Page 17

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Nick

A soft buzzing like a bee caught in a jam jar pulled me from a deep sleep. Icy air licked over my skin. I shivered and felt around for the duvet as a clock ticked somewhere in the background and bright morning light poked at my scrunched eyelids.

I found the edge of a blanket and pulled it over my head. Damn, it was cold.

I lay under the blanket and pondered those things. Cold. Light. Blanket. Ticking clock. I didn’t use a blanket or own a ticking clock. The realisation beat in my throbbing head like a dull alarm.

And then it came to me. Madigan.

I whipped the blanket off my head, and nope, not at home.

I blinked against the light as my brain scrambled into gear. Memories flooded my brain. The caravan. The laptop. The arsehole who hit me. Lachlan King. And far, far too many memories regarding Madigan Church.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I squinted down at myself and took stock. I was still dressed and asleep on the couch, which suggested one of two things. Either I’d passed out and Madigan hadn’t wanted to wake me. Or I’d said something to piss him off and he’d left me there as a reminder to do better. To be fair, the latter scenario offered the most likely explanation since I was pretty sure I pissed Madigan off most times we met.

I was about to get up when I caught sight of him slouched in an armchair on the other side of the coffee table. He was snoring softly, buzzing to be precise, which explained the earlier noise. With his head tipped back, reading glasses askew on his nose, and a trail of dry saliva running from the corner of his mouth into a dense morning stubble, he was kind of adorable.

A dishevelled librarian. More than one fantasy had been born from that imagery, and a grin split my face before I could stop it, along with an intense desire to run my fingers through that thick silver stubble. He looked about as peaceful as I’d ever seen him, and the idea sent a strange rush of warmth through my freezing body.

Which reminded me.

I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and switched the bloody air con off. If I caught a cold, Mads and I were going to have words. When I returned the remote, I saw the glass of water and two ibuprofens. My heart stuttered in my chest and a host of warm memories walked through the door. No one had done that for me since—nope. I shook my head. Not going there.

But since my brain hurt like a motherfucker and my mouth would’ve given a sewer a run for its money, I washed the pills down with the entire glass of water. Then I swung my feet onto the floor, wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, and took a minute to study my host.

Like he knew I was watching, Madigan snuffled like a rabbit, his nose twitching as he turned awkwardly onto one hip before settling into the cushions again. Sleep wrinkles fanned across his right cheek and his hair stuck up in total disarray. He looked, to put not too fine a point on it, fucking delicious.

And I was in big smelly trouble with a capital T .

Complicated and confused—buzzwords from our conversation in the studio the evening before—didn’t even begin to cover the dumpster fire happening in my heart and brain due in large part to this man. A rollercoaster of emotions were still processing out from Davis’s death, but they’d been joined by an equally troubling set making their way in. Lucky me. Caught in the middle of the warring tides like a swimmer trapped in a rip.

I glanced at the ceiling and grumbled softly, “You really need to get your shit together. One thing at a time, yeah?”

I dropped my gaze back to Mads. Oh god, Mads . The whole name conversation suddenly came back to me. Madigan is such a mouthful. “Fuuuck.” I let out a mortified groan, then quickly checked to see I hadn’t woken him.

I hadn’t.

I didn’t think I’d been that drunk. Like I didn’t have enough shit going on without adding that clusterfuck of... something to the mix. The last thing I’d wanted was to mislead or hurt the guy, but if I didn’t put a stop to these confusing feelings, I would. The jumble of emotions was nothing more than grief and stress and fear and a shitload of emptiness. A loneliness soothed by time spent with Mads.

I was using him.

I needed a lifeboat and Mads just happened to be right in front of me. Safe, trustworthy, a good man. Everything I needed to dig me out of that hole. But it would never be more than that. I’d had my time in the sun and I was grateful. If I spent the rest of the game on the bench, it would be enough.

Mads stirred in his seat and his eyes blinked open. They widened when they landed on me and I couldn’t help but smile. “Good morning, sunshine.” I sat back and watched him slowly come awake.

