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I frowned when he stepped forward instead. Then noticed the brown envelope in his hand.
“This came for you.” He put it on my desk and left.
I ripped it open, and a flash drive fell out. Frowning, I stuck it into the throwaway laptop I kept for such purposes. The last thing I needed was some virus or spyware getting into my systems.
The drive had one video file on it. I hit play and leaned back to watch the dark video that came up. It was the back corridor in Bordello, dimly lit, a couple kissing up against the wall, the woman wearing a bright red mini dress.
The man pulled back to say something to her, and I recognised myself. I zoomed in on her face and recognised her too—Beth, her face flushed from my kisses.
What the hell? I didn’t remember this!
She had been wearing a blue dress the night I had taken her up to my apartment above Bordello. The night Dolly had been murdered. So what the hell was this?
As I watched, I scooped Beth up into my arms and carried her into the elevator. The video ended.
The way our lips had been locked, frantic, hungry, the way I was touching her, clearly I was headed upstairs to fuck her.
And yet I had no memory of it.
I leaned back in my chair, perplexed. Replayed it again.
Then it hit me like a tonne of bricks. The night I had no memory of. The night scum had broken into my house and attacked Chiara!
I swore, checked the date log on the file, which confirmed it.
What the fuck?
“Boss?” Jacob said, as I raced out of my office.
“Who sent that package?” I snapped.
“Motorbike courier,” he said.
I yanked open the front door and stalked out.
I drove home, my mind in a black haze.
Beth had been with me that bastard night? Why the fuck hadn’t she said?
By the time I got home, rage was incandescent in my veins.
I charged into the house. Mother popped her head out of the lounge, took one look at my face, and retreated.
I stalked up to Beth’s bedroom and threw the door open without knocking. She was lying on her bed, and sat bolt upright when she saw me.
Her face was pale. “Marco?” she said softly.
I tossed the flash drive at her. “What the fuck is this?”
She looked at it on the mattress, her face confused.
“What is it?”
“A fucking video of you and mefuckingthe night that Chiara was attacked in this house,” I barked.
She flinched. Her face went paler. “What?”
“Why were you and I fucking that night, Beth?” I demanded. “And why did you keep your mouth shut about it when I told you I remembered nothing from that night? Well?”
