A loud fist banged on the roller door of his warehouse, vibrating through the entire space.
“Ah, shit.” Gil drove hands into his hair again, pacing frantically. He no longer watched me as if I’d murder him with my bare hands, but acted like a trapped animal, unpredictable and very, very dangerous.
I weaved, backing up a little as another loud knock shattered the silence. A shout followed with authority. “Police. Open up!”
What the—
Gil deleted the space between us with a swiftness that terrified. He crowded me. His large palms landed on my shoulders, squeezing me painfully, not letting go. His green gaze shot right into me, ripping and tearing, not caring how much he hurt me. “Olin, this is incredibly important. I need you to tell the police a fake licence plate number.”
“What? Why?” I squirmed in his hold. “Let go of me.”
His fingers only bit harder. He shook me, no consideration to my throbbing head. “Olin.” Temper painted his face with the blackest of colour. His eyes turned into weapons again, freezing me to the spot. “You must tell them a fake number.”
I’d never been afraid in Gil’s presence.
Not once.
Not even when he’d pushed me away when we were younger.
That’d changed.
Now I had more wariness than hope. More discomfort than familiarity. “Let me go.”
His hands swept from my shoulders to my cheeks, his touch raw and violent. “Do you understand? I need you to lie. Stare into their goddamn faces and lie.”
I braced myself in his imprisonment. “I’m not lying. That bastard needs to be in prison.”
His forehead crashed against mine, bruising me all over again. I winced as he rolled his head on mine, our eyes so close, our breaths shared. There was something dangerously intimate and shockingly threatening about the way he had me trapped. “Lie.”
“No.”
His fingers dug into my cheeks. “Lie.”
“I’m not letting him beat you senseless again.”
“It’s not your choice.”
“It is if you won’t help yourself!”
“Goddamn you, Olin.” His eyes snapped shut, his aggression slid from his fingers and he let me go. Stroking my hair with utmost softness, he murmured, “You’re so good. So kind. You’ve always fought for those who needed to be fought for. I understand why you did what you did. I get that you called the police for my sake.” His lips twitched in an agonising smile. “You did it to protect me. But, O...” Any sign of softness vanished under another avalanche of suffocating snow. “I need you to lie.” The glisten of something heart-breaking flickered in his gaze. “Lie and you save my life. I beg you.”
I sniffed back more trembles, more tears. “What on earth are you involved in?” I wanted to cry for him, to hug away his hurt. But I was afraid. Terrified to my bones. “What’s going on?”
Another fist pounded. “Police! Open this door immediately!”
Gil shuddered. With a heavy shake of his head, he collapsed to his knees before me. He flinched as his own pain from the previous beating drained him of his reserves, but his face was open, imploring, desperate. “You have to trust me on this. I can’t say why, but I can say it’s a matter of life and death.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
Another pounding on the door. “Last warning!”
Gil made a sound of a man knowing he was about to suffer, his gaze flying over his shoulder to the door. The door that would any minute now be broken down by law enforcement.
I reached for him, unable to see him on his knees.
He grabbed my hands, soared to his feet, and once again trapped my cheeks with calloused palms.
My breath caught as his fingertips branded me. Our eyes locked, and I forgot how to speak, how to think, how to argue. Deep within him, I saw a war that’d been raging for years. A war he’d kept hidden. A war that didn’t make sense.
He was losing.
He was almost defeated.
I sucked in a painful breath as he nudged his nose with mine, once again the master at breaking me. “I’m begging you, otter.”
My knees buckled. Tears pooled faster. I tried to get away, but he only held me tighter. “Don’t do that. Don’t you dare use old nicknames now.”
Those nicknames were sacred from a happier time.
They were not his to use.
Not anymore.
“I need you to trust me.” His breath was a vicious kiss on my lips.
“You broke that trust years ago.”
“I know.” His eyes squeezed shut. He wobbled against me, revealing just how much this crippled him. “Just give them a false description and wrong number. That’s all I ask.” His fingers fell away as his shoulders slouched with despair. Bone deep, soul ripping, end of the world despair.
I backed up, studying him through my tears as the police knocked one last time. “Open this door or we’ll break it down!”
With a grimace that tore out my heart, Gil marched through the office and into the warehouse. He didn’t know if I’d do as he asked. He didn’t try to force me into obeying. He merely left his life in my hands, his plea still echoing around me.
Lie.
I beg you.
I gave into a sob, clamping a hand over my mouth to stifle more.
I’d called the police to protect him.
I’d thought I’d done the right thing.
But what if...what if I’d condemned him to something worse than I could ever imagine?
Help him.
Sucking in a deep breath, I shoved away my tears. I swallowed my sobs. I locked down my pain and confusion.
Defend him.
I curled my hands against the pounding in my head and put one step in front of the other. I left his small apartment, cut through his office, and entered the permanently chilly warehouse.
Lie for him.
Gil stood frozen by the door, one hand outstretched to open the handle, the other opening and closing by his side. His entire aura rippled with agitated entrapment. Blood decorated his jeans and T-shirt from his fight. His hair tangled and as wild as his current frame of mind.
