I clench my fists; the leather of my gloves makes a squeaking sound. It’s the type of sound that makes you think of something cinching around your neck. Or at least that’s what it reminds me of.
Inspector Cunt-face glances up at me and shakes her head. Don’t even test me today, cunt. The monitor loosens and she steps away with the device in her hands. Taking a seat, she signs the paperwork in front of her.
“Are we done now?” I look at Chelsea, and she nods in reply. “Good. Say hi to Michael and the kids for me, Karen,” I add as I open her door and walk out.
I hear Chelsea scrambling with the paperwork before she follows quickly behind.
Pressing the elevator button, the lift dings open.
“You’ll need the code …” Inspector calls out.
I snigger at her, take Chelsea by the hand and enter the elevator. Dialling the code to access the ground floor, the elevator doors shut.
Chelsea looks at me with wide eyes. “What the fuck was that all about, Pacer?”
“Shut the fuck up, right now. Got it?” Doesn’t she fucking understand she’s being monitored in here?
I don’t look at her, but I can feel her heart breaking from here. It makes me fucking wild that I just spoke to her like that. I don’t want to hurt her, but fuck me! Maybe it’s not such a good idea if we’re together. I can deal with whatever they throw at me, but I can’t control what it does to me when any of these pricks talk to Chelsea like that. What if I really lose my shit one day, and there aren’t any more debts to be paid? I pull my phone out of my pocket and find Giorgie’s number.
“The front of Metro police, now!” I bark as soon as he picks up.
I hang up the phone. My temper is reaching breaking point.
We get out of the lift, and the fuckwit cops stop in their tracks as I stomp my way out of the station. If any of them utter a single comment, I don’t know what I’ll do. I keep my eyes ahead and reach for the front door. I don’t know where Chelsea is, but I hope she’s right behind me. I don’t trust myself at all, right now.
The cameras are waiting outside the station. Fuck the cops! They would’ve loved letting the media know we were here. I look back and find Chelsea covering her head with her leather folder as she leaves the station. My heart twists. Keep your fucking cool, Pacer.
“Just go. I’ll contact you later,” she says as she shields her face from the flashes.
Can she see how furious I am, or is she pissed at me? My rage heightens. You’re right, Chelsea. This isn’t fucking worth it!
I light a cigar and see the SUV approaching with Giorgie behind the wheel. He never lets me down, this kid.
With a swarm of cameras surrounding me, I fling the rear door open. They ask so many questions, I can’t even distinguish a single one. As the car pulls away, I watch my honeybee hold the cameras back. She stands on the steps in front of the station, stopping to give them a statement, like a pro.
I slam my fist into the back of the passenger seat.
Why did you let them get the better of you? Pacer, you’re fucking weak asshole.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Clear skies. The skies have been lovely and clear today. I’ve only just noticed it now, and the day is almost over. I’ve been staring out of my office window for longer than I should be. There’s been nothing in my head other than the sound of rambling radio frequencies that you hear in between changing radio stations on an old car stereo.
I’ve got to get down to police archives already. My day has been like a spinning washing cycle, twisting one direction, then back the other—my head and heart are the biggest casualties. Why did I have to let my heart get involved? What was already a really difficult situation, I’ve only just gone and made worse by falling in love with my client.
What?
Did I just think that? Really?
But how can Pacer be confessing his love for me one minute, and treat me like a piece of dirt the next? Because he’s a prick. They’re always in there; you just have to scratch the surface. I really should’ve known better.
I pick up all my documents across the desk, and slide them into my oversized handbag. My phone is face down on the desk, the same position it’s been in all day. Sitting alone and silent since lunchtime. I don’t want to turn it back on until I’m ready to deal with what’s waiting for me when I do. Pacer’s the only one I care about talking to at this point, and he hasn’t left a message with Sienna, so he’s obviously not that troubled enough to really contact me. If I check my phone now and Pacer hasn’t left a message there either, I know I’ll be disappointed, or some other stupid feeling like that. I’m better off leaving it alone, for now. That kind of self-sabotage can wait a little longer.
Shit! It’s almost six! I’ve forgotten to get to Lou’s before he closes. That’s twice in one day that I’ve forgotten about the normal things in my life, all because of Pacer. It’s a fucking washing machine day!
I dare to pick up my phone. Staring at the blackened screen, I consider all the other ways I can search for Lou’s phone number. Holding my breath, I turn it on to find Lou’s number from this morning. It’s the easiest way. Call me lazy … and possibly a self-harmer.
132 text messages
57 missed calls
Today is officially a record. Blowing out a long puff of air, I take hold of the office phone and dial in the number for Lou’s. It takes a long time before Lou picks up. I hope I haven’t missed him before he’s closed for the night.
“Lou’s …” He sounds out of breath.
“Lou. Hi. Sorry. It’s Chelsea. I’ve been held up at work. I can give you my credit card details over the phone, so you can run the breakfast rolls through the till?”
“Chelsea, Chelsea. Relax.” He laughs. “Is this what you’re worried about right now? It’s twelve dollars and I’m about to close. Fix me up tomorrow. Go and get some rest. You don’t sound yourself, love.”
I’m not myself right now. “Thanks Lou. See you in the morning.”
By the sound of Lou’s words, the evening news must be having a field day, capturing Pacer and I having our first weird moment since basically swapping oxygen for twenty-four hours straight. I think the sharing oxygen thing has made my head turn to moosh. I feel like a fool for ever doubting that this wasn’t going to be easy. This was never going to be easy. Everything was so nice when we were at Pacer’s minimalistic love nest. Now I understand why he has that place.
For all the same reasons I’ve hidden at Dolorous on the weekends. Being locked away from the world, but around a house full of staff has made being around people normal, until now. Now they suck.
Grabbing my bag and coat, I hold my breath as I open my office door. To my surprise, the office is quiet, but then it is almost six at night. It’s only ever senior barristers who stay back this late, if they have a trial on. There are three senior barristers and I’m the only junior, so my odds are good.
The quiet office gives me a moment to realise that I have used up a whole day of work because I’ve been focused on Pacer. He is paying me good money to manage his case, but I still have other clients to manage. I make a mental note to get Brad onto the other cases for me. If I didn’t have him as my lead assisting council, I would be lost. Once he’s got all the information collected that I need, I can make the assessment on how best to represent each case.