The Lawson Boys: Marty Read online

  “What about Marcia?” Alan queried. “You’re bonking her.”

  “Marcia is…”

  “You’re not sweet on her,” Mike announced.

  “Not that it’s any of your business.” Marty hefted up a fifteen kilo weight in each hand and turned to face the two men watching him, one with glee and one with his usual stoic expression. “Haven’t you two got any crooks to catch or something?”

  “Or something.” Alan jerked one thumb over his shoulder. “I’m watching the ladies, doing my civic duty even while off-duty.”

  Admirable,” Marty replied dryly. “And Mike actually lets you.”

  “I lift weights,” Mike stated. “Alan does what he wants.”

  “Which is close to sexual harassment.”

  “Speaking of sexual things.” Alan leaned forward a little. “So, about Belle…?”

  “Don’t even go there,” Marty warned. “There is nothing to speak of, nothing to know.” So what if he’d dreamed of soft lips and an even softer body during the night and woken with yet another impressive boner? The woman in his dreams had been faceless except for green eyes. That was all. A lot of women had green eyes. True, he couldn’t think of anyone apart from Belle immediately, but it meant nothing.

  “Uh huh.” Alan nudged Mike.

  Mike just continued to regard Marty.

  Marty eyed him back.

  Mike grunted and picked up twenty kilo weights, hefting them with ease.

  Alan, not to be outdone, picked up a five kilo weight and proceeded to do arm curls.

  Seeking to change the subject, because going by Alan’s gleaming eyes he wasn’t finished yet, Marty raised one brow at Mike. “So where’s Maddy?”

  “Working late.”

  “Oh.”

  Alan, about to say something, was diverted by a giggling blonde swaying past them. Unfortunately the blonde eyed Marty instead and the five kilo weight Alan was lifting stopped mid-swing. “Shit,” he said in disgust.

  More to annoy Alan than for any real interest on his part, Marty winked at the blonde, who fluttered her eyelashes at him and fished a card out of her low-cut tank top.

  “Call me,” she purred, slipping the damp card into the waistband of his shorts with lingering fingers before walking off.

  It did nothing for Marty’s libido, but it gave him great satisfaction at Alan’s expression.

  “I don’t believe it.” Alan sighed.

  Grinning, Marty looked up to find Mike watching him disapprovingly. “What?”

  “You’re going out with another woman but you still accept phone numbers from others.”

  “Marcia and I aren’t…” Marty stopped, cleared his throat. “Well, we are, but it’s not serious.”

  “Really?” Alan queried. “’Cause I heard that she’s picking out the engagement ring you’re going to be giving to her.”

  Marty nearly dropped the weights. Jesus. Maybe it was more than a rumour.

  Alan opened his mouth again, but before he could ruin Marty’s evening any further there came a tap on Marty’s shoulder.

  “Hey, Lawson, you know who The Other Woman is.”

  Mike’s eyes were unfathomable though his granite jaw hardened, while Alan studied the man behind Marty.

  Turning slowly, Marty looked down coolly at Tyrell Baker, the part-time photographer, last seen at the pub and definitely not a welcome sight now. “You’re not exactly dressed for weight lifting, Baker.”

  “Not looking to lift weights,” Baker replied cheerfully. “What I’m after is information.”

  “Really?” Marty knew exactly on whom.

  “Yeah. The Other Woman.” When Marty just continued to look at him, Baker sighed and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. Flicking across the screen, he continued to talk. “That woman you were with the other night?”

  “Marcia?” Cursing silently, Marty maintained his calm demeanour.

  “No, the other woman. At the pub after Trevor Benderage’s fiasco of a wedding.” Baker grinned. “Which is now the hot topic in town.”

  “Really?” Marty raised one brow in apparent boredom. “That’s all anyone can think about? Surely there’s something more newsworthy?”

  “Not right now. The hot topic is who is The Other Woman?”

  “Oh?”

  “Come on, Lawson.” All cheerfulness fled from Baker’s expression as he held up the mobile phone. “I saw you with this woman, and this same woman is the centre of the storm.”

