In Safe Keeping (13 page)

Laila tried her best to stay calm, though she was anything but on the inside. She glanced at Evan. His coat had gone, his tie was loosened, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. A square of sticking plaster covered his burnt palm, the only outward sign of the fire last Monday.

‘It’s no game.’ She moistened her lips and did her best to stay cool as he began pacing the floor. ‘That’s the figure she’s demanded.’

He swung around. ‘On your advice?’

‘Of course not.’ Feeling at a disadvantage with him towering over her, Laila pushed back her chair and stood. ‘Would you stop prowling about like a caged animal?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just having trouble getting my head around your offer of
thirty million bucks
.’

Laila studied his face and wondered just how closely he was involved in the Peytons’ business activities. He appeared genuinely aggrieved, shaking his head, grey eyes flicking from one side of the room to the other. But Evan Barclay was a master of crisis management, a genius at salvaging deals when everyone else had written them off. Was this part of his game plan?

Only one way to find out.

‘She has information.’

He ceased pacing and slanted a suspicious look at her. ‘What kind of information?’

‘Bribes, paid to foreign officials to secure contracts.’

He didn’t react, just looked at her the way he had when she’d told him they couldn’t continue their relationship.

‘Which country?’

‘China.’

He spread his hands wide, palms facing upwards, the movement tightening the white shirt across his chest. ‘Facilitation payments are part of doing business with countries like China. They may be frowned upon, but it’s how they operate.’

‘Frowned upon? They’re illegal, and Scarlett knows it.’

‘Like it or not, Laila — both sides of government turn the other cheek. Foreign companies have to observe their business practices. Otherwise they’re not in the running.’

Laila frowned. ‘So, you condone this?’

‘No, I don’t condone it. I acknowledge it happens.’

‘Are you’re aware the Peytons regularly adopt this practice?’

‘Are you wondering if I’m involved?’

‘What?’ Heat suffused her cheeks. Like an amateur, she’d let her personal feelings for him intrude.

To her amazement, he smiled. ‘No need to worry about me, Laila, and no I wasn’t aware they adopted the practice.’ He went on, as if the little hiccup hadn’t happened. ‘I’m hardly surprised though.’

Laila decided to stay quiet. She’d put the counter offer to him, and the ball was now in his court.

‘Is that it?’ he asked after a while.

She shook her head. ‘There’s more. He organised high-class prostitutes for them when they came out here on business.’

‘
Jesus
!’ This time he did react. He ran a hand down his suddenly pale face and half turned away. ‘I’m beginning to understand why the marriage failed.’

Taken aback, Laila wondered at his response. Organising prostitutes wasn’t illegal. It wouldn’t enhance Duncan Peyton’s reputation any, but the facilitation payments were more damaging.

No, this was something else; it was as if Evan had suddenly turned inward. It was there in the rigid line of his jaw, in the tightness of his stance, in the glazed eyes that seemed to be looking into the past.

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. ‘Before you ask, I had no knowledge of that.’

Laila swallowed at his hard tone. She couldn’t deny it any longer. She wanted to know Evan Barclay at a deeper level, wanted to know what drove him, what made him tick, his loves, his hates, his faults, his prejudices.

She wanted it all.

Wanted him.

Laila clenched her hands at her sides. It hurt to have him so close and not touch him.

This is not the time. Stick to business.

‘She wants the premium, Evan. Either he pays, or it will come out in evidence in court.’

He turned then and gave her a steely look, the likes of which she’d never seen before. ‘I don’t like this, Laila.’

She held his gaze, refusing to look away. ‘I don’t either. But she’s determined to destroy him.’

For long moments neither of them spoke.

How much would Duncan be prepared to pay to save his company, his reputation, the family’s reputation?

Eventually, it was Evan who broke the silence. ‘How long has Scarlett had this information?’

‘Six months, apparently.’

‘Six months.’ He repeated the words softly to himself. ‘Scarlett’s threatened to leave on numerous occasions. I’d like to know what pushed her to do it now.’