He stiffened as I stepped quietly toward him. My cheeks still slicked with wetness, but I kept wiping, kept hiding what I could.
“Police!” The knocking turned vicious. “Open this goddamn door!”
Our eyes once again found each other.
Time stood still; I managed to find a steadier breath. His stare glowed with gratefulness. He bowed his head in reverence, his lips moving wordlessly. “Thank you.”
I nodded, straightening my spine and looking past him at the door.
He owed me.
He’ll tell me why...he will.
With a deep breath, he pressed the handle and opened it wide.
We weren’t in any state to be seen by police. I had no ability to lie. Gil was obviously not of rational mind. Yet, he painted himself in a perfect camouflage as he stepped to the side and opened his arm in invitation. “Sorry for the delay. Big place.” His voice was steady and cool—a direct contrast to the manic moments of before. “Come in.”
I smoothed my skirt and blouse, feeling guilty for no reason as two police officers stepped into Gil’s workspace.
A young man with slicked back black hair and an older woman with a short red bob wore matching uniforms and scowls, inspecting the studio as if we’d hidden body parts in the paint bottles.
The woman’s stare landed on my whitewashed face. “You okay, ma’am?”
I tried to see it from her point of view. The delay in answering the door. The woman shell-shocked behind it. The man barricading entry into his establishment.
If I were her, I’d ask me if everything was all right, too.
The problem was, things weren’t all right.
But I’d committed to protecting Gil.
From things I don’t understand.
I smiled weakly, not having to fake the discomf
ort in my voice. “Sorry, I’m a little in shock. It’s my fault we didn’t open the door sooner.”
Gil never took his eyes off me, granting silent support, watching my every move.
The woman flicked him a suspicious look before coming closer to me without an invitation. She looked me up and down. “Were you hurt in the altercation?”
I nodded, the key to lying was to take the truth and embellish, just a little. “Yes. I’m okay though. Nothing serious.”
She didn’t look as if she believed me, her gaze travelling over my gravel-dusty office outfit. “Were you the one who called about the attempted kidnapping?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you hang up before giving more details?”
“I—” I gulped. “I dropped my phone. It hung up by accident.”
Gil winced, understanding the mammoth problem he’d dumped me with.
I’d never been good under pressure. And this was a hell of a lot of pressure. I’d also never been a good liar. Not even at school when all teenagers were flexible with the truth about where they were and who they hung out with.
The woman huffed under her breath. “Do you know who tried to take you?”
“No.”
“But you said you managed to get the license plate number?”
I looked quickly at Gil.
His throat worked, but he kept an aloof, almost uninterested look on his face. Striding forward to stand by my side, he remained stoic and icy—nothing more than a boss supporting a troubled employee.
I stiffened as the male officer joined us, looking at me and then Gil. He scribbled notes onto a small pad, his forehead furrowed.
“You’re Gilbert Clark? The owner of Total Trickery?” the man asked.
Gil nodded curtly. “I am.”
“Did you see what happened?”
“I did.”
“And?” The guy waved his pen in the air, fishing for information.
“I fought the guy off.” He gestured to the blood on his clothes, bringing in evidence that could be used against him as evidence of being a Good Samaritan. “I helped Ms Moss escape.”
“And you two know each other how?” the female officer enquired. “Working relationship?” Her eyes narrowed, waiting for our answer, almost as if she could taste our lie.
I stepped away from Gil, arching my chin. “We used to know each other at school, but currently, our only relationship is a working one.”
Gil looked directly ahead; his jaw clenched.
“I see.” The woman nodded.
More scribbling from the man with black hair.
I shivered, doing my best to look innocent when I felt so damn guilty. I couldn’t stop it. I’d done nothing wrong. I’d called them in good faith of protecting Gil and society.
So why did I have to lie?
Why did I have to do the opposite of good when all I wanted to do was keep Gil safe?
My head pounded, reminding me of what he’d done. He’d thrown me into the door all to keep me silent. He’d been willing to concuss me to protect himself...from what?
My hurt morphed into anger, quickly slipping into disappointment.
I was disappointed in him. In me. In this whole crazy fiasco.
“You’re Ms Moss?” the woman pointed at me.
“Yes. Olin Moss.”
“Originally from Birmingham?”
“Yes.”
“And you have no idea who tried to take you?”
I clasped my hands together, seeking strength. “Like I said, I don’t know who he was.”
Gil stiffened; his gaze locked resolutely on the police.
“It still doesn’t explain why you didn’t call back if you dropped your phone. Reporting a crime and then vanishing before the call is completed normally hints that a crime is still in progress.” The man scratched his jaw with his pen. “So...want to tell us the real story?”
Goosebumps scattered over me, chased quickly by fear.
I didn’t want to do this.
I wanted to tell the truth.
But...Gil hadn’t breathed properly since the police arrived. His eyes might be shuttered from emotion, but that damn string that tied us together vibrated with so many dangerous things.
