In Safe Keeping (26 page)

‘It’ll be a challenge,’ Allegra agreed. That was the problem with big clients. They left a massive hole in your practice if they left.

‘A challenge?” Simon raised his eyebrows. ‘You think he’ll go close?’

‘From the figures I’ve looked at, he was set to outperform. He’s smart, driven and tenacious. I’ve never seen anyone who can hold their nerve like him — apart from Luke, but he was a soldier.’

‘Well, you’ve had a lot more to do with him than I have, but I still think we should let him go.’

Allegra shook her head. Simon was the principal partner, but in her opinion, taking the easy way out wasn’t the best option.

‘I think you’ll regret it. Evan’s a master negotiator and good with the staff. I think he can build the commercial division and bring in more big clients.’

‘You have a lot of faith in him.’

‘The final decision’s yours, of course, but I’m prepared to call it.’

‘It’s a big call, Allegra.’

Allegra didn’t break eye contact, didn’t flinch as Simon pursed his lips and considered what she’d said.

Eventually, he brought his hands up and linked them behind his head. ‘I’m getting old, Allegra, and less inclined to take a risk. I forget what it’s like to be young and fearless. I suppose we can give him a year, see how he performs. We can look at his contract again after that.’

Allegra smiled, relieved and pleased with the outcome. ‘Thanks, Simon.’

‘Don’t thank me. You’re the one who gave him the outstanding reference. I just hope he lives up to your expectations.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘I’ll ring George Peyton on Monday and thank him for his business. It can’t hurt to let him know we’re always happy to act if they need us in the future.’

He slid the employment contract across the desk. ‘Can you make sure this goes back where it belongs?’

‘Sure.’ Allegra took the contract from him and stood up. ‘Are you leaving now?’

Simon turned the swivel chair around and looked at the files stacked on the credenza behind him. ‘Not for a while. I’m here now. May as well get a few things out the way.’

Allegra took that as her cue to leave. ‘I’ll see you later then.’

‘Yep. See you Monday.’

At the elevator, Allegra gazed down at the contract and couldn’t help wondering if part of the reason she’d come to Evan’s defence was because he reminded her a little of her husband.

Maybe.

But not solely.

Her points had been valid. She saw potential in Evan Barclay,
partnership
potential. And she needed to think like that, prepare for the future — because Simon wouldn’t be here forever.

Deciding to return the contract to Human Resources on Monday, she locked it in her desk drawer and decided to walk by Evan’s office. As she suspected, there was a light burning inside, and through the half open door, she could see his dark head bent over the desk. His eyes were tired, his jaw rigid and covered in dark shadow, his hair ruffled like he’d been raking his fingers through it.

‘I thought you might be here.’

***

Evan looked up. ‘Allegra, come in.’

He let go of his pen and waved a hand at the stack of files on his desk. ‘I’m just bringing everything up to date.’

He didn’t bother adding ‘before I leave’. He didn’t need to. Allegra knew the terms of his contract as well as he did.

He watched as she came closer, regret weighing heavily on his mind. This was the second woman he’d let down in the space of two days.

‘I’m sorry, Allegra. I hope you don’t suffer any adverse repercussions because of me.’

‘What happened, Evan?’ Allegra perched on the edge of a client chair. ‘Was it your work, or something personal?’

It was so personal he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it. And Laila was wrong. The Peytons didn’t own him. ‘Own’ suggested he did their bidding without question, and that wasn’t true. He’d encouraged them to exercise caution when necessary, and he’d never been afraid to disagree with them, or let his opinions be known.

‘It’s a bit of both,’ he said eventually. ‘There’s a great deal of tension surrounding the marriage breakdown, and the affect it will have on their business dealings as a whole.’

That was about as concise as he could be without giving too much away. He’d keep the blackmail threats and his suspicions about the Peytons to himself.

‘Did George Peyton actually say he was taking the work away from you?’

He didn’t have to. He could read between the lines. ‘Not in so many words.’

‘Then don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe all that’s needed is for everyone to settle down.’

‘I have to get all this in order, regardless.’

