by Vicki Tyley
“Someone had to keep her out of trouble. Since Tanya died, Fen’s behavior has become increasingly reckless. It’s as if she doesn’t care what happens to her anymore.”
“Ash the guardian angel, eh? I hope she realizes how lucky she is to have a friend like you.”
He lounged against the kitchen bench. “What about you? Do you have any guardian angels looking out for you?”
“Not any that you can see,” she said, pouring boiling water on the coffee grounds.
“You never did tell me why you were asking Fen about men with spider tattoos,” Ash said.
She froze.
Ash ripped off his shirt to reveal a smooth, well-defined chest.
Her jaw dropped. “What are you doing?”
“Proving to you I don’t have a tattoo.” He unzipped his jeans.
“I believe you, I believe you.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “That look is priceless.”
She fanned her face. “Yeah, well, it’s not every day a man starts stripping off in my kitchen.”
“I had to get my point across somehow.” He rescued his shirt from the floor.
“Which is?” She couldn’t resist.
“Obviously not well enough.” He tossed the shirt aside.
“I take it back.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s got into me today.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll have some. Make it a double.”
She shoved a cup of coffee at him. “Start with this. Milk’s in the fridge. I’ll bring the biscuits.”
Settled at opposite ends of the couch, supping coffee and gazing at the day outside, their conversation soon fell into a comfortable lull. From day one, she had always found Ash easy to be around. Except when Fen had her prods out, of course. Then she never knew what to expect.
Halfway through their second cup, Ash’s tone changed. “Jemma, look at me for a minute.”
She turned her head. His clear blue eyes fixed her in his gaze.
“Do you trust me?”
“It goes both ways. Do you trust me?” she asked, twisting the question back on him.
“Yes.”
“Really? Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” he repeated, more emphatic this time.
She shifted in her seat, unfolding her legs. “Okay then, if you trust me so much, tell me why me talking to Fen about men with tattoos got you so agitated you had to get your kit off. It was a private conversation. You were eavesdropping.”
“Because I wanted you to see you could confide in me as much as Fen. More probably. At least I don’t get pissed and start shooting my mouth off.”
Jemma swallowed a mouthful of tepid coffee. “Trust, like respect, has to be earned. True, I never used to think that way, but times change. Gone are the days when I trusted everyone unless – or until – they gave me reason not to. Instinct tells me you’re one of the good guys, Ash, but I haven’t even been able to trust my own judgment of late.” She laid her hand on his knee. “So, please don’t take it personally. One step at a time, eh?”
The corners of his wide mouth twitched, lifting in a slow grin. “Who made you so wise?”
Wise wasn’t the word she would have used. The anonymous flowers and warning letter, combined with Chris’s cautionary approach, had more to do with it. “Know that expression, once bitten, twice shy?”
“I don’t bite.”
“And do you know what? I actually believe you.”
“Finally!” He cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “One small step for Jemma Dalton, one giant leap for Ash Bartlett.”
She laughed.
“That’s better,” he said, lolling back against the armrest, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
Hysterical laughter erupted unbidden from deep inside her. Her face contorting, her emotions crumbling, she fought to rein it in. Uncontrolled, her mania rose to a crescendo, pitching her over the other side. She buried her face in her hands, her wails escaping from between her fingers.
“Oh, fuck. Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean it.”
She felt his fingers on her shoulder. His touch acted like a catalyst, releasing a torrent of pent-up grief. She threw herself at him, burrowing her face in his chest. His arms tightened around her. She clung to him, too scared to let go in case she fell.
Her lips found his.
CHAPTER 31
Framed in the balcony’s glass doors, the city lights looked like a sluggish screensaver. She tossed aside the blanket covering her clothed body, letting the built-up heat escape, and rolled onto her back. She didn’t remember Ash leaving. How long had he held her in his arms?
Her stiff muscles protesting with every movement, she eased herself up and switched on the table lamp. Scrunched tissues littered the side table. God, what must Ash think of her? She pulled a fresh tissue from the box and blew her nose.
A yellow Post-it pad and pen lay in the light next to her mobile phone. She pulled it toward her. A note from Ash asking her to call, no matter the time. Her phone read 23:11. What could she say to him that wouldn’t come out sounding inane? An apology would be a good start, said a little voice in her head as she pushed herself to her feet and headed for the bathroom.
It was closer to midnight when she plucked up the courage to call Ash.
“Jemma, sweetheart. How are you feeling now?”
“Embarrassed.”
“Why? What’s to be embarrassed about? Nothing happened.”
“Only because you didn’t let it.”
“I would never take advantage of a vulnerable woman. Never.”
“A gentlemen through and through.” Tears pricked her eyes. She sniffed. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. What are friends for?”
She only wished someone had told Ross that. Weepy females panicked him. He couldn’t get away fast enough. “You don’t know how much that means to me. Oh, and sorry about the shirt, too.”
He chuckled. “It’ll dry.”
