30 Days (Lost Love Trilogy #1) - Belle Brooks Page 0,46
in one piece. My luggage, however, never made it.”
“You’ve got no luggage?” She guffaws.
“Glad you find this funny.”
“Classic, Abi,” she spits out between each snort.
“Calm down, snorter. It’s not that funny.”
“Oh, but it is. Abigail, what are we going to do with you?”
“Love me always.”
“Always,” she murmurs once she finally composes herself. “For someone who has lost their luggage, you sound happy. Free almost. I’d expect you to be throwing a turn.”
“Shut up, Ginger,” I say playfully.
“Have you rung your mum?”
“No, not yet. Hey, can you do me a favour?”
“Anything.”
“Can you give her a quick call for me? I’m about to eat and must get to bed straight after. Pretty please?”
“As if you need to beg. You know I will. But you have to call her tomorrow.”
“I will. Hey, I need to go.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself, and ring me tomorrow night and tell me everything. Enjoy the hotel.”
The sound of feet walking across wooden floors catches my attention. “Marcus,” I whisper.
“Did you just say Marcus?” Sammy asks sharply.
“Huh? Um. No. I said asparagus. It’s on my plate, and I love it.”
“You’re weird.”
“You love it. Hey, I have to go,” I insist, looking at Marcus in a tight-fitting white shirt and tan cargo pants similar to the ones he wore the first time I saw him at the cemetery. This man would look amazing in anything.
“Oi, are you there?” I hear Sammy calling down the phone.
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m starved. I need to go.”
“Love you.”
“Ditto,” I reply, quickly hanging up and turning the phone to silent before placing it onto the table.
“Everything okay?” Marcus gazes deeply into my eyes.
“Peachy.”
“Good. I’m famished. Let’s eat.”
Trying to use chopsticks turns out to be a messy event. Honey chicken on a white tee is not a great look. Why do I continue to wear white shirts when I know I’ll likely spill something on myself?
Marcus pretends to be oblivious to the mess I’m making, but his grin tells me he is more than entertained.
“Let’s talk about work,” he says, utilising his eating utensils like some Chinese ninja.
“Good idea,” I reply, scooping what I can into my mouth. I wish I could just use my fingers.
“So you’ve read your binder and you’ve familiarised yourself with the case … Now I’ll explain to you what I’ll expect of you this week.”
My eyes grow wide before I shake my head. Shit! I’ve no idea what I’m here for. I never read the monstrous binder and now it’s lost in my luggage.
“You did read the binder, didn’t you?”
“Well, about that,” I mumble, trying hard not to look in his direction.
“Abigail.” He’s mad—his tone says more than his word.
I purse my lips and swing my head in his direction. “Hey, I got side-tracked, okay?”
“Okay.” He throws his head back and runs his fingers through his hair.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He rubs hard into his eye sockets before blowing out a noisy breath of air. “It’s going to be a long night. I need you up to speed.”
“Okay.” I’m angry at myself.
“Did you read any of it?” he questions hopefully.
“I’d like to say yes.”
He stabs a piece of meat from his plate with a singular chopstick and removes it like a hungry wolf. His lips quiver from what I assume is anger and not sadness, and I decide now is the time for me to stay quiet. After he finishes chewing, he takes a mouthful of water and places the cup down forcefully.
The sound of glass hitting wood makes me jump.
“The case is Tumbling versus Macintosh. We’re here to get justice after three long years. We need to win. Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Good. See those boxes?” He points at the four cardboard boxes sitting on the table in the other room. “Everything in those boxes has been my work on this case for the last three years. Before I moved to Queensland a month ago, I lived here and worked at our Sydney office. This was my case, and I’ve come back to make sure it ends the right way.”
I nod again, too scared to say a word.
“Stephanie Tumbling was an eight-year-old schoolgirl who lived in Waverley and attended a nearby primary school. On the tenth of June, Stephanie’s parents, Patricia and Garth, tucked her and her brother into bed at seven p.m., as they did every night. The children had separate bedrooms on either end of the house. Stephanie’s was the one farthest from her parents’, whose bedroom was down the hall.” He stops, his gaze lost, tortured.
“What happened to her?”
“If