Chapter Forty-Four
Haze
I woke up to a text from Frederica gushing about how wonderful last night’s dinner had been and how we must get another date in the diary.
Despite further debating it when we got home, we were still no clearer to understanding if their interest in us was down to lust or bloodlust. But it had to be one of them, as there was no way anyone could sit through an evening of inane small talk and want to do it all over again soon.
Tonight we were going to my gallery for a drinks reception. Hamish had messaged repeatedly saying I needed to come, as he’d forgotten what I looked like, and we had things to discuss.
I’d slipped into a green minidress and made an effort with my makeup.
It had taken longer than expected, and I’d had to rush to pickup.
At the last minute, I’d taken Danny’s gun from its hiding place in Fox’s office and put it in my tote bag.
People often kept mementos from an ex. A gun was more useful than sentimental.
People were watching us, and they might need some encouragement to stop.
“I really respect how you wear whatever you want.” This was offered up by the blonde, thin-faced mother standing next to me at the school gates.
I shrugged. “Well, obviously.”
“Some women your age would freak out, thinking it was too young for them. But you just do what you want and that’s so brave.”
This crazy woman was congratulating me for wearing a minidress? Then I saw it. The triumph in her eyes. Oh, she was trying to shame me? Really? She was dissing me, and I had a gun in my bag?
The gates opened and children streamed out before I could retaliate.
And then I felt it.
The first tickle of self-doubt.
Fuck her.
This was new. I did what I wanted, I wore what I wanted, and I didn’t care what people thought.
How was she piercing my confident armor of not giving a flying fuck?
I wasn’t proud of much, but I was proud of being unapologetically me.
Maybe I was tired. Feeling run-down. More vulnerable.
Goddammit. To do everything I needed to do, I needed to believe in myself.
That had always got me through everything.
My age was not going to be something to get insecure about.
I remembered an Instagram reel I’d watched the other day where a woman in her forties had compared trying to put eye shadow on her eyelids to coloring in a ball sack.
Is that what I had to look forward to? Ball-sack eyes?
No.
Absolutely not.
If I ever stopped liking what I saw in the mirror, I’d stop looking. Focus on my art. My children. Looks fade. Big fucking deal. I had plenty more awesome to enjoy. Unlike that miserable cow at the school gates trying to do others down.
I was still cursing that blonde bitch by the time I got back home.
Jessica was arriving just as I pulled in.
She never really smiled and didn’t even seem to like kids, but Bibi didn’t complain at seeing her, which was a positive sign.
We couldn’t rely on Jenny and her parents for everything, and at least Jessica was a professional—she was being officially taught how to look after kids, while I was just winging it.
I opened the door for us all and waved goodbye to Bibi and Reggie.
Fox was waiting for me outside the gallery. He didn’t see me approaching from the opposite side of the street, so I got to watch him looking for me. Handsome in his suit. He never felt the need to stare at his phone, to fidget. He smiled when he finally saw me. I kissed him long and hard.
“Good to see you too.” Fox tapped my nose.
Last night, I’d only had to wake up for Reggie once, and good sleep was really helping me like my husband more.
Without meaning to, The Chameleon and Mike Martin had helped us.
Killer Fox was coming back to me. I could see it in his eyes.
They were clearer, more focused; there was less staring off into the distance.
His fuck-up had unfucked him. Hah. I should be the one trying to write poetry.
We held hands and walked into the bustling gallery.
I took a glass of champagne from the waiter by the door and looked for Hamish. He spotted us from the other side of the room and rushed over, air-kissing us both.
“I have an update on Kristoff.”
I clenched my glass a little harder. “I hate that fucking waste-of-space copycat fraud. He’s a fucking disgrace, he should—”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh.”
“He was on acid and having drinks on the roof garden of his apartment building. Got asked by a friend if he could fly, and…well, he couldn’t fly.”
It was quite something wishing someone dead and then finding out they were actually dead. I mean, obviously, this had happened to me quite a lot. But this was the first time without my involvement. And now I had to pretend I felt something other than creeping glee.
