Page 25 of The Question of Us (Fisher & Church #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Madigan

“Wow. That’s some serious money right there.

” Nick stared at the two-storey, red-brick, Georgian-style house that sat at the end of a long sweeping white-chip driveway flanked either side by a row of impressive beech trees.

The trees looked a little parched from the relentless heat, their leaves already beginning to yellow, but they still made for a majestic entrance.

“You’re not kidding,” Gazza added, leaning across the back seat to get a better view.

We’d debated taking both cars to lessen the chance of Gazza being seen with us but decided against it in favour of sticking together in case anything happened.

Scoping out Marty’s property was the first thing on our agenda that morning, but not wanting to attract attention, we’d forgone parking anywhere close in favour of making a few drive-bys.

But since Nick was the one driving, Gazza and I got a much better look than he did.

“Take some photos,” I told Gazza a little sharper than I’d intended, my gaze intent on the man driving.

Nick had carefully avoided the subject of his feelings regarding coming face to face with the men possibly responsible for Davis’s death.

Every time I tried, he shut me down, saying he was fine about it. Arsehole. His time would come.

“Another loop,” I snapped... again. “And let’s swap places so you have a better view.”

Nick shot me a questioning glance but didn’t argue. He drove to the next junction, hung a U-turn, and pulled over long enough for us to swap seats. The second his seat belt was secure, his warm hand landed on my leg.

I gave him a sideways look that asked What?

He smiled, but there was concern mixed in with the warmth and I distinctly heard his voice in my head asking if I was okay. I blinked at the silent exchange, wondering when the fuck that sneaky shit had started?

“You okay?” he asked gently.

I nodded. “Fine. You?”

He frowned. “Fine.”

“Well, that’s good then, right? We’re all fine.”

Nick continued to frown but he didn’t push. He really didn’t deserve my pissy attitude, but we’d had no time to rekindle a conversation about the previous night’s... activities, and okay, I was spiralling a little.

We’d woken to his alarm at eight, tangled in each other’s arms, the sound detonating in my brain and shattering my nerves.

The bloodstock auction was set to begin at ten and it was a twenty-minute drive.

We’d showered, joined Gazza for breakfast, got our disguises in place and helped Gazza with his, and then left almost immediately to take a look at Marty’s property before driving to the sale.

We were all hyped. We were all nervous. It could be our last opportunity to get Lee on his own. The pressure was on. Fine wasn’t going to cut it. But what could we do?

The hamster wheel in my brain was stuck on a loop going over and over the night before. The way Nick and I seemed to fit so well together. The way we’d made love—I refused to call it sex because it was so much more than that, at least for me.

As I drove back along the quiet country road, I mused on the fact that it had been Nick’s first time with anyone since Davis, and my first time with anyone who truly mattered. So yeah, it had been a lot more than sex on both sides. The thought was both daunting and exhilarating.

At least my concern about invoking the ghost of Davis in our bed had been unfounded.

Nick had been with me the entire time. I’d never doubted it for a second.

His eyes constantly watched me. His body attuned.

His handing over control, most of all. Wanting me to top him like maybe that wasn’t something he and Davis had done that often.

A question for a later time. A part of me wondered if he’d asked that of me simply because it was different.

Regardless, it was the best fucking sex of my life.

Then again, it was sex with Nick, and maybe that said it all.

I let loose a troubled sigh and caught Nick’s eye. “I’m sorry. Guess I’m a bit jumpy.”

He returned a warm, knowing smile. “Yeah, me too.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror. “That goes for you too. Sorry I snapped.”

Gazza waved it off. “I’ve been handling your pissy grump for years. I’ll survive.”

Nick snorted and his hand squeezed my thigh, so close to my balls that my cock couldn’t help but take notice. A fact he was no doubt aware of. I shot him a warning glance and added an eye roll for good measure. He grinned and squeezed me again, making me wriggle in my seat.

“Oh. My. God. Please stop,” Gazza grumbled. “And while we’re on the subject, motels aren’t renowned for their soundproof walls, in case you’ve forgotten.”

I swallowed a smile. “Ah . . . sorry?”

“Hell no. We are not sorry.” Nick turned to eyeball Gazza. “You’re only jealous.”

