by Laura Carter
I stroke my lips where I wish I could feel his soft skin again. The familiar lump is building in my throat. I swallow it away with a sip of dry martini. He could drive me wild with just a single touch. And his scent. Rich, fresh. I close my eyes, remembering.
The stage darkens and a spotlight hovers on the actress playing Roxie as the band strikes up “Cell Block Tango.” Her soft, blond bob bounces and her innocence disappears as she sings, “He had it coming.” There’s a sinister edge to her stage voice. He only had himself to blame. She’s captivating. It’s not enough to distract me from my thoughts.
What I crave more than anything is the feeling of completeness. I never realised I needed something else in my life. I don’t think I did, anyway. Not until I met Gregory and, maybe for the first time, felt awake, alive, truly alive. Being near him was an adrenalin rush. Blood pumped in my veins, the way it does now. Just thinking about him raises my heart rate and sparks a dull yearning low in my abdomen.
I knew he was flawed. I just didn’t think he was...well, I guess I just didn’t think. I lost all reason with Gregory. I became a different version of me, a Scarlett Heath who operated in the grey. I struggled to move away from right and wrong, the black and white I’d always known and clung to. I’ve had five weeks to realise that I prefer that version of myself. I prefer the grey. I prefer who I am when I’m with him.
Our relationship was a mess, doomed from the beginning. We didn’t do anything in the conventional way. The takeover. My father. Murder.
“Scarlett.”
I jump as Paddy’s voice brings me back to real time. “Yes?”
“Here.” He slides a dry martini next to the one I’m currently drinking. “From table fourteen.”
“Thanks but I don’t accept drinks from strangers.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“Her? That’s new.”
“She told me to tell you it’s from Trina.”
I try to locate the name, then the face in my mind. “Trina. Katrina Martin?”
Paddy shrugs.
“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Heath.”
She’s standing over my left shoulder. Her ill-fitting black suit and scuffed leather flats have been replaced with linen trousers and royal blue deck shoes. The belt that would normally host her police badge has been switched with a dark brown number that’s too big and chunky for the delicate fabric of her trousers. If I were to judge her on appearance alone, I’d say she’s butch, maybe even a bitch. Wait, that’s my actual, informed view.
“I wish I could say the same,” I mumble. “I suspect it isn’t coincidence that you happen to be at the Crystal Grand in Dubai.”
“I knew you were smart.” She smirks and pulls a neighbouring stool close to mine, uninvited, definitely not welcome, but sitting nonetheless. “That’s why I knew you’d leave him eventually.”
I take a sip of my cocktail, a delay tactic whilst I muster some composure. “What do you want, Trina?”
“I wanted to let you in on a secret.” She leans towards me, her forearm resting on the bar, her fingers wrapped around a half pint of beer.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had my fill of secrets. Thanks anyway.”
She leans back now and pushes a hand into the pocket of her trousers. “There I was thinking Scarlett Heath is a good girl. That she was lured into something she didn’t understand. I guess I was mistaken. You were in on it all along.”
I drain my glass and step down from my stool. “I’m not interested, Trina.”
I make to walk past her but she clamps a sweaty palm down on my wrist. “Oh, I beg to differ. You see, if I’m right, your precious little career as a lawyer will be over.”
Does she know?
Snatching my wrist back, I growl through my teeth. “If you’ve got something to accuse me of, do it. Give me your best accusation.”
She smiles. A sadistic grin. Then takes a swig from her beer. “Sit.”
“I’ll stand.”
She wipes beer from her lips with the back of her hand. “Alright. I think your fancy pants boyfriend paid off Barnes. And I think one or both of them paid off the CPS. That’s what I think.”
I shake my head, trying to make sense of her words. “What are you talking about?”
That sardonic grin is back and I want to slap her face. “I was right. You didn’t know.”
