Page 90 of Last Shot

‘So by that logic,’ she said, ‘Libby’s hired Skinner – who she despises – to take out a hit on the person she blames for Rocky’s death – say, Giovanni. But she tells me that it’s the La Marcas who want Giovanni dead, so naturally they’re sending Skinner. I go to the Barbarani property to stop Skinner just in time before he can carry out the murder Libbyactuallyhired him for? But then where does the other person she blames come in? If I stop the murder, no one dies, Skinner goes to jail or ... goes underground, to use Libby’s terminology.’

‘Yeah, well, when you put it like that ...’

‘It doesn’t make sense. There’s something else going on here – I know it, but I just can’t ... What are we doing here?’ Max’s confusion hit him with a dull thump.

Grey had forgotten to tell her about this detour; he wasn’t used to passengers, or side-kicks. Fuck – parking outside Seashell Hotel might give the wrong impression. Especially after his loss of control two hours out of Bindi Bindi. ‘Just stay in the car,’ he said. It came out gruff and aloof. He checked his phone – he’d got a reply to the message he’d sent outside Liquor Paradise. She said she’d be waiting in the lobby for him. As he got out of the car and shut the door behind him, he was certain he heard something, but when he looked back, her lips were tight and her gaze was firmly ahead on the enormous blue and silver seahorse fountain in the centre of the valet driveway.

But if he was a betting man, like Luca, he would have sworn she said, ‘Like hell I will.’

30

Max

The woman in the lobby was the kind of human being who made thirteen-year-olds cry themselves to sleep and drove sensible, professional, thirty-year-old women to take a mallet to their mirrors. She looked like a cross between Gigi Hadid and Zendaya, which was utterly unjust, and there was something familiar about her, Max thought, though maybe it was just the acidic green feeling of jealousy. She had something snuggled across her arms, but Max couldn’t see properly from Bessy’s window, so she got out and stood behind the fountain, squinting through the hotel’s polished windows.

It was an olive-green coat, far too big for her. Masculine. A similar style to Grey’s shoes – practical but with an edge of fancy. Something deep inside Max growled. Before she knew what she was doing – before she could drown herself in the gargling fountain instead – she was pushing through the turning door of the Seashell Hotel lobby.

They didn’t notice her at first.

Realisation struck her like a bat.Thiswas the type of woman Greyson Hawke lost sleep over. This was histype. Tall, with long limbs like a prized racehorse, unblemished, untattooed. Her caramel hair was the only un-perfect thing about her – slightly damp from the hotel pool and pulled back in an elegant bun that probably had taken her three seconds but would take Max three hours to pull off. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, but she didn’t need it. Max picked a piece of mascara from the corner of her eye. Of course. Wasthisthe reason he’d pushed her away back in Perth?

‘Max?’ Grey and Western Australia’s Next Top Model stared at her. The force of their gazes was enough to turn her to dust.

She cleared her throat; everything was spinning.

‘I told you to wait in the car.’

‘I told youLike hell I will.’

She should have waited in the fucking car. She needed her head straight, she needed to focus on stopping this murder, she did not need the image of Grey kissing this woman’s neck stamped in the back of her mind.

‘I’m Carmel,’ the supermodel said, extracting a long, perfect hand from beneath the coat.

‘Max,’ she managed.

‘As I was saying ...’ Grey’s voice had an edge to it Max didn’t like or understand. Had he assumed he’d be able to keep Carmel a secret? Why though? ‘Are you sure no one was watching you in the bar?’

Oh, okay. He was worried about her. It was kind of sweet. Or it would have been if she could gouge out this hissing monster inside her that wanted to set Carmel’s hair on fire with the glittery blue candles lining the hotel reception desk.

Carmel cocked her hip and Grey’s eyes cast down. What. The. Fuck. How obvious could he be? Not that – and Max hated herself passionately for this thought – there was a whole heap to look at. The one thing she had over Carmel was her curves.

She needed to Stop. Thinking. About. His. Hands.

‘Of course people were watching.’ Carmel tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ears. ‘I was with Luca Barbarani.’

Grey let out a frustrated breath.

‘Luca?’ Max asked. She couldn’t help it.

‘Mmhmm.’ Carmel drew herself up proudly. ‘I didn’t expect him to contact me – I mean, there were so many other girls that night ...’

Grey shot Carmel a look. A look Max was pretty sure Carmel had never been on the receiving end of. She shot it back.

‘Fine,’ Carmel said. ‘I contactedhim, but he said yes! It’s not the eighteenth century anymore.’ She teetered slightly, and it was that movement that made Max realise where she’d seen her before.

The drunk girl from the bachelor auction. Talk about bad first impressions.

Oh.The monster inside Max purred and curled back up into a warm ball.

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