Page 45 of The Question of Us (Fisher & Church #2)

Marty’s eyes narrowed and he looked me up and down.

“Now, why do I think you might already know the answer to that? After all, my parties have a reputation... in the right circles.” His eyes ran over me again and my skin crawled.

“Or maybe there’s another way to get the information I want.

My tastes generally run to younger men but I’ll make an exception in your case.

” A slow, filthy smile spread over his face.

“If I can mix business with... pleasure , then I’d say that’s a win-win, wouldn’t you? ”

“Good luck with that.” I was determined not to give him the show of fear he was looking for. “As I said, feel free to call the police. I’m unarmed and not threatening anyone. If you touch me... in any way... you’ll regret it.”

Marty exchanged a look with Freddie and then walked across to stand in front of me, forcing me to look up.

“I’m sure I can find any number of witnesses ready to testify to the threat you posed, how you attacked me, and that it took several men to bring you down.

Enough to explain the bruises and other. .. damage.”

I never saw the punch coming, but the crack of my cheekbone under his fist echoed around the room and stung like a motherfucker.

My head snapped back from the force of the blow, and with my hands tied behind my back, I had no way of defending myself from the uppercut to my jaw that followed and the slam of someone’s boot into the side of my knee that had me screaming.

“Now—” Marty walked away, wincing, and shaking his hand. “—I’m done being patient. I have a guest to get back to, so I want a name and I want it now.”

“I know exactly who he is,” Freddie suddenly piped up, and my gaze snapped to his cruel smile. “It took me a bit, and he’s made some changes to throw us off, but I’m sure now. This is Nick Fisher.”

Marty’s head jerked up. “Nick Fisher? The husband of?—”

“Davis Minton, yes.” Freddie finished for him.

Marty couldn’t have looked any more stunned as he did a slow turn back to me. “What the fuck is he doing here?” He grabbed hold of my hair and yanked my head up to scrutinise my face. “And you’re sure?” Marty’s gaze flicked back to Freddie.

Freddie scrolled through his phone, then held the screen next to my face. “It’s the hair.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Marty shoved my head away and started to pace. “How the hell did this happen?” He glared pointedly at Freddie.

Freddie shrugged. “I told you he was tenacious. Him and his mates were a pain in my fucking arse from start to finish.” He turned to me. “Starting with this one’s dearly departed husband. A spectacular crash, I have to say.”

Blood froze in my veins. “So it really was you that day, chasing Davis. And it was you on the boat too, wasn’t it?”

A slow smile spread over Freddie’s face. “I can’t deny it. Some of my finest work.”

“Shut up.” Marty pushed Freddie aside, then glared at me.

“Why are you here?” But before I could answer—read: lie—his eyes widened.

“Shit.” He crossed the room in a flash and pulled open a door nestled between the floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

Rather than go in, he turned to Freddie.

“Bring him through and then get busy on your phone. I want to know what the fuck is going on here and if anyone else is involved. No more surprises, understand? And find out if our other friend in there checked his phone at the front door. Everyone was wanded for one, right? If it’s there, I want to see it. ”

I figured he meant Gazza’s phone, which explained a lot. Something else we hadn’t counted on. We were such fucking amateurs.

Marty handed Freddie a key fob that looked an awful lot like Gazza’s and my heart sank. “He had this in his pocket,” Marty told him. “I want his car off my property. I’m not liking any of this. Too many fucking coincidences.”

“Done.” Freddie dragged me to my feet and then shoved me toward the open door after Marty.

I stumbled as my injured knee refused to take my weight and Freddie shoved me again.

I lurched forward and practically fell into the next room, saved by the arsehole’s grip on my shirt.

I couldn’t focus, my mind spiralling out of control.

Did moving Gazza’s car mean that Marty suspected our connection, or was he just being careful?

Either way, it screwed our closest means of transport, which only left Mads.

And with no way to alert Mads to what was happening, all I could do was hope he had Samuel on board and wait for the cavalry.

If there was any cavalry to wait for. And if they got here in time.

It was two too many ifs.

The second room was much bigger than Marty’s office.