  There was no doubting the woman in the photo was Belle. She’d been caught as she’d looked up at him, her expression uncertain. Marty’s hand was at her waist and he was smiling down at her. His posture was protective. There was no doubting it as he leaned down a little, a buffer between Belle and the rest of the crowded room.

  “Nice.” Alan studied the photo over Marty’s shoulder. “Don’t recognise her, though.” He stated the lie with such an innocent face that if Marty hadn’t known better, he’d have believed him.

  Ignoring Alan, Baker focussed his attention on Marty’s face. “Who is she?”

  Turning away, Marty placed the weights back on the bench. “No idea.”

  “Come on, Lawson. You don’t take out a woman and don’t bother to ask her name. You know who she is.”

  A flare of anger went through Marty but he remained outwardly calm. “You’re the investigative reporter, you find out.”

  “You’re going to try and deny that she was Trevor’s little bit on the side?” When Marty simply picked up his water bottle and unscrewed the cap, Baker sighed impatiently. “Let’s not beat around the bush, Lawson. Someone who was at the wedding saw this photo and picked her out. All I want is a few photos. She can do an interview for my friend and tell her side of the story.”

  Lifting the bottle to his lips, Marty took several long swallows without removing his gaze from Baker. Personally, he’d love to shove the mobile phone right up Baker’s arse but unfortunately that was frowned upon by the law.

  And his mother.

  His father not so much.

  Baker tapped his foot impatiently. “Come on, Lawson. Who is she?”

  Marty re-screwed the cap on the bottle.

  “Okay, then where is she?”

  “Seriously?” Alan queried. “You really think he’d tell you that?”

  “No, it’s all right.” Marty placed the bottle down on the floor.

  Mike glanced at him without expression. Alan’s eyebrows rose up.

  “She’s gone,” Marty announced. “Vamoosed. Hit the hills. Got on her bike.”

  Baker frowned. “Gone?”

  “Left. No longer here.”

  “Where to?”

  “I’m not her keeper. I met her, we had a drink, she went home.”

  Baker leaped on that admission like a wolf on a deer. “Where does she live?”

  “Not a clue. She took a taxi.”

  Baker’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’re lying.”

  “I think you’re an arsehole, but you don’t see me risking getting wrinkles on my brow about it.” Smoothing one finger across his forehead, Marty flipped a hank of blonde hair back.

  “Yeah,” Alan agreed. “Don’t risk the wrinkles. It’s aging.”

  Baker looked at Mike, who looked back at him coldly.

  Leaning back against the weight bench, Marty waited. Oh yeah, he’d like to punch Tyrell Baker’s nosey lights right out.

  Baker studied Marty. “You don’t send women home alone, Lawson.”

  “I sent her.”

  “Why? Because you’re not into fat women?”

  Marty straightened fast, his fists clenched. Mike quickly placed himself in-between Marty and Baker, his eyes as cold as his voice. “Back off, Baker. You got your answer, now stop harassing a member of the public.”

  Baker scowled, but he stepped back. “All right. I’ll find out who she is without your help. I have contacts.”

  “Good for you,” Alan said cheerfully. “Now piss off.”

/>   Swinging on his heel, Baker walked away, his back straight and shoulders stiff.

  Marty glared after him. “Bastard.”

  “Oh yeah,” Alan agreed.

  Mike looked at Marty. “You okay, Lawson?”

  “You mean, as in will I refrain from chasing him outside and pounding his head in? Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Marty relaxed a little. “Gossip scum. Like nothing better to do than skim the depths of shit to find something to gawp at.”

  “Doesn’t Maddy read gossip rags?” Alan asked Mike.

  Mike glared at him.

  “Hey.” Alan held out his hands, palms outwards. “Peace, man. I’m on your side.”

  “As if we didn’t have enough problems,” Marty said.

  Mike returned his attention to him. “You going to be all right?”

  “Yeah.” Marty picked up the water bottle.

  “What about Belle?”

