The Mak Collection (135 page)

Oh God.

Mak fumbled for her doorway, wanting to cry. Her body was exploding with desire. She should have been relaxed, but she’d let her mind get away. The entire ninety minutes had been like an agonising foreplay. In reality it had just been a massage. A nice guy offering a massage—something he used to do professionally, something he likes to do for his friends. He was a friend, that was all; he was not courting her. Those strong hands had touched her body in friendship. He could not even know how she had desired him.

She felt the sharp edge of her loneliness, away from everyone she knew, away from her lover, her life displaced.

Mak reached for her mobile phone and started a text message.

MISSING YOU
.
LOVE YOU
.

Mak pressed send and lay back against the sofa bed.

Dammit.

Frowning, she crawled between the sheets Loulou had prepared, feeling the lumps in the old mattress press against her body. Mak looked at the spot where the yoga mat had been, and her body tingled at the memory of Bogey’s touch. Mak crossed her arms and stared at the ceiling, trying
to concentrate on the way the shadows fell in the corners of the room, the form of the warm glow from the floor lamp. She wanted to cry.

Mak lay back under the sheet and let her fingers caress her thighs, fighting back the feelings of desire and guilt as she imagined being held, being touched, being made love to. She saw Andy’s face, but it became Bogey’s, with his touch burning into her, his strong hands caressing her back, sliding across to massage the sides of her breasts, turning her over gently and kissing her hard.

Her fingers found her moist centre, her pleasure point jumping under the light pressure. She did not take long to explode, shuddering with guilty ecstasy, a sigh escaping her lips.

Mak rolled onto her side, curling into a ball, conflict raging in her head. She wished Bogey had not gone home—and yet she was relieved that he had. Who was this young guy with the easygoing nature and the strong hands? She wanted to know so much more about him. What did her feelings mean? Or did they mean nothing at all?

‘We have a problem,’ The American said. He did not want to alarm his client, but he had to give him the news. It was early on Monday morning, and they had met in Jack Cavanagh’s office for an emergency debriefing, doors closed.

Jack Cavanagh wore his usual uniform of khaki pants and pressed shirt. He ran an unsteady hand across his face in response. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

‘I have confirmation that the video footage of Damien does exist and, though it is a little grainy, he is potentially identifiable.’

Jack closed his eyes. ‘I don’t want to see it.’

The American nodded. His costly NSA contact had traced all of the electronic communications of Meaghan Wallace in the lead-up to her death. The video SMS had been sent from Meaghan’s mobile phone to her friend Amy Camilleri at the time of the party, before the phone had supposedly been ‘destroyed’ and then lost by Simon Aston. Miss Camilleri was in possession of the video, and she was now a target. Who knew
how many people she might have shown it to? He would now need to monitor all of her communications, and he would have to think up a way to remove the threat she posed without causing too much suspicion.

‘The initial threats have been taken care of.’

Jack looked solemn. ‘Good,’ he said.

‘But this is new. I will see to it that it’s dealt with.’

‘Use discretion,’ Jack said. ‘As you always do,’ he added.

‘I will,’ The American replied.

With that confirmation of intent from his client, The American would now contact Mr Hand and issue him with his new set of instructions.

‘I need access to your private jet.’

Jack Cavanagh nodded. ‘I can have it ready for you in under an hour.’

Mr Hand would need to do this next job interstate.

HOW ARE YOU FEELING TODAY
?

Mak was scrounging around in the pantry of Drayson’s apartment at eight-thirty on Monday morning when her mobile phone beeped. She lifted it into view.

At the sight of the number, her heart hurried a touch: it was Bogey. Mak closed her eyes and shook her head. She’d been hoping she’d be able to forget the feelings she’d had the night before. At least she had not acted on them. With him, anyway.

Makedde leaned against the kitchen counter and replied in a flash, her fingers working the keypad nimbly.

MY BACK IS MUCH BETTER THANKS
.
HEADING OFF TODAY
.
THANKS AGAIN
.

She went back to searching the kitchen for some form of food, but her phone beeped again a minute later.

