Page 24 of Last Shot

His eyes rested for what Max felt was a moment too long on her chest and she felt the urge to hold her hands up in front of her. ‘I can find something in town.’

‘You’re not leaving,’ he growled like a cursed beast. Except she obviously wasn’t Beauty – not to him. She was the unhinged ex-prisoner with grass seeds in her hair and curves that wouldn’t fit into delicate Antonella Barbarani’s clothes.

Well. It was better than she could have hoped for. She was going to get some clothes, he might even let her have a shower. She had time to stop the murder. But in the ‘cons’ column of her current situation, she was holed up with someone she was pretty sure got paid to commit crimes for the most notorious dynasty in Western Australia. Someone who didn’t trust her, let alone believe there was any truth to her claims. Someone who saw her as a degenerate outlaw. Someone who wanted to know what she’d promised Libby Johnston in order to get the information about the murder.

Someone whose trust she would have to get. To steal. And hopefully, by the time he realised she’d run away with it, it would be too late for him to work out she’d left a fake in its place.

‘Okay, then. May as well get started.’ Max rubbed her hands together in a way she knew would make her look extra unhinged. She thought she saw that shadow of a smirk on Jett’s scarred face, but Grey didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

‘This is what we need to do.’

8

Grey

‘You know, when you said you liked my dress, I didn’t think that meant you wanted to wear it.’

Nella’s voice rattled Grey’s bones. He really needed to get a doorbell. He’d been watching the tip of Max’s head as she lay across his Italian leather couch watching reruns ofThe Bachelor. She said there’d been a debate in prison about which show they were going to watch every night, becauseThe Bachelorconflicted withFarmer Wants a Wife.Farmeralways won.

The fact that this tattooed criminal liked to watch reality TV was the least inconceivable thing about The Situation. The Situation being Maxella Conrad, ex-cop, current criminal, skimpy-singlet-wearing fear-monger sitting on his couch. He had not kept his eyes off The Situation since Jett left to do what Grey should have been doing, which was following up the statements about the supposed bad batch of sangue and organising more security for the gala. Instead, Grey had the dream job of a bored fourteen-year-old in the 90s. Babysitting.

Max muted the TV while Grey opened the door. He didn’t want Nella to see Max. He’d rather Nella think he’d taken up cross-dressing in his spare time.

‘I never said I liked your dress,’ he replied, filling the small crack in the door, eclipsing, he hoped, the entire living area. ‘Your style is painfully old-fashioned.’

‘Must have been Jett then,’ Nella said brightly. ‘He’s always staring at my arse when he thinks I’m not looking.’

Grey nodded. ‘He’s probably remembering the time you had explosive diarrhoea.’

‘I’ve missed this charming version of Greyson, where have you been?’ She grabbed his cheek in the way Italian nonnas do, like they’re trying to pry flesh from bone.

‘Is your dad still yelling?’ He tried to steer the conversation as casually as he could away from the clothes. Once they hit that particular cliff edge, there’d be no way to stop his fall.

‘Finished about five minutes ago.’ Frankie rounded the corner of his cottage – she’d changed out of her trackies and was now in what could only be described as a potato sack someone had hacked a few holes into.

There had never been two sisters who looked more different. While Nella was a smooth, dark diamond, all perfect angles a mathematician would have a wet dream over, Frankie was a strange, rough-cut granite rock that sparkled vibrant colours in different lighting.

Frankie bounced onto the doormat. Her round face was free from make-up, unlike her sister’s – Grey didn’t think he’d ever seen Nella without make-up since she turned fourteen – and she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. (Nella may have similar freckles but Grey couldn’t remember on account of the foundation.) And while Nella’s scars were mostly internal, Frankie never tried to hide the long thin marks on her neck from that time Grey never liked to think about.

Whenever he saw Frankie’s scars, Grey remembered how he had let her down, that he never should have left. He knew Frankie didn’t brandish them to punish him, but it felt like a punishment all the same.

‘Why are you here?’ Grey didn’t mean the question to come off as rude, but it did.

Frankie didn’t look remotely fazed. ‘I saw you leaving with that stuff.’ She was glaring at Nella. ‘Is that silk?’ She fingered the material of a rose gold nightgown. Or maybe it was an evening dress. Grey really didn’t understand Nella’s clothes.

‘Only the best.’ Nella nuzzled the material like it was a newborn baby.

Frankie’s frown deepened. ‘Do you know where that silk came from?’

‘China,’ Nella said, flicking her hair back.

‘Silkworms!’ Frankie hissed, trying to pry the dress from Nella’s fingers. ‘Silkworms died to make that dress.’ Her voice cracked and tears threatened to spill.

Grey sighed. ‘Their sacrifice won’t be in vain, Franks. I’m desperate.’

‘Whatdoyou need them for?’ Nella asked, one hip cocked. ‘You’re not chopping them up to make your own set of voodoo dolls, are you?’

‘All my voodoo dolls are naked,’ Grey said, reaching for the clothes. ‘Thanks, Nel. Sorry about the worms, Frank, but I gotta ...’

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