stomach curdled. Christ. Reduced to pilfering funds from lousy shopkeepers. What the fuck happened? Nine years ago he was making millions, trading on nuggets of inside information. Between them, he and the rest of the trading ring had made over twenty-five million euros in a single year. Sweet deals, every one of them. Until the Sorohan deal, of course. That fucking Martinez.
He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the game. He still hadn’t shaved and he could smell the sourness of his own body. Time for the turn, the fourth communal card. Mattie flipped it over on the table. Another five. Leon sat still. The table now showed a king, a three and two fives. It gave Leon a full house of kings and fives.
The Wrestler pushed a stack of chips into the pot. ‘Five thousand.’
Leon saw the tightening around the other man’s mouth and knew he was still ahead. The Wrestler could be making trip fives, maybe filling a house with threes, but not much else. He called.
Now for the river, the fifth and final card. Leon watched as Mattie rolled a five.
Shit. Now there were three fives on the table. He searched the Wrestler’s face, looking for tells. Could he possibly be holding the last five?
The Wrestler’s forehead glistened in the overhead light. He looked like a melting waxwork. He shoved out the biggest stack yet. Six thousand euros. The middle of the table was beginning to look like a model tower-block city.
Leon gazed at the pot. There was now over thirty-five thousand in there. He almost whimpered out loud. He knew that the thirteen thousand he had contributed was no longer his. It belonged to the pot, and to defend it with more of his own money would be downright stupid. The wise man would fold and walk away.
Leon scooped up his last remaining chips and piled them high in the pot. ‘Call.’
He locked eyes with the Wrestler. Time to reveal their hole cards. The Wrestler went first. Almost in slow motion, he turned over his top card. The three of clubs. So far, that just gave him a house of fives and threes. Leon’s back was drenched in sweat. He stared, transfixed by the second card. The Wrestler rolled it over. The five of diamonds. The only card in the deck that could beat him.
Leon sank back into his chair. Four unbeatable fucking fives. Nausea roiled like an eel in his stomach. His head started to pound, and his vision turned blurry at the edges. That fucking Martinez prick – he’d brought him to this. He’d ruined everything. Leon ground his teeth and choked back a howl of rage. That girl of his deserved everything that was coming to her.
‘ETA fifteen minutes,’ Dillon said.
From the way he gunned the engine, Harry could well believe it. He swerved into the outside lane and she gripped the door handle with both hands. If he noticed she was bracing herself for impact, he didn’t mention it.
The Lexus coasted along the open motorway and soon she felt her limbs relax. The car was warm, the murmur of the engine hypnotic. Harry closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest.
She’d spent over an hour with the police in her apartment. Two officers had arrived, one the same young Garda who’d spoken to her in Pearse Station, the other a plainclothes detective who hadn’t been introduced. The younger one did all the talking. The other had just watched her with quiet grey eyes as she answered questions about the break-in and explained again how she fell in front of a train.
Harry shifted in the passenger seat. Her legs grew heavy and she felt herself drifting. By the time she opened her eyes again it was pitch-dark, and the motorway had turned into a narrow country road lined with thick hedges.
Dillon slowed the car and rolled in through a pair of wrought-iron gates. ‘We’re here.’
Harry peered out the window. Electric lanterns lined the driveway up to the front door. Light splashed upwards along trees and bushes, illuminating everything from below like theatre footlights.
Dillon crunched to a halt and Harry hoisted herself out of the car, gazing at the house that took centre stage in front of them. It was shaped like a gigantic L, with a steeply pitched roof and dormer windows perched along the top like eyes. She could smell the fragrant cedar incense from the conifers that stood on sentry duty by the front door.
‘Like it?’ Dillon said.
Harry looked back at him. He was watching her with a self-satisfied smile, clearly enjoying her reaction to his magnificent home.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you showing off?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe. What can I say? No point in having money if you don’t know how to spend it.’ Then he guided her towards the door, his palm brushing against the small of her back. ‘Come on, let’s get you that brandy.’
The entrance hall was the size of her entire apartment. Dillon led the way to a room at the back of the house. Harry hesitated, suddenly aware of how she must look.
‘Maybe I should take that bath first. I feel sort of grubby.’
Dillon’s phone rang before he could reply. He checked the caller ID.
‘It’s Ashford, from KWC. You’d better hang on.’ He took the call. ‘Dillon Fitzroy.’
He stared at the floor, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone. Harry tried to read his face, and something squirmed inside her as she imagined what Ashford had to say. Then she remembered Felix’s belligerence and stuck her chin in the air.
‘Thanks, that’s very understanding of you.’ Dillon threw her a wry look. ‘Unfortunately, Harry’s been in a bit of an accident, but I’ll put another engineer on to it first thing Monday morning.’
Dillon winced at the response on the other end of the phone. Harry flapped her hands to object. Dammit, she could finish the job. But Dillon ignored her.
‘No, no, she’s fine, nothing serious.’ He shot a look in her direction, his expression puzzled. ‘Yes, I’m sure. No, she’s not in hospital. She’ll be available to hand things over to Imogen Brady on Monday.’
Dillon began to wind up the call and finally disconnected. He stared at her.
Harry kept her chin in the air. ‘I can do the pen test.’
‘Let’s not push it, okay?’
‘What did he say?’
‘He was full of apologies for today, said none of it was your fault.’ He folded his arms and considered her for a moment. ‘He seemed very concerned for your welfare. Quite shocked to hear you were in an accident. Do you two know each other?’
Harry frowned and shook her head. Then her brow cleared. ‘He knew my father. Old pals, apparently.’
‘Ah.’ Dillon checked his watch. ‘I need to make some calls. You take that bath. Upstairs, second room on the left. The wardrobe has plenty of clothes.’ He stepped into the room behind him and was gone.
Harry made her way up the stairs, checking out her appearance in the mirrors that lined the walls. Bed-hair, black streaks on her
