‘Something anyone could do?’
Ben ruffled his hair, but very gently. ‘Anyone but a spoiled billionaire who has never once even put petrol in a car, yes.’
He sat back at the table and rested his aching head on folded arms. Anyone?
A writer was someone.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Four
The next morning, Aleksey woke entirely unable to move. He’d experienced this once or twice before, so wasn’t unduly worried—obviously hecouldmove, only shifting anything from one position to another would involve great pain so he didn’t attempt it. Even the indomitable one hadn’t gone for his early-morning run. Aleksey could feel Ben’s weight depressing the other side of the bed. In other circumstances he’d have stretched out a hand and enjoyed the feel of Ben’s silky, warm skin under his palm, but his arm gave a distinct fuck off when he attempted the gesture.
Eventually, he discovered one toe that wasn’t painful. It was something of a relief. Adrenalin was a wonderful thing, but overdosing with it, as his body had done, was like putting sugar in a high-powered engine: it fucked up the works. His—their—beautiful car. Ack, it had needed a wash. He had something nice to plan now. Along with finding the one who had tried to kill them. And asking him why. That was a bit of a mystery. It was novel not getting why someone might want him dead: usually it was pretty clear.
Ben stirred and turned to face him, his green eyes not predatory and expectant for once. All he got was a, ‘Fucking hell.’
Aleksey would have nodded in agreement, couldn’t, so murmured, ‘If I said my leg hurt where it’s pinned, would you make me stay in bed all day?’
‘Does it?’
‘It could.’
Ben snorted. ‘Go light the fire. I’ll make some breakfast. I’ll let you spend the day on the couch.’
‘Excellent.’
‘This is something to do with Light Island, isn’t it?’
Aleksey pursed his lips, unwilling to acknowledge this. ‘It’s possible it’s something from my past.’
‘But you don’t think so.’
‘I honestly don’t know. I think then it would be more targeted, more swift and decisive. Cutting brake lines is more like poisoning: far too random and unsatisfactory—you don’t get to watch. It’s not something I would do.’
‘They weren’t cut. And I’ve been thinking about it. It’s just possible—I mean there’s a slither of a chance—that it happened at the last service.’
Aleksey frowned. ‘The last what?’
Ben punched him, which helped nothing, and swung slowly out of bed.
Once he was up and dressed and on the couch with a toasted bacon sandwich, he had to admit that just being a little stiff was much better than literally at death’s door, and was something therefore that could be nicely milked for sympathy without actually ruining his life. He’d forgotten it was Saturday until a tiny dart came flying in from the kitchen pulling her unicorn suitcase behind her. ‘Daddy said we should come and see you because you’re being a big baby.’
‘Ah, good. Disloyalty from my Lord Lieutenant. He will be demoted later tonight. What is that for?’
‘Papa!’ She carefully opened the case and produced the kitten. ‘Kitty-Pumpkin wants you to hold her.’
‘She’s called Floppy now.’
Molly ignored him, which made her wiser than many adults in his opinion, and placed the kitten on his lap. She seemed more interested in the bacon than him.
Suddenly, without any warning at all, the kitten arched. All its fur shot out so it doubled in size; it went up on the points of its toes, danced tantalisingly sideward until it exploded into action, ran up and down a few walls, over all the sofas, and then came back to them, nonchalantly cocked a leg and began to wash.
Molly picked her up and hugged her close. ‘I love her so much.’
Aleksey plucked it from her arms and held it up to his face once more. ‘I wonder if she can swim.’
Molly and Kitty-Pumpkin retreated to finddaddy.
