Six of Hearts(120)

Then came the hard part. He knew that some of the things he needed to do would require the help of some questionable individuals, so he sought to make a connection with a man named Seamus Crowley, a powerful crime lord in the city. This was the same man I’d seen him meet up with that night at the docklands with the shifty-looking bodyguards. The one who came to me in the park.

Jay paid Seamus to help him forge the documents he needed to make it look like David Murphy had died. He also helped Jay ensure those documents went missing before the case got to trial. And that’s why he took something from Brian Scott that day outside The Daily Post offices. It was his access card, and Jay needed it to get into the newspaper’s file rooms. The idea of Jay having associations with a crime boss makes me worry, but he assures me that his debt to Seamus has been paid in full. Seamus threatening me that day was him flexing his muscles, ensuring that Jay paid his debt to him.

Both David Murphy and the cameraman, Blake, who was acting as Una Harris’ informant, were in on the plan. Like Jessie, they had been good friends of Jay’s for years, owed him for many favours he’d done for them, and so they agreed to help him. Blake started working as Una’s informer long before they started filming, gaining her trust in order to ensure she’d believe him about the death.

In regards to the TV show, Jay had only a small number of people working on it with him, people he knew he could trust with the secret that David Murphy wasn’t dead. The television executives only put a pause on the show after Una Harris’ article had come out, and Jay let them believe her, simply never correcting them that David was, in fact, still alive. Since it was mostly his own money invested in creating the show in the first place, the channel didn’t lose much in finally cancelling it several months before the trial.

So, how did he know Una would even pick up the story in the first place? Now, that I’m under strict instructions not to reveal. But I will say this:

My dad’s sudden interest in renovating our spare bedroom and renting it out was NOT his own decision. Neither was it the decision of the three volunteers at Jay’s show to write down the band, book and painting that they did. It’s all very clever and the power of subconscious suggestion is a fascinating thing. So no, Jay is not actually magic, nor does he possess “godlike super minding-reading skills.” (Jerry Burke, 2013, Hotmail.) Let’s just say, if you could crack open the man’s brain and take a look inside, it would be a truly illuminating experience.

My head actually hurts by the time he’s finished telling me everything.

“I can’t believe how much time you invested in all of this,” I tell him. “How much effort. I feel unworthy.”

Jay’s arm rests along the back of the couch. He runs his hand through my hair. “Never doubt your worth to me, Matilda. My whole life, my entire career, is investing vast amounts of time for one single result, a result that sometimes only lasts a moment. Every illusion takes hours, weeks, months of planning, and each one is worth the time. In a lot of ways, what I did to get justice for our families was a mirror of that process, and I don’t regret a single moment. You know why?”

“Why?” I whisper.

He locks eyes with me. “Because every step brought me here. To you.”

His mouth is so close to mine I can practically taste him. Our breaths mingle, full of need that we’ve been suppressing for months. I lick my lips, and he watches the movement hungrily. Between that second and the next, his mouth descends on mine, and he’s kissing me with a fiery passion. My body melds to his, my hands grasping for his belt, wanting his pants gone.

“Been a real long fucking time,” he murmurs as he sucks on my neck. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to kiss you, taste you, these past few months?”

I moan. “A lot.”

“Yeah, a lot,” he rasps. “So much I’ve now got a master’s in masturbation.”

Giggles burst forth. “Jason, please never use ‘master’s in masturbation’ ever again.”

“Why not? It’s got a good ring to it.” His hand goes between my legs, up under my skirt, and straight past my underwear. I whimper when he slides his fingers deep inside me and swears loudly.

“I don’t like it.”

“You love it.” One pump.

“Do not.” Another one.

“Yeah, ya do.” His fingers move fast now, in and out, and I don’t want to be talking anymore. Still, I can’t let him have the last word.

“Don’t.”

“You do. You fucking love it, and you love me, too.”