Chapter 7
7
Max
Max almost dropped the lighter. Jett’s back was to Grey as he started chewing another protein bar, unaware of the tornado that was about to be unleashed. It only occurred to Max then that Grey had probably sent Jett to guard her. But the look the Fixer gave her as he shut the door quickly chased that thought away.
Her insides shook like he’d slammed it on her. ‘You told me to put on some clothes,’ she said as his glare singed through the stupid shirt.
His throat bobbed, jaw tightening. ‘You can’t wear that.’
‘For fuck’s sake. Why not?’ She tugged at the sleeves.
‘Stop.’ He held up a hand. She hated that she obliged. ‘Just ...’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. ‘Keep it on for now.’ He turned to Jett with the look guys often reserved for each other when a sports player missed some easy goal or an umpire made a treacherous call. What the fuck, man?
Except Max wasn’t a ball that had missed a hoop or an umpire who had called something out when it was clearly in. She was still a cop – no matter where she’d been the past six months – and these protein-fuelled airheads were going to listen to her.
‘Where have you been?’ she demanded, a housewife sweating over roast chicken while he sat and drank beers in the pub with his workmates.
‘I don’t recall giving you a time to expect me.’
‘Nice touch with the guard dog.’
‘Woof,’ Jett said, swinging a long leg over a stool Max would have needed a ladder to climb. He was obviously relaxed enough to sit now there was back-up.
‘Did you really think I was going to rob you?’ she asked.
‘What could I possibly have that a criminal would want to steal?’
She sucked in a breath. It felt like a punch even though she should have expected it as soon as she’d given him her name. She wondered if the top Google hit for Maxella Conrad was still DIRTY COP GETS JUSTICE . ‘You looked me up?’ She said it in a flirty tone like he was a guy she’d been on a date with, but he saw right through it as a call to war.
‘You’re much prettier in your mugshot.’
Something heavy dropped in her abdomen. Her reply dried on her lips as he held her gaze. Had he actually seen her mugshot or was he just ...?
He’s insulting you. Get a grip.
‘The lighting’s always good in that room,’ Max said.
Grey’s eyes tracked her face; his gaze made her skin prickle. Not in a good way. In a very bad way.
‘Can someone please tell me what’s going on?’ Jett said. ‘I feel like a voyeur. If you need the room, just say.’ He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at Grey. Max wondered if he’d practised that in the mirror as a kid or if whatever had left the scar on his face impacted his ability to raise both. Either way it looked cool.
‘Maxella here is an ex-cop who went to prison.’ Grey said it like he was introducing her as the CEO of a global charity.
‘ Grey here attacked me in the garden.’ Max smiled like a proud parent at a school awards night.
‘Enough.’ Jett held up his hands. ‘Ladies first – what’s going on?’
‘I wouldn’t say she’s a ...’
‘Shut it, Greyson.’
Max decided she was in love with Jett.
‘There’s going to be a murder at the Barbarani gala tomorrow night,’ she said. ‘I don’t know everything, but the information I got from Libby Johnston is legitimate – that Kaine Skinner’s been hired for the job.’
‘Who’s going to be murdered?’ Jett asked calmly, while Grey looked like he was trying to hold his breath underwater.
‘Giovanni, most likely. I saw the posts about the auction on Luca’s Instagram when I went searching for a way to get to ... get in contact with Giovanni.’
‘So you bid on a night with Luca Barbarani just to get into the estate?’ Jett frowned. ‘How long did you say you were in prison for? Surely mobile phones are still a concept you’re familiar with.’
‘Right,’ Max scoffed, ‘like they would have taken my call. I wouldn’t be on this property if any of you had realised who I was.’
‘Not necessarily true,’ Jett said, ‘especially if you had, uh ... what’s that thing Nella’s always talking about? Oh, yeah: evidence.’
‘Jett, she’s—’
‘Don’t.’ Max glared at Grey. ‘You’ve known me for five minutes.’
‘I don’t need more than that to figure you out.’ He’d moved away from the door and was now standing between her and Jett. His enormous frame eclipsed everything else around her. This close she could see his brown eyes had flecks of gold in them – like tiny pieces of light were trying to get through. ‘You’re an attention-seeking psychopath who’s looking for conspiracies where none exist, because you’ve been locked up for six months and think you get to go and play police officer again.’
