Vengeful Love: Black Diamonds (3 page)

I’ve realised things may never make sense again without him. I’m ruined for anyone else. Forget anyone else, I’m ruined in my own right. But the one thing I’ve been able to cling to, the one thing keeping me from dropping off the cliff of sanity, is knowing that I didn’t lose
all
of Scarlett Heath. I took that shot because it was the right thing to do. Gregory escaping prosecution, escaping twenty-five years in a prison cell.
That
was the world telling me
I
did the right thing.

Now it’s all unravelled. I don’t have him and I don’t have confirmation that I was on the right side of justice.

Chapter Three

“You son of a bitch.”

“Scarlett. Not exactly the first five words I expected to hear from you after five weeks of silence.”

“Here’s another five. You. Are. An. Arsehole.”

“That’s four words.”

“You are an arsehole, Gregory.”

He sighs, and despite my fury and trembling hands, I can’t help but wonder where he is, whether he’s sitting or standing, whether he’s in
that
pose and wearing
that
suit. A fact that adds to my rage.

“Scarlett—”

“No, Gregory. Quit with your fucking lies. It’s my turn to speak.”

“Scarlett, I’ve never lied to you.”

“Withheld the truth, then. Frankly, I don’t give a shit because they both mean the same thing to me. You’re a deceitful bastard.”

I don’t sound like myself. My level of hatred and the filth leaving my mouth are surprising even to me. I’m as livid as I’ve ever been and the four dry martinis I polished off are amplifying the effect.

“You know, for days after you ended us, I felt like my world had come crashing down around me. I did something sinful, something wrong, and something that the person I was before you would never have done. I killed a man. And as warped as it sounds, that made sense when I had you. When I could see you might finally be free of your dark and twisted world. A world you wouldn’t share with me. You were alive and that was my justification.”

“Scarlett—”

“Shut up! I said it’s my turn to talk.” I rise from the queen bed of my hotel room and look out to the orange glow of Dubai’s skyscrapers against the dark night sky. “When I got here and I realised I didn’t have you anymore, I lost my justification for...everything, Pearson, my father... I was a mess. Then I realised you might not love me but I love,
loved
you enough to know that in spite of everything, I was right to take that shot because the alternative is unthinkable.”

I swallow the emotion that stings the back of my eyes, throbs in my chest, and threatens to unsteady my voice. He won’t hear me break. Not now.

“As much as I don’t regret saving your life, Gregory, I broke the law and I deserved to be punished for that. Or at the very least, I deserved to be tried in a court of law, by a jury.”

“Scarlett.” He sighs, his voice gentle.
God, I miss him.
“You did the right thing. My father deserved to go to hell. We were cleared.”

“No, Gregory.
We
weren’t.” I sit back onto the soft duvet and put my spinning head into my free hand. “You told me once that I had to trust you. You told me you got the police involved so that I could move on. Properly. You told me that I had to promise you, if you got a verdict of no charge, I would take that as
our
verdict. That we would both be free.”

“And we are, Scarlett. The CPS didn’t charge me.”

“But it was bullshit wasn’t it? It was
all
fucking bullshit. You never had any intention of letting the law make that decision.”

“Scarlett, what are you—”

“Katrina Martin just paid me a visit.”

I hear his sharp intake of breath.

“Tell me it isn’t true.”

“Tell you what isn’t true?”

“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Gregory! I was an idiot. I was so blinded by you, by not wanting to lose you, that I didn’t see what was right under my fucking nose. Jackson and Barnes weren’t just friends were they? He didn’t just forewarn you about the ballistics report, he gave you a chance to fix it. You were paying him off.”

“Scarlett—”

“Say it! You bought the CPS decision, Gregory. For once, tell me something true.”

There’s a bang down the line that makes me jump. “Damn it, Scarlett, it wasn’t all a lie.”

“Say it. Tell me Katrina Martin is lying. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He’s silent for seconds, eternal seconds that cause my heart to pound and my breaths to shorten.

“You’re not wrong.”

From the moment Katrina Martin told me, I knew it was true. That doesn’t stop his admission taking the weight from my body, sending me forward, my knees crashing to the floor. “Then I’m not free. I never was.”

