Defending Pacer
Date: 2015-07-15 05:49:06+00:00
Keywords: Crime; mafia; sydney; defending; courtroom; chelsea; Australia; Love; defence lawyer
Description: For Chelsea Tanner law is her life, living and breathing it leaves little time for anything more. When a member from the infamous Legano Family is up on a murder charge, Chelsea finds more. Pacer Fratelli is dark, hard and completely consumed by his new defence lawyer. Chelsea and Pacer’s worlds couldn’t be further apart but when bad love feels so good, just how far would you go to defend it?

ISBN: 9781310523113

Title: Defending Pacer

Author: TJ Hamilton

Publisher: Smashwords, Inc.

© 2015 by TJ Hamilton

Australian Copyright 2015

New Zealand Copyright 2015

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil.

- Friedrich Nietzsche

PROLOGUE

Known gang member from the Legano family, Paciano (Pacer) Fratelli, has been charged with the murder of Simon P Collins, son of wealthy mining magnate, Ian Collins.

A police tactical response unit stormed the property of Fratelli in an elaborate raid on his Vaucluse house during the early hours of the morning. Tactical police were unaware that Fratelli had already handed himself into Metro police station at the time of the raid.

The dismembered body of Collins was found on a blazing boat on Sydney Harbour last year. It is believed that Fratelli was the owner of the vessel.

Michael Hangcock from Hangcock and Sons law firm has confirmed that he is no longer representing Fratelli. A representative from Newcombe, Debbs and Associates has confirmed that they will make a statement later today.

A source from the Legano family has said they are confident that this matter will be resolved soon.

CHAPTER ONE

I check my watch for the sixth time since sitting in here. I’m waiting as patiently as possible, for someone with a murder charge hanging over his head.

4:48 p.m.

This hot shot from my new law firm is almost twenty minutes late for our meeting.

Some fucking hot shot.

I look around the beige walls of the boring waiting-room, and almost feel tempted to pick up a National Geographic magazine from the pile, but a hot little blonde opens the double doors.

Things are looking up.

So, hot shot barrister has a hot secretary, does he? I bet he fucks her on his desk … and why wouldn’t he? She’s sex on legs.

“Mr Fratelli, please come in.” Her pouty little cock-sucking lips speak to me, and I can’t stop staring at them.

I’m lost in the thoughts of them wrapped around my dick for a moment. I shake out of the daydream and follow her through to hot shot’s office. A wide glass desk holds a computer and some pens.

I bet you bend her over your desk, rip her tight skirt up those long thighs and smack that sweet ass as you bury yourself deep inside her … don’t you hot shot.

Her ass shifts from side to side as her brown skirt catches against her cheeks when she walks. A boring brown outfit with golden blonde hair … You’re just like a honeybee, and I’ve got plenty of pollen for you to suck, my little harvester.

Brown skirt, humph. You don’t fool me honeybee. You may dress boring but I bet you’re a fucking firecracker in the sack.

I have the urge to just pull at her soft blonde bun to let her hair fall down her shoulders; I want to see the kinky girl behind that boring hair and boring brown skirt. I know she’s in there … they always are.

She stops and stands in front of Hot Shot’s open office door. “Right this way, Mr Fratelli. Please, take a seat.”

She waves her hand out like one of those models in a game show.

I take my coat off, but leave my gloves on. I always leave my gloves on.

“I have to apologize first of all for being late,” she says, as she follows me into the office, closing the door behind her.

I turn to hand my coat to hot shot’s secretary but she’s followed me into the room.

Wait? What?

“I’ve only just received your case file from the DPP. There’s a lot to go over today.” She shimmies around to the other side of the desk and sits in the hot shot’s seat.

This blonde little honeybee is my new hot shot barrister? I take a seat in front of her, just as my knees threaten to give out, all the while thinking about giving her a hot shot of my own.

“I have to say, Mr Fratelli, these crime scene photos are very graphic, and extremely incriminating. They took me a little by surprise this morning.”

She adjusts her skirt when she sits and I wonder what colour panties she’s wearing.

Did those photos make you uncomfortable honeybee?

I have more. I smile at my handiwork in the pictures.

She opens her mouth to speak, but I interrupt her. “It’s Pacer.”

“Pardon?” she says bluntly.

“Call me Pacer, or Pace. Mr Fratelli is my father, and he died years ago.”

She shifts again and her leather chair makes a squeak under her tight ass. “I’m sorry to hear about your father, Pacer.” Her words are about as sincere as her deadpan stare. “Now, you understand that these charges are very serious.” She flicks through the thick file in front of her. I watch her pick up her reading glasses from the desk, and she rests them delicately on her petite nose. “I see that Mr Legano has posted your million-dollar bail. The crown prosecution and Victims of Crime association have both filed an immediate appeal against your release, so we will have to act fast to convince the magistrate that you’re not a threat to the community.”

I smile again. I can’t hide it. I’m not a threat to the community, but I may be a threat to you, honeybee.

“I probably should introduce myself. I’m Chelsea Tanner, associate barrister here at Newcombe, Debbs and Associates. I’ll be handling your case, obviously.” She doesn’t crack a smile as she takes out a voice recorder and places it in front of me. “So what can you tell me about the incident, Pacer?” She looks up at me and her blue eyes make the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

I almost laugh out loud because she’s so fucking beautiful. Keep your cool, Pace.

Leaning back in my chair as calmly as possible, I smirk. I love messing with this girl already. “So you know what I do for work, right?”

She bites on the end of her pen as I speak, and now I’m imagining my cock in her mouth again. She takes the pen from her mouth thank fuck, because I can feel my cock starting to thump against my jeans as it fills up. I should’ve worn pants like I usually do.

“I understand that you’re associated with …” She runs her finger along the page. “Legano Holdings?” She sounds so official every time she mentions the word ‘associate’. Which has been four times. I counted. It sounded hot every time.

I laugh. “Yeah, I work for my Uncle. You understand what that means, Chelsea?” I like the sound of her name rolling off my tongue; it’s not the only thing of her that I want rolling off my tongue.

She’s so straight—she’s starting to blush. I bet she’s never met anyone like me before, and I know she wants me to bend her over her desk. “I do some of the dirty work when things need cleaning up. Sometimes there are casualties. The city can be a dirty place, you know.”

Her eyes flash up to me when I laugh. “Are you disclosing to me that you did kill Sean Collins, Mr Fratelli?”

“It’s Pacer.”

She blushes again and clears her throat. “Pacer, I think we’ll leave that confession off-record.” She takes hold of the recorder and deletes the last conversation with the press of a button. “We should start again. Maybe it’s best if you miss some parts out, okay? As in, less is more right now.”

“Are you asking me not to tell you the truth? You are my barrister, aren’t you?”

Looking down at her file, she starts writing notes, not looking up again until she finally speaks. “Is there anyone else that you were with the night of Sean Collins’ murder? Someone who can testify that you were with them?”

I chuckle as I pull one of my gloves off to search my coat pocket for a cigar. “I could have been with any number of people. How many do you need?”

She stops writing and starts biting on the end of her pen again. I can see through the glass top desk that her legs are squeezed, tightly together. She shifts again and the leather underneath her ass squeaks. It’s hot, and makes me want to just touch her tight ass.

I wish you would stop doing that, honeybee.

I twist in my chair subtly as the beat of my heart thumps in my ears. Finding the cigar, I pull it out and grab the cigar cutter. Rolling the cutter along the edge, I trim the end of the cigar, ready to smoke it as soon as I’m out of this meeting. Sucking on the end of the cigar to seal it again, I throw the cutter back in my pocket. As I look up, I catch her eyes on me before she quickly pulls them away.

Were you just watching me?

She makes a funny sound with her throat before she speaks, “So the vessel that Sean Collins was found on belonged to you, is that correct?”

She needs to loosen up a bit.

“Do you go out on boats, Chelsea? You look like a girl who likes boats,” I try to sound as casual as possible, but even I can hear the heat in my voice.

Her eyes flick to me, but her head doesn’t move. I tilt a bit, to see her expression better. She breathes a little heavier.

Did that excite you, honeybee?

Clearing her throat again, she adjusts in her chair. “Let’s go over the last time you saw Sean alive. You told police that you were having dinner in Bondi. Tell me about that night.”

She holds her pen in hand, waiting to scribe my words, not budging from her professional performance. That’s all it is —a performance. I can see through it. The light pink blush across her cheeks tells me that she doesn’t know what to do with my advances, or she actually likes it. Both equally excite me. Either way, I’ll win.

“Or are you a beach girl? I like both.” I do all I can to keep the conversation going in the direction I want. “We have such a beautiful harbour, and the beaches make Sydney, don’t they? We’re lucky to live here. Did you grow up in Sydney?”

I hear her swallow from my seat.

“Pacer. Sorry, but we’re here to discuss your case … to keep you out of prison, remember. You should probably take this a little more seriously.” The flush has moved to her chest.

Hopefully it makes her pop just one more button of her blouse, so that I can get a better look at her tits. I bet they’d fit perfectly in my palm. On that thought, I put my glove back on and catch her watching me … again.

I know you want to fuck me. You’re not very good at hiding it, honeybee.

With a shrug, I shake off the tension. “Thought you might want to get to know me more, that’s all. You know, make me feel comfortable because you’re responsible for my future.” I try not to smirk, but I think my eyes give me away, no matter how hard I bite down. “Do you really know what you’re doing? No offense, but I was told that you were the best in the business.”

Thank God she stops biting her pen. Her stare pierces my soul—her eyes narrowing. “Why is it whenever anyone is about to say something really offensive, they generally start by saying no offense?”

She looks pissed, and I like it. I can’t decide if it’s because I offended her or because I feel like a schoolkid in the headmistress’s office.

“Let me tell you, Pacer, I am the best. I am so good that I’ve never lost a case. The problem is you are making my job extremely difficult.”

“You look like you love a challenge,” I bite back.

Her pen hits against the notepad with a little force behind it. She doesn’t look as amused as I feel.

“Clearly, Pacer, your idea of cleaning up the city hasn’t exactly worked. You idea is flawed because here you are with me, defending a murder charge. They have a crown witness who is willing to go up against you, and you will go to prison if you don’t stop acting so nonchalant about it all. You will listen to my instruction. Starting with what you say to people. When I have the voice recorder on, you say very little. This is an accountable recording and can be tendered in court the moment the prosecution gets wind of it, and they will because no one in this business can be trusted. Keep your mouth shut, and what you say to me inside this office stays here, and does not get repeated … understood?”

My cock throbs again but I don’t want to make it obvious by adjusting myself. There’s a lot I would like to say to you right now, honeybee. Especially now that I know you won’t repeat it.

Where’s she from, I wonder? Tanner … I wonder if she’s any relation to John Tanner? She can’t be. He puts crooks behind bars, whereas she fights to keep them out. That has to be a conflict of interest … or something. She must be an eastern suburbs princess? Or is she from north of the bridge? Yeah, She smells like money. She has that bitchy air of arrogance about her that they have on that side of the harbour.

Wherever she’s from, I like her.

Now sitting up straight in my chair, I listen to every word that comes out of her sweet mouth. I love every time she says my name, and I love the way she spits it, as if she hates me.

But I know that you actually like me as much as I like you, honeybee.

***

It’s not until 7:52 pm at night when she finally decides to leave the office. She must really take her job seriously. I had to wait to see her, just one last time. I want to get to know her more, but I know she’s scared of my world. It’s only because she doesn’t understand it.

Chelsea laughs with another blonde girl as she walks along the sidewalk. I sink down and I watch her from the back seat of my Audi, parked across the street. I need to follow her, see her, smell her. I just want to be near her again.

There’s just something about her that draws me to her … like an ant to honey. Her blue eyes and smart mouth make me all kinds of crazy. I’ve never had a woman command me like she does.

Once she’s disappeared around the corner, I jump in the front and slowly follow behind as they walk. The bullshit traffic in the city makes following her easy. I’m glad I didn’t drive my Maserati today. It’s loud as hell, and everyone stares whenever I drive it. Usually I like that, but not today—not when I just want to catch another glimpse of the woman who makes my heart race, my cock throb and my head spin after our first ever meeting. No woman has done this to me before. Women are always just so available to me. It gets boring after awhile. But not Chelsea —she’s different to the others I’ve met … and it drives me wild. She may come across hard, but I noticed the little changes in her. I saw her squeeze her legs together. I saw her eyes on my cock. She was hot for me. Her little signs are like waving a red flag at a raging bull. Her smart mouth may have been saying no, but her body was screaming yes!

She steps into a restaurant I know well. Luckily for me, there’s a spare park across the road, so I pull straight in. Wanting to follow her in there, I look past my white button-down shirt to my jeans with a tear in the knee. It’s now the second time today that I’ve wished that I hadn’t worn jeans. Why didn’t I take this meeting more seriously and dress in a suit, like I normally would? I’d stick out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd of suits in the upmarket restaurant if I just waltzed in there with ripped jeans.

Not that I can just waltz into any joint around town anymore. Sydney feels like a fucking prison already.

My eyes don’t leave her for a second, highlighting that if I were in prison I wouldn’t be able to sit and watch this little honeybee, so I can wait. Watching her might help keep me out of trouble.

I’m in luck; her and the other blonde take a seat at the table next to the floor to ceiling window. The brown skirt she’s wearing rides up her thigh as she sits.

My cock just won’t fucking stop.

I grab hold of it and want to just rub one out while I watch her. She does something to me—stirs a fire inside me, and I never handle fire very well.

A tall guy in a suit walks up to the table, and I let go of my cock and sit up in the driver’s seat to get a better look. He leans down and kisses my honeybee on the lips and he sits down next to her. Raging heat flares across my skin. I want to rip the fucking steering wheel apart. Or better yet, drive my Audi straight into the front window of the restaurant, skull-drag that fucker into the car and take him out to the warehouse to slowly annihilate the cheap suit-wearing pussy.

What the fuck has gotten into me? I need to calm the fuck down.

I ram the Audi into gear and slam my foot against the accelerator. I need to get the fuck away from here before I do something really stupid … again.

This feeling I have for a woman I’ve just met is beyond my control. I don’t know what to do with it. All I know is I want her.

I need to find out everything there is to know about her and make her mine, and mine only.

CHAPTER TWO

“So how about that hot gangster client of yours, Chelsea? He’s … wow!” my assistant, Sienna, teases. “Seriously, Brad, wait till you get an eye-full of him. He would melt the undies straight off your body! He has that whole hot, broody man thing going on.”

“Sounds like something I could handle.” Brad pouts femininely. “Tell me more.” He nudges my side.

“Will you two stop it? First of all, you know my rules about intimacy with clients. Second of all, he is all kinds of bad, and that’s being generous.”

I ignore their giggles as I almost gulp my Collins gin cocktail. I pray that the ice-cold drink extinguishes the burning in my chest. After two hours in an initial consultation with Pacer Fratelli, my mind and body are holding their own courtroom debate. My head knows how wrong he is, but his arms, the tattoos that cover them, his chest, his wicked smile, and leather gloves … Who knew men’s gloves were so hot? He floods the receptors in my brain that differentiate good from bad.

Sienna and Brad’s voices slowly drone out as I think about the crime scene photos and Sean Collins —Pacer’s victim: a headless body covered in burn marks and deep cuts. I’d never be able to un-see the autopsy photos that identified who he was, and it was Pacer Fratelli who did that to him. The body was found on a boat that was set on fire. Sean Collins bought that boat from Pacer only three months prior. His DNA was bound to be all over the vessel. But what makes this worse is Pacer isn’t denying it. He’s a ruthless murderer, and now it is up to me to keep him from going to prison. How am I meant to prove to the courts, prove to society, that he will not cause harm to anyone when he clearly has no regard for human life? Nor does he seem to hold an inch of remorse for his actions.

But I know there’s more to him. His dark eyes spoke to me. They mainly wanted me to undress, but there’s something in me that wants to protect him. There was a look in his eyes when I spoke harshly to him. He listened to everything I had to say. It made him seem almost vulnerable. I want to keep him on the right side of the law, so that I can get to know him a little better.

My God, what am I thinking? Why do I even feel like this?

“Earth to Chelsea?” Brad tilts his head and frowns. “Where were you just then?”

“Sorry. This case is just very intense. I’ve never led something as big as this on my own before. If I win, I think they’ll offer me a partner position.”

I draw back on the remainder of my drink until it makes a bubbling sound in the empty straw. I can’t drink it quick enough.

“You’ll be fine. They wouldn’t have given you this case if they didn’t think you could handle it.” Sienna always soothes my ego.

“That’s the thing—I think they have thrown me in the deep end to test me.”

“Well if you don’t want Mr Mobster, hand him over to me.” Brad winks.

I shake my head and smile. “Honey, Mr Mobster is likely to cut your head off if he hears you say that.”

Brad breaks into fits of laughter. “I don’t know if that excites me or scares the hell out of me.”

I know the feeling.

“I think I might head home. There’s a ton of evidence to sift through before I’m due in court in the morning. I have to adjourn the bail hearing as it is.”

Getting up from my seat, and say my goodbyes. I’m against the clock with this matter. I have a feeling that the next twelve months of my life are going to be absorbed by this guy. I think he’s going to keep me very busy.”

***

As soon as I get in the door of my terrace apartment, I kick off my black work pumps, pull at my bun and shake my hair out. With my head failing to stop thinking about my bail hearing tomorrow, I decide to start by finding the best precedence to use to keep Pacer out of remand. I know why the partners have given me this case. I’m blonde and a woman, so I’m a soft touch that will appeal to the jury during the trail. The magistrate, on the other hand, may be harder to convince—and that’s who I’m dealing with tomorrow to get a two week adjournment. The change of council in the representation of Pacer should be enough to convince the magistrate to approve it. I don’t know why Pacer changed his legal representation when he’s had Michael Hangcock represent him for years.

I note that Jackson Reed is the crown prosecution on the case. He always goes with the same legislation at bail hearings. The lazy fool.

I’m sure Pacer wouldn’t do anything stupid when there’s a million dollars riding on him to behave. But these gangsters seem to have very little respect for money, or human life … or the law, for that matter. They are a law unto themselves. If he doesn’t toe the line, my unblemished reputation in the courtroom will suddenly take a step back. And I am not about to let that happen; I’ve worked too hard for this.

But if I win, I get everything I want.

I pour myself a glass of the week-old wine from the fridge and sit down at the coffee table, spreading out all of the police fact sheets and textbooks on legislation, together with the cases that hold precedence. As much as I can afford the luxuries of expensive wine, I just don’t have the time for it, so this vinegar shit will do. I wince at the sour taste when I take my first sip, but by the second gulp I can drink it without cringing.

Paciano Salvatore Fratelli, it reads across the top of his dossier.

I look at Pacer’s dozen pages of criminal history and bite down on my pen, something that’s quickly becoming a habit since meeting him. Biting my pen seems to diminish the heat from rising out of my underwear. Must be the leather gloves.

I pick up one of his first charge photos. Boy, was he young. He’d been in and out of juvenile detention five times on serious charges before he had even become a man. I wonder what kind of childhood he must have had to be so involved in criminal activities at such a young age? I look at his photo again and try to find some answers in the two-dimensional image.

I set aside the photos with their respective charges, ready to stick up on my corkboard for a timeline.

Taking another sip of my wine, my mind wanders to the image of his muscular arms that burst from the rolled up sleeves of his white shirt, the tattoos that I could see across his forearms, and the way the shirt clung to his round chest. Every time I looked up at him I could just make out the shape of his erect nipples beneath the layer of fine cotton. Then when he took his glove off, finger by finger … fuck me! I think that was what I was literally thinking when he did that. Him fucking me with that leather-clad finger.

Sweet baby Jesus!

A spark of electricity shoots across my body with every image, and my nipples harden against the lace of my bra. I brush my fingertips across them and feel a pulse throb down between my thighs. I wonder what he looks like with his shirt off, and another pulse shoots across me. I slide my hand down the front of my skirt and into my underwear and push against my yearning clit. I rub over it and pulse again. Images of Pacer Fratelli’s seriously seductive smile floods my mind as my hand eases my burning desires for this forbidden fruit. My pebbled nipples beg to be touched and I squeeze them lightly as I imagine Pacer’s tongue flicking across them. I push my fingers hard against myself and just wish it were he, about to drive into me. There is something carnal about my desires for this man, and I am incapable of stopping them. His dominance both scares me and excites me. I felt my heart race when he sniggers. I know how dangerous he is, but there another side to him that I see. I slide two fingers inside, and my internal walls grip tight in a sensual embrace, welcoming the their touch. His smile flashes before my eyes again, and his obnoxious laugh sends me over the edge.

Pacer Fratelli is so bad, but the fantasy of him is sublime. I would never, could never be with someone that is so heavily involved in criminal activity, but the very thought of him … it does this.

What the hell is this?

It’s all too much, and my feverish hands make quick work of my thirsty urges. Fuck, I need to get over this, quick smart. My orgasm pulses deep and spills out across my body in pounding spasms.

My face fills with an instant burn, and a prickly heat springs across me. Perspiration beads glisten on my skin like tiny crystals. I catch my breath and slip my hand out of my underwear. The sudden excitement of Pacer, trapped in my mind, has made light of my yearning to just get laid. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me? I just need a solid fuck. God knows how long it’s actually been. Four, no five … I can’t bring myself to think of how many months it’s been since a man has found his way into my bed.

My poor little puss; she’s so neglected. I give her two pats and laugh at myself.

Those damn leather gloves. I blame them.

I run my free hand through my hair to blow out at the wet strands that have stuck around my lips, and I grab my glass and gulp the remainder of my week-old wine, before flopping back against the couch to collect my thoughts.

Seriously though, what the hell was that?

Pacer Fratelli is my client! A dangerous client. A client I know is a murderer.

I can’t feel like this, but I do.

His smile flashes before my eyes again. Oh my God, would you just leave me the hell alone? I punch my fists down onto the chair on either side of me.

I strip down as I head to the shower, peeling off each layer as if I’m shedding skin and discarding the clothes on the floor with an angry slap. My body is still abuzz post-assault, but at the same time I am pissed off. These thoughts have no place in my mind. They can fuck right off.

A after a good talking to myself in the stream of the cold shower, I throw on my old university sweats, ready to see my night out in front of the coffee table … and all things Pacer Fratelli.

Dangerously hot Pacer Fratelli.

Gah!

CHAPTER THREE

“Your honour, my client has not had a charge against him since two thousand and ten, and he is the sole caregiver for his elderly mother. He has strict conditions on his release and a million dollars riding on his bail. Clearly, he is not a risk to the city.”

The judge is still not impressed; I can tell. His nostrils always flare when he’s pissed off. Damn it! He looks to the prosecutor on the bench next to me.

Jackson Reed, newly appointed member of the Queen’s Counsel, and all-round asshole. I had the unfortunate experience of graduating law school with him more than ten years ago. Dirty money has paid for his career. Guys his age don’t make QC. I’ve had to claw my way through courtroom battles with him my entire working career. We seem to have mirrored each other, but on two completely different paths. The difference is, I know there has been dodgy deals set up behind closed doors, and he still has never come out on top with me. The guy will never learn. Two weeks into Pacer’s studying investigation and I already feel like Jackson is too involved in this case when he shouldn’t be.

Jackson gets out of his seat and leans across the bench, arms out wide, fingertips spread with an air of arrogance. “What Miss Tanner has failed to mention during her well-trained speech is that her client is also wandering around our city with a charge of murder on him. This is not some minor matter; this is going to be a trial for someone’s intentional death—someone who is missed by his family because he is dead. Although I’d love to say this may be resolved quickly, and Paciano Fratelli will be sentenced to being behind bars where all murderers belong, we all know that won’t be the case. His trial is going to take some time. Time means he can, and most probably will, reoffend. His records show he has little regard for authority, and the only reason he’s been let out at all is because his criminal associates have posted the ridiculous asking price of a million dollars for his release. This is a high-profile case, your honour, and we are treating it as some joke. A man is dead because of Miss Tanner’s client.”

Jackson sits back in his seat as if he has won the debate, but I don’t let his ass hit the chair before I rebut.

“My esteemed colleague has forgotten that the trial is yet to be held, so all the allegations he mentioned are just that. None of the evidence has been tested, your honour. As far as our legislation suggests, my client is not guilty of any such accusation until your court has correctly established all the findings.” Judge Nolan’s eyes do not shift from me. Not even for a moment. “My client is taking this charge very seriously and will be fighting every allegation against him. A million dollars is not pocket change, your honour. Not to anyone. My client will be adhering to all the conditions set to him. If you ask me, Mr Reed seems to be acting as judge, jury and prosecution. Your honour, his tone seems far from impartial. Perhaps he has taken this case for personal reasons, not professional?”

I turn to face the cocky fuck and flash him a look of triumph. “Wasn’t it the Legano’s who were accused of planting a bomb in your car, Mr Reed? An allegation that was thrown out of this very court.” Jackson’s jaw clenches. Swallow that, asshole.

Judge Nolan’s eyes narrow in my direction. I know I’ve got Jackson on that technicality. I bite at the smirk within me as Judge Nolan looks down at his paperwork and scribes away. His expression is non-emotive.

“Bail remains granted, all conditions to continue as listed, with the addition of Mr Fratelli to report to police, daily. An ankle monitor is to be fitted within twenty-four hours. Hearing adjourned until July the twenty-fourth. A new QC is to be appointed to the prosecution for this case. That is all.”

Two loud thumps from the judge’s gavel sees the first hurdle over with. Pacer is still out of prison. I gather all the paperwork that’s spread across the bench in one swoop and shove it into my brown leather bag. I’m more excited than I should be about telling Pacer the good news. Both Jackson and I wait standing while Judge Nolan exits the courtroom. We both bow to the code of arms above the judge’s chair as he leaves.

The moment the magistrate’s little door is shut, I make a dash for the exit at the back of the room but am stopped when Jackson catches my arm. “What do you think you’re playing at, Chelsea?” His eyes are wide and wild. “You think you’re some hot shot now that you’ve got these pieces of shit bank-rolling your income? You are running with the wrong bulls, girl.” His grip slightly loosens and he shakes his head. “It’s a shame. I thought you were a good girl. Guess I was wrong.”

I pull my arm from his grip and stare into his brown eyes. He would be handsome, if I didn’t know him. His jaw is wide and sharp, and his features are similar to Matt Damon’s—all clean-cut and respectable looking. But he’s a dirty player, both in the courtroom and out.

“This is work, Jackson. Do I need to remind you of that again? You’re losing your grip. Ever since your car bomb scare, you’re hell-bent on putting the Legano’s and everyone associated with them behind bars.”

“Because they are all criminals, Chels.” He says my name through gritted teeth.

“Let’s leave that up to the courts to decide.” I continue towards the door without so much as a glance behind me.

“I really thought more of you. You had so much to offer back in university.” I hear him call just as the door swings shut.

I know you thought more of me, asshole. You told me every time you’ve been drunk, and tried hitting on me … since university.

Scratching at my hair through my barrister wig, I pull my phone from my purse and scroll through it to find Pacer’s newly added number. Stupid, itchy horse hair wig. The damn thing always itches the hell out of me. Our courts have such annoying traditions.

CHELSEA: Mr Fratelli, I have some good and bad news. Meet me at my office in half an hour? – Chelsea Tanner.

PACER: Busy with my ma until noon. How about I meet you at my Uncle’s restaurant on Stanley Street? We can eat some good Italian food while you give me the news.

I smile at the message. Why am I smiling? This is business. I write the reply and close my eyes while I press send.

CHELSEA: I know the place. See you there at noon. –Chelsea Tanner

PACER: You don’t need to keep reminding me who’s sending the message Chelsea

Still smiling, I put my phone in my bag as it buzzes again.

PACER: And please call me Pacer.

Stop smiling. You’re a professional barrister –Chelsea Tanner.

***

As I walk into the restaurant, a short, typically olive-skinned Italian man in a chef’s uniform comes out from behind the bar. His smile is both warm and welcoming; his arms open wider than the Christ the Redeemer statue in Brazil, ready to greet me.

He leans in and kisses me twice, once on each cheek. I always forget Italians do this, so the second kiss is awkwardly stuttered as usual.

“You must be young Pacer’s new lawyer, eh?”

I look around the empty restaurant and nod bashfully, the heat of my embarrassment about to take over my cheeks.

“He said a beautiful blonde would be coming in at noon to see him. You’re cosi bella and it’s noon on the dot.” He winks. “Bravo. Very efficient.”

The jovial presence of the tubby man quickly rubs off on me and my tense shoulders relax a little. The idea of seeing a client outside the office has me unusually wound up. It’s not the first time I’ve had a meeting with a client at a restaurant, but there’s never been the added feeling of God-knows-what that’s currently rolling around inside me. The amount of times I’ve masturbated over Pacer since our initial consult over two weeks ago is a new record for me. The images of his tattoo-covered body have been perfect for my spank-bank material. I try my hardest not to allow the heat of my silent obsession spill out over my cheeks. This is the first time I’ve seen him since then, so I don’t know how cool I can really play this.

Pacer has similar features to his high-profile Uncle, however unlike Pacer’s lack of care when it comes to his criminal vocation, his Uncle now claims to be out of the game, quietly running the restaurant.

“I’m Carlo, Pacer’s Uncle.” He smiles as he directs us out of the main room and down the stairs that lead to the cellar.

The restaurant is renowned for having part of its dining in the old cellar down below. Dust particles rest upon some of the older, more expensive wines within the extensive collection. The cellar is like a rabbit warren of rooms with white-clothed tables and walls of wine bottles.

“Okay. Set it up. I have to go.” I hear Pacer’s voice before I see him.

He throws his mobile phone on the table in front of him and grins wide when he sees me. He’s impeccably dressed. This I can work with in the courtroom—not that he wasn’t poorly dressed before, but ripped jeans are not a great look during a trial. Now this … this is exceptional. Shirt and tie, coat hung over one of the seats. His sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, enough for me to see the writing down one arm and a cross on the other. An image of a scorpion is tattooed on his right hand, the sight of it reminding me that I need to confirm the story why he has it. The rumours aren’t good. He needs to cover his tattoos in court, but right now I’m okay with this view. His hair is perfectly rolled to one side, as if he’s just stepped out of the barbershop.

The rolling thunder that’s replaced my heartbeat makes my head feel light. My fingertips tingle as I reach out to shake Pacer’s hand, pulling off professionalism as best as I can. Pacer, on the other hand, leans in and pulls me to him, kissing me on either cheek. The sensation of his rough, stubbled skin against me almost gives me cause to start panting like a bitch in heat.

“Well a warrant hasn’t been issued for my arrest, so I can only assume the hearing this morning was a success?”

His hot breath blows past my ear as he speaks. I straighten up and smile weakly, ignoring what that actually felt like. My ability to speak, however, still hasn’t connected my mouth with my brain.

“Zio Carlo, could you bring me out one of my special bottles of red from the back?”

“Sure thing. Here. Let me take your coat.” Carlo reaches out and I slide my thick woollen coat off. I smile and wonder why he didn’t take Pacer’s jacket like this. Must be because he’s family.

Pacer waves off Uncle Carlo and pulls out a seat for me to sit.

Old school chivalry.

I clear my throat. “I can’t drink anything. Sorry, Pacer. I have to get back to the office after this,” I smile politely. “But by all means, enjoy a glass for yourself. We have some changes to your bail restrictions to discuss.”

The usual hard stare has softened to disappointment. I feel a pinch of guilt. With any one else I would agree to a glass of wine, but with Pacer, I just don’t trust myself. Not with the unwanted God-knows-what feelings I have.

“I won’t take no for an answer, Chelsea. My freedom is something to be celebrated. I want to enjoy it while I still have it. So you’re having at least one drink with me.”

Nodding before I regret it altogether, I give in far more easily than I usually would. None of that was a question. It was a demand. And being ordered around by him is kind of hot.

“About that freedom … you have to get an ankle monitor fitted to you tomorrow. That’s bad news. I will be accompanying you to the police station where they’ll fit it. I don’t want those assholes from the DPP harassing you while my back is turned.”

The flush is rising up his neck, his expression changing dramatically from joy to something in between anger, rage and amusement. Well, that’s what it looks like to me. Whatever the hell it is, it’s not good. The lines across his forehead crease deep as his dark eyebrows cinch in. The air becoming drenched in fury. The heat from his body can be felt from here. Or is that me heating up? I can sense the tension.

“This is fucking bullshit!” he says with such frustration.

I need to put this into perspective for the ungrateful psycho. “Well it’s either that or you can be held in remand for the next few months while you await trial?” I watch his response, but he still looks furious. “Just behave how you are and it will buy me some time to have the ankle bracelet removed again. There’s been a change in the prosecution. It’s given me more to work with. I just need you to do the right thing. Okay?”

“Sure, of course. You’re right.” He wears a smile, but it’s far from sincere.

What’s going on behind that smile, Pacer? Do I really want to know?

“You also have to report to the city police daily. But that’s right near my office, so we’ll just tie it in with daily meetings together.” My heart stupidly flutters at the thought of seeing Pacer every day … for strictly professional reasons, of course.

His smile softens. “That’s a good idea. Is there any more bad news?”

I shake my head. “Nope. That’s it. We have until the twenty-fourth of July to break holes through all the police’s evidence against you.”

“Now that is something to celebrate.”

In perfect timing, Carlo returns with the bottle of wine and pulls the cork with a squeaking pop.

“This is a nice drop, from my private vineyard in the Hunter Valley. I’m going to order food for us too, if you don’t mind of course?” Pacer holds the glass of wine up, inspecting the red as it slides against the glass.

“Go ahead. I trust your choices.”

“That would be a first for me.” Pacer and his Uncle Carlo laugh loudly, and I can’t help but laugh at the dark undertow of the joke, too. Pacer is so blatantly overt about what he does. It frustrates me, yet he turns me on like no one ever has. No guys in my world are like Pacer. Jackson’s about the only bad guy I know, but he’s certainly not an open criminal as Pacer quite comfortably is.

Is this what I was destined to become? The person not only attracted to, but responsible for letting killers roam our city streets? Or is it a better society for letting criminals all keep their business to themselves? So what if they want to kill each other off?

