Page 22 of Last Shot

‘The lighting’s always good in that room,’ Max said.

Grey’s eyes tracked her face; his gaze made her skin prickle. Not in a good way. In a very bad way.

‘Can someone please tell me what’s going on?’ Jett said. ‘I feel like a voyeur. If you need the room, just say.’ He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at Grey. Max wondered if he’d practised that in the mirror as a kid or if whatever had left the scar on his face impacted his ability to raise both. Either way it looked cool.

‘Maxella here is an ex-cop who went to prison.’ Grey said it like he was introducing her as the CEO of a global charity.

‘Greyhere attacked me in the garden.’ Max smiled like a proud parent at a school awards night.

‘Enough.’ Jett held up his hands. ‘Ladies first – what’s going on?’

‘I wouldn’t say she’s a ...’

‘Shut it, Greyson.’

Max decided she was in love with Jett.

‘There’s going to be a murder at the Barbarani gala tomorrow night,’ she said. ‘I don’t know everything, but the information I got from Libby Johnston is legitimate – that Kaine Skinner’s been hired for the job.’

‘Who’s going to be murdered?’ Jett asked calmly, while Grey looked like he was trying to hold his breath underwater.

‘Giovanni, most likely. I saw the posts about the auction on Luca’s Instagram when I went searching for a way to get to ... get in contact with Giovanni.’

‘So you bid on a night with Luca Barbarani just to get into the estate?’ Jett frowned. ‘How long did you say you were in prison for? Surely mobile phones are still a concept you’re familiar with.’

‘Right,’ Max scoffed, ‘like they would have taken my call. I wouldn’t be on this property if any of you had realised who I was.’

‘Not necessarily true,’ Jett said, ‘especially if you had, uh ... what’s that thing Nella’s always talking about? Oh, yeah: evidence.’

‘Jett, she’s—’

‘Don’t.’ Max glared at Grey. ‘You’ve known me for five minutes.’

‘I don’t need more than that to figure you out.’ He’d moved away from the door and was now standing between her and Jett. His enormous frame eclipsed everything else around her. This close she could see his brown eyes had flecks of gold in them – like tiny pieces of light were trying to get through. ‘You’re an attention-seeking psychopath who’s looking for conspiracies where none exist, because you’ve been locked up for six months and think you get to go and play police officer again.’

He was so close that she could feel the heat of him. Was he always this temperature, or was it the blazing fire of hatred for her that warmed him? And how did he smell like that – sandalwood and something earthy, like moss or summer grass – when he’d been up all night in the same clothes?

‘Well, guess what, Maxella?’ He sounded like a teacher telling her off. He even bent down because he was so goddamn tall. ‘You’re never going to be a police officer again.’

She hated the burning sensation in her throat and the corners of her eyes. Hated the man in front of her for somehow knowing exactly what to say to pierce those soft, raw parts of her. But she would not let him see the fruits of his labour.

Her fingers twitched towards the can of hairspray and lighter she’d left by her feet under the bench. She imagined her violent orange flamethrower and then his face – terrified, mouth open in a futile scream. That stupid not-quite-beard-not-quite-stubble thing burnt off his stupid square jaw.

But this wasn’t that night. This wasn’t Evan and Jackie. The counsellor had said she needed to breathe when she felt like she was going to lose control – in those moments when breathing became an alien concept, like learning how to use a clutch and a brake and an accelerator for the first time. Count to ten. Name five things she could hear, smell, see, feel. But all she could hear, smell, see and feel was Grey. And that wasnotcalming her down.

‘Say whatever you want to try and get me to leave.’ This was Olympic-qualifying-level restraint. She should be knighted. ‘I’m not going anywhere until I find someone on this property who will take this threat seriously. If that’s not you, I’ll find the right person.’

If he was any other iron-pumping misogynist, expressing doubt in his abilities might have been enough to manipulate him into proving her wrong. But really, he was more like a wounded animal – snarling and clawing, hiding where he was bleeding so she couldn’t see.

And it seemed that the wound she needed to keep poking was his loyalty to the Barbaranis.

‘Grey’s your guy,’ Jett said.

Grey looked at him like he was sizing up his coffin. ‘Say your information is correct,’ he said eventually. It was pleasing to hear the obvious pain that came with acknowledging this possibility. ‘The La Marcas and the Barbaranis have been feuding for years, since Emilio Barbarani and Antonio La Marca shared a cabin on their boat over from Italy after the war. If murder was the way for the La Marcas to win, the Barbaranis would already be dead. You don’t understand these families like I do. You must have misunderstood what Libby said.’

‘For someone who thinks these are just the ravings of a ... what was it? An “attention seeking psychopath”? You seem to have given it a fair amount of thought.’

‘It’s my job to assess any threat to the Barbaranis, no matter how ... unstable the source.’ He crossed his arms, biceps bulging smugly.

---