Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection/In Safe Hands/In Safe Arms/In Safe Keeping
Date: 2016-10-01 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Romance; Suspense; Thrillers; Contemporary; Crime; Collections & Anthologies
Description: From critically acclaimed author Lee Christine comes three tense, taut stories where top lawyers and bad boys clash, but the one thing they can't dispute is attraction... In Safe Hands ****She thinks she needs him, but she doesn't know the secrets he keeps… Threatened with the publication of naked photographs taken in her law student days, defence attorney Allegra Greenwood enlists the help of former SAS Commander Luke Neilson, unaware of his involvement in her brother's death in Afghanistan. In a race to stop the photographs appearing on the internet, Luke battles a hidden enemy, his growing
Publisher: Escape Publishing
Rights: All rights reserved

Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection

Lee Christine

In Safe Hands

In Safe Arms

In Safe Keeping

www.escapepublishing.com.au

Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection

From critically acclaimed author Lee Christine comes three tense, taut stories where top lawyers and bad boys clash, but the one thing they can’t dispute is attraction…

In Safe Hands
Lee Christine

She thinks she needs him, but she doesn’t know the secrets he keeps…

Threatened with the publication of naked photographs taken in her law student days, defence attorney Allegra Greenwood enlists the help of former SAS Commander Luke Neilson, unaware of his involvement in her brother’s death in Afghanistan.

In a race to stop the photographs appearing on the Internet, Luke battles a hidden enemy, his growing feelings for Allegra, and his conscience, which demands he protect a fallen comrade’s sister. As the stakes increase and more sinister motives unfold, Luke not only has to fight to save her career, he has to fight to save her life.

In Safe Arms
Lee Christine

Smooth, seductive and savage: Lee Christine returns to the dark, criminal underbelly of Sydney with her follow-up to In Safe Hands.

Legal secretary Josephine Valenti has no idea why a notorious bikie president would be contacting her, but when he is murdered in front of her eyes, she knows that she is in very deep trouble. Fleeing to her home, she’s intercepted by Nate Hunter, a man she used to know and lust after…a man she used to care about.

However, Nate has changed. His leathers and his bike tell of a lifestyle that Josie can’t begin to accept or understand. His is a life of drugs, money laundering and prostitution.

But all is not what it seems, and Josie must fight harder than she ever has before — for the truth, for what’s right, and, ultimately, for the man who still has a hold of her heart.

In Safe Keeping
Lee Christine

From Lee Christine, the critically acclaimed author of In Safe Hands, comes a tense, taut, urban romantic suspense about two lawyers, a high-profile divorce case and an attraction that even opposing counsels can’t shut down.

It was only supposed to be a casual affair, a stress-relieving, night-time romp, a secret just between the two of them. But when divorce lawyer Laila Richards ends up on the opposite side of the bench to high powered lawyer Evan Barclay in a very public, very high-profile divorce, she knows their fling will jeopardise the case of her career, and breaks off the relationship.

Stunned by Laila’s decision, Evan vows to make the beautiful lawyer deal with him, both in and out of the courtroom. But when suspicious activity begins to emerge, and Laila’s safety is threatened, Evan fears his client — his best friend, the son of the only family Evan has ever known — may be involved.

Bound by client confidentiality and battling a massive conflict of interest, Laila and Evan fight to win, fight for justice, and fight for a chance at a relationship that’s anything but casual.

About the Author

Lee Christine is a former legal practice manager and corporate trainer. An amateur songwriter in her teens, she is passionate about music, and plays the alto saxophone.

In 2011, In Safe Hands won first place in the Romance Writers of America Silicon Valley Gotcha Contest, followed in 2012 with first place in The Smoky Mountains Laurie Award and the East Texas Southern Heat Writing Contest. The novel also received a Commended in the 2012 Romance Writers of New Zealand Clendon Award.

In Safe Hands is Lee’s first novel, and she is currently writing her second, another gripping romantic suspense. She has two grown children, and lives in Newcastle, Australia.

Contents

About the Author

In Safe Hands

In Safe Arms

In Safe Keeping

In Safe Hands
Lee Christine

To Damian, Danielle and Adam

For their unwavering support and steadfast belief in me.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter One

“You want me to locate and recover naked photographs of you?”

It took all of Allegra’s self-control not to squirm in the plush leather seat as she stared at Luke Neilson across the polished surface of his office desk. To his credit, the man didn’t bat an eyelid, and why would he? Former Special Air Services, he’d probably seen everything, and more.

Breaking eye contact, she reached for the glass of water he’d poured for her at the start of the meeting, dismayed to find her hand unsteady. “Does your company handle such cases?”

His gun-metal grey eyes narrowed and he gave her a sardonic half-smile. “Reconnaissance and retrieval? Come on Ms. Greenwood. You know we do.”

Unable to meet his eyes, Allegra sipped her water and glanced beyond his rugged features, to where the Sydney Harbour Bridge arched resplendent in the window behind him. If the photograph appeared on the Internet, she’d lose her position at Grace and Poole Lawyers. And losing wasn’t an option.

With an effort she looked squarely at him, hoping her desperation didn’t show in her eyes. “I wondered whether you’d agree to see me.”

He lifted his eyebrows and leaned back in the chair. “I was curious. We should have won the contract for your firm’s investigative work, but you drew a line through our name.”

Allegra’s face flushed with heat. “You kissed me at the Meet and Greet. You left me no option.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s not often I misread the signals. And I did apologise, though I don’t remember you accepting.”

“It was unprofessional.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk, his eyes turning a colder shade of grey. “You broke your own ‘don’t mix business with pleasure’ rule. It spooked you into signing a second rate firm. Now that’s unprofessional.”

