Blinded by Our Eyes by Clare London

Author:Clare London
Language: eng
Format: mobi, pdf
Tags: M/M Suspense, Source: Amazon
ISBN: 9781426890406
Publisher: Carina Press
Published: 2010-07-12T21:42:48+00:00

Chapter Seven

I didn’t go straight to the police. I couldn’t have explained to anyone why not, and so I promised myself I’d go first thing the next day. I drove back to my flat instead, and parked outside. I sat there with the engine running. The daylight was slowly fading into the dusky indigo of early evening. Commuters passed on the pavement, hurrying away from the nearby Tube station on their way home from work. A couple of youths ran past, laughing, running a dog on a lead between them. A group of young people tumbled into the pizza delivery shop, one girl with a too-short skirt and balloons tied to her belt, laughing loudly and obviously starting her hen night. The staff in there looked wary but resigned at the sudden invasion.

Some of these people must have wondered what the hell I was doing, sitting in my car in the darkening evening, staring ahead into the distance. Maybe I wondered, too. After half an hour, I slipped into gear, pulled away from the kerb and set off back in the direction of the river.

Back to Walker’s studio.

For God’s sake, it wasn’t as if I’d forgotten how upset I was, the last time. But I still went. I justified it to myself—so many things were confused, I needed more information about Walker and Paolo. I needed to know what Walker really knew about that night, about the murder. I needed to know more, for Joseph’s sake, for all our sakes. None of my arguments would have held up to close scrutiny.

Then I tried to protect myself with escapism. Perhaps he’d be out, perhaps he’d slam the door in my face.

Perhaps I was temporarily out of my mind.

The image of the point chisel held loosely in Walker’s palm stayed in my memory, the way the sun burns on your eyelids after you look too closely. So did the dark turmoil of his eyes, the throb of his throat as he spoke, his perplexed, hungry gaze as it ran across my flesh. My body ached and my emotions were displaced, as if I were someone else, not Charles Garrett, gallery owner, mediocre artist and previously rather unadventurous man.

I was disturbed, yet I wasn’t distressed. It was important to be totally honest with myself. I was stimulated.

The door to his house was unlocked when I arrived, and the hallway apparently deserted, as before. As I started climbing the stairs I glanced up to see Walker standing in his doorway, bare-chested again, leaning against the frame and watching me. I don’t know how he knew I was there. I hadn’t knocked. His scrutiny made me shiver, and my heart started beating so hard, I could hear it over my footsteps. The stairs creaked beneath me and I had to make a conscious effort not to stumble.

As I reached the landing, he moved back inside the room, out of sight. Damned hide and seek. I strode inside, but before I had a chance to call out, he loomed up in front of me and grabbed hold of my upper arms.

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