‘I have no idea.’ Laila was at a loss to understand Scarlett herself. One minute she was offering to become patron of the Blackhawk Foundation, the next exposing her husband, the father of her children, as engaging in dubious practices, possibly ones that fell on the wrong side of the law. So much for her statement that she only wanted what was fair. A fair settlement was around seventeen million. The court would never award thirty million dollars.
Somehow
, she had to convince Scarlett that going to court wouldn’t earn her any more.

‘You realise thirty million dollars is ridiculous?’

Laila stiffened and pulled herself up to her full height. Of course she did. What did he take her for?

‘Maybe so, but that’s what it will take to stop her going to court.’

He gave a curt nod. ‘Okay. I’ll put it to Duncan, but don’t hold your breath. Your client’s going to have to come down to a more realistic level, otherwise we’ll never get agreement.’

He was back now from wherever he’d gone, the master negotiator with the fearsome reputation, unwavering in the face of Scarlett’s damaging accusations.

Laila closed her file. Despite Scarlett’s outlandish demand, she was in poll position and she had to make the most of it. Regardless of her personal feelings, she needed to steel herself and go for the jugular. In her position, Evan would do no less.

Laila picked up her file and rested it in the crook of her arm. ‘I would suggest you bring your client’s best offer to the table.’

She watched his eyes widen, didn’t miss his sudden intake of breath as she brushed past him. Her lips curved in a quiet smile. It was the first indication he’d given that he was as affected by their close proximity as she was.

Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke her name. Laila paused, heart thumping against the Peyton file clutched against her chest.

She turned and looked over her shoulder. It was as if he’d flicked some type of internal switch. His face had softened, and for a fleeting moment Laila thought she read longing in his eyes.

‘How are things at the office?’

‘Oh.’ She cleared the huskiness from her throat and turned to face him fully. ‘We lost a printer. The landlord has to replace the carpet. That’s about it.’

He nodded. ‘Lucky.’

‘Hmm.’ Then because she’d been dying to ask, and hadn’t had a chance. ‘How’s your hand.’

He looked surprised, raised his hand and turned it over as if he’d forgotten all about it. ‘The least of my worries.’

They smiled at each another then, and before she had a chance to really think about it, the words slipped from her lips. ‘I googled you.’

She held her breath, watching as he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, pursed his lips and gave a contemplative nod.

‘I switched the place cards.’

‘Place cards?’

What on earth was he talking about?

‘That night. I slipped a guy fifty bucks so I was sitting opposite you.’

His eyes meshed with hers and held, his scorching gaze sending her throat dry and her legs so weak they seemed to disappear out from under her.

Neither of them had physically moved, and yet in that moment, with those words, he’d forged an invisible bond that reached out and wrapped itself around her heart.

‘I had no idea.’

Eyes still locked on hers, he nodded once. ‘I know.’

Sparks of pleasure and optimism ignited inside her, and all she wanted was to run to him — but she couldn’t, not here, not now.

‘I really hope we get to settle this soon,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Me too.’

She went to turn away, but he stopped her again.

‘Whatever happens with this…’ He waved a hand towards Duncan’s file, still open on the desk. ‘Just remember Laila — I saw you first.’

6 p.m. Thursday

Laila stepped off the train at Bondi Junction and joined the weary throng of commuters. They swarmed like insects, listening to music and talking to no-one. Some broke away from the group and headed towards the large shopping mall attached to the station, while the remainder hurried outside to make their connections.

Tonight, nothing could puncture the protective armour of happiness that wrapped around her following Evan’s declaration. Not Scarlett’s mini tantrum accusing her of going easy on the other side, nor the fact it had taken fifteen minutes to calm the woman down. And definitely not the annoying amount of commuter congestion ahead of the long weekend.

I switched the place cards.

I saw you first.

Laila smiled and curled her toes with delight. She’d confessed to looking at the photographs, and he’d chosen to give her something back, something she could hold onto, a part of him he didn’t have to share.

He’d taken a risk.