BREAKFAST
?

Hmmm. Funny he should mention that.

For the past five minutes Mak had been looking fruitlessly through the kitchen cupboards
for anything remotely edible. She’d found a tiny bit of cereal at the bottom of a crinkled box, but no milk to eat it with. Nor were there any eggs or fruit or yoghurt—or even bread. Nothing that might help tide her hunger over. Her only option seemed to be Vegemite and vodka.
Mmmm.

There was no sign of stirring from Drayson and Loulou’s room, or Maroon’s. Mak wasn’t even sure if Maroon was home.

Um…

SURE
she texted back, her chest feeling tight. She wanted to see him, but she could also see that her motivation might not be altogether pure.
It’s fine
, she told herself.
You need more friends.
It was normal. He knew that she was in a relationship—after all, she’d said that the first night. And just because they’d watched a woman strip naked in front of them—just because he’d had his hands on her the night before, giving her a massage that had spurred her on to her own sensual release—didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t as if she’d made
him
give her that kind of release. He hadn’t even been there. That was a private moment. He was just one of Loulou’s new friends. No big deal. No one was cheating here, or anything even close.

BE THERE IN THIRTY MINS

Mak read his message and her heart began pounding immediately. She jumped in the
shower, freshened up and got dressed in black pants and a crisp white shirt. After an appraisal in the mirror, she changed her mind and slipped into her oldest ripped jeans, T-shirt and black boots. Casual.

Damn.

Mak leaned against the doorway at the entrance to Loulou’s building, holding her coat close around her neck. It seemed unseasonably cold. She didn’t want to wake Drayson and Loulou, so she had walked downstairs to make her calls and wait for Bogey.

A sour feeling about Andy had settled in her stomach.

She felt unbalanced by her psychological infidelity. She was living with him, and she had thought about another man when she made herself orgasm. No big deal, perhaps, but she was also about to share breakfast with that very same man. Even if it was innocent and normal, she had certainly started to feel guilty.

‘Flynn,’ he answered.

‘Hi. How are you?’

‘Good.’

‘I wanted to catch you before I started my day.’ She squinted in the wind. ‘I tried calling you last night.’ She felt the burden of her guilt over Bogey, even though her little betrayal had
only been in her overactive imagination—unless that hour and a half of pleasure at Bogey’s hands could be considered sexual, which some would argue it could. She certainly wouldn’t be telling Andy about the massage. And that was enough of an indication of how she’d really felt.

‘Did you? I got your text message.’

‘Oh, that’s right.’ Mak shook her head.
Idiot.
‘How was your flight?’

‘Fine.’

He never was very good on the phone.

‘Great,’ she answered. ‘I hope everything goes really well,’ she told him. ‘Hey, I had this exciting breakthrough with the investigation yesterday. A lot of people seem to think he is innocent.’

‘The druggie?’

‘Yeah.’ When Andy said it like that, it sounded silly for anyone to consider they had the wrong person for the murder.

‘He’s a junkie, Mak,’ Andy declared. ‘Junkies do horrible things to people they love. It happens all the time, and their loved ones are always in denial about it. No one wants to think their sweet little son is a killer.’

‘His mother is dead, actually.’

‘Yeah, well,’ he replied. ‘Look, Mak…I’ve been thinking. I need to talk to you about something.’

His voice sounded strange.

‘What?’

‘You know, I feel badly that you will be all by yourself there for three months. I mean, I could be even longer.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I just want you to know that it’s okay if you don’t want to wait for me.’

What?

The words took a while to sink in. Mak held the collar of her coat to her neck.
What is he saying?
She wished she could see his face, see the look in his eye. The phone was so impersonal.

She felt her heart sink. ‘You want to take a break again?’ she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. He’d done this before when she was in Canada.

‘No. Unless that is what you want?’ he said, further frustrating her.

Mak wanted him to fight for her, beg her to stay, beg her to wait for him—not this…

‘Do you think it would be best if I went back to Canada?’ she asked, tears forming. But she kept her voice as strong as she could. She couldn’t believe he was doing this over the phone. How could he do this by
phone?

