by Carys Jones
The walk over to Marco’s went by too swiftly for Amanda. She’d hoped to linger along the streets, to prolong the inevitable. The little restaurant was nestled in a corner and looked just as cosy and inviting as its online pictures had suggested. Tentatively, Amanda approached the main window and the red awning.
‘Ah, Miss Preston.’ The front door was swung open with the tinkling of a bell the second she approached. A smiling waiter greeted her from the other side. The warmth of the restaurant drew her in. The air was rich with garlic, bread and the sweetness of chocolate. ‘Your date is waiting for you.’ Ice slid down Amanda’s spine at the word date but she managed to keep her head held high, her panic hidden as she glided past the waiter.
In a small booth at the back of the restaurant sat Gregg McAllister. There was a candle burning in the centre of the table and a dozen red roses lay upon what Amanda assumed was her seat.
She pasted on a bright smile and went over to him.
9
‘Oh wow, the flowers are beautiful.’ Amanda carefully lifted the bouquet of blood red roses and sat down.
‘They are my favourite flower,’ Gregg smiled at her.
‘They are?’ He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who had a favourite flower. She assumed he’d be like Will – to him all flowers had been the same. McAllister wasn’t supposed to a flower enthusiast, he wasn’t supposed to possess any grace at all.
‘I like how they are beautiful but also dangerous. You really have to watch that you don’t get caught by a thorn.’
Thorn.
The word pricked against Amanda. Preston. She was Amanda Preston. At least that’s what McAllister believed. There was no way he could know that her real name was Thorn. That it had been the name Will had chosen years ago when he tried to shake off his old identity. Or did he know? Had Amanda foolishly walked right into some kind of trap?
‘I keep some at home.’ Gregg’s eyes sparkled at her from across the table.
‘Some what?’
‘Roses,’ he dropped his glance towards the bouquet now resting against the table. ‘I find something soothing about pruning them.’
Amanda tried to read his expression, tried to find something sinister behind his grey eyes. He was casually leant back in his chair, regarding her with warm attentiveness. He wore a dark grey suit which sharpened the silver of his eyes. The black silk shirt beneath his jacket gave him a timeless sophistication.
‘My, um…’ Clearing her throat, Amanda reached for her menu. ‘My mother has a little rose garden.’
‘She does?’
Amanda clenched her fists behind her menu, worrying that she’d said too much. She needed to keep her tongue on a tighter leash.
‘It’s kind of her pride and joy.’ She added nervously.
‘Sounds like your mother and I have a lot in common.’
Amanda was extremely doubtful of this as she scanned the laminated menu.
‘So what do you think of the place?’ Gregg was gesturing towards the other tables.
‘It’s nice.’
‘I love to come and eat here. I’d rather be here than anywhere else in the city.’
‘You would?’ Amanda found her attention being pulled away from the menu, towards Gregg. He laughed at her question and smoothed a hand down his shirt.
‘Why so surprised?’ he chuckled.
‘I don’t know,’ Amanda felt sheepish as she looked back at the food choices. ‘I mean,’ with a frown she placed down her menu and pressed her palms against it, ‘you wear designer suits. You own a nightclub. I saw you as being a guy who eats in fancy restaurants hidden away in exclusive hotels.’
‘You saw me as a snob.’
‘I didn’t—’
‘It’s okay,’ Gregg raised his hands at her in submission. ‘Once people get to know me, they find that I’m rarely like they expected me to be. Maybe you can take the boy out of the slums but you can’t take the slums out of the boy, I don’t know. I just prefer to be somewhere that I’m comfortable, where the food is good and the service is with a smile. What’s so wrong with that?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘I hope you’ll come to realise, Amanda, that I’m nothing like the man I appear to be in the club.’
*
By the time Amanda’s tiramisu had arrived she’d learned a lot about Gregg McAllister. He was raised by a single mother after his father died at sea whilst working as a fisherman. He dropped out of school when he was twelve so that he could start picking up odd jobs and support his mother. He was an avid Glasgow Rangers fan and had never been on an aeroplane. She knew all this yet she still hadn’t managed to get access to his phone. Amanda feared her mission was destined to fail.
