When in Bruges (Humorous Romantic Mystery) by Nic Saint

contempt to seething anger, had given him nightmares for years.
    “Pleased to meet you,” he said, taking Coleen’s hand. She gave his a vigorous shake, then stepped aside to bid him entrance.
    He found his father alone in the office. The moment he entered, the rotund little man rose to his feet, and walked around the desk to meet him, an anxious expression on his face. “And? How’d it go?”
    “I’ve got them,” he said, then threw an inquisitive glance at Coleen, who’d taken a seat at the head of a conference table set up near the window.
    His father waved his hand dismissively. “You can talk before Coleen. She knows all about this sordid little affair.” He clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “So you did it, eh? That’s my boy! Coleen? You hear this? Gnat is out of the picture!”
    “Good news,” said Coleen, impatiently tapping the table with a pencil. “So was that the reason you called this meeting, Chris?”
    “No,” said Chris, expelling a deep breath and taking a seat next to Coleen. “Dad? There’s something I want you to see.”
    Jacques’s expressive eyebrows, which had wiggled with joy one moment ago, now knitted together in a frown at these ominous words. He joined them, and sank into a chair like a man expecting heaven to cave in on his head. “Well? What is it? Out with it, son. Out with it.”
    “May I?” Chris said, indicating the laptop, connected to a beamer.
    Coleen nodded, and Chris quickly inserted Gnat’s stick, tapped a key, and brought up the pictures that had ruined his sleep last night.
    On the big screen, the same type of pictures appeared that Kate had showed to Lauren: someone had painstakingly tracked Jacques Van Damme’s every move for the past couple of weeks, and had somehow managed to get a good look at his campaign timetable up until election day.
    “Gnat had that?” said Coleen, taken aback.
    Chris nodded. “Someone’s been following you, dad.”
    He jumped when Jacques’s fist pounded the table. “It’s that bastard Peeters! The rat!”
    “I don’t think so, dad,” said Chris, and he proceeded to explain that while burgling Gnat’s safe, he’d run into Piet Peeters’s daughter Kate, out on a similar mission. “So you see, Gnat’s been blackmailing the both of you. Whoever took these pictures must have been following Peeters as well.”
    Jacques made a sound like an elephant pulling its foot out of a swamp, then grumbled, “I don’t believe a word of this. Only Peeters could sink so low.” Then something seemed to occur to him, and his scowl deepened. “Do you mean to tell me that Piet Peeters is involved with Jeanie? My Jeanie?”
    “That’s what it looks like, dad,” Chris said, leaning back in his chair. “That Jeanie of yours turns out to be a real cheerleader for bipartisanship.”
    There was a momentary silence as Jacques mulled this over. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “Jeanie would never fall for that idiot. She’s above dating petty politicians like Peeters.”
    “Nevertheless,” interrupted Coleen, “I think Chris has a point. We clearly have a breach in our security if someone has managed to lay their hands upon our campaign script.” She turned to Chris. “Do you know if Gnat had the same intel on Peeters?”
    “I, erm, no. I’m not sure. But I can find out if you want.”
    “Do that,” she said. “We need to be sure we can exclude Peeters, though I’m inclined to do so.”
    “Me, too,” Chris said. “I don’t think it’s Peeters you need to worry about here. I think there’s a third party involved. And whatever their intentions, they’re not good. There’s a definite threat here.”
    “Indeed,” said Coleen, tapping her teeth with the pencil. She looked from Chris to Jacques and back to Chris. “Your father tells me you’re a security expert?”
    “Well, yes,” said Chris. “I’ve just gone into business for myself.”
    “Chris here is the genuine product,” said Jacques proudly.