Page 64 of The Question of Us
Nick nodded. “I won’t argue with you about that. The riskiest part will be trying to get Lee alone to talk. Until then, Gazza is just another partygoer. Nothing to see here, folks. And it’s not like Lee is going to need more time to decide on our offer. He’s had a few days already to think about it. He’ll either be receptive or not. He’ll happily take the prepaid phone or he won’t. Either way, I’m guessing any conversation will be over and done with quickly. If Leeisinterested, and that’s a big if, any further discussion can be over the phone. Taking all that into consideration, I reckon we’ll be in and out of there in an hour, tops. It’ll be fine.”
It was not fine.
Not even close.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Friday night
Nick
“Heads-up,”Gazza warned. “I’m turning into the driveway now. Keep things quiet or this is going to be a very short and spectacularly unsuccessful rescue mission.”
“Very funny.” But I did as he said, hunkering down under the retractable cover of the cargo tray, out of sight. At nine on a late summer evening, the sunset was done and the light was fading. All good news. I didn’t fancy sneaking around the gardens of Marty’s mansion in anything less than darkness. The light from the party would be more than enough to cope with.
“You don’t need to risk following when I go inside,” Gazza repeated for the umpteenth time as the car bumped along the gravel drive. “You can wait in the car. I’ll text?—”
“Shut up,” I snapped. “Idohave to follow. Firstly, Mads will kill me if I don’t. Secondly, if Marty or Freddie recognise you, that could be it. You could very well have no time to text.”
“You don’t even know if you’ll be able to keep eyes on me,” he protested. “And if Lee’s in the house, then that’s where I’ll have to go.”
“No. You’ll have to find a way to get Leeoutside,” I grumbled. “Use that charm of yours. This is not up for discussion. We’re not changing the plan at the last minute, and these ridiculously small binoculars we bought can’t see through walls.” I shoved the tiny things down the front of my black T-shirt. In a small town like Kettleworth, it wasn’t as if we’d been spoiled for choice, and I figured we’d snagged the only pair in town.
“I can hardly use my wiles on Lee,” Gazza huffed. “If Marty is anything to go by, I’m not exactly Lee’s type, by about twenty years or so. Now quiet.” The car slowed and Gazza hit the button on his electric window.
“Evening, sir. May I have your name, please?” A thick Scottish accent filled the car.
“Carey Hunter,” Gazza answered smoothly. “Marty invited me at the bloodstock sales the other day.”
A rustling of paper ensued, followed by a grunted affirmation. “All good, sir. There are still a few parking spots in the second row. Gavin? You wanna point him in the right direction?”
Someone, presumably Gavin, grunted, “Sure. Drive right to the end and park on the left.”
The Scottish man returned. “Enjoy your evening, sir.”
Gazza murmured, “Thank you,” and the electric window closed. “Seems we’re in.” Gazza breathed a sigh of relief that matched my own, and the BMW inched forward.
I braced my hands against the side of the BMW as we bumped over the parched field, presumably toward the parking spot. It took longer than I expected, but eventually Gazza turned left, and the car rolled to a stop. The engine cut out but Gazza remained quiet.
“You okay?” I whispered, releasing the cover to roll back into its cartridge so I could poke my head over the back seat.
“Yeah,” he replied without looking back. “Just taking a moment. This is kind of intense.”
He wasn’t wrong. The mood of our little trio had been strangely quiet all day. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” I offered, more than ready to pull the plug if he wanted but hoping he didn’t.
“No way.” Gazza grabbed the key fob and reached for the door handle. “Nothing has changed, right? This is still the best chance we have. FYI, those two security guys seem to be hovering around the gate. You should have a clear run.”
“Your phone is on vibrate, right?”
Gazza checked his phone and nodded. “Yep. And the screen is dimmed and the faceprint unlock is off. Six-digit code only. And yes, my number is logged into the spare prepaid under the name, Marion. Jesus, I feel like a fucking secret agent.”
I snorted. “Most secret agents don’t look like a million dollars. You’re hardly a wallflower.”
And it was true. While Mads and I had opted for the full blackout burglar ensemble, Gazza had spent hours perfecting his looks. He eventually emerged in a skintight pair of black leather pants and a long, loose white chiffon shirt bedecked with flounces and ruffles and transparent enough to reveal a tempting pair of dark nipples that made my boyfriend’s eyes narrow in disapproval. A gossamer silver scarf was wound around his neck to hide any remnants of the vine tattoo left after multiple applications of Mike’s industrial-strength theatre concealer. And with his hair gelled to look artfully and freshly fucked messy and eyeliner perfected to enhance those glorious bedroom eyes, Gazza looked every inch the aspiring supermodel ready to make an impression.
I didn’t know another soul who could’ve pulled off that outfit in such spectacular fashion, but Gazza looked like he’d walked straight off a Paris runway into some chic underground nightclub. At the very least, everyone would want to know who he was. Most would want to fuck him.
Gazza chuckled. “Nope. No wallflowers here. Glad you approve. I’m supposed to be in the fashion slash modelling slash social media industry, looking for opportunities to progress, right? Marty will expect no less of me.”