He groaned and stretched, almost losing the book perched precariously on his lap. It looked familiar. Then I noticed the box at his feet and realised why. I wondered if I should’ve felt angry and was surprised I didn’t. I let it go.

“Dammit.” Mads removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I meant to send you to bed, but I guess I joined you in sleep. Some host I turned out to be.”

I chuckled. “The word host implies that I was here of my own free will and not because you stole my fucking car keys.”

His lips twitched in a wry smile. “Sorry, not sorry.” He tried to push himself up and winced. “Holy shit, that hurts.” He slumped back, massaging the tops of his thighs and hips. Then he tried again with better success. “I fucking hate getting old.”

I snorted. “In that case, I’ve got bad news.”

He held up a hand. “No bad news before coffee. My ego can’t take it.”

I grinned and pushed to my feet. “Stay where you are. This one’s on me. I might not be much of a cook, but I can manage coffee if you point me in the right direction.”

“Yes, please.” He sat and shoved a pillow behind his back. “Just don’t make a mess. There’s an espresso machine in the pantry, plain and flavoured coffee pods in a jar to the right, and a loaded milk frother in the fridge.” He hesitated then added, “And clean as you work.”

I laughed. “Damn, are you this grumpy every morning?”

He frowned. “What do you mean grumpy?”

Which only made me laugh louder. I walked by and clapped him on the shoulder. “Also, flavours are for pussies and the word frother is weirdly uncomfortable and makes me wanna shoot something. I take mine hot, black, and unadulterated. How about you?”

“A latte,” he said decisively. “With lots of froth and a sugar.”

I shot a despairing look over my shoulder. “I’m not sure we can be friends anymore.”

“Just shut up and do it,” he said, flicking his hand. “And make it hot. I can’t stand lukewarm coffee. If they wanna charge six bucks for a coffee, it needs to last more than three mouthfuls.”

I laughed. “Let me guess. Not a morning person?”

He shot me a baleful look. “What gave it away?”

I grinned and left him stretching his back while I found my way to the butler’s pantry and set the espresso machine to warm. “I see you went through the box,” I called back into the lounge.

Mads said nothing for a moment, then he answered, “Yes. I did. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” I said truthfully. “Did you find anything?”

Another two beats of silence, then, “Maybe.”

The coffee pod fell from my hand to the countertop and bounced onto the floor. “Shit,” I hissed and bent down to pick it up, gathering my thoughts in the process. “But I’ve already been through that stuff. What did you find?”

“Coffee first,” he said in a maddeningly serene voice.

“Anyone would think this was your house,” I grumbled, ramping up a gear.

“Fancy that.”

“Fucker,” I swore under my breath.

He laughed. “I can hear you. No walls, remember?”

I grunted and made it back to the lounge in double time. Mads was rooting through the box. He paused when I handed him his coffee and grinned at the mug I’d chosen, which read, Read books. Be kind. Stay weird .

I shrugged. “It had a certain appeal.”

Mads grinned. “It was a gift from Gazza.”

I glanced at the sofa, then decided to take the chair next to Mads. “I think I’m gonna like this guy.”

Mads’ eyes sparkled with humour. “Most people do, which is actually one of his issues. Gazza is gorgeous inside and out, as long as you like your handsome with a side order of snark and an extra helping of edgy fashionista. But he’s trying to be more selective in his choice of men. An admirable goal and unfortunately the catalyst for the whole muse thing.”

“A slave to fashion then?”

I huffed. “Only if it’s crafted from some rare wool farmed in the mountains of some developing nation, and spun by a one-hundred-and-four-year-old grandmother who sells it to some not-for-profit foundation that clears minefields on weekends.”

A laugh burst from my throat. “He sounds like a true gem.”

Mads nodded. “He is. And he’s going to pee himself with excitement when he hears I had an actual living man stay the night.”

My belly knotted at his words. “You’re going to... tell him... about us? I mean about me?”

