Grand Slam (22 page)

Sharon came to take Emilio back to the hotel and annoyingly he seemed quite happy to go trotting off with her in Jack's Merc. What about her car? Doesn't she have one? Joe took me home and on the way I sulked, staring out the window.

‘Joe, does Sharon have a car?'

‘Yes, but the Merc was last in the garage. If that's why you're asking.'

‘Yeah, that's why.'

I sulked some more. ‘Why couldn't Jack bring me home? Not that I mind being with you, but . . . you know.'

‘Yes, I know. Time management.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘The reason Jack sent me. Jack's managing his time. He had other things to do.'

‘Time management,' I said in a shitty, mimicky voice. Jack's reason for abandoning me after a traumatic experience.

When I got home, I told Mum and Dad a tree had fallen on my car, and so they'd have to order stuff online from the supermarket. ‘Or you could get your car fixed.'

Mum suggested I do some baking. Emilio called to say a driver would pick me up to bring me to his match at the tennis. Jack called me almost immediately after to say not to even consider leaving my mother's house, not even to attend the tennis. That my life would not be worth living if I made such a stupid, life-risking decision. That, if I went out and got killed, Jack would kill me. I got the message.

I sat on my bed and Axle climbed onto my lap, purring. I scratched his ear, he rolled onto his back, attacked my hand, causing me to swear. He ran out the door and my mother appeared.

‘I hope that wasn't you using such bad language, Erica.'

‘Nope, not me.'

She left, probably to offer Axle something delicious to make up for his mother's neglect. Maybe Axle had hired a hit man to get rid of me so he could live with my mother and her roast chicken.

I blew out a sigh and checked my watch. Midday. I most definitely had to go to the tennis tonight – that was not negotiable. If Emilio lost because I wasn't there, well, the thought of it made me feel sick. But for now, as I stared through the pale-pink curtains on my window, I considered the shooting. There were several possibilities. My favourite was the Shane McGann–payback theory and that one of Jack's guys was working for him, like a double agent. The only thing about that theory is that I knew Shane McGann would want to make me pay. I mean, really
pay
. Not just a simple gunshot to the head, that wouldn't be horrible or terrifying enough. So, maybe not Shane McGann.

What about the train incident? Did the car really break down and was Danny de Vito really just afraid? Or maybe Emilio was the target. If so, why would one of Jack's men want to kill him? And what about the charity lunch?

A car turned up and parked out the front of Mum's. I recognised the driver: Andrew, one of Jack's guys, sent to mind me. I called Jack. No answer. I called Joe. No answer. I wished I had Sharon's number. Maybe she and Jack were together. In his bedroom. So much for sneaking out. I went into the backyard, stood on the fence railing and looked into Mrs Booth's. As I did I heard what sounded like a car backing out of her driveway. I went inside.

‘Mum, have you got Mrs Booth's phone number?'

‘Yes, I think I do.'

She found an old thing she called her ‘teledex' and flipped through it. ‘Why do you want it?'

‘Um, I want to arrange a play date for Axle with her cat.'

‘Silly girl.' Mum read out the number to me.

I dialled. It rang out. I waited until Mum was settled in front of the television before I snuck out the back door and over the fence. I didn't hesitate about jumping the fence because I knew if I did hesitate, I'd chicken out. To be on the safe side, I rounded the house and knocked on the front door. I rang the doorbell. Knocked a few times more. Called from my mobile. I could hear the phone ringing inside the house.

‘Right,' I said to the door. ‘No-one home.'

I went to the back of the house again and looked through all the windows. No lucky charm that I could see. And then, like the no-hesitation-at-the-fence climb, I started up the trellis before I could think too much about it and change my mind. First I stepped up onto the old basement doors, now covered in vine. The doors creaked under my weight. I supposed they were pretty old. I climbed a few feet, and glanced down to see where I'd land if I fell. Onto the basement doors, that's where. Or the ground, if I jumped away from the house. Surely I wouldn't hurt myself too badly. I'd have to bend my knees and roll, like they do in the movies. Or I could just get on with it and stop thinking about falling. I climbed, reaching Ruth's old bedroom window. I hesitantly peered inside, cupping my hand around my face to get a clearer look. The window was open a tiny crack. Inside, the bedroom had changed since the last time I was in there, well over fifteen years ago. Ruth's bedroom had been like her mother's, all dark and velvety. Purples and crimsons, mirrors and crystals hanging from the ceiling. I didn't know if Mrs Booth's was still like that, but Ruth's certainly wasn't. Now, Ruth's bedroom walls were painted a pale pink. There was a framed Emilio Méndez photo above the single bed.