‘It’s not natural to fly.’
‘So you’ve never been to somewhere like America?’
‘Oh no, I’ve been.’
‘How did you get there?’
‘I took a cruise to New York.’
‘Even though your father died on a boat?’ Amanda deadpanned. ‘Seems like flying might be the safer choice, don’t you think?’
This had caused Gregg to laugh outrageously. He briefly abandoned his food to point his fork at her. ‘You, girl, you got fire in your belly. I like that.’
The sweet taste of her coffee-laced dessert was still lingering in her mouth as a waiter appeared with a small pot of tea.
‘I still know barely anything about you,’ Gregg kept his eyes on her as the waiter poured them each a cup. ‘I know that you’re in the city for business. I know that your mother grows roses,’ this made the corners of his mouth lift. Even with the garish present of his old scar he still had a warm, welcoming smile.
Don’t be taken in by his welcome grin. The lyrics to Never Smile at a Crocodile fluttered through Amanda’s mind. She knew she should be keeping Gregg at arm’s length, not revealing too much about herself. But she wanted to get to his phone, and to do that she needed to gain his trust, at least partly. He needed to feel confident that he could leave it in her presence. Even for the briefest of moments.
‘My dad also died when I was young.’ Talking about the event which had marked her soul so deeply during her formative years always made Amanda uneasy. Her stomach started to swirl with grief and sorrow.
‘He did? I’m so sorry.’ Gregg’s hand stretched across the table and found hers. His touch was warm and soft. But it wasn’t reassuring. Amanda fought the urge to recoil and place her hands within her lap, away from his reach. ‘What happened?’
‘Car accident.’
It always amazed Amanda how two words could so succinctly sum up something so devastating.
‘That’s rough.’ Gregg squeezed her hand and in his eyes she saw only concern. And he looked so handsome in the candlelight in his decadent suit with his thick hair smoothed back off his face, revealing how the shade of his eyes had softened in the gentle glow to the colour of a pale winter sky; grey yet heavy. The scar that bordered his smile sharpened all his edges, made him seem dangerous. It reminded Amanda of the danger and mystery that had surrounded Will and initially drawn her to him. But this was not Will. This was the man who had stolen him from her.
‘He was my hero. Once, I almost fell off the cliffs near my home, but he saved me. From that day on he always seemed larger than life.’ The admission tumbled all too easily from her lips. Gregg kept his hand on hers, drawing her into his silvery gaze.
‘I sensed that we had a connection. We both know what it is to suffer an immeasurable loss in our lives.’
‘Yes.’
‘Sadly I’ve lost many loved ones over the years,’ Gregg withdrew his hand and Amanda remained frozen in place, still feeling the heat from his touch.
‘Me too,’ she agreed softly.
Thinking about Will brought the moment into a clearer focus. Amanda saw through the magic created by mood lighting, the roses. Blinking, she saw just a man in a suit who was the reason that her husband was dead.
‘If y
ou’ll excuse me I need to visit the little boy’s room.’ Gregg stood up and nodded at her before walking away from the table. Amanda watched him leave, watched how he addressed every waiter that he passed with a shoulder clasp and handshake. Then she looked back at the table and spotted his phone. It had been left so nonchalantly beside where Gregg had been sitting that for a moment she thought she must be mistaken. It must have been in his pocket prior to this point. But now it was out on the table. Vulnerable. Leaning forward, she took a better look and saw that it was most definitely Gregg’s smartphone, briefly abandoned whilst he went to the toilet.
Amanda leant down and fumbled in her bag. Nerves made her movements sluggish. It took seconds for her own phone to be in her grasp. Straightening, she pressed in her passcode with shaking fingers.
