She said something back on that first day. Washing dishes or working on deliveries, maybe. I can’t remember. It’s lost in the swirl of anger from Kari’s cancellation.
Then another part of Patrick’s answer worries at me. “Why wouldn’t she talk to you? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything except be nice to her. If you’re wanting a reason, I’d suggest it has a lot more to do with who I’m related to than anything else. The poor girl looked like she was about to faint when you introduced her to Creighton.”
It’s a solid enough answer but I don’t like it. The proximityof her workplace rubs me the wrong way. I definitely don’t like the thought of her being anywhere near Patrick, at all, ever.
Plus, we’re miles from her home and that’s miles from school. She must spend hours every day on buses to get between the three places.
A new task arrives on my to-do list, followed shortly after by another. George lit up every time we got near a piece of art. Since the girl’s smart enough to earn a scholarship, she’ll be an excellent candidate to take over my art history finals project.
It’s not due until the end of the year, but I don’t mind paying above the going rate to secure her right now.
I’ll give it a few days’ grace before proposing the offer so she doesn’t become suspicious, then it’ll be another pressure point to use on her.
The moment I’m out the door, I angle towards the restaurant. A few well-crafted minutes put an immediate end to George’s employment, with a graphic description of the consequences if she ever learns who prompted the dismissal.
By the time I’m out of there, I have a message on my phone from Adnan, looking for directions. A few quick pointers get him out of my hair for now, and I arrange a meeting to catch him up on the rest.
I get behind the wheel of my car and stop, closing my eyes, checking off against an internal list to see where I’m placed. If schoolwork were as simple as planning George’s manipulation, I’d sail through every class.
This shit’s easy.
I only have one last stop on today’s list. Home.
“Lock,” my mother squeals in surprise as she always does, no matter that I texted her from the turnoff to ensure Dad was still absent, dealing with whatever horrendous business affairshe’s chosen to tackle today. “Pamela’s got a slice of that cake you adore.”
I start to tell her I’m not stopping, then change my mind when I see Kari seated at the kitchen table, pretending to read a magazine. “Hey,” I greet her, frowning. “You’re a long way from home.”
“Dimi dropped me off,” she says, getting up to kiss me on the cheek like we haven’t seen each other for weeks, instead of saying goodbye earlier in the afternoon. “He’s meant to collect me and drop me back at Kingswood, but he seems to have forgotten.”
Dimitri’s her elder brother and heir to the Abercrombie dynasty. He’s okay in small doses but I’m not looking forward to when Soren dies, and I have to deal with him on a more day-to-day basis.
The man has a sense of entitlement that puts my fledgling efforts to shame.
“You can take her back, though, can’t you Lockie? Or you’re welcome to spend the night here,” my mother says, turning back to Kari with a warm smile. “Both of you.”
Even the thought makes me shudder. “Sure. I’ll give you a lift.”
I sit opposite and take a few bites from the lemon poppyseed cake that is actually my mother’s favourite, not mine. Something she shows by demolishing three slices.
The first moment I can slip away, I do, hustling upstairs to check in every bedroom until I track down our errant maid, Amanda. She’s dusting in one of our guest rooms, the windows wide open to air out the revolting stench left by whoever stayed overnight.
She hums along to a song on the radio, a sure sign if any more were needed that Dad isn’t expected home. He can’t standmusic playing in the house unless he’s the one playing it. We all creep around in stony silence most of the time.
“You missed a bit,” I say, shutting the door behind me and leaning against it to dissuade her leaving. “Want me to show you where?”
Her eyes take up half her face as she pauses, then they drop to the floor. The same subservience I’d love if it were George in front of me annoys me with her. Amanda’s in her early twenties. Taken during a fight with a rival organisation and kept on as a kindness since she didn’t know enough to make her dangerous.
Still, she must have at least one contact more than we know about. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to smuggle drugs into what should be the safest house in all of Canterbury.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” I snap, and her gaze immediately flicks back up to meet mine.
“Yes, sir. Please show me—”
“You gave drugs to my girlfriend.”
Her eyes eat up some more facial acreage until they’re so wide her other features are in danger of being eclipsed. “Kari must be mistaken,” she says, frowning as she contradicts me. Never a good idea within these walls.