Mads laughed. “Oh my god, you should see your face. Don’t panic. I’ll only tell him that I offered you a bed out of the kindness of my heart, and he can do with that what he will, which is jump to conclusions left right and centre because that’s Gazza. It’ll be fun to watch, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Besides—” He cocked a brow. “—there’s nothing to tell, right?”

I ignored his less-than-subtle challenge and focused on my coffee. “Tell me what you found.”

Mads’ gaze lingered just long enough to ensure I knew that he knew I was evading the subject, and then he started talking. “I found this in the box.” He slid a copy of The Three Musketeers my direction.

I picked it up and studied the cover, remembering my own surprise when I’d found it in the box the day the police dropped it off. Davis pretty much stuck with modern-day thrillers and police procedurals, but I hadn’t thought much more of it at the time. Davis was an author. I was well used to it raining books in our house and vehicles on a regular basis, and most didn’t rate more than a passing glance from me. I looked up at Mads. “So?”

He arched a brow. “Is it Davis’s?”

“I assume. It was in the car with his things, after all.” My gaze narrowed. “Davis had a ton of books. Why do you ask?”

Mads hummed non-committally. “Take a look at the inside cover.”

I did, my eyes widening at what I found scrawled there. J. L . My gaze shot up. “Holy shit. Justin Leonard?”

Mads shrugged. “Keep looking.”

I fanned slowly through the pages. “What am I looking f—oh shit. Guess I found it.” About a third into the book, a hole had been cut big enough to hold a small notebook. I tipped the notebook into my hand and stared at the shiny cover depicting a tumble of white roses.

Fear trickled down my spine and I locked eyes with Mads. “What the fuck is this?”

Mads’ green eyes sparkled gold as the first rays of morning sun hit his face. “Excellent question. Open it.”

My heart climbed into my throat. “Is it crazy that I’m kind of terrified to look?”

Madigan reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s okay.”

I lifted my gaze to meet his and drew on that quiet strength. Then I took a deep breath and opened the notebook.

It took a few seconds to digest what I was seeing. “What the hell is this?” I flipped through the pages but they were all the same. Lines of random letters punctuated by the occasional four-digit number that at first glance looked like it might be a year, since they counted up one by one from the first page to the last—twenty years in total.

Mads shifted forward on his seat, bringing our knees together, the heat from that one tiny touch so startling it caused me to inhale sharply. He shot me a puzzled look. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I refocused on the notebook, the heat of his gaze burning holes in the side of my face. “Assuming this is Justin’s, then it looks like a code of some sort. Whatever it is, it’s important enough to go to these lengths to hide, so a client list maybe? I might’ve said bank account info, maybe income or deposits if he is laundering money or stashing it away in different accounts, but there’re too many letters to be a simple number substitution.”

Madigan’s gaze dropped from my face to the notebook and I could breathe again. “I agree,” he said.

I flicked once more through the pages. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve run into underworld figures choosing hard copy rather than digital to keep track of sensitive information. Even the best systems can be penetrated. I’ve worked on handwritten ledgers from organised crime going back decades. Lachlan said virtually no one met Justin in person, so he was obviously super cautious.”

“And yet he met with Davis?” Mads pointed out.

I grunted. “Yeah. Go figure. A forger and a fanboy. But it doesn’t surprise me. Davis connected easily with people. They generally loved him. Me?” I shot Mads a wry smile. “Not so much.” The memory of being wrapped in Davis’s arms in our bed for all those years made me smile. “Davis had a way of making you feel safe.”

Mads’ hot eyes tracked my face once again.

“He was a good man,” I finished hoarsely.

“And with good taste too,” Mads added, nudging my knee with his. “He chose you, after all.”

I looked up, surprised at the compliment, although I couldn’t say why. “I never said he was smart.”

Mads’ gaze narrowed on mine. “Oh, I think he knew exactly what he was doing.”

I stared back, stunned into silence.

Mads cleared his throat and took the notebook from my hands. “But I’m not sure about the client list theory. See there—” He pointed to a line on the third page. “If those numbers are years, then there are only a few letters between that year and the next. And yet the next year has a ton of letters. And this one—” He flipped the page and pointed to a line two up from the bottom. “—has none at all. It seems too inconsistent.”

