by Elise Noble
“You didn’t move for eight hours yesterday.”
“These are far from normal days, Kylie. Is that your ball over there?”
Yes, yes it was, and it took me three more clubs and seventeen whacks and taps to get it into the hole. Russell did it in three and spent the rest of the time checking his phone. What happened to delegating? But I succeeded nonetheless, so that was something to be happy about, right?
“That’s better,” Russell said. “A smile.”
“This is frustrating, but not as boring as I thought it’d be.”
“It gets better, honestly. Next hole?”
“Yup.”
“Much as I hate to admit it, my mother was right about one thing when she convinced me to go to Egypt—I do need to have more fun. I see that now.”
“What are you gonna do after this?”
“After golf?”
“No, after you leave Australia. Will you go back to London?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead. I need to attend board meetings once a month, but I can do some of those by phone, and I can work from anywhere. How about you?”
“Me what?”
“What will you do?”
“At the moment, it’s looking like a choice of jail or China. Maybe Morocco if I can get a flight there.”
“Don’t talk like that. We’re so close to catching Michael.”
“But even if we do catch him, how does that clear me? Unless he admits he set me up, it doesn’t. And I can tell you now that Michael will never admit to that. He’ll go to the grave with his secrets.”
I may have been so very wrong about him in the past, but that was one thing I was certain of. Michael would be an asshole to the last. It was ingrained in his character, a stain on his soul.
Russell gave me a side hug, and having his arm around me no longer felt strange the way it once did. I leaned into him and rested my head on his shoulder. How much more time would I have him around?
“Forget Michael this afternoon,” he said. “Focus on re-landscaping Emmy’s golf course instead.”
A hiccup of laughter escaped because I had left a lot of craters. “She’d go mental if she could see me.”
“I don’t think so. Akeem told me she’s not so good at golf either.”
“Really?”
“Apparently, she knows enough to bluff her way through the occasional game with dignitaries, but she mostly just cheats.”
“No way.”
“Yes way. Half the guys at school used to cheat too. Getting into practice for their future careers as politicians, I guess.”
“You never got tempted?”
“I found it far more satisfying to pretend that the ball was the science teacher’s head. Hit that sucker every time. I can still hear his voice now—Russell Weisz, you’ve got mitosis and meiosis mixed up again. I think a detention’s in order, don’t you?”
“You weren’t a big fan of biology, then?”
Russell threw me a glance over his shoulder, and for an instant, his eyes darkened. “Oh, I mastered the parts that matter.”
What? What was that supposed to mean? I hurried to catch up as Russell strode towards the next hole, his hand outstretched for me to take. What parts? What parts had he mastered? Was he talking about—
“Coo-eee!”
I spun to see Akeem coming towards us, bouncing over the grass in a golf cart. Had something happened? Russell gripped my hand tighter.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It’s hot, you’ve got through six holes, and nobody’s offered you any refreshments.” Akeem stopped the cart in front of us, blocking our way. “It’s important to keep your energy up, so I’ve brought drinks and snacks.”
On any other golf course in the world, drinks and snacks probably meant a bottle of water and maybe a packet of peanuts, but we were on Emmy’s golf course, and this was Akeem. Two minutes later, he’d set up a table complete with a spotless white tablecloth and set out a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket plus a selection of canapés.
“Is this wise?” I asked. I was quite bad enough at golf already without adding alcohol into the mix.
“Why wait until the nineteenth hole? Let your hair down.”
Oh, screw it. There was no champagne in prison, and if I fell over, Akeem could pick us up in the cart later. Who knew, perhaps the alcohol would even improve my aim? When Akeem waved us off to the seventh hole, I had a pleasant buzz on.
“I think I like golf now,” I said as I stumbled into Russell. “This is fun.”
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Heaven help me” then mustered up a smile. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Isn’t this better than typing?”
“Typing. Yes. Kylie, the green’s this way.”
Six more holes, and Akeem reappeared, this time with cocktails for me, beer for Russell, crustless sandwiches, and bags of fancy hand-cooked crisps. Was this really what rich people did all day? Played drunk golf? No wonder so many terrible business deals got done on the golf course. Russell had taken four business-y phone calls, and I had no idea how he managed to speak without slurring.
“I’m getting better at this, huh?” I said as I smacked the ball into the air at the fifteenth hole. “Aw, it went in the sand again.”
I climbed down to try and hit it out, but I fell on my ass instead, and when Russell attempted to help me up, I accidentally pulled him into the sandpit as well. Oops.
“Sorry.”
“I think it’s time we headed back, don’t you?”
“What about the rest of the holes?”
“We can finish those another day.”
“Okay.” I lay back in the sand and reached my arms over my head, stretching out. “Why don’t we just stay here? It’s like lying on the beach, except with grass instead of water.”
Russell lay down next to me, propped up on one elbow, and I thought he might be pissed. But when I managed to focus, I saw mirth in his eyes rather than anger. Michael would’ve been annoyed for sure. He’d always hated when I got drunk, even though it was usually him who kept plying me with alcohol.
“At least there aren’t any sharks,” Russell said.
“Nope. No sharks on land. Just snakes.”
