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‘Hi, I’m Ryan.’
Cami starts laughing from behind me, and Hannah performs a pretty spectacular eye roll. ‘Hi,’ she replies drily. ‘Is that all?’
I curl my lip playfully and steal a quick kiss before going to find Jake. I’m going to kick his arse for interrogating her. Grabbing two beers, I nudge him as I walk past, knocking him from his enthrallment with the TV. I jerk my head to the door. I have things to say, and I have questions to ask, neither of which the girls should hear.
When we get to my truck, Jake takes a beer and kicks the tyre. ‘What was with all the questions?’ I ask on a scowl.
‘Just getting to know her.’
‘That was the Spanish Inquisition, Jake, for fuck’s sake. How obvious do you wanna be?’ He shrugs, showing no remorse, so I push on. ‘What do you think?’ I ask, keen for his thoughts.
‘About the damage to your truck?’
‘No, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Oh, about Hannah?’
‘Yes.’
‘Definitely hiding something.’
I shouldn’t be relieved, but at least he’s confirmed I’m not losing my mind. Damn it.
Jake runs a palm down the side of my truck. ‘This will definitely require an expert’s work.’ He stands back, looking up and down the paintwork. ‘Handle with care and it’ll be like there was no damage in the first place.’
‘I actually have no fucking clue whether you’re talking about the truck or my girlfriend.’
‘I’m talking about the truck, you dick.’ He points his bottle to Cami and Hannah before swigging back a good few inches. ‘As for your girlfriend, I’d call Luce.’
‘Already have.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘Can’t trace her before 2014. The trail ends there.’
Jake rests back against the truck, humming, and then he’s quiet for a little while, obviously lost in thought. ‘Yo, Jake,’ I say after a few long moments of silence. He blinks and looks at me. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’m thinking how nice it is to be thinking about something other than diapers, milk, and colic.’
‘Good for you, buddy. Now tell me what you’d do.’
‘Nothing.’
‘What?’
‘What can you do?’ he asks, starting to wander around the truck, trying to look interested in the apparent subject at hand. ‘You’ve got nothing to go on. If Luce can’t find anything, then no one can.’
My shoulders sag. ‘I can’t just do nothing.’
‘Unless you think she’s in danger, I’d chill the fuck out. Don’t let your imagination run away with you.’
Chill the fuck out? Let Cami aim a gun at his head and see how he feels about that. ‘She’s frightened of something,’ I say, looking across to Hannah. She doesn’t look frightened now. She looks happy. Content. Distracted? ‘She had a gun, Jake. Nearly took my fucking head off with it.’
‘Whoa. That’s an entirely different set of circumstances.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Loaded?’
‘Fully.’
Jake’s lips straighten, his nod mild. He’s beginning to grasp the gravity of this situation. ‘And why did she nearly shoot you?’ he asks.
‘Because I broke into her shop.’
‘Sounds like a perfectly reasonable reason to blow your head off to me.’
I stop myself from growling in frustration, resting my beer on the hood of my truck as Jake crouches by the side, inspecting the damage close up. ‘I broke into her shop because moments before I found her on the street looking like a zombie. Completely vacant. Like she’d had a terrible shock or something. She ran, and I went after her. She wouldn’t answer the door, and I saw broken glass on the floor. So I slipped the lock and let myself in. I was worried.’
Jake looks up at me. ‘What shocked her?’
‘I don’t fucking know,’ I grate. ‘But whatever it was, it sucker-punched her in the gut.’
‘Where exactly was she?’ he asks, rising to full height.
‘Outside the shop.’
‘What’s outside the shop?’
I think hard as my eyes dart at my feet, pacing through every second of that few minutes. ‘The fruit and veg stands, the bread cart, the . . .’ I fade off, looking at Jake. ‘The newspaper stand.’
His head cocks, interested. ‘And did you see the newspaper?’
Fuck. ‘No. It didn’t even occur to me.’
‘What day was this?’ he asks, pulling out his phone.
‘Sunday.’ I join him, looking over his shoulder. ‘Try the Sun first. The Independent sells out by lunchtime.’
Jake taps and scrolls, and a second later, we’re both staring at the front page of the Sun, Sunday’s edition. And it means absolutely nothing. ‘Jarrad Knight,’ Jake muses, and just his tone tells me it means something to him.
‘You know him?’
‘I know of him.’ He scrolls down, scanning the article. ‘Multimillionaire business tycoon. Owns a large tech firm. That’s all I know.’
I frown, feeling my frustration growing, and look back down to the picture when Jake scrolls to the top again. He’s with a woman. A beautiful woman who is considerably younger than him. ‘Anything?’
‘Nothing much. They married last year and are expecting their first baby.’