“Anyway, I should let you get back to bed.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay. Now remember, I’m here for you if you need me. Call me – day or night, it doesn’t matter.” He paused. “I mean that, Jemma.”
“I know,” she whispered. “Goodnight.”
Without Ash’s solid presence, the apartment felt empty, hollow. Like her. She held up her hands to the light, half-expecting to see straight through them, their substance gone.
Unable to settle, she drifted from room to room, running her fingers along the walls and doors. Solid walls. Solid doors. No escaping them or the shadows of her mind. Not until she laid her sister’s memory to rest.
She stood in the study doorway, gazing into the darkened room. The laptop’s green power-on light drew her in. Certain that the DVD harbored a clue, she lifted the laptop’s lid, rousing the operating system from its hibernation, and pulled up the chair. Tanya had to have concealed the DVD for a reason. Why else keep evidence of her dead fiancé’s promiscuity? Who was she hiding it from, though? And why? Insurance? She replayed the QuickTime file frame by frame, hoping an answer might leap out at her.
All it did, however, was reinforce her opinion of Sean Mullins. Why hadn’t Tanya been able to see through him? Everyone else had. “I hope the bastard at least used protection,” she muttered to herself, before realizing how absurd that sounded. What’s a sexually transmitted disease between corpses?
She opened the still image she had captured and studied it. Hoping a different perspective might help, she rotated the picture in 90-degree steps. It was definitely a spider of some sort, and not a spindly daddy-long-legs, either. “As if,” she scoffed.
What was it they said about talking to yourself? She made a copy of the image and opened the editing toolbar. Mad or not, she couldn’t expect to unravel the mystery of the DVD on her own. A tattoo of a spider meant something to Ash, but she knew the only way he would confi
de in her, is if she gave something up first. Give and take.
She cropped the image so all that was visible was the tattoo, and emailed it to him with a message to phone her. She thought about forwarding him the link she had sent Chris as well, but then dismissed it. All in good time. She needed him to see the tattoo in isolation first.
With little left for her to do until she heard from Ash – or Chris – she went to raid the refrigerator. As her aunt was always pointing out, she couldn’t run on empty forever. Running? She groaned. Her next session with Kerry was less than six hours away.
Her ringing phone shattered the night stillness. She jumped, almost dropping the two eggs in her hands, and rushed to silence it. In her experience, late night calls equated to bad news.
“God, Ash, what are you doing ringing at this hour?”
“Probably the same reason you’re emailing at this hour.”
“I didn’t expect to hear from you until tomorrow, or should I say today. Can’t you sleep?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t the reason behind his insomnia.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“You could,” she said, taking the phone over to the couch. “But you probably know the answer. Talking of which, what did you make of that picture I sent you? I’m assuming that’s why you called.”
He laughed. “No beating around the bush with you, is there?”
“Not when it’s the middle of the night.”
“True,” he said. “Okay then, how about you start by telling me where it came from?”
“Not fair. I sent you the picture. I get to ask the first question. Quid pro quo.”
“If that’s how you want to play it, truth or dare?”
“What?”
“Sorry,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “I turn into a smart-arse after midnight. Go on, ask away.”
“I know the tattoo’s not yours, but do you recognize it?”
“I’m not trying to be evasive here,” he said, “but I really can’t say one way or the other. What you’ve sent me isn’t much to go on. Is that hazy picture all you have?”
She hesitated. He had proved himself trustworthy on one level. Could she take the next step? “No, there’s more: a rather distasteful DVD of Sean with another man, but that man’s face is never facing the camera. His only distinguishing feature is that tattoo on his right shoulder.” She heard Ash’s sharp intake of breath. “You know who it is, don’t you?”
“I can’t be sure. Where did it come from?”
She told him where she had found it.
“Bloody hell. Why go to all that bother? Why even keep it?”
“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me.”
“What makes you think I would know?”
“Please, Ash, don’t get defensive. What I meant was that as a close friend of Tanya’s you might be able to hazard a guess. More so than me.”
“Oh.”
“We’re both tired. How about we call it a night? Then once we’ve both had our beauty sleep—”
“Speak for yourself,” Ash interjected, the jocular tone back in his voice.
“Correction: once you’ve had your ugly sleep, drop around to the apartment and I’ll show you Sean’s X-rated home movie. I’ll be here all morning,” she said, deciding on the spot to give her body a rest day from the gym. Any excuse.
“Roger that. Over and out.”
She hung up, convinced the night air had affected both their minds. Or was that lack of sleep?
Her grumbling stomach drove her back to the kitchen. She had just put the two eggs into a saucepan of water and set it on the stove when her phone rang again.
She pressed the hands-free button. “That has to be a record for the shortest sleep.” She turned the stove element to high.
Silence.
She snatched up the phone. “Ash, is that you?”
No response. She disconnected and checked the Call Register. No number. The caller’s ID had been blocked. Strange.
Unless it was a wrong number, she expected the person would call back. She popped two slices of wholegrain bread into the toaster, put the kettle on to boil, and found an eggcup.
