Page 38 of The Question of Us (Fisher & Church #2)

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. “I do have 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 Lee outside ,” 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.”

He was right, of course. “Just remember to try and keep outside by the pool where I can see you. And as soon as you’ve spoken to Lee, get the hell out of there.

If he’s amenable to going with us, then simply give him the phone, nothing more.

If not, then we call it a day and leave knowing we did our best. Got it? ”

Gazza sighed. “Got it. I better get going soon. The guy with the clipboard is sending curious looks my way.”

“Then go,” I told him. “Good luck and check your phone.”

“I will.” Gazza chanced another look toward the guards. “The garden fence is directly in front. I’ll distract the security for a bit on my way to the house, so give me two minutes after I leave the car, then do your thing. And keep your head down.”

When he opened the door and slid outside, I fired a quick text to Mads. Gazza is on his way and I’m about to leave the car.

Mads reply was quick and to the point. Be careful. I want you back in one piece or I’ll kill you myself.

I grinned like a fool. How to say you care and pose a credible threat to life at the same time. My kind of guy.

I dropped a section of the back seat and crawled forward through the gap, keeping low. I waited a few seconds, then popped my head above the door panel to check on Gazza’s progress. Only a few metres from the security guards, he was already chatting and drawing their full attention. Time to go.

I popped the back door and slid from the car onto the crunchy brown vegetation that laughingly passed as grass.

Keeping low, I chanced a look around. The driveway was cast in dense shadow, the beech trees towering like creepy giants against a clear starlit sky and a pretty half-moon.

A few clouds would’ve been nice, thank you, universe, but there you go.

The upside—there was enough light for me to find my way without tripping and giving myself away.

The downside—if I didn’t move slow and stick to cover, I could easily draw unwanted attention.

Heeding my own counsel and keeping my head low, I crawled to the back of the BMW to make a final check on Gazza.

Poking my head around the taillight, I saw all three men laughing.

I blessed Gazza’s little cotton socks and crouch-ran my way back up the BMW toward the garden.

I slipped between the wooden fence rails and headed into the thick plantings, sending a thank-you out into the universe for landscapers with generous budgets.

By the time I reached the corner of the house and checked the driveway again, Gazza was nowhere to be seen, presumably already inside.

There was nothing to do but stick to the plan and keep moving.

Ignoring the odd slap in the face from random branches and having to hopscotch my way through the sprinkler system and irrigation hosing, I slowly made my way down the side of the house toward the hum of the party rising from the backyard.

The clamour of competing sounds echoed around the small amphitheatre, created by the tiered gardens, and afforded odd snippets of clear conversation amongst the background chatter and warm vocals of Cheryl Crow.

I stayed low to avoid being seen through the windows until I reached the back corner of the house, where thick plantings against a tall fence hid the patio from view.

Here, the garden took a steep turn up the hill, and I climbed with it until the fence disappeared and I found myself on the corner of a raised bed of roses with a reasonable view across the expansive sunken patio below.

I hunkered down and retrieved the tiny binoculars from down the front of my shirt.

The majority of partygoers were gathered around the impressive pool—a large kidney-shaped arrangement with a towering man-made rock formation embedded with a water slide.

A number of scantily clad or naked women and men were making good use of the facility, watched by groups of people milling around the edge, talking and enjoying the service provided by a circulating all-male waitstaff dressed in nothing but low-slung black leather trousers and a bow tie and bearing trays of champagne and nibbles.

It was hard to miss the occasional hand sliding over the bare skin and around impossibly tight arses, but nobody seemed to bat an eye, least of all the servers. Most pasted on a smile and simply dodged as best they could, while others flirted and encouraged the attention.

The whole thing felt... off. What the fuck had we got ourselves into?