The iPhone falls from my hand. His voice is a quiet mumble in the background as I stare at the reflection of a corrupt, broken woman in the floor-length window.

Chapter Four

5:40 a.m.

I haven’t slept. Maybe I’ve dozed but I’ve tossed and turned in the heat of my bed, too lethargic to move the ten steps required to turn on the air-con. My mouth is dry and my body feels the wrong side of thirsty, the slightly hungover side.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

That’s the question I’ve asked myself for the six hours I’ve been staring at the ceiling. Flicking on a lamp illuminates the room that’s been blacked out by suede curtains.

It’s not like I can hand myself in to the police and request a trial. I’d put everyone else in jeopardy and I don’t know if I could stand the uncertainty of another investigation, the police interrogating the people I love. And, whilst I’d like to slap his face, hard, there’s no way I’d turn Gregory over for corruption. I’d never want him to risk his freedom again. He took the blame for me. He committed multiple crimes but he did it for me. Living with what I’ve done is perhaps my penance.

I grab the TV remote from the dark wood bedside table.

Crystal Grand homepage—teasing pictures of Crystal Grand Singapore, Crystal Grand Sydney, Crystal Grand...

Dubai news, in Arabic...

Dubai early morning soaps...whoa...not soaps...stuff that should
not
be shown on TV in my room!

With a grumble, I throw the remote to the opposite side of my bed, where the thick white duvet is in a ball from a heated tantrum about two hours ago. Peeling the thin cotton sheet from my clammy body, I walk myself, zombie-esque, to the shower, quickly rinse off my sticky skin, then pull on my gym clothes and head to the ground floor.

The gym is empty but for Mike, another ex-pat, a muscle-bound Kiwi about my age who’s still opening up for the day. I have free run of the handful of rowers, upright bikes and steppers, the six treadmills, and what I’d describe as
man machines
. After stretching, I adjust my leggings and Climacool T-shirt then start walking on the treadmill. Mike has no idea how much he makes my morning by lighting the flat-screen TVs around the room with BBC World News, in English.

Cranking the tread up to a run, I hammer the belt with my feet and I try to focus on nothing but the sound of my breathing and the flashing images of stock markets around the world.

It’s around two in the morning in London. Gregory should be sleeping. I wonder if he’s alone. My stomach churns at the thought of anyone, ever, being in his bed with him. I hold my blink for seconds until the only image I see is of him, naked in his satin sheets. I wonder if his nightmares have stopped.

The tread automatically cuts out at an hour, so I move on to the stepper for twenty minutes, then the bike for a ten minute cool down. Any other Friday, I probably would have hit the outdoor pool for a few lengths too, but my dry martinis and lack of sleep are catching up with me.

“On the house,” Mike says in a thick New Zealand accent as he throws me a bottle of water, the plastic clouding on the outside from condensation.

I catch the bottle with a
thanks
and head out to the pool to dip my feet. Leaving my trainers and socks by a lounger, I stand on the ledge, treading my toes in the lukewarm water.

“Mind if I join you?” Paddy heads over to the pool, kitted out in white trousers, shirt and shoes.

“Of course not. Why are you here so early?”

“Volunteered myself for pool duty today,” he says, leaning down to scoop a sample of water into a clear test tube.

“So you’re tax.” My very slight smile is more for his benefit than my own.

Unusually for Paddy, he doesn’t return the gesture. He puts a lid on his test tube and gives it a shake. “Actually, no. Woman.” He shrugs. “I’m over it now.”

“Mind sharing your secret?”

He offers me a pitiful half smile and I can’t help but think how much I wish it was Gregory standing in front of me with
his
half smile.

“I take it your guest was unwanted last night?”

I scoff into the sports cap of my water bottle. “You could say that.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I really don’t.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I’m around all day. They say we Irishmen make the best listeners.”

“Really? Who are
they
?”

He winks, a cheeky, very Paddy-like wink. “Women.
All
women.”

I chuckle as he walks away, thankful for the only interaction I’m likely to have today besides cleaners and maybe a waiter at lunch.

