Page 242 of This Woman Forever

“Sixteen years, maybe seventeen.”

“And you?”

“Same.”

“That’s a long time, Jesse.”

“I know,” I grate. I hear him. Why now? “I’ve been to the address of Ava’s client. There’s no one there. It could be nothing”—fuck, I hope it’s nothing—“but it could be something, Steve, and I really need to know.”

“I’ve got you. I’ll check out the names now and come back to you. What’s the address of this client?”

“Twelve Lansdowne Crescent.”

“I’m on it. You shouldn’t have gone there. Where’s Ava?”

“At home with John.”

“Listen, try to relax, okay? I’m sure there’s nothing in it, but it’s wise to check it out. Are you comfortable with me coming to your home to take these statements?”

“Yeah, sure. We’re in the penthouse at the new Lusso building on Katherine Docks.”

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”

I hang up and repeat his words over and over. It’s nothing. It’s been over sixteen years. Why would she decide to haunt me now? I’m so strung, I jump when another call comes in. “John?” I say, tense.

“The concierge has mentioned someone loitering around outside so I’m going down to check it out.”

“A woman?” I ask instinctively, my heart missing a few too many beats.

“No, a guy. By the bins.”

I sigh, loosening up. “It’s probably the homeless dude,” I say. “I took his trolly out a few weeks back. He sneaks in when the gates are open and rootles through the bins.”

“I’ll go check,” he says. “Ava’s upstairs. I locked the door.”

“Is she okay?”

“Worried.”

I hear the front door close down the line. “I’m five minutes away.” I hang up and focus on the road, trying to make some sense out of all this. But I can’t. I don’t know whether it’s because I simply don’t have the capacity or if it simply can’t make sense.

Three more calls come in before I make it to Lusso—Sam, Drew, and Kate. I don’t answer, my energy levels zapped. And now I have to explain to Ava why I was trying to break down her client’s door. I park up and scan the car park for the homeless guy, but don’t see any sign of him. I bet John saw him off. Probably with a few quid in his pocket.

I walk into the lobby, scanning the desk area for Clive or the new concierge. There’s no one. I glance down at my watch, walking on, the sound of my shoes hitting the marble echoing around the lobby.

As I approach the lift, I lift a hand, ready to hit the call button.

Stop dead in my tracks when I see John.

Unconscious on the floor.

“No,” I whisper, immobilized for a few precious seconds, my eyes nailed to his big body lying on the marble, half concealed behind the concierge’s desk. What the fuck is happening? “John?” My legs come to life, and I run to him, checking him over, my hands all over his big body. “John, can you hear me?”

He stirs, grumbles, his eyes opening and closing, hissing in pain. I see the blood around his head.

“Fuck,” I hiss. “John, what happened?”

His hand pats around on the floor, feeling, until he finds my forearm and squeezes. “Go,” he wheezes, finding my eyes. “Go.”

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