Page 38 of Last Shot

‘Can’t you check your cameras?’

‘Shhh!’ He clamped a hand over her mouth, ignoring the feel of her lips on his palm, the scrape of her teeth as she snarled in defiance.

I’m in charge.

Like they were partners in some bizarre three-legged race, they strode to the door, each determined to be the first to die in this low-budget horror movie.

She only seemed to falter as he drew his gun. His entire attention was lasered on the door where the scratching noise had stopped, but he couldn’t help the part of him that clocked Max’s sharp intake of breath, the way her eyes swam over the gun like she couldn’t quite get it in focus. Such a goddamn cop.

I have a licence, he wanted to say. Not to justify himself, but to prove he was right. Even if they were about to die.

She opened the door. But he went first.

12

Grey

‘For fuck’s sake, Arnold!’

Grey lowered his gun immediately as he glared down at the second intruder of the day. Arnold grinned, arching his back as he dropped the red-tailed black cockatoo by Grey’s boots.

What was left of it, anyway.

‘What have I told you about murdering the wildlife?!’ Grey grabbed the fat tabby cat, lifting him away from the bird.

‘It’s dead,’ Max said, unhelpfully. ‘But I don’t think this was the murder Libby was talking about.’

‘Frankie’s going to kill Nella,’ Grey mumbled, inadvertently scratching Arnold behind his ears before remembering the cat was now on his Black List. ‘These cockatoos are endangered.’

‘It’s his instinct,’ Max said, her face transforming from fear to something that was almost kind. ‘And cats bring birds and mice to people to show them love – it’s them showing they’re pulling their weight as part of the tribe.’

‘Arnold is far more manipulative than that,’ Grey said. ‘I’ll be polite and assume your knowledge of cat psychology has nothing to do with you being a crazy cat lady.’

‘You’re the one who’s got the cat, mate.’

‘He’s Nella’s.’

‘He’s lickingyourhand.’

‘Urgh!’ Kicking the door open with his boot, Grey dropped Arnold in an undignified manner onto the floor. The cat did not seem to view this as a rejection of his attempt at friendship and proceeded to weave himself through Grey’s legs, presumably hoping to trip him and break his neck.

‘Don’t let him out,’ Grey ordered as Max bent down to prove she was not a certified crazy cat lady by nuzzling Arnold’s ear. ‘I’ll bring him up to the house.’ On the way to investigate a murder to appease a criminal who may or may not be in league with the La Marcas.

Go on, Greyson – prove I’m the liar you think I am.

An image, unwanted: his mouth on her skin where the cuore would be.

Christ.

Grey went to the fridge again and stared into the blue-tinged light, letting the cold, plastic air cool down his strangely warm face. As he grabbed another bottle of water, some part of him couldn’t help feeling like he’d just endured a really bad first date.

Walking into Tomaso’s springs with Max was not the best way to remain inconspicuous while gathering information for a potential murder investigation.

The squirming, fluffy bird-killer under his arm didn’t help either.

Grey knew Tomaso would be here, but he hadn’t counted on Luca and Frankie, who both sat bolt upright like meerkats peering over a hill. Frankie whispered something to Luca, who was lying on a rock, his tanned, tattooed chest bared to the steamy atmosphere. He lifted the towel from his face and appraised Max with an expression that made Grey want to kick him in the shin.

For god’s sake, Luca. It’s not like that.

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