I spend most of the day working from my hotel room, preparing additional enquiries of the construction company Mr. Ghurair intends to acquire, venturing as far as the lobby café. This is one of the most mundane parts of a corporate lawyer’s job, endless due diligence—who owns the company? Who owns the assets, the machines, the tools and the cement? Will the company be in breach of any contracts with suppliers or customers if the acquisition goes ahead? Are there any hidden red herrings that could impact the value of the company?

I’m the lawyer on the ground in Dubai but there’s a team back at Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain in London. Amanda is heading up the due diligence from there, which has worked out great. She needed work and really could use a big deal before she goes off on maternity leave and her career flatlines for a couple of years. I needed support. And working together gives us more reason to talk regularly. As virtual as our relationship might be, she makes me feel less lonely out here.

The downside is that Friday is supposed to be my weekend in the Middle East but everyone is working in London so I am, too. The distraction probably isn’t a bad thing.

I shut down for the day at four, then switch into a blue-and-white-striped maxi, tying my hair into a messy knot. The late afternoon heat is actually welcome after the chill of the air-con in the hotel. Armed with a pair of Bvlgari tortoiseshell shades, I head out to wander the dry streets, which are practically empty because everyone is chauffeured in Dubai. I soon find myself barefoot on Jumeirah Beach, water lapping at my feet and sand tickling between my toes as I look out from the man-made beach across the turquoise sea. A soft burnt-orange haze lingers in the air, adding character to the horizon and serving as a constant reminder of the yellow dessert beyond the wealth of the city.

I’m so lost.

* * *

A now familiar waiter clears the dinner plate from my table on the balcony of Broadway, visibly disappointed that I’ve only eaten half my fillet.

“Was there a problem, madam?”

“Not at all, I just don’t have much of an appetite tonight. Please make my apologies to the chef.”

He nods, satisfied, and heads off to the kitchen.

As the first act of a 1950s-style rock ‘n’ roll medley draws to a close and I finish the last dregs of my dirty martini, Paddy appears. His bicep is tight under the short sleeve of his white cotton shirt and his messy dark waves are tucked behind his ears. There’s a full glass of what looks like champagne, golden and lightly effervescent, on his tray.

“Hey lady, you look better than you did this morning.”

“Wish I could say the same about you.”

He shakes his head with a short laugh. “So listen, your man there asked me to bring this over.” He gestures to the full flute with a flick of his head.

I look to the bar and see a group of six—three men, three women—huddled by the barstools, laughing. “Thanks but you know the score.”

“No drinks from strangers,” he says in a mocking, bored voice that sounds almost mid-yawn. “I told him what you’d say.”

“Yet you’re still standing here with a drink for me?”

His cute smile pulls on his pink lips and his sapphire eyes twinkle. “Well, he tipped me more than I’ll earn in my shift to bring you this particular drink.”

“What is it?”

His smile turns to a mischievous grin. “Before I tell you, I have to know. If I’d have asked you out for, you know, a date or whatever, would there have been a chance?”

I cock my head to one side. “You mean, would I have been your rebound ex-pat?”

He laughs. “To be sure.”

“I don’t think two broken hearts make a whole one, Paddy.”

He nods, one curt move. “It’s Pol Rodger 2002,” he says, placing the drink in front of me with a small napkin that’s been folded into a triangle.

My stomach tightens as I take the napkin and unfold it. I’m holding my breath as I read the one word written there.

Aurora.

I press my hand to my chest to control my pounding heart and turn back to the bar.

Holy Shit!

He stands at the bar, leaning on one forearm, sipping from a glass that I know is filled with Scotch. His white shirt is rolled up to his elbows, three buttons open at the top. His muscles flex through the cotton as he moves. With one leg bent and resting on the low rail around the bottom of the bar, his cream chinos are pulled tight across his firm arse.

As if he feels my eyes on him, he turns, and those intense brown eyes lock on mine. The world stops turning, the room fades to nothing around us.

God, I love him.

“I take it you’re good with Pol Rodger?”

“Hmm?”

