Page 31 of Last Shot

Max shrugged. ‘I could eat.’

Grey growled in protest.

‘Fabulous.’ Raphael rubbed his hands together. ‘We’re fully booked, but I think I can squeeze you two in.’

‘We’re not staying.’ The wind picked up as Grey spoke and tugged the light brown strands of his hair, but they didn’t go far – even the Fixer’shairwas under control. ‘And we haven’t finished asking you about Skinner. I need your word, Raphael, that nothing is happening tomorrow night. If anything breaks out between the Barbaranis and the La Marcas and people get hurt, you and I will both be out of jobs. We might even be out of a life as well. We keep them safe. You know how this works. When Barbarani blood runs, so does La Marca blood.’

Raphael regarded Grey like someone in an art gallery trying to decipher meaning from an abstract painting. Max watched his face to see if there was some sort of silent communication going on between the two men. Two enemies. No, not enemies. Definitely not friends. Colleagues? Reluctant partners?

Maybe that was the only kind of professional relationship Grey was capable of having. Maybe the only kind of relationship, full stop.

‘One: Kaine Skinner does not work for the La Marcas anymore. Two: I swear to you, Greyson, if I see Skinner, I will deliver him to you myself. As you say, we are in opposite trenches, but we both want the war to be over.’ Raphael paused, looking intently at Grey. ‘Stay for lunch, please,’ he said quietly.

‘It will never be over,’ Grey said. Max wanted to kick him. ‘But I appreciate your honesty. We will stay for lunch.’

So Raphael was telling the truth?

‘This way, please.’ Raphael held out an arm like a butler in an old movie and led them through aStaff Onlydoor to the glass box restaurant. His smile twinkled like Grey had conceded something. A warm, strong hand pushed her forward and Raphael’s masculine, musky scent enveloped her as tightly as his coat. His hand moulded over the small of her back, not quite touching her arse but on the closest vertebra to it. Grey sucked in a breath as they were swept into the warm air of the restaurant and Raphael’s fingers grazed over the loop of Nella’s jeans. Max felt her skin prickle despite the fact the heating was definitely on in the restaurant.

‘What’shisdeal?’ Max gestured to Forrest Valentine as he said something to a curvy blonde woman in chef’s whites – Ariana La Marca. Max recognised her from Kingsley’s articles too.

‘Rich orphan syndrome.’ Grey didn’t look at her, but she assumed it was a reply to her question. ‘Parents, twin brother, and his aunts and uncles died two years ago in a boating accident on their way to the Galapagos Islands. Forrest survived. You would have heard about it – the Valentines are a big deal in the mining world.’

‘I’m not in the mining world.’Barely been in the actual world.

Of course Forrest Valentine’s parents’ death made the headlines. Rich people were mourned differently. But the world didn’t care when a nurse and an electrician died. Max’s parents had been the epitome of ordinary – the only thing newsworthy about them had been their deaths. But it wasn’t a double-page spread or even a soundbite on the seven o’clock news – theirs wasn’t even the only collision on Toodyay Road that month. The story in theWest Australianhad been two inches long, Max had measured it. No picture, and a spelling mistake on the third line.

But she supposed it wasn’t Forrest’s fault his parents had been as rich as the Barbaranis and La Marcas. He wasn’t exactly lying back, making snow angels in his pile of inheritance gold, was he? Instead, he was wearing a black La Marca Winery apron, taking orders from his chef girlfriend.

True to his word, Raphael had conjured up a small table by the window looking out onto the La Marca vineyard, a sliver of cobalt blue ocean sparkling in the distance. He helped Max into her seat like she was a feeble old woman with dementia, but she didn’t protest. Grey just glared at everything. Even the water jug.

Raphael bowed out, winking at Max, saying he would send a waiter to take their order. Grey had obviously decided the water jug could be trusted because he reached over to pour some into their glasses. As he leant towards her, he trapped her gaze. She moved closer.

‘Skinner’s here,’ he whispered.

10

Max

Her whole back shivered like he was tracing his finger down bare skin. She fought the urge to look around wildly and scream, ‘Where?!’

Grey steepled his fingers and smiled out the window as though he’d just asked her if she liked the view. Max took the cue, raising her water glass to her lips as casually as she could.

‘How do you know?’ She pointed lazily at a bird.

‘If he wasn’t’—Grey made a face likehow cuteat the bird—‘Raphael would have just said no. He’s toying with us.’

‘But surely he agreed with what you said?If Barbarani blood runs, La Marca blood runs too...’ She said it like she was reciting Shakespeare.

‘I didn’t say it like that.’ He turned away from the bird and gave her his signature glare. ‘But it’s true. We need to find Skinner.’

‘What a fabulous idea. If only someone had suggested that to you earlier.’

‘Sorry to interrupt.’ They turned around. It was Forrest Valentine, looking like he’d never been sorry for anything in his life. ‘Can I interest you in some pinot noir to begin?’

‘Just water for me,’ Grey said, as though Forrest had offered to pluck out his nose hairs with rusted tweezers.

‘Is it the La Marca signature?’ Max looked into Forrest’s blue eyes, the colour of Maldives water. His nose was slightly off centre – perhaps broken once. She wondered if it had been caused by Luca Barbarani’s fist or the boat accident.

---