The Finished Masterpiece (Master of Trickery Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  “Who’s this?”

  “This is Brad Scott from Scott, Smith, and Grampton. I’m calling to inform you that a court date has been set, and you’re expected to be at the crown court in six days’ time at nine a.m. sharp. Please be presentable and prepared. I request we meet tomorrow to go over your testimony and explain in detail what to expect.”

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  “Six days?” My heart sank to my toes. “That soon?”

  “They’ve hurried your trial. These things happen with high-profile murder cases, especially when pressure is put on the system by the public.”

  I rubbed my mouth, spinning to face Olive who sat innocently on the blanket. “How long with the trial take?”

  “Not sure. Depends how much evidence there is to present. You’ll be subjected to a jury trial. Your verdict might be given that day or it might take a week or a month, who knows. I’ll be able to advise more once we’ve sat down, and you’ve answered my questions.”

  “Questions?”

  “We’ll run through a fake trial. I’ll pretend to examine you, you answer, we get our ducks in a row, and you’ll be prepared for the real thing. Sitting in a courtroom can be scary business, Mr. Clark. It’s my job to ensure you’re ready and nothing goes wrong.”

  I couldn’t stop looking at my daughter.

  I wanted to be fucking sick.

  “What if I’m found guilty? Will I be sent to prison straight away?”

  Brad made a noise; paper shuffled in the background. “I’m afraid so. It’s best to get your affairs in order and prepare your family, just in case.”

  Pacing the soft grass, blanketed by warm sun, I asked as quietly as my nerves would allow. “Do you think I have a chance of walking out of there?”

  After a long pause, Brad muttered, “You killed a man, Mr. Clark. It might’ve been in defense of Olin Moss being assaulted, but the fact remains, you took a life.”

  “He held my daughter hostage for over a year.”

  “He was your family.”

  “He was a liar and a traitor.”

  “So you say.”

  My hands curled. “What are you implying?”

  “I’m implying nothing. Just showing you how the court will be. No one will be on your side, Mr. Clark. Except me.”

  “So you believe I deserve to go to jail?”

  He sighed with exasperation, as if he’d had this conversation with so many criminals. “It’s not about what I believe. It’s about what the facts prove. I’ll do my best to ensure they work in your favour. But you confessed to the murder. You are being lynched online. The possibility of this all blowing over and you remaining a free man are slim to none.”

  Silence filled in the gaps.

  I had nothing more to say.

  He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow at my office. We’ll go through everything and I’ll make sure you’re prepared. Until then, enjoy today, Mr. Clark. Enjoy all your days because you might only have six free ones left.”

  He hung up.

  I stared at the traffic surrounding us.

  I tripped back to Olive and collapsed beside my daughter just as a stopwatch started a countdown to the end.

  Tick.

  Tock.

  It’s over.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ______________________________

  Olin

  I DIDN’T KNOW how much longer I could take it.

  Seeing Gil every day.

  Having him in my house.

  Watching the incredible way he loved his daughter.

  Suffering a stupid heart that still wanted what it couldn’t have.

  It was too much.

  I needed space.

  Time alone.

  I needed to rein in my rapidly fraying life before I was left with tattered pieces and no hope of ever sewing myself back together again.

  The civility between us was worse than fighting.

  The fakeness between us far more draining than being honest.

  But we couldn’t have a fight, and we couldn’t be honest because Olive was there.

  Every night.

  Every meal.

  Every morning.

  That sweet, adorable little girl who watched me and Gil with far too much understanding in her grey gaze. She saw what we were trying to hide. She heard what we weren’t saying. And it worried me because the longer we skirted around each other, pretending we could be friends when it was obvious that we couldn’t, the more Olive watched with a plan gleaming in her eyes.

  A plan that little girls make up when they think they can play matchmaker to two people who are stubborn and broken and successfully ruining any chance of happiness.

  I couldn’t let her do that.

  I had made my choice.

  I’ve made it.

  I have.

  I won’t fall into the same patterns.

  Not this time.

  Yes, being a supportive friend and offering free accommodation was harder than I thought. Yes, being kind wasn’t nearly as rewarding as it used to be. But at least I had my work. I could lose myself in the repetitive routine and find salvation from an unsolvable complication until five p.m.

  Unfortunately, the moment I climbed on the bus and travelled home, all those jumpy, itchy needs swarmed me, and by the time I walked in the door, I was exhausted, frustrated, and just plain twisted up with barbwire-filled knots.

  Tonight, I honestly didn’t know if I could walk through the door and do it all over again. To smile and laugh and let Gil cook me and his daughter a simple but tasty dinner.

  It was far too domesticated.

  Way too dangerous for my heart.

  Sighing, I fished my keys from my handbag and sucked in a deep breath.

  Unlocking the door, I braced myself, schooled my features from tortured to serene, and stepped into my apartment.

  “Oh, hi.” I stopped on the threshold, finding more people than I expected.

  Justin immediately got to his feet where he sat at the dining room table with Gil and Olive. A tower of pizza boxes rested in the middle of the table, along with wedges and garlic bread. “Great, you’re back. We’ve been staring at this food like slobbering hyenas for twenty minutes but didn’t want to start until you were here.”