“The Pol Rodger?”

I drag my attention from Gregory to Paddy and process his words. “Yes. Sure. Fine.”

“And I take it that’s your heartbreaker.”

I don’t know whether I shake my head or nod or do neither. Paddy moves away as the most mesmerising man I’ve ever met walks towards me.

Pull yourself together, Scarlett. Now!

I’m looking up through my lashes as he reaches my table.

“Scarlett.” I’d forgotten how my names rolls off his tongue like velvet.

I subtly drag air into my lungs holding his stare. I won’t blink first. “Gregory.”

“You look skinny,” he says, finally breaking eye contact, giving me permission to close my lids.

“You flew five thousand miles to insult me?”

He reaches down, sweeps up my champagne flute and sips. I watch his throat as he slowly swallows the bubbles. My lips part.

“Actually, it’s more like three and a half thousand,” he says, placing the flute down on the table and sliding it towards me. “And no. I flew here because I don’t care to be called a
son of a bitch
.”

“That’s right. You don’t like the truth, Gregory, do you?”

The faintest sign of a smirk rises on his tantalising lips. “It’s funny you should mention that because the truth is one thing I came here to address.”

“Well, that would be a first.” My words are much more confident than I feel. He’s rugby tackled me sideways, but I sit back into my seat and cross one leg over, sipping Pol Rodger.

His brows furrow. He pouts.
God, I want to bite his lips.
“The other thing I came to address is that goddamn attitude of yours.”

I scoff a little too theatrically. “Thanks for the champagne, Gregory, but you might as well leave now because I won’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth.” My chair scrapes along the floor as I stand. “Excuse me.”

Marching past him, I make it out of the bar to the landing. Thumping the lift button, I glance nervously between the bar entrance and the four lifts. “Come on,” I say through my teeth, my foot bouncing, my bare arms folded around my stomach.

“Don’t walk away from me, Scarlett.
I came here to set you straight on a few things and you’re going to listen to what I’ve got to say.”

I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t look at him moving towards me. I can’t let him see me breaking on the outside even though I’m shattering on the inside. The pain I’ve tried to kill since leaving London has come crashing back and it’s striking me in the gut, crippling my body.

“Leave me alone, Gregory.”

He’s next to me now. Too close. I can smell his fresh, rich scent.
Him.

“I will, once you’ve heard what I have to say.”

I turn to face him. He really is too close, his body just inches from mine. I look up and find him staring, reading me, breaking down my facade.

“You lost the right to demand things from me when you lied to me and then sent me away.”

“Two minutes. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

He has a point. This is for me, not him. “Two minutes.”

“Outside, come on.”

He reaches for my arm and I flinch as electricity sparks under his warm palm. He leads us through a fire exit to a quiet, desolate terrace. It’s a side of the hotel I haven’t seen but the frenetic lights of Dubai still shine in the night around us. I break our contact and move away from him, leaning forward on the railing.

“Your two minutes have begun.”

“Alright.” With a heavy exhale he leans next to me, his forearms on the metal, mirroring my pose. I inch away from him and in my peripheral vision I see his shoulders sag. “You didn’t let me finish last night.”

“That’s because there was nothing left to say.” I can’t contain my anger and rise, snapping my body around to face him. He stands upright, again matching my pose. “You made me promise, Gregory. You made me promise that I would accept the CPS decision, that I would see that as
my
justice. But it wasn’t justice at all. You bought your own law.”

“That’s rich,” he growls.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You said yourself—a good lawyer bends the law. That’s exactly why you told me to hire John Harrison.”

“
Bends
the law, Gregory, not fucking evades it.”

“Curb the attitude, Scarlett.”

“No.” I’m leaning towards him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. Tell me what you came to say because you have about thirty seconds left.”

He drags his fingers roughly through his hair.
Damn, I want to do that.
I turn my back on him and look at anything in the distance to distract me.

“I paid off some people but it’s not what you think.”

“Who?”

“The CPS.”

A weight crushes the air from my lungs for the second time tonight and I press my fingertips to my lips.

“But
not
for the murder charge, Scarlett. Look at me.”