Page 6 of The Black Trilogy

“Nothing’s been arranged yet,” I said truthfully.

I wasn’t about to give her the bad news at the funeral and have her making a fuss. The reporters camped outside would have a field day with that. If we were somewhere else, I’d have told her that her numbers hadn’t come up just to see the look on her face. If I was really lucky, she’d get so upset she’d give herself a stroke.

“Well, be sure to let me know when it’s organised. It’s never good to delay these things, you know.”

I didn’t have to answer because Miriam turned on her heel and left, trailed by her poor hubby. He was a good deal younger than her and had started out as the pool boy before he made the biggest mistake of his life. Another man blinded by money. There wasn’t a lot else to love about her, and unsurprisingly, he seemed to have spent the last decade regretting their union. The poor guy’s only hope left in life was that she’d cark it first so he could finally get some peace. She’d never divorce him because he’d get half of her cash—not that there was much left seeing as she’d drunk most of it.

Somewhere in the years since their marriage, the dumb schmuck had lost his hair and gone soft around the middle. Now, he looked more like the Pillsbury Doughboy and less like the arm candy that Miriam originally chose. From the way she always snapped at him, the feeling of disharmony was mutual. They spent most of their time sitting around the country club, bickering. It truly was a match made in heaven.

I watched Miriam’s super-sized backside disappear towards the parking lot, where she ploughed through the waiting mob of reporters like they were skittles. Strike one for Miriam.

“Ready to go?” Nick asked.

I looked up at him. Over the past few days, he’d developed worry lines around his eyes, and the dark circles underneath showed the toll recent events had taken. And it wasn’t just him. I saw the same effect on all the team. After what happened at the Green Mountain Hotel, life would never be the same for any of us.

I took a deep breath and did a mental check. My hair looked okay, my eyes were dry, and I was calm enough that I wouldn’t lose it at a photographer. In truth, I wasn’t ready to leave my husband for the final time, but I knew I couldn’t stay.

“Better get it over with,” I replied.

My guys immediately formed up again, and we headed back towards the cars. Between the umbrella above and the bodies around me, there wasn’t much for the press to see. I kept my head down, careful not to make eye contact with any of them, but that didn’t stop them yelling more questions as we pushed past. They were worse this time.

“Is it true you’re being investigated over your husband’s death?”

Like I was going to answer that.

“Was your husband an enforcer for the Russian mob?”

Seriously?

“Did your husband die over an arms deal gone wrong?”

That guy must have been on a break from the Hollywood slot.

“Were you having an affair with another man?”

None of your business.

“Was your marriage in trouble?”

Get.

“Did you hire someone to kill your husband?”

Lost.

Bad words hovered on the tip of my tongue, but Nick had been present when my husband made that bet with me, so I couldn’t let them fly. Plus, some of the reporters had digital recorders, and they’d have just loved to get my tirade on tape. They were fishing, hoping someone would take a bite so they could splash their trash across the front page. They obviously hadn’t managed to dig up anything good on my husband’s life or death, or on me either, and I refused to get riled or let them see me upset. But that someone could think those things hurt more than I cared to admit.

We made it over to my car, and I bleeped the locks. Nick pulled open the driver’s door and looked down at me.

“Still sure you want to go by yourself? I can drive if you like,” he said.

“Let you drive my car? Nice try, but you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Thought that would be a long shot. I can just ride with you if you want company?”

“I need a few minutes on my own. I’ll meet you back at the house later.”

In reality, I felt as if I was going to break down, and I didn’t want Nick or anyone else around to witness it. I’d never been good at expressing my feelings. I guess most people learned that sort of thing from their parents, but I’d never had that education. The overriding emotion my mother showed me as a child was indifference, interspersed with the occasional angry outburst.

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