How could she argue with the truth? Neilson’s were the most highly qualified team of ballistics experts in the country, their services sought after. A veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan, Luke Neilson’s evidence had sent many a criminal to prison. His agency was top notch, his security and investigation service second to none.

Allegra took an unsteady breath. “I was angry. I thought you were trying to charm me into granting your firm the contract, with the promise of a—a physical relationship.”

His eyes flashed and he gave an exasperated shake of his head. “You insult me, Ms. Greenwood. What made you change your mind?”

Allegra’s face burned. God, could this be any more embarrassing?

“What can I say?” She took an unsteady breath. “I allowed my personal feelings to influence my decision. Is that going to pose a problem now?”

He leaned back, completely at ease, short cropped, dark blonde hair glinting in the sunlight, broad shoulders encased in an expensive striped business shirt.

“I never let personal feelings interfere with business, so no.” A shadow of a smile touched his lips, his observant eyes never leaving her face. “Tell me more about the naked photograph, and we’ll see if we can work something out.”

Allegra studied the contours of his face, the faded scar on his right cheek. It made him look sexy as all hell, the imperfection giving his handsome features an interesting edge.

She swallowed, her mouth dry. There was no turning back.

“Any time today will do…”

His dry tone jolted her into action, and she looked down at the leather satchel in her lap. She lifted the flap, and slowly withdrew a printed sheet of paper, which she passed across the desk.

“It came this morning by bicycle courier.”

He slid open a drawer and took out plastic tweezers. Using the instrument, he snared the sheet from her, carefully unfolding it so he could look at the picture.

It took a superhuman effort to sit still as he looked at her naked image, much the way a doctor would look at a patient’s sore throat. Allegra went hot all over, then icy cold, sweat breaking out on her brow. Digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands, she watched as he carefully folded the sheet and set it to one side.

What was he thinking?

Avoiding her eyes, he rose and turned to a filing cabinet a few steps from the desk. “Who took possession of this?” he asked.

She cleared her throat, gripping the handle of the satchel. “Our receptionist at Grace and Poole. From there it came to my office on the fifth floor.”

He pulled out a drawer and extracted a manila folder. Sliding the steel drawer closed with a bang, he sank down into his chair, eyes averted as he turned to stare at the computer monitor on his desk.

Allegra got the distinct impression he was giving her time to compose herself, and if that were the case she was grateful for the small courtesy he extended. The former SAS Commander had found his inner gentleman. Who would have thought?

“Anyone else see it?” He jabbed at the keyboard.

“No, my PA knows anything marked Private and Confidential is never to be opened.”

Finally he turned to look at her. “Do you have the envelope?”

She nodded, reaching into the satchel again and sliding it across the desk. “What do make of this?”

She watched his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “That’s a relic.”

“I know.” She leaned forward and peered at the old brown envelope with the brass fastener. “It must be, what, fifty years old?”

“Easily.” He snagged the envelope in the tweezers, turning it this way and that as he checked it out. “It’s an old document packet.”

“Yes, the type used to store wills and deeds. We have some like this in our safe custody. No unused ones though—I checked.”

“They weren’t exclusive to legal offices.” His brow furrowed in thought. “Banks, building societies, government departments have all used these in the past.”

He set it next to the photograph. “It won’t be easy, but we might be able to get a print.”

She nodded, continuing to watch as he switched on a handset recording device and placed it between them on the desk.

“Want to give me the background story on this Ms. Greenwood?”

Allegra exhaled slowly in an attempt to slow her breathing, a tactic which worked well before the opening statement of a trial. As a criminal lawyer, she should find this interview a breeze. Still, it felt weird being on the other side of the desk.

“Could we at least drop the formality?” she asked, moistening her dry lips with her tongue. “Ms.Greenwood sounds like a dorm matron.”

His exasperated look suggested she tested his patience. “All right, first names it is. Can we get on with this now?”

She nodded, the small victory satisfying.

“Okay.” He depressed the button on the recording device. “Who took this photograph and when?”

“This is one of fifteen.” Her cheeks grew warm again as she watched for a change in his expression, but it appeared to be painted on, Venetian mask style. “They were taken in Melbourne eight years ago when I was twenty-one. I was a law student at the time. My boyfriend, Chris Noble, took them.”

He gave a derisive snort. “Noble?”

Allegra narrowed her eyes. “Very funny.”

He glanced at the folded sheet on the desk, though he didn’t take a second look at it. “It’s hardly a snapshot taken by a sleazy ex-boyfriend, it’s professionally done.”

“It is. He’s a professional photographer.” Allegra moved her heavy satchel onto the floor and crossed her legs, uneasy at discussing her private life. “We met while working on the launch of a new hair product. I made ends meet with promotions work, waitressing, anything really.”

Stop babbling, just answer the questions.

“Nothing unusual there.” He shook his head, the white flash of even teeth complimenting the golden tan of his face. “God knows I turned my hand to anything that would earn a buck. But posing naked, were these a gift to him?”

Allegra shook her head.

His eyes narrowed. “Because if you did gift them to him, legally they’re his property.”

“I know that.” Did he doubt her word? “I’m aware some women give photographs of themselves to their partners, but that’s not me.”

God, now she sounded like a prude. “I gave Chris permission to take the shots, but they were never a gift. They were taken purely for the purpose of making money.”

And that sounded worse, but she struggled on, determined to be straight with him. “Having said that, let me point out, I’m not ashamed of them.”

His look turned shrewd. “But you’d hate anyone else to see them.”

Allegra’s stomach clenched. “Exactly! I head up the criminal division of a very conservative law practice. If these turned up on the Internet, there’s no question I would lose my job.”

His eyes slanted towards the photograph and envelope. “But you’re the public face of the firm, somewhat of a celebrity in your own right. You really think the partners will hang you out to dry while the media crucify you?”

She watched as he tipped back his head and loosened his tie, long dexterous fingers working away at the knot. His cold summation of her situation hurt.

