The Make

Christmas Eve

‘I found loads of emails on George’s computer, from all these women. And I found his website,’ said Gracie to Lorcan over breakfast next day.

He’d stayed overnight at George’s place, taking Harry’s bed while she took George’s. It felt odd, lying in bed knowing that Lorcan was just down the hall. Odd – but reassuring, too. She couldn’t believe how close she had come to getting snatched yesterday, and her brain kept dishing up freak-show images to her as she sank into a light, troubled sleep. What would have happened to her? You heard reports all the time. Women raped, hurt, murdered.

But eventually she slept – and she only managed that because she knew Lorcan was there with her. She kept waking up and finding herself listening for his tread coming down the hall. But he didn’t come near her all night. Which was exactly what she wanted, but it irritated the hell out of her at the same time. Next morning she phoned Mum at Vera’s.

‘Oh, the cow’s loving all this,’ moaned Suze. ‘She’s got the whole place decorated like Disneyland, all colour coordinated in silver and pink. Now she’s out in the kitchen in her Cath Kidston apron making mince pies and doing some Delia Smith thing with the bloody turkey. All her perfect kids and their perfect partners are coming over to stay later today, and I’m here like the poor relation. I’m having loads of laughs, thanks for asking.’

‘At least you’re safe.’

‘Yeah, but at what price? If I have to listen to one more tale about how great Col’s qualifications are, or how well Kirsty’s doing at that upper-crust uni she’s attending, I tell you, I’m gonna blow. If I try to help out she just tells me I’m doing it all wrong. And I still can’t believe that shit Claude’s scarpered – do you know how much that hurts, that he just abandoned me like that? And I don’t understand what’s going on. Why would anyone want to hurt George? And where the hell is my poor Harry? And why in God’s name would anyone want to take a chainsaw to my front door?’

‘It’ll all work out,’ said Gracie. She knew it sounded lame.

‘My life’s in the toilet, Gracie. In the toilet.’

‘Going to see George tonight?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘No change still.’

‘No. No change,’ said Suze, and hung up.

Gracie’s head was throbbing from the blow to her skull last night; she wasn’t in the mood for all this aggro. She caught up with Lorcan in the lounge. He was dressed in his own dried-off clothes, drinking tea and eating toast.

‘How’s the head?’ he asked.

‘It has been better,’ said Gracie, going through to the kitchen and raiding the cupboards until she found paracetamol and a cup. She came back into the lounge, poured some tea out of the pot, filched a piece of Lorcan’s toast, and sat down.

‘These emails from these women,’ said Lorcan. ‘You’re sure that’s what’s going on? George and Harry have set themselves up as escorts?’

‘There’s no doubt about it.’

‘And they’ve upset someone.’

‘Looks like it.’

Gracie sipped her tea and wondered where the hell this was all going to end. She felt more frightened than she had ever been in her life. Someone wanted all the Doyles roasted, that much was obvious. George was in hospital. Harry was missing. Her mother had been terrorized. She had been attacked and if Lorcan hadn’t intervened she would have been dragged away, maybe never to be seen again.

‘It’s like a scorched-earth policy, you heard of that?’ asked Lorcan.

Gracie nodded. ‘Yeah. An army withdraws and they make sure everything left behind is ruined. They burn the land, poison the wells.’

‘That’s what this person’s doing – total obliteration – don’t you think?’

She didn’t want to think that. If she allowed herself to think that, then she would have to acknowledge that they were probably all doomed, every last one of the Doyles. Because you couldn’t fight an enemy you couldn’t see. And this one was invisible.

‘Scary, uh?’ said Lorcan, watching her face.

Gracie’s eyes locked with his. ‘I’m worried about George lying there helpless in hospital. I’ve been thinking about this. Someone – God knows who – has already passed themselves off as his brother and strolled in there. What if someone wants to finish him off, Lorcan? Nothing could be easier, could it?’

‘Then we’d better get George some security.’

‘Can you do that?’

‘I run a casino, Gracie. You know security plays a big part in gaming.’ He sat back, considering. Then he said: ‘Actually I can’t spare workers, not right now. But I could draft in the fellas who take the skim.’

‘You what?’ asked Gracie.

‘The skim. You know.’

Gracie sat up straight. ‘Lorcan. Are you telling me you’re paying protection money to someone?’

Lorcan gazed at her. ‘It’s just like talking to the Babes in the Wood,’ he sighed. ‘Come on, Gracie. Surely someone up in Manchester’s approached you to take a skim off the profits?’

‘No. They haven’t.’

‘Oh come on.’

‘Really. No.’ Gracie was staring at him. ‘Who takes this “skim”, then?’

He shrugged. ‘In London? The American boys.’

‘Are you telling me the Mafia are hitting on you for money?’

‘They always have. And they always will. They’re into a lot of places in the West End. Grow up, Gracie.’

‘I don’t believe this.’

‘Believe it. The good news is, the boys are generous in return. They look after their own. Which is me. And anyone connected to me.’

Gracie stared at him, feeling shocked, dispossessed and unsure. She couldn’t take in what he was telling her. This wasn’t her usual stamping ground. She was in a strange environment, facing an unreadable enemy – and Jesus, her head ached. Added to all that, here was Lorcan, right here, telling her the Mafia were in his pocket. Or he was in theirs. And she was still finding him disturbingly attractive. And she didn’t, she really didn’t, want to go down that road again.

‘Who’s going to be keeping an eye on you while you find out more about all these women George and Harry have been escorting around town?’ he asked her.

‘I didn’t say I was going to do that,’ said Gracie.

‘But that is what you’re intending to do, ain’t that right?’

He could read her mind. She remembered that now. The way he could snatch her thoughts out of thin air, could know exactly what was happening in her head.

‘It’s better than just waiting for the axe to fall. And I can’t think of anything else to do,’ she shrugged. ‘Can you?’

‘No. I can’t. So while you’re doing that, Gracie, I’ll watch your back, okay?’

‘No.’ Gracie stood up. ‘Not okay.’

She’d been through all this before with him. She knew how easily he could take over her life, her mind, her body. He was a strong man and he didn’t have a shut-off point. He’d push and push at something until it crumbled, which was fine in business, but not when it was her he was looking to take over. She was an independent woman. She was used to doing her own thing, thinking for herself, having complete autonomy. She didn’t want to change that, and she just knew that Lorcan could change it overnight, given half a chance. She knew how forceful he could be. And she knew that beneath all her go-fuck-yourself-I’m-a- liberated-woman front, she was weak at the core where Lorcan was concerned.

‘Come on, Gracie.’