And just like our Lady Justice represents, there must always be balance between all sides to the arguments. For every Jackson there must be someone like me to represent equilibrium, presenting the other side of the argument. Maybe Jackson the asshole is actually right—maybe I was always destined to head to this side, the offending side. The dark side.

Pacer orders dinner in Italian, waving his hand out whenever he’s really passionate about something. I can’t understand a word he’s saying, and by all accounts, he could be discussing business with his Uncle. But what I don’t know won’t hurt my case with Pacer … my client, my criminal, murdering, fucking-sexy-as-hell-when-he-laughs-like-that … client. I can’t take my eyes from him when he laughs.

Why can’t you just be an asshole like guys in my world are? You would be so much easier to deal with. I could win your case, and we could move on with life.

“Saluti.”

I raise my glass high and down a big swig of the red wine, trying my best not to make it look obvious that I really need to get drunk right now. Screw work. No, actually I shouldn’t screw work. Right now, Pacer is my work. I glance towards him again, and his dark eyes catch mine, so he gives my arm a squeeze.

I have no idea what that means.

“Sorry. I get carried away. I like to make sure Uncle Carlo cooks it just right. I always do it to him.”

“He does it when he wants to impress someone.” Carlo rolls his eyes.

Somehow I don’t buy the story, but the less I know the better. Carlo leaves the room, and once again we’re alone. I wish I could say this was unromantic, but the whole setting is actually quite lovely. The room is cosy and inviting, the cellar feel makes it really intimate.

“I’ve been coming here since I was a baby. It’s been in the family for forty years now.”

“Do you really think Carlo needs to be told how you like your meals if you’ve been coming here for at least thirty of those years?”

He smirks. “You have been reading up on me, haven’t you?”

“What? Your age? Pacer, it’s what you’re paying me for. It’s my job to know everything about you.” I take another gulp of wine, hoping to fuzz the hell out of this situation.

Client. Client. Client.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’d prefer to make sure you get home safe. The city is full of crooks, you know.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Her words are slightly slurred.

Our afternoon meeting has turned into a late night session, polishing off three bottles of wine together. Heavy drinking is fairly normal practise within my family, but it seems like Chelsea has had more than her quota of alcohol. She is like putty in my hands today. Get some wine into her and she’s all doe-eyed at me. It makes me just want to throw her over my shoulder and take her straight to her bed and fuck her until she’s sober again. And right now, it’s taking every inch of my control not to do just that. She’s too drunk to try to reason with, so I take her hand and link it through my arm.

Strangely she was hotter when she was bitchy. I like when she snaps at me. That little defensive wall she puts up, when I know she really just wants to ride my cock.

This honeybee is not what I expected at all … she’s even better. Watching her for the past two weeks has been more than insightful. She fucks herself like a caged lab rat, stays up all night reading shit, eating shit, then she throws on a boring suit and looks like a librarian while she argues with assholes all day, to keep guys like me free. She’s a fucking dream come true.

“Okay. But I don’t know if I really want you knowing where I live, so you can walk me a few blocks and I can grab a cab the rest of the way.”

Too late. I know exactly where you live, and I know exactly how you masturbate.

“I can find out where you live quicker than you can find out my address, and you’re paid to know everything about me, remember? Now shut up and walk.”

She grins and her eyes bat as slow as her speech. “You,”—she points out at me—“think you’re pretty clever, huh?”

Yep, she definitely wants to fuck me.

I take a cigar from the leather holder in my pocket, and light it. “Just walk.” Cigar smoke bellows out around me as I talk.

She doesn’t argue with my demand. Just as I thought.

Her apartment is only four blocks from here. It’s the main reason why I took her to my Uncle Carlo’s place. I knew I could walk her home. I was right about her; she’s an eastern suburbs princess, except there’s something about her that’s different to all the other pompous bitches from this side of the city.

I listen to her talk about how she loves the wintertime in Sydney and laugh every time she mentions the places she likes to visit. On the outside, she’s very predictable. She goes to all the places that girls with her upbringing and career go. It’s what she does after dark behind closed doors that gets me the most excited.

We walk straight past her terrace and she doesn’t stop.

Predictable.

I follow in her little charade, and cross the street with her. I’m definitely watching her tonight. All my movements will be monitored from tomorrow so this is one of the last opportunities that I get to just see her, undetected. The rest of my work can wait until the morning.

“Well, this is me,” she says at the apartment block across the road from her terrace.

“See? It wasn’t that far to walk after all.” I smile.

She giggles. She must think I’m an idiot.

I lean in to kiss her on either cheek. Her nose collides awkwardly with mine as I kiss her on the other side.

Smiling, I let go of her arm and just watch, waiting for her to go inside. She stares back, but her drunken glaze looks straight past me.

She blows out a puff of air, “Okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Another moment passes as she waits for me to move. But I don’t.

“Alright, so I’m actually across the street. Just wanted to see if you knew.”

I puff on my cigar. She really didn’t think this through. I nod once.

She doesn’t need any more than that. A nod will do.

“Nice terrace. Is it yours?”

“Pffffft. No. It’s part of my family’s estate. I think my great-grandma owned it. I couldn’t afford a terrace like this here. I’d be struggling to own an apartment in that building across the road.” She laughs.

It’s such bullshit, but I like her attitude. She’s got old money, but she’s still down to earth. That’s a rare quality from someone who grew up around here.

“You must be on a pretty penny, doing what you do.”

She shrugs. “It’s all right. But why spend it if I don’t have to? Wasting a few million dollars on a terrace in the city is not on my list of priorities. Not when I can save it to buy what I really want later in life, once I’ve settled down.”

“Settled down?” I laugh, “Girls like you never settle down.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean girls with careers like yours. You’ll never walk away from it. You can’t. It’s in your blood.”

She stares into the distance again, but this time her cogs are ticking.

“Bit like being in a gang, really.”

Touché.

She smiles and opens the little iron gate to her terrace. Unlocking her front door, she turns. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“Anytime.” I stand on the footpath, continue smoking my cigar and watch her as she closes the door.

The lights flick on inside and I turn and walk back along from where I just came. I don’t want to turn back and look, but I know she’s checking to see where I go.

***

Two hours later, I make my way from Uncle Carlo’s to watch Chelsea for just a bit longer. I left through the hidden doorway that leads out of the back entrance of a restaurant, six doors up. We use it all the time if we think the dogs are on our tail again, and I’m still hot until I get this shit strapped to me tomorrow.

I get to her terrace and she’s left her curtains slightly open again. She should be more careful. You never know who’s out in the street, watching. My cousin’s BMW unlocks in front of me. I get into the backseat and get myself comfortable again. The binoculars are right where I left them in the pocket of the seat in front of me.

I’m going to have to think of another way to watch her. I’m not going to be able to park a different car here each week, like I had planned. She wondered why I got pissed off about having the fucking ankle bracelet. This is why. It fucks up something that was working just nicely.

I look over at the apartment block, and wonder if I should buy one of the apartments that face her terrace? She might not have the spare millions like she says, but I do. To me, this wouldn’t be a waste. This is definitely an investment—an investment in this interesting creature.

The problem is staying there. No matter how many of these buildings I buy, they will always know where I am.

There’s only one solution. She will just have to come to me.

CHAPTER FIVE

Groggy, heavy eyelids … struggle to open. Fuck Pacer’s red wine voodoo yesterday. Holding my head and moaning, I stumble my way to the shower, bouncing off the walls along the way like a Hollywood zombie in a Brad Pitt movie.

I had to drink yesterday. Yes I did. It was necessary! It was the only way to loosen up, and not be so fixated on Pacer. Running over the sequence of events from the afternoon, I pray I didn’t say anything that sounded too much like a teenage girl with a crush on her idol, because that’s what this feels like. It’s bullshit! I’ve worked so hard to get to the position I’m in, and now I feel totally out of control with it.

Finally making it to the bathroom, I grip onto the porcelain of the vanity sink and slowly raise my head, daring to look at myself in the mirror.

“You are a mess, girl.”

I have one job to do, and that’s keep Pacer Fratelli out of prison. That’s right; keep saying his full name. It keeps it professional. Because … “Heez aaaay cl-iiiii-ent,” I groan.

I sound like a puppet from Sesame Street.

He’s a client. He’s a client.

Repeating those words over and over, I turn the shower on, ready to wash away the layer of Fratelli filth that’s come to a rest on my skin.

It takes me a little longer to function this morning. Washing and blow-drying my hair, then meticulously smoothing it all back into a bun, feels as if it’s done in slow motion.

A coffee from Lou’s will fix everything. It always does.

The twenty-minute walk to work starts just as slowly. I still have two hours before I meet with Pacer, so this morning can be slow for once. I might even try and eat a bacon and egg roll at Lou’s, to absorb the alcohol still remaining in my system.

“Chelsea, you look a bit rough this morning, love. You got a fella keeping you up all night or somthin’?” A toothless smile greets me just before I get to my favourite coffee shop.

“Hi Larry. No, no man in my life. I’m still waiting for you, remember?”

Larry, one of my many homeless friends in the neighbourhood, laughs loudly. I take a step sideways, trying to avoid the spit that usually flies from his mouth whenever he laughs. I really don’t need that this morning.

“Better clean me act up then, aye?” he bellows as I walk into the coffee shop.

“I’ll be back with your roll. I just need to get some caffeine into me before I die. Where’s Don and Mick?”

“They’re comin’. Just had to get their dose the s’mornin’.”

Dose. Done. Methadone. There are a few names for the program that helps with the majority of the homeless people’s addiction to heroine. Most of them are on it. There are a few, like Larry, who aren’t addicts, but he’s got a whole barrel of mental health issues to deal with instead. Until our government and the medical departments decide to do something about both the drug and mental health issues of our nation, we’ll always have this problem in the city. The methadone program is an out-dated way to fix heroine addiction, and most of the users stay on it longer than they were on heroine. It’s not until you scratch the surface of a city like Sydney that you see where the real issues are.

The screeching sound of milk being heated is almost unbearable this morning.

“Morning, Chels.” Tahnee, daughter of the shop’s owner strains her voice so that she can be heard over the milk, “The bacon rolls are just being made for the boys.”

“Could you make an extra one for me, please?”

“Big night?” She winks.

What’s with everyone thinking I’ve been fucking someone all night? Do they all know how long it’s been too?

I shrug off the suggestion. “Just work.”

It is just work. Just work. The more I repeat my mantra this morning, the easier it’s feeling to keep it all in perspective.

Tahnee slides the takeaway coffee onto the counter and disappears to the kitchen, where her Dad is no doubt making the rolls for my friends.

The hot coffee burns my lips slightly, but I don’t care. I need it to slide down my chest and fill my veins with the burst of caffeine that I so desperately crave right now.

“Dad’s just making yours now.” Tahnee returns with three white takeaway bags, a bacon and egg roll in each. “That’s fifteen dollars, thanks.”

“You didn’t charge for the extra roll.”

“Dad said not to.” She smiles.

Lou brings the final package out and smiles. I brace myself for his big, bellowing voice. Even my brain feels as if it’s wincing.

“This one’s on me, Chels. It’s the least I could do. You buy each of those guys a roll every bloody day. They don’t appreciate it, you know.”

Lou has never approved of me buying the three homeless guys a bacon and egg roll every morning on my way to work, but I don’t care. It’s my money.

“They do appreciate it, or else they wouldn’t be here every morning, waiting for me. At least this way I know they’re getting a decent breakfast. Breakfast is important.”

Lou shakes his head. “You’re a good girl Chelsea. There should be more of you and less of them.” His head flicks in the direction of the front window where the two other homeless men have joined Larry, sitting on upturned milk crates.

Collecting my change from Tahnee, I toss it into my purse and grab all of the packages and coffee and make my way out to the homeless guys.

“Morning boys. Here’s your rolls.”

Don grumbles, “I’m not hungry this morning.”

Mick punches Don’s arm from his seat on the crate next to him. “Don’t be so fucking rude to Chels and eat your fucking roll. You’re never hungry after your dose; I’m sick of hearing about it.”

“I’m going to join you this morning.”

I instantly regret my decision as soon as I say it. Between the toothless slurping and pieces of food that I know will fly as soon as they all start eating, I realise I should’ve thought this through more. The three men look nervously at one another as I slide a crate over.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

They still stare at one another until Larry eventually speaks. “We just never had you join us before. We don’t have much manners, you know. So ’scuse the way we eats.”

I burst into laughter and they all laugh with me. “And here I was thinking I was going to be eating like royalty around you three.”

We continue to laugh and Don finally gets out of his drug-induced bad mood. “You’re one of a kind, love.”

A bacon and egg roll eaten in silence amongst my homeless friends is just what I need to put my head back into the right frame of mind today. Normality keeps me grounded.

Surprisingly, I’m the only one who ended up with sauce on my jacket. Luckily for me, it’s black.

***

I’ve been doing pretty well on all accounts this morning. My hangover has all but disappeared, I’ve found a couple of faults with the police’s investigation into Sean Collins’s murder, and Pacer has been comfortably put back into the professional part of my brain.

This positive self-analysis manages to fall apart the moment I walk into the foyer of my office and see Pacer. His standard of dress is impeccable. You just don’t see guys dress this way anymore. The gloves. Fuck! The gloves. Every goddamn time.

I swallow louder than intended and lean in to greet him with a kiss on either cheek. I nail the double kiss, but my breathing is still an effort.

“Shall we go then?” My voice also decides to fail on me, and it sounds more like a crackle. I clear the bubble stuck in my throat as Pacer waves for me to walk in front of him.

The elevator ride is equally as excruciating, and I’m sure Pacer just caught my attempt to look in his direction. Thankfully, the elevator stops on level ten and three people step into the lift. I gladly step back, which gives me the prime position to check Pacer out without him catching me on the overt ogle. Brown leather shoes, tailored navy suit, white shirt with a high collar. Can’t see what type of tie he has on from here, but the fabric of the suit looks so amazing. Rich and lux, and I just want to touch it. He shuffles onto his other foot and his hand leisurely drops out of his pocket with the change in his position.

Brown leather glove. Sigh.

Pacer glances back and smirks. He heard me sigh? Great!

But what was with that smirk?

Now looking down to the ground, I beg for the rest of the ride to hurry up. It may be mid-winter, but I’m heating up in here.

The moment the doors open, the cool fresh air beyond the elevator encourages my core temperature to regulate back to normal.

“I hope you don’t have too much of a headache this morning.” Pacer slides his sunglasses on as soon as we hit the footpath. And just when I think he couldn’t look any better, the preppy sunglasses. He’s like an intimidating hipster.

I hate hipsters. The whole city is teeming with them. There’s any wonder why I’m single.

“Nothing that a bacon and egg roll couldn’t fix,” I finally reply with a smile.

Maybe he’s more like the old gangsters of Chicago and New York, but a modernised twist with his tattoos and unshaven face. If he weren’t part of a crime gang, he’d just be a beard or a man bun away from looking like a full-blown hipster. Thank God his personality is the polar opposite to the modern version of the 90s yuppie.

***

The police station is at the corner of the street, and the moment we walk in, the young constables at the front counter starts a Mexican stand-off of stare-downs. They know exactly who we are, and I wish I was used to it, but I’m not. I’m one of them, a loyal citizen. I want to roll my eyes but they all treat me like a criminal as it is, so I keep my cool and give them my best cosmetic smile.

“We’re here to see Detective Inspector Lawson.”

The young female constable doesn’t reply, the arrogant little shit. I hear the heel of Pacer’s shoes clip away, and follow his direction. Leaning against a metal shelf that holds all the information brochures about domestic violence and victim support units, I watch as all the police move in to get a better look at us. More police walk past the front counter, all looking in our direction as they pass. I frown at their blatant curiosity directed at the two of us. It doesn’t intimidate me, if that’s what they’re trying to do, but it is really annoying. I let out a breath of frustration. Pacer, on the other hand, takes it all in his stride and scrolls through his phone, paying no attention to the parade in front of him. They all seem to want a glimpse of the infamous Pacer Fratelli. A criminal who seems more like a celebrity than a callous murderer.

“Are they seriously all coming past to check you out?” I speak under my breath, just loud enough for Pacer to catch.

His brow crinkles. Only his eyes look up to me, his head remaining still. “They can’t help themselves. I guess I’m an interesting kind of guy.”

He continues casually scrolling through his phone again. He must be so used to this. If it’s not the police all watching him, it’s the media. I knew him well before he knew me. His photo and a sensationalised story about him are splashed across the front covers of newspapers at least once a month. No wonder he hates the idea of having an ankle monitor strapped to him. It’s just another way for every person in the city to watch him. It must feel claustrophobic.

The side door opens and a strikingly beautiful blonde stands tall and intimidating in the doorway. She looks pretty much exactly how I imagined she would when I spoke to her over the phone this morning.

“Pacer and Chelsea, come through.” Not a hint of emotion in her words.

I follow behind Pacer and the Detective Inspector to an elevator at the rear of the building. Police that pass us glare. It’s now laughable how many stare at us.

None of the buttons inside the elevator have numbers. I guess it’s to slow people down from finding the right floor straight away. I wonder how many cops get it wrong? Of course the Detective Inspector doesn’t hesitate to punch in the correct button and we swiftly arrive at the level where her private office is. She opens the door and we walk in.

“Take a seat.”

“That was rather a warm reception down there,” I snidely reply as I take my seat.

“We have to use up a lot of resources to watch someone like Pacer when he’s allowed to roam the country. Don’t expect to get too much pleasantry from around here.”

It’s strange to listen to the way the police look at someone like Pacer—an expense in resources. I’ve never really considered it from a business perspective. He must cost the police force a fortune, and they still haven’t managed to put him in prison. Going off their investigation, I can see why. One slight word changed or missing from their statements and someone like me can bring the whole case apart.

It takes all of ten minutes for Pacer’s tracker to be fitted and we’re out of the police station, heading back towards my office building.

“Since I have this on me now, I won’t be venturing far from my house. Only to do the necessities like reporting to the dogs, and to attend your office for a meeting. Any meetings outside of your office will be done at my place, okay?”

His bluntness throws me off sometimes, but the thought of being at his house is a little more exciting than I’d care for, and I have to bite back the smirk.

“That sounds like a good idea. So are you going to be okay to attend the station on your own tomorrow morning?”

“Where will you be?” he fires back.

“It’s Saturday, Pacer.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t work Saturdays.”

“I see.” He pulls out a cigar and flips his lighter.

“We’ll meet first thing Monday morning. Try to stay out of trouble this weekend.”

He says nothing. I can’t read a damn thing about him, either.

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” His smirk is back as he talks.

Wait! What? He’s asking me about my weekend?

“That’s a little personal, don’t you think?” That sounds better than admitting that I have no plans, because I have no life.

He sniggers and waves out. A big black Audi four-wheel-drive that’s parked up the street pulls out and stops kerbside, next to us.

Smoke drifts from his mouth. “See you Monday then, Miss Tanner,” he says my name with animosity.

Making his way to the car, he gets in the passenger seat and doesn’t even give me a sideways glance as the car pulls away.

Not even once.

I find myself standing on the crowded footpath, alone and with more sexual frustration than I know what to do with.

CHAPTER SIX

The weekend means one thing—acting like a teenager at my parents’ house on the hill. I call it a house, but it’s so big that sometimes they don’t even know I’m there. My terrace feels suffocating at the moment, or maybe it’s the situation I’m in. Whatever it is, I feel the need to escape. And the best place to escape to is Dolorous. Yes, the big, bricked beauty has a name.

As soon as I open the front door to my childhood home, I feel at ease. For years, my Dad was the Supreme Court judge, the highest position of law in the country, so I grew up with excessive security at our fortress on top of the hill. Dolorous overlooks the city on one side and the beach on the other.

My Dad is the single most intelligent person I have ever met. He’s debated with me all my life.

When I was drunk, I’m sure I remember Pacer mentioning my job being in my blood. It was an accurate assumption. It is in my blood. Since I am an only child, my Dad has focused every lesson and expectation on me, and me alone.

Aren’t I lucky?

I’m guaranteed a solid grilling this weekend from Dad, for taking Pacer Fratelli on as a client. But I’m prepared for it, and maybe I need it. There’s no one else on the planet who can snap me back into reality like my Dad does.

“Hello … Anyone home?”

I gently drop my keys into the bowl on the antique hall table in the wide wood-panelled foyer. I wouldn’t dare damage any of Mum’s precious antique furniture. She has devoted her entire life to restoring the house back to its original glory of the early 1900s.

“In the kitchen, dear,” Mum calls from the lower half of the house.

Depending on which street entrance you drive into, there are two grand entries, one on the top level and one on the lower half of the residence. Because the house is on a sloping hilltop, the entire property is split into two levels, with two acres of sprawling grounds surrounding it. Dolorous is so fancy. Even her name is fancy. Dolorous. Yes, she is grand, and I will grow old in her, just as my family before me has.

My great-grandfather started one of the very first newspapers in the country, and he built this house to pass on to his children. My grandfather then took over the newspapers and went on to introduce colour television into Australia, so he was given the house. When my Mum was one of the first female editors and started one of the first women’s magazines, she also inherited the house. She got it over my Aunt Patrice because she was the oldest, and most successful. Success means everything to my family. Mum is my Dad’s perfect match. She’s equally as witty and comes in a close second to Dad’s sharp intellect, but most importantly, Mum’s powerful family approved of Dad when they started dating in their early twenties.

Growing up in a house with a family full of ground breaking high achievers has been exhausting. The added pressure of being an only child is the perfect recipe for a lifetime of greatness, or a lifetime of utter despair. Luckily for me, I inherited Dad’s desire to challenge everyone and everything in life, so ambition drives me more to succeed without accepting failure as the result. Plus, I’ve always been independent so moved into my terrace at the age of eighteen, to be closer to law school. It’s helped to keep me separate from this life.

Finally reaching the kitchen, I find Mum sitting at the chef’s table on the far right. An oversized kitchen bench spreads from one length of the kitchen to the other. Marcel is in the middle of it preparing dinner, as he has done all my life. I’ve never seen my Mum cook … not even once.

Mum’s hair is immaculate as usual. A light brown bob, her signature look since the 60’s, is silky smooth. She doesn’t believe in cosmetic surgery, so she is one of the rare women in the area who actually has wrinkles. She is still so beautiful though, and the wrinkles suit her natural beauty.

“So I was just talking to Marcel about whether you will be here this weekend. You know your father is going to have something to say about the photos in papers today.”

“What papers? What photos?”

“You’re on the front page of all the publications. Where have you been all day, under a rock?”

A loud sigh escapes my lips as I slump into the square booth on the opposite side to Mum.

“Yeah, I kind of have. I’ve been under a case file that’s the size of a rock.”

“I see that. I also see you’re enjoying the subject matter.” Mum’s tone is full of judgement.

I wish I had stopped to see the news today.

Why didn’t Sienna, or anyone else at the firm, show me the paper?

“Okay. Cough up. I need to see this newspaper.” I hold my palm out, expecting a copy any minute.

Marcel’s kitchen-hand, Ed, brings a small stack of newspapers from the chef’s pantry. He grins as he places them in front of me. The first newspaper, my family’s old newspaper, has a big grainy close-up of Pacer and I in what looks like a loving embrace on the footpath outside my terrace, with the headline that’s reads:

Love’s Fight For Freedom: Fratelli and Tanner, more than just a courtroom debate.

I frown. We never kissed like this. This photo was caught as he kissed me on the cheek, but the angle makes it look so much worse.

“Mum, you should know better than anyone that this is all bullshit.”

She nods, “I know that dear, but I don’t think your father’s going to be too impressed. You know what he’s like. And what were you doing out with your client anyway?”

“I had a meeting and he offered to walk me home, that’s all. Something that was an innocent and polite offer has now been turned into some bullshit tabloid story.”

“I’ve made a call and this won’t be happening again.” Mum sips on her clear spirit; gin no doubt.

“I didn’t need you to do that. I can handle this myself.”

“It looks like it.”

I scoff at her judgement. “Ed can you please make me what ever Mum is drinking. If she’s on the hard stuff, then I need to be too. Dad is going to have my balls.”

“Chelsea Elizabeth Blythe! Your mouth!” Mum always adds on the Blythe when she really disapproves. I’ve never used my full name, though. One middle name is enough. I sound like bloody royalty if I use my full name.

“Come on, Mrs T, we all know Chelsea has a bigger set than most men,” Ed adds.

I watch Mum’s reaction and burst into fits of laughter. He couldn’t get away with that if Dad was around, and he wouldn’t dare test it either. But Ed and I have been friends from the very first day he started here, fifteen years ago. He’s always been the same smart ass, too. We’re the same age. He left school to become a chef. I was still finishing my High Schooling when he started working at Dolorous, and we became instant friends. I’ve always felt like I’ve had more in common with Ed than I have with all the jerks in my social circles.

“But why did you have to kiss him?” Mum starts up again.

I roll my eyes. “He’s Italian! It’s not what it looks like.”

Mum’s sigh is loud enough for me to hear.

Great. Just great. This weekend is going to be real fun.

***

Dad makes a grand entrance just as we take our seats at the dinner table in the smaller of the two dining rooms. The other dining room is saved for larger banquets with friends.

From the sound of the Elvis tune that he’s belting out, he’s been at the golf club for the afternoon. Hopefully he’s inebriated enough to be in a jovial mood. He spots me on the other side of the table and squints in my direction. Brace yourself, Chelsea.

“So they’re saying if you pull a rabbit out of the hat with this Fratelli guy, then you’ll be offered a place in the partnership.”

He doesn’t waste a moment to get straight to the point. Not even a ‘hello, how are you?’

“I figured as much. It’s nice to see you too, Dad.”

He shakes his head. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Chelsea. What have you got so far?”

Bonnie, the head housekeeper, places plates with our dinner in front of us. I gulp down the extra strong gin that Ed made me.

“I’ve bought all the files with me, Dad. But I’m leaving it for the night, and I’ll get into it tomorrow afternoon with you. I’ve spent the last forty-odd hours studying the case; I need a break from the intensity of the whole trial.”

Truth is, I need a break from Pacer.

I sneak a glance towards Mum and see uncertainty and anticipation on her face. From her darting eyes and pursed lips, I can tell she’s waiting for Dad to react to the paper’s photos of me. From his pleasant mood, I don’t think he’s seen them yet, so I’ll just let it slide and hope he misses it altogether.

Mum seems to share the same thought as me and also leaves the subject alone. “Have you heard from Logan? Are they coming up here this weekend?” Her question is directed at me.

I shrug. I haven’t heard from my cousin all week.

“Speak and I shall appear!” Logan spreads their arms out wide, and dramatically waltzes into the dining room just as dinner is being served.

They’re wearing combat boots, black jeans with a rip in the knees, and a black leather motorcycle jacket. Their hair is bright blonde and shaved at the back with a big fringe that falls over one side of their face, hiding one half of the oversized round reading glasses they’re sporting. I say ‘their’ because Logan doesn’t identify as male or female. Logan is ‘gender fluid’ as they call it. When we were kids, she was a girl. Our Mums always dressed us in matching sickly sweet pink ruffles and frills, and our blonde curls were always in bows. Logan was the prettiest little girl, so much so that I be jealous because everyone would mention how beautiful she was. But then they’d mention how we were more like sisters than we were cousins because of our closeness and similar features, and my little heart was mended once again.

You never know if Logan is a guy in heels or a chick that looks like a dude. Truth is, they have a style of their own. Some days she feels like her and other days he feels like him and, when that’s the case, I am allowed to call them a him or her. As confusing as it sounds, it’s really quite simple. Tonight, he’s more he than she, but you don’t see too many guys with bright red lipstick and eyelashes as long as wings. Logan is just Logan. But tonight he’s ‘he’.

“Gee, the papers gave you a bit of grief today with those pictures. I bet you sorted them out though, hey Aunt Tilly?” Logan sits casually on his chair, keeping one foot on it, knee up to his chest and pops a piece of bread in his mouth.

“What pictures?” Dad glares at all three of us.

Thanks Logan. Trust you to open you big mouth.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Dad. My client was being polite by walking me home after a late meeting, and someone snapped some pics of what looks like us kissing. But as you know, they make it worse than the actual reality of it.”

“What do you mean it looks like you were kissing?” His tone had dropped. He’s pissed.

“Pacer was giving me a kiss on either cheek, like all good Italians do, and the one picture they’re all running with looks like I’m kissing him back. But trust me, Dad, it couldn’t be further from the truth.”

The thick vein on Dad’s forehead starts to surface, as it always does when he’s angry. “Why do you call him Pacer?”

“Because that’s his name?”

“It’s also very informal for a client, Chelsea.”

Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I can’t help but feel annoyed at this whole thing. Thank fuck no one can actually read my thoughts; then I would really have some explaining to do.

‘Sorry’ Logan mouths from across the table to me.

I shrug in return. This grilling was bound to happen.

What a fucking mess … and this is just the start.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Eleven hours and twenty-three minutes since I saw my honeybee. Fuck this tracker and fuck her rich parents. Scott better get this sorted or I am going to lose my shit. I slide open the screen on an iPhone that is used for one purpose and one purpose only. Finding the only number that’s in the phone¸ I press Scott’s number.

Smart phones are a crook’s worst enemy and a useful tool for the cops. But smart phones won’t outsmart someone like Scott.

The call picks up but the line is empty.

“Is it done?”

“Twenty minutes.” The voice answers robotically.

“What about the location?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“You said that fourteen hours ago.”

The call drops out and I throw my phone into the wall. Pieces of it fly in different directions. My connection to Scott is shattered.

I grab my everyday phone and send a message to my cousin.

PACER: I need a new phone immediately. I’m at home.

Scrolling through the messages, I read my conversation with Chelsea. Studying every word she wrote makes me crave her more, and despite all my attempts for the past eleven hours, I can’t even get close to her. Eleven hours, feels more like eleven days. I need to see her. That’s why I’ve had to call in Scott. He’s the government’s most wanted hacker. He’s more pedantic than I am about his personal security, that’s why I like the guy. I wouldn’t even know what he looks like. I don’t think anyone does. My life is fucked as it is from having to outwit the cops. I can’t imagine what his must be like. Fuck that.

My phone sounds its message tone.

FRANCO: Did you smash your phone again?

PACER: Just get here. Urgent.

Taking the smashed phone, I swap the sim card over in case Scott calls. He won’t leave a message so I need to take that call. I walk back up the jetty to my house. I’m surprised there isn’t a track worn in the hardwood—I’ve paced it that many times. Especially in the last eleven hours.

The phone rings. No number displayed. I answer it on mute so they can’t hear me, or my surroundings.

“It’s done.” Scott’s pixelated voice comes through the speaker.

The call ends.

It’s about fucking time! Now I just need Franco to hurry the fuck up and I am out of here. I have the freedom to move once again with the signal from my tracker now intercepted by Scott and access to one of America’s telescopes, in space.

By the time I’ve made it to the garage at the front of my property, Franco pulls up at the front door.

“Where’s the phone? I need to go.”

“Everything alright?” He throws me the box as I make my way to the garage.

“It will be now.”

There’s not a moment to waste. With my iPad in hand, I jump in my Audi and finally venture past my front gates for the first time since I had this fucking tracker fitted. There’s one place I need to be.

Sliding my sunglasses back on, I stretch out on the sunlounge and close my eyes for a moment. The winter sun feels lovely against my bare arms. I still have to keep a big knitted rug over my legs to protect them from the ice-cold breeze on the hilltop.

“So there seriously isn’t anything going on between you and this Pacer guy then?” Logan takes the opportunity to talk the moment my novel drops to my chest.

I groan. “Not you too.”

“Well I had to ask. He is pretty hot. I wouldn’t blame you if you did have a thing with him.”

Raising my sunglasses, I smile. “He is ridiculous looking, isn’t he? But no, I don’t have a thing with him. A thing for him maybe, but at this stage the thing is singular.”

Logan laughs. “Just be careful. There are plenty of eyes on you at the moment.”

“Don’t I know it?”

The phone vibrates on the table next to me.

PACER: Since you don’t work on the weekend, why don’t we have dinner instead?

My smile is unstoppable, but I toss the phone back onto the table, frustrated even more about the shitty situation I’m in. Why can’t this just be easy? As in, why can’t Pacer just be a law-abiding citizen who I met out on the town one night? Or we were introduced through friends, like every other normal couple I know?

From the corner of my eye, I catch Logan smiling. “That was him, wasn’t it?”

I sigh and flop back against the sunlounge.

“Is it that obvious?” I lean my arm across my face, blocking the sun and my thoughts.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head.

“Okay. Well I’m here if you do. You know that, right?”

“I love you for that … you know that, right?”

With my phone back in my hand, I know I have to respond to Pacer, regardless of my feelings.

CHELSEA: Don’t think that’s a good idea. Have you seen the news?

PACER: I don’t read newspapers or watch the news on TV.

CHELSEA: Maybe you should. They followed us the other night when we had late lunch, and took pictures of us. They’ve decided to run with the story that you and I are romantically involved.

He doesn’t reply. Shit!

CHELSEA: I’m just as angry about it. It’s been sorted though. The media won’t be printing anything like that again without having a defamation case against them.

PACER: So you would be defamed if you were in a relationship with me?

I stare at the text for a moment longer. That’s not what I meant. But what does he mean? All of his actions, his little passes at me—I know he likes me. Girls never want to admit it to themselves but we always know. There’s a change in our body when a man takes an interest in us. Our heads make stupid decisions all because the rampant pheromones overrule everything. They shouldn’t be called ‘fair-o-moans’ they should be ‘wrong-don’t-go-there-o-moans’.

CHELSEA: No, being with you wouldn’t defame me, but it won’t help your case at all if this story develops.

PACER: If that’s a real no, then we’ll have dinner when my case is over.

He’s tenacious. Maybe that’s the solution to all of this? If I get him off his murder charge, I can convince the country that he’s not the man the police are making him out to be. Then maybe I could start something with him, or at least we would be able to try out the stock. All of his body language tells me he wants it too, and I’m pretty sure his advances are making my uncontrollable feelings even worse.