By the time her supper was ready, she no longer felt like eating. She picked at a corner of toast, staring at the congealing egg yolk, her mind elsewhere. What did the man with the tattoo have to do with anything? Had Sean recorded the encounter with the intention of blackmailing his unsuspecting male lover? Had he carried through with it? How could she get access to Sean’s bank records to check for any large deposits? Chris had already told her he wouldn’t break police protocol.
Her phone rang. She pounced on it. Private number calling.
“Hello?” More question than greeting. “Hello, anyone there?”
When she didn’t get a response, she checked the signal strength. No problem there. Third time lucky? “Hello.”
She hung up. Five minutes later it rang again. She didn’t answer it, diverting it instead to her voicemail. If they really wanted to talk to her, they would leave a message. Unless, of course, whoever it was had a problem with their phone. And that’s what worried her. What if it was Gail calling from somewhere other than her home phone? But phoning Gail in the wee small hours to check would only panic her aunt. Who else could it be?
The phone rang again. She seized it. “Hello!”
She took a breath and exhaled. “If you can hear me, I can’t hear you. If you have access to a mobile, please send me an SMS with a phone number and I’ll call you straight back.”
The call disconnected.
Ten minutes later it rang again.
And then again a few minutes after that.
CHAPTER 32
The intercom buzzed, jolting Jemma from her stupor. She blinked, taking a moment to get her bearings. The buzzer sounded again.
“All right, all right, I’m coming.”
Every muscle in her body ached, as if she had gone a few rounds in the boxing ring. Any illusions that she might have had about taking on Jeff Fenech were long gone. It took everything she had just to shamble across to the monitor and then over to the door to let Ash in.
“Hi, I tried to call you, but—” He broke off. “You look like shit. No offence,” he quickly added.
“Some taken.” She tried to smile, but it fell flat.
“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
“Nothing a month’s sleep wouldn’t cure.”
Ash frowned. “Didn’t you get back to sleep?”
“Yeah, about five minutes ago. Well, that’s what it feels like, anyway.” She yawned. “Sorry. After we spoke, someone kept phoning every ten minutes or so. Talk about the snooze button from hell. I ended up muting the bloody thing.”
“Really? Was it a man or a woman?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t say anything.” She yawned again, this time managing to avert her face in time. Ash didn’t need to see her tonsils.
“What about a phone number?”
She shook her head, reaching for her phone to check for missed calls. Only those from the silent number, and they had stopped shortly after she turned off the ringer. “I just have to make a quick phone call. If you want to make yourself useful, you could always make a pot of coffee.”
“Your wish is my command.”
If only that were true. She left him clanking around in the kitchen and went out onto the balcony to call Gail.
Her aunt answered on the first ring. “I was just thinking about calling you.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
Gail chuckled. “And you think I’m bad?”
Jemma breathed out, lowering her voice. The whole neighborhood didn’t need to hear. “So everything’s okay then?”
“Of course it is, love. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Oh, you know, me just being silly. Ignore me,” she said, leaning on the balcony railing. The tennis courts, the swimming pool, the warm northerly wind, it all seemed so
innocuous. But who knew what went on behind closed doors. Unless, like her sister’s fiancé, you recorded it for posterity. “Sorry, what did you say?”
Gail cleared her throat. “I said, more to the point, how are you? Any word on when you’re coming home?”
“You’re incorrigible, do you know that?”
“Just asking.”
“Soon. I have to go now, but I’ll give you a call later if you’re going to be at home.” Jemma hung up, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted. So long as her aunt was okay, she was okay.
“Café au lait, ma’am,” Ash said, presenting her with a mug as she stepped back inside.
The strong, milky coffee hit the spot. “I might keep you on.”
He laughed. “You couldn’t afford me.”
“You would be—” She remembered her promise to Marcus and shut up. “Come on, let’s get this viewing over with.”
“I won’t say what that sounds like,” Ash said, following her into the study.
She set her coffee on the desk, opened the laptop and brought up the QuickTime player. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you,” she said, selecting the play button.
Where Chris’s reaction had been restrained, Ash’s was anything but. A vein on his temple pulsed. He clenched his fists, the knuckles white. “Fucking bastard! Fucking, sick bastard!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “Un-fucking-believable. And Tanya knew? That’s even more un-fucking-believable! How could he do that to her? He didn’t deserve her.”
The outburst ended as quickly as it began. He bowed his head, his fists unclenching as his breathing slowed. When he looked up again, he appeared composed, if tense. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have lost it like that.” He laid a cold hand on her bare arm. “I’ll explain later, but there’s something I have to do first. Stay here.”
“Wait,” she called, the slamming door her only answer.
CHAPTER 33
Jemma hurled her phone at her bag. Ash had instructed her to stay put, but when had she ever done what she was told? She had tried phoning him numerous times before her shower and again after with no success. He wasn’t the only one with places to go and people to see. Her hair still wet, she headed out the door.