Page 44 of The Question of Us (Fisher & Church #2)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Nick
I figured the security guard had to be the same man who’d checked Gazza in at the gate since the odds of there being two Scottish guards was a little on the low side. He pushed me through a side door into the house and up a narrow set of stairs onto an impressive landing.
Modern art and baroque-style mirrors hung above expensive antique furniture that featured gleaming honey wood bursting with inlaid panels of intricate design.
Buttoned velvet chairs and Persian rugs added warmth and an additional layer of luxury, and in the middle of the voluminous space, a grand staircase with a sweeping polished balustrade led back down to the ground floor.
I’d obviously been brought up the service entrance.
Everything smelled like money and good taste, but to me it was suffocating and pretentious and I wanted to throw up.
I couldn’t imagine Lee living in all this.
A man stood guard outside a door just along the stairs I’d come up and I wondered if Gazza or Lee or Aaron were inside. “Hey, Clarence, who’s that?” The man squinted my way and I ducked my chin while noting the name. Clarence.
“Unexpected company. Interesting night, right?”
The other man laughed. “Aren’t they all?”
Clarence didn’t reply. He steered me to a door further down the hall, knocked, then opened it without waiting. He pushed me inside and then shoved me roughly to my knees. I caught a glimpse of a rug before I landed and a dark mahogany desk that likely cost more than my year’s salary.
Without knowing who else was in the room, I stayed where I was, hands cable-tied behind my back, head lowered, eyes on the rug, praying no one would recognise me.
“I found this guy hiding in the gardens above the pool.”
“Is that right? How about you wait next time before barging in uninvited?” It wasn’t hard to pick that voice as Marty’s. The unmistakable authority cut through the room like a knife and I hoped like hell Mads had made that call.
“Sorry, Boss.”
I turned my head just enough to see Marty staring coldly at his phone before he threw it on the desk and turned his attention to me. Fury simmering in my chest, I dropped my gaze back to the intricately patterned Turkish rug and let Marty’s eyes burn a hole in the top of my head.
After a nerve-racking minute or so, he finally spoke, though not to me. “Any ID?”
“Not that I found. I think maybe?—”
“I don’t care what you think, Clarence.” Marty practically spat the man’s name.
“Someone’s head is gonna roll over this.
I don’t employ you guys for fucking decoration.
” He began slowly circling the mat, his leather sandals and the hem of his cream linen trousers passing my line of vision.
“My, my, my, it’s turning out to be a very interesting night, don’t you think, Freddie? ”
Shit. Freddie . The one most likely to recognise me through all the carefully applied artifice. I ducked my head even more.
“Yes, Boss. One for the books.” He was behind me, at least, but there was a smile in his voice like he was enjoying the change of pace and maybe a chance to hurt someone. A sobering thought.
As Marty circled behind my back, I lifted my head enough to get a snapshot of the huge study.
Bookshelves and glass-fronted cabinetry loaded with racing cups, certificates, and awards lined the walls.
The remaining space was filled with photographs of horses parading in winners’ circles, horses racing across finish lines, and a few framed newspaper articles one of which I recognised.
It covered Marty’s much-touted rags-to-riches storyline, which I knew to be a lie.
Martin Rudolph Klein, only child, might not have appreciated his super-strict Catholic upbringing very much, but he also hadn’t known a day of paucity in his life.
His life reeked of money, and Marty sat comfortably at its heart, a king in his kingdom.
Contrary to the public storyline, he’d grown up with power and money and a dodgy moral code, and he wallowed in it like a pig in muck.
His deceased father was an investment broker who’d been lucky to escape jail for fraud when Marty was a young teen.
He left the business in disgrace and kept a low profile.
It was a fall from grace that was touted to have left the family penniless, but in reality, most of the money he’d stolen from his clients had never been accounted for.
He drowned in a sailing accident not long after, coincidentally the same time that his son started having success in the racing world and investing heavily in his breeding programme.
Marty’s version of the story differed significantly.
