Page 64 of Last Shot

‘Are you saying I taste bad?’ Grey decided to play along.

Libby raised a thin tattooed eyebrow. Her cracked lips quirked. How had Grey fallen so far from grace that he was fake-flirting with Kaine Skinner’s prison girlfriend?

‘I don’t taste bad.’ He leant forward, holding Johnston’s horny (or murderous, he wasn’t quite sure) gaze. Max’s hand left his knee and the lack of pressure felt like he’d been kicked off a cliff.

Libby flicked her gaze to Max. ‘Shame.’

What was a shame?

‘How you been, Lib?’ Max’s concern sounded real. Of course it did. These were the people she cared most about – criminals.

‘Earth’s barely moved round its stick since you told me goodbye, Conrad. You gone stupid or something? Think this place is any different than the past three-hundred and sixty-five days? You have news for me ’bout Skinner or not?’

‘I’m almost there, just need to work a few things out.’

Almost where?Grey hated this feeling of not being in control. He opened his mouth, but Max’s hand was back again, nails piercing, and he almost completely forgot where he was.

‘Esme convinced you to get a tattoo yet?’ she asked.

Libby snorted. ‘That crazy-arse hippie couldn’t convince me to take a knife out of me own chest!’

Grey refrained from pointing out that, actually, first aid regulations advised you to leave foreign objects in your body until paramedics arrived. He understood what Max was doing. It was that cop thing he didn’t have time for, making people feel comfortable before you tipped them upside down and tried to shake their secrets out.

He understood it, but he didn’t like it.

‘Esme?’ he asked.

‘Another old housemate,’ Max said. ‘Three counts of manslaughter. Head of the prison knitting group.’

‘Ugly as a stomped toad,’ Libby added.

‘Lib.’ Grey’s insides clenched at Max’s use of Johnston’s nickname. ‘That’s cruel. She was badly burned in that fire.’

‘Nah, Conrad, you just say that ’cause you feel guilty about being so pretty. Ain’t that right?’

The silence stretched too long before Grey realised Libby had addressed the last part to him. He cleared his throat. ‘We think Skinner tried to bomb the Barbaranis.’

Libby’s eyes widened. ‘A bomb? Doesn’t sound like Skinner.’

Were the crinkly crow’s feet real surprise? ‘That’s what I said,’ Grey blurted out, like a kid who’d had his answer stolen in class. Max shot him a glare.

‘Good for you, bub.’ Libby winked. ‘I heard about them kids that got poisoned by the wine. Ain’t that just tragic? Right before the Big Barbarani Bonanza. Boo.’ She pouted.

Bile coursed up Grey’s throat. ‘Kid,’ Grey said. ‘One girl – Poppy Raven.’ He filed away Libby’s slip-up for later.

‘Is Kaine behind that too, Libby?’ Max asked, her voice level – straight back into cop mode. Of course she was, this was a job to her, a way to get her career back. He had to keep reminding himself of that. She didn’t care about Poppy Raven or the wine or the Barbaranis.

Libby’s eyes tracked back to Grey. ‘That’s more Skinner’s style, innit?’

Grey realised he was supposed to answer. ‘Ah, well, I suppose.’

Libby held his gaze. ‘Skinner is a rat.’

‘And you’ve always protected that rat. Forgive me, Ms Johnston, if I don’t buy thisI want to turn on Kaine Skinnercharade.’

Libby’s mouth made a perfect ‘O’. ‘I see.’ Her eyes narrowed at Max. ‘You haven’t told him?’

‘I—’ The curtain of hair was gone, Max’s green eyes looking everywhere but at him as he tried to trap them with his own.

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