I could see evidence that someone was living there now. A hairbrush on the dressing table. A pair of high heels set neatly on the floor. Hold on. I pressed my face against the glass, tried to lift myself higher. Those high heels looked suspiciously like the ones I was missing.

‘Erica Jewell!'

I squealed and jumped; my feet slipped and I hung there, clinging to the trellis, scrabbling for a foothold again. As I climbed down, I looked over my shoulder at Mum, who was peering like Foo over the fence at me.

‘What on earth!'

I ran across Mrs Booth's backyard and hoisted myself up the fence and back into Mum's yard while she stood there gaping at me.

‘I think someone's living there with Mrs Booth. You won't tell her, will you? That I was snooping?'

‘I just don't know what to make of you sometimes, Erica. I really don't.'

‘Don't worry, Mum. I'm usually pretty normal.'

I went out and spoke to Andrew the bodyguard, who was mid-yawn and back stretch.

‘Are you here to babysit or kill me?'

He laughed. ‘Babysit.'

‘You didn't take a shot at me earlier did you?'

‘Not me.'

I checked the time again. Fifteen minutes later than the last time I looked. I really wanted to go into work to see what Charlotte had been doing. Andrew could take me, I thought. Hopefully Rosalind wouldn't be there, upside down in her office. What if she was? What if I arrived and discovered her true identity, what would she do? Would Andrew the bodyguard protect me from her? Or help her kill me?

‘I'm going to Jack's.'

‘You're not allowed to leave the house.'

‘Well, I could walk to Dandenong Road and hitchhike while you wait here with my mother. She'll make you scones. Or you could take me.'

He sighed, exactly like Jack often does. ‘All right. Get in.'

‘I'll be right back.'

Inside I told Mum that Jack had sent me a chauffeur to use until my car was fixed, and that I was heading out for the day. I neglected to mention that my chauffeur packs a weapon. Probably more than one. Maybe even a rocket launcher in the boot.

At Jack's, Joe greeted me at the front door with, ‘You're not supposed to leave your house.'

‘My mother's there.'

‘That's not a good enough reason to risk your life.'

‘Yes, it is. I tried calling you all. No one answered.'

We walked through to the kitchen. There was a dozen cupcakes cooling on the bench.

‘Jack's just back from a run,' said Joe.

‘Is he in the shower?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Alone?'

Joe laughed, went to speak but shook his head instead.

‘Where's Sharon?'

‘Not in the shower with Jack.'

I shrugged and helped myself to a cake. ‘Are you going to ice these?'

‘Not yet. They're still hot.'

‘What flavour will you do?'

‘Passionfruit. Or lemon.'

‘Maybe some passionfruit and some lemon?'

‘Maybe.'

‘Nice.'

I heard Jack's bedroom door open and close and then his footsteps on the stairs. He looked delicious with his hair all wet and combed back. But then, he always looked delicious, even when he scowled at me, as he was now. ‘Damnit, Erica —'

I shoved the plate of cakes in his face. ‘Have a cupcake.'

He took one, still frowning, said to Joe, ‘You going to ice these?'

Joe made a hissing sound and turned to the coffee machine.

‘Andrew drove me,' I said. ‘I didn't give him a choice so don't be mad with him.'

Jack sat on the stool next to me. He was still looking all grumpy and concerned but his telltale eyes softened a little. ‘I don't want you running around everywhere.'

‘I'm not running; I'm being driven by a tough guy with guns. You don't think he's the one who shot at me do you?'

‘No.'

‘I asked him.'

Joe laughed. ‘What did he say?'

‘He said no.' Jack's eyes smiled. I continued, ‘Do you think he's got a rocket launcher in the boot? He looks the type.'

‘Maybe,' Jack's smile was now fully fledged.

‘And besides. I need to give you my list of appliances.' I asked Joe for a pen and paper.

Joe handed me both, plus a cup of tea, and Jack a coffee.

I scribbled my list. ‘Why do you want to buy appliances for me? Not that I don't appreciate it.'

He hesitated. ‘Late birthday present.'

