Gym Junkie Read online

  Hmm, interesting. She clearly doesn’t trust her staff.

  “I’m very sorry about your husband Mr. Chancellor,” I say. “Our sincere condolences.”

  She smiles softly. “It’s been six months now and I miss him more every day.”

  “So, why are we here?” I ask.

  She takes a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and slides it across the table.

  04123378903

  “Phone number?” Ben frowns.

  She nods. “Yes. But I have no idea whose.” She smiles, as if embarrassed.

  “After my husband died, I found this phone number in his cell records. I think it may be one of a secret girlfriend’s.”

  I roll my lips. I hate this fucking shit.

  “You think he was having an affair?”

  “I’m not sure, but he called this number on the days that I was going out of town, which leads me to believe that it is someone he would meet when I was away.”

  We all nod and exchange subtle glances. How do you tell someone that you suspect their husband was seeing another man, not a woman? “Mrs. Chancellor, I’m very sorry but I think you have the wrong idea. We don’t deal with infidelity cases,” I tell her.

  “I have reason to believe my husband was being blackmailed.”

  “Why?” asks Jes.

  “He sold a million dollars’ worth of shares on the week he disappeared, but the cash has never been recovered.”

  “It’s not in any of his accounts?” I frown.

  “No, he withdrew it in cash on the day that he died.”

  Okay, my interest is officially piqued. “What do you know about this phone number?” I ask.

  “Only that it was disconnected on the day of his death.”

  “Hmm.”

  “That’s where I need you. I know you can find out who that number belongs to.”

  I nod and take the piece of paper from her. “We will look into it and be in touch. I will need access to bank statements so that we can do a full investigation.”

  “Brock?” she says.

  “Yes.”

  “My husband was dying of brain cancer and was fighting to survive. I know he didn’t kill himself,” she tells me with sadness in her eyes.

  What the hell? I did not know that…Interesting.

  We shake her hand, and she leads us out through the house. I turn to her before we leave.

  “Thank you.” She smiles.

  “We can’t make any promises.”

  “I don’t care if he was having an affair. But I want his death ruled as murder, not suicide. It’s killing my children to think that their father ended his own life.”

  I nod and shake her hand. “I fully understand. We’ll be in touch.”

  Once outside and away from Mrs. Chancellor, we climb inside and start the car. “Where to now?” Jes asks.

  “We need to brief with the boys.”

  “Okay, so this is where we are at.” The boys are all sitting in a group around me, and Cindy is taking the meeting minutes. I point to the black board in front of me as I start to go through the point form cases we are working on. We do this every couple of weeks as a group of twelve.

  “Through the week, we were contacted by one of the murdered girl’s fathers. He has put out a bounty.”

  They frown in concentration as they listen to me.

  “A million dollars to any person or persons who finds the killer.”

  “What case is this?” Mason asks.

  I blow out a breath because this case is confusing and hard to explain. “This particular story goes back a long way, and one of our very own was, in fact, a suspect for one of the first murders.” I gesture to Ben who nods in acknowledgment.

  The boys all frown harder, their interest piqued.

  “Six years ago, an extremely wealthy friend of ours had sex with a high-end prostitute. Unbeknown to him, she filmed him on three occasions having sex with her. She then went on and threatened to go to the paparazzi with the footage if he didn’t pay her millions of dollars.”

  The boys all listen intently.

  “He didn’t pay her. Instead, he had his security team try and retrieve the footage tapes. But before they could, the prostitute was found dead at the docklands. She had been hog tied and shot in the back of the head. Her body was severely beaten before they finished her off.”

  “Did this wealthy friend of yours kill her?” Mason asks.

  “No.” I shake my head. “He had nothing to do with it, although I will admit that it had run through his security team’s mind.”

  The boys all glance towards Ben as they try to connect the dots.

  “What was her name?” Cindy asks as she takes the notes.

  “We will call her TC,” I reply. “TC.” I put a photograph of her up on the noticeboard and pin it in place. “Gorgeous, young, and capable of earning five-thousand dollars for just four hours work.”

  One of the boys lets out a low whistle.

  “TC was bribing many men. At the time, we thought she was working alone.” I begin to take photographs of the six other women and pin them up beside TC’s. “However, since then, a further six high-end call girls have met the same unfortunate fate as our dear TC.”

  “You think it’s a serial killer?” someone asks.

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I think the girls were all working for the same person.”

  “What do you mean?” Jes asks.

  “I believe they were working for someone who was… maybe still is blackmailing girls to get the footage of them with high profile men and women so that they can then blackmail the clients into paying for their silence.”

  “You think he kills the girls once they’ve done their job?” Big John asks.

  I shake my head again. “No, I think he kills the girls to keep them in line. Think about it. What high-end prostitute wants to be filmed doing what they do?”

  The boys all nod as they process the information. “Girls of this calibre,” I point to their images on the board, “do not want to be filmed under any circumstance.”

  “I think he’s either killing women who refuse to do what he demands, or perhaps he’s letting the other girls know what’s going to happen if they don’t fall into line.”

  The boys fall into hushed conversations on possible theories for a moment.

  “Do we have any suspects?” Jes asks.

