Unfinished Sentence (The Charlie Davies Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  “Sort of. He needs me to act as his lawyer.”

  Ah, the fun side of being a businessman – contracts and commerce. “I didn’t know you did that kind of law. Contracts and property or whatever.”

  “I don’t,” said Adam.

  “So… What?”

  Adam was a criminal lawyer. This wasn’t good. It meant that my initial feelings about Lionel had been correct – he wasn’t the sort of guy I wanted my friend dating. My stomach sunk, something it had been doing a lot tonight. If it sunk anymore, I’d have a prolapse.

  “What did he do?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. I’m not sure he did do it.”

  I craned my neck to look over Adam’s shoulder, scanning the crowd for Lionel’s hulking frame. Instead, I caught sight of James and Celia, huddled together, drinking champagne and giggling conspiratorially.

  “Scum,” I said aloud.

  “What?” said Adam.

  “Uh, criminals. They’re scum.”

  “Right.” He didn’t buy it. “Anyway, leaving your issues aside and getting back to the case,” – bastard – “Lionel is accused of some pretty heavy shit. The thing is that it’s all so far-fetched I have a hard time believing anyone could have pulled it off.”

  Farfetch’d, I thought. Like the Pokémon I was meant to be discussing with James, instead of -

  “Charlie?”

  I snapped out of my reverie. “Hmm?”

  “Do you want in?”

  “Of course! Save a friend, make some money, what’s the downside?”

  “He’s potentially a dangerous criminal with a history of torture and extreme violence.”

  “Ah. So, something of a downside.”

  Adam released my waist and stepped back, though he continued to hold my hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  He led me through the crowd, directly towards McKenzie and Celia. Oh god, was he going to make me talk to them? My eyes were still red and puffy! The tears hadn’t yet dried on my cheeks! What was he thinking? “No – Adam – what –”

  But he kept walking straight past them. I breathed a sigh of relief. He steered me to a set of open doors leading outside to the pool area. It had grown dark while I was in the ballroom, and now small lanterns dotted around the pool were providing the majority of the illumination in the outdoor space. There were several luxurious lounges upholstered in a white fabric with glamorous rich people draped over them, and cabanas in a matching material under which more partygoers were mingling.

  The outdoor area was less populated than indoors, however Adam continued walking away from the pool area to a secluded spot around the corner where the pool sheds were located. They were a faded blue corrugated iron – not nearly as well kept as the main area, since technically this was an employees-only zone. An employeezonely, if you will.

  Adam leaned in close and whispered, “Lionel is suspected of being a man named Ruslan Volkov, an escaped convict from Russia.”

  I snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I know, I know. It won’t be any trouble for me to get it thrown out in court – but I don’t know if I want to.”

  “Why? Won’t your moral compass allow you to defend a real criminal?”

  “I have a good reputation. I don’t want it tarnished.”

  Fair enough.

  “OK. And you think for some reason he’ll open up to me? Just as a warning, I’m not the kind of person who inspires that kind of confidence in people. Apparently I’m too aggressive.”

  “No, I don’t expect him to open up to you. But he might open up to your friend.”

  “What, you want me to recruit her?” Like that was going to happen. ‘Hey, Stace, I think your boyfriend’s a murderous psychopath. Wanna help me nab him?’

  “No. I want you to keep an eye on both of them and see if either of them are acting strangely. Keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary and let me know.”

  “OK.”

  “Any questions?”

  I thought for a moment. Why was Adam looking into this case so deeply? Getting people off criminal charges was kind of his thing – I’d never heard anyone say that he only helped out the innocent. What was he keeping from me?

  “What haven’t you told me?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “What’s the real reason you’re looking into him?”

  Adam smiled. (What was that, like the fifth time that night? This was crazy! Was he high?) “Fine. I’ve also been asked to look into it by a wealthy Russian who wants this guy deported.”

  “If it’s really him.”

  “Yes. I don’t want to get this wrong. I can’t let this guy walk free if it really is him, and I can’t send him to that fate if it isn’t.”

  I nodded. “OK. I’ll help.”

  “You already agreed to help. Don’t pretend you’re in this because of your morals. It’s about the money. The morality just makes you feel better.”

  “Right, OK. Shower me in cash, I’m in.”

  I felt my phone buzz in my clutch, so I retrieved it and glanced at the screen. A message from McKenzie.

  Where are you?

  I groaned audibly. Adam raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  My phone buzzed again.

  Charlie?

  I’m sorry I snapped at you.

  Aren’t we meant to pretend to be enemies in public anyway?

  I really didn’t think you’d still be angry with Celia.

  OK I know I’m being really clingy but can you please let me know you’re alive?

  I sighed and typed back:

  I’m not ‘pretending’ to hate you. The universe has realigned and we’re back to being enemies. Please stop messaging me.

  Harsh? Yes. Accurate? Definitely.

  He responded:

  I don’t want to fight when we’re finally getting along.

  Please Charlie. I like hanging out with you.

  Oh god I sound like someone you had a bad first date with who won’t stop messaging you

  I google-imaged Elsa from Frozen and sent back her picture captioned with Let it go.

