Inside Out (18 page)

Shane realized he’d never, in the few weeks he’d known her, bought her anything besides dinner. He frowned. That was no good. He’d have to do something about that. That was no way to treat a woman.

“Don’t you like French toast?” she asked softly and he started.

“Huh? Love it. But I don’t know if there’s any maple syrup around.”

“Oh, no need. I’ve made my own. Honey and cinnamon. Can’t beat it.”

Exactly what Olivia used to do. He forced his heart to slow down as she served him a generous portion, a steaming cup of coffee, and planted a kiss on his lips.

She turned and made herself a cup of tea. In Olivia’s Wedgewood tea set. He thought it would bother him to see another woman in their house. Because of that, he hadn’t brought any women back here. Instead, he thought she fitted very well in this feminine kitchen. And she knew exactly where everything was. Even the stuff that shouldn’t be there, like the bottles of olive oil he insisted putting under the sink. Uncanny.

He watched her, thinking how similar Hunter and Olivia were beyond the physical differences. Hell, Hunter had even almost died the same way as Olivia; how spooky could you get? Then he remembered a detail from the night before. In his mind, he’d seen Olivia. Not imagined her, but literally
seen
her. He missed her so much his mind played tricks on him, dammit.

Still, Shane didn’t believe in coincidences. He didn’t believe in that kind of stuff. But any logical explanation behind his odd sensations still eluded him.

* * *

“Shane, mate, you’re not going to like this.”

“What is it now, Alfie?” He hissed into his mobile phone as Hunter slept next to him. “It’s midnight, for Christ’s sake.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything until I was sure. We found the safe-deposit box. In it, we found exactly two hundred and three Krugerrand coins.”

Alfie’s words hit a blow to Shane’s stomach.

“We figure the cello case must have fallen in the Thames during the shooting and since then she’s been fishing them out, one by one. That explains the scuba gear we found on the boat she rented.”

Shane eyed Hunter as she murmured in her sleep and turned over on her back. She looked so beautiful, so innocent. “What makes you think it was her and not Randy?”

“Someone’s been selling Krugerrands over the net at thirteen hundred quid a piece.”

“So?”

Silence on the other end. “The seller’s user name is Sweetstrings.”

Another blow to his stomach caused Shane to lie back with a thud and Hunter stirred softly. The nickname he’d made up for Olivia when she sat at her cello. Jesus, could this be? Was she actually involved, or just being used as a scapegoat? The latter seemed more likely. Hunter couldn’t hurt a fly. It had to be a coincidence. Surely she’d simply been hired to find the coins, without knowing anything about them.

“You need to keep your eyes peeled, Shane. She’s more dangerous than a bloody nuclear weapon, this one. If for one moment she thinks you’re onto her, she will not hesitate to eliminate you. Do you understand me?”

Understand? How could he understand that the one woman who had been able to heal his love-torn heart lived a life of crime? How could his brain possibly process that information and ever be the same? He could never lift a finger against her, not even to guard his own life.

Shane hung up and pulled his jeans on, eyeing her, but she slept peacefully. Downstairs the back door gave a slight creak as he let himself out and listlessly strolled down the shore toward the now rising sun.

Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought Hunter capable of kidnapping someone, let alone Olivia. His mind refused the possibility. He needed evidence. Hard evidence. Damn it, he’d been loving Olivia for too long to simply forget her now, but he also knew that after so much suffering, there was finally room in his heart for someone else. No, scratch that. Not someone else. Hunter.
Fuck.
And now?

As the sun climbed higher, Shane returned to the house, exhausted, and threw himself onto the sitting room sofa. The birds in the garden sang their morning song of joy, but for him and Hunter it wasn’t going to be a good day.

* * *

“Shane?”

He awoke with a jerk. Hunter stood before him with a breakfast tray and a flimsy black, baby-doll, nightdress, her long legs bare, her breasts clearly visible under the scrap of lace. Her eyes were wild and mischievous, twinkling in the feeble light creeping through the slats.

God, she was breathtaking.