  “We do,” I reply. I take out an image of a man and put it onto the board alongside the deceased girls. “We have two, actually.” I point to the first image of a middle-aged man Italian man. “This is Eli De Luca.”

  “Who’s he?” one of the guys asks.

  “Eli De Luca is second in command of a powerful crime empire run by one family.” I pull out three more images and pin them to the board. “His father Lorenzo is the head. A multi-millionaire who, apparently,” I air quote and gesture to the image, “owns a granite and Caesarstone importing business.”

  “Apparently?” someone else repeats.

  “I say apparently because he also owns six clubs in the Kings Cross district and runs the biggest drug ring in Australia. Importing stone is his front.”

  I gesture to the images of the other two men. “One brother is a lawyer, but we have no further information on him other than he represents only big-time criminals and mafia. He represented Joshua my brother-in-law once. The other brother…” I gesture to the other image. “He lives in Italy, and we have reason to believe he runs the business over there.”

  “So, you think it’s this De Luca family behind these murders?” Jes asks.

  “To be honest, no,” I answer. “They are successful criminals already. There’s a lot of groundwork to do when blackmailing people, so it makes no sense that they would risk bringing attention to themselves by having all these women as witnesses. It’s too messy for them, they are smarter than this.”

  The boys all nod as they listen. “Who’s the second suspect then?” Jim asks.

  I pin up another
image and the men all gasp. “Yeah, you’ve all seen him before.”

  I turn and smile at the guys. “Steven Coleman. Or you may know him as the Senior Sergeant of Police down at the station. They call him Cole.”

  “Why is he a suspect?” someone pipes up.

  “Ben interviewed a girl when he came back twelve-months ago, and she gave an ID to match his image, but she wouldn’t say his name out loud. She was edgy about being recorded. She freaked out halfway through the interview and ran. Unfortunately, she was found dead from a drug overdose a week later.”

  “Was she really murdered?” Jes frowns.

  “We don’t know, but she was pretty heavily into drugs, so it could have just been an overdose. Her autopsy gave no reason for us to think anything else. We don’t know if Cole is linked to this case for definite, but we do know that the girls are scared of him. I need you boys to work on this in between our other cases. A million dollars will be a nice buffer to have in our bank account.”

  My phone rings and I wind up my part of the meeting to go take the call. “So, that brings us up to ten cases we’re working on at the moment. We also took on another one this morning that Ben is going to brief you on now.”

  I push once, twice, three times, and I exhale heavily as I finish my set. “You’re up,” I pant as I stand. I drain my water bottle and Ben lies down on the weight bench before he pushes the heavy dumbbells high in the air. We’re in the gym and it’s 9:00 p.m. We’ve just finished work for the day. Ben’s wife is at my sister, Natasha’s house, and we came here before he picks her up. Ben’s my brother-in- law, married to my other sister, Bridget, and he’s one of my closest friends. Not family by blood, but most definitely family by choice.

  He finishes his set and stands to wipe the perspiration from his brow with his towel. “We got that thing tomorrow night, yeah?” he pants, his hands planted firmly on his hips.

  “What thing?” I frown as I sit down on the bench.

  The front door opens, and I glance over at the mirror as a woman walks in. The way she walks commands my attention, and I turn towards her instantly. She has a confident air about her. Not many women have it and I can smell it a mile off.

  Her big blue eyes and olive skin are an unusual combination with her strawberry-blonde hair. I watch her walk by and put her earphones in, and then head over to the treadmills and bikes. She’s wearing black tights, and a black tight singlet with a hot pink sports bra underneath. I can see her every curve. My cock twitches in appreciation. She may just have the most perfect bone structure I’ve ever seen. She turns, catching me staring at her, and gives me a lop-sided smile before she continues on her way.

  Ben watches her for a moment and raises his eyebrows before his eyes come back to mine with a knowing smirk.

  “Jesus, right?” I murmur under my breath as I lie back down onto the bench. I do my set and stand again, my attention falling back to the mystery woman.

  She’s riding an exercise bike to warm up. She’s definitely athletic. Her body is toned and muscular… but not too muscular. It’s just right. She has large, luscious breasts, and I feel my intrigue rise at the perfect specimen before me.

  Ben lies down to do his set, but my eyes stay glued on the woman. “You should probably go ride a bike or something,” he mutters as he begins to lift the heavy weights above his head.

  My eyes stay fixed on her ass. “The bike isn’t the only thing I should probably ride,” I reply dryly.

  Ben nods in agreement.

  I take a drink from my water bottle, unable to peel my eyes from her ass.

  Seriously, fucking hot…

  Ben’s phone rings and he answers. “Hey, babe.” He listens for a moment and frowns. “Yeah, okay, I’m coming now.” He sighs.

  I smile as I watch him listen to his wife Bridget, and I can tell she’s ranting on the other end of the phone.

  He listens for a moment and looks to the ceiling, and I chuckle to myself.

  “Yeah, okay, babe. We’ll pick some up on the way home.” He frowns harder. “You’ll be all right?” Bridget says something else before he replies. “I’ll see you soon. I’m leaving now.” He hangs up and gives a subtle shake of his head as he blows out a breath.

