Tom stepped inside, the usual concern shadowing his eyes, and nodded at the photo she’d taped to the punchbag. “Who’s the unlucky guy?” Then he frowned. “Sebastian Clarke? That American swimmer who’s been on the news recently?”
“He’s Canadian.” Helen ripped off the photograph she’d printed this morning. She’d been so angry at herself and Sebastian, and the whole wide world, that she’d thought nothing of wasting precious ink to create her new boxing target. She screwed the photo up into a ball and threw it to Ned wishing he’d pee on it. But he merely sniffed it and walked away—exactly what she should’ve done the moment she’d laid eyes on Sebastian Clarke.
“I caught something about him on the local news this morning,” Tom said. “Something about him being with those Wags when some drunken idiots chucked kebabs at them.” His eyes shot to the balled-up photo of Sebastian. “Bloody hell, Helen! What have you done now?”
“Nothing!” She threw another punch at her bag but the fight had left her. She pressed her forehead against the cool leather and, violating clause one, told her brother all about her contract with Sebastian.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Helen.” Tom’s neck flexed the way it did when he was trying not to show his full anger.
“Our first official date was last night.”
“And, surprise-surprise, he’s turned out to be a complete prick, so you’re kicking the crap out of him now?”
“No, not at all. He’s uptight and bossy, and a bit up his own arse, but he’s … quite nice, actually.”
Which is why it hurt so much when he’d insulted her house. Standing by the fireplace last night, he’d looked so tired and alone. She’d wanted to soothe him, thinking, hoping—knowing—that he’d find solace and comfort in her peaceful home. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted him to like her cottage until she discovered he hated it. What she considered cozy, he considered …a shithole.
Helen pulled off her gloves. “Once we got over the initial shock of seeing each other again, the night was sort of going okay. At first.” She then told Tom about The Wags and Raz. “I can’t even be a fake girlfriend. I screw everything up. And if I tell anyone about our arrangement, Sebastian will sue me. I signed a confidentiality agreement.”
“You’ve just toldme, for god’s sake!”
“You don’t count. You’re my brother.”
Tom groaned again. “He’ll probably see that differently, but anyway.” He stayed quiet for a few minutes then flicked her ear, a sure sign that he’d noted her low mood. “Of all the community placements in all the world, you had to walk in to his, huh?”
“Ha.”
“A coincidence like this can only happen to you.”
“That’s just it, Tom. I don’t think it was a coincidence.” Helen relayed her suspicion that Nazir had set her up. Having spent half the night chewing over thewhysandwhat ifs, she’d finally drawn some conclusions. “If the police believe Jaxon will contact me, switching my placement might be Nazir’s way of keeping an eye on me.”
Tom frowned. “I don’t like this, Helen. It sounds dangerous.”
“Jaxon isn’t dangerous! No way. He’s a geek, like me. Not an ax murderer.”
But being told yesterday that Jaxon was married had shaken Helen’s belief in the man she thought she knew well. The fanciful daydreams she’d had about Jaxon danced tauntingly before her. Was Nazir right? Would Jaxon contact her again?
No. Jaxon had been on the run for nearly three months and wouldn’t risk the police discovering his whereabouts by contacting Helen … unless … unless he needed a new program written. A new program that was worth the risk because it was worth a lot of money.
The very thing Helen needed right now.
“Helen?” Tom clicked his fingers in front of her eyes. “Promise me you’ll go straight to the police if Jaxon contacts you.”
“I’m pretty sure he won’t.”
Tom stared at her for a moment, then slowly paced the old shed, hooking his fingers on either side of the sling. “Remember that night the police came by to ask us about Dad?”
“Which one?” Helen snorted. “You’ll have to narrow it down.”
“New Year’s Eve. We were about ten or eleven.”
Ah. The night Dad had come home with a load of cash, so happy that he’d beenpaid. But Tom didn’t often bring up their childhood. “What about it?”
“When those policewomen asked us if Dad had been out that afternoon, we shook our heads straightaway, like we were on autopilot or something, and I remember how you looked them in the eye and told them we’d all been watching TV together, even though we hadn’t seen Dad since the night before. And remember how proud Dad was of us when the police left? He bought us fish and chips and fizzy drinks. We practically had a party.”
“It was our reward,” Helen said. And also a fond memory. They’d eaten well that night—and for several weeks later.
“But you do get that Dad wasn’t the best role model for us, don’t you, Helen? He taught us to lie and cover our tracks. We loved him and he was good to us, but he messed with our heads. I see that more than ever now I’ve got kids myself.”