He instinctively rubbed his face, and she smiled at him, pushing back a lock of his hair. Shane’s heart gave a sideways, irregular thump. He swung his legs over the side of the sofa and stood. “We have to get back to London.”

Chapter Twenty

Something had shifted. The way he dropped her off at her front door and drove away as if nothing had happened between them was the telltale sign of the end of any relationship, no matter how superficial. Livvy—he’d called her Livvy. A slip of the tongue, she wondered, or the force of habit. It didn’t matter. Shane had called his wife’s name. Not Hunter’s. He couldn’t move on if he was still grieving her.

When she’d asked what was wrong, he’d shaken his head, never taking his eyes off the road, and said, “Nothing.” She knew something was up. But what?

Randy lived in the next block of flats around the corner from Hunter, so he easily kept watch on her. Every time she stole out or came home, she always discreetly checked over her shoulder, and there had never been any strange movements. Until today.

Seated on a bench across the common, a man read the News Shopper. In his late thirties, tough-looking, with dark brown hair and a beard, he made a big deal of turning the page. But Olivia didn’t miss the glance he threw in her direction, freezing her spine.

Was he trying to intimidate her? Because it was working very well.

On shaky legs, she made it through the front door with her groceries and ran up the steps rather than take the elevator, which didn’t work half the time anyway.

This was too much for her. Hunter may have been a tough girl, but Olivia was sick with fear and tired of all these lies and looking over her shoulder. Enough.

She picked up Hunter’s mobile phone and dialed the number she’d known by heart for years, hoping it hadn’t changed.

“Campbell,” growled the rough voice, and for a moment her mind reeled back to many years ago, when they were kids and already the best of friends. Before Shane had come into her life, before she knew she would break Alfie’s heart. And now she was going to do it again. But she had to do this. For everyone’s sake. She owed it to them all.

“This is Hunter Orlando speaking,” she said, her voice shaking.

Silence.

“You’re takin’ the piss out of me, right? Is that you, Christine?”

“Campbell, I ain’t got time for your horseshit.”
There. That ought to do it.

“Orlando, baby. Now I recognize you. Where’ve you been?”

“You know exactly where,” she hissed into the phone, swallowing the tears back. “Your friend is a real stallion by the way. But I’m talking only to you.”

Olivia could practically hear Alfie’s excitement. He’d probably pissed himself in his good fortune.

“I’m listening.”

“Right. Let’s meet. Monday.”

“So, you’re going to finally talk?”

“Maybe. First I want to know what you know. Are you game?”

“Maybe. Depends on what you’re prepared to give me.”

“I’m going to give you the head of the gang.”

“Now, you’re shittin’ me, Orlando.”

“I shit you not, Alfie. Monday morning at the pub in Eltham. The Rising Sun. You know it?”

“The one on the High Street? Yeah.”

“Noon. If I see or even smell any of your team the deal’s off.” And she hung up.

Not bad. She could get used to this lingo. It required no restraint, no effort. She was a natural. Now all she had to do was hope he’d believe her crazy-ass story.

Chapter Twenty-One

“I couldn’t get her to admit a word,” Shane said as he plunked himself down on one of Alfie’s armchairs. If anything, he’d screwed it all up royally. “I don’t think she has anything to do with Randy’s operations.”

Alfie groaned. “I told you to screw her, not let
her
screw you.”

Shane did not tell Alfie about the way she made him feel. Nor the way he had made love to her. Tenderly. Like she had meant the world to him. Nor did he tell him of the raging battle in his heart. Little mattered that Shane would give anything to protect her, to make sure she was safe and happy. But his heart and the memory of Olivia were too high a price.

“Have you got any more proof?” Shane asked.

Alfie sat back in his chair and grunted. “Blimey, do we need anymore?”

Shane swallowed. “Absolutely. They could be using her as a scapegoat. I’m telling you, she’s innocent.”

Alfie’s brow shot up, and Shane’s jaw clenched.

“You look frazzled, mate. Go home, get some sleep. You’re going to need it in the next few days.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t tell you yet. But we’re working on a plan to lure Sweetstrings out in the open.”

Shane sat forward, biting his lip. “I don’t want her to get hurt, Alfie. I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Alfie.”