‘Well, there’s no hurry. I managed to get you another year on your contract, irrespective of whether you act for the Peytons. We won’t be visiting your contract again for twelve months.’

Stunned, it took him a moment before Allegra’s statement sank in.

When it finally did, Evan closed his eyes for a beat and sent a silent prayer to nobody in particular. When he opened his eyes, Allegra’s lips were curved in a satisfied smile.

‘Did he take much convincing?’ he managed to ask.

She shook her head and glanced over her shoulder as though Simon might suddenly appear. ‘He virtually left it to me.’

Evan blew out a relieved breath and held her gaze. ‘I promise you, I will do my absolute best.’

‘You always do, Evan. Why do you think I pushed for the extension?’

There were a few moments of awkward silence, and then Allegra checked her watch. ‘I have to run. Luke and I are having dinner in town.’

Evan stood up. Ah, to hell with it. Why not tell her actually how he was feeling. ‘Well, I would kiss you Allegra, except your husband would probably neuter me.’

She laughed, and just like that the awkwardness was gone. ‘Try and enjoy what’s left of the weekend, Evan. I’ll see you on Monday, and we’ll take it from there.’

He nodded. ‘Thanks again.’

When she left, Evan stood for long moments staring at the closed door. He couldn’t believe someone of Allegra Greenwood’s standing could think so highly of him. With the exception of George Peyton, he couldn’t remember anyone standing up and pleading his case before. Only himself. More often than not, he was standing up for other people.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he went over to the window and stood looking at the building opposite. One by one, the lights were starting to come on, and down on Pitt Street a soft rain was falling on the streetlight glow.

Yesterday he’d thought he’d lost everything important in his life. Twenty-four hours later, he had his job back.

One break point saved.

Could he save another one?

He had to try. No way would he give up the most important one without a fight, but he had to be careful, and patient. Laila needed time to cool down.

An alert sounded on his phone, and he turned and went to his desk. His social media program was set to send a notification every time Laila posted.

Which was hardly ever.

He pressed the notification, and sure enough Laila’s profile emerged. Someone else had written the post.

Grind

At Scruffy Murphy’s with Laila Richards

It was followed by the date, time and street map showing the location of Scruffy Murphy’s hotel.

Grind?

Wasn’t he the young musician who lived next door? What the hell was Laila doing out with him?

Jealousy speared through Evan’s body, the poisonous emotion spreading through his system like the sting of a dozen tentacles. He’d imagined her to be home, or maybe at her office, equally shaken up by their bitter argument.

But it appeared not.

Twenty-four hours later and she was out with this Grind, partying at Scruffy Murphy’s, while he sat worrying about her.

Evan leaned over the desk and shut down his computer, killed the lights and shrugged on his leather jacket. Okay, so it was ridiculous to be jealous of a guy in his early twenties, and he knew in his heart Laila wasn’t a fickle woman. She wasn’t going to find someone else the very next night — was she?

She’d slept with him the first night they’d met.

After four years of self-imposed celibacy, you stupid fuck!

But there was something else apart from his unreasonable jealousy at work here. Something nagging at the edge of his mind. Something worrying. Dickson Cross believed John Holt was dead or had skipped town, but what if he were mistaken?

Evan knew he was being overly suspicious, but he couldn’t get it out of his head that computer accounts were hacked all the time. The army had already copied the contents of Mike’s computer, and tapped the phones in her office and home. Who knew what information they had?

Grind was a regular visitor at Laila’s too. He would have been captured on the camera footage for sure. They probably knew who he was, knew the band’s name, where they played their gigs, plus a whole lot of other information.

Minutes later, Evan was on the street. Scruffy Murphy’s was a ten-minute walk down George Street. It wasn’t worth getting the car from the car park.

He pushed through the early-Saturday-evening crowd. Was he overreacting or looking for an excuse to turn up there?

To hell with it.

He was going anyway.

Grind, not Laila, had made the post.

Was she even aware it was up there, broadcasting to anyone with an interest, sinister or otherwise, exactly where she was?

6:20 p.m. Saturday

Laila sat at a table close to the front, a glass of white wine in her hand. On stage, Grind was rocking out with the rest of his bandmates and, judging from the crowd’s response, doing a fairly decent impersonation of Axl Rose.

