Chapter 45
Garros smiles as he sees me enter the prison visiting room.
“Vera,” he says. It sounds like a question.
“Julian.”
He looks tired. Like all the people involved in this case.
“You cut your hair,” he says.
Another silent question flickers in his eyes, something like: what on earth are you doing here?
“My bangs were starting to bother me,” I reply, hoping he reads between the lines. I want to uncover the why of all this.
There is no one better to answer my questions than Julian Garros himself.
“Let’s stop playing games,” he says.
I look into his eyes. Watery, dull.
“Did you know?” I ask. My voice breaks mid-sentence.
Julian looks away. His silence confirms that the answer is affirmative.
I have no right to feel cheated. This is Julian Garros. Julian Garros, one of the UK’s biggest criminals! Of course, he was going to cheat me.
I’ve been a fool.
“He came to see me,” she says at last, still refusing to meet my gaze.
“He?”
“Enzo.”
My breath catches, and I lean forward, fingers digging into the metal armrests of my chair.
“Enzo Woods? When?” I demand.
Julian shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Sometime after Larousse. I warned you.”
“Lie,” I snap, but the second the word leaves my mouth, I realise it’s not.
Julian had told me he knew someone in prison. I assumed he meant another inmate, not a visitor. If I’d bothered to check Garros’s visitor list…
He gives me a rueful smile, as if to say, You should have known better.
“You’ve already gotten it, eh? I told you to get rid of the evidence.”
Still, it doesn’t make me feel any less betrayed.
“How did you know? How did you know it was him?”
Garros sits hunched over, fidgeting with his hands. If he doesn’t like where this conversation is headed, he can go fuck himself.
“I’d recognise his work anywhere,” he mutters.
“But you didn’t want to tell the police,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on him.
He hesitates before answering, his voice low. “No.”
I get up from my chair.
This subject pisses me off. I already have the answer I wanted. Garros knew the truth from the beginning.
“Wait,” he calls out, moving closer to the glass between us.
“I have nothing else to say, Julian.”
He shifts as if to stand, but a security guard steps in, holding him back. As I walk away, I can feel Garros’s eyes locked on me, watching me until the very last moment.
I no longer care. I make my way back to the car without looking back, and a smile tugs at my lips when I see Bastian waiting for me by the door. He swings the car keys with one hand as he watches me approach.
“Did it go well?” he asks, smiling like a kid.
My heart flutters, and I try my best to keep my composure. I can’t run to him and just plant a kiss on his parted lips, so plump, so inviting, so…
So, instead, I steal the keys from him and, grinning, I say: “Let’s go, we’ve got a move to do.”