Page 88 of Not That Complicated

The old bastard preened. “I’m doing it all for you anyway. When I die, my empire will be yours.”

“I’m not going to be a builder.” We’d had this argument before, again and again. “And I definitely don’t want an empire.”

To my surprise, Dad sighed. “I know. But you can sell it and retire early, or keep it and be a director. I don’t mind.”

“Why don’t you retire, Dad? You’ve earned it. Sell up, buy a yacht, show Giselle the world.”

I was being ironic. Giselle had travelled the world at least twice before agreeing to get tethered by a middle-aged divorced man and his suspicious ten-year-old son. She’d be showing him. He had whatever the opposite of wanderlust was. He’d barely left Gloucestershire, let alone the country.

Once, when Mum was still around—mostly—and I was about eight, we’d gone to Spain for a holiday. We all got sunburned, like true English idiots. It was awful. God knows what I looked like under UV light. As far as I knew, Dad hadn’t left these shores since.

Dad pulled a face. “Maybe in another ten years.”

In another ten years, he’d be in his seventies.

And he’d still be pushing for business.

By the time Naomi had oohed and ahhed over my designs, I was confident that I’d secured the job, and I had three missed calls on my phone. I’d managed to ignore it vibrating in my pocket while I was doing my thing with the presentation, but now that I was sitting back letting her flip through the designs on her own, I was fretting.

I’d blocked Fraser so it couldn’t be him, but…what if it was Adam?

Giselle brought in tea and cake—Christ, my parents hadnoidea how to be professional—and I seized the opportunity. As soon as Naomi and Giselle started up with the local scandal, I sloped out the door that led into the garden.

Ignoring my father, who’d spotted me making a break for it and was making hand-gestures from the kitchen window that I interpreted as,Get back in there!and,Close the deal!I jogged across the lawn to stand under the enormous western red cedar that dominated the whole garden.

It was mizzling with rain and too cold to be out here in shirtsleeves, but I welcomed the fresh air. I didn’t know if it was an age thing or what, but Dad always kept the heating too damn high.

I leaned against the familiar trunk, pulled up my contacts and stared at recent calls. I hadn’t had many; Adam was still listed on the screen.

I sighed, thinking of his uncharacteristic vulnerability at the end of the call. I had the feeling that people very rarely ever saw Adam vulnerable. I treasured it, even as I regretted causing it. He was so confusing.

The phone bleated in my hand and my adrenaline spiked.

“Ray,” Liam said crossly when I answered.

“Detective Nash,” I said, just as crossly. I was disappointed he wasn’t Adam, I didn’t mind admitting it. I didn’t know what his deal was. “Do you have good news for me?”

“Yes. I have excellent news. You can stop texting my personal phone and asking for details I’m not at liberty to give you. The scene has been released.”

“I assume that’s fancy police speak for, Ray, you can come home to your own property, which you own, and once again live there.”

“Yep.”

There was something off in his tone.

I straightened. “Oh.”

“No,” Liam said.

“Oh my god.”

“Do not ask me.”

“I don’t need to. You found something, didn’t you! You found another body. Shit.Shit. I did the research. Three or more definitely makes it a serial killer now. I’ll never sell my house!”

“Ray—”

I pushed away from the tree and began to pace. “How many? One more? Two? Are these ones wearing costumes? Why—”

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