  Olive giggled. “I wasn’t slobbering.”

  “You were too.” Justin stuck out his tongue at her. “I saw drool on your chin and your tiny fangs.”

  “Did not.” She crossed her arms, a cross between a smirk and a pout on her face.

  Gil just sprawled in his chair, his gaze once again pinned on me, his body wound tight despite his relaxed pose. I didn’t know how I knew, but something had happened today.

  Something bad.

  I read it in the way he studied me as if he’d never see me again.

  I felt it in the electrified air between us.

  I grew wet despite myself.

  I grew angry because my body kept betraying me.

  Ripping my gaze from his, I kissed Justin on the cheek as he kissed me. Gil stiffened in his chair.

  I smiled. “You could’ve started without me, you know.”

  “Nah, that wouldn’t be fair.” Justin took my handbag, tossed it on the couch, then escorted me to the table. “Gil called and asked me round. Hope you don’t mind me imposing.” Sitting down, he divided up the boxes and opened them.

  A punch of cheese, barbecue sauce, and grease filled my nose.

  “I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime.”

  “I bought pizza as a guest tax.” Justin grabbed a piece of veggie-something-or-other and plopped it onto Olive’s plate. “After you, tiny one.”

  Olive plucked a piece of onion off, then took a dainty bite. “Yummy.”

  “Great. I’m glad it’s approved.” Justin chuckled, placing a piece onto my plate then onto his. He didn’t serve Gil, just shoved the box his way. “All yours, mate.”

  “Cheers.” Gil took one and ate
quietly. Once again, that intensity, that wrongness scratched down my spine.

  What’d happened?

  Why was Justin here?

  How could I ask when it wasn’t my place?

  Conversation was few and far between as we ate unhealthy but delicious takeout. Olive managed two pieces and a handful of wedges. I ate three pieces. And the guys managed to devour almost an entire pizza each.

  By the time everyone had their fill, Olive looked ready to pass out and threw herself on the couch amongst Gil’s blankets and turned on the TV.

  Justin passed out napkins for greasy fingers.

  Gil raised an eyebrow, catching Justin’s attention.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He grinned, hiding the scary urgency in his tone. “Prove to her I’m trustworthy before it’s too late.”

  “Appreciate it.” Gil sat forward in his chair as Justin went to Olive and struck up a conversation about whatever show she’d selected. He perched next to her on the couch, his gaze on the screen but his attention entirely on her.

  “What are you watching?” he asked gently.

  “Dunno. What do you want to watch?”

  Justin grinned. “Anything you want to watch.” The strain in his shoulders relaxed. He’d successfully proven not to be the monster she’d feared just a few weeks ago.

  Once again prickles shot down my back, suddenly understanding why Justin was here. Gil had invited him to bond with Olive. To ensure they could live harmoniously when the time came.

  Oh, no.

  My eyes shot to his. “Did something happen today?” My pulse pounded in worry.

  Gil stiffened and stood from the table. “Can I talk to you, please?”

  I looked up, frowning. “Sure...please tell me—”

  “Not here.” He arched his chin at my bedroom. “In there.”

  I instantly shook my head.

  Him and me in a room with a closed door?

  No way.

  I wouldn’t have the strength to stop whatever would happen.

  And it would happen.

  Each stare was a touch.

  Each word was a lick.

  Living together and not acknowledging the flying, raging need between us had ensured we’d been pouring gunpowder directly onto open wounds. If we had a single opportunity to even say a fraction of something that wasn’t controlled and civil, I didn’t know what would happen.

  You do know.

  You know exactly what would happen.

  The rough, quick sex we’d had in my kitchen would be nothing compared to the explosive aggression we’d indulge in.

  “It’s probably best if we stay—”

  “It’s important.” His head tipped down, shadowing his gaze. “Please?”

  Olive giggled at something Justin said.

  He beamed as if he’d solved complex math.

  Just because Olive was distracted didn’t mean we were free to become animals behind my bedroom door. The walls were paper thin. Justin was right there. There was safety in that—knowing we still had boundaries and rules in place.

  “Okay.” Brushing off pizza crumbs, I didn’t say a word as I followed Gil through the small living room and entered my bedroom.

  The moment we were inside, he closed the door.

  He took a deep breath.

  I spun to face him, crossing my arms, doing my best to hold myself together. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  He rubbed his face with both hands, the mask he’d kept in place the past few days slipping to the floor. “Fuck, do you know how hard it is not to kiss you? It’s all I ever fucking think about.” He moved toward me, only to pace away before he could touch me. “Fuck, if I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop.”

  He headed to my window, raking hands through his hair. “Night after night, I battle myself not to come in here and take you. To see if there’s any way we can fix us. To stop our inevitable separation.”

  “Gil, don’t—”

  He held up a hand. “It’s okay, O. I’m not going to force myself on you. I’m not going to kiss you. I’m not going to do anything apart from say...it’s all too fucking late.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I stepped toward him instead of away. “What do you mean, too late?”

