Page 13 of Find Me (Trust Me, Find Me 2)

Shaun: He! Lol. You coming out on me, bro?

At last, a response.

Jason: Yes

Holy crap! He was.

How had he missed that?

Family. Who was he trying to kid? How well did he even know his best friend?

He stared at the screen. He needed to respond, and fast.

Shaun: Look, Jase mate, I’m a bit shocked, that’s all. ‘Cos you’ve never said or even hinted that you were gay. But I’m pleased you’ve told me, and I wish I was there with you right now having a beer

Jason: Yeah. But easier this way

His stomach lurched with awakening guilt. All those times he’d teased him about his job.

Shaun: Shit man! I’m sorry for all the air hostess jokes

Jason: No worries. FYI they’re called cabin crew now

Shaun cringed.

Jason: But you were half right. My last boyfriend was a flight attendant

Shaun: How did I miss this?

Jason: I wasn’t exactly shouting about it

He wasn’t the best with emotions, saying stuff. He knew Jason stuck to the usual topics too: football, beer, going out, work, gaming. And now he knew why.

No, he needed to tell him.

Shaun: Jase, you’re like a brother to me. I’ll always be there for you

A pause and Shaun held his breath. Had he said too much?

Jason: Yeah, you to me too.

The typing started again.

Jason: You thought more about Claire?

Shaun breathed a deep sigh. They were going deep again. Should he tell Jason that he had thought about pretty much nothing else for the last week?

He’d cooked up a hare-brained plan but it could backfire badly, especially if Claire still thought he was a dangerous killer.

Shaun: I need to run something by you. Here’s the link

Shaun had set up a webpage with photos of the newly painted lodge. Alongside it was an advert.

Jason typed the link into his phone.

Jason: Is this where you’re living? It’s stunning

Shaun: I live right on the lake

Jason: Can I apply?

Shaun: Unfortunately not. There’s only one person I’m accepting for this job

Shaun reread what he had written as he waited for a reaction from his friend. Reading it again, he hoped it didn’t sound too cheesy or too obvious that it was him.

‘Enthusiastic all-rounder needed to help transform a large lakeside house into a hotel.

Duties will include decorating and preparing the rooms for the season and helping to run the hotel when the guests arrive.

The successful candidate must have experience in the hospitality industry and excellent customer service skills.

The owner will be away until December, and so anyone applying for this job will need to be happy to work independently and living alone in a remote but stunning location.

For more information contact [email protected]’

Jason: Great idea. Let me know when you’re ready to share it and I’ll get Claire to apply

Shaun: How will she react? Will she be mad?

Jason: What’ve you got to lose, mate?

Shaun: She might think it’s a trap and I’m some nut job stalker or killer? Or both

Jason: There is that. But me and Jac vouched for you. Told her what you were really like. For some reason, after we told her all about your sordid past, your monster nights and all those dodgy women you went with, we still haven’t managed to scare her off.

Shaun: Great!

Jason: Only kidding. NZ’s on her list, her dad’s from there. I’m sure she’ll jump at the chance of a job

He was right. He knew that Claire was headed this way on her travels to find out more about the name on her birth certificate.

Jason was gay. He didn’t underestimate what a big deal that was for him to come out like that. So, why then did the fact he knew about Claire’s search for her father send a wave of jealousy crashing through him?

God! He missed talking to her.

They used to chat to each other every day. And although they’d only had one date, a walk along the estuary to the beach, he still felt that she was his. And they’d kissed in the car once too. It was after he’d told her everything and had asked her to come here with him. He’d sensed her confusion, even then.

Of course, the next day things quickly spiralled out of control. And in a few short hours, she’d been attacked, and he’d been arrested for murder. How on earth was he going to turn that around?

And if she did accept the job, how was he going to stop her running for her life when she found out that he was her boss?

The man she believed to be a cold-blooded killer. The man who’d fallen in love with her.

Chapter 9

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The man’s been hanging around the café for three days.