The only people that will have a problem with this will be my family. I shouldn’t get my father involved in the case … or maybe I should, and not tell Dad the parts about Pacer actually admitting to me that he did murder that guy?

“That’s it!” I jump off the sunlounge and run across the lawn towards the house.

“What’s it?” Logan calls out.

I don’t stop; I can’t. I need Dad to help me with this case. If I’ve done my job right, I’ve got the right amount of culpable and non-culpable evidence that makes me still look impartial when Dad goes over my notes. I’m pretty sure I can convince him that Pacer is being targeted in all of this. I know my Dad better than anyone; I know exactly how he works. If I get this right, he will find the best way to get Pacer off this charge.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Why did she run inside the house after I sent her that last message? I zoom into the screen on the iPad and try to focus on the person lying on the sunlounge next to where my honeybee just was. It looks like a girl, but I can’t make her out properly. Getting access to the telescope was an expert idea. I wouldn’t have even known about it if it weren’t for Scott’s suggestion. I knew there was a reason why I kept him on my payroll for all these years.

I smell my honeybee everywhere. Her terrace is filled with her, and it makes me feel closer to her just by being in here. I flip the comforter back. The smell on her bed sheets gives me a fucking boner. I grab at my cock and rip it out from my pants, gripping hard around my shaft, and start jerking it. I breathe in again and the smell of her swirls in my nostrils. I pull harder.

Fuck, I wish I could just stick it so far into her that she can’t fucking walk for a week.

Reaching into the laundry basket next to her bed, I grab a pair of her panties and breathe them in. Fuck me, she smells like heaven. The pressure builds up in my balls and I just want to release myself all over her pillow.

Fuck!

I cock my leg up onto her bed just as my creamy jizz spills all over her white linen.

Money shot!

I’ll always be in here with her now. And when she washes her sheets, I’ll just come back in here and do it again. I want her to smell me every night when she sleeps.

She’s going to be riding my cock before she knows it.

Taking a moment to sort myself out, I wipe my sticky hand on her sheets and pull the covers back. I shove her delicious smelling panties into my pocket, and I slide my gloves back on as I walk out of her bedroom.

What other possessions can I claim for myself?

Downstairs, her fridge has fuck all in it. Her rubbish bin is full—health-bar wrappers and takeaway coffee cups. Three empty bottles of wine sit beside the bin, waiting to be taken out to the main bin outside. I wander into a spare bedroom and find something that interests me more than her delicious panties.

A corkboard with pictures of me covers a quarter of the wall. She has a timeline of all my charges, dating back to when I was a teenager. She has done her research. I wonder if she does this for all her clients, or if she’s saving this special treatment for me? I’d like to think she’s just done this for me.

What an interesting little honeybee.

Some of this information is serious; the dogs know a lot about me.

The old pictures provoke memories of when I was a scrawny kid. I remember every charge. I remember all of the custody photos. Thank Christ my sense of style has evolved. No one needs a little Vanilla Ice wannabe running around town with way too much fluorescent for one outfit. ‘Juvie’ taught me how to become a man. It’s survival of the fittest in a place like that. Being locked up with a bunch of punk-ass street kids with adolescent hormones that they can’t control is the best way to learn how to fight hard and be better than your competition.

Standing here longer than intended, I find myself reflecting on what my life has been and what it’s become. I don’t think I would’ve changed any of it. Everything I’ve done in my life was necessary. My Uncle needed someone strong in the family, an attribute that his own sons failed to rise to. I couldn’t imagine Franco doing what I do. He’d fuck our name, reputation and finances within a goddamn month. I need to stay out of prison, for the sake of the family. My Uncle’s getting old now; he can’t do it all on his own.

I find a section that contains photos of Zio Carlo when he was in his prime. He will always be the most intimidating man I’ve ever met. But he’s not the man he used to be twenty years ago. I also find a photo of him and my Dad together. I miss my Dad. My childhood memories fade more and more as the years go on, and I feel as if I’m losing him all over again. When Dad and Carlo were in their prime, we were the main family in the city and Kings Cross was ours. When my Dad died in prison, my family took it hard. Now the city’s full of these Muslim gangs, and territories have split. These new guys are all irrational and a little too trigger-happy for my liking. They like to shoot first and ask questions later. I hate dealing with them, but I have to. I’m just glad our family is still the one they come to when they need something. They will always know we’re the old crooks of the city.

I don’t see why business can’t be dealt with the old way—interrogation and punishment. That Sean asshole took almost six hours to knock off … just the way I like it. Slow and painful. None of this shooting shit. I like to take the real assholes apart, limb-by-limb. Especially when the anaesthetic wears off, and they feel their limb missing. That’s my favourite part. They say you can sometimes still feel a limb, even when it’s gone.

I see the forensic photos of all the arms and legs I’ve taken over the years. They’ve only got me on two of those. The others had their charges dropped before court. I remember the screams when I sliced the saw through their flesh. The initial screams are just from the shock of what’s happening to them; they can’t actually feel it. It makes me smile every time.

As I close my eyes, I can hear the ripping of their skin as the sharp teeth of the saw hit them. Ah, that sound never gets old.

‘Get out of your daydream, kid,’ I hear my Dad’s voice.

Studying back over my photos, I wonder how many tattoos the dogs know I’ve got?

The board has my obvious ones, but my left arm’s sleeve is practically finished, except some shading. It would be too hard for them to tag and document every inch of ink. The latest police profile has it listed as ‘full sleeve’

Good.

They definitely know about the scorpion; I’ve always known that. Sliding my glove off and looking at the scorpion tattooed on the back of my hand, I smile. My nickname, The Sting, has served me well—the sting before the kill.

The gloves keep me hidden, fingerprints and all.

With my gloves back on, I decide I’ve just about had enough of this little trip down memory lane. There’s more of this honeybee to uncover while I have the opportunity.

CHAPTER NINE

Seven fucking hours.

Seven. Fucking. Hours!

Dad and I have been testing every piece of police evidence to see if there is a fault in their investigation.

For seven. Fucking. Hours.

Forget about me having to convince Dad that Pacer is targeted. So much of this investigation is wrong. I feel stupid that I didn’t see it until Dad highlighted it. It must’ve been my rampant hormones that distracted me … that and the leather gloves.

There are so many Jackson Reed types in the police force. I don’t even understand how this case was able to get as far as a trial. When Dad enlightened me on how some of this evidence has come about, I also realised that Jackson Reed has had his grubby mitts all over it. But I don’t tell Dad that part. I’ll go after Jackson on my own.

I’m contacting the judge myself first thing Monday morning. I bet Jackson Reed paid off Pacer’s last lawyer too. The more I’m learning about these high-level criminal investigations, the more I find the undertow of corruption within the ranks. If they’re not careful, I will be making sure another Royal Commission happens. Dad was the chief justice for the last Royal Commission into corruption. Both sides of the fence hated my family before I even began practising law. The crooks hated Dad for locking them up, and the detectives hated Dad for exposing their crooked investigations.

Our level of security was needed when you’re a powerful and very hated person like Dad was. I’m glad I’ve inherited Dad’s deep integrity. The so-called bad guys of the city seem to have more honesty than the people in charge of the judicial system. I’m starting to understand Dad’s frustrations.

Dad has long gone to bed, but I’ve stayed behind in his office to finish all the notes. If this all goes to plan, Pacer’s case will be settled out of court, and without a plea bargain.

I hate Jackson Reed. No wonder why Pacer’s family want him gone. He’s on a one-directional pursuit to get Pacer and his cousins behind bars. He needs to be stopped.

Picking up my phone, I check the time.

1:20am.

I’m tempted to message Pacer. I feel like I want to tell him that I’ve got this in the bag … I also just want to hear from him, too. I miss him.

Jesus! I’ve known him for three minutes and I already miss him? What do I do from here? Do I ignore my feelings or act on them and find out why I feel like this? There’s got to be a reason for it.

It’s the leather gloves!

Mmmm … leather gloves.

CHELSEA: Our dinner may be happening sooner than you thought.

Send.

Waiting …

Shit! Why did I send it? It’s one o’clock in the morning!

PACER: Name a restaurant and I’ll organise the rest.

Smooth. Heart aflutter.

CHELSEA: Surprise me.

PACER: Careful what you wish for

Shit! Breathing difficult. I blow out a long breath, but it does nothing to stop the pounding in my chest.

CHELSEA: You’re up late?

PACER: I’m always up late. Nature of the beast.

CHELSEA: I hope you’re at home. You have a curfew, remember?

PACER: Nagging me already? I like it.

CHELSEA: You pay me to be bossy. Just stay out of trouble. I will have this all sorted Monday morning.

PACER: I love it when you boss me around. I’ll happily pay good money for that. Heading to bed now. Good night x

I stare at the ‘x’, and stare at it for so long that I don’t end up replying.

Something so small is so much cause for wonder. There are so many ways to take the ‘x’.

As I make my way upstairs to my bedroom, I can’t dislodge the ‘x’ from my brain. It’s etched in there, just like Pacer is.

***

The second my eyes open, he’s there. Pacer is right in there, and I can’t shake it. The guy will not get out of my head. I’ve got to do something about this. It’s crazy to ignore the incessant need to get myself off, every time I think of him … which is all fucking day. From the moment my eyes open, until the moment I shut them. If I have to go through another week of this, my clit will be rubbed into extinction.

Maybe if I see him I’ll calm down enough to focus on the case?

CHELSEA: I would like to go over some of the issues with your investigation. I need to clarify a few details. Are you free for lunch?

Ten minutes later, no reply.

Half an hour later, still no reply. He must be asleep. It is only seven am.

Slumping back into my soft pillow, I decide another hour’s sleep will work wonders for the heavy bags under my eyes, especially if I’m seeing Pacer later.

Fuck, I hope he messages back.

As each minute passes, I’m getting dangerously close to feeling desperate. Sleep. Just sleep. Soft pillow.

***

“Hey sleeping beauty, your beau is at the top gates. Uncle John is going to have your ass if he gets home to find him here.”

My eyelids feel like concrete blocks but the rude awakening has me instantly alert. I look at the end of the bed to find Logan holding my foot. For a moment she looks just like she did when we were teenagers, and she wasn’t them yet. I miss the old her sometimes.

Hang on.

What was Logan saying?

“What?”

“He’s here … that Pacer guy. Well, his driver is here. He’s still in the car, hasn’t stepped a foot out. The driver said you requested a meeting with Pacer at lunch. The car is fucking pimpin’, by the way.”

I smile. Without the stack of makeup on, Logan is my old Logan, but all the variants of Logan are so much better than just the one.

Throwing my arms around her, I kiss her cheek. “What’s the time?”

“Ten past two … in the afternoon.”

“What the fuck?”

I rifle through the bed, searching desperately for the damn phone. As soon as my fingers hit hard plastic, I rip it out from the depths of the bed.

One missed call

Two unread messages

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Sliding open the message, I brace. I must’ve slept all morning.

7:28a.m

PACER: I’ll be at the northern gates of your parents’ home at 1pm

8:00a.m

PACER: I hope you know I’m not joking

12:40p.m

MISSED CALL: Pacer

As I come out of my phone message coma, I find Logan still sitting on the bed, smiling at me.

“Did you say Dad was out?”

“Yeah but he’s due back any moment. Both him and Aunt Tilly went out to the yacht club for lunch together.”

“Okay, can you get Pacer’s driver to take him around and meet me at the bottom gates instead. He can park on the main road then, and he won’t stick out like a sore thumb. Mum and Dad always use the top entrance.”

“If I didn’t see how you reacted every time you see a message from him, I’d tell you to stay away. But I don’t think a natural disaster could keep you from seeing him. Now, go. Get yourself all prettied up, before your Mum and Dad find out about all of this.”

As I rush to the bathroom, Logan slaps me on my pantie-clad ass cheek. Such a guy thing to do.

***

Once I’ve got myself dressed and ready, I poke my head around the door to hear any voices downstairs. I just don’t need the questions about where I’m going. Luckily for me, the house has a million exits, and I know each one intimately. Escaping undetected is always a breeze.

Reaching the end of a hallway, I listen out for voices again.

“She left an hour ago. Went to see friends down at Bondi.”

I hear Logan talk. I’m trying to gauge the direction of the voices; working out which room they could be in.

“Good. I’m glad she’s getting out. This must be a lot for her to deal with, John.” Mum’s voice of concern sounds as if it’s coming from their favourite sitting room. That would make sense too, they always hang out in the sitting room on a Sunday afternoon.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I lightly leap through the side doorway and take the overgrown path between the two tennis courts. A series of smaller pathways lead me directly to the lower-level entrance of the property.

I step out of the small pedestrian gate and look to one end of the busy street. In the opposite direction, a sparkling car catches the corner of my eye. I turn quickly in the direction to find a beautiful chrome SUV Bentley parked a few metres away.

Subtle.

The driver gets out of the front seat and opens the rear door. There’s nothing needed to be said. I know it’s Pacer’s car.

Excitement lodges that nasty ball in my throat again. I try to swallow it away but it doesn’t want to budge. Re-tying the belt that’s come loose on my trench coat, I walk as quickly as possible to the Bentley.

“Good to see you, honeybee.” Pacer’s voice is as smooth as honey … bee. Honeybee? That’s new. I like the way he says it.

I slide into the creamy leather interior of the car. Pacer pulls me straight to him and kisses either cheek. The second kiss is more prolonged, his lips lingering. They’re soft but hard, all at the same time, and I can feel his breath against me.

My entire body vibrates with a buzz of energy. His nose runs along my cheekbone, his lips edging closer to mine. If I moved a millimetre, our lips would touch. But I don’t want to move. I want to savour every second of this.

The driver’s front door opening pulls us both from the haze of one another.

“Hi.” I smile, still not daring to move.

“Hi.” His breath floats into my mouth as he speaks. It’s warm and delicious. I want more. I want to taste him so badly.

I feel the movement of the car underneath us, but the ride is so smooth that you can barely notice it.

Pacer reaches up behind me. “Better get your seatbelt on.” He pulls the belt from its holder in the back.

“Okay,” I whisper the word more to myself than to him.

The moment slips away from where it was heading.

I’m so horny, I could cry … with real tears.

CHAPTER TEN

She looks so beautiful. It’s completely different to how I’ve seen her during the past two weeks. She’s so relaxed and sexy, and I love it.

Her hair is flowing down past her shoulders for once, and it’s just how I imagined it. My dick is demanding my attention—or rather it’s commanding her attention. Her soft skin felt like silk. I want to lick every fucking inch of it.

“So how did you know where to find me?” Her voice sounds shaky. Is she nervous?

She’s fucking switched on. I need to watch myself.

“You told me you always come here on the weekends.”

“I did? When did I tell you that?”

She looks confused. I’ve fucked it. Serves you right for being a desperate prick! Quick. Think quick, you fucking idiot.

I shrug. “It was when I walked you home from my Uncle’s restaurant.”

Just buy it. Please just fucking buy it.

Her smirk is sheepish, and she glances down. “Oh. Yeah. I think I remember that.”

The tension inside my gut loosens. That was too close. I need to keep my head together. She has me doing stupid things.

“This is a nice car.” She looks around the interior and rubs her hand along the leather door rest. I imagine her rubbing her hand along my cock. I want to fucking punish her for doing this to me. She has me more stirred up than an un-popped bottle of champagne that’s been shaken. Any minute now, I’m going to fucking explode all over her.

That’s it! I’m going back to fuck her pillow again tonight. I can’t fucking handle this.

“So where are we going?” Her grin is gorgeous. I just want to kiss those lips.

I realise she’s changes the subject again when I don’t respond to her. I can’t fucking think straight. “You wanted me to surprise you.” I smile. “So how are all the details of the case going? You must be onto something if you messaged me at one in the morning?”

Her eyes shift to Giorgie behind the steering wheel.

“He’s my godson. I should’ve introduced you, sorry. Giorgie, this is Chelsea. Chelsea, this is my nephew and my godson¸ Giorgio. He’s my sister’s oldest. He’s a good kid.”

“Hi Chelsea.” Giorgie is as gruff as usual. Makes me laugh. He reminds me of what I was like at his age, except he’s a cleanskin. Not a charge on him in his eighteen years. He’s smarter than I ever was. He’ll make a great boss for the family one day, and he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty either.

Chelsea takes her time to talk. “Well, I’ve uncovered a lot. There’s so much more to this than just your charge.”

None of this is news to me, but I’m not surprised that she was able to uncover it either.

“Go on,” I encourage.

“I’d rather talk about it, alone.”

“I trust Giorgie with my life.” I wish she would just loosen up.

“It can wait. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day. We’ll talk after I get some food into my system.”

I’ll fill your system with plenty of food, my honeybee.

“Can’t have you hungry now,” I lower my voice, hoping to make my sarcasm obvious. Her bossiness gives me a boner, every time.

We pull into the driveway of Catalina restaurant and Chelsea’s frown doesn’t look approving.

“You don’t like Catalina?” I probe.

“I love Catalina. It’s just that my parents know the owners really well. It’s probably bad timing coming here. I think we should go somewhere more discreet.”

The car stops. Giorgie opens her door just as I step out from the back seat.

She hesitates so I take control of the situation. “Lucky I booked a seaplane to take us up to the Hawkesbury River then.” I hold my hand out for her to take.

Her beaming smile is so infectious. It makes me want to do everything I can to see it all the time. She takes my hand and grips around the leather of my glove. She pauses and stares at her hand in mine.

That’s right, honeybee, your hand looks good there, doesn’t it?

Still holding onto to her, I lead her around the side of the building and down the to the pontoon, where a pilot is waiting for us next to a seaplane.

“Hi, Mr and Mrs Park?”

Chelsea glances to me.

I answer before she can, “Yes. That’s us.”

“Welcome aboard.”

The pilot shakes my hand and I help Chelsea into the back of the cabin. My hand subtly rests against her ass cheek as she takes the small steps of the plane. Moments like this I wish I had more tactility through the thickness of the leather covering my hands. Although, there’s no telling what I’d do to her if I felt the heat of her ass through her pants.

Taking my seat next to her, I lean across and hand her the headset to put on. I do everything I can to get close to her. Her smell is sending my insides crazy.

I can feel her watching me, but I try not to make eye contact. I can’t. Who knows what I’ll do to her if we lock eyes at this point.

The pilot climbs into his seat and pulls his headset on, too, his voice sounding through my headphones. “The flight to Cottage Point will be nice and smooth. We have clear skies all the way and a nice headwind to take off in. Couldn’t get more perfect conditions if you tried.”

Chelsea looks at me, and smiles. There it is again.

Fuck you are beautiful my, honeybee.

She puts her hand on my thigh and narrowly misses the head of my cock. The position it’s in is due to my half chub. I just wish the fucker would relax. He’s hungry as a beast for some honeybee.

I take her hand in mine as my balls tighten and constrict from the tension. Her eyes drop. Did she just realise what she almost touched?

The smile on her face is subtle, and the microphone is picking up her heavy breathing, centimetres from her open mouth. The plane’s engine loudly kicks in and drowns out any other noise.

The pilot turns to face us. “I’ll be switching off my headset for privacy once we take off.”

He finishes writing in his logbook then turns his attention to the control board, flicking switches.

The plane surges forward and we glide along the surface of the water. As we gain speed, the small waves thump against the two floats underneath. We bounce around for a while until the engine roars and we weightlessly lift off the ground into a smooth ride.

I watch Chelsea. Her face is turned away from me as she looks out of the window, but I can tell she’s smiling. I wonder if she’s ever had a guy take her away in a plane like this? Despite the way she acts, she comes from wealth, so a flight like this isn’t out of the ordinary for her, surely? But the way she’s behaving, it’s as if this is all new to her.

I gaze down at her hand, still in mine, and give it a light squeeze. She turns to face me.

“Have you been on one of these flights before?”

She chuckles and she replies, “Yeah, but I never get tired of it.”

Fuck, I’m an idiot. Of course she’s been on one of these flights. What a stupid fucking question, you cock-head.

Her green eyes sink into me. “So how come you don’t fly planes yourself? You know, like all those men in the fairy-tale romance stories.”

“Who said I was a fairy-tale?” I laugh. “Not many rich guys really have time to learn how to fly planes, especially not ones like me. I’d rather just pay someone else to fly me around.”

She laughs with me. Thank fuck. The only way to battle this embarrassment is to humour her. Why does she think I’m like a fairy-tale? Is she really like every girl I’ve ever met, all wanting their Prince Charming to sweep them off their feet and have a fucking happy ever after? Doesn’t she realise that doesn’t always happen in my world? You have to fight for the happy, and as for the ever after? Well, that’s even harder to get when there’s always a target on you. That’s my reality.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“If you keep your eye out, you may just catch some whales. We saw a pod yesterday when we flew over here.” The pilot’s voice sounds through the headphones again.

It’s safe to say that this is the most romantic thing a guy has ever done for me, even if it’s just a plane flight to have lunch. I’ve gone out to dinner with guys—I even dated a guy for four months once. Nothing felt like it fit into my life. And as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realise nothing ever will fit into my life. None of them felt nice, except this. This feels nice.

The farther we get from Sydney, the farther we are from our troubles.

“There’s some.” The pilot points to the window next to him. “Let me bank down closer. They’re the Humpback whales, more than likely on their way up to Hervey Bay in Queensland with their babies. It’s their annual migration.”

The look on Pacer’s face is so sweet. He looks at me with a smile, and his eyes are soft and gentle. I’ve never really noticed the dark colour of them before. They’re a deep brown and appear almost bottomless. The smile that he’s trying to hide is as if he’s embarrassed about enjoying this moment. Does he think he’s too hard to be soft? Maybe he didn’t even realise how nice this was going to be.

He lifts his arm up, coaxing me to lean over him and get a better view of the whales. His body feels amazing against mine. I can feel his heart beat vibrate through his chest. I also feel the hardness of it under his clothes. The sound of my heartbeat thuds in my ears, and I put my palms against his thigh and use him as leverage to look out of his window better. I hope I get to touch his trouser python a bit better this time. From what I think I felt before, that thing is a monster. It makes my mouth salivate at the thought. The top of his thigh flex under my fingers. They’re strong, powerful legs.

He looks down at my hand on top of his leg before his eyes quickly meet with mine again. I can feel the heat from his body. He watches my face, taking all of me in. I like him watching me. The intensity of it is strange and alluring. It makes my nipples harden and my clit pulse. I squeeze my legs together and sit up straight. He glances down. Did he just notice that? Fuck, he’s intuitive if he did.

My breasts are forced outwards in this position, touching distance from Pacer’s hands. What I wouldn’t give for him to just rub a finger past my nipple. Just one would be enough.

Slowing my breathing as best as I can, I focus on the four long dark shapes in the ocean. They’re in the shape of whales, but they’re so tiny from up here. But I really don’t care about whales right now. I could practically mount Pacer from here.

As the plane dips to the left, I’m forced up against Pacer even more. He reaches for the side of my face and brings me to him. His eyes are still soft, but there’s also a yearning in them.

“Fuck rules.” I feel his breath against me when he speaks.

Our lips collide into each other’s, and I don’t even think about it any more. My body has taken over all my rational thoughts, and now it’s just running it’s own course, straight to Pacer. His tongue slips into my mouth and rubs against mine. It feels hot and tense. I tingle all over from the sensation of it. Our tongues dance in a beautiful harmony with each other, as if they’re having a conversation of their own. There’s a lot to be said about the power of a tongue. I squeeze my legs tight together and my clit pulses with excitement. I’m doing pelvic floor exercises without even meaning to.

Fuck, this is intense.

His lips.

Fuck me, his lips.

I let them slide all over my mouth. The kiss is deep. The kiss is two weeks of built-up tension and two days of absence from one another. I feel his hand slide under the headphone and around the back of my neck. His fingers weave through my hair, and he pulls me against him as his kiss intensifies even more. The pulse that was just in my pants is now all over my body. Pins and needles tickle the top of my head. Holy shit, I could rip my clothes off, right here, right now.

His tongue moves back from my mouth, and I lean in to pull him back. It can’t stop. Not now. I reach up to his face and slide my fingers through his stubble. My palm tingles.

He grabs my hand and gently pulls back again, much to my disappointment. Seriously, I am going to forget how to breathe soon.

I slowly open my eyes. Pacer’s dark eyes are on mine, and they crinkle in the corners as he smiles. All that remains of our intense kiss are soft pecks as my lips refuse to leave his.

Wow, he mouths, so that the pilot doesn’t hear. Although I’m sure he knows what’s going on in the back of his plane.

I chuckle. I feel like such a teenager. But I’m not. I’m a professional woman … who just kissed her client.

Shit!

Straightening up, I sit back in my seat. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. I’ve wanted to kiss him for days, but now that it’s happened, I feel embarrassed about it and instead choose to look down at my hands in my lap to lessen the heat in my cheeks.

I wish that didn’t just happen. Or do I? God, I don’t know. Why does this have to be so damn confusing?

“Hey.” Pacer’s voice comes through my headphones.

He leans in to me and removes my headset. The noise of the plane is loud, but I feel Pacer’s breath against my ear as he speaks.

“I’ve wondered what that would feel like for days.”

I hear him clearly in my ear. I can’t help but smile.

I lean into him, and he removes his headset too. “Me too. But I have a rule about seeing clients. Don’t get me wrong—I really like you … a lot. But it’s really unprofessional of me.” I raise my voice so he can hear me.

“I like breaking the rules.” His hot breath is on my ear again.

For once in my life, I can’t argue that point.

I put my headset back on to muffle out the sound of the plane. We dip down and bank around a long sandy beach. We fly into the wide inlet of the Hawkesbury River and veer into the smaller creek. The waterway narrows and we fly over a small green ridge.

“We’re just coming in to land now.” I hear the pilot again.

We fly over the top of a white motorboat and gracefully come in to land on the water. I love the landing of a seaplane. No rough thud as you hit the ground, but instead a gentle slide followed by some swaying from the water. It’s always very relaxing.

We float over to the pontoon at the front of Cottage Point Inn restaurant. As we pull up alongside the wharf, a guy grabs the rope on the side of the wing and pulls us into the edge. The pilot gets out through his front door and opens the rear for us. Pacer, the persistent gentleman, exits and holds his hand out to help me down from the plane. He doesn’t let go of my hand as we walk up the wharf to the restaurant. The feel of his leather glove excites me. It feels really dominating, but in a protective way. I feel safe.

“Mr and Mrs Park, right this way. We have the table up the back reserved for you, as per your request,” the young male waiter announces, as we walk up to the entrance.

I chuckle. It’s surprisingly nice to be referred to as ‘Mr and Mrs’. I could get used to it.

The restaurant has a rustic feel to it, like an old wooden boat shed. It’s so isolated and quiet out here. I feel as if we’re a world away from the drama we left in Sydney. Maybe we can just be ourselves out here?

“This was a great idea,” I say to Pacer, as he pulls my chair out for me.

The leather of his glove rubs across my skin as he sweeps my hair aside and leans down to kiss the side of my neck. His stubble against my skin naturally makes my eyes close, taking in all the wonderfully different sensations.

God, he feels good.

Yes, I can definitely get used to this.

“You have the degustation menu set for you today. Would you like to start straight away?” the waiter asks.

Pacer answers without hesitation. “Yes, straight away, thanks.”

For someone who is always in strict control of my life, it’s really quite refreshing not to be, for once. There’s something about having Pacer take control that feels so natural. I don’t think I’ve ever let a man take control as much as he has in one date. Is this a date? I guess it is. Considering the romantic element, you would call it a date. Right?

“You look deep in thought.” Pacer takes his glove off and runs the back of his finger along my arm.

I break from my continuous self-analysis, and automatically revert back to work mode.

“Yeah, I was. So there are some things that have come to light about your investigation.”

“How about we just enjoy each other? All this professional shit can wait.” He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses it gently. “Plus, you wanted to eat first, remember?”

He has me in such a fluster that I forgot I was even hungry. Now I have a different type of hunger —one that’s not going to be satisfied in a restaurant.

“I still don’t know how I feel about all this touchy-feely in public. I don’t want to give the newspapers anymore to talk about. My family would be so upset, and you may lose your case over this.”

Pacer reaches to my cheek, brushing my hair back from my face again. “That’s why we’re here. I’ve paid the staff accordingly to keep this discreet.”

“But what about the other patrons? This is what I mean, Pacer. We have to be careful. The media will blow this story wide open, because it will sell papers. I know how they work. And they pay the public good money for information like this. We can’t just pay everyone off every time we go somewhere together. It’s not that easy.”

He shrugs. “I can afford it.”

“And when you can’t afford it anymore? Then what?”

“Then we’ll just run away and join the circus.” He winks playfully.

“I’m serious. We need to be careful about who sees us together socially. We come from two different worlds. If people see us together on a non-professional level, it will ruin all creditability with your case.”

His left eyebrow rises—just the one. That’s some good brow control. It’s sexy as fuck.

“Are you sure there’s nothing more to your concerns? Why are you here if you’re so worried about your creditability?”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t be here at all, and there is more. Our families know each other, and hate each other. You know how you said you were raised by your Uncle because your father was murdered in prison?” Pacer’s hand slips from my cheek. “Well, my Dad was the one who put him there.”

“Yeah, Carlo told me that.” He doesn’t seem too discouraged by the news.

“So us being in public is a loose decision, both personally and professionally.”

The waiter brings over our wines, breaking the moment between us. “The is a nice torrontés wine from Argentina. All your wines are matched with each serving today.” He places the glasses in front of us.

We both pick our drinks up in unison and take swift gulps, our eyes locking throughout the whole sequence. It’s intense.

I don’t taste the wine. It’s a cold liquid that’s hitting my tongue—that’s the extent my mind is registering beyond my struggle over Pacer.

It’s all but gone by the time I realise the waiter has left us. I put the wine glass down before I crack it from the pressure in my hands.

Pacer, on the other hand, slams his wineglass against the table top. Surprisingly, the glass doesn’t break, but it creates enough of a noise to make me jolt.

The waiter returns with two large plates that have little sectioned pieces of a meal in the centre. Suddenly the situation seems so ridiculous—we’re arguing over life, death and work at a restaurant accessible only by air, and here’s a plate with the tiniest little decorated piece of food? I laugh like I like I always do when I see posh meals that end up looking more like art than food. It’s so pretentious. Why can’t food just be food?

“What’s so funny?” Pacer asks the moment the waiter turns to walk away.

I chuckle as I speak, “Sometimes food just looks ridiculous.”

He starts laughing too, and suddenly the tension in my neck relaxes. I’m here now, so I might as well enjoy the moment for what it is.

I finish the three mouthfuls of the meal before Pacer drops his cutlery down and snatches my hand in his.

“I can’t take this anymore,” he says as he abruptly gets out of his chair, my hand still within his grip.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you to a house of mine, because you’ve been teasing the fuck out of me for days.”

He grips tight around my hand and leads me out of the restaurant. I grab my handbag quickly as he pulls me. He reaches in his pocket as we pass the waiter’s station and throws a pile of hundred dollar bills on the counter.

“We’ll be back later.”

Holy shit!

CHAPTER TWELVE

Pacer’s leather glove-covered hand grips around mine firmly as he continues to pull me to the top of a road so steep that my breath is non-existent. My feet barely hit ground with each step we make, or at least that’s what it feels like.

We stop at a driveway near the top of the hill. The tree line falls dramatically down the steep embankment. He pulls me with him, and I follow as we cross over wooden decking that leads to the entrance of a very angular, modern-looking house that sits amongst the treetops.

Pacer looks back to me with a wanton glare. I can’t quite distinguish whether he wants to hurt me or pleasure me, but the sexual vapours coming from him make me light-headed. A combination of pleasure and pain is sounding perfect right now. With anyone else, that would be frightening, but with Pacer, it’s fucking arousing.

He makes quick work of the locks, swinging the rich wooden door wide open. His hands grip around the back of my thighs, and he lifts me off the ground and wraps my legs around him. My thighs squeeze tight around his waist.

Fuck, I wish I could feel his gloves against my skin right now.

I do feel something else, though. Holy shit, he is big. Wow, like really big. It sits all the way up to the top of his pants.

I hold my legs around his waist, and my hands slips naturally around his neck. His mouth meets mine and the world melts away. All I need right now is for Pacer to fill every inch of my desires.

My back hits the wall, and Pacer pulls my sweater over my head. He kicks the door shut behind him, and it feels as if a surge of electricity has passed through my entire body. Dropping my bag, it lands with a thud.

Oh Jesus. His tongue. When it hits my tongue, it’s lights up a pathway that sends jolts directly to my pussy.

I want to pull myself together, but my body is screaming to have him inside me, dominating me. My mind too has fallen victim to Pacer and is no longer listening to anything other than my need to fuck the hell out of him.

Dropping my hands from behind his neck, I delicately start to unclasp each of the buttons on his shirt, but he gets impatient and rips the rest with one hand.

I giggle. My skin soaks up his breath every time he presses his lips against me. There’s just one more layer of clothes before our skin is against one another. Fuck you, winter, and your need for layers of clothing!

Thank God he moves his hand under my ass. My leg muscles weren’t doing the job of holding me up like they were supposed to. His fingers brush past my sex. It’s too much.

I flip open the button on my zipper as a hint. He follows the direction easily and puts me down for a moment to rip my jeans down past my thighs. Finally, I feel the smoothness of his leather gloves against my bare skin. It’s as delicious as I’ve been imaging for days. My head tips back in pure ecstasy.

Cold, soft, foreign—it makes me yearn for more. I need all of that leather within me.

As the leather leaves my clit and travels down my leg, I groan out of an equal amount of frustration and impatience, but oh-so-fucking turned on.

Dipping each foot that he lifts, he pulls my ankle boots off and slides my jeans all the way down. His movements are delicate with the right amount of dominance. His lips trail all the way up my leg again. He gets to the inside of my thigh and he pushes his face against my skin, and inhales loudly. I look down as his eyes close, taking me all in. It makes me feel so sexy that he loves my smell.

As he moves farther up, he gets to the gap between my legs. Jostling his nose up against my underwear, he inhales again.