  But I’m a nice guy! Why won’t you looovvee meeeeeee???

  Now he was trying to make me laugh. Clearly he wasn’t aware of the extent of the damage this fresh betrayal had wrought on our relationship.

  The truce was over.

  ‘Grow up’? This from the guy who hadn’t spoken to his own brother in five years because of a little argument over some weed? I might be immature, but James was every bit childish as me. Oh, and there was the small matter that he’d all but accused me of driving my brother away. Prick.

  “Everything OK?” Adam asked. Sure. My enemy turned friend, James McKenzie, had become my enemy again, my former best friend turned enemy, Celia, still existed, and my other friend Stacey was dating some creepy violent Russian convict.

  “Peachy,” I answered.

  Chapter Five

  Now what? I thought.

  “Dinner time,” said Adam, inadvertently answering my question.

  My phone buzzed a couple more times, but I shoved it back into my bag and ignored it. Dinner. That was the magic word. Plus, I now had Adam as my wingman.

  “Adam?”

  “Yes?”

  “You know how you’re really rude to me?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think you could extend that to McKenzie and the girl in the blue dress that’s with him? Just for tonight?”

  Adam frowned. “You want me to help you insult your enemies? Well, your enemy and your crush.”

  I rolled my eyes. “My enemies, yes. They deserve it.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “If you promise to tell why you were crying.”

  “As if you care about my friendship dramas.”

  “You’re right – I don’t. I do like seeing you uncomfortable, though. Anything
that can make you cry is something I need to know about.”

  And to think I’d been starting to like this guy.

  We walked back around the corner away from the sheds and discovered that everyone had already moved inside, ready for the main meal.

  “Oops,” I whispered. “Looks like we’re a little late to the party.

  “Take your time getting to your seat,” said Adam.

  “Are you serious? I’m hungry!”

  “The slower we walk, the more confident you’ll look. I’m assuming you don’t want them to know that you’ve been crying?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then walk slowly. Oh, and –” He ran his thumb over my under-eye area. “There. No more soggy makeup. Let’s go.”

  Arm-in-arm, we strolled into the hall, swaggering our way toward the head table where we could see two spare seats. I assumed they were ours, seeing as every other seat in the house appeared to be taken. McKenzie was standing at the table, addressing the audience, but faltered slightly when he saw me returning. As Adam and I took our seats, McKenzie wrapped up his speech and sat down, too.

  He leaned across the table and spoke to me. “Where have you been? I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  “Behind the pool sheds,” I said. “Making out.”

  McKenzie rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He leant back in his seat and addressed Adam. “Adam, have you met Celia?”

  Celia was sitting right next to McKenzie, directly across from Adam.

  “No, we haven’t had the pleasure,” said Celia, extending a hand.

  “Don’t know if I’d call it a pleasure,” Adam said as he shook it.

  Celia looked taken aback, but composed herself and said, “So, you’re a friend of Charlie’s?”

  “A better one than you, from what I hear.”

  Celia forced a short laugh, and James, panicking, took over the conversation.

  “I didn’t think you two got along that well,” he said to Adam and me.

  “It’s so hard to know who’s friends with who these days,” I answered.

  Our conversation was interrupted by the waitress placing a plate in front of me. It was alternate service – I had ended up with a plate of lemony, garlicky grilled artichoke. This I was more than OK with, although the other option – a roast beetroot and hazelnut salad with truffle oil dressing – looked equally as delicious. (Yes, I’m a little obsessed with food. Whatever.)

  Adam and I stopped sniping at the others as we ate, and Celia and James made innocuous conversation with Stacey so as to not antagonise us. (James was clearly avoiding talking to Lionel – I guess their business ethics clashed.)

  I glanced across the table at Lionel and caught him biting into a chunk of beetroot. The blood-red juice dribbled down his chin, as if he were a wolf who’d just ripped the jugular from his prey. I looked away, knowing I was reading too much into it. He might not even be a criminal – he could be perfectly innocent. The guy was just eating a vegetable.

  Once the meal was done, Adam and I jumped straight back in to the fray, picking a fight the second the opportunity presented itself.

  “It’s been so hot that my gardener is having to come multiple times a day to look after the plants,” James told Celia.

  There was so much insult potential in that one small sentence that I got giddy with excitement and just started laughing. The more I thought about it, the funnier it got. The rest of the group was now staring at me as I cackled away, crying with laughter.

  “What?” said James.

  “I don’t know why she’s laughing,” said Adam. “That must be so inconvenient for you, James. You should hire someone to keep track of all that stuff. Like a housekeeper.”

  Ooh, burn. McKenzie’s last housekeeper had gone to prison for (among other things) helping to murder Frank, McKenzie’s uncle.

  My hysterical laughter pitched into a new octave. Adam was possibly the best person I’d ever encountered to have onside in an argument. Maybe Jo was right – seducing him was looking like a better and better prospect.

  Stacey was giving me evil eyes, trying to get me to shut up. Nope. Not happening. I was having far too much fun.

  My tears had mostly dried by the time we were done with dessert – chocolate cake and berry tarts – and my eyelids were starting to droop.

  “Shall we go?” I asked Adam.