According to Marty, his homophobic parents had cut him off for being gay and he’d had to start his career from scratch, scrambling his way up the pile to become a top dog in the bloodstock world with nothing but grit and determination.
Yeah, right. I wasn’t a forensic accountant for nothing.
The public might eat that shit up, but I caught the aroma of a very big smelly rat.
As for Marty’s mother and wannabe socialite, with Marty’s success, she managed to claw her way back into the Melbourne moneyed set and remarried to a man twenty-five years her junior.
It was said that little Marty didn’t approve of the marriage and blew their wedding off in favour of attending a horse race in Hong Kong.
Needless to say, mother and son didn’t talk much.
When Marty got back to his desk, he remained quiet. I angled my head just enough to see him and he shot me a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Bit old to be gate-crashing a party, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “Late bloomer.”
He snorted. “Let’s start with your name?”
“You first.” The words were out before I could stop them, and I mentally slapped myself.
What the hell was I doing pissing the guy off?
But I already knew the answer. I saw Marty and I thought of Davis, and my blood just fucking boiled.
I wanted to jump up and wring his scrawny fucking neck.
I wanted to see the life drain out of his body.
Watch his eyes go dark just as I’d watched Davis, and to hell with the consequences.
I didn’t want to play his stupid game, but dammit all, I needed to.
Because this was exactly what Mads had talked about.
I wasn’t that guy. I wasn’t my father. I had more to think about.
There was a bigger picture. Gazza. Mads.
Samuel. Lizzie. Jerry. Shirley. All of them.
I needed to shut the fuck up and do whatever was needed.
A boot landed between my shoulders and shoved me flat on my stomach. “Give me an excuse, please,” Freddie growled above me. “I’ve had a bored-as-fuck day. I could do with the entertainment. Now, answer the man and be polite about it.”
“Now, now, Freddie,” Marty softly chided with zero heat. “Go gentle with our friend here. I’d hate to bruise that handsome face.”
Freddie removed his boot and Marty reached down and gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him. The seconds burned away—one, two, three. Marty’s eyes narrowed. “Mmm. I feel like I should know you.”
I yanked free of his hand and got to my feet—scrambled was more like it, given my aching hip thanks to Clarence throwing me against a brick wall to secure my wrists. Careful to keep my back to Freddie, I focused on Marty.
When Freddie made a grab for me, Marty raised his hand. “Let him stand. Where’s his phone?”
“I didn’t find one.” Clarence sounded nervous about the fact.
“Really?” Marty’s brow creased and he spun back to me. “How very interesting. A man without a phone is a rarity these days. Are you a rarity, Mister Whoeveryouare?”
“You can’t keep me like this,” I barked.
Marty slid me an oily smile. “Oh, I think you’ll find I can.
You’re trespassing on my property, which makes you a potential threat to my guests.
Restraining you is simply common sense. I have some very wealthy friends attending tonight and security is paramount.
” His gaze steeled. “Now, kindly tell me your name.”
Freddie moved into view and I angled my head away as best I could. “Then please, call the police,” I offered Marty. “I’m happy to explain... to them .”
Marty cocked his head, my surliness clearly making him curious.
Calm down, you idiot.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Marty glanced behind me. “Check next door on your way out and make sure we have enough eyes in the hall.”
“Sure thing, Boss.” The door to the hall opened and Clarence left the room.
Marty’s gaze snapped back to mine, his expression a cool mask. “Take a seat.” He waved me to one of the armchairs facing the desk and I did as he said, sitting awkwardly on the edge with my hands zip-tied behind my back.
Freddie moved to my side, his scrutiny so intense it rattled the last of my composure and my hands began to shake. I bit the inside of my cheek to shock me out of it, and it worked, at least for a bit.
Marty studied me closely. “There’s something about you.
” He stared a moment longer, then shook his head.
“It’ll come. So, this is the part where you need to be very sensible about your predicament.
You either tell me exactly who you are and why you’re trespassing on my property, or I’ll have my men get the answers from you.
Believe me, you won’t enjoy the process. ”
“Why not just call the police?” I put him on the spot.