Page 70 of The Question of Us
Namely yours, you bastard.
But it was a believable spin on the truth, and it painted the picture of an adult Carey drunk and off the property and potentially in the company of someone unknown. Wouldn’t be the first time an attractive gay man found himself in that position, and Marty’s security would likely confirm everything he said. Plus, it kept Marty’s options open. If he still hadn’t touched Gazza, then he could just say he’d been found passed out on a couch and send him back to town the next day. No harm. No foul.
“You’re probably right,” I replied. “Hecanbe a bit flaky. And maybe his cell died.” Nick and the others had better take back that crap about me not being able to lie cos I was fucking flying here.
“There you go,” Marty brightened. “I’m sure he’ll be back safe and sound before you know it.”
“Thank you.” I wanted to punch the guy in the throat. He wasn’t palming me off quite as easily as that. “But I’ll check with the police just to be safe. Make sure there hasn’t been an accident. I assume you won’t mind me telling them about the party since it wasthe last place he was seen, after all.”
You could’ve heard a pin drop in the menacing silence that followed.
“Of course. Whatever you feel is necessary,” Marty replied in a tone laid thick with apathy but that couldn’t quite hide the fact that he was pissed as all hell that I wasn’t letting it go.
All of which was music to my fucking ears since it told me I’d likely done enough to keep Gazza safe for the time being. Marty needed to smooth the wrinkles in his story in case the police came asking questions, which gave Nick and me time to figure out a way to get Gazza out of there.
“I really must get back to my guests,” Marty finished.
“Of course. Thanks again for your—” A loud thud stopped me short. It was followed by a worryingly familiar groan that rang every alarm bell in my brain.
“He was out back in the garden” growled a voice I didn’t recognise, and the call ended just like that.
I stared at the screen, my heart racing.
I pulled up Nick’s message, my hands shaking as I fumbled the keyboard.Are you okay?
I waited almost a minute but there was no response. My finger hovered over the call button. Nick said he’d text when it was safe, meaning I shouldn’t call until I heard from him.
“Fuck!” I dropped the phone into my lap and stared at the pale luminescence sitting low in the sky over Marty’s house—the only sign of the party visible from where I was parked.
Where are you, Nick? Was that your voice? Was it?
I grabbed the phone again, called his number, then immediately cancelled. If itwasNick I’d heard in the background, then Marty likely had his phone.Goddammit.I dragged a hand down my face and tapped my phone on the steering wheel. I was no good at this shit. Nick had been right to be angry about me coming here. I was a book-loving homebody who didn’t even like leaving his front door, not Indiana fucking Jones.
At a loss for any better idea, I called his phone a second time. Under Samuel’s direction, we’d locked our phones, turned off our voicemails, call display, text previews, and face recognition. I had no idea if that was enough to keep Nick safe on his end, but I let it ring a couple of times before cancelling the call once again. If he was okay, he’d answer when he could. If Marty had Nick and his phone, I expected him to force Nick to answer it or call back so they could see what they were dealing with.
Neither of those things happened and I wasn’t sure what the hell that meant. Maybe Nick had ditched the phone or lost it in astruggle. Or did Marty actually have it and my assumptions were all fucking wrong? None of those options made me feel better.
Nick had said to call Samuel next, but I needed more information to give him and I needed it soon.
I drove back down the fire access to the main road with my lights off. When I hit the junction, I rolled to a stop. The view of Marty’s house still sucked, but I could at least see the dark smudge of beech trees against the sky, which indicated the driveway. I dropped my window and caught the faint strains of music and distant hum of voices. The party was still in full swing, which stood in my favour if I was going to try for a closer look.
I switched on the headlights, turned left, and was soon cruising past Marty’s property. The downstairs was ablaze with lights and there was plenty of movement visible through the large front windows. The second floor was much quieter with only two rooms glowing a soft yellow behind closed curtains. Was that where Gazza was being held? Or Nick?
The not knowing was fuelling my panic.
About a dozen people mingled on the driveway while a few more wandered the field of parked cars. But there was zero urgency and no sign of any alarm. Just partygoers going about their business. And no sign of Gazza or Nick.
A kilometre further and I parked behind a stand of eucalyptus, reached for my phone and tried not to think about exactly what kind of trouble Nick might be in. Was that howhe’dfelt when I’d been held captive on the boat? If so, I owed him an apology. It fucking sucked.
I stared at the screen for two beats, then called.
This wasn’t going to be pretty.
Samuel picked up on the second ring, sounding way too alert to have been asleep even with the time zone difference. “This better not be to tell me you’ve been arrested,” he bitched.
My guilty hesitation was met with a resounding groan. “Oh my fucking god, you have.”
“No,” I exclaimed. “No. We haven’t been arrested. But Gazza’s in trouble. Nick too... I think.”