On the first evening, he ordered gyros and a large beer and sat for two hours reading a British newspaper. I chatted to him a little once I managed to settle myself. Hearing that Liverpudlian lilt in his voice filled me at first with panic. My brush with the Scousers still makes me nervous, which is ridiculous considering well over half a million people share the same accent. This chap tells me that he owns a yacht in the marina and is passing through.

The same man comes to the café again late the following lunchtime. And this time, I have a longer chat with him. His name’s Mac. He’s retired, divorced and spends every summer on his boat. Nice for some. I get him a Greek salad and a plate of sardines cooked in garlic and oregano.

As he’s finishing his meal, a young man joins him at the table. He looks around before sitting down and appears a little startled when I come over.

He orders a small beer. Judging by his accent he’s British too, but southern. London. if I had to guess, though I’m no expert.

The young man keeps looking my way. So, I go up and ask him if he wants to order food. But he clears his throat and shakes his head. It’s odd, I’m not often wrong about people trying to attract my attention.

After he’s finished his beer, the young man leaves. But I see him again in the late afternoon. He’s hanging around by my accommodation, smoking a roll-up as I leave and rush down to the café.

After I finish the evening shift I see him again. He’s sitting in a bar up the street with another man and he looks my way as I walk past. I give him a smile of acknowledgement. It’s nothing unusual, Plaki’s a small place. After a while, you come to recognise people. But the way he looks at me unnerves me, and I carry on walking a little quicker.

A couple of minutes later I sense someone behind me. The street is quiet away from the main drag. I listen as I walk, slowing down a little. I’m not imagining it. Even though the street is deserted the footsteps behind me are still there.

At the next junction I turn sharply. It’s away from my room but I want to be sure it’s not my imagination. I speed up. The scraping of feet behind me continues, faster.

I freeze. Then spin sharply. Around fifty metres behind me, slunk into the shadows of a door and scrambling in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes, is that young man again.

I turn back towards him.

“Are you following me?”

“Uh… no.”

He looks sheepishly at me, before

putting on a fixed overly-confident smile.

“What you doing here, then?”

I’m trying my best to be assertive but inside I’m all jelly.

“So… maybe... I wanted to see you? We could have some fun. You and me.”

He’s bullshitting. I can tell.

“That’s never gonna happen. Leave me alone.”

I walk back past him, marching away swiftly until I’m back again at the street corner, and when he’s out of sight I sprint back to my digs.

I’m used to drunk tourists and come-ons. This wasn’t like that. I’m not sure if it’s post-traumatic after the assault like Annie suggested, but it’s rattled me.

The next morning when I wake, he’s there again. This time, drinking a coffee from a paper cup, sitting on the step of a closed-up takeaway a hundred metres down the road in the morning sunshine. He’s playing it cool but I can see him taking frequent glances this way, up at my window.

It can’t be a coincidence I tell myself, pulling back from the window. I’m positive now that he’s stalking me so I get my camera out and focus it on his face, taking a shot of him. I’m not too sure why but it makes me feel that I’m doing something about him.

It’s the third day in a row that Mac comes back to Café Elounda. It’s certainly not because of my charms. He spent most of the previous afternoon sitting alone reading the paper.

“Back again?” I ask him chipperly.

It’s Friday evening and the place is full. He’s squeezed up against two large Greek men on a small table looking out towards Spinalonga Island.

“On your own tonight?”

“Err… yeah, I am.”

“You alright squished up there? I’ve got a table inside if you prefer.”

“No, it’ll be fine, love. Besides, I’ve got a cracking view of the leper colony.”

I wink at him.

“If y’ misbehave we’ll send you over there in yer boat,”

His face changes. Gone’s the good-humoured, bantering tourist. The jaw of his stony face is hard-set and he pierces me with his icy-blue eyes.

“That’s what happens then, is it chuck? When people do something they shouldn’t?”

I freeze. I can feel the blood draining from me.

“Like grassing up the people they work for? Who pay them good money to do a job.”