Oh my God, I feel leather on my clit and start seeing stars. The coldness catches me by surprise but that feeling is quickly taken over by a desire for more. My hips grind against his hand. I need him in there. Now!

He growls a deep groan and he stands up and shoves me back against the wall as his tongue practically hits the back of my throat.

Oh. My. God.

His hands find mine, and he takes my wrists and brings them up above my head, securing them there with one strong, leather-gloved grip.

His other hand slides down my body, pulling my bra down and popping my hardened nipples from my bra as they pass. His lips leave mine as they trail down to my chest. He sucks on the first nipple, and a moan escapes me. When he cups the bottom of my second breast and finds my other nipple with his tongue, I moan even loader. His leather glove slides past my stomach and slips into my underwear. I’m up on tippy-toes, my pelvis naturally tilting, my entire body pleading to have his leather finger inside me. I need that cold sensation to hit me inside. I want to warm it with my internal walls. I want it to warm me with friction. I can only imagine how incredible that will feel.

His dark brown eyes are back on mine and he watches me while his finger rolls in circles around my clit. He pulls his hand from my underwear and puts a finger into his mouth. I think he’s being sexy, until he bites down and I realise that he’s taking his glove off.

Oh no you don’t! I want that glove.

“Keep it on,” I murmur between breaths.

His smirk is sexy as hell. God knows what he must be thinking about my sudden leather fetish, but I don’t give a fuck right now. I want his gloved finger in me. Right fucking now!

His finger quickly finds its way back into my panties and my legs automatically spread for him. His finger enters, the leather gently catching against my entrance as he slides in. The leather feels cold against me but the smoothness of it feels heavenly. His tongue enters my mouth in one swift motion—anything beyond that has no bearing.

It’s Pacer’s tongue and Pacer’s leather gloved finger … inside me … and that’s all that matters.

My head drains of blood and my legs almost give out, but Pacer’s grip underneath me holds me up perfectly. He begins rocking his palm back and forth, his finger deep within me. Leather slides across my clit when his palm passes it, and I cry out louder again. The leather occasionally catches my skin when it rubs and causes an exquisite friction when it slides —I’ve never felt anything like it.

He squeezes against my upstretched wrists with his other hand, almost demanding me to stay still. But I don’t think I can. I feel dizzy, and all I’m seeing is stars.

I kiss him harder to avoid losing all control over my body. His lips leave mine and he buries into my neck, sucking and biting at my skin.

The sensations that spill out across my body are all too much to contain, and I cry out as the stars are no longer stars, they’re one big wash of bright, white light. My pussy clamps down hard on the leather finger inside me, and my pelvis rocks against the rhythm of his palm.

My ass cheeks clench. I moan and pant, and groan, and make sounds I never knew I had in me as my orgasm becomes overwhelming.

My arms slip from above, but he forces them back up with one hand as his finger drives in and out harder and faster.

Just when I thought my climax was subsiding, a second wash of heat floods my head.

Holy sweet baby Jesus and all things pure in the world … Fuck you and fuck everything. If this is bad, then I’ll take hell.

“That’s it, honeybee. Come all over my glove, you fucking sexy bitch,” he coos into my neck.

It’s too much. I can’t even. My legs shudder and he lifts me with his cupped hand. I cry out so loud I swear my voice box is about to break.

His finger slows when he’s satisfied that he’s done his job. My breathing regulates … almost. Well, I’m not panting, at least.

Slowly opening my eyes, I find Pacer staring, watching me. I take a deep breath and smile sheepishly. If that’s what he does to me with his finger, I can’t imagine what his python is going to do.

“Wow,” I repeat his words after our first kiss.

He grin is so wide it’s infectious. I can’t help but chuckle.

His finger slowly slips out of me. He raises it to his mouth and sucks back.

What the hell have I been missing out on? No guys like this actually exist. I’ve heard about men like Pacer. He’s that one amazingly hot specimen of a man who also happens to be a magician. They cast some magical spell over you with the touch of their finger … their leather finger. They’re also an urban myth. The men I have been with have all confirmed this fantasy wasn’t real … until Pacer.

His hold finally loosens on my upstretched hands, and they fall to his shoulders and slide down his chest. His button-less shirt is still on. That situation needs to change immediately, so I slide it past his shoulders. The detailed ink covering his body is even more beautiful than the photographs I’ve studied for the past week. I hope he never finds out how obsessed I may be with him. That fleeting thought reminds me to take down the wall of photos I have, in case he makes and impromptu visit to my place.

I smooth his shirt down his arms, slowly running it over his rolling muscles. My fingertips roll across the ridges with pure delight.

He pulls back from the wall and carries me down a narrow hallway. We kiss as he carries me, and I notice the house smells different —new and un-lived in. His shoes echo across the hard floor. It doesn’t sound like the hollow of wood though.

My mouth doesn’t leave his for a single second. He’s so familiar with this house, he finds the way around without a single break in our kiss.

The prospect of fucking more than just his finger is spinning me into another bout of rolling, vibrating soon-to-be waves of pleasure.

He is a fucking magician.

My wet underwear bounces against his jeans as he walks. I feel that python in there, buddy. I want it so bad. At this point I don’t care which part of me gets it first—I just need it.

His footsteps sound different as his feet hit a new texture to the flooring. It smells different, too. It smells warmer. It smells like a bedroom. I open my eyes and confirm it. There’s something about a bedroom—you can always feel a space that’s a sacred place for intimate moments.

I don’t feel as if I need to flinch when Pacer falls onto the bed—I feel safe in his arms. My back gently lands on the softness of a matress, but Pacer takes the majority of the impact while I’m cocooned in his arms. So. Fucking. Hot.

His kisses don’t subside for a nanosecond. They’re dominating. I want to taste him—I need to take over.

Flipping him over on the bed, I take him by surprise. He chuckles.

“I hope you’re not laughing at me?” I pull his wrists up above his head.

He nips at my chin, but I pull away, and he misses. His teeth chomp together. The sound makes me smirk. Our roles have swapped and I’ve taken the lead, but only because he’s let me … and I know it. In fact, I love it.

I warn him, to counter not being able to secure his hands like he did me. “If you move your hands, I’ll stop.” Maybe I need to take extra steps in making sure I’ve secured him? Next time … yes, there will be a next time. I already know it. It won’t stop after this moment together.

He doesn’t respond to my direction, and I take that as a green light to move myself across his body, however I want.

What I want is to head south.

His lower abs tense as I inch closer to the elastic of his underwear. I tunnel under his pants and run my fingers past his shaft. I glance down and see that he makes my hands look tiny. Holy shit. I knew it.

Magician.

I can do this. I can take all of him in my mouth. The thought of how big he is delivers a moment of doubt, but the electrical signals that cross between our bodies makes the impossible, possible.

I lean down, running my nose past his flat stomach. He has a gorgeous strip of dark, wild hair—my yellow brick road, leading me straight to the great and powerful.

The top of my fingers cinch around the base of his girth but don’t come close to touching. I lick in thick stokes. I want to spread my tongue as much as physically possible around his length. He already tastes good, and I haven’t even reached the best part … yet.

Rolling my tongue around the head of him, a shiny droplet of his pre-cum beads on at his very tip, and I lap it up just before I plunge my mouth over the head of his cock. He has no taste, which in itself is delicious. He lets out a sigh, and I feel his hand find its way to the back of my head, fingers in my hair. I stop and look up, shaking my head.

“What did I warn you before? I will stop. Hands above your head,” I say in a low, seductive voice.

He laughs and stretches back, hands behind his head in a totally relaxed pose. Grinning at him with my eyes, I quickly focus my attention back on his exquisite manhood and lick around it again.

As I take him in my mouth for a second time, I open the back of my throat as much as possible and try to fit him all in. It causes me to gag a little, but I love the feeling of it so I relax and take him entirely. There’s something powerful about having him in my mouth. He groans and I slide up and down his shaft. I love what I’m doing to him.

As I slide my mouth up and down, faster and faster, I imagine how this is going to feel inside me. He has ridges that I know will make me come. The thought makes me moan a little.

“Holy shit, honeybee. You know what you’re doing, don’t you? Fuck you look good on my cock.”

I look up and meet his eyes. He really likes watching. I like him watching. I grin but it pulls my lips too tight while my mouth is stretched so wide, so I look away and turn my attention back to his python. He’s pulsing in my mouth more, so I slow down and pull my lips all the way to the top of him, but not before I give him one last suck at the very top. Yeah, he tastes great.

As I slip below and roll my tongue around his tights balls, Pacer takes his gloves off finger by finger. He does it excruciatingly slowly. Rolling a condom over his length, he slides his underwear down. His gloves are off. I don’t know how I feel about that.

Making the most of it, I grip onto his underpants and pull them down his long legs, taking his jeans with them.

“Get your sexy little body up here and ride me, honeybee,” he demands.

I stalk back up and slide my underwear off with my foot. Pacer sits up and pulls me to his lap. My lips meet his the moment we get close enough. His hands grip around my waist and I straddle him. Our breathing is so heavy, it’s almost deafening. Our tongues dance around each other in a beautifully choreographed partnership. He holds me tight and guides me to his hard cock. When I feel it edge to my entrance, I tilt my pelvis enough to catch his tip. He inches me onto him with a torturously slow descent.

Fuck he is big. Beautifully big. Stretching me, to let me know he’s there.

My fingertips hold onto his stubbled jaw, and I kiss him deeper and deeper, wanting as much of him as physically possible inside me. He reaches a spot that makes my head throw back. I moan loudly. It feels like that moment when water finds the end of a hose. I can’t hold it back, and my orgasm spills out across me.

Holding me tight around my ass, Pacer guides me at exactly the pace he wants … and he can want whatever he wants. At this point, he can do anything.

He bites down on my left nipple and the spasm that rips through my body is intense. The ridges along his shaft feel even more exquisite entering in and out of me than when they rippled along the inside of my mouth. This is different; this is a rolling wave of sensation after sensation. I look down to catch Pacer’s dark eyes. I smirk. He knows how good he is. His cockiness only adds to the whole feeling. I kiss him again and flick my hips back and forth, catching each of his strokes. The motion intensifies and suddenly the sound around me is a high pitch ringing in my ears. I close my eyes and watch the display of shooting colours that stream under my eyelids.

Holding onto him, our rolling has now turned into a solid pounding rhythm. He slams deeper and deeper. I bounce faster and faster. I can’t even tell what is orgasm and what isn’t—it’s all just a continual euphoric feeling.

He groans deep. It’s animalistic, like a growl. I feel it vibrate in his chest. Then he expands below. The orgasm I think I’ve been having the whole time was just the preview for what was coming.

As if Pacer has unlocked the vault, an enormous wave of electricity floods every inch of my body. My back arcs, my head tilts and my legs tremble. Crying out, Pacer slams into me with two fierce movements. We both orgasm together, and I have never felt anything more incredible in my entire life.

Pacer holds around the small of my back, and flips me so that I’m underneath him. Just when I thought he was slowing, he begins driving into me again and again.

Holy shit!

My orgasm doesn’t have a moment to subside. It rears up for another round of earth-shattering, pulsating spasms. I look up but my vision is blurry. Pacer keeps the rhythm up; it’s hard and fast. I hold on and let it all happen, my body loving every … single … moment of it.

As I cry out in absolute pleasure, Pacer growls again and pounds me even harder. My groans are now a scream. A good scream.

Pacer’s fingers grip into my hair and he forces my head back against the soft mattress below as he finally pours the last of his come out. Our eyes meet and we kiss, hard and deep. The motion slows a little, but our kiss intensifies.

The after-shocks still feel bigger than any other climax that I’ve ever had. I can’t even make myself come as much as Pacer just did.

The muscles across his back tense and flex as he slows his rhythm right down to a gentle roll. Our passionate kiss also slows, and finally, I open my eyes. This time I can see him clearly. He is everything I’ve ever looked for in a person. Now that I’ve found him, I never want to let him go.

After this, I know how easy it will be to fall head over heels for Pacer.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

There has to be something wrong with her. I bet she has eleven toes, or something weird. The way she smells right now though, I’d say she’s near fucking perfect.

Her body is like delicate porcelain. But her pussy begs to be punished. I could easily spend a lifetime with my cock buried inside her.

Just the simple act of fucking Chelsea is a vicious balance between wanting to pummel her and wanting to wrap her in cotton wool for protection.

I came hard. Fuck me, it was savage.

Her sexy back is against me as we stand under the huge waterfall of water in the shower. I soap my hands and roll them across the contours of her beautiful body. She’s the right amount of feminine sugar with the spice of a hard bitch.

As my fingertips run over her ass cheeks, I can’t help but claw into the softness of her skin.

You drive me wild, honeybee.

I lean into the stream of water and suck the tight skin at the back of her neck. She doesn’t wince away when I gently gather a piece of her flesh between my teeth, and bite down. No, she doesn’t wince at all; she takes it in … and wants more.

Grrrrrrrr … she brings out the carnal beast in me, and I can’t wait to drag her back to the bed the moment I finish fucking her in this shower.

I lick the spot where I left a subtle mark. See what you do to me? I constantly fight with myself because of you.

Why couldn’t she just be like the other sluts I’ve fucked? Usually I’ve found something wrong with them at this point. But not you.

The bluest eyes glance sideways at me. Her devilish grin makes me lose my shit. I spin her around and push her against the wall. She does as she’s told and chuckles when her eyes meet mine.

Fuck!

I can’t keep away from her perfect little tits. They’re like two ripe mango halves, just crying out for me to suck on them. But there’s one place my tongue hasn’t been just yet, and I need to taste her. I can’t wait another moment. I hold her nipple between my lips and pull away, snapping it back when I finally let go, making my way to her pussy.

Crouching, I swing one of her legs over my shoulder and slide my tongue up her inner thigh. It’s as soft as butter, and as I get closer to her mound, my tongue slides with ease. She’s so fucking wet. I just want to bury my face into her sweet spot.

With my tongue flattened, I slide it up her gorgeous folds. I want to peel each little layer away with my tongue, bit by precious bit, until I’ve reached her delicious centre.

I do just that and slip in and out of each fold, my tongue tracing the curves of her incredible smelling pussy. Her clit is pebbled in its little hood, so I flick it. She moans that sweet sound.

I make my way back under her and slide my tongue inside. Of course my honeybee would taste like honey. What else did I expect?

I lap up as much of her as I can, and she moans again. You fucking sexy bitch.

I need to see what she looks like right now; I can’t stop looking at her. I love watching her. It’s my newest bad habit, and fast becoming my favourite obsession.

Her head is back, and one hand is stretched up, gripping her hair as she rubs her other fingers past her nipples. Just like she did when I watched her masturbate. But this time she’s in front of me.

I have been kissed on the dick by a fairy; all my wishes have come true. I can tell that she’s about to come.

I slide two of my fingers into her warm pot of honey and feel her catch hold of them. You’re fucking kidding me?

Jesus, she can orgasm. There’s something to be said about chicks who wank—they know what makes them feel good, real quick.

My taut tongue continues to flick her hardened clit, and I drive my fingers in and out of her until I feel her pussy respond with a quiver of pulsing waves.

She pants loudly. The noises she makes cause a spark to run up my spine every time. I can feel her slowing, but she’s not getting away with it that easily. I lean and lift her up, and within a matter of seconds my cock is edging into her.

Condom … Fuck … Pussy … Condom.

Fuck it!

She feels too good to move; it’s almost impossible for me to pull out right now. I watch for her reaction, just to make sure she wants this too. Her eyes watch me. I lightly frown, still waiting for her permission. I pause when my head is inside her and wait. Her eyes drop momentarily, but the pulsing I can feel inside her body must be too much for her, and she moans again.

She whimpers, “Fuck me, Pacer.”

“You’re not going to sit down for a week, honeybee.”

I bite on her earlobe as I slam myself into her. She forces herself down onto me, harder than the first time I fucked her. And I’d thought she was a rough little bitch then. This is better still.

Curling my arms under hers, I hold onto the top of her shoulders and bring her down onto my cock again and again.

I can smell sex in the particles of the steamy shower. I love watching her bouncing tits as she rides me. When she screams in pleasure, it sounds like the trill of a bird. I fucking love it.

I don’t stop driving into her. I can feel the build-up in the bottom of my balls, but I don’t want her to stop yet.

Before I explode inside her, I move her from the wall and carry her out of the shower, my cock still buried inside her. Walking with my little goddess impaled on me, I head straight for the bed.

I hope she expects to be fucked all night now. I don’t give a fuck about our lunch or our dinner; she has opened the gate, and I don’t intend on leaving this any time soon.

I carry her with ease; she’s so light. She’s long, but light; like a little sparrow. Her lips slip all over mine and she keeps grinding into me as I walk.

The soft mattress hits against my forearms as we land on the bed. I drive into her twice and watch her squirming in raptures of pleasure beneath me.

She grins. “Can you put your gloves back on?”

I study her for a moment, and shake my head with curiosity.

What have I found here?

***

Lighting a cigarette, I grab the thick fur rugs that drape across the back of the couch and spread them out across the polished concrete floor in front of the fireplace.

I’m naked.

Chelsea’s naked.

It’s a wonderful thing.

I’m glad I got the fireplace installed now. When I was building this place, the architect wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’d thought it was a waste of time and money. Now, as I watch Chelsea spread her gorgeous body out in front of it, I’m thinking I should give the guy a pallet of wine as a thank you.

Pressing the button on the wall, the fire the wood that’s been stacked and waiting in place instantly ignites. I haven’t been up here for a few months, but my staff still comes and cleans once a week for me. They also stack my wood and keep the fridge stocked, so all I have to do is just open the door and relax. You never know when the opportunity strikes to come out here … and being here with Chelsea right now is my pay-off for that theory.

As I draw back on my cigarette, I crack the window open just enough to let the smoke out that’s collected within the big open space. I lean back against the waist-height windowsill, and just watch her while I enjoy my cigarette. Her curves are sensational. They roll in all the right places. God, I can’t get enough of your body, honeybee.

She rolls over and watches me. Her smile is slight, just enough to tell me she likes what she sees. Having a cigarette with a view of a gorgeous woman after four solid hours of fucking is indescribably good. As I inhale, I think about all the other positions I could have her in. I look down at my little man. The life has practically been sucked from him. I chuckle.

“I think you broke him,” I tease.

She gasps dramatically. “He better not be broken! I can’t live with myself if that’s the case. Bring him here and I’ll try to revive him.”

She signals me to come to her with her index finger. Casually strolling toward her, I take the final drag of my cigarette and flick the butt into the flaming fire. Exhaling the contents of my lungs, I sink down and lie next to my honeybee.

I slide my hand down the length of her long leg and raise it up to see her feet. Ten toes.

She giggles. “What are you looking at?”

I’m not telling her how perfect I think she is.

“You know, I could keep fucking you all night, but at some point we are going to have to eat.” I tuck her soft blonde hair behind her ear as I speak.

The tattoo on the back of my hand—the one that usually reminds me of how many lives my hands have taken—now shows me just how much they want to care for someone.

Her doe eyes softly gaze at me. “Do you mean to say the world is still revolving out there?”

She makes me laugh. She’s right; nothing else matters in the world right now, except for my honeybee and me. I smooth her hair back, and run my palm across her cheek. She nuzzles into my hand. Her skin. Soft and edible.

“I can call the restaurant and get them to deliver?”

Her eyes spring open and narrow for a moment, deep in thought. “Just how often do you do this kind of thing? Or am I going to regret asking that question?”

I can’t help but laugh. Sure, I love fucking women, but I couldn’t be bothered bringing any of them out here. This is where I like to come to be left alone. Her jealousy is cute, though. I shake my head at her. Do I tell her the truth, or leave her hanging? God, I wish I knew women better sometimes.

“I’ve never brought anyone out here,” I admit, folding and telling her the truth.

Glancing away, she avoids my stare. “That was the rehearsed response I was expecting. Guys are so predictable,” she snaps back.

I hold her chin and raise her face to mine. I want her to look me dead in the eye. “Hey, I have no reason to lie to you. No other woman has ever known as much about me as you do. There’s just no point in lying to you. Do you understand?”

She nods. An enormous grin spreads across her face, and I tenderly kiss her soft lips. Our kiss is gentle, opposite to the heated kisses from earlier. Our twisting tongues confirm how much trust is between us. I will never give her a reason not to trust me. This is the first time I’ve been so open with someone. It’s a wild feeling, laced with vulnerability. I never want her to know just how undone she makes me.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I watch Pacer’s gorgeous round ass cheeks as he walks up the four stairs to the kitchen level of the house. He’s off to find his phone and have our dinner delivered. Seeing his ankle monitor as he walks reminds me that he has a curfew.

Damn it! Just when we were enjoying each other, his criminal activities get in the way.

“What’s the time? There aren’t any clocks in this house,” I call out.

He reappears. His body is even better without clothes. He has muscles, but they’re not bulging. They’re in proportion with his strong physique. His chest is broad and his shoulders are square. Ink covers one side of his ribs, all of his left arm, and his left pec. The tattoos are a blended mix of pin-up girls, old sailor symbols to religious figures and script quotes about loyalty … or something. They don’t match, but all fit in with one another just fine. I want to study them more, and learn if there is a meaning behind each of them. In fact, I want to study Pacer more. I want to know everything about him.

I grin at how much of a stalker I am with him.

“Yeah, there’s a reason for no clocks,” he says with a smile, as he makes his way back down the stairs. “This is one of the only places I can escape as much of the world as possible. Time means nothing to me out here.”

“As your barrister, I need to remind you that you have a curfew to adhere to … and an ankle monitor that will alert authorities when you’re not home.”

He shrugs and lies on the rug again. “As the guy who wants to fuck you all night long, I need to tell you that I have it sorted and that you don’t need to worry yourself about technicalities like that.”

What is he talking about?

“Unfortunately, this is the one technicality that you should worry about. I can’t have you being locked up now. Not after you gave me multiple orgasms … multiple times.” I bite my lip at the thought of those orgasms.

He laughs and touches my face. I love how tender he is, but then how he unravels me with his dominate hand when it’s needed. I know what atrocities his hands have caused, but somehow they make me feel safe.

“I’m not going anywhere, honeybee.”

I believe him.

“Do I want to know?” I brace myself for his explanation after asking the question. A part of me finds this so exciting, but the other part—the lawyer part—knows how much work this could mean.

“Not unless you want to know the truth.”

Do I? Do I want to know the truth?

“Just make sure you don’t get caught. I’m already under the pump with your case … and it would be devastating if you left me now.”

“I wouldn’t risk it. Trust me.” His smile is devilish.

“I do.” There’s a strange pull in my emotions when I say those two little words.

I push him back into the rug and climb on top of him. Who needs food when you have this?

***

The sun bearing down on my face startles me from my sleep. My eyes spring open, but I can’t move. Pacer’s arms are draped heavily around me, the weight of his embrace constricting yet amazing. I feel at peace. It’s perfect. We’re still in front of the fireplace. I don’t remember falling asleep.

I try to move again, but for a guy who’s not overly muscly, Pacer is really heavy. He grunts and swings his leg around me, now completely enveloping me.

It makes me smile.

Lying my head back against the cushion again, I figure I might as well enjoy the moment. I wish I knew the time. I have an important day ahead. Today’s the day Pacer will be acquitted of all charges, and I no longer have to worry about losing him.

Wriggling around within the confines of Pacer’s arms, I finally roll around to meet his peaceful, sleeping face.

Is he such a heavy sleeper because he doesn’t get to rest like this often? Or has our mammoth fuck-fest exhausted him? Maybe it’s the house? It does feel peaceful and secluded here.

I carefully lean in and kiss his soft lips as he sleeps. His arms flex as he slowly wakes. His lips move and reciprocate the kiss. I feel them stretch into a smile. Opening my eyes, I see Pacer looking at me behind weary, hooded eyelids. I grin back. This is something I can get very used to.

“Mmm … morning,” he grumbles.

Damn, even his sleepy voice is sexy. It’s a vulnerable sound first thing bright and early.

“Good morning. I really need to know the time, so I’m going to find a clock … somewhere.”

“Fuck the time,” he groggily murmurs, and kisses me again. His tongue finds its way into my mouth. It dances around mine, causing my slightly swollen pussy to pulse. I don’t think I could have any more sex, even if I tried. I feel raw down there.

I try to unsuccessfully speak with Pacer’s tongue still in my mouth. “I need to do things today,” I mumble. Pacer’s tongue slips away and his eyes open a little wider. “I have a job, remember? I have to meet with the judge this morning. That means I need to contact him before he’s in session … which begins at nine.”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Fine.”

Unwrapping his arms from around me, he stretches and yawns loudly. I know the feeling. I kneel and stretch backwards with my hands at the small of my back. Wow, that amount of sex is a serious workout. My muscles ache and my bones feel old. Pacer rolls over and reaches for his phone on the nearby coffee table. I giggle when I think about how the idea of dinner was quickly ditched last night, along with Pacer’s phone when we considered ordering food. On that thought, my stomach joins in the morning grumbles with it’s own hungry sound.

Pacer’s eyes flick to my stomach. I cover it with my hands, suddenly feeling exposed.

He shakes his head unapprovingly. “It’s only six-twenty in the morning. You’re an early riser, I take it? We have plenty of time, and you’re not going anywhere without me getting something into you for breakfast.”

I chuckle and raise my brow. “Something in me for breakfast? That sounds hot.”

“I would love nothing more than to see you naked all day, but if we don’t get clothes on some time soon, we’re going to end up staying here.” He grins.

If only we could. The thought of us being able to come here and be left alone for days is dreamy. Today’s mission is all the more important when the outcome could result in more of this.

Pacer holds his hand out to pull me up with him as he stands. “Go and find your clothes, honeybee. I’ll get breakfast cooking. Bacon and eggs?”

My wild grin is unavoidable. The thought of him cooking for me is even dreamier than my thoughts of staying here alone with him. In fact, everything about Pacer is dreamy.

I almost skip across the cold concrete floor as I make my way to the path of clothes that has been spread from the front door all the way to the main bedroom. I haven’t needed clothes until this point, so it’s a nice reminder of how this all began around fourteen hours ago.

Holy shit! That means we’ve been having wild sex with each other for at least ten or so hours! Is that even normal? No wonder I’m walking like I’ve been bareback horse riding all day.

The space around me is really cosy for such a stark, minimalist house. The warm carpet in the bedroom is a welcome feeling under my feet. I like that we didn’t just sleep in the bed like normal people do. But Pacer and I are far from normal.

I grab Pacer’s shirt from next to the bed and decide to throw that over me. I laugh as I go to button it up, remembering that they were half ripped of yesterday.

On my way back to the kitchen, smelling something on the stove, I remind myself that this is as far as we can ever really get. Sure, we can have wild weekends together in the seclusion of this house, but that’s all our relationship can ever be. We come from the two families who probably hate each other the most in the city.

But if Romeo and Juliet could make it work … wait … bad example.

I catch a glimpse of Pacer from the hallway. He’s in a white bathrobe and moving around the kitchen like a trained chef. The sight instantaneously breaks me from my reality check. God, he looks good.

Pacer catches my downtrodden look when I enter the kitchen.

“What’s the matter, honeybee? Cute shirt, by the way. It looks good on you.” He flips bacon on the grill and talks at the same time. Impressive.

He must get the kitchen skills from his Uncle? Or is it his Mum … or sister? It reminds me of how much more I want to learn about him. There has to be a way to make this work.

I wrap my arms around him from behind and hold him tight. “Just work stuff on my mind,” I lie … well, not completely. “You look comfortable in the kitchen. I have to admit that I have terrible cooking skills. I think I would probably burn water.”

His strong torso jiggles within my arms as he laughs. “I’m Italian. If I wasn’t able to cook, I think my whole familia would disown me.”

There’s that divide between our lives again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone in my family cook. Maybe Dad grilled on the BBQ once, but that’s a very vague memory.”

Pacer pulls me around to him and holds me with one arm while still tending to the cooking. “I might have to teach you some of the basics one day.” He winks.

“I’d like that.”

My smile hides the doubt that’s crept into my mind again. It’s doubt that’s telling me how our fate is sealed, no matter how much I wish it to be different.

“One thing I can make is coffee.” I smile genuinely this time.

The coffee machine in the wall rivals the one at Dolorous. Coffee might as well be intravenously injected into you when you’re a barrister. You pretty much get an addiction to caffeine the moment your law degree hits your hands. So coffee, I know.

Pacer and I manoeuvre around each other very naturally. It feels as if we’ve been together for years, but there’s still that new spark there that makes it exciting. It’s the type of spark you get when you spend time alone with someone for the first time and imagine what life would be like ten years from now, but you also want time to stand still for as long as possible.

There has to be a way to make this work.

***

“Just how many cars do you have?” I ask, as Pacer opens the door to the garage.

“If you stop to think about those questions before you ask them, you would have the answer for yourself.” He opens the car door of his slick black Porsche. “I’m a guy, I’m Italian, and I can afford these kinds of luxuries. What else am I going to spend my money on?”

His cockiness is so attractive. I bite down on my smile and slide into the leather seat of his sports car. I still don’t really get guys though. I have just as much money to spend on cars, but don’t own a single set of wheels myself. Living in the city helps, I guess. I just walk or catch a taxi. Or is that a girl thing?

Pacer kicks the engine into gear and a song by Nelly, “Ride With Me”, pumps in the speakers. Nelly’s singing that it must be the money. The sound startles me, and I laugh at the song choice. It’s one of those songs that’s classically crass, but was really popular ten years ago. A sideways glance, a shoulder shrug, and Pacer presses the back arrow for the song to start again. The acoustic guitar riff is catchy, and I grin as we launch out of the garage and roar up the hill at a fast speed.

Cars … definitely a guy thing.

***

On the way back, I contact the magistrate’s assistant and convince her that my new information is urgent enough to meet with the magistrate during his recess at eleven.

“This better be good, Chelsea. He will fire me if I’ve wasted his recess break,” Amber says over the phone.

“Amber, I wouldn’t do that to you. Thank you. See you later.”

Ending the call, I glance over at Pacer and sigh. It’s hard to tell how Judge Nolan is going to react to me accusing the council of not only committing perjury in his court, but also that they’ve committed a miscarriage of justice against Pacer. Well, mostly. The fact that he did admittedly murder Collins is significant compared to Jackson Reed getting him behind bars with dirty statements and false witness accounts. But there is more to this. There is more to Jackson and Pacer, and I know it.

Searching through my phone, I find Logan’s number and send her a text.

CHELSEA: Can you grab my leather document holder from my bedroom before you leave Mum and Dad’s? I’ll meet you at my place at eight

LOGAN: See you there, you crazy fuck!

I giggle at the message and Pacer takes his eyes from the road for a moment. Giving me a sexy as hell grin, he turns his attention back to driving. The smile hasn’t faded for a moment. Jesus, he drives me crazy and makes me insatiable for more of him.

My thoughts unintentionally drift back to work. Does Pacer know more about Reed than he’s letting on? I watch him for a moment, wondering whether I should broach the subject with him.

Fuck it! “What do you know about Jackson Reed?” I say without a second’s thought.

Pacer laughs. “Be careful with him, Chelsea. The guy is dangerous. He’s got a lot of power behind him.”

“This is what I’m beginning to understand, the deeper I dig.” I sigh.

“Don’t dig any deeper. If he finds out that you know things about him, there’s no telling what he might try to do.” Pacer’s dark eyes are wide.

Should I be worried? What would he do to me? “What do you mean? What’s he doing, Pacer? I can help you. I can get Jackson put behind bars.”

Pacer shoots a look at me. “Don’t Chelsea! I mean it. Just drop it. The guy is bad.”

“What about my meeting with Judge Nolan today? I was going to show him the holes in your case. Holes that I think Jackson is a part of, for some reason.”

“Just be careful. I don’t know exactly who is working with Jackson. But you can’t trust anyone. Just don’t get Jackson backed into a corner. Show the judge what you need to show him without Jackson being held accountable for it all. Can you do that?” Pacer’s stony face looks worrisome.

“If I can do it with my Dad, I’m sure I can manage to persuade Nolan.”

What does Pacer know about Jackson?

I nod in reply, but I’m not slowing down. Not now. Jackson Reed needs to be stopped.

***

Pacer and I haven’t said much to each other after our discussion about Jackson. The mention of his name brought the mood to a serious low, the feeling amplified by the amazing night just spent together. My mind continues to tick over the little things Jackson has said and done. They all make more sense now. His spike in asshole comments increased when I was given Pacer’s case. Their hate for each other is something more than just Jackson wanting Pacer behind bars, for obvious reasons—Pacer being a murderer and all.

We pull into my street and Pacer pulls into the parking space four cars away from my front door.

“Call me as soon as you’ve finished the meeting?” His question definitely sounds rhetorical.

I lean across and kiss him on the lips. “Of course. Make sure you report to the police station before eleven.”

He rolls his eyes. What does he expect? I have to do my job. I won’t ever switch off from that.

As I get out of the car, Pacer catches my elbow. “Hey.” It forces me to turn back to him. “Promise me you’ll drop the Jackson Reed stuff, okay?”

I stare at him for a moment. I don’t want to lie to him, but I can’t stop now. “Okay.” It’s an abbreviated version of what he wants to hear … I can’t promise anything though.

He lets go of me, and I leave the car without looking back. I don’t want him seeing the truth in my lying eyes. I’m sure he knows as well as I do that I have no intention of stopping until I’ve uncovered all of Jackson’s dirty deeds. It’s in my blood, after all.

Briskly walking to my door, I check the time on my phone. It’s almost nine o’clock, and I’m late to meet with Larry, Don and Mick for their bacon and egg rolls. As I unlock my front door, I Google Lou’s café number and call it. Logan has slipped my document folder under the door with a note

He had better be one amazing fuck or else I think you’ve lost your mind.

After three rings, I instantly recognise Lou’s voice. “Lou’s …”

“Hi, Lou. It’s Chelsea. Can you make the bacon and egg rolls for the boys, please? I’m running late this morning so I’m going to have to miss my morning coffee. I’ll fix you up after work; is that okay?”

“Have you been a bit busy, love?”