Not that Evan Barclay was risk averse, not in a business sense anyway. If anything, he had a high tolerance for commercial risk. But from her observations, he hadn’t taken too many in his personal life. Even with models hanging off him in those photographs, she got the impression Evan kept things pretty close to his chest. There were no after-dinner speaking engagements, no dining out on his previous career. There were no dinner dates with her, and
no comment
on an upcoming biography.

Private.

A hard man to know.

But one worth the effort, of that she was certain.

She couldn’t deny her feelings anymore. She was seriously, dangerously attracted to him, in a way she hadn’t been with Will. But she’d been young back then, desperate to get away. They’d gone from best friends to high school sweethearts to married, and yes, she’d been happy.

But this thing with Evan was different. It was adult, raw and sexual, and she found him irresistible, even when they butted heads. She counted the days until she saw him again and when she did, her breath caught in her throat and it hurt just to look at him.

Laila sighed and headed for the bus stop. Far from ending their relationship, the Peyton divorce case had brought them together. Through that, she’d learnt more about him than she had in the whole time they’d been sleeping together.

Five minutes later, she was on the bus and heading down Bronte Road. A plump, middle-aged woman, arms laden with shopping, fell into the seat beside her. Turning up the volume on her iPod, Laila smiled at the woman then turned and stared out the window. She didn’t want to be rude, but she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. It had been a harrowing week, but at this very moment everything was right with the world.

Evan and Duncan wouldn’t be celebrating at The Bowery this weekend, she thought a little while later as the bus pulled into her stop. They’d be holed up with the patriarch of the Peyton family, discussing Scarlett’s allegations.

Alighting from the bus, Laila thought about the long weekend ahead. Some exercise would be good, and she should keep her promise and go see Grind’s band play. Apart from that, she was a free agent.

Out on the street, dark storm clouds rolled overhead and a stiff onshore breeze whipped droplets of rain in her face. Energised, and still on a high, Laila watched the taillights disappear into the sea mist before crossing the road and skirting around the edge of Bronte Park. Even the chance of a soaking on the way home couldn’t dampen the excitement charging around her system, and she had to consciously stop herself moving in time with the music.

She was halfway around the park’s perimeter, when the song on her iPod finished. In the five-second lull between tracks, a heavy footstep crunched in the gravel behind her.

Wrenching the cord from the jack, Laila glanced over her shoulder. A thickset man, dressed in black, was fifteen feet behind her.

Moving fast. Hands in pockets.

Laila’s nerve endings tingled.

Don’t panic. He’s just a commuter, hurrying home before the storm breaks.

Still, caution made her keep her earphones in her hand as she walked on, scanning the streetscape. Houses on the left, park on the right.

Ahead of her, the road lay deserted.

As every instinct screamed a warning, she kept going. Behind her, over the distant rumble of thunder, she could hear the rustle of clothes, the crunch of stones under his feet as he gained on her.

Scalp prickling, heart pumping hard, she turned and looked again.

He was closer now.

Hands free.

Hood up.

On instinct she changed direction, made to cross the street but he moved at the same time, cutting off her angle, menacing intent in every step.

‘Back off.’ Laila hissed like a cat, scrambling backwards towards the park, fingers gripping the strap of her bag.

He raised his chin and looked right at her.

Mean eyes in a rough face.

She turned and ran, searching for a light in a house, praying a car would turn into the street. Hampered by her pencil skirt and three-inch heels, she skidded in the loose gravel.

In the seconds it took to regain her balance, he was on her.

A calloused hand encircled her throat, cutting off her air supply and smothering her scream. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her arm was pinned painfully behind her back as he hauled her body sideways.

She struck out, clawing his face, fingernails tearing as she raked them down his nose. He loosened his hold and she sucked in air and tried bringing her knee upwards towards his groin. A thick arm slammed across her shoulders, and he pushed and dragged her into the bushes.

Struggling to gain a foothold, Laila turned her head and sank her teeth into a hot, hairy arm. He roared and grabbed her hair, pulling so hard her head snapped back. When he glanced at the bite mark, Laila raised her hand and drove her thumb deep into his Adam’s apple.