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“What has she done now, the old cow?”

“I’ve never met Mrs Scotland,” I started while she cackled in the background. “I live next door to her ex-husband.”

“Oh, yes. Dylan Scotland. She got him, and she got him good. Total doormat, that man. Wasn’t always like that. I came across him once or twice in our university days, me being the Scandinavian import and him playing the role of the typical British dormouse. But I tell you, when he spoke, people listened. Then he met Veronica, and she did a number on him. Anyway, if you’re looking for an assassin, I’m the wrong Gun.”

“Is that not why they call you The Gun?” I was aiming for humour, at the same time praying she wouldn’t hang up on me.

“Stewart, as lovely as it is to talk, I have an appointment here that expects my attention and bottomless martinis. Talk. What is it that you need?”

“Would you take a look at Dylan Scotland’s custody case? His daughter wants to move back to the UK, and there are issues with the current set-up.”

“I like how you dress it up.” She groaned. “I’m assuming Mr Scotland needs me to take this on pro bono, since Veronica screwed him for everything. Would I look at it? Not in my worst nightmare. I’m not the kind of woman who takes children away from the mother who lovesthem. Nor am I the kind of lawyer who pisses on another lawyer’s work.”

“I see,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment at bay.

“But Veronica Scotland isn’t just any mother. Humour me, Stewart.”

“I don’t understand.” Honestly, what was it with people speaking in riddles?

“I think you do. I expect Mr Scotland’s files to be in my possession by morning. Hard copy. No electronic documents with passwords and complications. Simple paper. I’m an impatient woman, Stewart. Short attention span. Let’s see what you can do.”

She hung up. I could feel the sweat running down my armpits.

She wasn’t the only impatient one, and perhaps this was the most stupid thing I’d ever done, but I grabbed my phone and opened my patio doors—before realising I was just in my nightwear. I hadn’t planned on invading my neighbour’s home again, but hey. He’d be lonely and frazzled from everything that had happened today, so I was just paying him a friendly visit.

It had nothing to do with me being lonely. Old. Over the hill.

I could almost hear Reuben and Gray laughing at me as I pulled on my robe and donned my slippers before sprinting across the wet grass like the fool I was.

He’d left the door open, almost like he’d expected me, yet was lying in bed with his phone.

“She texted me,” he said excitedly as I closed the door behind me. “Constance.”

“Good girl.” I smiled. “See? There is light.”

“She’s going to Paris tomorrow. I was hoping to see her again.”

“Youwillsee her again. But first, Dylan… I need your help.”

“You need my help?” There was no excitement in his voice.

“I need you to send over your custody files to Gun Larsen. Like, right now. Hard copy.”

He sat up in bed. “You what?”

“I kind of know…Ms Larsen, and I asked a favour. She made no promises—”

“You asked Gun Larsen…exactly what?”

“I asked her to look at your custody files and no more. She agreed. I have no idea what that means.”

Apparently something, because he pulled the covers over his head and groaned, while I stood there in my bloody bathrobe and wondered what on earth I had done.

“Get up,” I said loudly. “You want to change your life? Well, no promises, but we might have a small chance here.”

“She’ll just chew me up and spit me back out. Gun Larsen is a machine, and I don’t think I can handle going through this again.”

“So Constance was right? You’ve given up? You’re going to let your children grow up with nannies and some bastard called Brandon, when you have this house right here and nothing better to do? Really, Dylan?”