“Snakes?” He scrambled to his knees, looking wildly around. “Where?”
I got the giggles, then wished I hadn’t because I felt a tiny bit sick. “Just relax. They mostly keep away from humans. It’s only if you scare them that they bite.”
“I think I should call Akeem to pick us up. It’s time we both had some dinner.”
“Chicken.”
“Hey, it’s only natural to be nervous of snakes. A lot of them are poisonous.”
“No, I want chicken. That thing on the room service menu with the chicken and the asparagus.” I held my hands up. “Don’t go. I’ll protect you from the snakes, I promise.”
Russell lay back down beside me, a little gingerly it seemed. “I’m sure I can arrange asparagus-stuffed chicken.”
“I always wanted to be able to cook, but I can’t. Can you cook?”
“My mother always told me a gentleman should be able to make at least one good meal.”
“And what meal can you make?”
“Beef Wellington, spaghetti bolognese, and lobster thermidor.”
“That’s three meals. You’re such an over-achiever.”
“Guess I am.”
“Did your mother teach you to make them?”
“Goodness, no. Her chef did. Mother doesn’t get her hands dirty in the kitchen.”
“We come from different worlds, you and me.”
“But right now, we’re living in the same one, so let’s make the most of it.” He fished around in his pocket for his phone. “Akeem, could you please pick us up? … No, we’re at the fifteenth hole. … Uh, no, we’re lying in a bunker. … Yes, lying in a bunker. It’s perhaps best not to ask.” Russell shook his head as he hung up, seemingly
unable to believe the situation himself. “He’ll be here in five minutes. Try to stay awake, okay?”
“Yup, absolutely.”
I didn’t manage it. I was vaguely aware of Russell hauling me out of the sandpit and laying me across the back seat of the golf cart, then holding me in place as we headed for Emmy’s villa. That solid thigh under my head… Mmm… I came to as he carried me into the bedroom, and when I opened my eyes, our lips were just inches apart. Alcohol took over, and I leaned in, only for him to move out of reach.
“I’m not doing this while you’re drunk.”
Instead, I got the soft press of his lips to my forehead once he’d laid me on the bed and tucked me under the quilt. Then he smoothed the hair away from my face and dimmed the light.
“Goodnight, Kylie.”
The door clicked behind him.
CHAPTER 11 - KYLIE
REGRETS? I HAD a hundred of them, but none so much as when I woke the next morning with a mob of kangaroos jumping around in my skull. How much wine had I drunk? It must’ve been at least half the bottle, plus those cocktails, and I was such a lightweight. Michael used to tease me about it, the way I couldn’t hold my drink, but that still didn’t stop him from taking advantage.
I’d been under the influence on our first night together, inebriated at a colleague’s leaving party in an effort to prove I was one of the guys and still tipsy when Michael drove me home. He’d kissed me on the doorstep, and my alcohol-addled brain had been weirdly flattered. Flattered that he wanted me—me—when women had been throwing themselves at him all night. We ended up in my bed, where he came and I didn’t. That pretty much summed up our whole relationship. Looking back, I could see it was all about him.
Why did I go along with it? Because I was young and I didn’t know any better. I’d been dazzled, blinded by his freaking aura. Women walked into walls over Michael. Flirted with him in front of me. I guess I thought that if so many other girls wanted him, then he must’ve been a real catch. That he was as good as it got.
I’d been wrong. So very fucking wrong. I’d had enough of alpha males to last me a lifetime. Give me a beta any day.
That had been my strategy as I travelled. I’d gone for the shy men. The quiet ones. Always tourists, and never anyone whose flight home was more than a day away. I didn’t want deep and meaningful, just a fleeting connection. Enough to ward off the loneliness for another week or two. Nights of fumbling and bad sex because if I’d suggested an evening of cuddling and a movie, any sane man would have run a mile.
And it had worked. I’d kept my emotions in check, even felt the odd spark of happiness as my life in Australia had faded into history. Except then it fell apart. One day in Egypt, the life I’d constructed, the walls I’d built around myself, they all got smashed down. And now here I was.
With the ultimate fucking beta.
How much of a fool had I made of myself yesterday? I screwed my eyes shut, trying to remember, but all I got was fuzz.
Fuzz followed by a soft knock at the door.
“Kylie?”
“I’m awake.” It came out as a croak, and I peeped under the covers. Yep, awake and still wearing golf clothes. How nasty did my breath smell?
Even if it stank, there was nothing I could do about it because the door creaked open. Russell was carrying a cup and saucer and wearing those damned glasses again. Too late, the memories of last night came back. The way I’d attempted to do something utterly stupid, and his words afterwards. I’m not doing this while you’re drunk.
“Peppermint tea. I know there’s no scientific evidence, but I found it helped my hangovers when I was at school.”
Once again, I could’ve kissed him. No, really. I realised at that moment I was in big trouble.
“Thanks.”
“Leyton’s coming by in half an hour, or I’d have let you sleep. Can I get you anything else? Coffee? Some breakfast?”