‘You gave me one.'

‘Next birthday present.'

‘Okay, well, thank you. It's gonna cost a bucket.'

‘I'm sure you'll make it up to me. Cook me a nice meal in your new oven.'

I slammed the pen down. ‘Oh, no. You're not using blackmail to force me to cook. Forget it. I'll buy my own appliances.' But I picked the pen up and kept writing. ‘I'll still expect a birthday present on the day, you know.'

He laughed, finally, and shuffled his stool closer, nudging my knee with his. A bolt of heat shot through my leg.

‘Are you all right?' He hooked a curl behind my ear.

‘I'm a bit hot.'

‘Yes, you are, but apart from that, I mean.'

‘I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?'

‘Someone shot at you this morning.'

‘Oh, that.' I waved a hand. ‘I'm used to it.'

Jack shook his head, looking all worried again. Joe's phone buzzed in the distance and he left the room. I should go to work, I thought. Instead I hopped off the stool and stood between Jack's legs, put my arms around him. What time was it? Maybe I had time for a quick visit upstairs. He pulled me close and pressed his face in my neck, taking a deep breath.

‘You smell nice.'

I wondered if Andrew would want to come up to the office, or wait in the car for me. Jack kissed my ear, my jaw, the corner of my mouth. There might be someone waiting to ambush me in the lift. He pressed his lips very softly onto mine. Rosalind and her vampire teeth.

‘Jack.'

‘Mmm?'

‘Who do you think shot at us?' I pulled back. ‘Really, the truth.'

‘Can we brainstorm that later?'

All the blood had left my head, and that had little to do with being shot at. ‘I need to lie down.' I staggered across the room to the sofa and flopped onto it, lying on my back.

‘Great idea.' He followed and lay on top of me, and kissed my face, my neck, supporting his weight but I could still feel his body. It was a nice, hard body.
Really
nice. Especially when it was naked. But I shouldn't be thinking about naked Jack when there was so much to do, and when someone wanted to kill me. Or Emilio. Maybe I wasn't the target. Maybe I was being selfish, wanting all the murderers to focus on me.

I heard Joe walk into the room. And straight out again.

‘Jack.'

He pushed up on his hands. ‘You want to talk about the shooting.'

‘Yes.'

‘Fair enough.' We both sat up. ‘Then I'm taking you upstairs.'

‘I have to go to work.'

‘No work today.'

‘Really. I do. Emilio's been taking all my time.'

Well, that threw a bucket of ice on the situation. Jack went all stiff and moved a bit further along the sofa.

‘Do you think Shane McGann will talk to us?'

‘Not us. Me.'

‘I'm coming with you.'

‘The idea of you coming with me to visit McGann in jail is the most ludicrous —'

I heard the front door open and those annoying, light footsteps tapped their way across the foyer and into the living room.

‘Hey y'all.' What an annoying accent.
Hey y'all
. She always says that. Couldn't she think of something else?

‘Hey,' said Jack.

She helped herself to a cake – didn't bother asking – which she cut into eighths, eating one at a time, delicately, unlike someone else, who tried to shove the whole thing in her gob.

‘Hi!' I said as though I couldn't have been happier to see anyone. She didn't believe me. I could tell by the subtle eye-roll. She seemed disappointed to see me sitting there.

Sharon ate three-eighths of the cake and didn't complain they weren't iced.

Jack stood. ‘How'd you go?'

‘Good.' She popped another tiny piece of cake in her mouth.

‘Anything to report?'

Her eyes cut briefly to me. ‘Sure. Later.'

‘You can speak freely in front of Erica.'

I wanted to poke my tongue at her but being the mature, secure and confident gal that I am, I refrained. Although I did wish we'd still been lying on the couch together when she walked in, Jack on top of me.

Sharon checked her watch. ‘Gotta run. I'll call you with the info.' She picked up another piece of cake – that made five-eighths –and left without eating the rest, which I thought was very rude considering all the effort Joe had gone to. I heard the front door slam.

Hands on hips, staring after Shaz, Jack clicked his tongue, annoyed that she hadn't coughed up whatever info. His romantic mood was now smashed to smithereens, thanks to her barging in. Sharon Bloody Stone, who was probably cursing that the shooter missed me and who was probably wondering how to get me alone in the closet with a length of piano wire.

Oh.