“Feeling a little—hot under the collar?” The words were out of her mouth before she could engage her brain.

His blowtorch stare said it all. “That would be foolish of me, Allegra. I’ve been frostbitten by you before.”

“Well that hurt,” she said, trying to deflect his stinging barb. God, she was better at verbal sparring than this.

She’d thought about that night on the terrace, even regretted running away from him. For a whole five minutes. No way would she get involved with a real life G.I. Joe. Not after what happened to her brother.

He gave her a steely look. “Your boyfriend took the photos, why?”

Shame washed over her in waves. “I was desperate for money. Chris was a commissioned photographer for a number of publications, among them a men’s magazine. I wasn’t thinking logically. How it might affect my future career didn’t even register on my radar.”

He didn’t comment, just waited her out.

She shifted in her seat. “Things were tight back then.”

“I’m listening.”

She closed her eyes for a long second. All these years later, the images were still imprinted in her mind. An Australian flag, draped over her brother’s coffin, a guard of honour in the shadow of a Royal Australian Air Force Hercules. The urgent wail of an ambulance.

She coughed, a lump forming in her throat. She hated recounting the horrible time where she’d moved like an automaton, overwhelmed with grief while the rest of the world went about its business.

“My brother, Martin, was killed in Afghanistan. My mother suffered a total breakdown on the tarmac when they brought his body home.”

He stilled, then slowly leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk, waiting patiently for her to continue.

“I had university fees, rent and text books.” She didn’t want to sound defensive, but her words came out that way. “I became responsible for my mother’s care costs. They were extensive, continue to be.”

Suddenly weary, she leaned back in her chair and stared past him at the window. “After treatment, she needed a low care facility, so I put down a substantial bond. She deserves to be somewhere nice. I often have to travel, and when we’re running a big case, I can be at the office all night. Knowing she’s properly cared for gives me peace of mind.”

She paused, the room silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually.

The disquiet in his voice made her look at him. Did his empathy stem from her brother being a comrade in arms?

“I don’t need your sympathy, I need your help.”

He let go of a breath and looked away. “The photographs weren’t published. If they were you wouldn’t be sitting here now, they’d be on public record. What happened?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t go through with it. I sold my car and borrowed the rest from a money lender at an exorbitant interest rate.”

“So, what became of the negatives or digital files I guess, depending on what storage device he used?”

She’d been wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. Chris promised me he’d destroy them, and I trusted him to do it.”

His eyes widened in disbelief.

“I was young—I believed him.”

To her surprise he swivelled his chair around and stared out the window.

Allegra sat quietly. Silence didn’t come naturally to her. She thrived in the combative atmosphere of the Court, loved duelling with her opponent for the sympathies of the jury. But this was Luke’s domain—and he wasn’t big on feedback.

She bit her lip, impatience bubbling away inside her as she stared at the back of his fair head. Was he looking for flaws in her story?

“You have hard copies of these photographs at home?” he asked.

Oh no! Did he really need to see the others?

“Yes.” There was sentimental value attached to those photos, and she hadn’t wanted to destroy them. It had been Chris’s way of trying to help her.

“Have you had a break-in recently?”

She sucked in a breath, his question taking her by surprise. “No.”

He swivelled around to face her. “But you haven’t been home today?”

Allegra’s heart stuttered in her chest at the thought of someone breaking into her apartment. “No. I came straight from work. I bluffed my way in, hoping you’d think I wanted to discuss the contract.”

“I did think that.”

Allegra’s mouth went dry. “Will you help me, despite everything?”

It was as near as she could bring herself to plead with Luke Neilson. “I’ll pay good money. I want the best man you’ve got.”

“I’m the best man I’ve got.”

“Oh.” She jumped, nerves jangling. “I assumed you’d be too busy for such a small job. I thought you’d hand it on.”

He studied her through narrowed eyes, knuckles pressed against his mouth, an expensive dive watch strapped to his powerful wrist. “Never assume anything, Allegra. I fail to see what’s in it for me though, other than the money.”

She raised her eyebrows, not bothering to hide her surprise. “You normally get fringe benefits with the job?”

He gave an amused laugh, the corners of his mouth curling up, the smile softening his strong features. “Not the kind you’re implying, no. It’s just that I’m in a position to be selective about the work I take on.”

So her visit had been a waste of time. He only accepted clients where a mutual benefit was involved. Well, she couldn’t promise him the contract next time in exchange for taking her case. It would be unethical.

“I see,” she said finally. “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”

“No. I select clients I believe I can work with. And we don’t have a good track record.”

She bit back a retort and trailed a forefinger along the edge of the desk. She’d apologised for her knee jerk reaction to that kiss, but what about the part he’d played in the whole fiasco?

“Then why didn’t you put in a complaint about my decision?” She lifted her gaze to his. “I half expected you to.”

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Because I was equally to blame, and I’ll tender next time. I’m surprised to see you here though, asking for my help.”

His surprise could hardly match her humiliation. Having to front up here was one of the hardest things she’d had to do. But she was drowning in a sea of debt, with no time to waste on a second-rate investigator. If the photographs surfaced, she’d never work for a reputable law firm again.

She drew in a jagged breath. “So where does that leave us?”

His eyes narrowed to slits of silver. “I haven’t decided yet.”

From the expression on her face she didn’t much like the sound of that. Too bad, he needed to get his head around what he’d just learned.

She was Martin Greenwood’s sister. How had he not made the connection?

Winning the contract next time was hardly a priority. Allegra was in serious trouble, her career on the line.

And his conscience left him no choice.

Luke studied her symmetrical face, the halo of golden blonde hair, the now obvious resemblance to her brother. The corporate suit she wore was well cut, clinging to her slim figure and showcasing a set of killer legs. She wore tasteful jewellery, nothing too blingy, and natural make-up. The impression was sexy ice maiden wearing a ‘don’t mess with me attitude.’