‘No, no,’ he hastily replied. ‘It’s up to you, of course.’

Mak clenched her jaw, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Okay, well, I’ll think about that, then,’ she said.

‘Oh, no—that came out all wrong. I don’t want you to take it the wrong way. I only meant…’

You only meant that you don’t care if I wait for you.

‘That’s fine. I think I understand,’ she told him.

‘I want to be with you.’

Do you?

‘It’s just that I’ll understand if—’

‘If what?’ she said. ‘Oh Christ…’

Bogey’s beautifully restored Mustang emerged, cruising down the street in her direction. It was the worst timing.

‘I’m sorry, Andy, but I have to go. Can I call you later today?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ve said the wrong thing, haven’t I? I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘I’m fine. I gotta go.’

Mak hung up and wiped her eyes.

Bloody hell.
Did Andy want to break up—was that it? Or did he want her to stay? She couldn’t figure him out.

‘Hey…’

Humphrey Mortimer pulled up beside her in his cool car, with his cool hair, and his stereo playing some cool band Mak could not identify. The sight of him made Mak smile despite herself. The car was big and blue with gleaming cream leather interiors, and somehow it made Bogey’s jet-black hair and glasses look right at home. He had the top down, obviously acclimatised to the Melbourne weather, and the car looked even more impressive than it had when she’d first seen it at night. Come to think of it, he did too.

Bogey leaned across and opened the door for her, ever gallant, and Mak crawled into the large leather bucket seat on the passenger side. He was wearing black jeans and boots again, and a faded white Sex Pistols T-shirt with the sleeves rolled further up his biceps. He sure didn’t seem to be feeling any chill.

‘I was just getting desperate for food when your message came through,’ she told him.

His alluring cupid’s bow curved into a playful smirk. ‘I figured as much. Vegemite and vodka, right? That’s all he ever has in his fridge.’ Obviously Bogey knew his friend very well. ‘What time is your flight?’ he asked.

‘Oh, not till this afternoon.’

She heard the distinctive beep of her phone in her handbag. A text message. She ignored it; she didn’t want to hear from Andy right now. She had just managed to compose herself, and some confusing message from him was not what she needed to see.

‘I can give you a lift to the airport later, if you’d like,’ Bogey offered.

‘Well, don’t go out of your way,’ she said, smiling like an idiot to hide her sadness. ‘I have a rental car I need to drop back. Maybe they will let me leave it at the airport?’

‘Just let me know if I can be of help,’ he kindly offered again.

‘Don’t you have that job you need to finish?’ she reminded him. ‘The staining?’

‘I finished the staining last night. I have some more work to do on it this afternoon once it dries, but I can make time. It’s no trouble.’

Mak watched the road. The wind pushed her hair back, and she began to feel a touch better. This was just what she needed: good company and a full stomach. She’d feel so much better with a bit of food and some light conversation. ‘I’d like to see your shop,’ she said.

‘Okay.’ He turned a corner. ‘Say, are you okay? You sound like you are coming down with a bit of a cold.’

Her eyes were probably a bit puffy and her sinuses clogged up. She had not quite let all the tears out. She’d held back, thank goodness. It would have been ridiculous for Bogey to pull up and see her crying on the side of the road.

That would have been pathetic.

‘Too many late nights, I guess,’ she said.

Mak was struck by how comfortable she felt with Bogey. She sensed that even if she had been crying, he would be okay with it. He wouldn’t judge her.

‘I know a great breakfast place a few blocks away.’

Mak nodded. ‘Sounds good.’ Actually, it sounded better than good. Her stomach was rumbling at the mere mention of breakfast. It was never wise to keep a Vanderwall from a meal.

‘You’re not on a diet or anything, are you?’ he quipped.

Mak darkened a little. ‘Just because I’m a model doesn’t mean I’m anorexic or that I sit around all day contemplating my body fat, or the rise and fall of the supermodel…’ she ranted, a little too used to being belittled by people she’d just met.

‘I thought you were a psychologist…and a PI?’ Bogey said.