  “She’s going to bust your fucking balls before she has these twins.”

  “Without a doubt.” He sighs as he retrieves his towel.

  “What now?” I ask.

  “Indigestion,” he replies dryly.

  I break into a broad grin. “You have to listen to her complaining about indigestion?”

  “You’d be surprised what I have to listen to, Marx. Indigestion is the least of my fucking worries. Try picking out a baby name with her.” He shakes his head, exasperated. “One name would be bad enough but picking two is near damn impossible.”

  I laugh. Bridget hates everything about being pregnant. She’s making Ben’s life a living hell. “Can’t wait for these kids to arrive.” I smile. My reasons are totally selfish, of course. I want my playful sister back. This hormonal, cranky version is micromanaging me to my death.

  Ben winces. “Same here. Four more months to go.”

  “Ha, that’s if she lets you live that long.”

  Ben drags his hand down his face. “Right?” He picks up is phone and other belongings. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah ok.” I think for a moment. “What did you say we had on tomorrow night?”

  “Tash’s birthday dinner.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. See you in the morning.”

  I watch as Ben walks out the door, and then my attention returns to the beauty on the bike.

  I’ve never seen her here before. I wonder who she is. She looks to be in her mid-twenties, tall—about 5ft 8—and she’s naturally pretty. She’s probably a model.

  I continue with my workout, and every now and then my eyes flicker over to her. A few times I catch her looking back at me in the mirror before she snaps her eyes away, as if annoyed that I’ve caught her ogling.

  I should go over and say something. No. What do I say? Oh, hi, you look fucking edible.

  Creepy guys try to pick up women in the gym all the time, and I am not that creepy guy. I walk over to the pull-up bar and strap the weight to my belt. I slowly pull myself up and begin my set of chin-ups. My knees are bent up behind me and I can see her in the mirror in front of me.

  Stop it.

  I drop my eyes to the floor and concentrate on the task at hand. Up, down, up, down. I glance up and notice she has completely stopped peddling on the bike as she watches me. I have to drop my head to hide my smirk.

  So, you like watching chin-ups, baby, do you? I decide to do an extra twenty for good measure. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her now, would I? I do my chin-ups and she begins to peddle slowly as she watches, and then, as if remembering where she is, she looks away in a rush.

  Fuck it, I’m going to go and talk to her. I may never see her here again. I’ll kick myself if I don’t say something.

  She gets off the bike and moves over to the sit-up section. It’s then that I notice she has left her keys on the tray of the bike.

  Bingo! My opening.

  I wipe my face with my towel, and with my heart still pumping hard from all that physical exertion, I walk over and pick up her keys. Then I walk over to where she is lying on her back on a mat.

  She has her eyes closed and her earphones in, so I stand and wait for her to notice me. My heart is still beating fast as I watch her come up into a sitting position and lie back down. I can see the muscles in her stomach contract as she sits up.

  Fuck. She’s hot.

  She continues to sit up and lie back down, and I get an image of her lying down for me in the same position, naked.

  Legs up, stomach contracted, cunt…

  Fuck. Stop it.

  I shake my head to snap me out of my wayward thoughts.

  She finally notices me and quickly pulls her earphones out.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to start
le you,” I say, holding her keys up and jiggling them in the air.

  “Oh, thank you.” She smiles warmly.

  Her voice is husky and sexual, and damn if my balls weren’t already paying attention, they are fucking now.

  “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.” She breathes, and then frowns as if not knowing what to call me.

  Or… you could get your head screwed off. “I’m Brock.”

  She smiles, and then says something but I don’t hear her properly. The only word I did catch was, “Pocket.”

  I frown. “Your name is Pocket?” I ask in surprise.

  She laughs. “No, my name is Tully. I said I need a pocket.”

  “Oh.” I smile, feeling stupid. “I kind of liked the name Pocket.”

  She smiles up at me. “You wished my name was Pocket?”

  “Kind of. Haven’t you ever wanted a friend named Pocket?” I tease as I raise my eyebrows. Cock pocket to be exact.

  She laughs freely, and I clench my fists at my sides. There is definitely something about this girl.

  “Thanks, Brock.” She reaches up and takes the keys from my hand.

  “You’re welcome, Tully Pocket.”

  She smiles warmly up at me for calling her Tully Pocket and she bites her bottom lip, leaving a heavy silence sitting between us.

  “I haven’t seen you here before,” I say.

  “I only joined last week. This is my first visit.”

  “You’re here late,” I say as I look around the gym, noticing that we are the only two left in the place.

  She looks around as if having the same sudden realisation. “Yeah, I guess. I like to come when nobody else is here.”

  “Me, too.”

  Out eyes linger on each other’s for an extended moment.

  I point to the weight bench behind me with my thumb. “I better get back to it.”

  “Okay.” She smiles again. “Thanks again, Brock.”

  Damn it, I don’t want to get back to it at all. I want to stand there and listen to her husky voice and imagine it saying filthy, perverted things to me. I walk back over to the weights and begin a set of arm curls. My workout should be over by now, but fuck it, why not stay here and admire the scenery? Can’t hurt, can it?