So Steady: Silver Daughters Ink, Book Two (Silver Daughters Ink Book Two) Page 24

  There was Scott’s dad. He’d tried to burn their studio down, and he’d wanted their business gone for years. For a second it seemed utterly plausible, then Nicole realised sneaking in every week to take small amounts of cash out of the till and frame Noah Newcomb was an incredibly convoluted revenge plot for a guy who’d hurled Molotov cocktails at their building. No, this wasn’t about revenge. It was theft, pure and simple. The common blight of the small business. The reason she’d told her dad to update their financial software every year because employees…

  She wanted to pinch herself. She wanted to slap herself. She wanted to go back in time and pinch and slap every day for two years. She knew who it was. She knew who the dog c-word was.

  Gil had been in her house just this morning, talking about how Noah was a criminal, saying they needed to go to the cops. She stood up, needing to move as more details spilled into her brain like hot honey. Gil was a divorced father of three who wore Supreme t-shirts and Stone Island jogging pants. Gil had a Gucci watch that cost more than the one she’d left with Aaron. Gil was always bitching about child support payments, but Tabby teased him about his boots, express ordered from Kanye West’s Yeezy line. She imagined Gil sliding a few fifties out of the register and the image was as vivid as any HD movie.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my God.”

  She paced her dad’s office, turning the revelation over in her head like an explosive device. It had no cracks, no scratches; it was utterly perfect with just one problem—proof.

  “No cameras,” she said, sitting back down at her dad’s desk. “No cameras, and he wasn’t stupid enough to use his own login or change his own hours. He must know about Noah’s history, or maybe he just thought he’d look innocent in comparison.”

  He was right. Nicole remembered his insistence that they called the cops, and flushed with anger. Yeah, he’d love that. Next to an ex-bikie with a record, he’d look like butter wouldn’t melt in his sly little mouth. He was nervous this morning, Nicole realised— talking a lot, sweating buckets. He knew the jig was nearly up. His defense relied on everyone assuming Noah was guilty, but he must know that was risky; Sam and Noah were old friends, and now he knew Nicole had slept with him. What if he panicked? Called the cops himself and tried to pass it off as a citizen’s arrest kind of thing?

  “Noah!”

  She jumped to her feet again. She’d left her phone upstairs. After flouncing off, she hadn’t wanted to go back and collect it, but she needed to call Noah and tell him what was happening, or maybe Gil so she could confront him, or maybe the police, but to explain that they couldn’t trust a man called Gil, or maybe—

  A knock at the door. Three fast ones and three slow ones.

  “Go away, Tabby! I can’t deal with you right now!”

  “I can’t,” Tabby said. “I feel so terrible I’m glued to the ground outside the office and the only way to unglue me is with forgiveness.”

  Nicole could hear the puppies, sniffing and scratching and rubbing against the door. Could hear a watery note in her baby sister’s voice. The sister she used to feed and dress and read Winnie the Pooh to. “I’ve got work to do.”

  “I know, but I have to tell you I’m sorry. I’m a dick and so is Sam. We’re bullshit sisters. We’re judgmental assholes, and we both want to say you can get rid of your tattoo if you want to. It won’t change anything. It’s just ink. Family is more important than ink. Even in this family.”

  Nicole bit her lip, trying not to let the animalistic howls tearing at her windpipe come out.

  “Nix, can I come in?” Tabby pleaded. “I want to give you a hug.”

  Nicole pressed her hands into her hair. “Okay, but first I have to tell you something and I need you to listen to me.”

  “Anything! Fire away! I’m all ears. Say it. Whatever you want to say, just say it. Fire away!”

  She smiled, she couldn’t help herself. Then she remembered the missing money and panic licked up her throat once more. “Gil took the money. He used Noah’s login to shave his hours. He’s spent all Dad’s money on fancy runners and his stupid fancy gym and—and tracksuit pants for idiot teenagers!”

  There was a pause.

  “Gil?” Tabby asked, but not like she didn’t believe her. Like she was scared it was too good to be true.

  Nicole flung open the office door and the puppies burst in, yelping and rubbing against her ankles like a velvet stampede. “It was him. I can fucking feel it.”

  Tabby smiled. She was holding Nicole’s favourite mug. “I like it when you say the f-word.”