“You’re right.” I angled my body to better face him. The shift also worked to separate our knees, which I immediately regretted. “But it has to be important to warrant all the secret-squirrel stuff.”

Mads sighed and shifted back in his seat. “I know. And I can’t believe it’s not connected to what’s happening.”

I stared at the cover. “You think this is what they’re after, don’t you?”

His expression remained impassive. “Don’t you? It’s the only lead we’ve found. The only thing that doesn’t belong in this crazy picture. I think for some reason this was in Davis’s possession that day and someone found out.”

I closed my eyes for a second and then opened them again. “The someone who killed Justin.”

Mads nodded. “It’s just an educated guess.”

“And a good one,” I agreed, mulling the possibilities over in my head. “Maybe Justin was forced to give up Davis’s name before he was killed?”

Mads steepled his fingers and considered that, his clever green eyes crinkling at the corners.

I wanted to reach out and smooth the lines of concentration, to feel the heat of his skin under my touch, but I didn’t.

“It makes sense,” he finally agreed. “But I don’t think they necessarily knew the notebook was in Davis’s car that day, only that he had it. Or they knew it but hadn’t intended for him to run himself off the road, because that accident lost them the notebook and put them in a bit of a pickle, didn’t it?”

I gave a frustrated groan and dropped my head to stare at the wooden floors, thinking, thinking, thinking. “Okay, what if they didn’t know he had the notebook at all? At least not before the accident. What if Davis simply saw something or someone he shouldn’t have at Justin’s house that day and they couldn’t let him get away?”

“Like whoever killed Justin?” Mads offered.

I looked up, nodding. “Maybe they didn’t know he had the notebook until it was too late.”

Mads’ expression brightened. “Better. That’s better. Keep going.”

I turned sideways to face him again. “Okay, so Davis has the accident and too late these people discover he had the notebook with him. Now they’re stymied. He’s unconscious so they break into the townhouse to see if they can find it, but no luck.” A nauseating thought occurred to me. “Do you think they went to the hospital as well?”

Mads’ soft eyes told me exactly what he was thinking.

I swallowed hard and unfisted my hands. “Yeah, of course they fucking did. Bastards. So now they have to wait and hope he wakes up so that they can force him to tell them. But he doesn’t, and they’re stuck again.”

“Why didn’t they come to you for answers?”

I shrugged. “Maybe something Justin said? Maybe they knew I couldn’t help them. Anyway, when Davis dies, they see another opportunity, thinking I might have found it going through his stuff, either in the house or at the caravan...” I trailed off, frowning. “This is all pretty out there, you do realise that? Whatever that notebook holds, it must be pretty damn important to whoever is looking for it.”

Mads sighed. “And yet I can’t believe that two break-ins and a mugging at the caravan are unrelated.”

My eyes widened. “You realise how messed up this is? Because if what we’re thinking is right, then someone has been keeping an eye on Davis... and me, all this time. For almost two years.” My gaze locked onto his. “What the fuck is going on, Mads?”

He reached for my hand and I didn’t pull away, emotional exhaustion and lack of sleep finally taking their toll. “Debating the why of it all matters a lot less than breaking that code,” he said. “Then we might get some answers. One thing I do know, codes like this require a key to unlock them. A simple code might have an easy enough key to remember, but they are also easy to crack. Complicated codes are much safer and much harder to remember?—”

“But Justin would never choose a simple code,” I finished.

Mads nodded. “That’s what I think too. Which means he’d want the key accessible but also obscured.” Mads picked up the copy of The Three Musketeers . “Like hiding in plain sight.”

I blinked and snatched the copy from his hands. “You mean this isn’t just for hiding the notebook?” I fanned through the pages, but other than the cut-out, it was just a book. “There’s nothing here.”

A sly grin spread over Mads’ face. “Are you sure about that?”

