Page 91 of Last Shot

‘I mean’—Grey clenched his teeth; it was kind of funny noticing how he tried to keep it together and it drove her a little wild knowing she could pull at his threads to undo him—‘anyone else. Anyone who looked out of place? Someone trying to look like they were in disguise. Anyone sitting on their own? Maybe with a backpack?’

Carmel rolled her eyes. ‘No. I’ve got a good sense for stalkers, and I didn’t feel like anything was off. Except ...’

‘Yes?’ Grey was practically vibrating.

‘Well ...’ Carmel looked out at the turquoise water of the hotel pool. Even though it was winter, people still sat under the blue umbrellas in colourful bikinis. ‘Luca kept looking over at someone. But when I asked him about it, he told me it was nothing. At first I was jealous, you know? I thought he was looking at this blonde girl, but then when we left, the guy who’d been sitting with her got up and said something to Luca. Luca looked pissed off but the blonde girl held him back. I just figured that kind of stuff came with the territory when you date Luca Barbarani.’

‘Did the guy look like this?’ As Grey handed Carmel his phone, Max unapologetically peered over the screen.Urgh.Carmel smelled like coconut and chlorine. EvenMaxwas turned on. The picture was of the waiter from the La Marca winery, Forrest Valentine, smirking up at them through Grey’s screen. The screen had a crack down the centre that reminded Max of Jett’s scar, chopping Forrest and the pretty, curvy blonde girl he was with in half.

Ariana La Marca – Luca Barbarani’s unrequited, star-crossed love.

Would Luca be so desperate to have Ariana that he’d sabotage his family’s reputation, poisoning their wine to take them out of competition with the La Marcas?

Max had seen people kill for less.

‘Yeah,’ Carmel said, ‘that’s him.’

So Forrest had been in Bindi Bindi Cove two nights ago. And he was definitely at the winery yesterday. That certainly added another dynamic or potential suspect to the mix.

‘Is he coming to the gala tonight?’ Max asked Grey.

‘All the La Marcas are invited – Gio always extends an invitation to them. If Ariana goes, Forrest will be there. He wouldn’t let her go to Luca’s home without him.’

Carmel looked miserable, but that was probably because she hadn’t scored an invite to the gala. Grey was still looking down at her. ‘Did you need something else?’ she asked, sighing deeply.

‘Do you think I could, ah ... It’s just— Um ...’ Awkward Grey was Max’s new favourite pastime. ‘My jacket.’ Grey jabbed his finger at the green thing wrapped over Carmel’s arm.

Oh. Right. Maybe that’s what he’d been staring at so hungrily ...

Max needed to get it together. She decided that the twenty-minute drive from the Seashell Hotel back to the Barbarani property would be her chance. She’d never meditated before, but she was going to close her eyes and become fucking King of all Zen before she got her game face on for this gala. She had to keep everyone safe. Solve a murder before it happened.

Stop thinking about the feeling of Greyson Hawke’s lips on hers.

Her plan to stop thinking about Grey was bulletproof. Until Nella marched Max up to her walk-in wardrobe (see also: small department store) to get her dressed for the gala.

‘Grey insisted.’ Nella sipped from a champagne flute and kicked off her leopard print slippers. She was wearing a real silk kimono that was untied at the top, revealing a lime-green lacy bra and perfect curves. Frankie sat cross-legged on a grey stool that Max was trying to work out a use for in a personal wardrobe, still in her oversized black shirt (likely organically grown) and hemp pants. She was glaring at Nella’s rows of shoes like they were personally responsible for each degree of the ocean’s temperature.

‘Insisted I be dressed like a five-year-old on their first day of school?’ Max rolled her eyes.

‘How dare you.’ Nella contorted her face into mock outrage. ‘I would never impose clothing restrictions on a child.’

‘Why does Grey want Max in a dress?’ Frankie asked, eyes flickering between the two women. Max was trying very hard not to remind her brain that she was standing in the middle ofAntonella Barbarani’s wardrobe, talking to the two sisters as though they were old friends. Not forty-eight hours ago she’d been pissing on a grass tree, trying not to get bitten by a dugite while the bus stopped so someone could vomit.

‘He wants her to blend in with the guests,’ Nella answered, holding up a midnight blue cocktail number that looked like a tutu with horns.

‘She’s too pretty to blend in,’ Frankie said, ‘and those tattoos won’t help. No offence.’ She nodded at Max, who’d been getting quite used to the two of them speaking like she wasn’t in the room. She’d been using it to her advantage.

Frankie blanched at the tutu. ‘Where are you meant to keep your gun? Youwillbe carrying a gun won’t you?’

Max froze. She hadn’t gone over those details with Grey yet. They’d covered literally everything else – the entrance points for the guests, the way the two of them would weave through the room, ensuring their main suspects were always in sight, Skinner’s tell-tale signs and his common disguises, what they’d do in the event of an attack, their code words. The promise that if they were separated they’d keep the objective – protect the Barbaranis – even if that meant leaving the other behind.

But they hadn’t discussed weapons.

Max hadn’t held a gun since she’d handed hers over after the shooting. The thought of having one against her body, touching her, made her physically sick. She didn’t even want to comprehend the thought of actually resting her finger against the trigger.

‘I ...’ Max looked at the dress Nella was holding up now – floor length, deep, blood red with a long slit up one side. ‘I don’t think I’ll have a gun.’

Frankie frowned. Obviously the pacifist vegan had been expecting better protection.

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