  That question didn’t need any explanation. “She’s gone home. Hopefully no one will figure out where she lives or who she is.”

  “They will if that photo gets published.”

  The bottle cracked in Marty’s clenched fist and water started to leak through his fingers.

  “Okay.” Alan eyed the water dripping from Marty’s cracked bottle. “I think it’s time we ditched this joint and went to the pub for a drink.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll just go home.” Taking a deep breath, Marty eased his grip on the bottle. “Sugar needs her dinner.” And he needed to calm down.

  “Maddy will be home soon.” Mike grabbed a small hand towel and whipped it around his neck. “So I’m going home as well.”

  “Fine, I’ll go alone.” Alan sighed, then glanced slyly at Marty. “Er…about that blonde’s phone number…?”

  “What blonde?”

  “Oh yeah!” Alan crowed, doing a little dance shuffle on the spot. “You’ve fallen for the big chick!”

  Marty sighed. “Can I pound him into the ground?”

  “Sure,” Mike answered.

  ~*~

  Sitting on the sofa, Belle stroked the small, compact cat that was sprawled across her knees. “Well, Cleo, I’m glad one of us is content right now.”

  Holly placed the two cups of hot tea on the coffee table and plopped inelegantly down onto the sofa beside Belle, turning herself and tucking one leg underneath her so she was facing Belle. “Now come on, Belle. You’re home, you’ve got your cat, you’ve got me, what’s not to be content about?”

  “The fact that I’ve had four phone calls since I arrived home.” Belle rubbed Cleo’s ears. “All of them from nosey parkers wanting to know details without actually asking.”

  “Ah. It didn’t take long for the welcoming committee to find out that you’re hiding in your house.”

  “I’m not hiding.” At Holly’s knowing look, Belle muttered, “I’m just not out in public.”

  “You’re going to have to come out of hiding soon,” Holly pointed out. “And it’s better to go out in public while you’re still on holidays, rather than face everyone for the first time at work.”

  “But there’ll be books and shelves between me and the public.”

  “Belle, really?”

  “Argh!” Throwing herself back against the sofa, Belle covered her face with her hands. “Holly, how did this get into such a mess?”

  “Hmmm, let’s see. You ignored me telling you that Trevor was an arse, you went to the city to surprise him - and boy, did you surprise him - and then you walked into a high profile wedding and slapped him. In front of the bride. Which, by the way.” Holly grinned widely, her teeth a startling white against the black lipstick. “I absolutely loved.”

  “That’s just great. I’m glad you had a good time.”

  “It was way more than old Trev had, for sure.” Holly took a sip of tea. “Or the bride, come to think of it.”

  Sighing, Belle rubbed Cleo’s back. “Well, at least not many people know what I did.”

  “Only half the town. The other half is still getting the news.”

  “Oh, ha ha.”

  “Come on, people will soon forget. Something else will happen and you’ll be yesterday’s news.”

  “Wish that would happen now. I don’t suppose you could cause a scandal?”

  “Not this week.”

  Taking the cup that Holly handed her, Belle blew gingerly at the steaming liquid. Having Holly around did help, she had to admit it. She glanced sideways at her friend and smiled. She and Holly had become unlikely friends in primary school.

  Holly was tall, lean and lanky, had a taste for tight black clothes and black make-up, and wore black patterned stockings with black high heels. Her hair was dyed black, she wore black jewellery, and she denied being gothic or anything else resembling it, stating quite firmly that she dressed how she liked and certainly did not follow any fashion or sub culture.

  Belle, for her side, favoured pastel colours, and yet as soon as they’d sat beside each other in primary school, the black-clad skinny girl and the pastel-clad plump girl had become firm friends.

  “So, how’s the romance coming along with Lou?”

  Holly grimaced. “He wants me to meet his parents.”

  “Really? That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  “Because they’ll undoubtedly want a prissy little girl for their darling boy, and I’m anything but prissy.”

  “You’re not exactly the town slag, Holly.”