I scowled. “Jesus Christ, Madigan. If you don’t stop pissing around and tell me what you found, we’re gonna have a situation on our hands.”

Mads tut-tutted. “So impatient.” He slid his hand between the cushion and the arm of the chair and brought up the portable UV light source. He handed it to me. “Pages 205 and 278. But first—” He grabbed the blanket off the back of the chair and opened it over the two of us like a tent. He nudged me in the dark. “Okay.”

I flicked to the first page and ran the light over the text, gasping when it lit up in a pattern of small circles all over the text. I flicked to the second page he’d indicated and it was the same. “Is this the key?”

“Yes,” Mads said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

I leaned my head closer to his and whispered back, “You do realise we’re alone?”

He groaned and elbowed me in the ribs. “Do you want to know or not?”

“Sorry.”

He pulled the blanket off our heads and shoved a piece of A4 paper into my hand. “There are twenty-six different letters. Twelve on each page.” He pointed to the letters on the paper. “These are in the same order as in the book. No repeat. An alphabet-sized number. They act as a substitution code, but when you put the key next to the actual coded work, there is no obvious relationship between the two.”

I frowned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning he hasn’t just moved all the letters over three or something simple like that. These letters are randomly chosen to replace the alphabet, and that means unless you have the key, you are royally screwed.”

“So was he if he lost it,” I pointed out.

“True, but that’s the risk, isn’t it?” Mads explained. “And I’d be surprised if he didn’t have a backup to both, hidden somewhere much harder to get to, maybe a safe deposit box.”

I studied the slight smugness in his expression. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“What makes you think?—”

“Because I know you,” I grumbled. “And I know you’re enjoying drip feeding this information. What aren’t you telling me?” Then it hit me. “Shit. You’ve transcribed some of it, haven’t you?” I swear I growled, “Goddammit, Mads, if you don’t spill the beans right this minute, I will walk into that kitchen and empty every single drawer onto the floor and piss on it.”

His eyes bugged, scandalised. “You wouldn’t.”

I shot him a steely look. “Try me.”

He swallowed hard. “Okay, okay. I did start to decode a little of it to test my theory. Turned out that it wasn’t a simple substitution like I thought.”

I was so close to throttling that pretty little neck, and it must’ve shown, because Mads’ eyes widened and he grabbed a folder from somewhere beside his chair. He removed another sheet of paper and slid it toward me on the coffee table. Then he took his pencil and we both leaned forward.

“This top line is the twenty-six circled letters from the book, written in order, with the normal alphabet noted underneath.” He indicated both with the pencil. “It assumes the first letter circled, C , equates to the first letter of the alphabet, A . So every C in the notebook stands for an A . And so on. Let’s look at the first three.” He pointed with his pencil.

“These are the first three circled letters in the order they appeared in the book.” He tapped the pencil on the C , L , and N . “We substitute those for the first three letters of the alphabet A , B , and C , and then apply that idea to the code in the notebook.”

I looked up at him. “Simple enough.”

“But it didn’t work. The transcript came out garbage.”

I frowned. “So you were wrong?”

He waggled his hand. “Not exactly, but it took me working with it to realise it wasn’t a simple exchange. The key also needed to be shifted to the right. Not rocket science but highly effective.”

I threw up my hands. “I have zero idea what you’re talking about.”

He shot me a wink. “Then I’ll tell you again. Try and keep up.”

I rolled my eyes. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate with Mads sitting so close, the musty smell of sleep clinging to his clothes, his wayward hair demanding to be smoothed.

“My next step was to try shifting the alphabet line along one to the right. So the L became the A instead and the C became a Z ... and that worked.”

I blinked. “It worked?”

“Yep.” He looked so fucking smug that I wanted to kiss him. “I only transcribed a couple of lines. I didn’t want you to miss out. They’re names, Nick, like we thought. But I don’t recognise them. And I left a copy of all of this in the studio in case the police want these.”

I blinked. “The police?”

