The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(49)

‘Do you need cheering up?’

A shrug. ‘Maybe.’

‘Why don’t we take a walk, get a bit of air. Always works for me. Where would you like to go?’ he said. ‘My shout.’

‘Aren’t you meeting Caroline?’

‘She’s at the Sage with Hilary.’

‘Yes, I forgot. Sorry I spoiled your evening.’

‘You didn’t.’ Ryan lied. She had, but not in the way she suggested. ‘Caroline is staying over in town tonight. She always does if she’s out late. Alnwick is a hike for her at the best of times. At night, it’s impossible. I’m meeting them for a nightcap. I’ll see Hilary into a taxi, walk Caroline to her hotel.’

‘You’re very considerate.’

‘Cautious.’

‘I meant where women are concerned. That’s nice.’

‘Careful, guv, that’s twice you called me nice.’

‘And twice you called me “guv” in the last few minutes.’ She took a long, deep breath. ‘Look, I was out of order before. Ignore me when I’m like that. It’s not you, it’s me.’ She paused, cleared her throat. ‘There’s no need for formality, not when we’re alone.’

Ryan’s pulse quickened. ‘Alone’ suggested intimacy, attachment, something more than they had right now. He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got time for one or two, if you have.’

Uncrossing her legs, O’Neil slipped her shoes back on and stood up, glancing at her own watch as she lifted her bag from the floor. In the blink of an eye, her expression changing from someone willing to make nice to someone in a state of sheer panic.

‘Shit!’ Her eyes met his. ‘I don’t believe this. I’m sorry, Ryan. I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to go. Now.’ She made for the door, then glanced back at him, a pang of conscience perhaps. ‘Some other time?’

‘Sure. No problem.’

‘See you tomorrow.’

With that, she was gone.

More curious than miffed, he walked to the window and looked out. A moment later, she emerged on the pavement below, her flaming red hair whipping around in the breeze as she crossed the street to where a silver car sat waiting. She opened the door and jumped in. Really? A Porsche Carrera? Who knew she was so well connected? From this angle, it was impossible for him to see who was driving as the car moved off. The vehicle screamed affluence. Whoever owned it certainly wasn’t afraid to show it off. Unable to compete, Ryan grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his chair, switched off the lights and left the apartment alone.





28


O’Neil got out of the car when the door was held open and heard the expensive clunk of a high-end vehicle as it closed behind her. She felt his arm slip round her shoulder, a slight pressure of his fingers as he gave her arm a squeeze and led her from his designated parking spot in the underground car park of his apartment block. It was a chilly evening.

They travelled up in silence.

The lift too was inaudible. Everything about the place was hushed, calming. It was somewhere she’d love to live if she could afford it. There had been a time when it might have been possible. That was history now, so far gone, she wondered if it had ever existed.

He stood back as she entered his apartment, displaying perfect manners, as always, helping her off with her coat, placing it on a hanger he took from the hallway closet. He seemed unaware of how it made her feel to be there. Eloise played along, giving the impression she was over it.

She wasn’t.

Still raw from the separation, her heart felt fragile, as if it might shatter at any moment. No matter how much effort she put into hating him – and she did – it didn’t cancel out the love or lessen her loss. It served only to increase her rage. At times the pain was unbearable. She felt hollow, as if someone had scooped out her guts and discarded them, leaving an empty shell behind. Anyone who could make another human being feel so utterly worthless didn’t deserve success – much less happiness – and yet he had both. Eloise had tried hard to ignore articles about him in the newspapers. It was difficult when his face was staring out from the front page on a regular basis. He was headline news, a hotshot lawyer going places.

‘Same again, Eloise?’ Her host was holding a crystal decanter in his right hand. He’d smelled whisky on her breath when they kissed in the car. He was too polite to mention it directly.

She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

Her eyes misted ever so slightly. It was hard being around him, and yet it was strangely comforting. Eloise wanted to sever contact; he’d insisted on keeping in touch, a sentiment driven by guilt, she imagined. His conscience simply wouldn’t allow him to let her go completely, even though he knew it hurt her to see him, to remember what they once had: a close bond and plans for the future. In the end, she acquiesced, agonizing as it was, too spent to argue any longer. More than that: she’d accepted his help.

She dropped her gaze, self-hatred permeating her skin. She was no better than Gloria, a prostitute taking what was offered from a man more powerful than her, the only difference being that he didn’t knock her around. On the contrary, he saw himself as her protector.

‘Two fingers or three?’ He invited her to sit.

She held up two fingers by way of an answer and sat down, watching as he poured the drinks. He handed her one, brushing the back of his free hand across her left cheek. A sympathetic gesture, a demonstration of the level of affection he still felt for her.