  “Yeah.” Glancing down, Holly picked a bit of cat hair off her black stockings. “Might be easier if I was.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  Holly sighed. “No, I don’t.”

  Not really surprised by her doubts, Belle studied her friend. Holly had no illusions that she trod her own path but she always had a hard time accepting that others would understand, mostly because her own family were amongst those that didn’t even try.

  Reaching out, Belle lightly punched her in the arm. “Look at us. The town wanna-be-slag and the scandal of the week.”

  “The Other Woman.” Holly looked up, grinning. “I’m so proud.”

  “Glad one of us is,” Belle replied dryly.

  “At least your parents are sticking up for you.”

  “Yeah. But I had to face them, Holly. After proclaiming to the world that Trevor took my virginity, I had to go home and look my parents in the eyes.”

  Holly tapped her chin. “Put like that, maybe meeting Lou’s parents won’t be so bad.”

  “Yeah, you just dress weird. My reputation is dubious.”

  “Ah, come on.” Holly punched her lightly back. “Even good girls make mistakes.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  Sipping at the hot tea, they sat in companionable silence. Cleo sat up and stretched, then turned and studied Holly for several seconds before wandering over and flopping down onto her black-clad knees.

  “Great.” Holly stroked her back. “Just what I need. Cat hair on my black clothes. Contrasts so nicely.”

  “You should feel honoured,” Belle said. “She doesn’t go to just everyone.”

  “Oh, please. This cat throws herself at any person who walks through the door!”

  “She’s just naturally affectionate.”

  “Talking of the town slag, if she wasn’t already sterilised-”

  “Don’t even think it.” Leaning over, Belle rubbed Cleo under her chin, smiling as ecstatic purring filled the room. “Cleo’s an innocent little baby.”

  “Unlike her mother.” Holly crossed her eyes when Belle flipped her the bird.

  The phone ringing cut through their laughter, and Belle stretched out one arm to pick up the receiver. Resting back against the sofa cushions, she placed the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Belle?”

  Not recognising the deep voice, she took a sip of tea. “Who is this?”

  “Marty.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Marty
?”

  “Marty Lawson.”

  Oh yeah, she recognised that voice now. Deep, soothing, it rolled through the phone and over her like warm liquid. Just like his kiss had rolled through her like heated - “Ouch!”

  “Belle?” Marty asked sharply. “What’s wrong?”

  Swearing to herself, Belle placed the tea cup onto the coffee table and used a napkin to brush at the wet spot of hot tea she’d spilled on her lap.

  Holly raised her brows in curiosity.

  “Belle?” Marty asked again.

  “I - Hi, Marty. I’m fine, I just - you surprised me and I tipped tea on myself.”

  “Are you all right? You didn’t burn yourself, did you?” The concern was clear in his tone.

  Not as much as the memory of his hands on her was burned into her like a brand. She managed to muster a cool, polite tone. “I’m fine. What has you calling?”

  “Marty?” Holly mouthed.

  Belle nodded.

  “Have you seen today’s paper?” Marty asked.

  “No, why?”

  “Well, you’re not going to like this.” He hesitated, something she was sure he didn’t do often. “Belle, your photo is on page four.”

  “My photo?”

  “Your photo.”

  “Why would my photo…” Her voice trailed off as the implication hit her. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “How did my photo get into the paper?” Sitting upright, she clutched the phone cord and started winding it around her finger.

  Picking up Cleo, Holly dumped her on the sofa cushion and charged from the room.

  “Unfortunately, a photographer was taking photos at the pub that night-”

  “The pub?”

  “Where you got drunk, remember?”

  Oh God, what a nightmare this was turning into, her parents were going to kill her, grown-up or not. “There’s a photo of me drunk?”

  “Not drunk,” Marty said hastily. “Just listen. The photo was taken-”

  “How did the photographer find out about me?” Jumping to her feet, she wrung the cord in her hand. “Did you know him as well? You must! He could have only known about me-”

  “Belle!” This time his voice was curt, cutting off her tirade. “Don’t even go there.”