Just a do-over of yesterday afternoon. I shook my head, then regretted it because my flipping brain hurt. “Russell, I’m really sorry I drank too much yesterday. I’ve barely touched alcohol since I left here the first time, and it hit me a lot harder than I thought it would.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. I haven’t had that much fun playing golf in years.”
Great, now I was a laughingstock. “I stink at it.”
“The first time I played, it took me twelve hours to get around the course, and I hit seven balls into a lake. You’ll get better, but perhaps we should sunbathe on the beach instead of in a bunker next time?”
“Good idea. I doubt they’ll let me back on the golf course anyway. Did I make a complete fool of myself?”
“Uh…no.”
He hesitated too long.
“Now tell me the truth.”
It couldn’t be as bad as the blow job video. Nothing could be as bad as the blow job video.
“While you were, er, resting, a lady hit a ball a foot from your head, then nearly had a heart attack when she came to retrieve it. She thought she’d knocked you out, and Akeem had to drive her back to the clubhouse.”
“Oh, crap. I should apologise to her, maybe get her some flowers or something.”
“Already taken care of. Her husband saw the funny side.” Russell reached out to brush a stray hair away from my eyes. “I’ll leave you to take a shower.”
Why did he have to be so fucking nice?
As the steaming water cascaded over my shoulders, I cursed Michael, Superintendent Clarke, and the universe in general for putting me into this position. Fantasy versus reality. Heaven versus hell. Every day I spent with Russell, I grew to understand him better, and with that understanding came an impossible longing, an ache that started deep in my chest and threatened to consume all rational thought if I let it.
Why did I have to meet the right man at the wrong time? Fate? Although if I hadn’t been on the run, our paths would never have crossed, would they? If Michael hadn’t been the world’s biggest shithead, perhaps he and I would still have been together, and maybe I’d even have been happy, not knowing that there was anything better out there.
Ten minutes passed, twenty, and I forced myself to turn off the water and get dressed. I had to face Leyton, and Russell, and… Oh. Mimi.
“Sorry. I overslept a bit, and…”
“No worries,” Leyton said. “We’ve just come to fill you in on what’s happening.”
“And?” The word tumbled out.
“The team had a long discussion yesterday evening, and we’ve decided to get the Feds involved.”
“The Feds?”
Didn’t he think there were enough law enforcement officers sniffing around already?
“It’s the best option. Blackwood could carry out the raid, but we can’t tie the mess up afterwards and get it through the courts without assistance. We’ve got contacts in the Federal Police, and they’re keeping this hush-hush.”
“Superintendent Clarke doesn’t know?”
“Not a word.”
“He’s already under investigation for poor results,” Mimi said. “Do this right, and he’ll go down along with the rest of them.”
“But what about me?”
“That’s phase two. If Michael’s been dabbling in the drugs trade, then he’s most likely got money stashed away. While the raid’s happening, Mimi’s gonna take a look around his place to see if we can find his nest egg. Russell, can you be on standby to go through his computer?”
“Of course.”
“Michael still lives in the same house as he did three years ago. Ky, can you talk us through what you remember about it? The layout, security, possible hiding places, anything that might be useful. It could have changed, but it’ll be a start.”
I thought they’d just want a few diagrams, but they interrogated me for two hours. First, I described the obvious—the hollowed-out book where he kept his passport, the spare key to the shed hidden under a rock by the swimming pool, the attic he rarely used—but as Leyton continued
with his questioning, I recalled things I barely even knew in the first place. The creaky floorboard in the upstairs hallway. The way the back door lock stuck until you jiggled it a bit.
And the experience left me drained. Twenty-seven years old, and I needed an afternoon nap.
“Tired?” Russell asked after Leyton and Mimi left.
“Exhausted.”
“Why don’t you get some rest until it’s time to cook dinner? I’ll catch up on a bit of work.”
“Cook dinner?”
“I thought you wanted to learn? And I can make beef Wellington, so…”
Oh, hell. I was done for. Russell was so sweet it hurt, and I tried to smile even as my eyes prickled.
“Cooking sounds great.” I turned away before he saw my tears. “Absolutely perfect.”
CHAPTER 12 - KYLIE
“DO YOU WANT the good news or the bad news?” Russell asked when I shuffled out of my bedroom at—what time was it? The monstrosity on the wall said six o’clock.
“Please, no more bad news.”
“Okay, the good news first. Emmy emailed. Remember Maury Devlin and Anton de Bellis?”
With all the horrors in Australia, Devlin and de Bellis had faded to the far recesses of my mind, but now they popped forward, front and centre. Devlin was an art dealer from Yonkers and a cog in the smuggling ring we’d helped to bust in Egypt. De Bellis was one of his buyers.
“Yes, I remember them.”
“They both got arrested yesterday. Dawn raids, one in New York and one in Switzerland. The pair of them are in jail, and the police are going through their art collections for stolen goods.”
Finally, some justice had been served, even if it wasn’t against Michael. “That’s great! So, uh, what’s the bad news?”
“Akeem somehow heard about it and sent this…” Russell reached over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of pink champagne. “Apparently, it’s to help us celebrate.”
“What, he doesn’t think I got drunk enough yesterday?”
“I thought that might be your reaction.”