My heart is pounding in my chest as my brain makes sense of her statement. Gregory paid off D.I. Barnes? I don’t want to believe it. I don’t believe it. I snatch up the drink Trina bought for me and take a gulp. Then I lean into her ear. “You know what, Katrina Martin, you’re full of shit.” I place my glass to the bar with a thud. “Enjoy the rest of your stay in Dubai.”
“Scarlett.” I’m walking away but, for some unbeknown reason, I turn to face her. “I think you know I’m not talking shit and I think your breathing has quickened and the skin around your neck flushed pink because this is the first you’ve heard of it. Bribes, Scarlett. Bribes of the most corrupt sort. Bribes with government officials. Bribes that would ruin your career and put you all behind bars for a very long time. Unless, of course, you wanted to make a statement. I could get you leniency.”
“Fuck you.” The words grate through my teeth and locked jaw.
She throws her head back on a laugh. “Yep, fuck me. But you just think about it. The CPS didn’t bat so much as an eyelid over a murder and, moreover, a murder with a gun? Two ballistics reports are ordered for no good justification and what d’ya know, they conflict.” It’s her turn to drain her drink. “You’re a smart girl.”
With that, she leaves and I stagger back towards my stool where I down the last of my second cocktail in one.
I want to think she’s a liar but there were things I brushed over, things I didn’t put my mind to. Like D.I. Barnes’s connection to Jackson. The way he was nice to me when he turned off the tape during my questioning. How pissed off he got when Trina started badgering me, digging deeper for answers. He shouted at her. He kicked her out of the room.
Sunday night, after Gregory and I had returned from that godawful foxhunt. D.I. Barnes turned up unannounced at the Shard to tell Gregory and Jackson about the ballistics report. How? Why? I’d thought he was just forewarning Jackson, being a good friend. But I remember now that he was angry. He said they’d been lying to him, Jackson and Gregory, that they’d hidden things from him.
I raise a hand until I have Paddy’s attention, then I gesture to my empty glass.
“Three in one night,” Paddy says, sliding the third martini in front of me.
Without even thinking, I drain it. “Make it four.”
“Whoa, steady on. Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?”
Whatever look I give him makes him hold up two flat palms. “To be sure. Number four’s coming up.”
I can’t believe I was so blind. So intentionally blind to what was happening. Gregory said he went to the police for me, so I could move on. He made me promise that if the Crown Prosecution Service made a decision not to charge him, I would accept that shooting Kevin Pearson was the right thing to do. That I would accept the decision meant I shouldn’t be charged, that I did the right thing. If Katrina Martin’s theory is true, it was all a lie.
Five weeks ago, I had Gregory. I deserved to be punished for what I did, for killing a man, but I thought I could get over it because I’d saved Gregory’s life. For the last five weeks, I’ve been trying to make sense of everything that happened and the only conclusion I’ve drawn is that nothing makes sense without him. Not my involvement in the hostile takeover, not my father being murdered as a result, not my burning desire to seek revenge, and not my incurable need to touch and feel that man.
I’ve realised things may never make sense again without him. I’m ruined for anyone else. Forget anyone
else, I’m ruined in my own right. But the one thing I’ve been able to cling to, the one thing keeping me from dropping off the cliff of sanity, is knowing that I didn’t lose all of Scarlett Heath. I took that shot because it was the right thing to do. Gregory escaping prosecution, escaping twenty-five years in a prison cell. That was the world telling me I did the right thing.
Now it’s all unravelled. I don’t have him and I don’t have confirmation that I was on the right side of justice.
Chapter Three
“You son of a bitch.”
“Scarlett. Not exactly the first five words I expected to hear from you after five weeks of silence.”
“Here’s another five. You. Are. An. Arsehole.”
“That’s four words.”
“You are an arsehole, Gregory.”
He sighs, and despite my fury and trembling hands, I can’t help but wonder where he is, whether he’s sitting or standing, whether he’s in that pose and wearing that suit. A fact that adds to my rage.
“Scarlett—”
“No, Gregory. Quit with your fucking lies. It’s my turn to speak.”