His friend looked up reluctantly. Something wasn’t right. What was he keeping from him?

“I mean it. If you so much as hurt a single hair on her head I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Alfie sat back in his chair, eyes wide. “You really love that sket, don’t you?” The muscles in Shane’s jaw jumped and his fists clenched. “Sod off, Alfie.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Although it had a Chinese Theatre-looking facade, on the inside The Rising Sun had dark wood furniture and period sofas. Olivia ordered a Strongbow cider, thinking she would look the part. But perhaps that was the problem. She looked
too much
the part even though she’d ditched the leather for a soft floral summer dress with spaghetti straps and low heels.

Would Alfie, her childhood friend, ever believe her?

Alfie entered the pub right on time, on his own, but Olivia suspected his number two and possibly a meat wagon full of his own men weren’t far. She tossed a quick glance around for any familiar faces that used to be around her dinner table up until fourteen months back, but saw none. Still, she watched him warily as he sat down at her table, eyeing first her, then the Johnny Walker she’d set before him.

“That’s your favorite,” she said, and smiled when he shrugged to hide his surprise.

“You sure clean up nicely, Orlando. One would say you almost look like a lady.”

Olivia’s throat tightened, but took a deep breath all the same. “I’m going to tell you a story, Alfie.”

If he was bothered by the use of his Christian name he didn’t show it. “Does it end in handcuffs?”

Olivia smiled as a Hunter-style answer came to her lips. “It depends on if you want to go back to my place or not. But I don’t suspect your woman of the week would be particularly happy with our arrangement.”

“You leave my private life out of this or I’ll slam you into jail so fast your ears will still be ringing, if and when they let you out.”

Olivia sat back, amused. “You never used to have such a bad temper, Alfie. You used to be a sweet bloke. How’s your leg, by the way?”

Alfie stared at her, visibly caught off guard. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Ever since he returned from the Gulf war, his leg was never the same. He never liked to talk about it, but she suspected Shane had saved his life. Men didn’t like to talk about that kind of stuff. She rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. Instinctively, Alfie did the same, his eyes riveted to hers.

“Listen to me good, Alfie, because you’ll be able to say you were the first to hear it. There was this woman. She was married to a great man.”

He watched her, his mouth clamped shut, his forehead creased in concentration. Olivia took a big swig of her cider.

“They were a happy couple, until she was kidnapped.”

Alfie’s mouth opened to speak, but he closed it again.

“On the evening of her release she was shot as she was returning to her husband.”

Alfie covered his forehead at the memory of the accident. “I don’t need to remember the dynamics of Mrs. Hart’s death unless you want to confess, Orlando,” he groaned, but there was no stopping Olivia now. She’d come this far.

“She thought she’d died. Then her husband saved her life.”

“What the fuck—”

“Remember when you tried to teach Olivia how to swim in your Nana’s lake up in Gloucester? Remember how she clung to you and you promised you would never let her go under? Even Shane tried, but it was useless.” Alfie stared at her, momentarily softening, she hoped, with memories before she continued. “But that night, something happened.”

Alfie rubbed his face. “How would you know all this, Orlando, unless you were there? You did it, didn’t you? Just bloody confess and put me out of my misery.”

Olivia ignored him, her heart hammering inside her. “She was shot. But then Shane pulled her out, and she met her reflection. Only it wasn’t hers. This woman had long black hair instead of blonde. She was her opposite. Tall, strong and an excellent swimmer. She panicked and tried to run, but Shane stopped her.”

“Orlando…”

“Alfie. I don’t know how it happened, but it’s me,
Livvy
. And I’m trapped inside Hunter Orlando’s body.”

Alfie watched her in silence, his eyes round and red. Then he let out a loud, grumbling belly laugh. “You’d do anything to save your pretty little ass, wouldn’t you, Hunter?”

“I know it sounds crazy. I hardly believe it myself.”

“Your posh accent is excellent, but then again I know you were Oxford educated. Now it’s your turn to listen, Hunter. You chose to leave your family and become a criminal. Live with it and accept your fate.”