Page 11 of Taming Achilles

“And he rushed over here because you two are close friends from boarding school?” she said, tilting her head. “Just like your ex-fiancé and you were close friends in boarding school? Just like you were all friends with Alexander Baas, the mogul who recently killed himself?”

I had to school my features. Yes, that was the official story. Alex killed himself, distressed at his finances and turning to dark means such as assassinations of his rivals in a bid to control Kemet and the oil underneath. He was a power hungry control freak.

Most of that was true. I stared down at the back of my hands, at the blood-red nail polish coating my fingers.

Alex hadn’t killed himself because of his failing business. Callum’s now-wife had, after discovering his conspiracy to start a conflict so that he could come out the saviour. And I dragged his body through the house, staged his suicide and bribed a coroner to ignore, and hide, the slash on his throat and the gunshot wound in his back. Only the gunshot wound to his head - which I applied post-mortem - would be the cause of death.

There had been so much blood. I had applied the blood splatter patterns needed to stage his suicide with a paint brush. His blood, before it started to dry, had been the exact colour of these nails.

“You certainly know your gossip, Miss Delgado.” I placed a saccharine smile on my lips and rounded on her. “It seems you read the tabloids.”

“It’s Detective Delgado,” she corrected. “I’m saying that you are going through a tough time, and that there might be other reasons for you to want company tonight. A break in seems like a good excuse for some company.”

She gave Geordie an appreciative glance. She was implying that I had required his company. I wanted to rip her eyes right out of her head. Surely the recreational kill of one of LA’s finest would be something I could cover up. I’m Pippa Fox, one of MI6’s deep cover operatives. I knew how to cover my tracks.

“Then why would I call the police?” I glared at her, wishing that fireballs would shoot out of my eyes and into her.

“Well, your ex-fiance and Mr. Campbell work in security.” Again, that feminine high note in her voice, a sound of admiration and approval when she glanced towards Geordie made my hand vibrate with the instinct to punch her bird-like throat. “He would insist. Maybe you didn’t think of that when you concocted this plan?”

“Get out.” I said flatly. “Get out of my home.”

Detective Delgado raised her hand as if in mock surrender. “I’m just stating what it looks like.”

“And I’m telling you to get out!” I was vibrating with barely pent up rage.

“Pip, calm down,” Geordie whispered.

“Miss Fox,” Detective Tanner looked at me with kind eyes, a hand reaching out to me. I let him hold my hand, and smiled back at him. “I’m sorry. My partner’s a bit harsh …”

Geordie audibly growled, “Get yer hands off the Princess, ya dobber!”

“Shut up, you twat!” I wheeled around on Geordie, and he stepped back. “Don’t call me that.”

He dropped his head in shame. “You’ve called me Geo half a dozen times since I’ve been here.”

“You can get out too.” I interrupted him, pushing him towards the door.

“Princess,” he said soothingly.

“Get out! Get out!” I screamed, my humiliation on the night of my ex-fiancé’s wedding was complete. There was nothing left for me but to douse myself in the sting of an ice cold bath. “Get out!”

“Pip, come on,” Geo said, his palms open and reaching toward me, and I slapped them away with more aggression than my cover allowed. He seemed shocked by the force, staring down at his hands where a red palm print formed.

I walked away from the closet towards the bed, then looked at the mussed sheets. They weren’t mussed per se, but my sheets and comforter were always flat. Every morning, I ran my hands over any wrinkles until it lay as tight as a military bunk, complete with hospital corners. But on the white sheet was a small wrinkle, and I looked down at it with curiosity.

“Geordie?” I whispered. I turned to him, but he had read my mind..

“Got a black light on you, detective?” He put his hand on my shoulder.

The woman, Delgado, fidgeted on her belt and pulled out a small flashlight no bigger than a tube of toothpaste. She pressed the button on the bottom and a purple-ish light emitted, colouring my white sheets a deep blue except for three distinct, ropy lines.

“Fuck,” Geordie swore under his breath, putting an arm in front of me, placing himself between me and the ejaculant on my sheets, as if it would jump up and bite me. “When was the last time you had a man in here?”

“More than five years, three months ago,” I whispered. “You know that.”

Geordie’s head whipped around, looking at me in disbelief. The significance of that time frame wasn’t lost on him. Five. Whole. Years.

“The only person who’s been here was Chloe,” I shrugged. “She used this apartment when she visited. I wasn’t here. But I’ve washed everything since then.”

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