He was so close that she could feel the heat of him. Was he always this temperature, or was it the blazing fire of hatred for her that warmed him? And how did he smell like that – sandalwood and something earthy, like moss or summer grass – when he’d been up all night in the same clothes?
‘Well, guess what, Maxella?’ He sounded like a teacher telling her off. He even bent down because he was so goddamn tall. ‘You’re never going to be a police officer again.’
She hated the burning sensation in her throat and the corners of her eyes. Hated the man in front of her for somehow knowing exactly what to say to pierce those soft, raw parts of her. But she would not let him see the fruits of his labour.
Her fingers twitched towards the can of hairspray and lighter she’d left by her feet under the bench. She imagined her violent orange flamethrower and then his face – terrified, mouth open in a futile scream. That stupid not-quite-beard-not-quite-stubble thing burnt off his stupid square jaw.
But this wasn’t that night. This wasn’t Evan and Jackie. The counsellor had said she needed to breathe when she felt like she was going to lose control – in those moments when breathing became an alien concept, like learning how to use a clutch and a brake and an accelerator for the first time. Count to ten. Name five things she could hear, smell, see, feel. But all she could hear, smell, see and feel was Grey. And that was not calming her down.
‘Say whatever you want to try and get me to leave.’ This was Olympic-qualifying-level restraint. She should be knighted. ‘I’m not going anywhere until I find someone on this property who will take this threat seriously. If that’s not you, I’ll find the right person.’
If he was any other iron-pumping misogynist, expressing doubt in his abilities might have been enough to manipulate him into proving her wrong. But really, he was more like a wounded animal – snarling and clawing, hiding where he was bleeding so she couldn’t see.
And it seemed that the wound she needed to keep poking was his loyalty to the Barbaranis.
‘Grey’s your guy,’ Jett said.
Grey looked at him like he was sizing up his coffin. ‘Say your information is correct,’ he said eventually. It was pleasing to hear the obvious pain that came with acknowledging this possibility. ‘The La Marcas and the Barbaranis have been feuding for years, since Emilio Barbarani and Antonio La Marca shared a cabin on their boat over from Italy after the war. If murder was the way for the La Marcas to win, the Barbaranis would already be dead. You don’t understand these families like I do. You must have misunderstood what Libby said.’
‘For someone who thinks these are just the ravings of a ... what was it? An “attention seeking psychopath”? You seem to have given it a fair amount of thought.’
‘It’s my job to assess any threat to the Barbaranis, no matter how ... unstable the source.’ He crossed his arms, biceps bulging smugly.
‘I didn’t misunderstand Libby.’
‘Women like her don’t give away that kind of information for free.’
‘And women like me aren’t stupid enough to think I would get it for free.’
‘What did you give her?’
‘Say you’ll take this seriously and maybe I’ll tell you.’ She wouldn’t. Ever.
‘I have actual directions from the Barbaranis to attend to before the gala tomorrow. I don’t have time to play cops and murderers with you on the playground.’ He ran a shovel-sized hand through his short, light brown hair, while his eyes sliced through her – a paper cut that just kept bleeding.
‘You won’t have anyone’s directions to follow if you fail to stop your boss’s murder,’ she said through her teeth. ‘What’s the job outlook on Seek.com for a hit man loyal only to the Barbaranis? Who are all dead by the way, in this scenario.’
‘Grey ...’ Jett shifted uncomfortably on his stool. Max figured it had less to do with the fact that only one of his butt cheeks could fit comfortably and more to do with her callous comment about dead Italians.
‘Jesus Christ.’
‘Max is fine, you don’t have to go overboard.’
He closed his eyes. ‘Will you stop talking for one minute and let me think?’
What exactly was there to think about? Max shrugged and let her gaze roam over anything she might have missed in her earlier assessment of the house, searching for some insight into this tool’s mind. Her eyes rested momentarily on a picture of a small brown-haired boy in the embrace of an older guy in a red cap. His dad? So he was a kid once? The Barbaranis didn’t just build him in their lab?
Eventually, Grey sighed. A deep, resigned, I’m going to regret this for the rest of my life, sigh. He held up one finger from that enormous hand.