But the woman the press dubbed the ‘perfumed steamroller’ had a skeleton in her closet. Who knew?

She clicked her tongue, looking irritated all of a sudden. “Look, do you want the case or not?”

He dragged his thoughts away from her physical attributes and concentrated on the job at hand. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“We?”

Luke sighed at the interruption. Sharp, she missed nothing.

“It feels good to have an ally, that’s all.” She smiled, her body almost sagging with relief. “And thank you.”

He ignored the way his heart shifted up a gear. “We, we’re a team until we catch this loser.”

He pushed a notepad and pen across the table. “Write down Chris Noble’s full name and his last known address in Melbourne. It’s logical to start there.”

As she scribbled down the details he noticed her absence of rings. He hadn’t got around to asking about partners and such, but it appeared from her bare hands she hadn’t succumbed to the last legal form of slavery.

She slid the notebook back to him.

“Go home and make sure the original photographs are where they should be. Phone me immediately if they’ve been disturbed. I want a list of every person who’s had access to your home since breaking up with Noble.”

“Okay.”

Strange, she didn’t seem at all phased by his request. Most people groaned and objected, daunted by the task. “I mean everyone you can think of Allegra. Family, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, work colleagues, tradesmen, landlords, cleaning staff, anyone who could conceivably have gained access to those photographs.”

“In Melbourne they were locked in a safety deposit box, but since moving to Sydney I’ve kept them hidden in my apartment.”

“Then I only need a list of people who’ve visited your Sydney residence.”

She nodded. “When do you want it?”

“Is seven in the morning too early?”

She shook her head, blonde highlights shining under the fluorescents. “I’m used to deadlines.”

“Then I’ll come by and pick it up, check out your security,” he said in an offhand manner, trying to give the impression it was standard procedure. It wasn’t. From cases he’d worked, extortionists were predictable, demanding money straight up. No demand for cash pointed to something more sinister.

He watched the colour drain from her face, his nonchalance not fooling her for a second.

“You think they could come to my home?”

Nothing to be gained by sugar coating it. “A photograph without a demand for cash smacks of a stalker or a psychological blackmailer.”

Her eyes widened, and for the briefest moment she looked truly frightened. He waited, letting his words sink in. She needed time to accept the ugly truth. A hidden enemy intended doing her harm.

“I hoped it might be a prank,” she said finally, her voice thick and shaken.

“Could be, but I doubt it. Having it delivered by bicycle courier shows it’s well thought out.”

She stared at him, a bemused expression on her face. “It doesn’t sound like Chris at all.”

A spurt of anger surfaced at her stoic defence of the photographer. Despite her position, she didn’t appear all that street smart, or men smart.

“Not the Chris you remember, but people change.”

Luke shifted in his seat, longing to undo the top button of his shirt but unwilling to draw another comment from the body language expert. Would he ever feel comfortable in business attire? Probably not, too many years spent in camouflage gear and paratrooper pants.

She blinked, drawing his attention to the amazing blue of her eyes. Not that he needed reminding. They were seared into his memory.

“So, what’s your take on it, Luke?”

An unexpected charge jolted through him at her use of his name. “There’s been no demand for cash or threats to expose you.”

“So they aren’t motivated by money?”

“I doubt it. They know you understand the harm they can do. They could be getting kicks from causing you mental anguish. But we won’t know for sure, until we get the next one.”

She swallowed, and in her eyes he saw helplessness and resignation. “That was my next question. You think we will?”

“I’m fairly certain. We know they have one photograph. If they’re in possession of the others, it’s more a matter of when.”

She nodded, then reached down with unsteady hands and slung the satchel diagonally across her body. “If we’re finished, I might go home and check the apartment.”

Luke pushed himself out of his chair. “That’s it for now.”

He strode to the door and held it open for her.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she murmured, brushing past him.

“No problem.”

He watched her walk towards the elevator, paying attention to the hip satchel slung across her body and the skyscraper heels she wore. Yes, if you looked hard enough, there were signs Allegra Greenwood had a non-conformist streak in her.

As she pushed the elevator button, she turned to look back at him, and he hurriedly closed his office door. He didn’t want to be caught spying. He slid the lock and moved back to his desk. Feeling a little guilty, he picked up the tweezers and shook out the folded sheet of paper still lying there. He felt his heartbeat crank up and the breath catch in his throat at the glorious image staring back at him.

Much as he hated to admit it, Noble had done a fine job. Allegra lay reclined on plush velvet, one long leg bent at the knee and crossed with the other in a manner that revealed nothing, though an arm thrown languidly above her head exposed the sloping outside curves of her breasts. Her blonde hair, so much longer then, swept over one shoulder and cleverly covered a nipple, while the other lay hidden behind a strand of expensive looking white pearls looped numerous times around her neck.

Stunning. Enough to make any red blooded man salivate.

Pushing it aside, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and stared through the window at the Opera House, its pearly sails poised on the water’s edge a masterpiece of human creativity.

He’d often thought about their first meeting, the day fresh in his mind for all the wrong reasons. A horror case involving children. A couple of drinks to ease the pain of the gruesome images he couldn’t wipe from his mind. Not the smartest move when trying to make a good impression. Then, as he stood on the terrace, wishing with all his heart he could just go home and avoid the Meet and Greet, a vision in blue walked up and introduced herself. They’d talked, and at some point he’d suffered an overwhelming urge to kiss her.

It was inappropriate, out of character, and far from his finest hour.

Still, he’d been angry when she’d blackballed him.

Luke sighed. His job required an extensive assortment of intuitive skills, and it wasn’t often someone left him astonished. But she had. Smart and alluring, never in a million years would he have put her name, together with the word centrefold, in the same sentence.