He eyeballed me. “If we’re right about this, we’re going to have to tell them, you know that. Samuel won’t want to keep this to himself. He can’t. But if we finish transcribing the rest, then maybe we’ll know more about what we’re dealing with. It’s a start, right? And so far, it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with Davis.”

I stared at him, gobsmacked. It was more than a fucking start. For the first time since I’d found that damn receipt, I felt... hope. A light at the end of the tunnel. Like I’d been given my faith back. In Davis. In the life we’d shared. In who we were. And that meant every fucking thing in the world.

I sprang to my feet and pulled a surprised Madigan into my arms. “You brilliant fucking man.”

He stiffened against me, awkward in my embrace. And maybe I should’ve let go. Maybe I should’ve respected some boundaries for once. But I didn’t. I pulled him tight against me, arms wrapped around his body, holding, holding, until those lean muscles relaxed and his hands slid effortlessly around my back.

Until he hugged me back and the world felt so fucking right.

I buried my face in his neck and whispered, “I knew coming here was the right thing to do. I would never have found that code in a million years.” It was the perfect time to let him go, but I couldn’t seem to loosen my hold. Neither did he. His body firm against mine, his palms smoothing their way up and down my spine, every inch a jolt of electricity to my dull flesh. A reminder there was life in me yet.

“Just pleased I could help,” he said in a thin voice, his head finding my shoulder, his breath hot against my neck. In and out, in and out, shallow gulps of air that mirrored my own and said everything we couldn’t. We fit together like we were made to. Sharp angles and soft curves learning to mesh and ride the other. He felt good in my arms. Too good. So fucking good.

I couldn’t get my heart around it—which emotion belonged where. How it was possible to feel anything for someone else through the tide of grief still working its way through my soul. Anything without drowning in guilt for the only man I’d ever loved. No one else would ever come close. That wasn’t how it worked. Mads couldn’t mean more than friendship, or else what did that say about me? About my loyalty. About the love I’d shared.

Panic bloomed in my chest along with a warning.

Let go.

Step away.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it .

But I didn’t.

With my arms still around Mads’ waist, I leaned back and waited for him to do the same. He lifted his head and turned slowly to face me, his gaze flitting on and off mine, hesitant and unsure. Questions, questions, questions. Like he was reading my mind.

He wriggled a hand up between us, then ran his finger along the length of my jaw where I’d been hit. “Impressive bruise you’ve got there, Mister Fisher. Does it hurt?”

“Only when I laugh.” I cradled his face, my thumbs tracing the sharp line of his cheekbones, grazing the web of wrinkles at the corners of those green, green eyes. “Kind of a mundane question, considering the situation we find ourselves in, don’t you think?”

Madigan’s eyes danced but there was uncertainty there too. So much uncertainty. I ran my fingertip over his mouth, revelling in the warm swell of his lips. Then I cupped his jaw, that thick stubble lying rough against my palm and sending heat pooling in my groin.

His gaze steadied on mine and the world beyond began to drift away. The exhaustion. The worry. The questions. The fear. All lost to this man. I tried one last time. “Tell me to stop.”

The tiniest of smiles tugged at Mads’ mouth. “Do you want me to tell you that?”

Oh god. I almost laughed. Do I want you to? Yes. And absolutely fucking no. I thought of Davis. I thought of my promise to myself that I wouldn’t hurt this man. And still, I couldn’t get the word out. Instead, I gave a tiny shake of my head.

Mads’ expression softened and his long, lean body pressed against mine, the heat of the connection sending shockwaves through my heart. Then he angled his head slightly and said, “Then no, I won’t stop you.”

A thrill rushed through my body like a cascade of anticipation, every nerve jangling, sparking, waiting, waiting, waiting.

I put my lips beside Mads’ ear and whispered, “Bastard.” I cupped his face and looked into those beautiful eyes once more. Then I slowly, slowly pressed my mouth to his, feeling him smile for just a second before his lips parted and I licked my way inside.

He tasted of coffee and sleep and something that felt a lot like hope. The questions I’d ached over, the doubts and the guilt, all fading into a single kiss.

The mysterious world of Madigan Church was mine for the taking.