skin heat and my head fill with thoughts that are entirely inappropriate for the situation I’m in. I push those dirty thoughts away and concentrate on the questions I have.
“And the other two?”
“What about them?”
“I don’t know. Berrin seems to find this all really entertaining, and Mathieson…” I hesitate, not sure how to explain the way he makes me feel. He’s shown kindness, and yet there’s something about him…
“Is a guy who has suffered past traumas that make him a little overbearing sometimes. He has boundary issues,” Franklin cuts in. “Matt suffers with PTSD. He’s a good man underneath it all. Berrin too. Promise.”
“A promise only means something when it’s coming from someone you trust. I don’t trust you.” A huge part of me wants to believe him, and yet something niggles in the back of my mind. Something important about these men, about my connection to them. I chew on my lip. “I came here because I found that note in the jacket I was wearing. Where do you think I got it from?”
Franklin stands, holding his hand out to me. “I’m not sure, sweetheart. We’ll try and figure that out, but first of all we need to get you fed. Come with me?”
I look from his face to his hand and back again. “I would feel more comfortable if I had my clothes to wear…”
“Fair enough.” He twists on his feet and strides over to the stairs, taking them two at a time. A minute or so later he returns with my clothes freshly laundered and folded up in his hands. I watch him closely as he cautiously places them on the end of the bed. “Here, all washed and dried.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. When I don’t immediately pick them up, he backs away giving me the privacy to change without him looking on.
“We’ll be waiting upstairs. I hope you like honeyed steak and salad.”
“That sounds… good.” I give him a weak smile as he heads back up the stairs.
“Mathieson, you did good. That steak was perfect,” Berrin exclaims, leaning back in his chair and cupping the back of his head. “I’m full.”
“That’s not really surprising, given you ate enough for ten people.” Mathieson deadpans, and I wonder whether he actually smiles all that much. He glances my way. “Have you had enough?” he asks me, swiping his tongue across his lower lip as he licks at the drop of honey there.
“I have, thank you,” I respond, ripping my eyes away from his mouth and to his eyes that are sparkling dangerously. It was, in fact, delicious. The steak was tender and cooked perfectly with the honeyed seasoning, though looking at Franklin’s untouched steak, you’d be fooled into thinking it wasn’t.
“Aren’t you eating that?” Berrin asks, pointing at his plate.
“Not hungry,” Franklin responds with a shrug. “Have at it.”
Berrin doesn’t hesitate. He leans over and spears the steak with his fork before cutting into it and swallowing a mouthful. “Hmmm, fucking delicious. You’re missing out, Franklin,” he says.
“So…” Mathieson starts, then frowns when he realises that he doesn’t know my name. “What should we call you?”
“Matt, she doesn’t know who she is, let alone her name. Stupid fucking question,” Berrin says around another mouthful of food.
“How about Goldie?” I suddenly blurt out, wanting to see their reaction. None of them flinch. There’s not even a glimmer of recognition.
“The name on the note. You think that’s who you are, Goldie?” Franklin asks me, twirling his glass of water between his finger and thumb. His face is expressionless, and it strikes me as odd, as though he’s trying really, really hard to hide his inner thoughts.
“I’ve no idea, that’s why I’m asking you. Do any of you know a Goldie?”
“Nope, can’t say that I do,” Berrin says, gathering up the empty plates and stacking them on top of one another.
“The note was in your jacket. I heard Franklin say it was yours when I was listening at the door,” I admit.
“That’s right, darling. It is my jacket, but that’s not my note. I don’t know who Goldie is, why anyone would tell that person to run, or why the message was written on our headed paper. The writing isn’t even familiar.”
“It’s not familiar to me either,” Mathieson adds, standing. He takes the stacked dishes from Berrin and dumps them in the kitchen sink before filling it up with water and dishwashing liquid.
“And you?” I ask Franklin.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Means nothing to me…”
I sigh heavily, feeling more and more confused. “What about