Page 154 of Crocodile Tears

He put the tray down on a side table. “Let me take your jacket, sir,” he said, putting his hands on Josiah’s shoulders.

Josiah was too stunned to resist as Alexander removed his jacket and hung it over a nearby chair. Then he returned and knelt at his feet.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Removing your shoes, sir, so you can relax. You don’t seem to own any slippers, so I ordered these online.” Alexander gestured at an elegant leather pair nearby. “I thought they were your style, sir.” He started pulling on Josiah’s shoelaces.

Josiah finally came to and moved his foot away. “Stop,” he barked.

Alexander gave him a questioning look.

“Get up,” he ordered.

Alexander obeyed instantly.

“What the fuck are you playing at, Lytton?”

“I’m your IS, sir. Your comfort and convenience are my primary concern.”

“We both know that’s bullshit. You’re only temporary, and all this” – Josiah gestured at the room – “isn’t who you are.”

“I’m your IS, so that makes it precisely who I am,” Alexander said firmly.

“No, you’re the indie the personal trainer never liked, the solicitor never trusted, and the housekeeper didn’t warm to. You’re the notorious felon the press wants to crucify, who even my own data tech believes committed a brutal murder a couple of days ago. You’re also the kid your brother adored from the minute you were born, and the son your father still grieves for, even after all this time.”

Alexander stood, frozen to the spot, his eyes wide with shock. Then he gave a curt nod. “What other people think of me is none of my business,” he said. “I can’t control it. I can only control my own actions.”

He waved a hand at the room. “I wanted to do something nice for you. You work hard and deserve an indie who looks after you.”

“Oh, stop it, for fuck’s sake,” Josiah snapped. “I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, Lytton, but I do know you’re hiding something.”

“Everyone is hiding something,” Alexander retorted. “Even you. Especially you.”

Josiah’s jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re the investigator the press worships for beliefs you not only don’t hold but I suspect you actively despise. You live alone in a place so sad and sterile nobody could call it a home, and yet it was once a warm and happy place. You’re not the only one who spent his day investigating.”

Alexander clicked a light box and a nanopic immediately sprang up on the sideboard. Josiah remembered Peter taking it after a long hike, when they’d returned home tired, muddy, and happy. Hattie was sitting by the fire at his feet, gazing up at him, her tongue lolling, and Peter had his arm around Josiah’s shoulders, beaming at him as he took the pic.

He barely recognised himself – he looked so relaxed and happy, wearing a stupid baseball cap and grinning inanely at the camera.

“Where did you find that?” he demanded.

“It was in one of the boxes in the wardrobe in my bedroom. I found it when I was unpacking my clothes. Why do you keep it hidden away? Why not have it out on display, where you can see it?”

“It’s none of your damn business.”

“Maybe that’s how I feel, too, knowing you’re poking around in my life.”

“I’m not a murder suspect!”

“And I didn’t kill anyone!”

They gazed at each other in a silent stalemate before Alexander finally broke the tension. “You went to see my family, didn’t you?” His voice shook a little as he spoke. “How were they?”

Josiah thought of those two pathetic men sharing that threadbare old house and decided he couldn’t tell Alexander that.

“Your brother didn’t make an offer to buy your contract,” he said instead. Alexander’s eyes flashed with a raw, unexpected pain.

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