From the tone of his voice, I’m sure he’s talking about the front page of last week’s newspaper.

“Yeah, big case.” I don’t want to engage in any more of this small talk. I have so much to do, so I end the call as quickly as I can. “Better go. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Righto.” I end the call and race up the stairs of my terrace, pulling my jeans and blouse off before reaching the bedroom

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

My meeting with Justice Nolan lasts all of ten minutes. I presented my case … and he had very little emotional response to it, as per usual.

He adjourned the matter for six months to review the evidence, and ordered Pacer’s ankle monitor to be removed, effective immediately. It’s not exactly what I wanted, but Pacer is still out of prison and his restrictions are being lifted again. It’s a good start, and it will give me the time I need to get the real war between Jackson and Pacer uncovered.

Nolan was surprised by the key pieces of evidence that were left out of the investigation. Just how deep is Jackson Reed? And what does Pacer know about it all? The heated warning he gave me has done nothing but rouse my intrigue into the situation. It’s like trying to stem a nosebleed in summer; once it starts, it’s hard to block again. I need to find out what is really behind Pacer’s warning.

Do I tell Dad about my theories on Jackson Reed? I can’t. He’ll just want to handle this the honest way. But from what I’ve learnt during the past couple of weeks, these types of things can only be dealt with a certain way—Pacer’s way.

It’s interesting—after all these years of fighting for the bad guys, they’re the ones who really do need the protection after all. If the city’s controlled by crooks like Jackson Reed, then what hope is there for truth and justice?

Walking through the frosted glass doors of my firm’s entrance, I feel as if there are eyes on me everywhere. I try to take as little notice as possible, and pull off my best attempt at acting normal.

The moment I get to Sienna, sitting at her desk, she dives out from her chair, grabs my arm and pulls me quickly into my office behind her desk.

“What’s going on, Chelsea? It’s all over every newspaper.” She points to the city’s entire catalogue of news publications, spread out across my desk.

I instantly recognise my outfit from yesterday and the seaplane I got into with Pacer. My heart feels as if it’s dropped into my stomach, and the blood has drained from my head.

My instant thought is what my Mum and Dad are going to say about it?

Slapping my hand to my mouth, I sink into my chair. Sienna, as quick-thinking as ever, flicks the blinds shut on my window to the office corridor.

One photograph shows Pacer’s hand on my ass as I get into the seaplane, and the smaller insert is of us laughing in the back of the plane’s cabin—headphones on and looking adoringly at one another.

“Fuck!” I whisper loudly.

“Yeah, fuck alright. How was your meeting with Nolan? Do you think he saw this?” Sienna’s wide stare is a mix of interest and concern.

I shake my head. “No. Pacer’s case is adjourned until the end of the year. Plus, I know Nolan never reads the papers.”

I stop myself from telling Sienna how I know this about Justice Nolan. He’s played golf with my Dad for about fifteen years. Dad’s always told me what his assessment on people is, especially his old colleagues. He profiles all of them, and spends the rest of his friendship analysing every little thing about their personality, no matter who they are. I don’t think he’d ever breathe a word to another soul, including Mum, about this, but our conversations with one another are different. We’ve always been each other’s soundboard, for as long as I can remember. Mum told me he used to lean over my bassinette when I was a baby, telling me all about his day and his thoughts. I wish I could trust Dad with this, and it’s the first time in my life I haven’t been honest with him. But this time it’s different. Pacer is the game-changer.

Knowing how much Dad studies people, I have to work fast on Jackson Reed. If my Dad starts to dig, I’m out of the race. Dad knows people better than I do. It’s how he became the best judge in the country.

I may have fooled him before, but he will see through anything I say about my relationship with Pacer after these photos.

“What ever you do, do not allow my father to come in here.” I pause. How much do I tell her about Jackson? “You have to do me a really big favour. The biggest thing I’ve ever asked of you.” She nods for me to continue talking. I’m sure she trusts me. But do you ever really know? “You have to keep Jackson Reed well away from me, but be tactful. He can’t know that I’m avoiding him. There are things I’m going to ask you to do for me, which won’t make much sense. But you have to trust me. And I promise I’ll tell you everything as soon as it’s all over.”

Her eyes grow wider. This time they’re filled with fear. “Are you in trouble with this Pacer guy?” She puts her hand over mine on the desk.

I shake my head. “No. Total opposite. He’s in trouble, and I really need to help him. Please keep your eye on everything … and trust no one.”

“Is everything okay, Chelsea? None of this sounds good.”

“It’s not. But the less you know, the less you’ll be in danger.”

“Danger?”

Shit! I don’t want her panicking.

“Danger was a poor choice of phrase. It’s just going to make things easier for you if you don’t know anything.”

She nods again. I really need to call Pacer, so I send Sienna out to her desk to be my buffer from the shit storm that’s about to hit.

Pressing Pacer’s name on my mobile, I pace along the edge of the floor-to-ceiling window as the tone rings. Almost six rings in, his phone finally picks up.

“How did it all go?” He sounds emotionless over the phone, but I figure that’s because he’s cautious about who might be listening.

“Your trial is adjourned until December. Judge Nolan has ordered a review of all the evidence. Your ankle monitor can come off too. Go and see Inspector Lawson again. She will have your orders through for it to be removed.”

“You’re not coming with me this time?”

“I have a lot to do. Plus, all those photos on the front pages of the papers is only going to stir up everyone if we’re together.”

I hear him breathe heavy into the phone. “Yeah, my cousin showed me. But that’s just more reason to go on as normal.”

“Having a ring of cameras flashing around us isn’t my idea of normal.”

“Fine. I’ll deal with that myself then.” His voice is curt.

He’s right. I really shouldn’t be letting him deal with that on his own. I am his barrister, first. Fuck buddy, second.

“Okay. Meet here, in my office and we’ll walk over together to have your ankle monitor removed. Look sharp and keep your cool. The paps will want a reaction out of you.”

My heart speeds up at the thought of seeing Pacer again. It’s been three hours, after all.

“I’ll be there within the hour.” His voice isn’t gentle, like it was this morning.

“Bye.”

Where do I start with my private investigation into Jackson Reed? I know … Travis Jamerson. He was a good cop until he was investigated for selling information to crooks. I was his lawyer. His case was dismissed because none of it was actually true, but the police force weren’t satisfied, and his full operational duties have never been reappointed. He’s now the supervisor of archives in the city, which sucks for him, but works for me. His shunning by the police when he was innocent has only pushed him to do the wrong thing afterwards.

I search through my phone for his number.

He quickly answers. “Hi, Chelsea. It’s been a while. How are you? Or is that a bad question at the moment?”

Is there anyone in this city who isn’t going to have a stab at me?

“Yeah it’s easier to answer how I’m not feeling on a day like today. So I was just wondering if you could pull out some old case files for me? I know I’m meant to be going through the Freedom of Information Act, but I need to get some details quick. Then I’ll go through the correct avenues once I know it’s worth perusing.”

“When do you need them? Is this for that Fratelli guy your representing?”

“Yeah. There’s something not right with the investigations.” I know I can trust him with this information.

“Why am I not surprised?” He huffs. “I’ll be here until about eight tonight. They’ve just delivered a truck-load of boxes from an old station out west that’s amalgamated, so we get all their archives … and I bet you’re really interested in hearing all of this, too … Anyway, if you get here after six but before eight, no one else will be here, so I’ll point you in the direction you need to find what you’re after.”

“Thanks, Travis. I’ll bring coffee.”

“See ya, Chels.”

Hanging up the phone, I wish there was more I could do for someone like Travis. How can he go from being a hands-on cop to shuffling boxes and files? Surely there’s more to life? There are many injustices in the world, but I can’t solve all of them.

If I can get into the old investigations for Pacer’s previous crimes, I’m hoping I’ll find someone, anyone, who might be working with Jackson to see if they’re involved together. There will be a link. I know it’s going to be there, I just need to find it.

The phone on my desk bleeps with the intercom sound from Sienna. “Hey, Chelsea. Your Dad is persistent. He wants to know when you’ll be out of your meetings. He wants you to call him immediately. That’s call three for the morning.”

I sigh and press the speaker button on the phone. “Thanks, Sienna. I’ll call him later. Just tell him I’ve left if he calls again.”

“Your Mum has called too. She said she’s been calling your mobile phone but it has been off all morning. She wants you to call her before speaking to your father.”

I press the button again. “Thanks, Sienna. Pacer will be coming in shortly. Let me know when the front desk informs you of his arrival. I’ll go out and get him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sienna. Less questions.” I have to be blunt. I can’t waste my time explaining everything to her.

‘Okay’ is her final response.

There are twelve voice messages waiting for me. I’ve forwarded all my voice calls so that I still receive the messages and can make calls.

I sit down and listen to all of them. The first few are just as I imagined.

“Chelsea Elizabeth Blythe Tanner. I will not have you ruin the family name with this charade. There better be a decent explanation behind these reports.” Dad’s voice is the first cab off the rank.

“Chelsea, your Dad is furious. We were told you were with friends yesterday, but we didn’t expect this! Please tell me they’ve got it all wrong again.” Mum’s voice is less angry than Dad’s.

“Hi, Chelsea. This is Delicia Parry from the Daily Telegr…”

Delete.

“Chelsea, please call me. Your father is on his way to your place. Did you get those locks changed? If that boy’s there, you had better tell him to leave. Immediately.” Mum’s message actually makes me laugh, but then the reality of my Dad trying to get into my house is kind of disturbing.

Luckily, I had all the locks changed and new deadbolts added at the back garage a couple of years ago. I didn’t take down that board of Pacer. I didn’t have time. But if Dad manages to find his way inside, I can at least explain that it’s all for the case. Dad is really taking this hard. It’s not like I’ve lost my mind or anything? It’s far from lost … I’ve lost my heart may be, but not my head. My head is firmly prepared to expose Jackson for what he is.

I don’t bother listening to the rest of the messages just yet; I know what I need to do. Mum’s number is in the recent call list. I press her name. I’m pretty sure she was just watching her phone, the way she answered it before it even rang.

“Chelsea.” Mum’s voice sounds stressed. “Have you spoken with your father?”

“Hi, Mum. No, I rang you straight away.” I don’t give her a chance to speak. “Listen, I know what you’re thinking, but there is more to this. Please get Dad off my back while I sort it all out. Can you please just do that for me?”

“So there’s nothing between you and this boy, then?”

I chuckle. “He’s not a boy, Mum. He’s a man, just like I’m a woman. I know what I’m doing. He’s not who they say he is. I’ll prove everything soon enough. You’ve just got to get Dad to back off.”

“Well, I am really surprised they were even game enough to run the story. I’ve spoken with the chief editors of all the publications, but there’s something not right about it all. Someone is paying really good money for these stories to get out. They spun me some tale about it being for the information of the public to know what’s happening, but it’s just not how we do things.”

I bet Jackson has something to do with this.

“Mum, I think I know what’s going on. This is all to do with one person. It’s for the same reason that Pacer is in the position he’s in.” Well, it’s not all a lie. Pacer is more righteous in his crimes than Jackson. “There are some bad things going on in the city at the moment. Dad needs to stay out of it. It’s not like it used to be when he was a judge.”

“Oh, Chelsea! You’re scaring me. Why can’t you just let this go? If you’re worried about your own father’s involvement, then how am I meant to feel about you being part of all this?” Mum’s voice is shaky.

“Mum, I was put here to do something like this in my life. I am the product of you and Dad. It’s safe to say I’ll be alright.” I don’t want my Mum to worry. “Please trust me.”

There’s a pause. The silence lasts longer than it’s welcome.

“Well, I hope he’s worth it.”

She makes me smile.

“Wasn’t Dad worth it? I love you. I’ll be out there this weekend.”

I end the call and think about my words. At this point, Pacer is worth more than I care to admit.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Déjà vu.

I’m sitting in the foyer of honeybee’s office once again, waiting for her to escort me inside. Except this time, I’ve just spent twelve hours fucking you until my dick went limp.

The wooden door swings open and there she is, boring suit, boring hair … but I know what lies beneath. She’s late again, but I didn’t expect anything else.

“Thanks for seeing me, Pacer.” I’m certain she’s saying it for the benefit of listening ears.

“It must be important.” I follow in the act, and try not to laugh at my joke.

I had to see her again. She knows damn well that I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I feel them all watching—lenses, whether they’re a camera or the naked eye. They’re all the same and I pay little attention to any of it.

I know I’m being watched when I’m in public, so I stay out of it as much as possible. It’s been my motto for years, and so far it’s helped. I’ve spent less than a year in prison when I’ve faced a combined one hundred and forty years’ worth of charges against my name. They can’t get me, and she can’t work out why. She will never know, no matter how far she digs.

My hands stay in my pockets as I walk, and feeling the packet of cigarettes within them just makes me want to light another …  right now. I can’t help it—I’m an addict.

Honeybee’s ass waving at me from her skirt gives me a flashback of that same ass bouncing against my cock when I had her on all fours. Lifting my leather glove to my top lip, I rub it past my nostrils, catching the scent of her. It’s still there. Fuck you smell good, honeybee.

She waves at the open door to her office. “Take a seat, Mr Fratelli.”

I stroll through the doorway and do as I’m told. “Make sure the blinds are shut,” I say, not looking at her when I speak.

The door closes behind me, and I hear her footsteps against the plush carpet. The brush of her fingertips against the back of my neck makes my smile impossible to hide. You are a firecracker, my honeybee.

I take hold of her hand, and pull her around to my lap. She fits perfectly in my arms. I want to rescue her from all the troubles she’s about to walk into. If only I could just pick her up and carry her out of this office, like they did in the shitty romance movies of the 70s. But it’s not that simple. There are debts to be paid, so I have to stick around until they’re settled.

Looking into her deep blue eyes, I wish I could tell her everything so that it stops her going on the wild goose chase that she’s about to head down. But right now, I want to spread her gorgeous body across her desk, and have her begging me not to make her moan.

From the angle that she’s in on my lap, my thumb slides up her thigh with ease. Her skirt has enough stretch to let my hand travel towards her sexy little honey pot. She doesn’t stop me either. Her lips crash onto mine, as if she never wished us apart in the first place. Her kiss makes my worries dissolve; her tongue makes my control disintegrate.

I hold her under her ass and tilt her hips towards me. My other finger slides her panties aside and slips into her sweet spot. Her body winces. I forgot how tender she must feel. My cock has been on fire all day, so I can only imagine what she must feel like.

She chuckles and holds my face in her hands as she kisses me hard. I love the feeling of her palms against my cheeks.

My gloved finger works into her slit with gentle strokes. I feel her relax, and she rocks onto my invading finger. Her head tilts back in pure bliss. It’s something about my gloves that really sets her off. Whatever it is, I love it.

I keep working her until My cock starts to swell, now sitting uncomfortably in my pants.

There’s a jolting knock at her door and she flies off my lap.

Adjusting her skirt, she leans into the door and speaks. “This had better be good.”

It’s a younger girl’s voice. Must be that cute secretary I’ve seen a couple of times. “Brad just said he saw your Dad down stairs. He thinks he’s on his way up here. I have told him all morning that you were in meetings, but I guess he’s just not taking no for an answer.”

“Fuck.” Her blue eyes flash back to me. “Lets get out of here before shit hits the fan.”

She grabs her folder from her desk, and coat from the hat stand beside the door.

I follow her. “We’ll leave through the stairwell. Thanks, Sienna. I’m going to my next appointment with Mr Fratelli.”

Sienna doesn’t raise her eyes to me before Chelsea leads me down a series of narrow hallways. Wood panelling is on each side, broken up by the occasional glass window that peeks into someone’s office. We reach the emergency exit at the end of the hallway and Chelsea pushes down on the handle. The door swings open. Thank fuck it’s not alarmed.

“You do this often?” I joke.

She glances back at me with a look that’s less than impressed. Why is she being so touchy? It’s not my fault her father is hell-bent on seeing her. Is she that insecure about us being together? Surely it can’t be that bad?

She keeps running down the stairs. She’s quick for a chick in heels. Is she seriously going to run down all twelve flights of stairs? I stop at the next landing and go to open the door to the right.

“What are you doing? Not this level.” She snaps out with both voice and hand.

“Are we going down all twelve flights by stairs? I’m not trying to be funny here, but I haven’t exactly dressed for this.” I watch her eyes take in my well-chosen suit by Hugo Boss. “What’s the sudden rush to get away from your father? I know he’s not going to be happy, but we do have business to attend to, together.”

She sighs and nods. “You’re right. It’s just this whole newspaper exposé has got me all wound up. This thing between you and I—I thought we were going to get a chance to work out what we were before we had to share it with everyone else.”

Her half-smile is gorgeous. Is that embarrassment? I move in and hold her, pulling her into me. Taking a deep breath and searching her eyes, I try to find the answers I need.

“And what do you want us to be?” I ask with a low voice.

She shrugs. “I don’t know … and I’m sure you don’t know either. We’ve spent all of a night together. How does anyone know what they feel after twenty-four hours?”

“I know.” I don’t care anymore. I know exactly how I feel. I’ve known from the moment I met her.

“You do?” Her eyes rake across my entire face.

Smiling to give her reassurance, I hold onto her tight. My gloved hand palms her face.

See it in my eyes, honeybee. See how much you mean to me.

She kisses me again. Our mouths really have a hard time leaving each other. I don’t need to say any more, and neither does she. We both might not say it, but there’s definitely something between us. Fuck, I feel like a soft-cock for just thinking it. But with her, it’s different. I want to love her. I need to love her, and I’m going to love her. Right here, on the stairwell.

Loosening my belt, and unbuttoning my pants, I sit against the steps and pull her with me. She wrenches up her skirt and I slide her panties off. I take them and put them in my pocket. She watches me, and smiles. With a quick wink, she gets it—I’m keeping them.

Popping open two of the buttons on her blouse, I get better access to her perfect tits. Freeing just one of them, I take it between my teeth just as she sinks down onto my hardened cock.

The risk of getting caught only seems to add to the moment. Right now we both need this. Our actions shout everything that we can’t say to each other. We don’t need the words just yet. The words are more frightening than having sex in the stairwell. But this is not just sex; I want to make love to her.

She grinds slowly into me in the direction my hands make her move as I hold onto her ass. Her arms hold around me, tight.

Don’t let me go honeybee. Don’t ever let me go.

She breathes heavy, but we daren’t make a sound louder than that. Not here. Her pulsing pussy quickens. I look her in the eye as I feel my build-up about to peak.

I almost feel embarrassed that I’m so close to coming already, but we both knew this was just a quickie. Even still, I try to hold back.

“Come with me, Pacer,” she whispers.

Those words alone leave me little choice in the matter. Even though we’ve already had unprotected sex, I’ve still haven’t come inside her yet. Until this moment, I’ve loved watching my seed explode all over her belly and tits. Until now, it hasn’t been more than us fucking. But now, it’s …

The sensation within me is unexplainable, but rife.

Her lips on mine, her pussy all over me, my heart is for her.

***

The same group of paparazzo that got me on the way into Chelsea’s office still wait as we pass by in a taxi. They don’t see us, so I guess the twelve flights of stairs wasn’t the worst idea in the world after all. It gave us more time alone, which was actually enjoyable after our moment of lovemaking on the stairwell, and meant we exited the building in the side street, away from prying lenses.

The taxi driver keeps glancing back in his rear-vision mirror as he drives. He catches my stare with his next glance. Go ahead, fucker, stare again … I dare you.

He gets the warning and fidgets with the steering wheel. Stopping just outside the Metro police station, I throw the cabbie twenty dollars. “Keep the change.” You piece of shit.

Chelsea takes my hand when I offer, to help her out of the taxi, but quickly lets go when she’s standing. It makes me smile. I get it—I’m the city’s most hated crook, and she’s pretty much its favourite daughter.

Luckily, the media hasn’t been tipped off about our appointment here this morning, and Chelsea holds her head high as we enter the police station. That-a-way, my girl. They all love to stare. Go ahead, assholes. I hang back and let Chelsea do her thing. The cop leaves the desk the moment Chelsea is finished talking. She rolls her eyes when she turns to me.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to all the judging eyes.” She sighs.

“You get used to it. Trust me.”

There’s that fucking smile again. Fuck it! My cock can’t take much more of this torture, honeybee.

“Come through, Miss Tanner.” I hear a voice past Chelsea’s shoulder.

Funny, they never address me. That’s right; I waste all their resources. As long as things keep sailing the way they are, they’ll always be wasting resources with their investigations on me.

The young cop escorts us into the elevator. He doesn’t look me in the eye when it’s just the three of us. They’re all tough until we’re alone. Flexing my interlocked hands out, they crack inside my gloves. I watch the young cop’s eyes glance sideways and can’t help my smirk.

We exit the elevator. I know my way around the station. I know the codes on all the elevators, and could get my hands on an access card if I needed, but none of these fuckers are worth my bother. There are bigger pieces of shit in the city to worry about than these pissy little excuses of humanity.

“Mr Fratelli.” My name is said with exaggeration. “I didn’t expect to see you in here so soon. Miss Tanner’s commitment to her client is obviously paying off.” Inspector Cunt-face makes my hackles stand on end, mentioning Chelsea in that tone.

Chelsea glares at me as a warning to calm, but I’m not going to let the sour-faced bitch get the better of me. My glory is in getting off all of these charges as soon as Reed is dealt with.

“I believe Judge Nolan had the orders delivered to you this morning,” Chelsea fires off before the bitch can say another word.

“Yes, I received them, along with the delivery of today’s newspaper.” Her snide smile makes me wild.

I will rip your fucking face off, cunt, and skull-fuck you with scissors.

“We’re not here to discuss tabloid stories, Karen. Remove Mr Fratelli’s monitor. I’m sure you have better things to do than attempt to intimidate my client.”

Thank fuck you’re here, Chelsea.

Soon-to-be-faceless cunt laughs so audaciously at Chelsea’s demand. It makes my nostrils flare. Make this quick, Chelsea. I’m quickly losing my shit.

Stomping my foot up on the cunt’s desk, I lift my trouser leg and glare at her. Chelsea takes out the documents from her leather document holder and places them down. She signs them then pushes the paperwork over to the other side of the desk. The smart-ass inspector unlocks the cabinet. She makes her way over to my leg and slowly unlocks the monitor. From this angle, I could easily smash her face into her pot of pens, but that would just be too easy.

I clench my fists; the leather of my gloves makes a squeaking sound. It’s the type of sound that makes you think of something cinching around your neck. Or at least that’s what it reminds me of.

Inspector Cunt-face glances up at me and shakes her head. Don’t even test me today, cunt. The monitor loosens and she steps away with the device in her hands. Taking a seat, she signs the paperwork in front of her.

“Are we done now?” I look at Chelsea, and she nods in reply. “Good. Say hi to Michael and the kids for me, Karen,” I add as I open her door and walk out.

I hear Chelsea scrambling with the paperwork before she follows quickly behind.

Pressing the elevator button, the lift dings open.

“You’ll need the code …” Inspector calls out.

I snigger at her, take Chelsea by the hand and enter the elevator. Dialling the code to access the ground floor, the elevator doors shut.

Chelsea looks at me with wide eyes. “What the fuck was that all about, Pacer?”

“Shut the fuck up, right now. Got it?” Doesn’t she fucking understand she’s being monitored in here?

I don’t look at her, but I can feel her heart breaking from here. It makes me fucking wild that I just spoke to her like that. I don’t want to hurt her, but fuck me! Maybe it’s not such a good idea if we’re together. I can deal with whatever they throw at me, but I can’t control what it does to me when any of these pricks talk to Chelsea like that. What if I really lose my shit one day, and there aren’t any more debts to be paid? I pull my phone out of my pocket and find Giorgie’s number.

“The front of Metro police, now!” I bark as soon as he picks up.

I hang up the phone. My temper is reaching breaking point.

We get out of the lift, and the fuckwit cops stop in their tracks as I stomp my way out of the station. If any of them utter a single comment, I don’t know what I’ll do. I keep my eyes ahead and reach for the front door. I don’t know where Chelsea is, but I hope she’s right behind me. I don’t trust myself at all, right now.

The cameras are waiting outside the station. Fuck the cops! They would’ve loved letting the media know we were here. I look back and find Chelsea covering her head with her leather folder as she leaves the station. My heart twists. Keep your fucking cool, Pacer.

“Just go. I’ll contact you later,” she says as she shields her face from the flashes.

Can she see how furious I am, or is she pissed at me? My rage heightens. You’re right, Chelsea. This isn’t fucking worth it!

I light a cigar and see the SUV approaching with Giorgie behind the wheel. He never lets me down, this kid.

With a swarm of cameras surrounding me, I fling the rear door open. They ask so many questions, I can’t even distinguish a single one. As the car pulls away, I watch my honeybee hold the cameras back. She stands on the steps in front of the station, stopping to give them a statement, like a pro.

I slam my fist into the back of the passenger seat.

Why did you let them get the better of you? Pacer, you’re fucking weak asshole.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Clear skies. The skies have been lovely and clear today. I’ve only just noticed it now, and the day is almost over. I’ve been staring out of my office window for longer than I should be. There’s been nothing in my head other than the sound of rambling radio frequencies that you hear in between changing radio stations on an old car stereo.

I’ve got to get down to police archives already. My day has been like a spinning washing cycle, twisting one direction, then back the other—my head and heart are the biggest casualties. Why did I have to let my heart get involved? What was already a really difficult situation, I’ve only just gone and made worse by falling in love with my client.

What?

Did I just think that? Really?

But how can Pacer be confessing his love for me one minute, and treat me like a piece of dirt the next? Because he’s a prick. They’re always in there; you just have to scratch the surface. I really should’ve known better.

I pick up all my documents across the desk, and slide them into my oversized handbag. My phone is face down on the desk, the same position it’s been in all day. Sitting alone and silent since lunchtime. I don’t want to turn it back on until I’m ready to deal with what’s waiting for me when I do. Pacer’s the only one I care about talking to at this point, and he hasn’t left a message with Sienna, so he’s obviously not that troubled enough to really contact me. If I check my phone now and Pacer hasn’t left a message there either, I know I’ll be disappointed, or some other stupid feeling like that. I’m better off leaving it alone, for now. That kind of self-sabotage can wait a little longer.

Shit! It’s almost six! I’ve forgotten to get to Lou’s before he closes. That’s twice in one day that I’ve forgotten about the normal things in my life, all because of Pacer. It’s a fucking washing machine day!

I dare to pick up my phone. Staring at the blackened screen, I consider all the other ways I can search for Lou’s phone number. Holding my breath, I turn it on to find Lou’s number from this morning. It’s the easiest way. Call me lazy … and possibly a self-harmer.

132 text messages

57 missed calls

Today is officially a record. Blowing out a long puff of air, I take hold of the office phone and dial in the number for Lou’s. It takes a long time before Lou picks up. I hope I haven’t missed him before he’s closed for the night.

“Lou’s …” He sounds out of breath.

“Lou. Hi. Sorry. It’s Chelsea. I’ve been held up at work. I can give you my credit card details over the phone, so you can run the breakfast rolls through the till?”

“Chelsea, Chelsea. Relax.” He laughs. “Is this what you’re worried about right now? It’s twelve dollars and I’m about to close. Fix me up tomorrow. Go and get some rest. You don’t sound yourself, love.”

I’m not myself right now. “Thanks Lou. See you in the morning.”

By the sound of Lou’s words, the evening news must be having a field day, capturing Pacer and I having our first weird moment since basically swapping oxygen for twenty-four hours straight. I think the sharing oxygen thing has made my head turn to moosh. I feel like a fool for ever doubting that this wasn’t going to be easy. This was never going to be easy. Everything was so nice when we were at Pacer’s minimalistic love nest. Now I understand why he has that place.

For all the same reasons I’ve hidden at Dolorous on the weekends. Being locked away from the world, but around a house full of staff has made being around people normal, until now. Now they suck.

Grabbing my bag and coat, I hold my breath as I open my office door. To my surprise, the office is quiet, but then it is almost six at night. It’s only ever senior barristers who stay back this late, if they have a trial on. There are three senior barristers and I’m the only junior, so my odds are good.

The quiet office gives me a moment to realise that I have used up a whole day of work because I’ve been focused on Pacer. He is paying me good money to manage his case, but I still have other clients to manage. I make a mental note to get Brad onto the other cases for me. If I didn’t have him as my lead assisting council, I would be lost. Once he’s got all the information collected that I need, I can make the assessment on how best to represent each case.

Must. Contact. Brad.

***

The elevator and main foyer are much the same as the office—scarce. I’ve seen glimpses of people in doorways, but that’s been it. I’m sure they were all just cleaners. All I know is they took no notice of me and I took no notice of them. Just the way I’d hoped.

By the time I reach the tall sliding glass doors of the building’s main foyer, it’s already dark outside. It fascinates me to see how quickly the city changes at night. The city goes from peak hour bustle of every corporate worker leaving for the day to eerie ghost town, all within an hour.

A paparazzo who used to work for my Mum sits on a ledge of a built-up garden at the front annex of the building. The moment he sees me coming through the doors, he leaps up and starts snapping a flurry of pictures.

“Maurice, my family will have you out of a job if they find out you’re doing this.”

Frowning, I question what this city is coming to if it finds my relationship with Pacer so riveting.

“My Mum even likes you,” I add.

Maurice stops firing off pictures for a moment and shrugs. “Sorry, Chelsea, your photographs are worth a lot of money to someone at the moment. We’re getting top dollar for an exclusive shot. The others all gave up and thought you’d gone home, but I knew you’d still be up there.”

I smile, “Fuck you, Maurice. Find someone else to annoy. Didn’t Mariah Carey or someone arrive into town for you to piss off?”

“Come on, Chels … you know how this works.”

Don’t Chels me. His voice becomes distant as I walk away.

He’s right. I know exactly how this works. Hopefully he has the shot he can trade that allows the papers to make up some bullshit story to sell tomorrow. Taking more notice of what’s around me, I jump into the first cab with its vacancy light on.

“Corner of Kent and Bathurst Streets, thanks.” I try to avoid eye contact in the hope that the Indian driver doesn’t recognise me.

If he drops me on the corner, I can walk to the building and make sure no other photographers are following me. The last thing I need is someone finding out where I’m going. I couldn’t do that to Travis.

Within minutes we’re where I want to be. Handing over a note, I get out of the car.

“Keep the change.” I wave my hand out in front of me to stop the driver from taking a good look.

Doing a scan of the street, I walk as quickly as I can towards the archive headquarters. Buzzing the intercom at a door beside a massive roller door, I keep a watch around me to see if I notice the sparkle from a lens anywhere in the street.

“Metro Storage. You pile ’em, we file ’em.” Travis’s voice comes through the speaker.

I laugh. “It’s me.”

The door buzzes so I pull on the long handle and scurry inside. Travis wasn’t joking when he said they pile ’em. Towers of boxes are stacked high in the loading dock space. Travis coming down from the stairs at the far end.

“Surely this is a safety hazard?” I walk carefully through the aisle of boxes.

Travis laughs as he talks. “Don’t say that too loud. The bosses will be down here quick smart, making me get through these quicker.”

I have to hand it to Travis; he is the epitome of resilience.

I hold out my empty hands. “Sorry, I couldn’t bring you a coffee after all. I just didn’t want to risk anyone else in this shit city seeing me.”

“Yeah, I can imagine that’s like dodging bullets at the moment.” He’s never without his humour. “I can run up and grab us coffee and something to eat, if you plan on staying?”

I nod. After today, this will be the perfect hideaway and distraction, all in one.

“Okay. Let me take you down to all the files on Fratelli, and I’ll head out to grab us some food.”

“Thanks so much, Travis. I really needed this.” More than he realises.

“So is there anything in particular that you’re looking for?”

I continue following behind. “Just names, really. Something to shed more light on who was in charge of a couple of investigations. The officer in charge has been omitted from the case file that I have.”

Travis shakes his head. “These files have generated a lot of interest lately. Just a few weeks ago, two homicide detectives were down here, searching through these same files.”

“Did they say what they were retrieving exactly?” I know that’s not normally how they look for information.

Travis’s hair has more grey than it did the last time I saw him. This place is aging him quickly. For a man who’s only in his thirties, he looks as if he should be at least ten years older. Although his case was one of my wins, it’s always felt like a loss. Particularly when I come here for his help, which has only been twice, but two times that he could lose his job over. I won’t need to do this too many times in my career, so I’m sure his good deed will go unnoticed by anyone but me.

We walk down a thin corridor of cages, piled high inside with boxes of all the city’s criminal matters that have had their time in court.

“The murder cases are always down the back.” Travis tilts his head towards me as we walk. “They have to stay in archives for ninety-nine years. I won’t be getting rid of them any time soon, so they remain down here in the depths of the criminal history of our city.” He wiggles his fingers out in front of him as if it’s some sinister ghost story, which in reality, it is.

These cages hold all the city’s dark secrets. Untold motives, crimes that have gotten off on a minor technicality—all the parts the media couldn’t get hold of sit here.

There are only two caged doors to choose from, and Travis takes the one on the left. Unlocking the padlock, he swings the door open.

“When you find the boxes you need, you can bring them out to my office to read over, if it’s easier? I’ll head out and grab us a coffee and some food.”

“Thanks, Travis. I know what you’re risking by doing this.” My gratitude still doesn’t sound like it’s enough.

He screws his nose up, and swats his hand. “Please. Come on. You’re risking just as much to make sure there are fair trials, and still the justice system misses the ball.”

No truer words.

The moment Travis leaves the cage I start scanning along the boxes to get to the Fs. Finding FRATELLI is easy. His father, Vincenzo Fratelli, has quite a collection of boxes of his own to add to Pacer’s collection. Vincenzo Fratelli’s boxes are worn. The grey cardboard has faded more than Pacer’s modern document boxes that sit alongside them.

Putting my bag down on the raw concrete floor of the cage, I drag the stepladder over to where I need it and kick off my heels. I slide the first box out and drop it on the ground, and repeat the same with the next three boxes. There’s no time to waste by going out to Travis’s desk, so I jump off the stepladder and toss open the first box. Flicking through the folders, I find one of the homicide investigations that had its lead investigator omitted from my paperwork.