“Scarlett, I’ve never lied to you.”
“Withheld the truth, then. Frankly, I don’t give a shit because they both mean the same thing to me. You’re a deceitful bastard.”
I don’t sound like myself. My level of hatred and the filth leaving my mouth are surprising even to me. I’m as livid as I’ve ever been and the four dry martinis I polished off are amplifying the effect.
“You know, for days after you ended us, I felt like my world had come crashing down around me. I did something sinful, something wrong, and something that the person I was before you would never have done. I killed a man. And as warped as it sounds, that made sense when I had you. When I could see you might finally be free of your dark and twisted world. A world you wouldn’t share with me. You were alive and that was my justification.”
“Scarlett—”
“Shut up! I said it’s my turn to talk.” I rise from the queen bed of my hotel room and look out to the orange glow of Dubai’s skyscrapers against the dark night sky. “When I got here and I realised I didn’t have you anymore, I lost my justification for...everything, Pearson, my father... I was a mess. Then I realised you might not love me but I love, loved you enough to know that in spite of everything, I was right to take that shot because the alternative is unthinkable.”
I swallow the emotion that stings the back of my eyes, throbs in my chest, and threatens to unsteady my voice. He won’t hear me break. Not now.
“As much as I don’t regret saving your life, Gregory, I broke the law and I deserved to be punished for that. Or at the very least, I deserved to be tried in a court of law, by a jury.”
“Scarlett.” He sighs, his voice gentle. God, I miss him. “You did the right thing. My father deserved to go to hell. We were cleared.”
“No, Gregory. We weren’t.” I sit back onto the soft duvet and put my spinning head into my free hand. “You told me once that I had to trust you. You told me you got the police involved so that I could move on. Properly. You told me that I had to promise you, if you got a verdict of no charge, I would take that as our verdict. That we would both be free.”
“And we are, Scarlett. The CPS didn’t charge me.”
“But it was bullshit wasn’t it? It was all fucking bullshit. You never had any intention of letting the law make that decision.”
“Scarlett, what are you—”
“Katrina Martin just paid me a visit.”
I hear his sharp intake of breath.
“Tell me it isn’t true.”
“Tell you what isn’t true?”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Gregory! I was an idiot. I was so blinded by you, by not wanting to lose you, that I didn’t see what was right under my fucking nose. Jackson and Barnes weren’t just friends were they? He didn’t just forewarn you about the ballistics report, he gave you a chance to fix it. You were paying him off.”
“Scarlett—”
“Say it! You bought the CPS decision, Gregory. For once, tell me something true.”
There’s a bang down the line that makes me jump. “Damn it, Scarlett, it wasn’t all a lie.”
“Say it. Tell me Katrina Martin is lying. Tell me I’m wrong.”
He’s silent for seconds, eternal seconds that cause my heart to pound and my breaths to shorten.
“You’re not wrong.”
From the moment Katrina Martin told me, I knew it was true. That doesn’t stop his admission taking the weight from my body, sending me forward, my knees crashing to the floor. “Then I’m not free. I never was.”
The iPhone falls from my hand. His voice is a quiet mumble in the background as I stare at the reflection of a corrupt, broken woman in the floor-length window.
Chapter Four
5:40 a.m.
I haven’t slept. Maybe I’ve dozed but I’ve tossed and turned in the heat of my bed, too lethargic to move the ten steps required to turn on the air-con. My mouth is dry and my body feels the wrong side of thirsty, the slightly hungover side.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
That’s the question I’ve asked myself for the six hours I’ve been staring at the ceiling. Flicking on a lamp illuminates the room that’s been blacked out by suede curtains.
It’s not like I can hand myself in to the police and request a trial. I’d put everyone else in jeopardy and I don’t know if I could stand the uncertainty of another investigation, the police interrogating the people I love. And, whilst I’d like to slap his face, hard, there’s no way I’d turn Gregory over for corruption. I’d never want him to risk his freedom again. He took the blame for me. He committed multiple crimes but he did it for me. Living with what I’ve done is perhaps my penance.