Aside from a full-sized billiard table, it held a couple of casino-style card tables, an enormous television screen that would give a cinema a run for its money, a bar complete with stool seating for six, bookcases filled with every board game imaginable, and loads of buttoned leather chairs and velvet couches.

It was the swankiest games room I’d ever seen.

“Gray, my darling.” Marty strolled across my line of sight and there was a sharp intake of breath somewhere to my right. “Look who dropped by to pay us a visit.”

I followed the gasp and found Lee staring bug-eyed at me from a blue armchair in the centre of the room. Gray was clearly a pet name Marty used for Graham, Lee’s old name. In my head he would always be Lee.

But Lee wasn’t the only person in the room.

Face down on a blue velvet couch with his head turned to the side, beads of sweat running down his pale face, and one arm hanging to the floor lay Gazza.

My stomach dropped. He was far too still, those gorgeous brown eyes closed in what I hoped was sleep, his mouth slack and drooling.

And peeking out from under the bottom of his scarf was the vague outline of a tattoo partially buried by concealer.

And oh shit. We were in deep fucking trouble.

My heart climbed into my throat and I had to quash the urge to run and check on Gazza.

Marty watched me like a hawk. I couldn’t react.

I couldn’t let on that I knew who Gazza was.

I dragged my attention back to Lee whose alabaster skin glowed even paler than usual.

He appeared alert and apparently unhurt.

Our eyes met but his expression remained blank, which I took as a good sign.

He clearly wasn’t about to confess that he recognised me from the supermarket, at least not right away.

Freddie steered me to an armchair and pushed me down. “Don’t move.” Then with Gazza’s keys in hand, he crossed the room and left through a door to what I presumed was the hallway, based on the glimpse I got of a guard standing outside.

Lee’s gaze shifted from me to Marty. “Who the fuck is this guy? And where’s Aaron? If that slimebag has touched him, I swear I—” His head snapped back as Marty’s hand connected with his face.

“Did I say you could talk?” Marty followed the strike with an almost tender ruffle of Lee’s hair and a slimy grin that made me wanna gouge his fucking eyes out. “Or do I need to remind you how we do things here?”

Anger tinged with fear flashed in Lee’s eyes and he shut his mouth.

“Aw, look, you do remember.” Marty patted Lee’s cheek, then took a seat at the far end of the couch and casually laid his hand on Gazza’s thigh like he had any right to. If steam wasn’t coming out my ears, I’d have been amazed.

Marty must’ve seen something in my face because his frown turned into a smirk, and I wanted to slap it off his stupid face. The smile broadened like he’d read my mind and he called out to the man in the hallway. “Hey, Jack.”

The door creaked open. “Yes, Boss.”

“Send someone to check where our birthday boy took young Aaron. Apologise and explain that an intermission is necessary while we sort this mess out.”

“Yes, Boss.”

The door closed and Marty turned his cool eyes on Lee. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Freddie returned through the study and closed the door. “They’ll let me know what they find.”

Marty nodded and Freddie crossed to the far side of the billiard table where he watched as he talked quietly on his phone.

Marty strolled casually to the bar like he didn’t have a care in the world and poured himself a glass of whisky.

That disconcerting calmness and surety he projected was fucking with my head.

Like I was missing something. Like I wasn’t seeing the whole picture.

With his gaze fixed on me, Marty took a long swallow of whisky.

Refusing to be intimidated, I tipped my head toward the couch. “What’s wrong with him?”

Marty said nothing for a minute, those cool eyes scrutinising me like we were playing some dangerous game of chicken. “A guest who can’t hold his liquor,” he eventually answered, almost fondly. “For some reason, it occurred to me that you two might know each other.”

I carefully schooled my expression and shook my head. “Why on earth would I know him? I don’t even live in this country.”

Marty’s eyes narrowed sceptically and his gaze swept the three of us.

“Funny how no one appears to know anybody else, and yet it’s been a surprisingly eventful night.

A suspicious person might be excused for thinking it’s been too eventful to dismiss as simple coincidence.

All of which leaves me in a bit of a conundrum. ”

Lee glanced my way and I caught the warning in those cool blue eyes. Not that I needed it. I knew all too well the shitload of trouble we were in. If I needed any reminder, the fact that my face ached like a motherfucker would do.