Drawing my finger from one line to the next, I get to the officer in charge.

Inspector Lawson. Inspector Michael Lawson. Now I understand Pacer’s little comment to the Inspector earlier—her husband was one of the first people to charge Pacer with murder. Is that why they hate each other so much? For a chick, Karen Lawson seemed to do an awful lot of chest bumping with Pacer.

Rummaging through my bag to grab my notebook, I stop the second I feel my phone. Pacer’s response is understandable. His investigations all seem to be linked, one way or another.

Do I search through my phone to see if there’s a message from him? What if it’s not there?

I stop debating the issue and drag my phone out from my bag. Sliding the home screen open, I see there is hardly any reception in amongst the thick barrier of paper that’s between the world outside and me.

Scrolling through the missed calls, none of them say ‘Pacer’. Chancing rejection, I search through the messages.

PACER: I ran because I wasn’t man enough to stay and protect you. I’m sorry.

I’m torn. Half of me wants him to sweat on that guilt because he was a prick, but the other half of me understands how claustrophobic this would feel. The life that Pacer and I are accustomed to—cameras always watching—makes the world seem a hell of a lot smaller. His is smaller again. How can I judge that?

I flick through to Pacer’s number and call him. The line jumps in and out as it rings. I walk to the end of the cage, and lean against the metal bar doorway.

“Hi.” He sounds hesitant, but it’s still him.

I clear my throat as I let out my one syllable reply. “Hi.”

“Chelsea? Are you there?”

I walk down the caged aisle to get better reception. “Can you hear me now?”

“Yeah, I got you. Where are you? Are you alright?” He sounds worried now. It makes my heart soften.

“I’m fine. I’m just getting some work done.”

“Chelsea?” The connection fades.

“Hello?” I reply.

“Do you want me to come past your place when you’re done?” I can hear his whole sentence without fault.

“No. I think we should really keep things cool while there is so much interest in us.”

“Fucking connection. Chelsea? Can you … what … you … cool?” Only fragments of his sentence come through, but from what I hear, he sounds annoyed.

“I’ll call you later, Pacer.”

The call drops out completely as I finish the sentence. I don’t know how much of what I said he could actually hear.

I don’t call him back. I need to work. There’s so much to uncover, and this may be the last chance I have of piecing it all together.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It’s almost midnight. Where the hell can she be? She’s not in her office, she’s not at her parents’ and she’s definitely not home. Standing on the balcony of my newly purchased city apartment, I watch the last of the photographers leave the front of Chelsea’s house. I’ll hand it to them, they’re patient fuckers.

Now I’m really starting to worry. I’ve tried to call her again, but it’s the same reordered message I’ve heard for the past five hours. It’s time to call in the services of Scott.

The call rings once and the line picks up without a greeting, as usual.

“I need you to get the location of a phone that called me five hours ago,” I say.

“What’s the number?” His voice never sounds human.

“Just wait.” I press my way through to Chelsea’s contact details in my phone. “Zero, four, zero, one, eight, three, four, eight, zero, two.”

“Ten minutes.” The call ends.

Ten minutes goes quicker than I anticipated, and my phone buzzes with Scott’s number displayed.

“What did you get?” I answer.

“That number keeps bouncing between three towers in the city.”

“What does that mean?” I don’t know how bad this is.

“It means I can’t get a direct location, just a triangulation. It’s probably underground so when it drops out of one tower’s frequency, it will bounce to another.”

This doesn’t make sense. What is she doing?

“How come Apple can pinpoint iPhone’s exact locations, but you can’t with all your gadgets and skill?” I snap.

“The phone doesn’t have Wi-Fi turned on. Nothing I can do.”

My anger builds. “Just give me the triangulation then.”

Why the hell wouldn’t she have her Wi-Fi turned on? What the fuck is she doing? It’s driving me insane that I don’t know what she’s up to. What if something’s happened to her?

“It’s in the vicinity of Sussex Street. Between Liverpool and Druitt Street.”

I frown as I think about the location. “There’s a fair distance between those streets.”

“It’s all I’ve got.” He abruptly ends the call, in true Scott fashion.

If Reed has gotten to her, I will commit more than just murder. I will sell him off, piece by piece. There are plenty of people who will pay me good money to have their chance to get at the corrupt motherfucker.

Our deal has worn thin since he double-crossed me with Collins, so I’m in no mind to negotiate anymore with the asshole.

Grabbing my keys from the dining table, I race out the front door and down the hallway to the elevator. Stabbing my finger vigorously into the elevator’s call button isn’t enough to stem the fury bubbling inside me. My temper is getting the better of me today. No matter how much I try reminding myself that my feelings for Chelsea will only lead to a lifetime of running from watching eyes, I can’t help what’s happening. It’s beyond my control.

The wandering mind can be a cruel enemy when uncertainty lingers. The sinking feeling something that something bad has happened keeps edging its way in. By the time the elevator has reached the ground level, I’ve practically convinced myself that Jackson Reed has Chelsea in a room somewhere. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her. It’s my fault that my temper spiralled out of control and I left her like that. I should’ve ignored Michael Lawson’s bitch of a wife. She knew what she was doing, and I let it rule my anger. I wasn’t man enough to stop it. I was weak.

Making my way out of the front entrance to the apartment I rented across the road from Chelsea’s house, I catch sight of her getting out of a cab.

Thank fuck for that!

The looming images of her gagged and tied to a chair in a dark room dissolve from my mind. I step back into a darkened alcove next to her building entrance. She looks around the empty street and makes her way to her front door. Leaning back into the darkness, I watch her.

She’s still in the same clothes that she was in when I saw her last. Where have you been, honeybee?

When you invest so much time and effort into knowing everything about someone like I have with my honeybee, not knowing something now is like driving without lights at night.

Chelsea closes her door, and a light flicks on inside. She pulls down her blinds for once. Finally, she’s starting to take her privacy more seriously. She used to keep the blinds open. You never know who might be watching, honeybee.

Satisfied that Chelsea’s now home and safe for the night, I make my way back inside and head to Franco’s car parked in my basement car park. I need to find out why she was over that part of the city.

Was it for work or something else? I have the feeling she’s not going to give up on Reed, no matter what I threaten her with. Which means I’m going to have to deal with the parasite sooner than I had planned. This has been coming to him for a long time. When people like Jackson Reed try to run with the big boys, they always fuck up one way or another. I told the others that it was only matter of time before he made a deal that he couldn’t fulfil. Reed’s days on this earth were always going to be limited when he started playing both sides of the fiddle.

Driving through the city at this time on a Monday night is only asking for trouble. The only people out past midnight tonight are cops and crooks. With my curfew just being lifted this morning, the cops will be on the look out for me too. But at this point, I don’t care. I need to find out what Chelsea has been doing for the past five hours, so I take my chances and drive as casually as possible towards Sussex Street.

Sussex Street is a one-way street, so I start at Druitt Street and make my way along it, watching out for anything that might give me a clue as to what she was doing. The street is dark and empty. There’s nothing in particular that strikes me about this location. Crossing over two blocks, I slow when I make out the figure of a guy walking along the footpath. As I pass, I stare at him behind the concealment of my blackened windows. I recognise him from somewhere. Looking along the buildings for an idea as to where he came from, I note that nothing looks significant. Roller doors to loading docks, closed entrances to office buildings and vacant shopfronts—there’s nothing along here that provides an answer.

I’m sure that guy was a cop. Is that who you were with, honeybee?

My interest has now piqued, even more than it had before. What are you up to, honeybee? Whatever she’s doing, I hope she’s not putting her trust in the wrong people. There isn’t a single cop in this city that I would trust. They’ve all proved to be as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. Particularly the ones who deal with Reed—their snouts are deep in the trough.

Making my way back over to Chelsea’s house, I decide I need to go straight to the horse’s mouth for the answers I need.

***

She’s soundly sleeping in her bed when I finally get past her barricaded set-up. I watch her for a few minutes. She is absolutely beautiful, even more so when her hair covers half her face in her slumber. I could never stay angry with her, no matter what she might be up to. She’s that final missing piece to my heart’s puzzle of emotions.

I kneel next to her, and carefully brush her hair away from her face. Her eyes spring open and stare at me, wide as saucers.

“Hey.” I try to calm her. “It’s me.”

She shoots straight up. “What the fuck?” Her voice is jittery.

“I’ve been worried.” My justification is terrible.

Rubbing at her eyes, her voice sounds irritated. “You were worried, so you thought performing a home invasion would solve it?” A naked breast welcomes me, even if she isn’t.

God, I love your sharp tongue.

I laugh. “You haven’t left me much choice. Your phone was off all night.”

I pull my grey woollen sweater over my head, and clasp my belt.

“What? You think you can just break in here, and start having sex with me?” Frowning indignantly, she pulls the covers up over her naked body.

My pants drop to the ground. “Chill, honeybee. I’m just getting into your bed. No one said there has to be sex. You disappear on me and won’t answer my calls or texts—I think I’m entitled to a little spooning.”

She grins. “Entitled?”

“Entitled,” I repeat and slide into the comfort of her bed.

I hold my arms out for her to fold into. She doesn’t fight it and her warm body nuzzles against mine, my tension instantaneously decreasing.

“And what’s my entitlement for you telling me to shut the fuck up and looking at me as if you were about to rip my head clean from my body today?”

I feel like a real piece of work. “Yeah about that—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts, “I found some paperwork today that explained why you dislike Karen Lawson so much. Her husband investigated a couple of your cases, right?” Her blue eyes draw up to mine.

What paperwork have you found, honeybee? Is it the paperwork Reed told me he has?

Smiling, I can’t help but want to kiss her sweet face. Despite what I’ve done in my life, she’s still willing to accept me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve someone like her, but I know I’m going to do everything I can to keep her.

“I won’t ever lose my shit like that again,” I assure her between kisses. “It’s just this whole media circus got the better of me today.”

She nods and offers a faint smile. “I know the feeling. I just don’t understand what their obsession is?”

“What the fuck is that all about?” I chuckle.

She laughs. “My life, your life—they’re both extraordinary. Are we the only people who understand that about each other?”

“Possibly.” I couldn’t agree with you more, honeybee. “Good enough reason to see where this goes, if you ask me.”

With that, I kiss her and our bodies naturally meld into one another. There isn’t an inch of her body that I don’t beg to have against me. In the most unique of ways, she fits me and I fit her.

We fit.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I didn’t realise how soundly I slept until I woke up. That was some good sleep. We only had sex for forty minutes, which is an official record of the shortest time for us.

Forty minutes. Is this a change in the relationship? We’ve gone from fucking for twelve hours, to an hour, to forty minutes … all within thirty-six hours. Is it a sign that things are slowing between us, already?

Don’t be a dickhead!

We’ve only been together for less than two days. But getting to know her for two weeks has only cemented that she has all the things I want in a woman. She had the sex appeal before we had sex, and now that I know what that leads to, she has more appeal than ever.

I hold her body in my arms; she sleeps heavily within them. I roll onto my back and she moves with me, tucking in like a little ball of wool. If you stay right here, I will protect you forever.

I want to tell her how much she is perfect for me.

My Ma and sister have tried to tell me that there is such a thing as love at first sight. I would scoff at it. I believed in insta-fuck —I could instantly tell when I was going to fuck a woman … which was all the time.

I fucked Chelsea the first time, too. I wanted to fuck her for the past two weeks beforehand. But then something happened. Emotions fired off like the electrical currents in a light bulb.

After that, everything changed. Something happened that my Ma and sister never spoke to me about. They didn’t warn me about what happened when you fucked a woman that you have feelings for. I felt something for Chelsea, and suddenly our fucking turned into something so much more. It turned into … feelings.

She wriggles within my arms. Squeezing her, I let her know she’s still with me. Her head turns first, then her body manoeuvrers around to face me.

“What time is it?” Her first-thing-in-the-morning voice is edible.

My fingers playfully dig into her torso. “What is it with you and time?”

She squirms and giggles at my strong fingers. “I have a job that requires me to know the time.”

“Excuses,” I retort.

“Says the man-child.” Your sexy tongue, honeybee.

It’s always her sexy tongue; it gets me every time. I lean my arm out and reach the phone on the bedside table. “Eight-fifteen.”

Chelsea’s body rolls backwards, and her arms stretch out as the wave ripples over her body. It’s incredible to watch.

“I’m glad you broke into my house.” She laughs.

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think you were worth it. So where were you last night?”

She eyes me for a second before answering. “Working.”

Unconvinced, I shake my head. “Working on what exactly? You weren’t in your office,”

“How do you know that? Did you break in there too?” She walks out of the bedroom as she talks.

“I have my ways,” I call out after her.

Is she avoiding this conversation? That only means she’s hiding something. I hear the shower start and decide to join her.

Her bathroom is like a piece of history. I’m sure it’s all the original work. The white claw bath is huge. They don’t make them like that any more. The bath/shower combination has a shower curtain with a black and white picture of David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust. It makes no sense and makes me laugh. I didn’t notice this in here last time.

Chelsea’s head pokes around the edge of the curtain. “What are you sniggering at?”

“Ziggy Stardust on a shower curtain?” I smile.

She draws the curtain back playfully. “Don’t even question my Bowie obsession. It will be a deal-breaker if you do.”

Climbing in the shower behind her, I watch her shampoo her gorgeous blonde locks for a moment before taking over and rubbing her scalp. She leans back. I can see the smile on her face from here. This feels nice.

“I never would’ve picked you for a David Bowie kind of girl.” I work her hair into a lather.

“And what does a Bowie kind of girl look like?”

She amuses me so much. “Not you. You look like a Celine Dion type of girl. Or maybe Lady Gaga.”

She peaks out at me between her dark lashes and grins. “Please! Don’t insult me. Lady Gaga maybe, but Celine Dion? Are you kidding me?”

I guide her head under the water and wash out the worked in shampoo. She smiles the whole time. It makes me smile. I could get used to this co-showering thing. I look down her body while she rinses the rest of the shampoo out. Yep, definitely could get used to this.

***

“I’ll wait until you’ve gone first and head out through the garage. Hopefully there aren’t any paps waiting for me out the back. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you over to work? Or at least you should get a cab today.” I slip my gloves on, now fully dressed.

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t care if they follow me. I have to meet with friends this morning. I meet with them every morning for breakfast … well, except for yesterday.”

She sheepishly closes the door on the spare room that has my shrine that she made. Despite her best efforts to keep it hidden, I know it’s there so I’ll just humour her and go along with the act of not taking notice. Pulling her coat on, she wraps a scarf around her neck. There’s my boring suit girl. I smile.

“Just call me if you need me to come and rescue you.” I pull her to me.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? I can handle the cameras, Pacer. I have a feeling this will all be over soon anyway.” She kisses my lips.

What are you up to, my honeybee?

“You’re up to something, and whatever it is, I’ll find out.” I have to warn her again. “There are a few things about the city that you just don’t understand. I don’t need you getting involved in something that could be dangerous. Leave that up to me.”

Her eyes search mine. “Tell me what’s going on, Pacer? What’s Jackson Reed got to do with all of this?”

I’m going to sort that asshole out before he comes after Chelsea. If he touches even a hair on her head, he will wish his death came fast.

I shake my head. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. Jackson Reed is bad, but his days are numbered.”

“Please be careful, Pacer. He has friends in such high places that even I won’t be able to help you if you get caught doing anything to him.”

Her words make me laugh. If only she knew the Jackson Reed I know—he has a lot of enemies in high places, too. I want to call a meeting with him today. This needs to be sorted before he gets out of hand.

“Okay, I’d better go.” She grabs her bag and sunglasses and stands at the front door.

“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t walk. Get a cab to your friends.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “It’s seriously just around the corner. I’ll be fine. They can take as many pictures as they want. Mick and Larry will love the attention. Don might have the shits though. He’s not much of a morning person. This could actually be pretty amusing.” She chuckles.

I’d be lying if I said the mention of these guys’ names didn’t make me a little possessive.

“Who are these guys? How do you know them?”

Her eyes narrow slightly as she smiles. “Pacer Fratelli, you sound jealous.”

My smile is hard to hide. I lean in and kiss her one last time. Slapping her on the ass as she leaves, I have one final playful stab. “Go. Enjoy your boyfriends.”

She giggles as she shuts the front door. I watch through a gap in the drawn curtain. Two photographers race to her, and she takes it all in her stride, talking and smiling as she walks. Watching her makes me less worried about how she’s going to be this morning. The last time I saw her with a face full of cameras I was in a fit of rage, so perhaps I underestimated her ability to handle all of this.

Checking for any looming paparazzi, I successfully make a quick exit out through the back garage.

***

Waiting at an old abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, I finish my cigar and watch the container ships load their cargo across the water through the gaps in the wall. A bang at the rear of the building turns my attention towards the sound.

Franco, Big Jim and Pete from the family flank Reed as he walks through the graffiti-covered space.

“What’s this all about, Fratelli? We had a deal.” His defiance is endless.

“Yes. We did have a deal, which you broke. Sit.” I point to the chair in front of me.

Now he starts to look concerned. “I have people on standby you know, Fratelli. The moment I go missing, they’ll come after you. Then you’ll feel the full force of the law. Everything will be exposed.”

Interesting. “Everything?”

Reed sinks into the seat, his eyes flicking between the three big guys that surround him.

I grab his throat and squeeze. Coming inches from his face, I speak. “I’m not going to kill you today, Reed. But if you stay in town, I will. Take some time off work and disappear. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to get your shit and leave town … for good.”

“You can’t threaten me like that.” His voice strains.

“I just did.” I watch his face turn red as I squeeze him tighter.

He holds onto my gloved hand, and his breathing splutters. I let go and step back.

He coughs and gasps. “I know every person you’ve knocked off. You’re a piece of shit, Fratelli. The whole city knows that. Have you seen your girlfriend’s old man yet? Word on the street is that he wants your trial brought forward so that you’re away from his daughter. A man like him won’t stop until you’re behind bars.”

I grab his throat again. This time I can’t control my anger and squeeze tighter. “You leave Chelsea and her family out of this. You hear me? I will fucking cut you into pieces if you so much as breathe a word to her.” His eyes begin to bulge. It excites me. “Get out of town, Reed. Or I will come after you.”

I force myself to let go just as his eyes glaze over and his consciousness slips.

“Take him back now, boys.” Big Jim and Pete pick him up and drag him out of the warehouse.

“Why don’t you just get rid of him now?” Franco hangs back to ask.

I shake my head. “I can’t. He would have the dogs after me the moment he goes missing. He needs to make his own way out of the city.” I shake my head. “Don’t worry. Once I’ve found all those missing documents, he’ll be gone.”

“What about Chelsea?”

I spin around and feel my temper flaring again. “What about Chelsea?”

My reaction to her name being mentioned makes Franco step back. “She may be able to get those documents for you. Then he can be gone.”

He just doesn’t get it. “She is not getting involved, Franco. Now drop it.”

“It was just a thought,” he says as he walks off to join the others.

It was just a thought—a thought that I keep asking myself about, over and over. But I don’t want to risk her getting involved. She’s a good girl. She comes from a different world, and doesn’t need my shit to cloud her judgement.

Once I find these documents that Reed has on me, he’ll be a dead man walking.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Logan waits for me in her black Mercedes SUV at the front of my office building. Another day and another round of media stories that show Pacer and I … in love.

This can’t be front-page news, surely?

A dozen cameras and a few journalists follow me all the way to Logan’s car as I walk.

A reporter holds her microphone out at my face. “Chelsea, can you confirm that you and Pacer Fratelli are involved?”

I laugh. “Yeah, we’re involved … I’m his barrister and he’s my client.”

I get into the car and the moment I close the door, Logan slips into traffic and around the corner. Today Logan is more he with his ripped skinny jeans and blue floral shirt, buttoned all the way up, and nude lips.

“Oh this is cute. It’s like hipster, twink,” I tease.

“Hi honey. How have you been?” he says as he weaves in and out of the traffic like a pro.

He Logan definitely shines through when I need rescuing. Another reason why two Logans are better than one.

“How do you think?” I glance at him. “How’s Mum and Dad? Has Dad calmed down yet?”

He shrugs. “Uncle John wasn’t in the best mood yesterday when I saw him. I picked Mum and Aunt Tilly up from the hairdressers’ today and Aunt Tilly seemed fine. She said she calmed your Dad down, but they still want to see you in person. I think they’re just really worried about you.”

I scoff. “There’s nothing to worry about. Pacer’s not such a bad guy.”

“He’s a criminal, Chels. Are you sure you haven’t lost your mind a little?”

Watching out the window, I answer, “He’s a good criminal.”

Logan laughs. “Yeah, that’s not convincing me. You had better come up with something better than that for Aunt Tilly and Uncle John. Uncle John will lose his mind if you say that.”

“I’d never say that to him,” I agree.

Logan’s right; I need to get my speech prepared. This is worse than a closing statement in court.

My phone dings with another message. The machine that was my enemy yesterday has been my saving grace today. Pacer’s messages have been getting me through the day. He’s far cleverer than I gave him credit for. Forty-eight hours into our romance, and I am pretty certain I’m in love with him.

PACER: If you put on red shoes you can dance the blues?

I smile. After our conversation about David Bowie this morning in the shower, I told Pacer that Bowie makes more sense than anything else in this world, and he took that advice like a champion. His texts messages started with ‘The world according to Bowie’ and continued with quotes from all my favourite songs, and questions about why.

CHELSEA: See! Isn’t Bowie brilliant!

PACER: But why the protein pills and helmet?

CHELSEA: Because, space. Plus we know Major Tom’s a junkie.

PACER: Fascinating

I laugh and feel Logan’s eyes on me. “Man you’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

“Is it really such a bad thing to fall in love?”

Logan shrugs. “Sure. But remember the rules—someone like you isn’t meant to fall for someone like Pacer.”

“Who am I mean to fall in love with? You can’t force love, just like you can’t stop it. Sometimes it’s unexpected, you know. Plus I wasn’t looking for love; it just found me. Trust me, we have the right love, just not the right timing.”

Logan smiles wide. “And that is what you tell your parents.”

I message Pacer back.

CHELSEA: Wish me luck with my folks. I’ll call later.

PACER: If you need me to remind you why we are worth the fight I can meet you at your house later? No keys necessary.

CHELSEA: I don’t need much reminding. My vagina is on fire every time I sit.

PACER: I’m telling you it’s the friction from the leather. I need to ease up on the gloves.

CHELSEA: Do not speak of such things ever again!

PACER: Will you stop forcing me to fall in love with you, honeybee? xx

With that message, I hold my phone to my chest and breathe in the feeling. Those words. They hit me right where I need it. What am I meant to write back now?

CHELSEA: Now you’ve done it! My place. Midnight!

I’m smiling so hard. I decide that I want to see his face, feel his arms and bury myself into his chest. Against all the odds stacked against us. I have fallen in love him—and there’s nothing that my parents or anyone can say that will stop it now. Love just won’t turn off like that.

***

Mum’s voice is the first thing I hear when I open the front door of Dolorous. Logan and I walk in together.

“John, there is just no point. She is a thirty-year-old woman. She will do what she wants, when she wants. So your only choices are to support her and be in her life or go against her, and lose her.”

My timing is uncomfortably perfect.

“She might be thirty, but she’s had a sheltered life. I’ve heard things about that boy. Not good things, either,” Dad angrily replies.

Dad’s words make me wonder if I do know everything there is to know about Pacer. He tells me I do, but I still feel like there is more.

“I’m sure she knows more about him than you do, John.” Thanks, Mum. “She is his defence barrister, after all.”

Double serve from Mum. I guess I had better break this up. I am the cause of it, after all.

With my head high, ready to take on the hornet’s nest, I walk in to meet Mum and Dad in the kitchen. Mum is at her favourite spot—the chef’s table, and Dad’s leaning against the kitchen bench, still in his tennis clothes. The kitchen is busy as usual. Marcel and Ed prep tonight’s meal. I never noticed how un-private this house is until now.

“Please. Don’t stop on account of me being here.”

Mum’s mouth opens in surprise but Dad folds his arms in defiance when I walk in on them.

I have to admit I’ve never really been this brazen with them before. But this is one of those moments where I need to prove to them that yes, I am a woman. I’ve been independent from a young age, but I have remained too close to my parents for my own good. How many other women my age go their parents’ house every weekend? Admittedly, it has been more about escaping to Dolorous than it has been about visiting my parents. But they’re right; I’ve lived a sheltered life because I sheltered myself from it all.

Taking a seat across from Mum, I clear my throat. “Ed, please make me one of your special mixes.”

I look between both of my parents. “I understand and agree with both of you. But Dad, you have to respect the fact that I have been a defence barrister for almost ten years, so I’m not completely naive to the world.”

He grumbles and Mum frowns. “She’s right, John. Darling, just make sure you’re being careful about how much you’re telling the media.”

What? “I don’t tell them anything. I give them legal statements, but that’s it.”

“They seem to know where you are all the time. Who’s tipping them off?” Mum sips on her gin.

Ed puts the glass of gin, garnished with a slice of cucumber, in front of me. I knock back well over half the glass within one gulp.

“That’s the thing. I think I’m about to uncover some high-level corruption. But before you say anything, Dad …” I see him itching to speak. “I want to uncover it all before I officially announce it. Then I will be pushing for an enquiry into it. But Dad, you have to let me do it my way. I don’t want anyone tipped off about what I’m doing.” I can see him scoffing under his breath, even though deep down I know he knows I’m right. “You can’t do anything to jeopardise this, Dad. Even you would be surprised at the level this goes to. Don’t trust any of them. There are too many things that don’t add up.”

Dad shakes his head. “And this Fratelli. Is he just part of this investigation of yours?”

“No, Dad. I’m not fucking him for information, if that’s what you’re asking.” I down the rest of the drink and get up.

“Chelsea, I’m sure that’s not what your father meant. And please try not to swear, dear, it’s unbecoming.” Mum’s attempt to stop me fails miserably.

The pair of them should feel ashamed of themselves. This isn’t how they should react —they should be a little more supportive of my decisions. They don’t want to listen to a thing I say, so I’m not going to waste my breath. They don’t want to support me, and as devastating as that is, I’m better off leaving now while I still have a heart. I feel the tears, but don’t want to show them how they’ve made me feel. We don’t do crying in this family so I resolve to remain as stoic as possible until I get out of the place.

“I love you, Mum, but if you guys can’t try to understand that I might actually be in love with Pacer, then there’s no point in staying.” I kiss Mum’s cheek before walking out.

“Chelsea Elizabeth Blythe Tanner, I forbid you to have a relationship with Pacer Fratelli!” Dad yells out as I leave.

I feel the pressure of tears against my eyes. A tear rolls down my cheek, capturing the cold of the night where it runs on my skin. I walk down the driveway of Dolorous as headlights hit the path in front of me. I turn to find Logan’s boxy Mercedes four-wheel drive coming after me. Stepping aside, I wait for her to pull up.

“That was brutal.” He leans out of the open window.

“I just want to go home,” I say through streaming tears.

He nods sympathetically, and I walk around the other side and get in the car.

“I get it, you know,” he says as we drive through the city. “You can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

I smile. “I know you get it.” I hold his hand and squeeze it.

I try to remember the moment Logan announced to Mum and Dad that she liked women more than men. I knew before they did, of course. But my Mum and Dad both helped my Aunt Patrice with raising Logan. So when she came out as a lesbian, I thought they were going to find it hard to deal with, but they didn’t. And they didn’t react like they are now.

***

I feel the bed sink down next to me, and groggily smile. I must’ve fallen asleep waiting for Pacer to arrive.

“Hi.” I roll over to Pacer’s waiting arms.

He holds me tight. It feels so good to be in his arms again. “Hey. You sounded upset on the phone. I take it your parents weren’t okay with us, like you’d hoped?” I shake my head in reply. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. My ma really wanted me to stay for dinner. I have been a bit slack lately, so I think she missed me. She wants to meet you. She said you looked beautiful in the news.” His chuckle is an unfamiliarly innocent sound on him.

Just when my parents reject my right to fall in love with whom I want, Pacer’s Mum opens up to the idea with loving arms. This couldn’t feel any worse, could it?

“I think I might take a few days off work. I really need a break from the prying eyes of the city, my co-workers included. One of the senior partners confronted me when I was photocopying.” Pacer’s eyes narrow. I almost forgot about his temper. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle. He just told me he thought I was more professional than being romantically involved with a known criminal.”

“That’s workplace harassment! You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

I love how he wants to protect me, but I don’t need it. “Don’t worry. I reminded him of his affair with his secretary, and told him he had better keep his opinion to himself.” I smile proudly.

“That’s my girl.” His smile intoxicates my senses.

I run my fingertips down his face and look into his eyes. I can’t wait a moment longer. “I love you.” it doesn’t even feel strange to say out loud.

His runs his fingers through my hair and holds my face in his palms. He kisses me and I feel his cock throb against my thigh. Oh God, I am seriously going to have to get a reconstruction down there if we keep going at this rate. I can’t see myself ever stopping from wanting to get naked with him—and being naked always leads to so many wonderful opportunities.

Wait!

He didn’t say ‘I love you’ back? What does that mean? Did I say it too soon? His eyes catch mine.

“What’s wrong?” How quickly he’s learnt to read me.

I search within his eyes. I’m not asking him if he loves me too. I’m never going to be one of those girls who actually has to ask. Keep your dignity, Chelsea. I kiss him back, his tongue working perfectly as my distraction. I feel him try his best to pull back, but I don’t allow it and kiss him harder.

With my head between his large hands he pulls me back with ease. “Why don’t you come and meet my family tomorrow? I’ll get my Uncle to put a spread on at my ma’s house.”

He’s so confusing sometimes. He won’t openly say that he loves me, but he wants me to meet his family?

“But it’s the middle of the week?”

Am I the only person in my life who has a real job? Even Logan works as a DJ, and I’ve never really classed that as real work. She just gets to party for a living.

“Even more reason to get together and unwind; the weekend will be here soon. Come on, I’ll guarantee you a good time.”

This may be just what the doctor ordered. “I’d love to meet your family.”

Now kiss me before I think about how major that is. He returns my internal plea with a kiss so deep I could swim in the passion of it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Thanks, Ryan. I knew you would understand … Yeah, Brad is still researching the Simmons case. He’s got two days to get a report back to me. I thought it was a good opportunity to take that time off that you always tell me I need to take, too.” I smile when I catch Pacer watching me. “I’m going to have this sorted out. I agree, the papers have gone too far.” My boss is understandably annoyed at how I’m making the firm look. “A couple of days should be plenty of time. I’ll see you next Monday.”

Ending the call, I look up to catch Pacer sliding on his navy blue suit jacket to his three-piece suit. Damn, he has a fine sense of style.

Beaming with the excitement of getting away from work for a couple of days, and meeting Pacer’s family, I grin through all my words. “The first long weekend I’ve taken in over a year.”

Pacer pulls on the collar of my bathrobe that I still have on from after my shower. “Why don’t you pack a bag and come and stay at my house for the next few days? It’s harder for cameras to get close to us there.” His idea is giddily exciting. “I’m going to call my Uncle and Ma to get this day organised. Ma’s going to be in a frenzy to meet you.” He tenderly kisses my nose, and rubs his cheek past mine to give my earlobe a nibble.

Leaving me with a spike in my temperature and a pulse in my privates, he exits the room while flicking through his phone. The prospect of spending the next few days with Pacer is making my already elated heart swell with a pounding glow. Is it normal to want to spend twenty-four seven with a person? He has to feel some kind of love for me if he wants to be around me this much, right?

Staying at his house and meeting his family all in one day—major steps in any relationship. I know he lives over at Vaucluse, but there aren’t any photos of his place around, so where precisely is a little mystery. A good mystery.

Now, what to wear to meet Pacer’s Mum? Shit! This is kind of huge. I need to get this right. Impressions are important. Jeans are a no-brainer. No rips. I need classic.

Searching through my jeans shelf, I find the perfect pair. I team them with brown ankle boots, a cream-coloured knit with a huge rolled neck and my favourite plush pink coat for this mild winter’s day. Let’s hope Sydney turns on its spectacular winter skies again. Quickly dressing, I pack some more jeans in a weekend bag and consider what lingerie to pack before Pacer comes back in the room. It’s been a while since I’ve even bothered wearing matching underwear, let alone having to acknowledge what I look like in it. There’s so much to consider when you suddenly have a man in your life.

I pillage my underwear draw to get to the bottom, where the unloved but super pretty matching sets live. I grab a lace lilac number with embroidered florals, and hold it out. Oooooh, I forgot about you! I toss it in my open suitcase and search for more. I almost have to send in a specialist search team to rescue some of these unused pieces, when I finally hit the jackpot. Pulling out a delicate French lace one-piece negligée that I impulsively bought once when I was feeling down, I quickly spread it across my waist to check it will still fit, and also throw that in my bag.

Pacer comes back in just as I finish packing the last of my toiletries. “You look beautiful.” He wraps his arms around me.

“Are you sure this will be alright to meet your Mum?” I wave my hands up and down my outfit.

God, I sound desperate to impress, which I am, but I don’t need him knowing that.

His smirk is playful. “You don’t have anything to worry about. My family will love you. My Uncle and cousins have already been gossiping to Mum and my sister Lucia about you.”

“No pressure.” My smile feels as meek as my hopes.

Pacer, on the other hand, looks amused by the situation. “Come on. Everything’s being sorted. My Uncle is preparing all the meat at the restaurant as we speak. We have to go past to pick up the antipasto platters and vino before we head out to Ma’s.”

“Whereabouts does your Mum live?” I’m curious to know.

“She’s over in Hunter’s Hill,” he says with a smile, “so we had better get over to Zio’s so we can get there before the lunchtime traffic hits. If you wait down in the garage, I’ll drive down the back lane and pick you up in the Porsche.” Pacer takes my weekend bag in one hand and my hand in the other, and leads me down the stairs.

How quickly I’ve adapted to being led by a man. It was only three weeks ago that I was captain of my own ship, running my own course. Now I’m on a direction that’s so unknown, it’s exhilarating.