  “Thanks.” Nicole took the tea and drank, trying to drown her panic.

  “Gil,” Tabby said slowly. “He does have a lot of stuff; all the clothes and that Fat Boy, but he said his aunt died and left him some money. It could just be a coincidence?”

  Nicole smiled and Tabby smiled back, and she knew they were both thinking the same thing—about their dad saying what he’d said a million different times—‘I don’t believe in coincidences.’

  “Gil,” Tabby repeated. “But how are we gonna prove it?”

  Nicole felt her smile fade as immensity of their challenge re-reared its ugly head. “I don’t know. Cash is so hard to trace and we don’t have cameras.”

  “We should tell Sam about your theory. Three heads are better than one.” Tabby lifted the office phone. “I’ll call her.”

  “No!” Nicole snatched the receiver from her. “She doesn’t want to talk to me right now. Not after what I said.”

  “I told you, she’s sorry about all that.”

  “What if saying sorry is just a strategy to lure me upstairs and punch me in the face?”

  Tabby rubbed her chin. “I won’t deny Sam is capable of some crazy shit, but she wouldn’t do that. She’s making you a pie.”

  Nicole froze. “An apology pie?”

  “Yeah, mint chocolate. Your fave.”

  The backs of Nicole’s eyes burned. Her twin wasn’t great with words or feelings, but her pies were magnificent. Better than apologies really, because you could eat them. She wiped her eyes. “Okay, let’s go upstairs. But I don’t want anyone to mention me sleeping with Noah. It’s not important right now. We need to focus on the problem, which is Gil.”

  Tabby grinned and wrapped her arm around her waist. “Sure, though once we clear Noah’s—well not good name, semi good name, maybe—can we discuss the possibility of him becoming our brother in law?”

  Nicole shook her head, sadness welling like a little pool at her center. “He said he’s not the right guy for me. He doesn’t want kids.”

  “Ah, that’s a load of shit,” Tabby said comfortably. “He’ll cave in.”

  “Thanks, Tabby, that’s what I always wanted, a partner who caves.” She was being sarcastic, but she did feel oddly better as they headed for the back door.

  “Sorry Greyson gave you the clap, by the way,” Tabby said. “What a shit cunt.”

  “Yeah.” Shame at the memory of that bright, awful experience flickered through, but it didn’t sting as much as she thought it would. A small miracle on a day full of bullshit. She flicked Tabby’s ear. “The clap is gonorrhea. I had chlamydia.”

  “Like the koalas?”

  “I guess.” A burst of defiance flared through her and she grabbed the tail of the comet. “You know, it’s common. Chlamydia. One in five people get it.”

  Tabby considered this. “I can’t say that’s a good thing, but I do know you have nothing to be ashamed about. Also, you’re way better than one in five people. You’re like…one in five billion people.”

  Nicole didn’t say anything because she wanted to stop crying for at least a thirty-minute period, but she hugged her sister closer as they headed upstairs to Sam and her pie, the puppies surging around them like living water.

  Chapter 19

  Stasis was never Noah’s thing. Fitz, the road captain of The Rangers, used to call him Recovery for the way he bounced back after hangovers. It could have
been nature, nurture, or both, but shit just didn’t seem to stick to him the way it did to other people. And when it did, it never seemed to be for long. Easy come, easy go. Or so he fucking thought.

  It had been twenty-four hours since he’d left his van at the DaSilva house. He couldn’t eat, still hadn’t slept, hadn’t showered. He couldn’t get out of bed and that didn’t make sense because, again, he wasn’t sleeping. He was just lying there staring at the ceiling, feeling stupidly grateful that Shredder hadn’t slashed his mattress or taken a shit in his sheets. He wondered if that was Paula’s influence, some warped kind of parting gift.

  All in all, he’d rather have his paintings.

  He’d assumed he’d get up when the nicotine cravings kicked in, but as the day wore on, it became clear that wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t thirsty, he didn’t need the bathroom. His human instincts seemed to have abandoned him.

