Chapter Thirty-Three

New Year’s Day, Evening

A dark headache was thumping at the back of his head. He probably shouldn’t be drinking whisky, but he accepted it anyway. Devlin took his own glass to sit in the chair opposite him. Drew looked around. He’d got over the shakes, but the events of the afternoon were still way too close to the surface. After the confrontation in the office he’d given his statement and completed the formalities. A fresh wave of unease shivered through him. But you really need to let it go now.

The room was soothing. The sitting room of Devlin’s house. Devlin’s wife’s house. She’d lived here before they were married. Warm colours and well-used furniture, a jumble of children’s books and toys, thriving plants and cut flowers. It reminded Drew of the barn. Kaz, Jamie and Suzanne, Jamie’s grandmother, were in the kitchen at the back of the house. He could hear music and occasional laughter and there was a delicious scent of something cooking. He dragged his attention back to the man sitting opposite him. ‘The police have charged her?’

‘They have.’ Devlin took a sip from his glass. ‘But she’s stopped talking. And she has a lawyer.’

‘This afternoon … What she said?’ He’d been running and re-running the words in his head. Couldn’t turn them off. ‘She wanted me dead, but she never actually confessed to having me locked in the hut.’

Devlin shrugged. ‘Aveline was the one making all the arrangements in your agent’s office. It was perfectly simple for her to substitute her own.’

‘And make it look like it might be me, using Clint’s name.’

Devlin nodded. ‘If you were out of the way she thought this guy Phipps would get more attention and a better share of the PR budget.’ Devlin looked at his whisky. ‘There’s usually money involved somewhere.’

Drew brooded into his glass. Shoving away an image of hate-filled eyes. More than money. ‘Was Phipps a part of it?’

‘Apparently not. He’s been in Iceland since mid-November. Got back two days ago. The police will talk to him, but it doesn’t look as if he was involved. They’ve picked up the two men. Your Mr Right and Lefty. One of them is some sort of a relation, cousin, I think. They’re still looking for the others.’

Drew shook his head. ‘The stupid thing is that Phipps is a good writer. Already successful. In a few years he’ll be really big.’ Drew shut his eyes. ‘The whole thing was messy and amateur, with a core of something very clever inside it.’ He opened his eyes again, staring bleakly ahead of him.

I wanted to take your heart. The words echoed in his brain. That, and her eyes. Up close, and personal.

If it hadn’t been for the snow, might Aveline …

He jerked away from the thought. It was meant to look like an accident.

He looked up. The shadows in the room were lengthening. ‘It could easily have worked. It almost did. Bloody hell.’ He finished the whisky in one gulp.

Devlin sipped his more slowly. ‘Let it go, Drew. It’s done.’

Drew exhaled. ‘I never want to go through anything like that again.’ He put his empty glass down carefully on a side table. ‘I’ve got another favour to ask.’

‘Which is?’ Devlin asked warily, but he was smiling.

‘I need some lessons in self-defence.’

His headache was gone. Drew walked slowly along the street, pausing at the corner to look up. He could see the stars, but they were faint in the London sky. Kaz had invited him to stay to dinner, and the evening had helped him to wind down, which Kaz had undoubtedly realised. She was also an excellent cook, and Suzanne, her mother, was entertaining, if risqué company. It was strange watching Devlin relaxed with his family, knowing the other side, the professional face. There was something there maybe, for a book …

Drew hunched into the collar of his coat. The weather had got cold again with the New Year, but it was only a few more yards to his apartment block. He’d be glad to get this day over. He crossed the road. There was a man sitting in a car, parked at the kerb. The car door opened in front of him and the man got out. ‘Mr Vitruvius?’

Drew’s stomach lurched. Should he run? Oh hell it might just be a fan. Famous author runs screaming into the night when asked for autograph …

‘Yes?’ At least your voice doesn’t have a quiver in it.

The man stepped into the light of a street-lamp and Drew got a good look at his face. His stomach lurched again. A face he knew – Brandon Phipps.

‘I just wanted to say … The police came to see me … that girl …’ His words were falling over each other in his effort to get them out. Drew watched his chest heave in a deep breath. ‘Aveline. That girl. I barely knew her … We had coffee a couple of times. She seemed pleasant, if a bit too intense. I had no idea what she was going to do. I’m most sincerely sorry.’ He held out his hand. Drew found himself shaking it. ‘I had to come and see you,’ Phipps went on, earnestly. ‘I couldn’t let you think that I had any part of it.’

‘Um. No.’ Drew shook his head, bombarded by the flow of words. The headache was coming back. ‘That’s fine. I’m glad. Er …’ He indicated the lighted hallway of his building. ‘Do you want to come in?’

‘Oh. No.’ Phipps was backing away, towards his car. ‘I just wanted to let you know. It’s all right now. Goodnight.’

Drew stood, slightly dazed, as Phipps got into his car and drove away. A crazy end to a crazy day.

Not quite.

When he reached his flat, the phone was ringing. He recognised the clipped brisk tones of Geraldine, his agent, without needing to look at the caller ID. She was already talking. ‘We’re putting out a press release. You’ve been located safe and well, police have made an arrest, blah blah. No further comment. You’re now looking forward to your forthcoming American tour. The lawyers want to vet the damn thing.’

With another tide of words washing over him, Drew latched onto the part that mattered. ‘American tour?’

Geri laughed. ‘Darling, you said that just as if you’d forgotten it! Three months, coast-to-coast. And that thing you asked to go to – where everyone dresses up.’

‘It’s a fantasy convention,’ he supplied dully, stomach churning.

‘That’s it. It’s all arranged. Bloody nuisance though. That girl, Aveline, made all the arrangements. I’ve had to get someone to check everything, make sure she hadn’t messed that up too.’

Oh yeah. Messed up. Like trying to kill me? Drew was beginning to understand the definition of surreal, on a personal basis. ‘Er … had she?’

‘No, thank God. Everything is fine.’ There was a noise in the background. ‘Look, I’ve got another call coming in. I’ll e-mail a copy of the press release. Oh, and the new book is awesome, darling. The publishers are simply wetting themselves over it.’

‘Ah … good to know.’ Drew found himself talking to the dialling tone. He replaced the receiver, staring blankly over at the corner of the room that constituted his home office. Holed up in the flat after Devlin dropped him off, under cover of darkness, he’d broached none of his electronic equipment, not even the lights. Which was a bittersweet reminder of the barn. While Devlin was putting the sting together he’d laid low until it was ready. He’d eaten food from the freezer, slept and read … and thought of Lori.

He padded over to the desk, prodding the computer into life. There it was, on his organiser. Three months. New York to L.A. and all points in between, leaving the day after tomorrow, and he’d forgotten all about it.

Well, you did kind of have other things on your mind.

Normally he loved touring, meeting fans, talking about the books. And the States was his favourite place to do it, but now … Lori.

He stood by the desk, staring at the schedule, then shut the machine off and headed for the whisky.

He really needed another drink.