***

Of course Pacer’s Mum lives in Hunter’s Hill. It’s one of the only highly affluent suburbs that’s not on the eastern side of the city. It’s old money over here, and despite how they achieved their wealth, Pacer’s family has been renowned in the city for as long as my own. We pull into the circular drive, and the house is just as I imagined it—large and Italian. Across the front of the house, columns stretch up high and cream-coloured pots sit on top of pillars with sprouting green ferns.

“My Dad built it for Ma back in 95. She’ll never leave here,” Pacer says, pulling the car’s hand-brake.

I lean across to the back seat and grab the pretty bouquet that I bought for his Mum. Even though Pacer insisted that it was unnecessary to bring something, I have never, and will never arrive at a house without a gift for the host. It’s just how I was raised.

Pacer leans to the back, getting out the three huge platters his Uncle prepared for the gathering.

“We’ll come back for the cases of wine.” He closes the door with his leg.

I follow him up the terracotta steps and through the open front door. Music plays through the house. It’s classic Dean Martin, of course.

“Hey Ma, where are you? Do I have to tell you a thousand times, you need to keep this door closed.” He shakes his head.

The inside of the house is even more Italian than the outside. Cream marble covers the sprawling floor. Gold accents the wrought iron of the staircase in front of us. Crystal hangs above us in chandeliers, and deep reds cover the fabric of the chairs that take up the corners of the foyer. It’s enough to make Scarface himself insanely jealous.

“Ah Paciano. Nella cucina,” I hear her call out in the distance.

“By the way, Ma will try and break into native tongue as much as possible so I’ll have to keep reminding her that you don’t speak Italian.” He stops and turns to me. “Or do you?”

There’s that eyebrow control again.

I shake my head. “Not unless pronouncing the menu at your Uncle’s restaurant is considered being a linguist, then no, sadly. But I’ll do my best to keep up.”

He gives me a sneaky peck on the lips, and I continue following nervously behind him. A tall glamorous woman with thick dark hair that rivals Elizabeth Taylor’s and eyes that outshine Sofia Loren’s fusses around the enormous kitchen island. The collar on her light blue shirt is popped up, with a red and white striped apron covering her expensive-looking clothes. She’s not at all what I imagined. I was half expecting a little Italian mumma, complete with a headscarf. How wrong I was!

She wipes the sauce from her hands and holds her arms out wide, bypassing Pacer and making her way straight to me. “Oh come here, caro.” She hugs me tight and kisses me on either cheek. “Let’s have a look at you.” She holds me out in front of her. “I prayed for my Paciano. I prayed, and prayed. Every day. For you to come … and here you are.”

I catch Pacer rolling his eyes behind his Mum and I chuckle.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Fratelli. I bought these for you.” I hold the bouquet of blooms for her.

She takes them. “Thank you, bella. Now please, call me Ma. None of this Mrs Fratelli.” She tsks.

There’s an instant familiarity I feel around her. She puts the flowers in a vase and directs Pacer to put the platters on the table outside. I stay in the kitchen and offer my help, even though I don’t have a clue what I’m doing in the kitchen. But it’s a nice change to watch Mrs Fratelli in the kitchen.

“Sure, how about you help by opening the vino,” she says with a wink. “Glasses are just back out in the bar near the balcony.”

Just as I wander back out to get some glasses, two high-pitched squeals pierce through the air, followed by the pushing and shoving of a boy and a girl, no older than five. They continue shoving one another as they rumble past in a flurry.

“Nonna!” they shriek in unison.

A woman with silky dark hair flowing all the way down to her bum balances a baby girl on her hip as she yells after the toddlers in Italian. The both of us stand, staring at one another for a moment before she smiles wide.

“Chelsea. Hi! I’m Lucia, Pacer’s sister.” She holds her free arm out for me and I hug her.

“So great to meet you.” I kiss her on either cheek, and can’t help but be drawn to the big brown eyes of her daughter. “And who is this little angel?”

“This is my little Camilla.” She holds her out to me with one hip. “Do you mind holding her for a moment while I grab the food from the car?”

“Sure,” I say as I take the little darling in my arms.

She’s a solid little cutie and looks perfect in her little white fur jacket. She stares at me through her gorgeous long dark eyelashes while I stand slightly bewildered by the bustling family already. Lucia comes back through to the kitchen with a box overflowing with bread and vegetables.

She smiles at me as she passes. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the twins that you saw race through to see Ma.”

I nod. Speech has already failed me, and this is just the beginning. Walking back through to the kitchen, I find Pacer with the little girl twin in a football grip, while he holds the wildly swinging boy twin back by his head. Pacer catches me with baby Camilla in my arms and we both stare at each other for a moment. This is weird. I feel the smile rising, but it quickly vanishes once the boy twin stomps on Pacer’s foot, causing him to yell out in pain.

“Antonio! What did I tell you in the car?” Lucia grabs his face and fires off the rest of the sentence in angry Italian.

The little boy drops his eyes. “Sorry, Mumma. But Zio …”

“Eh!” She holds her hand out to stop him and points to me.

Pacer puts the little girl down and the two come over to me, standing shyly in front of me.

“Hello, Chelsea.” The two singsong my name together.

I smile back. “Hello. What are your names?”

“Are you going to marry Uncle Pacer? My mumma wants to know,” The little girl asks while pulling at her pigtails.

Lucia holds her hand to her mouth in shock. I am now definitely speechless … and still holding a baby … in front of the man I only confessed my love to last night, with his mother and sister staring at me—this is so many levels of awkward. Holding a baby was a very bad idea. Say no to holding babies.

Lucia rushes over to me, the crimson in my face definitely obvious. She quickly takes Camilla and scowls at the twins. “Kids say the funniest things sometimes.” She mouths sorry. “This is Antonio.” She points to the curly-haired little boy. “And the one with the big mouth is Anabella.”

Anabella stretches her mouth out wide, taking her Mum’s words literally. Kids are so strange. Pacer thankfully comes over to my rescue. “How about you come and help me with the cases of wine before the others arrive.”

Others. Why do Italians have to have such big families? Like this wasn’t bad already.

He holds my hand as we walk out and the Italian gossip picks up in the kitchen the moment we’re out of sight. Pacer chuckles at whatever it is they’re saying.

“Sorry about that. The twins are a real handful,” he says as he takes out the first case of wine from the car.

I take the box from him. “Yeah, I see that,” I say, trying to find the fun in that moment. Whatever that is.

“My sister has five kids. Two older boys to her late husband, Pauly. He was a pillar of a man. We were best friends from babies.”

“Were?” Dare I ask.

“Yeah. He was murdered in front of the two older boys, Giorgie who you met the other week, and his brother, Rico. Rico’s even quieter than Giorgie. Lucia re-married and this new husband is fucking useless. She thought by marrying someone who wasn’t in the familia, she wouldn’t worry about him dying. But those brats are the result, and her life isn’t the same.” He tips his chin in the direction of the screams within the house. “Her husband doesn’t respect her. I know he treats her like shit. She comes to ma’s at least once a month, upset.”

I don’t want to tell Pacer that I read about his brother-in-law dying the other night in the archives. He needs to be the one to tell me things like this. There are probably things I know about Pauly’s murder that not even Pacer knows. But none of the words I read can ever give me the emotion of the case that Pacer just delivered. I see the hurt in his eyes, the real in the situation.

“I’m sorry about Pauly. That must be terrible for her two older sons.”

“We don’t talk about it much. Ma doesn’t like us filling the house with negative spirits. She’s had all sorts of priests in here, blessing the house and trying to lift the curse she thinks we have on our family. That’s when Lucia found her new husband.” He sighs.

“So what does her new husband do?” I follow Pacer back inside.

“He’s a computer wiz. Works for one of the investment banks in the tech department. He’s a fucking soft-cock nerd, and my sister deserves better.”

“Maybe she’s happy?” I question.

Pacer looks back at me for a moment before grinning. “Does she look happy to you?”

I shrug. “Maybe the kids just stress her out?”

“Always defending someone.” He shakes his head as he drops the boxes down next to the bar, in the large lounge area.

Just when I thought the house couldn’t be any more Italian … It looks as if every Italian designer has puked their entire fabric collection all over the furniture and carpet. I instantly recognise the patterns of Versace and Moschino on the cushions. A golden Versace circular floor rug sits in the centre of the room with a marble coffee table on top. More Versace medusa heads on vases and coffee table books on Italian designers are stacked around the coffee table. If Mrs Fratelli was keeping it all in theme, then I’m pretty certain the leopard print in the curtains and arm chairs would have to be Dolce & Gabbana.

“Ma likes Versace.” Pacer smiles.

“Couldn’t tell,” I joke.

He laughs too. I wonder what his house is like? If it’s anything like his treetop love-nest, then he does have some taste.

Holding his gloved finger to his mouth to shush me, Pacer takes my hand and leads me down the stairs to the lower level of the house. This level leads down to a boathouse and jetty. There are always two kinds of rich families in the city—those who live on hills and those who live on the water’s edge. I don’t know what it would be like to live on the water, but I could always tell the boys who came from harbour-side mansions. They drove boats. Boats are hot.

Pacer points to the boathouse down a pathway … and they have boathouses.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Pacer wiggles the latch of the boathouse door and it opens. We both grin at each other, like a couple of naughty schoolkids. Once inside, Pacer pushes me against the door as he closes it. Sliding his gloved hand under my sweater and shirt, he finds my already hard nipple in my bra. The coldness of the leather feels so sexy against my skin. I yearn to feel it against my clit. Unbuttoning my jeans, I push them down my thighs. Pacer’s wandering hands pause for a moment. His eyes meet mine and he smirks. His sex appeal and leather glove have me bamboozled. I turn into a super-charged sex fiend.

Running my fingers around the back of his hair, I pull him to me and kiss. We kiss hard, and we kiss hot. Taking Pacer’s hand that’s been merrily flicking at my nipple, I direct it down to my sodden underwear. The coldness of the leather hits my clit and my knees weaken. As he makes circles around it, the leather lightly catches against my skin, making me flinch from the delicious vibrations it fires off every time it happens.

The leather feels hard against my sex. I want that coldness inside me, before we have to stop. My squirming doesn’t go unnoticed, and his gloved finger squeaks its way inside me. I’ll never tire from the feeling I get every time the leather grabs at my skin. The juddering is like little earthquakes inside me. It’s an incredible feeling. He pulls his gloved finger out slowly, and a whimpering moan sizzles out of me.

The leather of his glove always feels foreign and hard compared to his naked finger. I love the feeling of it. I want it. He drives his gloved finger in and out of me, the leather rubbing against my skin again and again. I can feel my orgasm building, the deep pulsing forcing my legs to strain stiff and straight.

His leather catches against my clit and my knee quivers. Just one. That quiver spreads the next time I feel leather brush past my lips again. The leather is warm now, absorbing all my juices. His leather glove slides around my sex with lubricated ease. His presses his palm hard against my clit as his finger punishes me underneath with fast strokes. The eruption reaches its breaking point and I moan a little louder than intended.

“Shhhh.” He kisses me to muffle my involuntary sounds.

I kiss him back as the full force of my orgasm takes over. The heat from my body is trapped in my head and my face feels flushed.

He slows his finger and gently cups me, rubbing the gloves against the lips of my sex. My body trembles as I come down from the climax.

We grin at each other for a moment before I realise that he’s missed out on the pleasure. “Your turn?” My fingers find their way to the top of his pants.

“I got plenty out of that, don’t worry.” He grins through his words. “I love watching you squirm with pleasure.”

“Pleasure is an understatement. Those gloves are a direct link with the celestial.” My breath is still heavy as I speak.

We laugh together and Pacer slips his glove from my underwear. I re-button my jeans as he opens the door to the boathouse, and I wipe the beading across my brow. His nephew, who drove us to the seaplane, casually strolls down the jetty, smoking a cigarette.

“Mum and Nonna sent me to find you.” He looks completely unbothered by what he was about to walk in to, so hopefully he’s oblivious to it.

“Found us,” Pacer replies, lighting a cigarette. “Giorgie, you remember Chelsea.”

He nods. “How’s it going?”

Feeling a little flushed in the face, I try my best to hide it. “Good to see you again.”

“Are you ready for this?” I see a hint of a smirk.

Holding onto my hand, Pacer squeezes. “He’s just messing with you. Ma and Lucia are about the worst of it.”

Walking back up the sloping lawn, Lucia is placing small vases of flowers on top of the long trestle table. The twins run frantically around on the lawn next to her. The sound of voices inside is louder than before; there must be more of the family here.

“There you are. I just need a hand dressing the table.” I don’t know if she’s talking to me or Pacer, so I grab some wine glasses from the box on a chair just to be safe.

“I’ll go and help upstairs.” Pacer and Giorgie both head inside.

We decorate the long wooden table with posies of flowers, wine glasses and bottles of wine, lots of bottles of wine. The three huge antipasto platters are the beautiful centrepiece, giving a gorgeous rustic Italian feel to it all.

“So your Dad’s the judge, John Tanner?” I know exactly why Lucia’s asking me.

Not only did he sentence her Dad before he was murdered, but he put her husband behind bars when she was heavily pregnant with her second son. I know so many intimate details about this family, but try to act as unaware of it as much as I can.

I nod and try not to be fazed by her question. “Retired Judge.”

Lucia doesn’t look me in the eye. She doesn’t seem as approving of me as Pacer’s Mum.

“You’re not the first person to question why Pacer and I are together, and I’m sure you won’t be the last,” I add. “But I really like your brother.”

She nods. “He really likes you too. Being involved with this family isn’t going to be easy for you.”

“And being involved with my family isn’t going to be easy for you, either,” I fire back.

She looks up at me from across the table. “So your folks. They’re okay with you and Pacer, then?”

Her interrogation doesn’t waiver me. I shake my head, but offer a smile. “They were never going to be okay with it. I was prepared for that though. I was hoping your family weren’t going to be as sceptical.” I place the cutlery down on the table. “I’m risking a lot to be with Pacer. My family, career … everything. It could all blow up in my face.”

“Then why risk it?”

Is Lucia’s outlook on love jaded by her own experiences?

“Because. Love.” My whole face beams with an uncontrollable happiness at the thought of how in love I am with her brother, despite everything that’s being thrown at us.

Her smile matches mine and she giggles. “Ah, I’ve forgotten what that feels like.”

I continue setting out the rest of the cutlery. The table is set for eighteen. That’s one big family. I’ve had big dinner parties at Dolorous, but when it comes to family gatherings, we’re lucky to have five of us in attendance.

“Just for the record, I’ve never seen my brother this happy before.” She winks.

Did I just pass my first Fratelli cross-examination?

***

My mouth is sore from smiling and my head feels fuzzy from the full glass of red wine that keeps appearing in front of me. When an Italian tells you that it’s going to be an intense day, you really do have something to be nervous about. The discussions in Italian are loud and passionate, the food seems to be endless and the clinking of glasses is the soundtrack to it all—along with the crooning Dean Martin who continuously sings in the background.

I haven’t ever felt so welcomed into a family as I do here. Pacer’s two Aunts have asked me about all the details of Pacer and I meeting. I’m sure they read it all in the newspapers, but I’m happy to relive every moment again. His Uncle was so excited to see me a second time, but insulted that I haven’t been back to his restaurant since I was there over a week ago, and I’ve even managed to stir a handful of words out of his quiet nephew, Rico. Pacer has remained at the helm of the BBQ all day, pausing only when we catch sight of each other through the crowded gathering. My heart’s rhythm skips every time. I’ve always wondered what a true sense of family felt like, and today feels like no greater definition.

Pacer’s cousin Franco sits down beside me. He’s a taller and rougher version of his father, Carlo.

“So how’s Pacer’s case looking? He tells me you think he’ll get off all these charges?” It’s the first work-related conversation I’ve had all day.

“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m pretty confident it will all be cleared up soon.”

It reminds me about Jackson Reed. I need to find a way to get to him. I watch Franco for a moment, and decide that I’ll touch the subject to see if he’s willing to offer more information on the man than his cousin.

“There’s a couple of things that have popped up, and I’m not sure how to approach it with Pacer.” I watch Franco’s eyes. They flick to Pacer, who is occupied by the BBQ and his Uncle. “It’s about Jackson Reed.”

He shifts in his seat and grabs the bottle of red wine in front of him. Topping my glass up and pouring his own, he turns his attention back to me.

“Tell me more,” he says as he sips the wine.

“All the investigations on Pacer have documents missing. I don’t know why, or what significance they have to the investigations. I just find it strange that they’ve vanished … into thin air.”

“And what do you think Reed has to do with that?”

Looking towards Pacer, I catch him frowning at me with Franco, but I grin to conceal the seriousness of our conversation.

“I’ve managed to trace who was in contact with the paperwork last, which alone took a lot of digging. But what I found was those detectives in charge worked directly with Reed during Pacer’s trials.”

“Interesting,” Franco coolly replies.

Something tells me he knew all of this already.

“Why did Reed have this information removed? Was it to keep information on Pacer? Information that could put him in prison? Why?” The questions fire off in succession.

“These are things that you need to discuss with Pacer. But let me warn you, Pacer was dead against you being involved in any of this.” He takes a gulp from his wine to finish it, and gets out of his seat. “It sounds to me like you know quite a lot already.”

Franco has confirmed everything I already thought. There is more to Pacer and Jackson than just a crook and a QC. There is something between them that I need to find out.

A female singer blasts from the house’s speakers and Pacer’s Mum comes out, arms waving as she yells something in Italian. All the women clap and grab their disgruntled men for an impromptu dance on the terrace. Pacer grins and takes my hand, leading me to the coupled dancers, swaying in their embraces.

He guides me in a gentle dance together. “This is nice,” he says and kisses my forehead.

I nod. “It’s more than nice.”

“No, I mean it’s nice to not be dancing with one of my nieces or Aunts for once.”

It makes me laugh and he pulls me tighter to him. For the first time since the boatshed, I finally feel as if we’re alone, even though we’re amongst the bodies cocooning us.

With the last light of the day hanging over the city buildings in the distance, the whole scene is really quite romantic. I watch the happy faces of the couples dancing. Uncle Carlo and Pacer’s other Uncle, Mario, spin their wives around the terrace like seasoned pros. Even Lucia looks happy with her husband as they dance, little Camilla holding on between them. Giorgie dances proudly with his Nonna, and Rico swings the arms of his younger siblings. There is plenty of love floating amongst the group. Pacer’s body is nice and warm. It heats up all the right parts.

“How about we sway through the crowd … to an empty space.” The moment he speaks Bowie to me I go to water.

Is this guy serious? Guys I know don’t speak Bowie.

I grin like a fool. He touches my face and runs his thumb across my bottom lip. I kiss him as we sway to the Italian love song, both of us unconcerned about who’s with us.

Clapping erupts around us and I hear ‘amore’ being called out. My eyes catch Pacer’s and we grin, our stretched lips now straining to meet each other. The crowd of family breaks out in song together. All I understand of the Italian song is ‘amore’ but the tune is a familiar Italian classic. With Pacer’s forehead pressed against mine, I close my eyes and take in the overwhelming emotions in the air.

***

“This has been a really wonderful day. Thank you so much for inviting me into your family like this.” I hug Pacer’s Mum tight. It’s such a loving embrace, again a stark contrast to what my own family is like.

“Don’t let Paciano keep you away from here for long, eh?” she says and grins. “You are welcome to come here any time. Maybe we can have a girl’s day, cooking and drinking. I can make a good Italian wife out of you, yet,” she playfully teases.

“Now. Paciano.” She grabs hold of Pacer’s cheeks and pinches them as she finishes off the sentence in Italian. He listens and grins, laughing when she gets really excited about something. When he speaks back to her in Italian, my puss pulses. There’s nothing sexier than listening to him speak in another language. He could be abusing me in Italian and I swear I’d still be turned on.

“Come on, Chels. Let’s get out of here before Ma has us married with kids.”

“Ah. Kids! Mio figlio.” She kisses his cheeks adoringly.

We wave goodbye to the family who look intoxicated from both the wine and the company today. Pacer takes my hand and leads me towards the boathouse, not the front of the house as I was anticipating. He grins, knowing how stumped I am.

“We’re taking the boat home.” He winks.

I knew it. He’s a boat guy.

A stunning classic wooden speedboat, the type Gorge Clooney would cruise Venice in, waits alongside the jetty. My bag and a basket full of food and wine sit on the cream leather bench at the rear, all ready to go. I hold Pacer’s hand, and he helps me to step down into the boat. I sit in the front next to the driver’s seat. Pacer unties the boat from the jetty and pushes it out, jumping in as we drift away. The family gathering looks even more romantic from the water. Strings of warm party lights hang above the company of people below at the long table. The full table of glassware and discarded bottles is the sign that a good party was had. Franco lights up sparklers for his own four children and the twins. They run down to the water’s edge and wave them at us as Pacer starts the engine, the boat now rumbling on the water.

I continue waving back at them; it’s almost sad to leave. But I’m craving alone time with Pacer. We leave the little cove of Hunter’s Hill and I sit back into the leather chair and watch Pacer enjoying the ride. This day has surpassed any expectation that I had of Pacer and his family. None of the news reports, police files or accusations of his family’s crimes ever show the other side to the infamous Leganos. They never show the love and deep connection they all have for and with one another. Watching the dimly lit houses that sit along the waterfront, I can’t help but consider my own family. Sure, my family love each other, but their strength has never been tested like Pacer’s family … until now.

At a time when a family should be showing unity like Pacer’s family, mine is showing signs of imploding.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The boat ride home was the obvious clue that Pacer’s house is right on the water. As we round the corner into Vaucluse, he pulls the boat’s throttle and we slowly drift into the bay. We float up alongside the jetty that’s closest to the beach and Pacer jumps off the boat.

As he ties off, I grab my bag and the basket. Pacer’s chivalry does not falter and he immediately leans down and takes both items that I just picked up. He raises the bar a level—expert —when he tucks my bag under his arm and holds his gloved hand out for me to take.

He’s not just a magician, he’s a fucking sorcerer!

Like my obsession with him wasn’t bad enough already. I bet I’ll love his house and we’ll live happily ever after. I just know it. I can feel it.

Trailing up to his house, we pass a pool next to the jetty. I can just make out the structure of the house in the moonlight. It sits up a steep ledge, amongst the trees. What is with him and his treetop love-nests?

We walk up a lit cobblestone stairway, and climb each stair for what feels like forever. Exhausted from a solid Italian drinking session and an hour’s boat ride home, my head and legs feel like rubbish by the top of the stairs. Pacer catches sight of me under the doorway light and smiles.

“Come on. Let’s go soak in the bath. It’s been an intense day for you.” He puts my bag down and unlocks the front door.

The door swings from the centre. The house is modern, but not as minimalist as the treetop love-nest. For one there is more artwork in here. After hearing him play Nelly in his car, and his Mum having an unfortunate taste for all things euro-trash, I would not have picked him to be an art lover. The first piece right in front of the door is a huge and instantly recognisable piece by the renowned artist, David Bromley. Anyone who’s into the Sydney art scene would recognise a Bromley. His work won the prestigious Archibald Prize for so many years, and he knows my family—but that’s nothing rare. Everyone knows my family.

I recognise this particular piece. She’s nude, as most of Bromley’s paintings are. Her upper torso and perfect breasts have so much detail within single black brush strokes. She looks like someone you wouldn’t mess with—her gaze is killer. I know this particular version of the painting, too. She’s one of the only ones who has butterflies and flowers around her. I was there when she was unveiled … because she was named after me.

“How long have you had this piece?” I watch for Pacer’s response.

“She was the first Chelsea I ever fell in love with,” he says with a smile.

I try not to act like a complete girl with his love confession, and answer as quickly as I can. “Do you believe in serendipity?”

“Sure.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

I laugh. “I’m serious.” His eyes narrow while I talk. “What if I told you that this painting was named after me?”

He looks at the painting, then back to me. He searches between the two of us a couple more times.

“It’s not of me; it was just named after me. See? We were meant to meet, eventually.”

Now I sound like a crazy stalker. I need to shut the fuck up, right now.

We stay standing in the foyer, Pacer still contemplating the whole situation. “I’ve had her for a long time. What if between Ma’s praying and my saying ‘Hi Chelsea’ every time I walked in my house, it somehow made us slowly gravitate towards one another?”

My eyes widen. I nod like a loon. “See?”

He laughs loud and gives me a quick, soft kiss on the lips. “God, I love you,” he says casually, and he walks away.

My body freezes after hearing those words. He said it. I replay the moment. Yep, he said it. Albeit a little too casually, but he said it nonetheless.

There’s no way I can turn around from our relationship now. Not with the ‘I love you’ out in the air. There is no stopping this train now. I’m bolting down that track and the emergency brake is officially broken.

***

Pacer’s bath is incredible. It sits on the balcony of his main bedroom. The shutters beside the bath can be pulled out to enclose the whole balcony for complete privacy. I watch Pacer turn the bath on and light a cigarette. I’ve never condoned smoking until I watched Pacer blow out one of his long, sexuality-filled breaths of hazy air. Fuck me he makes smoking look good, whether he’s in clothes or naked. It looks good no matter what.

Dragging my eyes from Pacer, I take in the view from the upper level of his house. This whole floor is one bedroom. The place is massive. I can’t even begin to think what Pacer must’ve thought of me when he saw my apartment that night; no wonder he wanted me to come here. He must think I live like a hobo. But I did explain to him that I didn’t need to waste my money on a house. I wanted to wait until I was ready to settle down. Looking around at how Pacer lives, I kind of feel as if I haven’t grown up.

The view is pretty from here. The lights on the harbour sparkle through the trees. The public beach within view is a little concerning though.

“Do you ever worry about people seeing you from the beach?” I point my thumb in the direction of the strip of white beach that’s visible, even at night.

I catch Pacer’s smirk as he grabs the wide shutters and glides them effortlessly along the wall nearest to the beach. When he gets to the end, nothing can be seen other than the glittering harbour through the gum trees but that’s it. Pacer still has that same cocky smirk smeared across his face when he turns back to me. He’s right without even saying anything. Why did I ever doubt his understanding of privacy?

As the bath fills, he comes past and kisses me with a little bit more dominance. “I’m going to get the drinks organised. Feel free to get naked.”

His boldness makes me giggle. I watch him leave down the stairs and quickly turn my attention to my monogramed weekend bag on a really expensive-looking grey armchair.

Grabbing the bag, I race into the bathroom at the far end of the room. As soon as I turn the light on, I notice how much of a mess I look. My hair is completely windswept and my nose is brighter than Rudolf at the front of a sled.

Shit!

I frantically zip the bag open and rifle through, searching for the lacy black number. As soon as I feel the material, I rip it from the bag and start stripping. Coat, boots, jeans, woollen sweater, they all get madly flung around the room as I desperately try to get myself together.

Scrambling into the black lacy thing, I finally get it into position on my body. I lean onto the bench with my palms spread. Holy shit, that was a work out.

I grab the discarded clothes and pile them next to my weekend bag, and pull out my makeup bag. Tossing my fingers through my hair, I quickly moisturise my face to at least blend in my leftover foundation from this morning’s application.

The tiles feel warm under my feet suddenly. Floor heating. Nice. At that same moment that I notice the tiles, I also hear a cover of “Wild World” by Maxi Priest playing from somewhere above me. The tune is unmistakable, and hideously 90s. Okay maybe there is one thing wrong with him—he has terrible choice in music. His Bowie speak confuses me though.

Peeking through a cracked door, I can’t see any sign of Pacer so I step into the bedroom and try to act as normal as possible with my lacy number on. I haven’t actually made an effort for anyone like this before, so I really don’t know how to act. The moment I see glimpses of Pacer’s swinging hips beneath his open shirt, I don’t feel nerves anymore. He sways and belts out the chorus—slightly out of tune but with plenty of gusto—as he climbs each step. He carries a bottle of Veuve champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. His taste in music makes me laugh. Who knew this Pacer Fratelli was in there?

Putting the bottle and glasses on the table beside him, he turns back to me. “Fuck. Yes. Let me look at this,” he says and holds out his hand for me to take.

Twirling me around in front of him, he scans up and down my attempt at being sexy. I really hope this doesn’t look ridiculous.

“I am one lucky motherfucker.”

My inhibition dissolves under his words, and I elaborate the twirl by flicking my ass towards him. He really knows how to make me feel sexy. Pacer turns back to the champagne and effortlessly pops the cork. That sound always reminds me of a party.

The moment the champagne hits my lips I feel a wash of comfort roll over me. There’s something magical about this whole moment. It’s only a week since we were at the treetop love-nest, but so much has progressed really quickly, and without our own hold on the speed of it. It’s as if our relationship became all or nothing within a matter of days.

I watch Pacer and can’t dislodge the idea of us having to meet at some point in our lives. Our paths were mirroring each other’s, just on contrasting ends of the moral spectrum. Or were they? What is any different from my own and Pacer’s families? Mine will never understand it, nor will they even try to. Pacer may have killed people with his bare hands, but my Dad has done the same with his orders. Which way is wrong? Just because my Dad didn’t do the deed himself doesn’t mean he isn’t responsible for the lives of many.

Pacer takes my hand and leads me to the bath. “I’ll be getting you back into this later,” he says as he places the glass on the edge of the bath, “but right now I just want to soak with my girl.”

Not arguing with that. “Okay,” I manage to get out.

The black lacy number is easier to get off than it is to get on. It slides from my body within seconds. I like that thing.

I dip my toe into the swirling water of the freestanding bath and sink into its warmth. Pacer too gets in, within seconds of discarding his clothes.

He motions for me to come to him with the curl of his index finger. There’s nothing that would stop me from doing so, and within a heartbeat I sink into his arms. I reach for my champagne glass and we both sit back and relax for the first time in what has been the most incredible three and a half weeks.

After a solid ten minutes without a word uttered between us, I finally feel like we’re solid enough in our relationship that I can tackle this trick subject. “I know things about Jackson Reed.”

He doesn’t answer. I know he’s not asleep though; his breathing hasn’t deepened like it does every night of the past week that we’ve unsuccessfully kept away from each other. Then why isn’t he answering?

I try again. “Jackson Reed has paperwork that can get you put in prison.”

He spins me around to him, my eyes focusing on his flaring nostrils and wide eyes. “How do you know that? Who told you? Was it Franco? Or was it Reed? … HUH?”

His voice rises and quickly I’m reminded of the loose canon temper that he possesses.

“Will you relax? I found it out for myself.” I’m not completely lying. “I’m your barrister, remember? I am also a little insulted that you doubted my ability to even find this out.”

His eyes narrow as he speaks. “You tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“I didn’t come down in the last storm. How about you tell me what you’re up to and I can try to help you?” I say, shaking my head.

Pacer’s eyes search between mine at that same rate that I search for answers within his.

“Pacer, this is ridiculous. We are on the same fucking team. I’m with you in this. If you hold back on me now, I might as well walk out to the street naked. At least I can plead my relationship with you on partial insanity during a mental breakdown.”

He laughs loud and grabs the remote control from the ledge. Turning the sound up on the stereo, U2 sings about one love.

Pacer presses another button on the remote and all the shutters slide out and shield the entire balcony.

Sliding up against me, he leans into my ear and speaks. “If you haven’t worked it out for yourself yet—Reed tells me the people who have slipped through the cracks, and I help him get rid of them.”

I replay the words over slowly.

Jackson and Pacer have been working together to kill bad people?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

She is smarter than I gave her credit for. I can see her brilliant mind piecing everything together as I give her all the details of the deal I have with Reed.

“So you kill bad guys for Jackson Reed? But why does he want them dead?” Her eyes still search for answers.

I shrug. “I guess he hates losing cases. Some of them have pretty scary past times. I mean, who wants the fuckers that hurt women and kids to get away with it?”

“This is why we have a judicial system. What if the shit Jackson Reed sprouts to you about these people is wrong? What if you’ve killed innocent people?”

If only I’d thought of this sooner, I wouldn’t be in this position.

“That’s what happened with Sean Collins, and I found out.” I knock back the champagne and try to stop the rage I feel building, because I never should’ve trusted Reed in the first place. “The problem with your judicial system is that it’s flawed. It only takes someone as clever as you to come along and suddenly guys are roaming the street when they should be locked up.”

“But that’s not up for you to decide.” Her frown is full of disappointment.

“That’s right, I forgot; it’s people like your Dad who get to choose everyone’s fate,” I fire back angrily.

“My Dad worked his ass off to get to the position he was in. He’s an educated man, and has good morals. You would never understand the pressure he had because your family paid little attention to our laws.” She jumps out of the bath and grabs one of the towels rolled up next to the bath. “The worst part is, you really don’t care about any of it, either. You think you’re above it all.” I can see the flare rising up in her face as she wraps the towel around her, and she stomps her way to the bathroom.

Go fuck yourself, Chelsea Tanner!

She doesn’t know everything. It’s people like the Tanner family who think they’re above reality—above making bad decisions and living with the consequences for the rest of their life. Her father gets to lie in a nice comfortable bed and go to sleep every night, regardless of how many lives he’s snuffed out.

Watching the closed bathroom door, I scull the rest of my champagne.

For someone who’s meant to see both sides of the coin, Chelsea looks through muddy water sometimes. I know I shouldn’t have mentioned her Dad like that, but there are so many more layers to this city that people like the Tanners have no idea about. Her father can judge and her mother can spin all the stories she thinks will sell a magazine, but at the end of the day, they are just playing with people’s lives. I just thought Chelsea was different; I thought I could show her another side to life. But the fact is, we are and will always be two very different people from opposite sides of the street.

I get out of the bath and pull the plug to drain the water. Wrapping a towel around myself, I have to see if Chelsea’s all right. The last thing I wanted was to upset her like this.

Knocking on the door, I speak. “Chelsea. Can I come in?”

She doesn’t answer so I open the door anyway. I find her leaning against the basin, tears filling her eyes.

I rush to take her in my arms and look deep into her gaze. “Hey. I know it’s a lot for you to take in today. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

She looks up at me and a tear slides down her cheek. It breaks my heart to see her upset. I can be such an asshole sometimes.