‘Firstly, once again, I’m not a hit man. Stop calling me that. Secondly, if I can conjure up some time to investigate your “theory”’—he paused to make the most exaggerated air-quotes Max had seen someone do since year eight—‘it does not leave this kitchen. No one hears a word of this. Not Giovanni, not the workers, the gardeners, not the goddamn cat.’
‘Oh, I love cats. What’s the cat’s name?’
They both ignored her. Grey was looking at Jett. ‘I mean it. Not a word, not to Nella, not to anyone.’
Nella again. Interesting. Was she the female presence Max could feel around this cottage? Nella was definitely the sort of woman she could picture the Giant with. They probably went on runs together around Bindi Bindi Cove – Grey in his sleek black On Clouds and Antonella in her white Nikes. Then they’d have sex in the shower – she’d be tall enough that it wouldn’t be awkward. He was definitely the type to take you from behind. Bend you over a kitchen bench. Like the one Max’s elbow was on right now ...
She leant away from it. ‘I won’t say a word,’ she said after Jett made the same promise. Hers was redundant – who was she going to tell around here?
‘You will stay here,’ Grey said. ‘I don’t want you running your mouth off to anyone or to have people asking who you are. God forbid they actually work it out.’
‘I’d prefer to stay somewhere in town.’ The thought of spending her first night out of her cell block in another tightly confined space made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
‘You came to me,’ Grey said, his mouth twitching into an almost smile. ‘You don’t get a choice. You want me to see if there’s anything to this murder plot? We do it on my terms.’
‘I didn’t come to you ,’ she mumbled, but secretly she didn’t think she could bear the drive into town to a cold, stale motel room. She’d survived the bus ride through sheer adrenaline and all-consuming fear of what was waiting in Bindi Bindi Cove, but Max hadn’t been able to ride in a car without throwing up since she was sixteen. ‘I need some proper clothes,’ she said, closing her eyes against the memory of broken glass in her nostrils and her dad’s Johnny Cash CD still playing even though the roof of the car was against the road.
His glare stabbed her like thumb tacks all over her skin. Was it this particular shirt he didn’t want her in, or was he just bemoaning the thought that all the dry-cleaning in the world wasn’t going to decontaminate it from her criminal flesh?
‘I have some pants you can borrow.’ He made it sound like he was lending her a kidney.
‘Are your eyes still compromised after the elbow to your face? I’m one fifth of your height.’
Jett was rolling his eyes too.
‘Well, my darling princess, what would you suggest? A pumpkin carriage to escort you to the finest Bindi Bindi shopping mall to purchase a ball gown for every day of the week?’ Grey’s eyes flashed with poison. Homicidal. Maybe he was the murderer.
‘See if Nella’s got anything. They’re about the same size.’ Jett flicked a hand lazily in a random direction, which Max figured was probably Nella’s cupboard.
Grey squinted at Max again. ‘Are they?’
Somehow, even though she knew nothing about Nella Barbarani except for what the internet had vomited up for her on the bus ride here, Max felt like he was insulting her.
His eyes rested for what Max felt was a moment too long on her chest and she felt the urge to hold her hands up in front of her. ‘I can find something in town.’
‘You’re not leaving,’ he growled like a cursed beast. Except she obviously wasn’t Beauty – not to him. She was the unhinged ex-prisoner with grass seeds in her hair and curves that wouldn’t fit into delicate Antonella Barbarani’s clothes.
Well. It was better than she could have hoped for. She was going to get some clothes, he might even let her have a shower. She had time to stop the murder. But in the ‘cons’ column of her current situation, she was holed up with someone she was pretty sure got paid to commit crimes for the most notorious dynasty in Western Australia. Someone who didn’t trust her, let alone believe there was any truth to her claims. Someone who saw her as a degenerate outlaw. Someone who wanted to know what she’d promised Libby Johnston in order to get the information about the murder.
Someone whose trust she would have to get. To steal. And hopefully, by the time he realised she’d run away with it, it would be too late for him to work out she’d left a fake in its place.
‘Okay, then. May as well get started.’ Max rubbed her hands together in a way she knew would make her look extra unhinged. She thought she saw that shadow of a smirk on Jett’s scarred face, but Grey didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.
‘This is what we need to do.’