He shook his head in disbelief. Nude photos. Who would have guessed?

With another heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, blanking out the memories of a mission gone wrong. There was no way he could let anything bad happen to Allegra Greenwood.

He owed her brother that much.

He’d been Trooper Martin Greenwood’s Commanding Officer in Afghanistan, and as such, the man ultimately responsible for his death.

Chapter Two

An hour later, Allegra drove into the garage of her Bondi Beach apartment building, uneasiness stirring her stomach as the sensor light failed to come on. She shifted the Golf into reverse and backed into her allocated spot next to the wire storage lockers, apprehension growing as the sweep of headlights revealed an unfamiliar utility parked across the lot.

The roller door ground to a close, shutting out the glow of street lights as she killed the engine and frowned at the battered, brown ute. The couple who owned that bay were overseas, their vehicle parked in the long term car park at Sydney airport.

Fighting the urge to drive back out and leave the car in the visitor’s parking bay, Allegra clamped her teeth together.

Since when have you been a wimp? Don’t let one blown light and a strange car freak you out?

She dragged the strap of her satchel onto her shoulder and took her phone from the centre console. Turning on the torch app, she pulled the keys from the ignition and killed the headlights, Luke’s words playing on a loop in her mind. ‘You haven’t had a break in recently? Go home—call me immediately if the photographs have been disturbed.’

Clutching the bunch of keys, Allegra opened the door and climbed out into the cool, dank atmosphere. What the hell was she thinking? The sensor light probably just corroded in the sea air.

Still, she directed the phone’s thin beam of light into the dark corners as she slammed the driver’s door and pressed lock on the remote key fob.

It was then that she saw it.

Illuminated in the momentary flash of lights.

A wash of rubbish, spewing from the mouth of an upturned bin.

Allegra backed up a step, jumping as her shoulder hit the wire cage of a storage locker. Shit! In all the time she’d lived here, she’d never seen that. The residents of the small apartment block took pride keeping the common areas tidy.

A slow creep, like icy spiders, crawled up her spine as she swung the light back towards the ute, trying to remember whether the gardener had been today. He tended to leave the roller door up while he mowed. It wouldn’t be hard for someone to slip by him and rifle through the rubbish.

Heart pounding, she turned on her heel and followed the beam of light towards the stairwell. Identity theft was on the rise, and easy enough to accomplish. It probably had nothing to do with the photograph.

For God’s sake calm down! Check the apartment before you freak out. Twenty paces and you’re out of here.

She pressed on, cursing the garage. The damn place never failed to creep her out, even when the light was working.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar ring tone blared out, and her heart stuttered, legs turning wooden. Cheery, electronic notes surrounded her, bouncing off the concrete walls so she couldn’t tell what part of the garage it was coming from.

Allegra swung around, hands trembling so badly the beam from her phone wavered in the coal-like blackness. Down the end, close to the overturned bin, was an insipid light.

Then the music cut, the light extinguished.

Allegra’s heart thundered, her body one pulsating beat as she forced her frozen legs to move. Turning, she zeroed in on the strip of light beneath the stairwell door, moving as silently as she could while listening for the beginnings of a conversation.

Please, please be a tenant cleaning out a storage locker.

But there was only ominous silence.

She killed the torch app on her phone and slipped the device into her pocket, plunging the garage into a cave-like blackness. She had the advantage, knew every gloomy concrete column and mesh storage cage in this hellhole they called a garage.

Imagining all kinds of horrors at her back, she quickened her step.

Don’t look back. Four more paces— three—two.

She faltered as someone behind her stumbled, and swore.

The voice was male, coarse.

Terror forced her limbs into action, and she acted on instinct, careful not to make a sound as she changed direction… Three long strides had her blindly reaching for the building’s air conditioning motor she knew to be there. As her fingertips grazed the metal surface, she wedged her body between the large container and the system of pipes, hardly daring to breathe.

Blood roared in her ears as she stood stock still, peering through the pipes, eyes focussed on the stairwell door a few feet away. The side wall of the garage was at her back, his only option to come this way, or go straight into the stairwell. If he chose this way, one hard whack with the keys and she’d bolt for the stairs.

She could hear him now, shuffling forward in the dark. Every so often he’d pause, as if checking out the wire storage cages interspersed between the cars. But he didn’t use his phone for light, and he hadn’t accepted that call.

Panic welled inside Allegra, and she prayed her phone wouldn’t ring and reveal her hiding place. She strained to listen over the pounding beat in her temples, overstretched nerves tingling all the way to her extremities. Yes, the shuffling was closer now, louder, and almost level with the metal container. Tempted to shut her eyes, she stared instead at the shadowy shapes surrounding her, her eyes adjusting to the dark.

Which meant his would be too.

Then suddenly he was in front of her, a dark shape on the other side of the pipes, moving slowly towards the door. Medium height, medium build.

Allegra froze, breath suspended as he hesitated. Then just as she feared he would turn in her direction, he carried on towards the stairwell and opened the door.

From her hiding place in the dark, Allegra could see him illuminated in the shaft of light from the stairwell. Dark pants, dark sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, obscuring his face and hair. Then everything went black again as the door shut behind him.

Allegra closed her eyes, body sagging with relief as she dragged in some long, deep breaths. Even if he were responsible for the mess, it didn’t automatically translate to him sending the photograph. She opened her eyes. Either way, he wasn’t the sort of person she wanted to encounter, here or in the stairwell. What kind of man didn’t make themselves known to the only woman in a blacked out car park?

Someone up to no good.

And certainly, none of the tenants she knew.

Eyes on the exit door, Allegra slipped off her shoes and ran to her car in her stockinged feet, satchel slipping from her shoulder as she hit the remote key fob. A high pitched beep accompanied the flash of lights as she wrenched open the driver’s door, jumped inside and hit the central locking button. She switched on the headlights, flooding the garage in a welcome light, slipped the key into the ignition and gunned the engine.