  Nicole would have made it better, but that was a dead end. By now her sisters would have spoken to her and she’d think he was a thieving asshole, too. He’d never get to kiss her, or fuck her, or take her out for dinner. He wouldn’t work another shift at Silver Daughters, or have another beer with Sam. His life in Melbourne was done. If he was smart, he’d get out of town before he found himself in front of the cops explaining that yeah, he’d once kicked the shit out of someone for a bikie gang and gone to jail for it, but he wasn’t a bad guy.

  He didn’t have the energy to leave, though. Not one bit.

  As the afternoon sun faded, an itch spread through his hands and legs. He wasn’t antsy enough to get up, but he knew he’d have to do it soon—at least to shower. His vasectomy appointment was due to kick off at nine. He’d have to go to that. If he didn’t, he’d lose his deposit. It was one thing to lie around like a corpse not eating, drinking or smoking. It was another to let a ball sac clinic steal two hundred bucks.

  He was turning on his side, wondering what Edgar was doing, when he heard a hard knock at the door. Who the fuck was that? Couldn’t be Shredder; he wouldn’t fucking knock. The cops? He didn’t move. If they had a warrant to arrest him, they could force their way in. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway.

  “Noah!” called a woman. “Open up.”

  The voice was familiar. Someone he’d fucked? Did he have an outstanding date? They weren’t in for a good time, if that was the case. He doubted he’d be able to get a hard-on for anyone that wasn’t Nicole for at least a year, and even after that, he’d probably think of her.

  “I know you’re there, you big dildo,” called the woman. “Come to the door or I’ll murder you!”

  “Tabby!” a man scolded, and the mystery was solved.

  Noah rubbed at his right eye, his exhaustion doubling over on itself. He thought about Newton’s first law of motion; that an object at rest would stay at rest unless it was compelled to change that state by an external force. He’d been hoping the force would be getting the snip. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Tabitha DaSilva.

  There was another knock, this one harder, more authoritarian.

  “Noah, if you’re there, we’d like to speak with you.” It was a second man, his voice clear and British. Scott Sanderson, Sam’s boyfriend. Jesus, they’d sent a whole crew to deal with him. He swung his feet out of bed, feeling heavy and useless.

  “Coming.” His voice was rusty with disuse. It made him sound exactly like his old man. He swallowed a couple of times. “Hang on a second.”

  “Excellent!” Tabby said. “Everyone look concerned but not too concerned.”

  “Shhh.”

  Noah rolled his eyes. “What do you guys want?”

  “Just to talk,” Scott Sanderson said, calm as a police negotiator. “Could you please come to the door?”

  Noah bent and picked up a relatively clean t-shirt. “I will if you stop talking like I’ve got C4 strapped to my chest.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He dressed quickly, a little worried the lethargy would seize and bring him back to bed. He cracked his neck on both sides before heading to the door and turning the lock. Tabby stood before him in puffy green pants and a red crop top. She was flanked by Scott and a mate of Scott’s whose name he couldn’t remember.

  Tabby’s jaw dropped. “Whoa. You look…interesting.”

  Noah’s mood blackened. He’d gone a day without food or soap, but he wasn’t a fucking leper. “What are you doing here?”

  Tabby opened her mouth, but Scott stepped in front of her. “Apologising, first of all.”

  Not what he’d been expecting. “Apologise for what?”

  “For the accusations that were levelled against you,” Scott said, pure lawyer. “Sam regrets not giving you the time and space to defend yourself.”

  “Same,” Tabby called from behind him. “I regret it, too.”

  Relief unlocked his chest and he breathed deep for what felt like the first time in days. “Sam’s sorry?”

  “Yeah.” Scott gave him a small smile. “She’s still pissed you didn’t tell her about yourself, but she’ll get past that.”

  “I…” Noah frowned. “How the fuck do you know where I live?”

  Scott tugged at his collar. “Well…”

  Tabby popped out from behind him. “Phone tracking. Come on, man, you know I do that.”

  Scott closed his eyes. “Timing, Tabby.”

  “What? He deserves to know.” She smiled at him. “Want to know how Nix is?”

  God, just hearing her name was like swallowing a shot of tabasco. He looked away, actually catching the tall kid’s eye. He cast around for his name and landed on Toby. Fucking weird that he was here.

  Scott cleared his throat. “So, that’s not the only reason we’re here. Can we please come inside and talk?”