  “I had a phone call today.”

  “From who?”

  “The lawyer who’s been put in charge of my case.” He pinched the bridge of his nose before looking up. “I’ll be sentenced in six days.”

  My heart stopped beating. “What? That’s so soon. How can they—?”

  “Six days before I have to say goodbye to Olive for who knows how long. Six days to make sure she’s comfortable with living with Justin, even though she’s fallen madly in love with you. Six fucking days to find some way of making even the smallest amount of money so she’s not destitute like me.” His voice cracked with rage and impotency. “Fuck!”

  His shout was heartfelt and passionate, but also quiet, staying below the decibel guaranteed to reach Olive’s small ears.

  I didn’t know what to say or how to comfort him.

  I was petrified for him. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to know your freedom was about to be stolen, and there was nothing you could do about it.

  He’d committed the crime.

  He wouldn’t run.

  He wouldn’t lie.

  Whatever sentence he was given would be served with honour, and his daughter would miss him every day of her life without him.

  The urge to hug him overwhelmed me. I moved toward him. “What can I do?”

  He held up his hand, his eyes flashing with a mixture of helplessness and violence. “Don’t touch me, O. Not when I’m like this.” His voice turned dangerously dark. “You touch me and I’m inside you. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

  I stopped.

  Pain crashed over his features.

  “Tell me what you need,” I whispered.

  “I owe you so much already.”

  “Tell me what you need, Gil.”

  He glowered at my carpet, unable to meet my eyes. “I need money. To pay you for the days we’ve stayed here. To pay Justin for Olive’s upkeep. To give Olive some pocket money for while I’m gone.”

  “I don’t see how I can—”

  His head tipped up, the heat and hardness back in his stare. “Be my canvas. Let me paint you...one last time.”

  I stumbled backward. “Excuse me?”

  What about the petitions online chanting for his business closure and death?

  What about the absolute hate bleeding through the keyboard?

  “I know my business is dead. No one wants to be associated with a murderer. My visibility and ratings are in the gutter. I have no new content to share, which means algorithms aren’t delivering to new people.” He paced again, driving yet another hand into his hair. “I’m aware it probably won’t work. I know what I’m asking. It’s a huge gamble that any commissions will arrive in time before my court date, but...I have to try.”

  He chuckled blackly. “I’ve really fucked up this time, O. I should never have killed him. I should’ve let the police deal with him. But...I did it and I won’t apologise for it nor regret it; he needed to die. I’m okay paying that price. I just don’t want Olive to pay with me.”

  Old habits were so hard to break.

  I wanted to grab him close and tell him that yes, I would be his canvas. That I had the strength to help him all over again after I’d used up every ounce of help I had to give.

  I was so close to doing exactly that.

  So reckless to touch him, knowing what would happen if I did.

  His warning was real.

  The desire rampant between us.

  One touch would lead to him attacking me, taking me, destroying the final weak pieces of me.

  I was prepared to do all that...but one thing stopped me.

  A single memory.

  A tiny piece of the past.

  I swallowed hard and prepared to say the
hardest thing in my life. “I can’t help you, Gil. I’m so sorry.”

  He locked in place. His urgency slipped into despondency. His need into acceptance. “I understand.”

  “I’ll help you find money some other way, but...I can’t let you paint me again.”

  He froze. His nostrils flared. He slouched with self-hatred. “Of course. What a fucking arsehole thing to even ask.” He paced again, shaking his head as if he could punch himself for being so clueless. “The last time I painted you, I drugged you and—”

  “I know what you did.” I held up my hand, trying to figure out how to say what was needed. “Gil, the fact that you’re asking for help is...healing. You didn’t lock things inside this time and make mistakes because it.” I licked my lips, stalling for a second. “I don’t want you to take my refusal as a sign to never ask for help again. You should be able to trust that sharing your burdens with others is beneficial...for everyone involved. I’m honoured. Truly. I’m grateful you came to me. And I’m eternally sorry that I have to say no.”

  His hands fisted by his sides, struggling to control whatever he felt. With jerky steps, he came toward me.

  I stiffened and sucked in a breath as he placed a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Don’t ever apologise to me, O. Ever.” His lips trailed to my mouth, hovering over me in punishment and prayer.

  I swayed into him, swept up and unable to fight.

  But he closed his eyes and backed up, physically putting space between us while emotional space was that much harder. “I was wrong to ask. Wrong to stay here. Wrong about so many fucking things.”

  Shivering, I hugged myself. Whatever fragile moment we’d shared was ending and I had to know. Had to ask. “When you face the courtroom...what are you going to tell them?”

  He smiled sadly. “The only thing I can. The only thing I have left.” He strode to the door and wrapped his hand around the handle. “I’m going to tell the truth. I’m sick of lying. I’m done running. I’ll tell the truth and accept the consequences.”

  A tear escaped my control as he stepped through the door and went to sit on the couch with his friend and daughter.

  Scooping Olive up, he dragged her onto his lap, rocked into her, and pressed a kiss to her hair.

  He didn’t say a word.

  But all around them echoed goodbye.