Page 126 of Worth Every Penny

“Isn’t that a bit sudden?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Had him on notice. The house is bloody miserable. I don’t want to raise the kids in a home where Gemma and I are constantly at each other’s throats. Charlie’s endured it too long already, but maybe there’s still time to save Lucie from it. Give her a happier home. And you know cheating is an absolute deal-breaker for me.” He inhales so deeply his already broad chest doubles in size, then blows it out in a harsh gust. “Who the fuck is the chap she’s been sleeping with?”

I jump to my feet, immediately recalling that I’d meant to ask Kate about the picture on her phone of the graffitied van. How the hell did I forget? I cup the side of my face, touching my bruised jaw. Pain erupts and the chaos of last night floods back. It’s no surprise I fucking forgot about it.

“I don’t know,” I say. “But Seb got Elliot Maxwell on the case. Let’s get him up here.”

“Great. I’m making coffee. You look like you need one. A shower too. Go. Get your sorry arse into the bathroom. I can’tlook at your miserable face any longer. You’d think you were the one whose wife was cheating on him.”

By the time I get out of the shower, Matt and Elliot Maxwell are sitting at the kitchen table. Elliot greets me with an expressionless nod. We never make small talk. It’s easier that way. Elliot’s a law unto himself. Everything between us is on a need to know basis only. He’s fucking good at what he does, and that’s enough for me.

Matt has swept up the broken glass and made coffee. The picture of Gerard Lansen has been removed from the broken frame and propped up on the sofa.

Matt doesn’t ask about it, thank goodness. I don’t want to think about last night if I don’t have to.

“You’ve got an epic view up here,” Matt says, gazing out of the floor to ceiling glass windows as he pushes a steaming mug of coffee across the table towards me. “Makes me wish I could sell up and move into one of these bachelor pads.”

Matt’s eyes are unfocused, like he’s imagining an alternative version of his life. He shakes his head, presses his lips into a line, and takes a sip of hot coffee.

Elliot grunts like he agrees and hunches over the table, his bulk making even Matt look small. Six foot six, and thick with muscle; wide as a barge, biceps that threaten to burst through his sleeves of his worn leather jacket. If he wasn’t so huge, his rugged jaw would be the biggest thing about him. Today, it's concealed beneath a tidy, dirty blond beard.

On the table, beneath his thick, tattooed fingers, is a manila envelope.

Matt keeps eyeing it like it’s a nuclear warhead about to launch.

I grab the mug of coffee Matt gave me and sit opposite them.

“This is a mighty unpleasant business,” Elliot says. “I’m dead sorry about it, Mr. Hawkston.”

Matt’s shoulders draw closer together, body contracting. He’s always struggled to accept sympathy. It’s only when Elliot unclips his gun from his holster and lays it on the kitchen table that there’s a glimmer of response in Matt’s eyes; an alertness, as if he thinks there’s a chance Elliot might turn the weapon on him. Elliot’s fingers linger on the weapon, which looks out of place against the clean marble surface.

“I’ll happily blow his brains out for you and clean up the mess,” Elliot murmurs, so low that it’s almost inaudible. “If that’s what you want.”

“Put the gun away,” Matt replies, voice toneless. “This isn’t the fucking mafia.”

Elliot tilts his head in a manner that communicates,‘have it your way, but if it were up to me I’d put a bullet in his temple’beforeholstering the gun again and sliding the manila envelope across to Matt. Somehow, it feels more dangerous than a loaded Glock. We fall silent as Matt flicks through the contents.

Matt sighs, his eyes flickering closed for a moment before they lock on Elliot. “How long ago was the most recent photo taken?”

“Yesterday,” Elliot says.

“Even after Charlie found out, she’s still seeing the guy? Un-fucking-believable.” Anger vibrates in his voice.

“Can I see?”

Matt shoves the pictures at me, and I flick through them. There isn’t a decent image amongst them, with several being taken from outside the house through the windows.

“Pictures aren’t the best,” Elliot says. “The guy’s on high alert; scurrying around like he’s already being hunted. Made itimpossible to get a clear head shot. He turned up to see Gemma in a balaclava. I’m surprised she opened the door to him.”

Matt shoots me a ‘what the fuck?’ look, but says nothing.

I lay the photos down and Matt pushes them back at Elliot, standing up so fast his chair nearly tips backward. “We’re going round there. We’re getting Lucie out of that house.”

“Let’s hear what Gemma has to say before we rush into anything,” I suggest.

Matt’s jaw hardens. “What the hell are we expecting her to say? ‘Oh, the sex is good, thanks. We like to role-play with balaclavas’?”

Elliot puts the photos back in the envelope, a muffled groan sounding from deep in his throat. He keeps his eyes down, but his fingers strum the table like he’s itching to pull a trigger.

---