Thirty Days: Part One (22 page)

“So shared space.”

“It is…I’m going to freshen up. I’ll meet you downstairs for dinner shortly.” He turns, leaving quickly.

Right now I think this is the best for both of us.

“Holy shit!” I squeal before searching the room for hidden treasures. Apart from amazing craftsmanship, none were to be found.

Sitting down on the bed, I can’t help thinking about everything that has happened, from the madness I felt on the plane, to this moment right now. It seems like a dream, one that I’m bound to wake up from any minute. I hope I remain asleep for a little while longer, though. This is probably the best dream I’ve had, and I’m guessing it’s because Mike’s not destroying it.

Reality

Stepping out of my vintage room, the door closes softly behind me. Strolling towards the stairs, my belly rumbles from starvation. I’m startled when Marcus appears from behind a closed door, with little but a towel tucked around his waist.
Fuck me now.

He smiles in my direction as he notices me looking at the V that leads to the one place I need to stay away from. It is so defined that my jaw drops open.

“Enjoying the show?” He smirks.

Quickly I turn my head, covering my embarrassed face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like that you were looking at me with eyes like that. I’ll just get changed and I’ll be down in a minute.”

Every part of me wants to jump into those ripped arms and let him fuck me any which way he wants. Thoughts of our night together on the Coast only make it harder to stop myself, that is until I remember how it ended and how incredibly dirty I felt.

“Yes. Good. Changed. All right.” Rushing down to the lower level, my legs instantly shake. Throbbing in the delicate area that makes me all woman is so overwhelming it begs for relief. I’m distracted from these thoughts of filth when I see Grady placing boxes onto the end of a long table just off the main entry. I can see him through an archway.

“Can I help you with anything, Grady?” I approach him with relief, realising that Marcus and I will not be alone.

“Miss McMillian.” He twists his head over his shoulder. “Thank you, but I’m finished. Mr. Klein has ordered your new clothes to be dry-cleaned and returned by morning. However, he did leave this one bag for you and your carryon. May I take it up to your room now?”

“It’s okay, I’ll do it.”

“Please, I insist.”

“Well, if you insist.”

He smiles and it’s then I notice a sweet dimple in his chin. He seems so young to be a driver. “Before I take them up, your bag was ringing a moment ago. I’m guessing your phone is in there?”

“Oh shit. Umm, sorry. I mean, yes, Grady. I’ll just take that out first.”

“Of course.”

Unzipping the side pocket, I see the blue sparkly case that protects my phone from falls. God knows I have enough of them. I pluck it out before taking a step backwards.

“Have a good evening,” he says, continuing his work.

The screen lights up and as expected there are many missed calls and messages from not only Mum, but Sammy. No surprises there. As I approach a grand dark wooden dining room table, one that bears the same handcrafted marks as the bedroom furniture, I see that two plates, some chopsticks, and many takeaway containers filled with dinner have been laid out for us. I’m so hungry, but I decide to wait, taking a seat at one of the settings closest to what must be a window as it has a long and heavy looking curtain pulled across. The generic ringtone of my phone begins playing. I answer.

“Dorothy. Why have you not answered your phone? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Hello to you too, Ginger.”

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Hexed,” I reply.

“Oh shit, what’s happened now?”

I start to snigger. “So much. But you’d be happy to know I’m here in one piece. My luggage, however, never made it.”

“You’ve got no luggage?” She guffaws.

“Glad you find this funny.”

“Classic, Abi,” she spits out between each snort that projects into my ear.

“Calm down, snorter. It’s not that funny.”

“Oh, but it is. I’m fucking crying here. Abigail, what are we going to do with you?”

“Love me always.”

“Always,” she murmurs once she finally composes herself. Then she says something I wasn’t expecting. “Abigail, for someone who has lost their luggage you sound happy. Free almost. I’d expect you to be throwing a turn.”

“Shut up, Ginger.”

“Have you rung your mum?”

“No, not yet. Hey, can you do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Can you give her a quick call for me? I’m about to eat and have to get to bed. Pretty please.”

“As if you need to beg. You know I will. But you have to call her yourself tomorrow.”

“I will. Hey, I’ve got to go.”

“Okay. Take care of yourself and ring me tomorrow night and tell me everything. Enjoy the hotel.”

The sound of feet walking across wooden floors catches my attention. “Marcus,” I whisper.

“Did you just say Marcus?” Sammy asks sharply.

“Huh? Umm. No. I said asparagus. It’s on my plate, and I love it.”

“You’re weird.”

“You love it. Hey, I have to go.” I insist, looking at Marcus in a tight-fitting white shirt and tan cargo pants similar to the ones he wore the first time I saw him at the cemetery. This man would look amazing in anything.

“Abigail. Abigail, are you there?” I hear Sammy calling down the phone.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m starved. I have to go.”

“Love you.”

“Ditto,” I reply, quickly hanging up and turning the phone to silent before placing it onto the table.

“Everything okay?” Marcus looks deeply into my eyes.

“Peachy.”

“Good. I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

Trying to figure out how to use chopsticks turns out to be a messy event. Honey chicken on a white shirt is not a great look. Marcus pretends to be oblivious to the mess I’m making, but his grin tells me he is more than entertained.