“Terrible,” I managed to muster. “Drugs are very dangerous.”
“It’s a big shock for everyone, but…” Hamish stopped as he debated whether it was too soon, and then decided to go with it. “I suppose at least, you know, that drama is all behind us.”
“That is true.” The three of us all nodded.
I wasn’t about to mourn a guy I’d never met, especially one who’d so clearly ripped off my work. But what were the chances of someone who’d so recently pissed me off professionally happening to die in a drug-induced accident? Judging by Fox’s frown, it was niggling him too.
“On to brighter news: There’s a big art collector who seems to have fallen in love with your work. They bought one of your paintings last month and are now wanting to buy up anything else still available. They’ve even asked if I can ask the owners of sold pieces if they’d be willing to sell them!”
I waited to feel it. That glow of knowing someone loved your work. That they understood your vision, your passion, what you wanted to scream to the world. But it did not come.
It was because I knew the timing sucked.
Someone was after us. And now someone wanted to buy as much of my art as they could?
My paintings held our secrets. I had to presume Interpol didn’t have the resources to buy them.
My work was not cheap, and spending hundreds of thousands on art was a tricky purchase to expense.
That left The Chameleon. If he was buying them all up, what was he planning?
“Amazing news!” Fox remained straight-faced as he patted Hamish on the back. “I’m not surprised, of course. She’s one hell of a talent!” He caught my eye as I took a glug of champagne.
“This is great to hear, Hamish,” I said. “Do you know the name of my biggest fan?”
“No idea. All the negotiating is being done through some company to protect the buyer’s privacy. Maybe he’s a huge celebrity!”
“What company?” asked Fox.
“I can’t remember; it was something Eastern European–sounding.” Hamish smiled at us. “Probably some tax thing.”
Neither of us reacted, but inside I was screaming. The sharks were circling. This was definitely The Chameleon and The Corporation. The more proof they had on our past kills, the more they could use blackmail to control us.
We lasted less than an hour before we left the gallery, our cheeks aching from fake-smiling at the acquaintances who accosted us as we headed for the exit.
Outside the gallery, with a squeeze of my hand and the slightest nod of his head, Fox drew my attention to the white moped parked just a few cars down.
“What now?” I tried to work out how big the guy sitting astride it was.
“We start by getting hold of our newest shadow and finding out what the hell he knows.”
“Shall we take him to the office?”
The converted townhouse that served as the offices for Cabot Matthews Investments had an expansive wine cellar that we had taken the liberty of soundproofing.
This helped keep the temperature level, and also ensured that if we ever needed a quiet chat with someone, we didn’t have to worry about the neighbors.
We got an Uber to our office, our shadow diligently following us on his white moped. He could at least have used a more discreet form of transport. How was he so bad at his job?
Fox let us into the front door of the office. I went downstairs to prepare the wine cellar for our guest while he nipped out of the back door to get him. It only took him six minutes. The guy must’ve parked nice and close to the house.
I heard the front door slam and the muffled shouts of a man who had Fox’s scarf over his mouth.
There were some stumbling sounds as they came down the stairs, and then Fox and the man were in the wine cellar with me.
Fox closed the door behind him, and together we shoved the man into the waiting chair and tied him to it.
“That was quick,” I said.
“The idiot was staring at his phone. Didn’t even hear me approach.”
“Anyone see you?”
“There was a couple entering the street, but from that distance it would’ve looked like I was helping a drunk friend to the door.”
I tried calling Jenny. No answer. We needed her to work her magic on the CCTV outside our office. I texted her.
Hun where are you? Need you!
I took Danny’s gun out of my handbag and aimed it at our prisoner.
He might have been easy to take, but you could never underestimate an enemy.
And god, it was so much faster than having to threaten someone with a knife and be a little bit stabby to show you meant it. People saw a gun and just talked.
Fox pulled his scarf off the tied-up man.
