Page 42 of Scars of Silk

“How many did I earn last night?”

“One.”

“What!? One. Are you crazy?”

She lifts an eyebrow, grinning at me like crazy as we stand with salt air whipping at our hair. “One.”

“Two?”

“One.”

“Okay.” I narrow my gaze. I plan to spend all night with her again. I’ll be earning more than one. A kindle of excitement settles itself into my tummy and I wonder if I can even remember the last time I felt that. “Don’t go near Aiden. Or his cronies.”

“No. I need to get as much information as I can.”

“Not from him, nor Elliot or Charlie. I don’t trust them.”

Her smile fades. “Dan, this is important. Faith isn’t going to get to trial otherwise.”

“Just not them, okay?”

She nods, but I don’t know if I believe her.

“Good. Now are we allowed to hold hands walking along the sea?”

She shakes her head, her face falling. “No. My dad has people everywhere.”

“What is he, the gestapo?”

“That would be an improvement.”

The look on her face tells me not to ask any more questions, so I don’t, but I’m determined to do one thing while Sienna and I have our fun together. I’m going to help her get free.

She steps up, her eyes fierce. “I can see what you are doing. You’re planning how to help me. You want to turn me into another Faith; someone who needs your help.”

“Faith never wanted my help.” I shrug because it’s the truth.

“Neither do I. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

“I won’t.” My promise is low, but I mean it. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a very busy schedule today.” I flash her a shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, doing what?”

“Research of my own.”

“Research?”

“Yep.”

We stand still, watching one another while a cold wind whips its salty tang around us, catching a strand of her dark hair and lifting it into the sky. “Do you want to drop your stuff at mine and shower before you start work?” There is no way to say that without sounding like a moron.

She smiles at my moronic and awkward question. “Sure.”

“Let’s go and get your car.” I have no idea what this thing between us will involve, but one small step at a time seems to be the only way to go.

For the first time in a long time I don’t sit in the lounge and stare at the four walls, or watch Jeremy Kyle trying to decide whether my life is more or less of a mess than the persons on screen.

I’m cleaning the kitchen when the phone rings. Knelt on the floor with my head in the back of a cupboard, I’m excavating a bunch of plastic takeaway containers from where they’ve been buried for a year. I reach into my pocket. Vinny.