Chapter 3 #2
‘I should probably go to see Sandy later,’ I say.
He glances briefly at me before returning his focus to the road ahead. ‘Not tonight.’
‘I think I should see her sooner rather than later. I’ve got no idea how she’ll react.’
The Lamborghini hurtles into a bus lane before the brakes are slammed, crashing me forward against my seat belt. Gregory’s eyes are dark and bulging with fury. When he swallows, his tense jaw releases slightly. He’s fighting against rage.
‘You understand you can’t tell Sandy the truth, don’t you?’
I open my mouth but no words materialise.
‘Scarlett, you can’t tell anyone the truth.’
‘But I tell Sandy everything.’
He breathes an exasperated sigh and his near-black irises recede back to brown. ‘Everyone you tell is a risk. To us and to themselves.’
‘Sandy would never say anything. She might hate me, probably will hate me, but she wouldn’t say anything.’
His hand lifts to my cheek and I lean into him. ‘Why on earth would she hate you?’
‘She practically raised me, Gregory, and she didn’t raise a killer.’
He snaps his hand away and throws his head back against his seat, almost inhaling the word, ‘Fuck.’
I don’t move, not knowing how to react. Then he flicks the car back into gear and swings us back onto the road, driving much faster than is safe or necessary.
‘If you tell her, you put her in jeopardy and if you do that to her, you’ll despise yourself for it.’
He reverses the car into a space on the road outside Lincoln’s Inn, then kills the engine, but neither one of us moves.
‘Are we still talking about Sandy?’ I ask.
He leans back in his seat and turns his head to look at me. He’s so astonishingly beautiful, it makes my stomach ache. Reaching down, he releases my seat belt, then his own. We literally climb out of the car and I move to his side, taking hold of his hand.
‘Come here first,’ I say, tugging gently, leading us into Lincoln’s Inn Field, a small, green sanctuary in the heart of the city.
We walk the gravel path, past couples strolling with dogs and resting on benches holding hot drinks to take the chill from their cold hands.
‘I could never hate you or despise you and I need you to remember that, no matter what happens.’
Gregory stops us and tucks my hair behind my ear that way he does.
‘I’m sorry for everything I’ve brought on you.
I wish I’d killed him so you wouldn’t have to keep overthinking this whole thing.
I thought I’d killed him and that’s how it should’ve been.
I don’t want to put you through this any more. ’
I swear my heart stops beating in my chest. His words come back to me: she can move on. ‘Do you want me to move out?’
He hesitates and scrunches his brow. I hold my breath to concentrate on not falling apart.
‘Why would I want you to move out?’
‘It was only ever temporary. You asked me to move in so you could protect me but that was before. Now there’s nothing to protect me from.’
He grasps the sides of my face in his hands and shakes me gently. ‘Do you remember what I said to you when I asked you to move in? I told you that I wanted to protect you.’
I nod.
‘But I also told you that I never wanted to let you go in case you realised what I was and never came back. Part of me wishes you did want to move out, Scarlett, because getting away from me would be the best thing for you. My life, it’s…
I’m not the man you deserve. You should have someone who can give you everything you need, someone who can protect you and doesn’t operate in the grey. ’
I shake my head in his palms and close my eyes.
‘I’ll never ask you to go. I wish I had the strength to do what’s right by you.’ He bends slightly and presses his forehead against mine. ‘But I just can’t let you go.’
‘I’ll never be sorry I met you. And I’ll never hate or despise you. The only thing that scares me is the lengths I’d go to keep you.’
‘Jesus, Scarlett, if only you knew…’
‘Shh, kiss me.’
His warm, sweet breath caresses my lips before he gives me want I want. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest. When he eventually frees me of his hold, I fumble with his checkered scarf, arranging it around his neck just so.
‘Ready?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’ I slide my hand back into his and we interlace our fingers. ‘Gregory, when we meet KC Harrison, you can’t tell him anything that he can’t defend, okay?’
‘You mean that my girlfriend’s an assassin?’
As he does so frequently, he takes the air out of my lungs.
He cocks his head to one side and fights a coy smile. ‘Too soon?’
‘Girlfriend?’
He flashes the most dashing smile I’ve ever seen and continues his long strides towards Lincoln’s Inn. I eventually find my legs and jog, a woman-in-heels-type jog, to catch him up.
‘I’m serious. John Harrison’s under a duty not to put himself in contempt of court so if you tell him something that would make him lie, he won’t be able to defend you.’