She sipped her wine and kept her eyes trained ahead, ruing her hasty choice of clothing. She’d been brave at the time, leaving her hair out and zipping her knee-high boots over the skinniest pair of jeans she owned. Spurred on by the memory of Evan’s ‘
and that conservative little suit, it’s so proper
’ comment, she’d chosen a shimmery top that clung to her upper body as tightly as her jeans moulded to her butt.

Now, sitting all alone at the table, she watched the band and avoided making eye contact with anyone. Every now and then a guy would come up and try to start a conversation, but she just wasn’t interested. As good as the band were, and they
were
good in a funny retro kind of way, she didn’t want to be here. She longed to be home in bed, with a glass of wine and a book, free to give in to her emotions if and when she chose to.

It had been a mistake to come here.

Laila toyed with the stem of her now-empty glass, a creeping feeling in the back of her neck. She wanted to go and buy another drink, but there it was again, that feeling someone was watching her. Which was crazy, because Moulder was in police custody and Holt had gone to ground or was dead. Plus there were close to a hundred people in the pub. She was hardly alone.

Laila pulled a ten-dollar note from her black purse, a favourite because of the silver bangle attached to one corner. It allowed the bag to hang from her wrist while leaving her hands free to carry a drink or open a door. Deciding she’d go now, before the band finished their first set, she slipped the bangle over her wrist and stood up.

She turned around and stilled when she saw him, though her heart seemed to turn over.

Standing about ten feet behind her, a sturdy column at his back, Evan wore loose-fitting blue jeans that couldn’t disguise the powerful shape of his legs. A soft grey T-shirt, and a black leather bomber jacket with small buckles attached to the collar, completed the outfit. His hair was slightly mussed and a little damp from the rain, while his jaw and both sides of his neck were covered in a dark shadow that gave him a slightly dangerous appearance. In his left hand he held a glass of white wine, a glass of red in his right.

His eyes glittered, and he dipped his head a fraction, raising his red wine in a toast to her, just as he had that very first night.

And just like that, her pulse quickened and a wave of heat engulfed her body.

He looked like heaven — even when he looked like hell.

When she didn’t move, he pushed off the column and came towards her. His eyes scorched a trail up her body, taking note of the spikey heels, the denim-clad thighs, the bag dangling at her wrist and the waves of hair tumbling over her breasts.

He stopped an arm’s length away and held out the glass of white. ‘I’ll fight every guy in the bar if I have to.’

Laila moistened her dry lips. ‘I’m still angry,’ she said quietly.

He gave a curt nod. ‘So am I.’

When she didn’t say anything, he tipped his head in the direction of the stage. ‘Your friend’s post popped up on my phone.
With Laila Richards at Scruffy Murphy’s.’

‘Oh. I didn’t know that.’ She was still so angry at his deception, she didn’t know what to say. ‘Is that why you came?’

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. ‘Look, Laila. It’s loud in here, and people are watching. Can we go for a walk, maybe talk a bit?’

Laila glanced around at the other patrons. He was right. Curious eyes were glancing their way, and some people were even whispering and pointing towards Evan.

Laila looked back at him, and her heart melted a fraction. He was tight around the eyes, and it looked like he’d slept even less than she had. And from the determined set of his chin it was clear he wasn’t leaving without her.

And despite everything, she really wanted to hear what he had to say. Plus she needed to tell him that, as of today, she was off the Peyton case.

‘Okay. I’ll meet you outside in five minutes. I need to use the bathroom, and I have to let Grind know I’m leaving.’

His brow smoothed and his shoulders lowered, relaxing a little. ‘Thank you.’

To her surprise, Evan looked towards the stage and nodded to Grind, who was watching with interest.

Laila pointed to Evan and then to the exit door. In between chords, Grind gave her the thumbs up.

Drink forgotten, Laila headed in the direction of the bathroom, pulling up with a groan when she spotted the line. For a moment she debated whether to stay or leave, but in the end decided to stay. If she left now, she’d only have to find somewhere else.