“Sorry.” I did my best to smile. “I did tell the operator I escaped. It wasn’t really an emergency anymore. I figured I wouldn’t waste your time any more than necessary.”
“You didn’t finish reporting the license plate number. We need that if we’re to investigate further.”
“Ah.” I swallowed hard. “Yes, that makes sense.”
You suck, O.
You might as well hold out your wrists for handcuffs.
Gil made a noise in his chest, pinching the bridge of his nose.
The woman noticed, pinning him with a ruthless stare. “Do you want to enlighten us, Mr. Clark?” She smiled thinly. “After all, this man hurt your employee and is still on the loose. Don’t you want him apprehended so other young women don’t suffer such a fate?” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “They might not be as lucky as Ms Moss here. They might not have someone to help them escape.”
Gil seemed to grow taller and darker all at once. His eyebrows came down over shadowy eyes. He looked at her as if he despised her. As if she’d failed him in every aspect of his life.
I froze, reading the past in the arctic way he glowered. The lack of care when he was younger. The violence he’d suffered because no authority had noticed. But there was something new too. Something that said he blamed her. Blamed her for every misery he’d recently endured.
“I am not responsible for the protection of every girl in England.” His voice stayed clipped and cold.
“That might be, but any help you can provide—”
“He was young,” Gil snapped. “Had dirty blond hair and a hooked nose. Tall. Taller than me.”
The male officer scratched his pen across his notepad, scribing Gil’s description.
“That true, Ms Moss?” The woman locked me in her stare, giving me no place to hide.
No.
It’s a lie.
He was older, had dark hair, and a square nose. And he was short. Shorter than Gil.
I shuffled on my feet. “Yup. Hu-huh, that’s exactly him.”
Gil looked at me out the corner of his eye. His phone screamed, splitting the tension with an angry ring.
His skin lost its darkness, shocking to snow white. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he read the caller ID. His eyes closed with barely concealed distress.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring!
He nodded politely at the officers. “If you don’t mind. This is important.” Not waiting for their reply, he backed away and stormed toward his apartment through the office.
I stared until he’d disappeared.
The ringing stopped
I sighed and turned to the police, alone and swimming in fib-filled quicksand.
“Anything else I can provide?” I asked softly. “I’m tired and would like to go home to rest.”
“Yes, you must be feeling the effects of your ordeal,” the woman said.
I nodded, rubbing my temple, trying to ease my headache but also to amplify her empathy.
“Seeing as Mr. Clark provided a description of your assailant, can you add what sort of vehicle he was driving? Toyota? Vauxhall? Any recognisable features? Also, please give us the rest of the number plate, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Of course.” My brain raced, doing its best to recite a believable lie, but all I could think about were the scratches and dents of the black van. They weren’t blaringly obvious, but it would work like a fingerprint amongst thousands of others.
Gil reappeared, moving in my peripheral. His hand dragged over his mouth, his eyes vacant with grief. He didn’t look at me but his phone, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe how such an innocuous device could deliver such heartache.
Who called?
What was said?<
br />
“Ms Moss?” the man prompted. “The vehicle and license plate?”
Every part of me wanted to go to Gil. To shake him back to the world of the living and demand to know what he was hiding. He almost crippled beneath the weight of whatever he carried. I could forgive him for what he’d done to me just from the way he stared helplessly into nothing.
Stared as if he had no one. No one to lean on. No one to help.
I’d been the one he could turn to once upon a time.
I would be her again.
Help him.
My spine straightened, my headache faded, and I said in a clear, crisp voice, “The van was older. White with blue stripes. A Mazda, I think. And the license plate was XT867ND.”
The stream of fibs flowed seamlessly.
Gil jerked as if I’d yanked him back from Hell. His gaze met mine, holding far longer than he should in the presence of police.
My skin prickled with the utmost gratefulness that shone there. My heart broke for the way he stared at me, as if he couldn’t stop loving me even though he wished he could.
He made me believe in us.
He made me cling to decaying hope.
Forcibly looking away from him, I focused on the police. “Is that everything?”
The two cops looked at each other, lack of belief on their faces but unable to do anything about it.
I’d answered their questions.
We weren’t the criminals.
He was out there. In a black van. Making Gil’s life an utter nightmare.
I hate this.
I hated feeling so trapped. So alone. So afraid.
Gil moved to stand beside me, his hand twitching as if fighting the urge to touch me.
A habit from our youth.
A desire to touch and reaffirm that the other was safe.
The police didn’t move for a moment, studying us closely.
The four of us stood there, waiting for someone to back down.
Finally, the man coughed and tucked his notebook into his front pocket. “We’ll be in touch.”
The woman never took her intense gaze off Gil. Distrust once again flickered over her features. “You sure you’re all right, Ms Moss?”
I answered her question, all while she stared Gil down. “Yes, I’m very lucky Gilbert was there. I’m safe with him.”
The Body Painter (Master of Trickery Book 1) Page 16
