Page 41 of The Question of Us (Fisher & Church #2)

But Gazza was staring blankly around him, like he was trying to get his bearings, or maybe he was looking for me.

As I watched, he took a step toward the house and almost tripped over his feet.

Freddie was at his side in a second, his arm sliding around Gazza’s waist as he whispered something in his ear.

Gazza nodded but it didn’t feel right. He wouldn’t let that arsehole hold him like that if he was okay. What the fuck was going on?

Freddie then turned and said something to Jacob. The older man gave a lecherous grin and began to half-walk, half-carry Aaron toward the house. It wasn’t fucking rocket science to work out what was happening. If this wasn’t stopped soon, things weren’t going to end well for Lee’s brother.

I barely had time to digest that troubling fact when I realised Freddie was steering Gazza in the same direction and Gazza was going willingly. Was he acting? Was this some kind of subterfuge? I didn’t fucking know. Or had he truly been drugged?

A few guests offered sympathetic smiles as Freddie passed, and I could only imagine the back-and-forth commiseration over the universal problem of guests who drank too much. Or maybe the attendees knew exactly what was happening. A part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that they did.

In no time at all, the four men were back inside the house and the party closed around them like nothing had happened. Not a single person cast a curious eye back toward the house.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Do what you think is right.

Yeah, wonderful advice, my darling. I have three men at risk in separate locations. Exactly what the fuck am I supposed to do and in what order?

Crouching to see through the open patio doors, I watched Jacob and Aaron peel away from the others and slip from view.

Instead of following them, Freddie sat an obviously woozy Gazza at the large dining table and stood watch.

Gazza slumped over the glass top with his forehead on his hands like he couldn’t support the weight of his own head.

That was it. This was no act and I was done waiting.

I pulled out my phone. Big trouble. Think Gazza drugged. Have eyes on him but he’s inside. Not good. I slid it under my hip and waited for Mads’ reply.

Meanwhile, Marty re-emerged from behind the marquee with his hand firmly gripped around Lee’s upper arm.

He steered Lee back toward the house in silence, the tension between them electric.

With his head down, I couldn’t see Lee’s face, but his body language screamed his fury.

When they reached the dining table, Marty handed Lee off to Freddie and they disappeared into the house.

Marty took a seat next to Gazza and whispered something in his ear. Gazza’s head lifted and I saw him nodding, or maybe it was just lolling.

My phone vibrated against my butt and I pulled it free.

“What the fuck’s going on?” Mads demanded.

“Keep your voice down,” I warned, my gaze sweeping the garden.

“It happened too fast to do anything. Lee confronted Marty about his brother and it all went to hell. Jacob took Aaron inside somewhere, which scares the fuck out of me, and I’ve no idea where Lee is, but I think he’s in big trouble too.

And right now, Gazza is sitting at the dining table with Marty who is getting way too handsy with him.

They’ve been roofied or something, Gazza and Aaron, I’m sure of it.

Lee, I think is okay, but Gazza can barely walk on his own and we need to get him out of there. Now. Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“Marty’s trying to give Gazza another drink but Gazza’s too out of it to hold the glass. The invitation was a fucking set-up. I don’t think Marty knows who Gazza is. He’s just an arsehole rapist intent on getting Gazza in his bed by any means necessary.”

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Mads’ desperate silence spoke volumes. “We should’ve known. It was all too fucking easy.”

A frustrated sigh burst from my lips. “Don’t do this, Mads. There’s no way we could’ve known Marty was going to drug Gazza in front of a hundred people and with Lee right there on site.”

Mads grumbled something I couldn’t quite hear and figured I didn’t want to. Then he said, “So what should we do?”

I blinked. “Why are you asking m—oh fuck, they’re on the move.

” I watched in horror as Marty dragged Gazza to his feet and Freddie appeared from nowhere to help.

They talked for a minute, then Freddie steered Gazza into the kitchen and out of sight, and I slammed my palm against the trunk of the maple tree. “Shit! They’ve gone.”

“What?” Mads demanded. “Who’s gone? Should I call the police? I’m calling the police.”

His question sparked something in my brain. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes, but they’re not likely to arrive soon enough to stop what’s going down. You have to call Marty, Mads. The card he gave Gazza is in the console.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Mads almost choked on the words. “And just what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know,” I snapped. “I’m hiding here in the garden. You’re the story guy, Mister Sherlock Holmes. Surely you can come up with something believable to prevent your friend from being raped.” The line fell silent and I immediately regretted my words.

“Are you fucking kidding me, right now?” Mads fired back.

“I’m sorry, okay?” I so fucking was. “That was way out of line.”

“Yeah, it was,” he huffed angrily. “And I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say it... for now.” He was monumentally pissed and rightly so, a fact which didn’t bode well for that future discussion.

“Okay.” I tried to clear my head. “How about you call, looking for Gaz—Carey? Say you’re a friend. Claim you’re worried because Carey told you where he was going and he was supposed to check in but he hasn’t. Now he’s not answering your calls, which he’s not, obviously.”

“What if they check his phone?” Mads asked.

“They can’t open it, not unless they make him do it for them.

We turned off facial recognition, remember?

” I hoped that was still the case. “I don’t even know if he still has it.

He didn’t answer my text. We just need to scare Marty into thinking that doing anything to Gazza is too risky because someone knows where he is. ”

Mads groaned and I pictured that deeply furrowed brow I’d come to love. “All right, all right,” he relented. “But won’t it seem strange that Carey never mentioned he was travelling with anyone?”

I thought about that. “Maybe, maybe not. I’m not sure it matters. You don’t have to say you’re with him. You could be back in Sydney. All we need is for Marty to believe it enough to reconsider any plans he might have for Gazza.”

Mads breathed out a long sigh. “Okay. I’ll say that if I don’t hear from Carey soon, I’ll be calling the police. That should put the wind up them.”

“Perfect. I said you were the king of stories, didn’t I?” It was worth a shot.

Mads huffed. “Oh no. You’re not wheedling out of trouble that easily.”

“We can argue later. Make the call to Marty and then call the police. I’ll try and—sssh.

” I spun at the crack of dry wood somewhere in the garden and pressed my phone to my chest. Nothing moved in the black shadows but my nerves were jangling ominously.

I dropped my voice to a whisper. “I might have company. Make the call and I’ll text you when I can. Don’t ring me.”

“But—”

I hung up on his protest and slid deeper into the garden to crouch behind the trunk of a gum tree.

Slowly, soundlessly, I set my phone and binoculars to the side and covered them with leaves.

Then I curled in a ball to hide the paleness of my face and froze, senses hyper-focused on my immediate surroundings.

The raucous party continued below, but that was the only noise.

Nothing from the garden itself. After a minute or so, I’d almost convinced myself that I’d been hearing things.

Then a heavy footfall crunched on the gravel path and my heart bolted in my chest. A light tracked back and forth along the path at the edge of my vision, and I found myself sending a silent plea into the universe.

Keep going. Keep going. Move along. The footsteps slowed, then stopped close by.

Too close. Something cold, hard, and alarmingly familiar pressed into the back of my head and I felt a hysterical urge to laugh.

Twice in a month. It had to be a fucking record of some sort.

“Get up. Slowly.” The muzzle pressed into my scalp, a reminder that the person wielding the gun could blow my brains out any time he wanted.

With that in mind, I did as instructed and found myself face to face with one of the security guards from the driveway.

He looked me over, frowned, and in a thick Scottish brogue said, “Who the fuck are you?”