How long until Gregg returned? A few minutes? Less? She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, marking every passing second. At its very fastest the transfer could take five minutes. Amanda needed to hope that time was on her side for a change.
And would he somehow know if she’d cloned his phone? Were all the waiters watching her, schooled to spot her slipping up in this very way?
But this might be her only chance and Amanda was determined to take it. She accessed the software on her device and then dropped her phone directly on top of Gregg’s. A green information bar on her screen began to slowly fill up.
Eight per cent.
Ten.
She was sat in Marco’s brazenly cloning McAllister’s phone.
Twelve per cent.
Her eyes anxiously darted around the small café. There were no waiters nearby. A couple drifted around occupied tables which were at the front near the main door, looking out on the darkened city of Glasgow. No one else was seated at the back near Amanda and McAllister.
Fifteen per cent.
‘Come on,’ Amanda urged through gritted teeth.
Twenty.
Gregg could return any second and how could she explain away what she was doing?
I’m a reporter.
It seemed the most plausible lie, but then he’d shut the door in her face and all access to him would be cut off.
Thirty-two per cent.
Forty.
‘Hurry,’ Amanda stretched out her hand and let it linger beside the pair of phones which were stacked on top of one another like building blocks.
Forty nine.
Fifty.
What if losing his father had darkened Gregg’s mind at a young age? What if the pressure of trying to support his mother had pushed him to do terrible things?
Fifty-five.
‘Dammit.’ Amanda squeezed her eyes shut, willing her mind to stop messing with her. She shouldn’t be making excuses for McAllister. There were no reasonable excuses for what he’d done.
Will ran drugs to support his family. He ultimately abandoned them and faked his own death to keep them safe then he met Amanda and lied about his identity before marrying her.
Sixty-eight per cent.
Her husband had been no saint but he’d not been a killer.
Until the woods.
And when Amanda had first found Will out in that little sun-bleached cottage she’d known by the way he held the gun he aimed at her that it was not his first time brandishing such a weapon. She’d seen first-hand that he had the capacity to take another life.
When pushed.
What if all McAllister’s sins had been committed when pushed? What if he was just like Will?
Eighty-nine per cent.
Amanda tapped her foot impatiently, feeling like she was going mad.
Transfer complete.
She snapped her phone up and shoved it back into the depths of her handbag with one fluid motion. As she sat with her chest heaving, Gregg sauntered back to the table. The scent of his cologne had strengthened. Amanda felt strangely flattered to imagine him in the small bathroom of Marco’s applying a fresh spritz for her benefit. Their meal was drawing to a close. Was this the part where he’d assume that she was going back to his?
‘I don’t know about you but I’ve had a lovely evening,’ Gregg caught a waiter’s eye and gave a nod to request the bill. ‘It’s rare that I find a woman as beautiful as yourself who I can really talk to. Divorce can make a man bitter, but you’ve been like a breath of fresh air.’
‘Yes it’s been nice.’ Amanda was surprised to find that she wasn’t having to lie. Dinner had been nice. From the outside Gregg McAllister was a handsome, worldly man who was enigmatic and confident. But she knew the dangerous truths housed within the beating heart that he dressed up in designer suits.
‘And it’s just past eleven,’ Gregg checked the Rolex on his wrist. ‘The night seems to have run away with us.’
‘Past eleven, wow, that’s late.’ Amanda forced a yawn.
‘Might I be so bold,’ as Gregg leaned forward, looking deep into her eyes, Amanda held her breath, ‘as to ask you to join me for a drink tomorrow night? There’s a bar that offers truly breathtaking views of the city and I’d like to take you there. That is, unless you’re already bored of me.’
He looked as nervous as a fifteen-year-old boy asking a girl to the school disco. It was hopelessly endearing and Amanda couldn’t help but smile at him.
