Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“Buying what?”
“That goes with the why, Ward. I don’t know.”
I huff, sinking back into my seat, thinking.
“So, if it wasn’t him in the bar, or who stole your car,” Cook says. “Surely you can forget about Van Der Haus.”
“He still wants my wife.” My voice is low, a bit like my mood. I mean, yes, it would have been convenient if it was Van Der Haus, but I think I knew deep down that he’s not capable. So the question remains—who is?
Cook nods slowly, thoughtful. “Because you and Freja—”
“Yes.”
“Well, he’s been seeing someone, so perhaps he’s moved on.”
“Seeing someone?” I ask, shocked.
“Yes, it’s somewhere here,” he says, riffling through some more papers. “He met her for dinner. Petite, young, blonde.”
I glance at John, seeing his curious expression. “Interesting.”
“When was the last time you heard from him?” Cook asks as I rub at my forehead, trying to remember. I can’t. It’s been weeks. He hasn’t called Ava—not that I’m aware of. Have I been worrying over nothing? Has Van Der Haus slithered off under his rock with his young, petite blonde, never to bother us again? I can’t imagine so. He still has one big fat juicy detail I’m certain he wants to share with my wife about his wife briefly being on the end of my dick during my four-day meltdown. “I don’t recall,” I admit. I should be forgiven. A lot has been going on.
“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, Ward,” Cook goes on, saying what I’m slowly accepting myself. “From what I can see, he’s clean, respected, and he has an alibi on both of the occasions Ava was targeted.”
Targeted. Jesus, it sounds so much more sinister when he says it like that. I look at John. He knows what I’m thinking. Lockdown. I’ll have to explain to Ava, and she will have to accept that she won’t be stepping foot anywhere without John or me.
Welcome fucking home.
“Before I go.” Steve hands something to John, and both men ignore my questioning frown. “Listen, Ward, I understand your concern, naturally, but you really should have let the police deal with this from the start.”
I’m beginning to wish I had. I thought it was cut and dry. I just needed to prove it and send that fucker out of the country with a threat and a mangled face that no woman would ever find attractive again. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. When’s Ava available to give a statement? We’ve been talking to the other drivers, but she’s obviously a key witness.”
“I’ll ask her to call you.”
“Thanks. Let me know if you need anything else.” He walks to the door and takes the handle, looking back. “And there’s no one springing to mind? Bitter exes, men you’ve stolen wives from?”
I lift my tired eyes but not my head, and Cook nods, reading between the lines, before he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.
I turn to John and show the ceiling my palms. “What now?” I ask, getting up and starting to pace. “And what the fuck is that Cook gave to you?”
John unfolds the paper, and his eyebrows lift.
“What, for God’s sake?” I press, going back to the couch and lowering, craning my neck to see.
“I had Steve look into Ava’s brother,” he says, holding the paper up.
“To see if he had a criminal record?”
“Well, yes, that, but also his financial situation.”
“How the fuck would Cook—” It occurs to me. His wife. Juliette. That’s how he got Mikael’s financial situation too. He got his wife to look, because she would have access to credit reports and records.
“He’s skint,” John grunts, tossing the paper on my lap. “Brassic, broke, potless.”
I scan the paper, seeing bank account records, credit reports, defaults on credit cards, loans, and car finance. “Fuck,” I breathe. “What a mess.”
“So that’s why he’s not going back to Australia.”
“He can’t afford the airfare,” I say, suddenly parched. I get up and grab some water, swigging as I pace around the office. “So how did he afford his airfare here, and why the fuck would he come back to the UK to that mess?” Surely, he’d want to duck and dive around that financial shitshow.
“No idea,” John says. “I’ve got to go collaborate the new system and sync the settings—make sure everything is still running smoothly before we sign off on the contract.”
“That’s it?” I ask, watching him leave. “You’re going?”
“What do you want me to do, sit and brainstorm with you for an eternity? There’s shit to do. I’ll think while I do it. And by the way . . .”
“What?”
“Sarah doesn’t know it’s twins.”
I groan and drop my head back. “Great.”
John pulls the door open and bumps into Sam. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he grunts. “You’re barred until you produce valid, clean medicals.”
Sam slaps his shoulder and passes him. “I’m no longer a member, big man.” Dumping himself on the couch, he puts his feet up, all comfy. “I’ve been thinking.”