Page 43 of Spiral
She was so patient, repeated it all, and I really focused.
Mostly.
By the time the presentation ended, and everyone had left, bar Craig who was kicked back in a seat by the door, I was on a high. The commission couldn’t accuse me of not delivering, and I had a solid basis for what could be years of research into practical applications of my theories and could earn good money.
I might be able to afford a house of my own.
Or not.
I loved living with Oli and the girls, and Jackson had never implied he didn’t want me there, but still… somewhere for me and Craig? Somewhere with a place where Claudia could live with us, and Bruno, of course. Next door to Oli. That seemed reasonable.
Right?
A few days later,Jackson found me in the garden, where I was deep in conversation with Scarlett and Daisy about the merits of pink dresses as Scarlett made me try on lip glosses and Daisy attempted to keep my hair back with a flowery headband. I grinned up at the man, but he didn’t seem as if he’d come out to tease me over the hair or the makeup, instead, he had a face like thunder. Fuck. What was wrong?
“Jamie, can I have a moment?” he asked, glancing at the girls before focusing his intense gaze back on me.
“Sure, what’s up?” I replied, keeping my tone even, standing from my crouch. Even though I stayed calm, thinking about the girls, they reacted to Jackson’s aura and paused their excited chatter. “It’s okay, girls, go inside, I bet I’m just in trouble for messing with J’s breakfast this morning.”
“Wait!” Jackson said, with fake horror, playing to the girls. “What did he do to my breakfast?”
I leaned into Scarlett and Daisy. “I put sugar in his coffee!”
They snickered, and we all smiled, but Jackson’s and my smile dropped after they’d dashed inside.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded. “Is Oli okay?—”
“It’s Craig,” Jackson began, his voice low, and my chest tightened. “He received agift, and my colleagues out of cybercrimes got the call from him and said he’s spooked. They gave me a courtesy call, and I’m heading out there, but maybe Craig might need a friend right now.”
“Of course, I’ll go,” I said without hesitation, the concern for Craig overpowering. I thought that shit had stopped, but maybe it hadn’t? Had Craig decided not to tell me if he was getting gifts? I quickly scrubbed my face, and followed Jackson to his car, catching sight of the headband and taking it off. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know—she didn’t say much.”
“But he’s not hurt.” I had all these scenarios where that ex-arsehole had sent him anthrax in the post, or poison, or… fuck knows.
“No medics were called out,” was all he said, and that meant nothing. Craig was just like Oli, a stubborn ass over any kind of injury.
The drive to Craig’s place was tense, filled with an uneasy silence that I didn’t want to break with too many questions when Jackson’s focus remained on the road, his jaw set in a firm line. I spent the ride trying to prepare myself for whatever situation awaited us, but as we approached Craig’s residence, a modest three-bedroom house tucked neatly behind a high wall with a security gate, my anxiety heightened. The presence of a black and white cop car parked outside his front door did nothing to ease my nerves. A woman stood to the left of the entrance, her body language tense as she spoke to a young guy who was gesticulating wildly.
“I just delivered it! I just delivered it! I don’t know!” the young man was defending, agitated but not angry.
“Who’s the woman?” I asked quietly as we neared the front door, noting how her demeanor was relaxed as she spoke, calming the man down.
“That’s Detective Joanne Russo. Cybercrimes. She’s been handling the situation with the messages to Craig with her partner,” Jackson whispered, scanning the area for any sign of threat. The detective gave Jackson a nod, and then indicated we should go into the house.
When we walked into Craig’s living room, the scene was grimly surreal. On the coffee table, a cake shaped unmistakably like Craig’s dog, Bruno, complete with a tiny, frosted jumper, lay in two pieces. What looked like jam or red icing was smeared grotesquely in and around the split, a macabre sight that made my stomach churn.
I focused on finding Craig and ensuring he was okay. Leaving the police with the cake, I had to look through several rooms but finally found him in the kitchen, with his back to me, staring out of the window.
“Craig!”
He spun to face me. “Jamie? What are you doing here?”
“Jackson said you needed me, I’m here.”
Craig shrugged and didn’t reach for me, as if he was holding himself back, and I held out a hand—it was up to him if he came to me, I wouldn’t push my fear onto him.
“He’s insane,” Craig snapped, and then something changed, and he grabbed my hand and buried his face in my neck. “Fucking insane.”
