SEVENTY

“Drinks?” Liam smiled lazily, offering Amber a glass of half-filled champagne as he stood on a mountain lion rug in his living room. The place was full of bling. A diamond-studded chandelier hung above where he stood and Amber had to be careful not to step on the head of the lion.

She shook her head, fidgeting at the straps of her denim bag. Her free hand found its way into the bag’s pocket where her phone lay and without Liam noticing, she pressed the call button.

Miles away, John Grant’s phone rang. It was a call from Amber Banks.

“No thanks. Where’s the video you took on the night of the murder?”

Liam chuckled and settled himself on his L shaped sofa. He patted the plush cream coloured sofa, signalling for her to take a seat.

Amber shook her head again, “I have the blueprint that you asked me to steal from Fabian Williams.”

I sound like a TV announcer.

She hoped it wasn’t too obvious, but she needed to make sure sh