“What if I am?” Gazza admitted. “Doesn’t mean I want to hear you two boning each other in the next room. At your age, I thought I might have to call an ambulance.”

“Why, you little shit.” Nick threw a balled-up paper bag from our early morning deli trip, Gazza’s way.

Gazza batted it aside. “If you need to restock those little blue pills you rely on, I’m sure we have time.”

Nick caught my eye, winked, and answered, “An excellent idea,” at the same time as I answered, “Yep. Thanks for the reminder.”

Which shut Gazza up as intended.

The second drive-by provided little more in the way of information as the property sat a good two hundred metres back from the road and was well screened on both sides by a densely planted garden, leaving only the front of the house exposed.

A late-model Porsche in racing yellow was parked out front, along with a dark blue or green Range Rover. Off to the side was a double-cab black Toyota Hilux covered in dust, its tray stacked with hay bales or maybe straw. It was hard to tell at that distance.

The house itself oozed all the charm of the Georgian era’s love affair with symmetry and balance, even though the construction couldn’t have been more than a decade or so old.

Rectangular in shape, the red-brick frontage featured a central decorative portico flanked by two pairs of classically styled columns, all in cream-coloured stone.

Twelve large, evenly spaced, multi-paned windows boasted lintels fashioned in yet more cream stone, along with two roof dormers added to the Georgian style, and the overall effect was pleasing to the eye.

Knowing who lived there, I wanted to hate it on sight, but there was no denying the man had good taste, or at least his architect did.

Still, the thought of Lee wandering that interior in fear of its arsehole owner curdled my blood and made me want to drive our rental right through the middle of that fancy front door.

As we completed our drive past the house, Nick craned his head to stare at something behind us.

“There’s a horse trailer coming up some kind of service road about a hundred and fifty metres or so this side of the house.

It must lead to the stables and business side.

There’s certainly nothing like that up here by the road, but I can’t see anything more because of the hill. ”

I glanced in my rear-vision mirror but couldn’t make anything out.

“Lee did say his brother was staying in accommodation above the stables. It has to be a good-sized building, right? And with all the heavy transport to and from, it makes sense it would have its own access. The driveway to the house looks too flash for farm traffic.”

Nick nodded. “Let’s get out of here before someone sees us. We can grab a coffee and something to eat at this auction place.”

“I second that.” Gazza looked the happiest I’d seen him all morning.

I shot both of them a look. “We only had breakfast an hour ago.”

Nick eyed me with a sly smile on his face. “A boy needs to keep his strength up.”

I snorted, then yelped when Gazza whacked me on the head with a rolled-up magazine before doing the same to Nick.

“Last warning,” he growled.

Nick zipped his lips, cast me an amused glance, and whispered, “The kids are mutinying.”

Which earned him another whack.

We arrived at the bloodstock auction house with plenty of time to spare.

It was a much larger venue than I’d expected, with ample parking, several stable blocks and holding pens, and a large, covered auction arena.

A café and catering tent were set up in a field next to the stables, along with fifteen or so food trucks offering various cuisines and beverages.

Behind that, a small circus was busy erecting a big top and putting together their rides and sideshows for opening night.

I snagged a parking spot at the far end of the car park, which allowed Gazza to discreetly slip away on his own while Nick and I did a little exploring to see if we could spot Marty and Lee.

The plan was to avoid being seen by Lee first, knowing he wouldn’t take too kindly to us stalking him and would likely scarper.

We were relying on Gazza, with one of the prepaid phones in his pocket, to make the approach.

Since Lee hadn’t run into him yet, Gazza was the most likely of us to get close enough to talk.

It was an okay plan, not ideal. There were a ton of what-ifs and maybes that could go wrong, but it was the best we could come up with.

As soon as Gazza had put some distance between himself and the car, Nick and I pulled our caps over our heads and got out.

Following a quick scout of the area, we poked our noses into the indoor auction arena and found a modern air-conditioned space.

It had stadium seating surrounding a circular pen where the animals were presumably shown while bidding ensued.

Several groups of people milled around the foyer, chatting and laughing as they filled in time, but there was no sign of Marty or Lee.