The enormous, red-brick building is the epitome of elegance. Gregory holds open the hefty wood door and we make our way through the grand old corridors adorned with paintings of Lincoln’s Inn alumni, judges and King’s Counsel.
We follow the gold plaques for Harrison Chambers until we arrive at a door with a similar plaque reading KC Harrison. Gregory raps twice.
‘Come in! Scarlett, nice to see you again.’ John extends his hand. I’ve referred clients to him in the past, but never a boyfriend, funnily enough. ‘I dare say it would have been preferable to meet under better circumstances.’
‘Yes. John, this is Gregory Ryans.’
The men shake hands, one firm, solid movement. ‘Thank you for seeing us on a Sunday, Mr Harrison,’ Gregory says.
‘Sadly, you can’t elect on which day another chap might try to kill you, old boy, can you?’ John flicks a hand to the two red, leather armchairs in front of his dark, wooden desk. ‘Please do take a seat. You can call me John.’
John unbuttons his pinstripe suit jacket and wiggles the knot of his red tie, a movement that doesn’t prevent his shirt collar from digging into the extra roll of skin beneath his chin – a mark of a sedentary profession.
He settles back into his chair and rests his hands on top of his rounded belly.
Gregory removes his coat and scarf then straightens the arms of his jumper and crosses one ankle over his opposite thigh. ‘Scarlett tells me you’re the best, John. What does the best strategy look like for this case?’
‘Oh, ho! Young man, I need to hear your tale first. I pride myself on my reputation and I did not create the stature I have by taking on cases I simply cannot win.’
Gregory grunts just loud enough for me to hear in the seat beside him.
‘Righty-ho then, from the top, old boy.’
Through clenched teeth, I’m sure I hear Gregory whisper, ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
’ But he starts his story. He talks John through the party at Lara’s house, the ride home in the Bentley, the slashed tyres, the tampered lift door.
He speaks of the lift as if there weren’t six million emotions and thoughts circling his body.
Then he speaks of Jackson, the shot, running upstairs for a gun.
He skims over the tussle with Pearson and describes how he had no choice but to pick up the Glock and shoot him.
John ‘ums’ and ‘ahs’ as he listens to the story, not once making a note. When Gregory stops talking, he glances to me from the corner of his eye. I know he’s checking that I’ve kept it together.
‘To recap then.’ John rolls his index finger across his top lip, then nips his chin between his middle finger and thumb as he speaks.
‘You walk into the apartment. Your driver is shot. You tell Scarlett to look after him and, knowing that there is a violent man in the apartment who is most likely intent on killing you and who has already shot a man, you toddle off upstairs to collect a weapon and toddle back down, all the while leaving the attacker free to come after your girlfriend.’
Gregory turns his clenched fist in his other hand and clears his throat. This is going badly.
‘He was very quick,’ I jump in but I drop my focus to my feet when John glares at me.
‘Righty-ho. Now, you have the gun and you go to chase down your attacker. You scuffle and he drops his gun. He injures you with glass from the broken mirror. You somehow fumble your way into the adjacent gym room and the next thing you know, there’s a chain around your neck.
What was this chain? Where did it come from? ’
Gregory swallows slowly and finally unclenches his fist. ‘It’s a chain that connects a lat pulldown bar to a gym frame.’
‘Jolly good. So there you are, a chain around your neck, bursting back into the lounge. You are struggling to breathe, you think you are going to die. Pray tell me where Scarlett and your driver were at this time? I can scarcely believe they stood by, watching you die.’
I stare at the nude patent leather of my shoes. I want to tell him. I want to tell John the truth. I want someone to know.
‘Like I said, Jackson was injured. He was shot in the leg. And Scarlett…’ He turns to look at me but I can’t meet his eye. I don’t want him to lie for me. ‘Scarlett was taking care of him. She did the right thing to stay back; she could’ve been hurt otherwise.’
‘Mmhmm. I see. Let us move on for now.’
‘No,’ Gregory snarls. ‘Let’s move on for good. We won’t pursue that line of questioning again.’
John leans back, his leather chair gently rocking, and forms a steeple with the tips of his fingers.
‘Let me tell you something, old boy. If, and I say if, I agree to defend you, I will be defending you. If you intend to hide something from me, if you try to protect another, I will struggle, despite my best efforts, to shield you from a murder charge. Do we understand each other?’