‘Drinks sounds lovely.’ Standing up, she grabbed her handbag and thought of her phone within it, of how she might already have all the answers she sought. If so she could cancel their next date, head back to Ewan and put this whole mess behind her. Else…
‘I took the liberty of writing the address of the bar on the card in your bouquet in the hope that you’d agree to see me again. Shall I meet you there at, say, nine?’ Gregg was walking through the restaurant with her, his hands respectfully at his sides. ‘I promise that it offers the best views in the whole city. You won’t be disappointed.’ He held the door open for her as she passed through it, her roses held against her chest.
‘I look forward to it.’
If the cloning hadn’t work, a second date with McAllister wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Amanda chewed her lip as she walked away from him, the floral scent of roses coating her senses. No, another date with McAllister really wouldn’t be so bad at all.
*
The cloning had worked. Up in her hotel room, Amanda pulled the data file she’d collected and sent it over to Turtle82, not wanting to risk deciphering its contents on her own laptop. Her roses were displayed on the desk in a vase the receptionist had kindly sent up for her when she’d seen her walk in with the impressive bouquet.
‘Flowers are so clichéd,’ Shane had noted with scorn when he saw them.
‘Mmm, totally.’ Amanda wasn’t the kind of girl who loved receiving chocolates and flowers. She’d rather a guy buy her a DVD and some jelly babies. But she couldn’t deny the flutter she’d felt in her stomach when she saw the roses there waiting for her at the restaurant. It felt like walking into the scene from a movie where she was the star.
‘Was he insanely sleazy?’ Shane’s breath was laced with whisky. ‘I imagine he spent all night trying to grope you.’
‘Actually,’ with her message sent, Amanda turned away from her laptop, ‘he was a real gentleman.’
‘He’s no gentleman. He’s just good at pretending to be one.’
‘That’s… that’s what I meant.’
‘Well, at least it’s done,’ Shane glanced over at the laptop.
‘Hopefully,’ Amanda stretched her arms up above her head and tilted her neck from side to side. ‘As long as there’s enough information held on his phone we can get out of here and head home.’
‘You don’t think there will be.’ Shane was standing by his side of the bed, his voice flat. It was a statement, not a question.
‘I… I’m hopeful there will. But,’ Amanda pulled back the sheets on the bed, ‘let’s just wait and see. I don’t want to risk being disappointed.’
‘Are you seeing him again?’
‘If I have to.’
/>
‘Amanda,’ Shane released a deep sigh as he dropped into bed. ‘I know guys like McAllister, how they operate. He’s just a snake in a slick suit. His charm is all a mirage. Beneath the shine and polish he’s a thug. And he’s dangerous. Please don’t go forgetting that.’
‘He’s really not all bad. He lost his dad too when he was young.’ Amanda was surprised by her own words. Was she really making excuses for McAllister?
‘Do not get pulled in by his bullshit. He’s the reason your husband is dead. And why Ewan’s poor mother was made to look like she’d OD’d. He is not some troubled, misunderstood soul. And just because there is never any blood on his hands doesn’t make him any less accountable.’
With a grunt, Shane rolled onto his side and left Amanda staring at his back.
Was Gregg McAllister rotten to the core? Or, like Will had been, was he just a victim of unfortunate circumstances? Despite her mind being conflicted, Amanda managed to quickly slip over the precipice into slumber where she dreamt of running through endless rose gardens.
*
There’s not enough data. There’s contact numbers but no messages, no files. He’s being careful. You need the mainframe access. Find the main computer he uses. Load all hidden files onto a USB and then get your ass out of Dodge.
T.
Amanda sat on her chair with her knees drawn up to her chest as she peered sleepily at her laptop screen.
‘So, did they get back to you?’ Shane stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered with just a towel wrapped around his waist. Droplets of water still clung to his hair.
‘Yep.’
‘And?’
‘And it’s not enough data. I need to access his main computer.’
Shane said nothing. His jaw set in a firm line, he marched back into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. A second late Amanda jumped in her seat when he yelled ‘fuck’. She imagined him amongst the steam that lingered in the room, hands clenched into fists of frustration at his sides. He just wanted her back home and safe.
