Page 13 of Last Shot

‘In here.’ He unlocked the door – a soft baby-blue colour that was at odds with everything about this man and this situation. It should be midnight black, with violent splatters of red warding it against outsiders. Or grey.

He gestured for her to go in first – not chivalry, likely just to ensure she didn’t stab him from behind. Her footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he tapped his phone.

‘I’m arming the house,’ he said. ‘If you so much as fart too loudly, I’ll get an alert.’ He held up the phone.

‘What are you—’

‘Stay here,’ he told her, ‘and put on some bloody clothes.’

The door slammed in Max’s face.

5

Grey

How do you take your guilt?It was like the intruder had seen the etchings on his soul, dug her dirty fingernails into the purple bruises.

He double checked the message on his phone.Giovanni Barbarani: Family meeting 0930hrs.

His watch, not the monstrosity from Luca but his trusty, cracked watch read 9.29 a.m.

Jogging up to the Barbarani mansion, Grey felt like he’d just blown through an entire magazine. His nose still tingled with the aftereffects of her elbow, the sensation of just having snorted chlorine burning his sinuses. Every part of his body that had touched some part of her was blistering like she was toxic. When he’d leant over the balcony to stop her escaping, his vision had been completely compromised by the absence of her clothing.

The old Grey would let it go. The Grey before Sophie, before the party – he would have simply realigned his hammer lock and escorted Maxella Conrad off the property, the other hand speed dialling the Bindi Bindi cops. They always picked up when they saw Grey’s number.

The old Grey didn’t second-guess himself.

He quickly found the number of Detective Sergeant Terence Bradford of Bindi Bindi Cove police station. Grey had all the police officers’ official and personal numbers.

He crossed the limestone bridge over the turquoise lagoon snaking around the mansion. As he switched the phone to his right ear, he could have sworn he saw something move by the Lego-angled bushes. The sensation that someone was watching him crawled over his skin but he couldn’t find the source. Probably justher, spying from the window of his home.

‘Greyson, how can I be of service?’ Detective Bradford’s tone was light, but Grey didn’t miss the hint of wary sarcasm like Grey was a troubled, wayward son, calling for a bank account injection.

‘Hey, Terry. You think you can run a name for me, see if this woman’s a cop like she says she is?’

‘Anything for my favourite Barbie Bitch. What’s the name?’

Grey gritted his teeth.Barbie Bitchwasn’t the worst thing Grey had been called in his life, but every time he heard it, the photos and videos he had of multiple members of the Bindi Bindi police station became more difficult to not release for public and spouse consumption. ‘Maxella Conrad.’

‘Don’t need to run it, mate, I know who that is. Surprised you don’t.’

Terry knew Max? ‘She’s a cop?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Be straight with me. I’m about to be executed for missing a meeting deadline, but you know what happens to the footage from your work Christmas party three years ago in the event of my death.’

Terry invoked a few of his other aliases for Grey that were objectively worse thanBarbie Bitch, then got on with it. ‘Max was a cop – great one too. On track to be Commissioner one day, they all said.’

‘So what happened?’

‘She’s been in prison. She was arrested for serious assault – Christ, when was it? Gotta be at least a year ago now. The guy almost died.’

‘Prison? Assault?’

I was at a prison all morning.

He’d assumed she’d googled everything she knew about Kaine Skinner, although it had been suspicious she knew Libby Johnston’s real name – that was harder to find online.

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