Reaction set in, and her legs began to shake as she threw the car into gear and pressed the roller door remote. Before the door was completely open, she accelerated up the ramp and out into the relative safety of the street.

At the end of the driveway, she turned right into Old South Head Road and headed towards Bondi Beach. Traffic was light, the footpath crowded with people heading out to dinner, exercising, or walking their dogs. No-one resembled the person in the garage.

She passed Bondi Icebergs, a swimming club and restaurant, popular with the well to do eastern suburbs crowd. Grace and Poole had given her a membership as part of her salary package, but she’d never found the time, or inclination, to go.

Maybe when all this was over.

Allegra pulled into the curb, fighting to bring her heart rate down as she stared at the long sweep of beach through the windscreen. Even in the dark, the golden arc of sand and white topped breakers were visible in the reflected light from the strip.

Her mobile buzzed.

Fishing it from her jacket pocket, she checked the caller ID.

Unknown.

Swiping a shaking thumb across the screen, she scanned the passing crowd for anyone in a dark hoodie. “Hello?”

“Allegra?” A male voice came down the line. “It’s Brian Morag, Groves Hill.”

Allegra slumped in her seat, fears for her own wellbeing dissipating as she braced herself for bad news. Groves Hill Aged Care only rang when there was problem with her mother.

“Yes?”

There was a pause.

“Is everything all right, Allegra?”

God, did she sound that shaken?

She loosened her white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “I’m fine. How’s Mum?”

“She’s well. I’m sorry if I alarmed you.”

Alarm didn’t begin to describe how she was feeling right now.

“She thought you were coming in after work. She asked me to ring and check you were okay.”

Allegra leaned forward and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. Her mother was often confused—but obviously not today.

“I’m fine,” she lied, wondering how many shocks her body could withstand in one day. “Something unexpected came up, that’s all. Will you apologise for me?”

The kindly volunteer chuckled and for the umpteenth time, Allegra thanked her lucky stars she’d been able to find her mother such a wonderful facility. Any concern, no matter how small, and they were on it right away.

“No worries. She thought she had things muddled up.”

Allegra cleared her throat, guilty for worrying her mother, unintentional though it was. “No, she’s right. I had planned on being there. I’ll call in day after next.”

“Okay, I’ll let her know. You have a good night Allegra.”

“You too Brian.”

Allegra ended the call. A good night? Things would have to improve exponentially before it came anywhere close to being ‘good’.

Gritting her teeth, she slid the phone into her pocket, silently vowing to ring her mother later that evening. She checked over her shoulder and pulled into the line of traffic. No use sitting here wondering what she’d find when she got to her apartment.

She had to go back.

A few minutes later she was nosing the Golf into one of the visitor’s parking bays. It could stay there all night as far as she was concerned, right outside the main entrance. No way was she going into that cavern of a car park again.

Before she lost her nerve, she hopped out of the car and locked it behind her. Still in her stockinged feet, she ran to the entrance, strode across the empty lobby and up the single flight of stairs to her apartment.

Pausing to unlock the door, she listened for the sound of someone following her.

Nothing.

Breath coming hard and fast, she sifted through her keys and slid the silver one into the lock. She let herself in, securing the deadlock and slipping the chain into place before dumping the satchel on the floor and gazing down at the small, white dog waiting to greet her.

“Astro, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

She scooped him up in her arms and hugged his warm body close, a glacial chill creeping over her as she stared at the retro looking deed packet lying on the carpet. Identical to the one she’d taken to Luke’s office this afternoon, someone had slipped it under the door.

He Knows Where You Live!

Allegra’s heart resumed its painful throb in her chest as she gazed over Astro’s head at what she could see of the apartment. Tempting as it was to open the packet, she had to check the photographs first.

She set off down the hall on shaky legs, Astro squirming in her too tight grip. A quick check of the rooms assured her that the small apartment was quiet, orderly, exactly the way she’d left it this morning.

“All good,” she whispered averting her face as the West Highland terrier tried to lick her chin. “One more thing.”

In the living room, she set Astro down and moved to the tall wooden bookcase, crammed with texts from her student days. Trailing her fingertips across the spines, she scanned the titles on the top shelf, trying to remember the last time she’d looked at the photographs. It didn’t take long to find the thin, black folio hidden amongst the volumes of legal tomes.

With hands that trembled slightly, she lifted it down and opened the flap, not bothering to sit as she counted each individually wrapped photograph.

Fifteen—all accounted for.

Exactly as she’d left them.

She put the folio back in its spot beside the Criminal Law Review, every follicle in her scalp prickling as she walked back into the hallway and flattened her palms against the door. Pressing her eye to the peephole, she checked the landing was deserted before turning to stare at the envelope again.

Come on girl. Man up!

Bending, she grasped it by a corner and held it up to the light. Unlike the one delivered to Grace and Poole this morning, it displayed no addressee. Using only her nails, she pressed the brass pin together, opened the flap and withdrew a sheet of paper. Centred in the middle of the A4 page were two lines of print.

The prettiest people do the ugliest things

Pay attention…or else!

Allegra clapped a hand over her mouth, the blood in her veins turning to ice.

What the…?

Who the hell was he—or she, this faceless person behind the scare campaign? Only now, it felt more like a threat.

Chris Noble?

There was no doubt he was Luke’s prime suspect, but try as she might, she couldn’t see the gentle photographer with the British accent deriving pleasure from ruining her.

And yet, he’d broken his promise. The master copies were still out there.

Forcing her frozen muscles to move, she dug in her pocket for her phone, anger brewing in her stomach as Astro whimpered at her feet.