  Noah looked over his shoulder and saw, unsurprisingly, his place was exactly as fucked-up as Paula and Shredder had left it. “I’ve got some…maintenance shit happening right now. What’s there to talk about?”

  Scott grimaced. “We think Gil is the one stealing from Silver Daughters.”

  “Huh?” he said, sounding stupid, feeling stupid. “You think it was Gil?”

  “We know it was Gil,” Tabby said.

  “No, we don’t.” Scott met Noah’s gaze. “Can we come in?”

  Noah let them in, his mind spinning a hundred and eighty degrees. Gil? Fuckin’ Gil with his hardboiled eggs and turkey steaks? His dumbass kids clothes? How could it have been him? He’d have noticed. He’d have stopped him.

  “Wow, this place is fucked.” Tabby sounded delighted. “What happened? Did the dog-cunt people do this?”

  Noah ignored her. “How do you know it was Gil?” he asked Scott.

  Scott pulled a piece of paper from his suit pocket and handed it to him. It was a bank statement with many of the dates and amounts highlighted. “What am I looking at?”

  “Silver Daughters’ cash deposits from eighteen months ago.” Scott pointed to a deposit of two thousand dollars. “Here. This is when the totals drop. The week before it was two thousand, five hundred. We think that’s when he started skimming the till.”

  Noah’s heart sank. “That’s not evidence.”

  “What if I told you that was the week Gil joined his new gym.” It wasn’t Tabby or Scott who spoke, but the tall kid, Toby. Noah stared at him, taking in the cookie cutter blue shirt and neatly combed hair.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “He called the gym and found out,” Tabby said. “And he got the owner to tell him that Gil’s been paying in cash.”

  Noah stared at him. “Seriously?”

  The kid hunched his shoulders. “Yeah, I guessed he wasn’t depositing the money because if he was, he could get in trouble with the tax office, so I narrowed down the places where he might be spending it. I got lucky.”

  Tabby flicked his shoulder. “It wasn’t lucky, it was fucking genius.”

  Toby flushed scarlet.

  “Do we know anyone else who might have a record of Gil
spending cash with them?” Noah asked.

  “I called a couple of big brand shops in the CBD,” Scott said. “Places Sam and Tabby could remember Gil mentioning. An assistant at Incu knew who Gil was, but he said he hasn’t been in for a while.”

  No, he wouldn’t have been. He looked at Scott. “Has the skimming slowed down since Nikki got here?”

  “Stopped as far as we can tell.”

  Noah nodded, furious but trying to keep it at bay. He needed to think. “So, it adds up, but we’ve got no proof?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He screwed up his face. “What about the gym? Do they have any of Gil’s money on hand?”

  “No, the guy who runs the place didn’t want us poking around his finances.”

  Tabby gave Toby a glowing look. “He didn’t even want to talk to us, but Toby freaked him out. Told him that if he was helping Gil launder the cash, he could be culpable when we went to the police. That got him to talk.”

  Noah grinned at the kid. “You’d make a good lawyer.”

  “Or a pilot,” Tabby said cheerfully. “Or a doctor. Or an engineer.”

  “But he’s my assistant,” Scott said. “No poaching.”

  Toby ducked his head, clearly uncomfortable with the flattery. “Guys…”

  Noah leaned against his kitchen wall, trying to see the bigger picture. “Okay, Gil’s been robbing SDI blind. What now?”

  Everyone’s smiles faded.

  Scott tugged at the collar of his shirt. “That’s why we came. We need to think of something fast. Gil called Sam last night and told her he’s got a job offer in Sydney. He’s quitting.”

  “No.” He hadn’t meant it to come out so hard, but Tabby and Toby took a step backward.

  Scott spread his fingers. “It’s okay. Nicole told him he has to give two weeks’ notice, or he’ll be in breach of his contract. He’s still here; he’s coming in on Monday.”

  He inhaled, expanding his deflated lungs. Nikki had saved them, found a feather-light way to buy them more time. Of course she had. He kept breathing, kept thinking. So Gil had stolen from Sam and made Nicole work a million hours trying to figure out why their family business was failing. Gil had robbed them blind and he was going to leave, lumping Edgar’s daughters with the mess he’d made. Why hadn’t he guessed this? Stopped this?