A Chance Encounter by Rae Shaw (e manga reader TXT) 📗

a fitness centre and made something of himself. He writes to me. Dear son letters. All optimistic. He's full of his plans to open his own gym once he's released. He's going to help recovering drug addicts and alcoholics. He's already started in the prison gym and the officers are impressed with his attitude.’

‘When does he get paroled?’

‘He doesn't. Not until he admits—’

‘His guilt.’ Julianna collected up the dirty plates. Mark's secret was out and it wasn't horrendous. His father was a crook and possibly a murderer, but not a psychopath.

She admired Mark’s loyalty, but ultimately, it was self-destructive. Over the last few weeks, his cheeks had appeared more and more gaunt as if he was sucking stress in and holding on to it tightly. One thing Julianna was certain about: Jackson knew about Bill Clewer. Mark had attracted Jackson’s attention by chatting up Hettie in a bar. What did Jackson do when anyone, any stranger, paid attention to his wife? He had them checked out. Chris Moran would contact his network of law enforcers and private investigators and do a background check. Mark's past belonged to Jackson Haynes.

Jackson had given Mark a job. Out of pity? She doubted that. Hettie had called her husband heartless, which implied malicious intent. But why? Jackson wasn't involved in criminal gangs like Bill; he fought them using the work of his foundation. Opportunitas rescued victimised women and gave them new homes and jobs. They traced those that went missing and brought closure to anxious families whether the news was good or bad. From what she had learnt since she joined the company, Jackson wasn't as a cold-hearted as he seemed. He nurtured his employees through hard choices, but never treated them cruelly or sanctimoniously. It left Julianna only one option. There was more to Mark's past. Something he hadn't revealed, another even darker secret, possibly dangerous. But it didn’t make sense: Jackson had allowed Mark contact with precious Hettie, and she had given him a present – a painting – and they had invited him to parties. Mark had a use and that had to be the reason why Jackson kept tabs on him. Now that was a puzzle worth solving and if her theory was correct, Jackson had set her up to solve it.

‘I can understand if you don't want to see me again.’ Mark rose to his feet and started to button his shirt up. ‘I'm okay about it.’

‘Well, I'm not,’ Julianna said. ‘You've been honest. I'm not going to tar you with the same brush as your dad.’

The relief on his face was palpable. The shadows under his eyes remained – he was tired – but there was a spark lit in them. She had seen that same sparkle last night.

‘Thank you.’ He swept her into his arms and kissed her until she flapped her arms and he released her. ‘Don't flatten me.’ He held up his hands in defence.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘You need fresh clothes.’ The comment signified the end of the conversation. Where they went next was unknown. She would wait. She had become good at waiting. Ever since she had left her last job, she’d loitered in a state of limbo.

She called for a taxi and after a few silent pauses on the doorstep they parted company with a brief hug. An odd sense of distance had descended.

‘See you,’ she said.

He waved and ducked inside the cab.

That was it for the day. Sex, breakfast and confessions. All that was left was the laundry. And daydreaming about Mark.

  10

Ellen

Hurrying along the hotel corridor, Ellen’s heels snagged on the frayed carpet and she nearly collided with a wall. Tottering for a second, she giggled. The childish response was due to adrenaline and nothing to do with the best man’s embarrassing jokes. She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting him to come running after her. She wouldn't find that funny.

She had so nearly done it. Got laid, just like Nicky.

The best man's brother had strutted his stuff on the dance floor. Ellen's friend, Marsha, called him a buffoon behind his back. Ellen had ignored Marsha and danced with him because he looked super fit. It had been obvious that he was interested. He had said her dancing was “sick”, which had amused her, because he was a terrible dancer. He had ground his hips against hers until she had to dash to the bathroom for a pee.

She had drunk far too much. When he, fuck, she didn't even know his name, when he had jerked his head toward the exit, she’d nodded, then whipped out her mobile and nearly called Mark as if she needed his permission.

Why? Freddie had a strict no phone calls policy. She didn't even know his number. But then she remembered where her brother was... hobnobbing with the hoi polloi. The cool corridor had cleared her head in a way a conversation with Mark couldn't. When they had reached Whathisname's room door, she had whispered, 'Sorry,' and bolted in the opposite direction.

A wave of nausea hit as she unlocked her door. With her head over the bowl, she retched the contents of three margaritas into the toilet, but not the red wine. Lying on the bed, her heels dangling off the edge, she closed her eyes and rode the merry-go-round. Around and around she spun until it happened again. She managed to reach the bathroom in time.

Splashing cold water on her flushed face helped alleviate the horrible feeling her insides were keen to be on the outside. She staggered across the room and undressed. Face down on the bed, drooling onto the pillow, she groaned. She had so nearly cracked. Freddie would have been disappointed if she had gone all the way with Whathisname. Freddie used to tell her virginity was a precious thing.

It had happened to