For years she’d worked her butt off to stay at the top of her game, supporting her tiny family and hurting no-one. No way was she going to allow some vindictive screw-up to take that from her.

The arsehole!

The arsehole had walked right up to her front door and left this crazy note for her to find.

Worse, he’d left her without a choice. Because she simply didn’t have the resources to handle it on her own. Years ago, she would have called her brother—practical, reliable Martin. He would have been over here like a shot and flattened the creep if he’d come within an arm’s length of her.

But she was alone, and for the first time in her life, forced to depend on someone else.

Sucking in a long, slow breath, she scrolled through her list of contacts, and rang Luke Neilson.

Twenty minutes later he was outside her door, minus the tie, top two buttons of his shirt undone.

“You okay?” He brushed past her, all grey eyes and fair hair, mouth set in a hard line.

“I’m fine.” Allegra closed the door, Astro tucked under one arm. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

He gave a curt nod, glancing at her sweats and trainers. “Where is it?”

“On the hallstand beside you. I barely touched it.”

He turned around and stared at the note, hands resting easily on his hips, tall frame filling the hallway.

Allegra set the dog on the floor, trying to curb her edginess as she watched for Luke’s reaction. There was little doubt the phrase referred to the photographs, though she’d never considered what she’d done back then ‘ugly’. Desperate certainly, and very foolish. But never ugly. Ugly was what she dealt with in Court every day.

Ugly was this.

She moved closer, watching a muscle clench in his cheek. “Is he referring to the photographs when he says ‘pay attention’, and the ‘or else’ means he’ll expose me?”

He gave no indication that he’d heard, just continued staring at the note the same way he’d stared out his office window this afternoon.

Then finally, “Could mean, ‘pay attention to me, or else…’?”

Allegra felt the blood drain from her face and a pulse flutter in her throat. How could she pay attention to him when she had no idea who he was? She swallowed in a dry mouth. “What about the first line?”

“Rapper lyrics.”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected that.

God, this whole thing was totally bizarre.

“Really? I was going to Google them.”

He turned, stirring the air so she caught the aroma of his pure woollen suit and some enticing cologne. It made her want to breathe more deeply.

“No need. It’s Kanye West.”

She slowly raised her eyebrows, amazed by his eclectic knowledge, and if she were honest with herself, relieved he was here. “And you know this—how?”

One corner of his mouth turned up, and his eyes twinkled as he set off down the hallway. “You mentioned an incident in the garage. Talk to me.”

She trailed after him, trying not to trip over Astro as Luke checked every window and door in the place. As concisely as she could, she told him about the sensor light, the rubbish and the strange ute.

It was when she recounted her flight from the man in the dark hoodie that his expression darkened.

“Did you recognise the ring tone?”

“No. I suppose it could have been rap.”

“Why didn’t you call me before you got out of the car?” he asked, opening the French doors in the living room and stepping out onto the balcony.

Allegra frowned at his back, watching from the doorway as he spread his hands on the railing and looked around. He was all broad shoulders and narrow hips. Zero bum. Well, not quite zero—just right.

He turned and stepped back inside, pinning her with a hard stare. “Well?”

Heat warmed her face and neck, but she kept a level tone and answered in her best legal voice. “I sensed danger, but—I kept telling myself not to panic. At that point, I wasn’t sure it was connected, you know, relevant. You said to call if the photographs had been disturb—”

“Your intuition is your internal sat nav system,” he snapped. “Don’t over think it. And I’ll decide what’s relevant.”

Allegra opened her mouth to say something, took one look at his uncompromising expression, and closed it again.

He’s former SAS, not the touchy feely type. And you need him. Don’t say anything you might regret.

Still, his ‘I’ll decide what’s relevant’ rankled, made her feel like she didn’t own a brain.

“Yes, Commander.”

He stilled, cool grey eyes meshing with hers as she waited for another icy comment, but it didn’t come. Instead, his expression changed to one of cool amusement. “Do I detect sarcasm, Ms. Greenwood?”

So, they were back to surnames.

“I almost saluted, Mr. Neilson.”

He smiled, and the scar on his cheek moved. “I haven’t been a Commander in a very long time.”

Still smarting from the rebuke, she refused to break eye contact. “Then you’ll be pleased to know you haven’t lost your touch.”

A shadow crossed his face and he turned away and locked the French doors. When he spoke, his voice was lower, softer.

“I know I said to ring if there was a problem with the photographs, but you can ring me anytime. And don’t take everything I say so literally.”

She was wondering how she was going to differentiate between him being literal or not, when cool fingers brushed hers as he handed her the key. “Don’t leave that in the door. Glass is easy to smash and puts the key within reach.”

Ignoring the tingling in her fingertips, Allegra put the key on the coffee table. “I forgot that was even there.”

He gave another curt nod and moved back into the hallway. “I’ll go speak to the neighbours.”

Allegra waved a hand in the direction of the adjoining apartment. “The lady next door isn’t home. I know she has dinner every Monday with her son.”

“Righto.” He inclined his head towards the front door, eyes watchful. “Want me to take the dog out for a spell while I’m at it?”

Allegra’s lips parted in surprise at his unexpected offer. She’d been dreading having to take Astro out in the dark.

“Thanks.” She gave him an appreciative smile, all residue of her annoyance washed away. Would she ever get a handle on this guy? “That would be great.”

She took the lead from where it hung on the hallstand and gave it to him, watching as he bent and clipped it onto Astro’s collar. Then feeling like she ought to be doing something, she moved past him and opened the door.

He clicked his fingers and Astro bolted ahead of him into the foyer. Halfway out the door, Luke stopped and looked at her. “Don’t forget, I want a list of people who’ve visited this apartment, and you can add to that anyone you’ve ever had a run in with.”

