‘You still perving on that doofus?’ Nick said. ‘Katrina told me you tried to shag him the other night.’
I gave him a pointed look. ‘I’m reading.’
‘Sure you are. Didn’t take you long to get over James, did it?’
The pain his words caused me was immediate and almost physical. I retaliated by punching him hard on the arm.
‘Jesus, woman!’ he exclaimed, rubbing his bicep. ‘It was just a joke.’
‘Not funny.’
The words blurred through the tears in my eyes as I tried to keep reading. Every mention of James gave me the same sick feeling inside, like nothing would ever feel normal again. My mind knew he was gone, but my body had not yet learnt to stop yearning for him, refusing to believe he wasn’t coming back.
And as for Nick, he was the last person I wanted to be around right now. It was bad enough that his very existence reminded me of James, but it was impossible to forget how he’d treated me once he’d got what he wanted, clearing out of my flat early the next morning complaining of a headache. As much as it pained me to admit it now, I’d hoped that he’d call later that day to… what, apologise? Invite me out for dinner?
But he hadn’t called, and he hadn’t apologised. We hadn’t gone out for dinner. I’d been just another name on his long list of conquests, and he’d never let me forget it, even after James and I had moved in together.
Meeting James had been a balm for my humiliation. More than that, I thought he was my soulmate. But now he was gone and here I was, stuck with Nick for at least the next few days. All I wanted was to ask whether he’d spoken to James, and all he could do was make idiotic comments.
I hate you. I hateyouIhateyouIhateyou.
Halfway between Singapore and Barcelona, Nick finally fell asleep. We’d barely exchanged two words the whole way, but after hours of him looking over my shoulder as I jotted down notes, I’d been on the verge of stabbing him in the eye with my pen.
Now I could finally concentrate on the task ahead and piece together the personality that was Chris Ford.
According to many of the magazine articles I’d read, he was single, although he’d been linked romantically with American B-grade actor Virginia Chase on and off for the last few years. The Fords were huge in the UK, Australia and, inexplicably, India, but they’d never managed to crack the European market, where they remained virtually unknown. The gigs on their Australian tour had earned some pretty rough reviews, which probably explained why Ford had been so moody when I’d spoken to him. The band’s poor performance was largely put down to Angus Bright’s absence, but some of their fan pages had speculated that the band’s popularity was in decline and they were on the way out.
Ford had an obsession with the work of Spanish architect Antoni Gaudí, so it was no surprise that he owned an apartment in Barcelona, home to most of Gaudí’s works. But surely the apartment would be the last place he’d go if he were on the run from the law? The police would certainly have checked it out already. And even if he were there, how was I going to find out where it was?
Other than that, his private life was just that—private. He didn’t have a conspicuous drug or alcohol problem. He didn’t destroy hotel rooms. He didn’t swear and assault paparazzi. In short, he was clean.
The only incidents that blemished his nice-guy persona were a couple of public brawls with Angus Bright a few months ago, right before the band had left for the Australian tour. Under normal circumstances, not something that would indicate a person capable of murder. But these were not normal circumstances. Bright was missing, presumed dead, and Ford was the only one who appeared to have a motive, however tenuous.
I shoved the file back into my bag in frustration. Other than the apartment in Barcelona and what he’d told me about Rome, I had no leads and no idea what I was going to do. And one giant bluff to Katrina that I had to pull off or I’d have no job to go home to.
Nick stirred beside me. He’d stripped off his jacket when we’d landed in Singapore, even though we’d never left the regulated temperatures of the airport. I watched the rise and fall of his chest as he slept, and the strain of his white T-shirt over his broad shoulders. His face looked softer and more sensitive without the sarcastic glower that usually characterised his features. His dark hair was on the verge of needing a cut, his cheeks and chin covered in the fine stubble that seemed to be there no matter what time of day.
I hadn’t been this close to him since he’d been in my bed, and before I could stop myself I was remembering what he’d looked like naked. His body was the opposite of James’s, lean and toned where James was broad and bulky. He had the kind of muscles that looked like the result of pure man essence rather than pumping iron. The guy might be a bastard, but he had a damn fine body, and did he ever know how to use it.
A forceful shake of my head helped clear it of my evil thoughts. It’d been a long time since I’d thought about that night, and I didn’t want to go back there now.
I pushed my seat back and attempted to get comfortable in the confined space.
The
