Lured

4-1

4

Monday lunchtime, donned in humungous, waist-high coveralls, and ugly, steel-capped boots Nathan insisted I wear, I tried to ignore the calls of, “Hey, Jem, nice outfit,” as I headed inside the showroom apartment.

The plastered walls had been prepared the afternoon before, and awaited my magic touch. In the kitchen, after filling a tray with brilliant white emulsion, I balanced the roller against the lip and climbed the stepladder.

The ceiling didn’t take long to coat, and I moved to give the lounge its first lick. I’d covered almost a quarter when Josh showed up, bearing a steaming mug of coffee.

I clattered down and danced over to Josh with a smile. Mug in hand, the steaming aroma travelled up, as I inhaled, sighed, and sipped. “Thanks, Josh. I needed this.”

“So I see.” His gaze travelled the walls and returned to me. “I’m impressed. You haven’t got any paint on you.”

“Very funny. I am capable of doing stuff without making a mess.”

“Yes, but ...” He paused at his mobile ringing and pulled it from his pocket. His focus flicked from the caller display to me. “It’s Marianne.”

I willed my brow not to crease. “You’d better answer it, then.”

He seemed unsure as he hit the connect button and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Marianne, how are you?”

“Pretty good—even better now I’m talking to you.”

My enhanced hearing caught her words without effort, and it took restraint not to stick my fingers down my throat.

Josh grinned. “Did you have a good time on Saturday?”

“Of course. We should do it again sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

I considered moving away so I wouldn’t have to hear them any longer, but didn’t.

“Listen, are you busy right now?” Marianne asked.

“I’m working.”

“Oh ... it’s just that I was coming past that way. I made you some tea. What with the weather being so cold, I figured you could use something to warm you up.”

“You’ve made me tea?”

As Josh met my stare, my eyebrow lifted.

“Would it be okay to drop it into you? I won’t get in your way.”

Nooooo! my mind screamed. I willed my head not to shake, kept my mouth shut. My teeth clenched with the effort.

Josh combed his fingers through his hair. “That would be great.”

“Would it be okay to come in to you? Or would you rather come out and meet me at the gates?”

Josh turned toward the window. “You’re here already?”

“Yes.”

“You may as well come on in, then. I’m just in the apartment—the one I showed you ...”

“I know,” she said. “See you in a few seconds.”

Josh hung up. “Marianne’s here.”

My head bobbed. “I heard.”

“Please ...”

“I’ll try.”

“Jem.” His eyes pleaded.

“I’ll try,” I said again.

Marianne waltzed into the room brandishing a silver—single-serving—flask. “Hey, Josh.”

What sort of woman made flasks for men they barely knew?

Skinny-fit jeans accentuated her slender figure, and her matching cable-knit jumper and gloves, and her gilet enhanced the dowdiness of my coverall. Even my thrown-into-a-scrunchie hair faded into the background beside her lush, dark waves cascading in perfect twists.

She approached Josh with lips spread wide, teeth revealed, eyes sparkling. The instant she turned toward me, all warmth faded, despite the smile that remained fixed in place. “It’s nice to see you again, Jem.”

Josh’s body tensed.

Although I wanted to tell her to take her stupid flask and disappear, I’d made a promise to Josh. “You, too.” My jaw almost seized in the effort to remain polite. “I have work to do.” I placed my foot on the bottom rung of the stepladder.

“Do you want this now, Josh?” she asked.

Unable to help myself, I glanced over my shoulder.

Marianne smiled as she handed it to him. “You look as though you could use warming up.”

Warming up? Josh stood before her in nothing but a muscle vest and had not a goose bump in sight.

“Thanks.” He took it from her and twisted the lid, and his entire face scrunched up.

The flower beds in Poppy’s garden smelled more consumable than whatever the flask held.

My foot relocated to the floor, and I moved closer. “Tea?”

Marianne smiled. “Yes.”

“Doesn’t smell like tea to me.”

“That’s because it’s herbal. I make it myself. It’s very good for your health, Jem. Helps you stay strong.”

Josh held out the flask as though diseased, and my hand lifted to smother my smirk. He glanced up, panic widening his eyes.

I barked out a laugh, but choked it back with the pretence of a cough. “I’ll, um ... put that in the office, if you like. You can have it when you take your break later.”

I didn’t wait for him to respond, just took it from him as my strides carried me past. By the time he mumbled a thanks, I’d already left the room.

***

* * * *

FROM THE SNUG BUCKET seat of the Porsche, I cruised the country lanes toward the DIY Depot across town, with scarf circled around my neck, and Sean’s rock CD blasting through the speakers. Through the open window, the icy cold wind whipped my hair about my head, and taking advantage of the lack of police cars prior to hitting town traffic, I drove way too fast, in a desperate need for coveralls that fit.

I barely met any other vehicles during my recklessness. Only a Nissan and Volvo came toward me, and a sleek, black Lexus, whose driver also didn’t seem averse to breaking the speed law, stuck in my rear-view throughout.

When I reached the depot car park, I took the Porsche slow over the speed bumps and, after parking up, headed in.

On the way to the protective clothing department, a set of bathroom taps caught my eye, and I veered right. The chrome contours slid beneath my inspecting fingers. My lids lowered as I pictured them on the suite I’d ordered—white curves amid silver walls to match the taps—until a deep unease settled over me.

My shoulders stiffened as my eyes flew open. A discreet inhalation revealed nothing to set my alarm bells ringing.

To the left, my gaze met that of a middle-aged man, with thinning hair and a paunchy stomach. Beyond him, a younger guy in jeans and T-shirt, his hair gelled.

Behind my other shoulder stood a couple, both with their hands on a pushchair.

I stared hard at the woman for a few seconds, before turning my attention to the only other occupant in the bathroom aisle, a middle-aged woman with rich chestnut hair.

She held a brochure, seemed to search the shelves for something.

Still nothing—within visual or sniffing range—to cause concern.

Shrugging it off, I reached up for a set of the taps and ducked off to find the coveralls I’d come for.

***