Page 11 of Last Shot

Max had kept hers next to her charging phone on her nightstand. Smug bastard.

‘My badge number’s 76542. You can look it up.’

‘And what will it show – the postcode of Antarctica?’

Fuck. What was she thinking? The worst possible thing to happen right now would be for this oaf to look into her.

‘Impersonating a police officer will get you five years in Western Australia.’

‘Two years.’ She flicked her hair over her shoulder. Facts. The law. This was her comfort zone. She could do this. ‘Or twelve months without trial and a twelve-thousand-dollar fine.’

‘Come with me.’

Right. Ridiculous to assume she’d be able to out-logic him. You don’t out-logic a bear, you run. Or you slit his throat.

As he gripped her upper arm, panic shot through her. She flexed her bicep, twisting out of his hold in two flawless moves that would have made her old Academy instructor flush with pride.

‘Don’t ...fucking ...touch ... me!’

Something flashed in his eyes. Some sort of realisation she didn’t like.

‘You seem to think you’re the one in control!’ His breath was hot against her skin, but he released her. ‘You brought a weapon into Luca’s room—’

‘If I wanted to kill Luca, I had plenty of chances to slit his throat while he snored my goddamn ear off! Have you ever slept in the same room as him? Let me tell you, people have killed for less.’

‘Right’—he folded his arms, head nodding sarcastically—‘and you know this because you’re a cop.’

‘That’s right.’

‘A cop with no badge, running around in her underwear with a pocketknife, screaming“someone’s going to die!”as you launch yourself at an unarmed man.’

‘I’m not trying to kill Luca!’ she yelled. ‘I’m trying to save his life!’ He’d snapped her resolve. Now it was sharp and jagged and ready to attack. ‘Get your head out of your arse and listen.’

A muscle in his jaw twitched but he didn’t stop her.

She took a deep breath. ‘There’s going to be a murder at whatever Barbarani gala is happening tomorrow night, and I need to stop it.’

He flicked up his wrist – tiny scratches from his fall the only imperfections against the deep fissures of muscle running down them. His mouth made a frustrated spasm as he looked at his watch.

‘Do you and I have different definitions of the word “murder”?’ she asked. A brief contemplation: ripping that watch off his wrist and crushing it under her foot.

‘I don’t think the main issue here is a language barrier.’

There was something under the intensity of his gaze. An undefinable shape in dark water. Something she might be able to grab onto and bring to the surface. She willed herself to stand firm, even though her heart was scampering around like a blind rat not realising it was in a trap. He smelled like a crackling log fire – something earthy and sweet too, or maybe that was the frangipani bush. Breathing him in felt treacherous, like parts of him would nestle into her lungs and she wouldn’t be able to get him out.

‘Take me to Giovanni Barbarani.’

His expression hardened. That shadow disappeared. ‘Playtime’s over. Why aren’t you in uniform,Maxella Conrad?’

Goddamn it. He remembered her full name.

‘Why are you here as a civilian?’ he pushed.

He knows. He fucking knows.

‘It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing. Would you be asking a man the same thing?’

‘I absolutely would if he was pantsless and shirtless, trespassing on this property. It doesn’t matter—’

---