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A thought struck me. and hope surged through my veins. “Do you realize this could save me?”
“I do. That’s why I told you. Use it, if you like.”
“You’d be prepared for the potential shit show?” I asked. “After everything you’ve been through lately?”
He took a sip. “You’ve been like an older brother to me, Lachie. You risked your life to save me. I won’t forget that. I’ll call her if you like.”
“No need. I’ll talk to her.” I couldn’t remove the grin from my face. “Holy shit. Talk about twisted karma. She did to you what my dad did to her.”
He shrugged. “But hey, I’m glad I can get you out of this tangle. And Miranda’s a great girl. You suit each other.”
“I can’t disagree there. I just hope it’s not too late.”
“Nah. She’s crazy about you.”
“Thanks, pal.” My heart felt light for the first time in weeks. “So… what have you been listening to lately?”
“Stevie Ray Vaughan. That dude’s got soul, man.”
“He had soul. He’s no longer here, sadly. But yeah, he’s amazing.”
“Do you feel like listening to him?” he asked, heading for his turntable.
“Sure. I’ve always got time for Stevie.”
Two hours later, I sprinted all the way back to the house. With the wind at my back and driven by an inner force, I felt like I was flying. For once, I hoped Britney would be there.
I entered through the back door and headed straight to the living room, where the TV was blaring.
Britney clutched a glass of wine and had her bare feet on the table. “Manuel’s got to go,” she said.
“The only person going will be you,” I said, turning the TV down.
“Hey, I was watching that.” Her heavy eyelids suggested she’d taken a Xanax.
“We need to talk. Just wait a minute.”
I stepped into the hallway, set my phone to record, popped it into my pocket, then returned to Britney.
“Manuel’s not staying,” she said.
Tamara had left her son behind so that she could concentrate, I speculated, on nabbing her next victim—some rich sucker.
I loved my nephew, and with Sherry on board, that was one arrangement working in my favor, and I planned to continue it.
“I’ve just had an interesting conversation with Orlando Thornhill.”
She lifted her slouched form from the couch and poured herself a glass of wine. “And?”
“He told me all about how you pounced on him at his mother’s fortieth and how you fucked him in the cottage.”
“Well, he fucked me.”
“Ollie was only fifteen, and from what he revealed, you virtually pushed him into a dark corner, undid his fly, and blew him.”
She grinned. “Did that turn you on?”
“It made me fucking sick.”