  “Yeah,” he said. He stood and explained to the group at large, “Early morning.”

  “Yes, it’s definitely not that we’re just sick of certain people’s company.”

  “I’m so glad you two are getting along these days,” said James with a tight smile. “You deserve each other.”

  “Goodnight!” I said in a faux-sweet voice. And with that, Adam and I left.

  The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed at 5.30 and squeezed into my new tracksuit. In the cool chill of morning, I was a little less enthusiastic about this outfit than I had been yesterday. Even yesterday I hadn’t been all that excited about it – I just didn’t want to argue with Jo. And to be honest, I didn’t think Adam would care what I was wearing as long as it wasn’t the gross old thing I’d had on yesterday. I doubted this was going to have him falling over me.

  As it turned out, I was completely right, though not for the reasons I expected. The person who wandered in through my door that morning was not Adam, but Tim.

  “Morning, honey,” he said. He looked at my outfit. “Nice. Might be a bit cold, though.”

  “I’ll be OK once we start running.” I hope. “Where’s Adam?”

  Tim raised his eyebrows. “I thought you’d be happy with the exchange. Didn’t think you guys were that close.”

  “Jo made me buy this tracksuit because she wants me to seduce him.”

  “McKenzie off the cards, then?”

  “McKenzie was never on the cards.”

  Tim nodded and said patronisingly – and sarcastically – “Of course he wasn’t.” Before I could argue, he continued. “Adam got called out a few hours ago – there was a break-in or something and he’s got to sort it out.”

  Yeesh. I didn’t know what ‘sorting out a break-in’ involved, but I didn’t envy him – it sounded like it might take work, and he’d had even less sleep than I had over the past couple of days. My limbs felt like lead; I could only imagine how he was feeling. One time I’d stayed up for 36 hours straight and I’m pretty sure it was the closest experience I’ve ever had to being high. I was imagining that was the kind of territory Adam was in, although maybe he was just one of those people who never needed sleep. He seemed the type.

  We stretched a little before hitting the pavement at a slow pace, just warming up. My general fatigue was not helping with morale for this run – I could feel every part of my body jolt each time my feet hit the cement. Tim looked at me in concern. We’d made it about a kilometre when he first spoke.

  “Are you OK?” he asked. “You haven’t been whining nearly enough.”

  “Tired,” I mumbled, not being able to form a more complex sentence in my current undead state.

  “Well, it’s time to pick up the pace,” he said, and began to jog faster, speeding ahead of me. I watched him zoom away and maintained my slow pace. Ahead, between Tim and I, there was a construction site to the right of the footpath. I groaned inwardly. The tradesmen were already working on the site, and one man in a high-visibility vest and a hard hat was standing near the entrance, watching me approach.

  I jogged towards him, willing him to look away and remain silent (largely for his own safety). Tim had reached the end of the block and had turned around to see where I was.

  “Lookin’ good, love,” said the builder/foreman/lecher. Of course, my new tracksuit had given him the idea that I was approachable and would be somehow amenable to catcalls. This was a huge mistake, as I was not amenable at the best of times, and this morning was definitely not that.

  I stopped and turned to face him.

  “Pardon?”

  A coup
le of other builders nearby had stopped what they were doing to listen in on us. I noticed the lecher start to blush.

  “I – I said, um, that you were looking good,” he said, flustered.

  Any other morning, this man’s life might have been in danger. Today, though, I was too tired to attack him with my fists, so I’d have to take him down with my words.

  “Yes, I know I’m looking good. It’s because I exercise. You should try it sometime. Like maybe you could exercise your ability to shut your fucking mouth.”

  As I jogged away, I could hear the other builders jeering at the guy who’d hassled me. Good. Maybe he’d grow as a person because of it. I caught up to Tim.

  “Honey,” said Tim, eyes wide. “Are you sure you’re OK? You didn’t even slap the guy. That’s just not like you.”

  Too tired to formulate a response, I just kept jogging and rounded the corner at the end of the block. Unfortunately, I wasn’t watching my footing and caught my toe on an uneven crack in the cement. After flailing for a couple of seconds, I felt the ground rushing up towards me, seemingly in slow motion. Sighing inwardly, I managed to put my hands out to save myself, but the momentum I’d built up from even my slow jog had sent me flying when I tripped, and I skidded along the cement on my hands and knees.

  “Shit, honey,” said Tim, rushing over to help me up. I stood, breathing quickly, partly from the jog but mostly from the pain. “Are you OK?”

  “I’ve injured myself so many times, broken so many bones,” I said, “And yet grazing my knees never stops being painful.”

  My outfit had offered no protection when I fell, so my bare skin had hit the pavement directly – and stayed there. My knees and the heels of my palms were grimy and bleeding. They felt very hot and were stinging, and I could feel blood dribbling down the front of my shins. I stared blankly at my hands. Not as bad as the last time this had happened, I thought. That had been on gravel, and the doctor had needed to pull bits of rock out with tweezers. Not that the memory of my former injuries did anything to lessen the pain of this one.

  “I guess the jog’s off for today,” said Tim, pulling out his mobile. “I’ll give Adam a call and see what he wants to do.”

  “What do you mean?”