Jackson moves to stand and pushes an arm into his crutch.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, trying to hide the fact that I feel like a patronised child. ‘Stay here. I’m going to take a bath.’
I leave them to it, unsure how many more emotional missiles I can withstand in one day.
After squeezing way more bubbles than necessary into the bath, I dim the lights. When the water is almost at the brim, I sink myself under the thick clouds. Adopting the position my yoga teacher makes me take at the beginning of a class, I place my hands on my ribcage and concentrate on expanding my lungs to their full capacity on each inhale. I lie in that position until the water becomes tepid.
Five to seven days. One week, 168 hours, until the damning ballistics report will come.
4
The door to Gregory’s apartment is ajar. I move in darkness from the lift, my fingers tightly wrapped around the Glock in my hands. My toes nudge the door, which creaks as it slowly swings open.
‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ The male voice is gravelly. I see only the crown of his head, sitting in the black leather chair in the lounge, watching the city below.
My hands are shaking but my legs carry me forward. ‘You knew I was coming.’
He turns in the chair to face me, moonlight illuminating his sardonic grin. Kevin Pearson watches me as I move towards him, my gun raised and aimed directly at his skull.
‘I’ve known you were coming since I killed your father.’ He laughs, throwing his head back as the malicious sound growls out of his throat. ‘Shame. He looked like he could’ve been a nice man.’
‘He was a brilliant man,’ I snarl through gritted teeth. ‘Not even your life would make up for his. But that won’t stop me from taking it.’
He rises from the chair and takes a step towards me. ‘Ja, you think you’re a strong girl when you’re holding a gun. You’re not, little girl. You’re not.’
He moves a hand quickly behind his back and like lightning, he’s aiming a gun at my chest. He clicks off the safety and I know I’m about to…
I jump bolt upright in bed, eyes flying open as I try desperately to fill my lungs. My heart beats hard against my palm on my chest and I pant as I gauge my surroundings and the safety of Gregory’s bed. He sleeps, undisturbed by my nightmare.
The floor lighting illuminates my path as I tiptoe from the room and downstairs to the lounge. I open the fridge but instead, make a move for a decanter of Scotch on the bar table in the lounge.
Pouring myself a drink, I sip the burning liquid as my heart rate returns to normal. Then navigating Gregory’s sound system, I turn down the volume and select Norah Jones. The warm, smooth sound carries through my mind as I look out over the city.
Would I have taken that shot regardless of whether Kevin Pearson pointed a gun at his son?
I wanted to kill him. I said as much the night of the funeral, right here in this apartment.
A firm palm presses against the small of my back, sending electric bolts through my veins. Gregory peels my fingers from the glass and places it down on the coffee table. Then he presses his chest against my shoulder blades and wraps his arms around my waist.
‘I needed to hear some music,’ I explain.
He brushes his lips against my collarbone, drawing a line of kisses up my neck. I expose my neck to him further and melt into his hold.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers.
Sorry that you came into my life? Sorry that my dad was murdered? Sorry that I killed a man? Or sorry that I fell in love with you?
‘Do you want me to help you forget?’
I squeeze my eyes shut. None of it makes sense. My questions don’t have answers but he’s the missing link. He’s the reason for everything. The only way I can connect the dots between my head and my heart.
I move one hand behind me to his thigh and the other round his neck, slipping my fingers into his hair. Then I turn to look into those mystifying, brown eyes before planting my lips on his. He slides his fingers over my silk nightdress, up the sides of my body, and lifts my arms above my head as he turns me to face him. He’s naked but for his tight boxers and I indulge in the sight of him.
Our mouths meet, our tongues tracing each other’s lips, tangling in hot wetness. I can already feel desire between my thighs, my body craving his touch, needing him to anchor me. He slides his hands down my nightgown then lifts me and carries me to the sofa. His eyes never leave mine as he lowers me down and nudges my thighs apart with his knees before crawling between them. He brushes his fingers from my chest down to the slit at the thigh of my nightdress. My hips rise towards him as he slides the dress up to my waist, then moves his body over mine until his breath is on my face and he’s gazing into my eyes.
‘Aurora,’ he whispers. ‘That’s what you are. A mass of light drawn to the magnet of my dark world. Pure. Beautiful. Brave.’
He braces his weight on his forearms and strokes my hair away from my face then brings his mouth down to meet mine.My body dissolves into his and sheer pleasure takes over my mind. As long as I have Gregory, I can cope.
