the rhythmic clackety clack of their horses’ hooves.

“Something is wrong,” Justin whispered. A deep sense of unease settled heavily across his broad shoulders as they ventured closer to the village green.

“Where do we find this Weeks person?” Niall asked from the rear of the group.

“Instructions tell us he has an office on outskirts of town,” Philli

p replied conversationally, studying the area with wary concern. “But we have to go to his home to meet him. We are to go to the green, take the far left lane and follow it for about a quarter of a mile.”

“I suggest we veto securing rooms in the tavern for now. Let’s go and find out what’s happening with Weeks,” Justin suggested.

“I hope to God the village isn’t like this all the damned time,” Angus growled. “Or it is going to be a nightmare trying to get people to talk to us.”

It was something of a relief when they finally dismounted outside a large square house standing a few feet away from the road, a small sign over the door declaring: A Weeks, Magistrate.

“Let’s go and hear what he has to say,” Justin breathed.

“Thank God you are here,” Weeks declared effusively when he opened the door and saw the group of heavily armed lawmen waiting on his doorstep. He took an instinctive step back such was the menacing air they carried. Even so, he was hugely relieved to see them, and hurriedly stood back to wave them inside.

Before he closed the door, though, he peered cautiously up and down the street, and mentally gave thanks that none of the villagers appeared to have noticed them. Quickly slamming the door closed, he summoned his housekeeper and informed her that the guests had arrived before he led the men out of his cramped hallway and into the more comfortable confines of his study.

“I believe you are expecting us,” Justin murmured once he had introduced himself and stepped back to allow his colleagues to do the same.

“I am glad you are here,” Weeks replied. He waved everyone in to seats and offered them brandy.

“Is there some sort of problem in the village?” Angus asked curiously as he accepted a goblet off the magistrate with a grateful nod. “We have just been through it; it is practically dead.”

Weeks winced and helped himself to a healthy dose of brandy. Downing it, he refilled it and turned to face the room. It was then that he saw the looks the men traded.

“I don’t usually drink, but after the morning I have just had I need something.” His hand trembled a little as he made his way across the room and rested his hips precariously against a dainty side-table beside his favourite window.

If he was honest, he felt rather small and insignificant in the presence of such powerful men. While he hadn’t been sure what to expect, it hadn’t been anything like the men from the Star Elite. They were all well over six feet tall, with powerful builds and a no-nonsense air of command about them that was almost lethal. Weeks knew immediately that they would draw attention but couldn’t quite make his mind up if that would be a good thing or not. They positively screamed authority, and raw menace that would worry everyone. He wasn’t sure the villagers would want to talk to men who looked so damned threatening. He also suspected that his involvement in their investigation would be essential if they wanted to get any information out of the villagers.

“There isn’t a celebration in the village, I am afraid,” he declared solemnly. “A young girl in the village was found dead today. This morning as a matter of fact.”