Page 43 of The Question of Us (Fisher & Church #2)

A kilometre further and I parked behind a stand of eucalyptus, reached for my phone and tried not to think about exactly what kind of trouble Nick might be in. Was that how he’d felt when I’d been held captive on the boat? If so, I owed him an apology. It fucking sucked.

I stared at the screen for two beats, then called.

This wasn’t going to be pretty.

Samuel picked up on the second ring, sounding way too alert to have been asleep even with the time zone difference. “This better not be to tell me you’ve been arrested,” he bitched.

My guilty hesitation was met with a resounding groan. “Oh my fucking god, you have.”

“No,” I exclaimed. “No. We haven’t been arrested. But Gazza’s in trouble. Nick too... I think.”

“You think ?” Samuel managed to sound distressed and furious at the same time. “Exactly what kind of trouble?”

I sucked in a breath. “The kind where Nick thinks Gazza’s been roofied and is being held somewhere in the house.”

“Fuck.” Samuel inhaled sharply. “And Nick?”

I hesitated, knowing this wasn’t going to go down well. “He cut our call short because he thought someone was coming and I haven’t heard from him since.”

There was a two-second pause before Samuel said warily, “He was in the car, right?”

My hesitation gave me away, and Samuel swore loudly. “I’m going to kill that man. And then I’m going to bury his arse. At least I’ll know where he is then. Whose brilliant idea was that?”

“Calm down, babe,” Jerry soothed. “Hear the poor man out.”

I grimaced, knowing Jerry was there as well . “Hey, Jerry.”

“Hey, Mads.” Jerry’s warm honey tone filled my ear. “You better get out what you need to before this man explodes, yeah?”

I drew a deep breath. “Nick keeping eyes on Gazza was always part of the plan,” I admitted. “We were never going to let him go in on his own. We just didn’t tell you because... well, you know why.”

It was Jerry who broke through the thick tension. “He’s turning an interesting shade of red, just so you know.”

“I am not,” Samuel grumbled, but it lacked any heat. “Get Angela on the line for me, will you? Her number is on the fridge. And apologise for the intrusion.”

“On it,” Jerry said, and I heard the soft sound of bed linen being moved aside.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “But you can’t blame Nick. We all agreed to the plan.”

“I will blame that idiot if for no other reason than it makes me feel better,” Samuel griped, then added something about idiot fucking brother-in-laws, amateur detectives, and a lot of foul language that didn’t bear repeating until he eventually calmed down. “Tell me the rest.”

And so I did, right up until the point when Nick stopped answering his phone. “I’ve cruised past the house but there’s nothing to see. The party is still going strong.”

A stark silence greeted my words.

“Samuel? Please.” I couldn’t hide my panicked tone. “I don’t know what to do. Please, tell me what to do. I need your help, dammit.”

Something in my voice must’ve warned Samuel how very fucking close I was to losing my shit completely, because his next words came in a much softer voice. “I’m here. I’m just thinking.”

“To be fair, we couldn’t have foreseen the drugging thing,” I tried.

Samuel huffed. “I’m going to ignore you said that, considering you were kidnapped just a few weeks ago by the same people.” He sighed. “Mind you, I should’ve foreseen that possibility too.” Another long pause. “But your little phone call was a clever idea.”

I blinked. “Really?”

He grunted. “Don’t push it. There’s no knowing what this arsehole will do if he puts two and two together between Gazza and Nick and Lee.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my heartbeat rising.

Samuel sighed. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Then it hit me, and I choked out, “You can’t mean... he wouldn’t... kill them... would he? Why the fuck would Marty do that?”

“Because we have no idea who this guy really is,” Samuel reminded me.

“Or what you idiots have stumbled into. Your average fiftieth birthday party does not include roofied guests, potential rape, and kidnapping alongside the buffet table. But as long as Marty continues to think Gazza is just a hot lay and doesn’t see any connection with Nick or Lee, then Gazza is likely okay.

But if Marty makes that connection, he’ll know he’s in big trouble and he’ll be furious. ..” Samuel trailed off.

Shit. “What about Lee? Nick thinks he’s in the shit after tonight as well.”

“Forget about Lee,” Samuel snapped. “Our priority is to get Gazza and Nick safe. Lee and his brother are a separate issue.”

I hated his answer but I understood it. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”

“First off, drive back past the house and tell me what you see. Jerry’s given Angela a summary and she’s listening in. I’m gonna enjoy watching her chew your arse when you finally meet.”

Wonderful. “Whatever. I’ll leave you on speaker phone.” I circled the eucalyptus and headed back down the road. “I’m about three hundred metres from the driveway.”

“Face your phone down so the screen doesn’t light up the interior of your car.”

“Already is,” I lied, flipping it over. “Almost there. The party is still in action. A few people are wandering out front of the house.” I cracked my window and Eric Clapton filled the car. “I don’t think—holy shit.”

“What?” Samuel demanded.

“It looks like Gazza’s BMW heading down the driveway, followed by a big SUV. But... that’s impossible.” I took my foot off the accelerator and the car slowed. “Gazza wouldn’t leave without Nick, and one of them would’ve called. Plus, Nick said Gazza could barely walk on his own.”

“Can you see the driver?” Samuel demanded, his voice a thin slice of anger.

I squinted through the windscreen. “Not through the headlights, but if he turns left, I might get a chance when we pass each other. What the fuck is going on, Samuel?”

Samuel grunted. “I don’t know but I don’t like it.”

“He turned left. Here he comes.” I squinted to protect my eyes from the glare of the headlights as I turned at the last minute and tried to catch the other driver as he sped past. It was little more than a flash of skin and hair lit by the electronic dash, but it was enough.

“It’s not Gazza,” I said emphatically. “Whoever it is has dark hair, not Gazza’s current platinum blond tips.”

“You’re positive?” Samuel pressed.

“No, I’m not fucking positive,” I snapped. “But it’s my best guess.”

“All right. All right,” he backed down. “Was he alone?”

“I don’t know,” I flustered. “I think so, but it was too fast to be sure. Here comes the other SUV.” I watched a Land Cruiser sail by and sighed.

“Just a driver on his own, I think. No one I knew. What the hell are they up to? Do I follow Gazza’s car or wait here?

He could be in the trunk. They both could.

Or they could still be inside. Fuck! What should I do? ”

When he didn’t answer, I roared, “Samuel! Tell me what to do. I don’t fucking know what to do.”