Shaking her head, she answers. “It’s not that. You’re right. Everything I’ve ever thought to be right in my life has been turned upside-down since I met you. I question everything I’ve ever believed in. My family aren’t any better than yours. I saw that today. At least your family doesn’t hide behind some false idea about what they do.”

I catch the tears that stream down her cheeks with the back of my finger and just hold her. I want to take all her sadness away.

“We can set this all straight again. I can fix this and show the city about what’s been happening, right under its nose.” She pulls out of my arms and stares into my eyes as she speaks.

What is she talking about? Does she want me to go to prison?

“And how are you going to do that without putting me in the picture?” I don’t know where she’s going with this, and I don’t like it already.

“We can put you in it, but I know a way to do it so that it looks like you have been set-up. Which you have, so it’s not going to be difficult to expose Jackson.”

“Then what? Another Jackson Reed will be waiting to corrupt the system again. You can’t save everyone, Chelsea. This is just how it is. There’s always a war to fight, and always a war to fight for.”

I see a glimmer of a smile on her face again and her eyes light up. “Well, I can save you.”

She wants to save me? I don’t know how I feel about this. I’m one of the city’s most notorious gang members and she wants to save me? And after everything, she still wants to be in my life?

“So how do you suppose we do this then?”

“We need to get Jackson to confess.” Her eyes are full of hope as she talks.

I can’t help but laugh at her confidence. “Yeah sure, detective. I’ll just see if he’s up for that.”

“There’s a case I have. It’s due for trial in a month. Have your heard of Robert Simmons?” She pulls back. Walking to her bag, she grabs out her iPhone and scrolls through it.

“Yeah isn’t he the creep that attempted to kidnap that girl?”

She nods. “Well he has a long history of being picked up in areas where there are kids. I know he’s bad, but he’s got money so he’s got me representing him.”

“This is what I mean. The system is fucked.” I scratch my head, wondering how someone like Chelsea can even defend these fuckers.

“So why don’t you set up a meeting with Jackson, and mention this Robert Simmons. Jackson’s the leading prosecutor on the case.”

She is a clever little vixen. Her attitude about this is surprising. Does she love me enough to willingly risk everything to defend me?

There’s just a key piece of this set-up that she’s overlooked. “But what about the fact that Jackson still has the documents that will put me behind bars for good? He’s threatened that he has people waiting to release the documents as soon as I do anything.”

Her mouth moves as she considers the spanner that I’ve just thrown into the works.

“Then Jackson Reed will just have to go missing.”

I don’t know if I’m excited or worried about what she just said. I’m definitely speechless. Words gone. Mind gone.

***

Bacon and eggs—a food I have never considered to be sexy. But standing over Chelsea to drizzle maple syrup on her body, I look at the few strips of bacon left that cover her perfect pussy, and I have to say this is the sexiest-tasting bacon that I’ve ever had.

She giggles and squirms as I take my time to dribble the syrup over the curves of her body. I watch it run into her little slit, and lean down to lick it because it looks too good, and I can’t help myself.

I love that this was all her idea. I was just minding my own business and cooking her breakfast when I turned around to find her lying in the centre of the kitchen bench, naked, with the two eggs I’d just cooked over each breast. She is always turning it up a notch.

The eggs are gone, and I want to eat the remainder of the bacon so that I can just devour her sweet little pussy. She squirms again as the syrup slides down the parts of her body that tickle. I take a piece of bacon and run it up her pussy before putting it in my mouth and sucking her flavour off of it. I chew on a piece of it and head back down for more of her pussy.

She giggles. “Vagina bacon.”

“The best kind. Seriously, you taste so sweet I could wipe your pussy on toast every morning and eat it for breakfast.”

She bursts out in laughter. Her laugh is exactly what I needed on a morning like today. I wipe the thoughts of what kind of fucked up day I’m going to have, and continuing licking every inch of this delicious creature on my kitchen bench.

***

“He hasn’t been seen for a couple of days,” Franco replies.

Where could the fucker be?

“Big Jim heard the boys from Parramatta were after him too.”

Franco holds the door of Zio’s restaurant as I walk through. It wouldn’t surprise me if there were other deals that Reed had going on. I’ve had every connection on my payroll looking for the asshole, but he has just disappeared from the city. I look down at my ringing phone and know its Scott.

“What have you got?” I say into the phone.

“Nothing. He hasn’t travelled anywhere via an airport and his bank account hasn’t been used since Monday. The last movement I could track of his was going through a toll in his car on the Harbour Bridge, also on Monday.” The digitalised voice of Scott sounds through the phone.

I think back to when I saw Reed last. I think I saw him Monday too. Great! This is all I need right now. Just when Chelsea has a plan—and a fucking good plan—Jackson Reed has fallen off the face of the earth. In my game, this is never a good thing. Don’t tell me the slimy fucker upheld his end of the deal for once, and left town like I told him to?

“Thanks,” I finally reply to Scott and the line goes dead. “Franco,” I call out after him, “get Big Jim down here. I want to hear what he knows about the Parramatta boys’ dealings with Reed.”

“Is that you, Pacer?” Uncle Carlo calls out in Italian.

“Yeah.”

“You had better come look at the TV; your girlfriend’s about to hold a press conference,” he says in Italian.

She’s what? What the hell? She said she was going into the city to see someone, but I had no idea what she was doing.

Racing down to the kitchen, I see her on the screen, being a hard bitch in front of the cameras. I can tell she’s a little bit nervous. I’ve watched her enough to know how she reacts to things, and right now I know she would be. I can’t stop myself from grinning. What are you up to, honeybee?

“Ready?” She glances off-camera. “Today at eleven-forty-five this morning, the Nolan Royal Commission into corruption commenced. Police carried out the first arrest as part of the inquiry. This arrest has been a shock for all of my esteemed colleagues within the justice system. Jackson Reed, a promising QC, was taken into police custody following evidence that was delivered to police as part of the inquiry. My client, Paciano Fratelli, has been exonerated of all charges that were laid against him following the murder of Sean Collins. On what can only be described as a dark day for the city’s legal process, we can rest assured knowing we will put an end to what has become the rotting core of our city. Thank you, no questions.”

I watch her walk off-camera, but have no idea what to do or say. There is a faint sound of cheering around me.

Still nothing.

What did I just hear? How the fuck did she pull this off?

My Uncle slaps me on the cheeks and I’m finally woken from my daze.

“Your girl! She is an angel that’s been delivered to us.” Uncle Carlo keeps raising his hands above his head, as if to thank the heavens.

I smile—no, I grin. Wide. Like an idiot. Looking down at the phone in my hands, I write Chelsea a message.

PACER: Bravo! I’m at Zio’s. Do you need someone to get you?

No answer.

She’d be busy right now … calm down!

CHELSEA: My cousin will be bringing me over. You will like her. She has balls.

I grin at the phone. I’m not surprised by anything Chelsea tells me anymore. If she says her cousin has balls, I’m sure she means it.

My phone rings with Ma’s number. Answering, all I hear is crying.

“Ma. What’s the matter? Is everything alright?”

“I’m just so happy Paciano! We have been blessed,” she cries in Italian.

“Not you too,” I say as I watch Zio pour a glass of vino, motioning the cross every few minutes.

“You had better be good to her, Pacer. Marry her before she runs.” I haven’t heard Mum this happy in a long time. She has had such a rough life. If it’s not a family member murdered, it’s one being put behind bars. This must bee something good to see on the news, for once.

“I’ve gotta go, Ma. I’ll call you later,” I reply in Italian.

I send one more message to Chelsea.

PACER: Bowie would say something about falling into arms and trembling like flowers right about now.

Send.

I impress myself sometimes. I hadn’t taken any notice of music by David Bowie before meeting Chelsea. I told my sister that Chelsea loves Bowie, and Lucia told me I had to understand his music if I wanted to impress her. So I happily pissed off everyone around me by listening to David Bowie. The best part is I actually like his strange songs. Plus she gave me extra head the day I sent her Bowie messages. I’ll learn every little thing there is to know about Bowie if I get more head.

CHELSEA: I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I promise it won’t be boring.

I smile at the quote. I have no idea whether that is a Bowie quote or not though. I still have a lot to learn about Bowie. Do I risk asking her?

PACER: Bowie?

CHELSEA: Yes. But not a song. Classic Bowie quote.

Thank fuck I don’t look totally stupid. Without even meaning to, I really want to impress her. She just does that to me. She has done from the moment I met her. I still don’t get this Bowie thing, though. I probably never will either. That’s the beauty of falling in love with someone.

Franco shoves a glass of what I can only imagine to be my Uncle’s top scotch into my hands and raises his hand into the air. “Saluti!”

I raise my glass and celebrate my freedom, Chelsea’s success and her ability to always blindside me.

“Saluti!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

She walks through the front door with the sound of snapping cameras behind her.

“Fuck me, they followed us all this way!” She sounds pissed, and rightly so.

Franco and Zio pull the shutters down on the windows. Zio locks it just as someone tries to open the door.

“Fucking vultures,” Zio spits out in disgust. “Now. Let’s celebrate!”

I grab Chelsea with one arm and pull her into me. Kissing her hard, I know that I can’t let her go. No matter how much I’ve tried to avoid feelings for women, she has every little piece of me in her beautiful hands. Glancing behind her, I see her cousin. She wasn’t lying when she said she has balls. I seriously think she might have a decent set in her pants. Is she even a chick?

“Pacer, I want you to meet my cousin, Logan. Logan, Pacer,” she says with a proud smile.

I hold my hand out to shake Logan’s hand. The name doesn’t give anything away. She could be a boy or a girl.

She grips my hand tight as she talks. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

It’s a firm handshake, but still feminine. I’m fucking confused. Stop staring at her, him, it.

“It’s nice to finally meet Chelsea’s family.” I pull out my best smile.

Who gives a fuck what she is? She’s Chelsea’s cousin and they seem really close—more like sisters.

“Right, let’s go through and have a drink while we wait for the shit storm to settle out there.” I wave them through to the restaurant.

Chelsea shakes her head. “No. I don’t think they’re going to give up tonight. The story is still breaking, so they will want details until it’s no longer the news of the moment.”

Spoken like a true professional.

“So what do you suppose we do?” I’m intrigued to hear her idea, since she is so full of them today.

“Call up all the big guys you have, and they can act as a barricade when we leave. Haven’t you watched the Kardashians?” Her giggle at the end of the sentence makes me smile. I want to wipe the table next to us clear and spread her body across it. I don’t care who’s watching either.

***

Three hours after I made the first phone call to get some guys down here, the word had spread within the family that we were having an impromptu party at Zio’s restaurant to celebrate the good fortune of our family. Every person who has ever associated with the Legano family is here drinking and dancing, my ma and Lucia included. And why not celebrate? This is a new chapter for us now that Reed is behind bars, and I’m free of all charges. Only someone like Chelsea would be able to convince the city that I was innocent and Reed was the real crook … and have the law do all the dirty work for once.

I hate to think what’s waiting for us out side when we leave. There will be every journalist in the city waiting to get a sound grab or photo opportunity to write about. But right now, I don’t give a fuck about anything other than my family. We are here to celebrate, and celebrate we are. This is really Chelsea’s night. Everyone in the family has the same sentiment and all shower her with praise and alcohol. Chelsea and even Logan fit in so well with the family. I wonder what Chelsea’s old man is thinking about her efforts today? There are so many unanswered questions that Chelsea still needs to answer. How did she manage this?

Just as I get close to her, I manage to give her a kiss before a Bowie song starts off with a heavy guitar riff. I laugh when I realise the family must have my playlist on. There’s going to be an hour of Bowie coming up. Fuck it! Chelsea and Logan squeal like a couple of girls and Lucia jumps out of her seat too. The three of them jump around singing the words to the song as loudly as possible. They sing about not knowing if they’re a boy or a girl because they’re a rebel, rebel.

Nodding and smiling, I get the connection. Looking at her cousin, I see a Bowie similarity. From what I’ve learnt about Bowie so far, it seems he was a pretty androgynous character in his day. Chelsea’s cousin doesn’t look as if she fits into one gender or the other. Which is actually kind of hot, in a weird way. I have respect for her being whoever she wants to be.

Taking control of the music before I kill the night with Bowie, I scroll through the iPod to search for good old Italian mood-killing song—the type all the oldies listen to.

When the song finally finishes and I play the Italian shit, I look up and catch Chelsea. Her smile is blazing across her face. She looks so impressed that Bowie came on. Little does she know that I didn’t mean for it to come on, and I sure as shit don’t want to hear any more of it tonight. I need Chelsea, and I need some answers.

I slide my hands around her waist and pull her to me. “I really want to get you home,” I whisper in her ear.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Her eyes twinkle as she speaks.

Standing up on a chair, I clap my hands to get the attention of the thirty-odd people inside the restaurant. “Listen up …”

“Discorso!” Franco yells out.

“Speech!” someone else yells out from the back.

“Shut the fuck up, you drunken fools!” I snap back. “Listen. I want to thank everyone for coming here to celebrate with us. The Legano family is stronger than ever, and there is one person to thank for that.” I look down at Chelsea, standing beside me. She takes hold of my hand. “Everyone keeps telling me that this beautiful girl has been sent to me, and I’m beginning to believe that is so. I know my papa has sent you to me—he would have absolutely adored you, honeybee.” I see Ma from the corner of my eye, wiping her tears. I stop myself from getting choked up. “Chelsea, I don’t know how you’ve managed it, but you have pulled some kind of magic today, and I am now a free man. But there is a part of me that isn’t free; it’s well and truly a prisoner.” She frowns at my words. “My heart has been held captive by you since the day we met. I love you Chelsea Tanner. You have my heart for as long as I breathe.” I look around at the crowd, hanging on my every word. “Given the crazy media circus that is going to take over our lives now, I’ve decided that Chelsea and I are going to take Papa’s boat out for a while. I want us to see the world.” She’s frowning again. “We need some time away together, and there is no escaping this city. So Franco, you will be managing everything while we’re away … Now, I need to take my girl home to show her just how much I love her.” I give her a quick wink and she giggles. “Everyone head out to form a passageway for us to get to the car without the vultures getting too close. I don’t want any of you saying a word to them out there. Make no reaction and don’t let them get to you. Ma, Lucia and Logan, you stay here.”

“Bullshit!” Logan calls out from the back. “I’m not standing by to watch like some princess!”

Everyone laughs and Franco slaps Logan on the back encouragingly. I jump down from the chair and everyone breaks into applause.

“Hurry up and marry her!” I hear Franco yell out.

I’m sure that’s not the last time I’ll hear that. I take hold of Chelsea, and she clutches around my neck and we kiss. I kiss her to thank her for all that she’s done, and all that she’s going to do.

She pulls back and whispers, “And when were you going to ask me about the boat trip away?”

“Surprise.” I grin. “Come on, let’s go. I want to hear all about how you pulled this off, and I’ll tell you about our next adventure.”

The front door opens and the strobe of camera flashes hits us. I take Chelsea’s hand and wait to the side, away from the view of the cameras.

“Hey, tell us when you’re ready, Uncle Carlo,” I say as he passes.

After a few minutes of yelling, Uncle Carlo calls out to hurry up. We race towards the door. Chelsea tries to pull her hand out of mine, but I grip it tighter and pull her through the corridor that all the guys have made for us. The yelling gets louder and the corridor narrows as the cameras try to force their way past the guys. Franco yells at someone and I just pray he keeps his cool. This is worse than I’d expected. They all want a piece of us. I see a car door open ahead and squint to see whose car it is.

“Get in Logan’s car.” I hear Chelsea behind me.

I hope Logan knows how to drive fast—these guys are ruthless. The flashes are blinding. I pull Chelsea through to get into the car first and shove her in as I jump in and slam the door shut. Logan’s Mercedes throttles down the road at a lighting pace. She’s good.

Looking out of the back window, I see at least four sets of cars speeding after us.

“Jesus!” Chelsea says between breaths.

Nodding, I take in the craziness of the moment. “That was intense.”

“I can’t live like this.” Chelsea’s eyes seem sad. Is she having second thoughts about us?

I try to offer some comfort. “I can’t either, but it will die down eventually.”

Shaking her head, she answers, “It’s not that simple. We are public property. For as long as our story is interesting, they won’t leave us alone. It’s just how it works.”

“What about your Mum? Can she do something to stop this?”

“Nothing she’s done so far has helped.” She shrugs.

She’s right. What if her Mum hasn’t even helped at all? From what Chelsea’s said about her family, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re doing this to try stop us being together. Well, it’s not going to work.

***

Directing Logan to my house, we get through the gates, leaving the cars that followed to stay at the top of the long drive.

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” I ask Logan again.

She shakes her head. “Nah, thanks. I’m not a fan of being a third wheel.”

I’m glad she’s decided to leave. I need my girl alone.

Watching her drive up the drive, we make our way inside. I head straight for the bar and fix Chelsea and myself a drink.

“Gin and tonic?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Her gorgeous grin gets me every time. She is beautiful and mine. She rips her heels off and pulls her bun out. I’ll never tire watching when she flicks her hair out after it’s been up all day. It’s that very moment when I see her transform. Right from the first time I watched Chelsea do it through the window of her terrace, I knew she had more to her under her boring suit.

“So, I think you own me an explanation. How the fuck did you get Reed locked up and me off all charges?”

I hand her the glass of gin. She sips it and looks to me with a smirk that can only be described as utter cheek.

“It was simple, really. I just went to the detectives who were last linked to the missing files. I told them that there was a Royal Commission about to be launched and Jackson Reed was about to go down. If they wanted to stay out of prison, then I advised them that they had better destroy the evidence that they stole from the archives. And in return, I destroyed the evidence I had that linked them to the files. They met with me down at Alexandria where we burnt all the evidence together. I kept copies though, and I suspect they did too, but they won’t be in any hurry to speak out against you when they can be associated with Jackson Reed.”

I stare in bewilderment. Huh. That simple.

“You are incredible, honeybee.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“I don’t care if you cure cancer, Chelsea, I will never condone you being involved with a Fratelli.” Dad’s words tear my heart to pieces.

“But Dad, don’t you see that everything in Pacer’s investigations was fabricated?” I try to reason with him.

His glare is like nothing I’ve seen on him. “Bullshit! And you know it is! BULLSHIT!” he yells louder. “I never thought I’d see the day that you would front up to me like this and lie. You have brought so much shame upon our family.”

Heart smashed.

I suddenly feel very alone in this battle.

Looking to Mum, I pray that she says something, anything. The look on her face tells me she wants to, but I know she’s with Dad on this. And she has every right to be this way. I am lying to Father. But I just thought they would see how happy I am, and will warm to the idea eventually.

I try to steady my voice as I talk. “What if you met him? You might think differently.”

Dad’s fists hit down on the table we’re sitting at in the dining room. The fury in his face is rising like a volcanic eruption.

His voice resonates like a booming megaphone. “You have two choices, girl. Continue with this charade and consider yourself out of our family, or do what is right and forget about the Fratellis!”

I think about his words and remember my past week with Pacer and his family. How could I ever try to forget them now? But my family is my blood. They’re my reason for life. I want them to understand that I’m okay and that Pacer isn’t as bad as the media say.

What kind of father does this? He wants me to choose. The thought of it alone is too much. I can’t bare it. I see the figure of Dad through tear-soaked eyes, but can no longer make out the expression on his face. It’s a small reprieve.

“Mum?” I whimper.

Her voice is less angry, but still full of disappointment. “Chelsea, dear. You have to understand—there are rules in this world that dictate whom we can and can’t associate with. We are just two very different families. What did you expect to happen? We were going to sit down for a meal together and come together as one happy family? The world just doesn’t work like that.” She glances to Dad. “Your father and I have worked very hard to keep this family at a high level within society. The media are having a field day with this, and there is nothing I can do to stop it! This doesn’t just effect you. I’m already being shunned from certain circles because of this. Your father’s name is being dragged through the mud. Just think about what you’re doing.”

There is no hope. How can I possibly chose between my family and a man who has made me feel more than I have ever dreamed to feel? His family, everyone in his life have made me feel as if I was someone important to them.

I don’t know what I was expecting. I didn’t think I was going to have this—an ultimatum. A true family wouldn’t do this. Pacer’s family would never do this. My father was the one who sentenced Vincenzo Fratelli to his subsequent death, but they’ve only opened their hearts to me.

“How can you do this? I have been a good daughter to you. I’ve never touched drugs, studied hard at school, got the best grades at university and became one of the best barristers in the city!” I cry.

“And you’re going to throw all of that away for a criminal?”

I can’t take any more of Dad’s words, and I get up to leave.

“If you walk out of here now, you will NEVER be accepted back!” My Dad’s voice frightens me.

Tears stream down the face of my mother. I’ve never seen her cry, not even when my grandfather died.

“I’m sorry,” I sob as I look at my Mum.

I turn and walk. I can’t do this anymore.

They will come around, one day. They have to. Right now, I need to go.

“You are making a mistake, Chelsea.” My Mum’s pleading is the last thing I hear as I walk out of Dolorous.

***

Looking around my terrace, I feel very disconnected with the whole space. Another knock on the door makes me jolt. There is no privacy here!

I wish they would all fuck right off. This trip on Pacer’s Dad’s boat couldn’t come at a more perfect time. I need to leave to clear my head from all that has happened. A few months just circumnavigating the globe is exactly what I need to get away and consider everything my parents have forced upon me. They would accept me back if I returned, I know it. But could I leave Pacer?

Another knock at the door pushes me over the edge—I can’t stand it anymore.

“Will you just fuck off?” I screech.

“Chels, let me in, quick!” I hear Logan call out.

Shit! Swinging the door open I pull her in, and meet with a face full of flashes at the same time. She shakes herself off and looks up to me with a flushed face.

“Are you okay?” She holds my shoulders as she speaks.

Nodding I blink away the threatening tears. I guess she’s heard about Mum and Dad. I can’t talk right now.

Her sympathetic gaze is hard to ignore. “My Mum told me what happened. I think it’s a bit rough. But they just don’t get it. I don’t think they ever will either, Chels.”

“Then I have no other choice but to leave for a while.” I can’t stay in this city now. How could I?

She nods. “How long do you think you’ll be gone for?”

“As long as it takes for the city to calm down over this.” I shrug.

“What about your work?”

“How am I supposed to do any work with that going on? My clients will be harassed. No one will be getting a fair trial if I represent them. My boss suggested I take some time off. My family, my work, the city—they’re all against me.” The tears well in my eyes as I speak.

“I’m so sorry, Chels. I just hope things will sort itself out.” Logan hugs me.

“I’m going to miss you.” I hold her tight.

“Nah, you won’t. You’ll be having plenty of fun with your lover boy. It’s going to be a trip of a lifetime.”

I look at her face and smile. It feels like a last goodbye, but I know it won’t be long before I’ll see her again.

“There’s one last thing I need you to do,” I say as I grab a file from my kitchen table. “Could you please deliver these to Lou at the café? They’re the documents for the trust that has been drawn up for his café. I’ve left enough money that any displaced person can have a bacon and egg roll at his café for free. He wasn’t impressed with the idea, but the money is more than he’d ever earn in a decade.”

Logan shakes her head but smiles. “You have always been a Mother Teresa. You’ve always had to help people, ever since we were kids. Please don’t ever change. No matter what.”

“I couldn’t if I tried,” I say with a grin.

***

The Lady Maria. She is a beautiful boat, as I imagined she would be. The interior is rich with woods and navy blue fabrics. The furniture is really tasteful, and not an Italian designer in sight. In fact my Dad’s boat is very similar and ironically, this is also berthed in the same marina as my Dad’s, here in Rushcutters Bay.

The cameras followed us from my terrace to Pacer’s house, then down as far as they could get at the Cruising Yacht Club. Thank Christ this is a restricted area, but I know the paparazzi’s lenses are powerful enough to zoom right in on everything we’re doing. I can feel them everywhere. I’ve never felt so suffocated. I feel as if we can’t go anywhere or do anything. My parents are going to see all of this, and be hurt by it. They’ll see me leaving with Pacer and know the decision I’ve made.

I shake my head, reminding myself that they’re the ones who don’t want to accept this. They gave me the ultimatum. If I weren’t pushed away, I wouldn’t be going. I almost don’t want to come back. This isn’t any kind of life to live—filled with cameras and judgment.

“Please look after each other.” Pacer’s Mum holds my hands tight as Logan helps Pacer load my suitcases aboard. “You have both been through so much. Just be there for each other.”

I smile. “I couldn’t imagine going through this with anyone else.”

“Okay.” Pacer comes up the stairs from the bedrooms on the lower level. “I think we have loaded your thousand suitcases now, and we’re set to go.”

Looking at Logan, I feel the tears building again. As much as I wish things were different, deep down I have the sinking feeling that this is just how it’s going to be forever. I am no longer part of my own family. From this time on, I only have Pacer’s family and Logan.

“If they put pressure on you, I understand if you can’t be part of my life anymore. This is my choice and my burden to carry, not yours.” The tears overflow and roll down my cheek.

Logan smiles. “That’s never going to happen. I won’t let it.” She hugs me tight again.

“Make sure you send postcards of all the places you go.” His ma points her finger between the two of us.

Nodding, I answer, “Of course.”

We all say our final goodbyes and prepare to launch. As we pull away from the berth, I stand at the rear and wave at Logan and Ma Fratelli on the pontoon.

***

Cruising through the headlands of Sydney harbour, the waves pick up and the boat rocks over the rolling ocean. The last of the boats filled with photographers dwindle off as we head farther out into the open ocean.

I join Pacer up at the control bridge and sink into his outstretched arm. One last glance out the back of the boat and I see the tall cliff tops that line Sydney become a small thin line. Looking ahead, there is nothing but the ocean, and our future together.

Reflecting back on our whirlwind romance that began just over a month ago, I find it so hard to believe just how far we’ve come in that short time. Under the circumstances that we were given, we had little choice in taking things slowly.

I never would’ve dreamed of doing the things I’ve done during the past month. I was raised on the values of having strong ethics, but Pacer’s world has shown me that ethics are subjective to each individual. Pacer was right—the only way to deal with someone like Jackson Reed was to fight fire with fire.

The moment I made a deal with the detectives to destroy evidence against Pacer, I knew I had crossed a line that I could never come back from—I had entered their world.

Even if I knew my parents weren’t going to accept Pacer and I no matter what I did, I would do it all over again.

It’s not just love; it’s the whole package. Security, self-worth and understanding—it’s what I feel every time I look at Pacer. There was no other choice in this. I had no alternative—love found me in the most unique of situations, and I accepted it with open arms. Maybe we were drawn to one another for a reason.

Our destination may be unknown, but as long as Pacer is beside me I don’t care where we land. Pacer is my island and his love is my life-vest.

EPILOGUE

The badly-damaged and capsized boat, Lady Maria, was located off the coast of the Cook Islands by the coast guard today. It is believed that the vessel met with rough seas a month after it set sail from Sydney Harbour. An extensive operation has spent the past two days salvaging the wreckage, which is believed to have spread across 100 metres of the South Pacific Ocean. There are no confirmed survivors of the wreckage. Dive teams have searched the waters for its occupants, but the bodies of Pacer Fratelli and Chelsea Tanner are yet to be recovered.

A nation watched on in wonder as both Fratelli and Tanner left aboard the vessel days after Fratelli was cleared of a charge of murder. The pair captured the interest of the country with their Shakespearean-style love story. True to a story that Shakespeare himself would have written, art has imitated life, and this too has resulted in a tragic outcome for a romance that embroiled two of the city’s most powerful families on opposing sides of the law.

Representatives from the Legano family—the prominent crime family that Pacer Fratelli was linked to—have requested that the public please respect the privacy of the Fratelli family while they grieve for the loss of their much-loved family member. This is the second tragedy for Maria Fratelli, after the death of her husband in 2010 while he was serving his prison sentence at Silverwater Correctional Facility.

The high-profile Tanner family has refused to make a public statement about the incident, but sources close to the family say they are understandably devastated about the news of their daughter.

EXTENDED EPILOGUE

Picking out a new postcard, I choose one with palm trees overlooking the white sands of Bahia Beach in Costa Rica. We have decided to stay here for the next few months. Chelsea comes out of the drug store with her purchase, wrapped in a paper bag.

Giving me a quick kiss on the cheek as she passes, she keeps on walking. “I just need to get back to the villa and change into something a little more appropriate than a bikini and a sarong. I told Lenni I’d help him sort out the trouble he’s having with his assault charge.”

I shake my head. I can’t help but love her that little bit more. “We’re meant to blend in, remember?”

“I promised him I’d help,” she calls out, walking fast along the sidewalk to our private villa on the beach.

She can’t help herself. Always has to be helping someone, wherever we go. Walking into the drug store to purchase my postcard for Ma, I rifle through my pocket for some coins. I haven’t sent her a new postcard for about six weeks now. She’ll be getting worried. I never write anything on them, but when Scott wired his last call through to Franco, he told me she loves them.

I never thought I’d see the day when I would step back from the family, but Chelsea changed everything. Wherever we’ve gone, the local gangs always know who I am, but because of my father’s legacy, I am usually respected. They’ve heard the stories of ‘The Sting’. So far, I haven’t had to prove myself. I don’t think I will either. No one should ever underestimate freedom, on any level. It’s something I’ll never take for granted again.

The round little Costa Rican lady behind the counter grins smugly at me as I approach her. “Two hundred colones.”

I hand over the coins. The lady wraps my postcard in a paper bag and hands it back to me. “So your wife, eh, she not feeling so well lately, eh?”

I frown and have no idea what she’s talking about. Shaking my head, I reply, “Not that I know of. Why? Is everything all right? What did she have to buy?”

The lady raises her eyebrow and smiles. “If you noticed how much she’s blossoming, eh, maybe you have the answer for yourself, young man. Here …” She turns and grabs a bottle of vitamins and puts them into the paper bag. “You’ll probably be needing these.” She winks.

I snatch the bag and race out the door. “Thank you,” I call out as I leave.

Opening the paper bag as I walk, I find a vitamin bottle with the word ‘prenatal’ written boldly across the front. I can’t believe my eyes. Staring for a moment, all the little signs sink in. She suddenly hates the cologne she bought me for our wedding day in the Bahamas. She feels sick at the sight of seafood when she normally scoffs it down, and she is bulging out of her bikini top a lot more than normal.

Is my wife pregnant?

Waiting for the break in the crazy traffic along the main beach, my adrenaline starts to send me crazy. I need to get to the villa, to my honeybee. With the break I’ve been anticipating, I race over the road and try to run as fast as I can towards our villa.

Flinging our door open, I find Chelsea pacing back and forth at the front of the huge open lounge room. My entrance surprises her, and she stares in complete bewilderment at me. Our eyes remain firmly fixed on one another for what feels like minutes, but is no doubt only seconds.

“Is it true?” I ask.

The smile slowly grows across her face as she looks down at the white plastic strip within her hands.

“Looks like we’ll be staying in Costa Rica for a while,” she says slowly.

I race to her, swaddling her in my arms, swinging her around in a circle. “I’m really going to be a Dad?”

She nods and kisses me just the same as she did when we fist kissed in the seaplane, more than a year ago. Since then we have fled our native country, faked our own death to avoid the constant cameras that never seemed to leave us, no matter how far away we went, got married, lived in eight different countries … and now we’re having a baby!

“I can’t wait to tell Logan about this. I want her to come over here to be with me through this. Can you get Scott to put a call through to her for me?” Her smile is serene.

I hope she isn’t missing her family too much. She tells me she wants nothing to do with them, but I could never have that. I wasn’t raised like that, and no matter what her family did to her she needed to stay in touch with Logan, at the very least.

“You sure you still don’t regret leaving our life behind like we did?” I search her eyes to know for certain that she’s okay to have a baby in foreign country.

“We didn’t leave our life behind; we created one that we deserved.”

Taking my glove off to feel the soft skin across her swollen belly, I feel as if my own stomach is doing back flips. She grins and grabs my other hand that’s still gloved in leather and forces it between her legs. I grin wide.

“Now fuck your pregnant wife with that gloved finger of yours before I have to go out. I swear to God, I am the horniest pregnant girl in the world.”

I chuckle and don’t waste a moment to watch her squirm with pleasure right before my eyes.

Looking to the heavens above, I thank those responsible for bringing her to me. She’s the good to my evil, the ying to my yang. Together, we complete each other.

I suck at acknowledging people who help me pursue my dream of telling stories, so let me just keep this simple. THANK YOU ALL!

But seriously, here are a couple people who should get at least a mention …

Kel, Hep, KM (they’re the names that I can repeat). You have my back and prove over and over again just why we will be mates forever. The classic quotes you give me in your critique notes always manage to find their way into my books. They are too good to not use! You’re one of the only people on this planet who get to share the joy of my self-doubt meltdowns. Consider yourself lucky! That habit you have of seeing the positive in everything, as much as it might annoy me at the time, it’s a beautiful quality to have, and I would never have you any other way. Please never change … and you’re never too old to laugh at farts!

My husband Matt. I’m sorry I called you a prick when you’re stressed because I’ve locked myself in a room to get the story out, leaving you to manage the kids by yourself. I appreciate everything you do, even when you whinge. I get it —being married to an author sucks sometimes.

Lastly, Lauren and Sali, killer team. You girls breathe life to these stories.

Sali with an I —A GIFT, MY FRIEND! A GIFT!

DEATH’S SHADOW

YOU CAN CALL ME MIRANDA

BUYING THYME

(Thyme #1 coming October 1st 2015 through Harlequin Books)

FACEBOOK

FACEBOOK PAGE

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

PINTEREST

EMAIL

TJ is a former cop, turned writer who uses her first-hand experience of working the city streets of inner city Sydney, to now write sexy stories of mystery and intrigue. Her head has been buried in crime since studying criminology at university over a decade ago, and she just can’t seem to shake her fascination with the macabre. TJ now lives a quiet life in the tropics with her handsome husband and kids where she writes a weekly column for her local newspaper, and spends her days re-living the action packed life she may have once had through her strong fictional characters.

Table of Contents

- PROLOGUE
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- EPILOGUE
- EXTENDED EPILOGUE