I grab the TV remote from the dark wood bedside table.
Crystal Grand homepage—teasing pictures of Crystal Grand Singapore, Crystal Grand Sydney, Crystal Grand...
Dubai news, in Arabic...
Dubai early morning soaps...whoa...not soaps...stuff that should not be shown on TV in my room!
With a grumble, I throw the remote to the opposite side of my bed, where the thick white duvet is in a ball from a heated tantrum about two hours ago. Peeling the thin cotton sheet from my clammy body, I walk myself, zombie-esque, to the shower, quickly rinse off my sticky skin, then pull on my gym clothes and head to the ground floor.
The gym is empty but for Mike, another ex-pat, a muscle-bound Kiwi about my age who’s still opening up for the day. I have free run of the handful of rowers, upright bikes and steppers, the six treadmills, and what I’d describe as man machines. After stretching, I adjust my leggings and Climacool T-shirt then start walking on the treadmill. Mike has no idea how much he makes my morning by lighting the flat-screen TVs around the room with BBC World News, in English.
Cranking the tread up to a run, I hammer the belt with my feet and I try to focus on nothing but the sound of my breathing and the flashing images of stock markets around the world.
It’s around two in the morning in London. Gregory should be sleeping. I wonder if he’s alone. My stomach churns at the thought of anyone, ever, being in his bed with him. I hold my blink for seconds until the only image I see is of him, naked in his satin sheets. I wonder if his nightmares have stopped.
The tread automatically cuts out at an hour, so I move on to the stepper for twenty minutes, then the bike for a ten minute cool down. Any other Friday, I probably would have hit the outdoor pool for a few lengths too, but my dry martinis and lack of sleep are catching up with me.
“On the house,” Mike says in a thick New Zealand accent as he throws me a bottle of water, the plastic clouding on the outside from condensation.
I catc
h the bottle with a thanks and head out to the pool to dip my feet. Leaving my trainers and socks by a lounger, I stand on the ledge, treading my toes in the lukewarm water.
“Mind if I join you?” Paddy heads over to the pool, kitted out in white trousers, shirt and shoes.
“Of course not. Why are you here so early?”
“Volunteered myself for pool duty today,” he says, leaning down to scoop a sample of water into a clear test tube.
“So you’re tax.” My very slight smile is more for his benefit than my own.
Unusually for Paddy, he doesn’t return the gesture. He puts a lid on his test tube and gives it a shake. “Actually, no. Woman.” He shrugs. “I’m over it now.”
“Mind sharing your secret?”
He offers me a pitiful half smile and I can’t help but think how much I wish it was Gregory standing in front of me with his half smile.
“I take it your guest was unwanted last night?”
I scoff into the sports cap of my water bottle. “You could say that.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“I really don’t.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I’m around all day. They say we Irishmen make the best listeners.”
“Really? Who are they?”
He winks, a cheeky, very Paddy-like wink. “Women. All women.”
I chuckle as he walks away, thankful for the only interaction I’m likely to have today besides cleaners and maybe a waiter at lunch.
I spend most of the day working from my hotel room, preparing additional enquiries of the construction company Mr. Ghurair intends to acquire, venturing as far as the lobby café. This is one of the most mundane parts of a corporate lawyer’s job, endless due diligence—who owns the company? Who owns the assets, the machines, the tools and the cement? Will the company be in breach of any contracts with suppliers or customers if the acquisition goes ahead? Are there any hidden red herrings that could impact the value of the company?
I’m the lawyer on the ground in Dubai but there’s a team back at Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain in London. Amanda is heading up the due diligence from there, which has worked out great. She needed work and really could use a big deal before she goes off on maternity leave and her career flatlines for a couple of years. I needed support. And working together gives us more reason to talk regularly. As virtual as our relationship might be, she makes me feel less lonely out here.