“Let’s talk about work,” he says, utilising his eating utensils like some Chinese ninja.

“Good idea,” I reply, scooping what I can into my mouth. The one that wishes I could just use my fingers.

“So you’ve read your binder and you’ve familiarised yourself with the case…now I’ll explain to you what I’ll expect of you this week.”

My eyes grow wide before I shake my head. Shit! I’ve no idea what I’m here for. I never read that monstrous binder and now it’s lost in my luggage.

“Abigail. You did read the binder, didn’t you?”

“Well, about that,” I mumble, trying hard not to look in his direction.

“Abigail.” He’s mad—his tone says more than his words.

I purse my lips and swing my head in his direction. “Hey, I got sidetracked, okay? I’d planned to read it and then I met someone who…well, you know what happened. I was going to read it in the airport, but that same someone—”

“Okay.” He throws his head back and runs his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He rubs hard into his eye sockets before blowing out a noisy breath of air. “It’s going to be a long night. I need you up to speed.”

“Okay.” I’m angry at myself, but also angry at him. If Marcus had kept his dick in his pants, I’d know what the hell was happening in Sydney.

“Did you read any of it?” he questions hopefully.

“I’d like to say yes.”

He stabs a piece of meat from his plate with a singular chopstick and removes it like a hungry wolf. His lip quivers from what I assume is anger and not sadness, and I decide now is the time for me to stay quiet. After he finishes chewing, he takes a mouthful of water and places the cup down forcefully.

The sound of glass hitting wood makes me jump momentarily.

“The case is Macintosh versus Tumbling. We are here to get justice after three long years. We have to win. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Good. See those boxes?” He points at the four cardboard boxes sitting on the table Grady placed them on. “Everything in those boxes has been my work on this case for the last three years. Before I moved to Queensland a month ago, I lived here and worked at our Sydney office. This was my case, and I’ve come back to make sure it ends, the right way.”

I nod again, too scared to say a word.

“Stephanie Tumbling was an eight-year-old school girl who lived in Waverley and attended a nearby primary school. On the tenth of June Stephanie’s parents, Patricia and Garth, tucked her and her brother into bed at seven p.m., as they did every night. The children had separate bedrooms one either end of the house. Stephanie’s was the one farthest from her parents’, whose bedroom was down the hall.” He stops, his gaze lost, tortured.

“What happened to her?”

“If you’d read the fucking binder, you’d know.”

I shelter myself like a frightened dog.

He must see my fear and takes a lengthy inhale. “Sorry. This case is just rough for me.”

“I can see that.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He gazes at me for far too long before continuing. “Anthony, her younger brother, was four at the time. The home was a single-storey three-bedder, with a double lockable garage. It was modest, neat and filled with love. Sometime, they believe around midnight, Stephanie was abducted from that house as her family slept. She was wearing pink flannels and was cuddled up with a rainbow-coloured elephant. At around four a.m. on the morning of June eleventh, her father, Garth, woke to use the toilet. Because it was cold, he checked on the children to ensure they were still under their doonas. Anthony’s room was the closest so naturally he checked him first. When he got to his daughter’s room, the door was ajar. When he pressed it open, he discovered Stephanie was no longer in there. Garth turned every light on in that house, checking every inch. It wasn’t until he walked into the kitchen, he noticed that the back door was wide open and a bloody smudge had seeped into the white frame.”

Marcus stops talking again. He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. The eerie quiet of the room causes my heart to beat franticly. I don’t know if I want to hear another word. But I stay, waiting for him to continue.

“Her father called triple zero,” he speaks quietly, running his hand through his hair. “For three years I’ve been working to get justice.”

“For Stephanie.”

He nods.

“Is she alive?” I whisper.

He shakes his head.

My eyes begin to strain under the pressure of tears that threaten to spill. “What happened to her?”

Marcus stands before pacing back and forth, his fingers disappearing under his dark locks. “She was beaten, raped repeatedly, and then placed into a brown leather suitcase and dumped out to sea. She washed up onto Bondi beach three weeks later. Her rainbow elephant was in the case with her, along with a sheet from her bed and four cement blocks.”

“Oh my gosh.” I gasp. “How did she die—the beatings?” I choke out in a shaky voice, not sure if I really want to know.

“The gutless pig didn’t do it with his own hands. He let the ocean do it. She was still alive when he put her in that suitcase and alive when her body hit that ice water. She drowned, Abigail. Alone, cold, and frightened in the middle of the ocean. The coroner’s report shows that even though she had sustained multiple and horrible injuries, she had survived them. Frankly, I can’t image anything more terrifying,” he adds, placing his hands on the table before leaning into me.

“They got the prick, though. They fucking got him. He tried to take another girl one week later, only four blocks away from Stephanie’s house. That scum of the earth was going to do it again. He climbed through a window to gain entry into her room, but the dumb fuck chose the wrong night to do it. Her father was asleep on a sofa in her room. She’d been having issues with asthma that day, and he wanted to be there if she needed him. The father restrained him before his grubby mitts ever touched her.”