“Man” might have been pushing it. He looked like he was barely old enough to start shaving.
“Jesus, how old are you?” A flash of panic from Fox that he’d abducted a child.
“Fuck off, I’m twenty. Just look young.” His voice was deep enough to confirm he had, in fact, gone through puberty.
“Why the fuck have you been following us?” I waved the gun at him.
“I was paid to!”
Fox crouched down in front of him. “We just want to know who you’re working for.”
The man-child continued staring at me.
“Don’t look at her, look at me.”
The man-child’s eyes flicked over me. Over my body.
“Did you just give me the once-over? Seriously? I’m holding you hostage, and you’re perving on me? Where’s the respect? The terror?” I took another step toward him, the gun pointed right at him.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry! You just look good.”
I paused. “You don’t think the dress is too young for me?”
“Nahhhh. With those legs, you can totally pull it off.”
“You’re not just saying that because, you know?” I gestured, trying to signify the whole him-being-tied-to-a-chair-and-me-holding-a-gun thing.
“No! I mean, I probably would still say it even if it wasn’t true, because, you know, I don’t want to die. But I really do mean it. Total fire fit on you.”
Fox looked up at me. “If you’ve finished getting fashion advice from the prisoner, can we…?”
“Oh, yes. Right. Who are you working for?”
“I don’t know! I mean, like, I know who hired me, but he said it was a job he’d been hired to do by someone else. He doesn’t actually want to be up in your business himself.”
“What’s his name, and where do we find him?” I waved the gun at him.
He talked fast. “Dave Milligan. He’s not just a drug dealer, he’s a fixer too.
He gets involved in all sorts. He’s doing really well, actually.
He’s the one who’s paying me, and I can give you his address.
No problem. Whatever you want. But you’ll need to ask him who hired him, and actually they were probably hired by someone else. And on and on.”
The idea of working our way through a line of low-level criminals sounded both time-consuming and boring.
“Dave is big on this whole set-up where it’s hard to trace it back to the original customer. It’s pretty clever, actually. It’s to protect all of us. You can see why I left school to get involved, as—”
“You left school? You didn’t finish your education?” Fox sat down in the chair opposite him and leaned forward. “You really think this is a great career path for you?”
I understood Fox’s concerns. “Do you think your failings are down to your parents, or do you feel like you would’ve kind of ended up this way anyway?”
“Oh god, just shoot me now.” He closed his eyes.
Fox didn’t get the hint. “We’re just trying to understand how a young man like you ends up doing this. Was it drugs? You got addicted? They actually ruin lives, you know. It’s not just a slogan.”
“I’ve told you everything I know! You can take my phone—he’s saved under Uncle Dave. I can give you his address as well. Just please, quit with the questions.”
“We’re just trying to learn from your mistakes,” said Fox. “Do you think you were born into a life of crime, or was it down to the lack of positive role models in your life?”
“Let me go! I’ve told you everything. You can take what’s in my wallet, too!” He nodded toward his pocket.
“You came on a job with your wallet?” Fox reached into the guy’s pocket and pulled out a battered black canvas wallet. He pulled open the Velcro and plucked out his driving license. “Rob Dexter. A real ID with your home address on?” He turned to me. “It’s okay, he really is twenty.”
“I didn’t expect to get caught!”
Fox shook his head. “You really have a lot to learn, Rob. Always prepare as if you could be taken. You need to—”
“I don’t think we should be giving him tips,” I said.
“Right. Of course.” Fox shook his head. “It’s just hard when you see someone messing it up so badly.” He turned back to Rob. “Find a real job. Anything. You’re not cut out for this.”
Rob puffed up his chest. “Are you going to kill me?”
We looked at each other and laughed. “God, no. Give us some credit.”
Fox pulled him to his feet. “Just get out of here—and make better choices.”
“And no warning Dave.” I tucked the gun back into my tote bag. “We’ve got your home address, remember.”
Rob nodded repeatedly. “Please don’t go there. My mum’ll kill me.”