The Make

apart from that, she felt pretty much okay.

‘Gracie?’ he asked as she leaned back against the tiles, eyes closed.

‘Hm?’

‘Better?’

‘Yeah. Better.’ Her eyes flickered open. He was there, right there in the shower with her, and his coat was soaked through and she was standing there in her underwear. ‘Your clothes are wet,’ she pointed out.

Lorcan looked into her eyes and slowly he started to smile.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Gracie, if I take my clothes off too, this could lead somewhere neither of us wants it to go.’

Who says I don’t? wondered Gracie.

But he was right. They were on the threshold of divorce; that was the sensible option. Being together had only ever made them miserable. He was completely right.

‘I’d better get dried off,’ said Gracie.

Lorcan switched off the shower. He pulled a bath sheet off the heated towel rail and swaddled her up in it like a baby. ‘Can you walk okay now?’

‘Of course I can walk okay now.’

‘Only just now you could hardly stand up.’

‘That was because . . .’ That was because someone hit me over the head. She shivered again, not with cold this time. She stepped out of the shower cubicle, swathed in the bath sheet, and walked gingerly into George’s bedroom.

She sat down on the bed, pulled up the towel and started to dry her sopping-wet hair. Instantly she flinched and paused. Her forehead was sore and she could feel a small lump coming up there. Her bra was sticking clammily to her skin, ditto her pants. Shuddering with distaste, she pulled both off and tossed them on to the floor.

‘You okay there?’ Lorcan appeared at the open door, peeling off his shirt. Lovely brown skin. Hard, sculptured pecs. How had she forgotten those?

‘I’m fine, will you please knock?’

‘The door was open.’

Gracie got up, staggered, righted herself and crossed the room. ‘Well now it’s not. Okay?’ She slammed the door shut in his face.

She picked up her undies and draped them over the radiator. Then she went to her overnight bag and with trembling hands pulled out clean underwear, a fresh cream jumper, jeans and socks. She got out her hairdryer and a brush and started to dry and unknot the tangled mess that was her hair. Then she slowly got dressed, put the towel over her undies on the radiator, and went out into the hall. Lorcan’s coat, shirt, trousers, socks and shoes were all lined up on the lounge radiator, moisture rising from the wet clothes and fogging up the window. Lorcan himself was in the kitchen making tea, wearing a too-small towel around his waist.

Gracie went on into Harry’s room, snatched up his velour bath robe, and stalked back into the lounge with it. She tossed it through the hatch into the kitchenette.

‘You can put this on,’ she said pointedly.

‘Thanks,’ said Lorcan, and took off the towel.

Gracie primly averted her eyes while he got the robe on. When she thought it was safe to look, he was wearing it.

‘Tea,’ he said, bringing two steaming mugs out into the lounge.

Gracie sat down and he put the mugs on the coffee table. Lorcan sat down too, tucking the robe in so as not to offend.

But then, she thought, nothing I haven’t seen before, right?

Which didn’t mean she wanted to see it all over again. Did it?

‘You could borrow some of Harry’s clothes,’ she said.

‘In a minute.’ Lorcan had been half smiling, but now his face was serious. ‘I want to know what’s going on here, Gracie.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t give me that shit. I mean what the fuck’s going on? I came over here tonight to discuss the divorce with you, and you know what I found?’

Gracie shook her head dumbly.

‘You, face-down in the snow, unconscious. And some bloke trying to drag you back towards a car.’

The tugging on her legs.

Holy shit.

‘Gracie, it’s just as well you’re not a dainty little woman. Or he wouldn’t have had such a struggle shifting you, and I wouldn’t have got here in time.’

‘Did you see his face?’

‘No. It was dark. He was tall, wearing a long leather coat. When I turned up and shouted and ran at him, he took off for the car and drove away.’

Gracie said nothing.

‘Is this all connected? George in hospital, Harry missing . . . and what about the tyres being slashed on your car? And this fucker tonight, he was trying to abduct you, Gracie. Thank God I showed up when I did.’

Gracie sat there feeling sick and shattered. He was right. There was horrible trouble here, and somehow it was all linked to Harry missing and George at death’s door.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s been going on? Have George and Harry been up to something they shouldn’t?’

‘You should know what George has been up to. He works for you,’ shrugged Gracie, unwilling even at this point to land George in it.

‘When he can be arsed to show up, which is not very often,’ said Lorcan. He stared at her speculatively. ‘What is it Gracie? Drugs?’

‘No,’ said Gracie firmly.

‘Only it looks like they’ve upset someone, wouldn’t you say? Someone who knows how to hold a grudge.’

‘Oh shit,’ said Gracie, and picked up her mug and drank the tea. It was hot, reviving. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s a mess. Someone’s got it in for all the Doyles. Including me.’

‘Go on.’

Gracie took a breath. ‘Someone torched the front of my casino.’

Lorcan was staring at her. ‘You what?’

She nodded and swallowed hard. ‘And they delivered me a bag full of Harry’s hair. They sent a bag of it to Mum, too. And tonight . . . I’d just come back from Mum’s place, and someone’s hacked at her door with a chainsaw. They ran out of petrol, couldn’t break through. But she’s a nervous wreck. I took her over to Aunt Vera’s to stay.’

‘Holy shit,’ said Lorcan. ‘And you don’t know why any of this has kicked off? Seriously?’

‘No,’ said Gracie, thinking about George and Harry’s escort business. All those women. But . . . they could have husbands, boyfriends, people who wouldn’t take kindly to their women being squired around town by a couple of young studs. Wasn’t that feasible?

‘What?’ asked Lorcan, watching her face. ‘Come on, Gracie. For the love of God, tell me.’

Gracie gave in. ‘George and Harry have been on the make,’ she sighed.

Chapter 34