Half an hour later he was back, carrying a powerful Maglite, her shoes, and a plastic evidence bag. “The guy with the ute’s a nephew visiting from the country. When I knocked on the door he was eating pizza and watching rugby. I checked his keys and I.D.”

Allegra clenched her hands at her sides. “Was he in the garage around seven thirty?”

Luke shook his head. “According to him, he’s been in the apartment since lunch time, though I’ll run a thorough check on him tomorrow. The elderly guy next door confirmed the gardener was here today though.”

Allegra watched him bag the envelope and seal it. “What did you tell them?”

“That you’ve involved in a bad case and received threats.”

When she didn’t say anything, he went on. “Somebody definitely did some damage though.” He held up the Maglite. “There’s glass on the floor.”

Allegra’s heart plummeted. “Wouldn’t the gardener have noticed the mess when he locked up?” she asked, thinking out loud. “Unless—the person hid inside until he left.”

A muscle tensed in Luke’s jaw. “That thought did cross my mind. The gardener could have seen something though.”

“I’ll get you his number.” She led the way into the kitchen and took a flower shaped magnet off the fridge door.

“I’ll ask him to cut back that golden wattle that overhangs your balcony,” he said, holding the pink flower in one large hand and plugging the number into his phone with the other. “That’s where you’re most vulnerable.”

He said it like there wasn’t a doubt in the world the gardener would only be too happy to jump to his bidding.

“By the way, your neighbour came home.” He stuck the flower back on the fridge. “She said to go next door if you’re worried.”

Oh no.

Allegra moved to the sink, took down a glass from the shelf and filled it with tap water. She couldn’t explain that above all else, she treasured her privacy, needed the solitary nights and weekends away from the public spotlight, so when she did emerge, she was prepared and able to perform at her best.

That she was, in effect, two people.

She took a sip of water and thought how he’d taken Astro outside for her. Luke Neilson didn’t miss much, and he’d guess. It wouldn’t take him long to work out how hard it was for her, even to have him here. And she didn’t want that. She was extremely grateful for his help.

“That’s nice of her, but it’s not necessary,” she said eventually.

“Why don’t you stay with a friend or book into a hotel?”

A pain pierced her heart as she thought of Martin again. What she’d give to be able to call on her brother now.

She lifted the glass to her lips and took another sip. Since moving to Sydney, she’d only associated with people from work. People who could never know about this.

“Allegra?” Luke pressed, his tone puzzled.

Gees! He wasn’t going to let this go. At least he hadn’t called her ‘Ms. Greenwood’.

She tipped the remainder of the water down the sink and turned to face him. There was just no other way to say this. “Thanks, but I’d prefer to be on my own.”

She brushed past him and led the way to the front door. “Thank you for thinking of me, but I’ve got a bail hearing tomorrow and a list to prepare for you. I need all the time I can get tonight.”

“Thank you for thinking of me?” He spaced out the words, so close up behind her she could feel his breath in her hair. “What is that? Of course I’m thinking of you, you’re my client, and you’re in trouble.”

At the front door, she turned, adopting her impartial court face. “You said yourself the apartment’s secure. And—I have Astro.”

He stared at her as if she were parked in a parallel universe.

She raised her eyebrows, silently daring him to comment. Even to her, Astro looked like a bit of a wind up fluff ball.

“You win this round Ms. Greenwood,” he said, pulling the door open with a jerk, though she didn’t miss the faint smirk on his face as he turned away.

“Put the chain on,” he said in that bossy tone. “I’ll be back at daybreak to install surveillance cameras.”

Allegra sat up on the lounge, her sudden movement startling Astro and bringing him to his feet.

Disoriented, heart pounding like a triathlete, she took her phone from beneath the pillow. Four thirty am.

Clammy and exhausted, she flopped back on the lounge, scratching Astro’s head as she stared at the pressed metal ceiling.

She’d been dreaming. Fitful fragments in black and white.

Martin. Young. Laughing at the beach. She was there, taking photographs with a cheap, disposable camera. Then, older. A photographer’s blinding light. Martin in uniform. Reporters, crowding her, lenses in her face. Luke—smiling, like he had the night on the terrace. Standing in court, unable to find her voice. All eyes on her.

Black and white.

Allegra sighed and rubbed at her eyes, wondering if Luke had known Martin. It was possible, even likely, despite their difference in rank.

Still, wouldn’t Luke have told her if their paths had crossed?

A faint noise came from somewhere below, and she stilled, watching as Astro pricked up his ears and turned his head in the direction of the front door.

She threw off the rug and sat up, stiff limbs protesting as she groped on the floor for the metal dumbbell. She took a firm hold on it, tested its weight in her right hand, and for the third time that night crept down the darkened hallway.

The prettiest people do the ugliest things. Pay attention…or else!

Well, come on in arsehole! I’m paying attention.

Holding her breath, she pressed her eye to the peephole.

But all was quiet, the landing deserted.

She pulled back, listening for the noise to come again as she tested the chain and made sure the small C.D. cabinet she’d dragged against the door was still in position. If the intruder planned on coming back, she wanted a warning.

And she’d be ready.

Tightening her grip on the dumbbell, she retraced her steps to the living room, navigating her way around the dark shapes of furniture and over to the French doors. She opened the curtains a crack and peered down at the street. Across the road, in front of a partially constructed two storey home, sat a motorcycle rider, lights off, engine idling.

Allegra sighed with relief. For months now, people had been stopping at all times of the day and night to look at the huge house being built. It was probably a shift worker, with his lights turned off, so he wouldn’t wake the residents.

She continued to watch, and after a few minutes the rider slowly pulled away, only turning on his headlight when he was half way up the street.

Fully awake now, Allegra straightened the curtain and decided to make a cup of tea. She had no wish to go back to sleep, where only fitful dreams in black and white awaited her.

She wanted to finish that list for Luke.

It was an hour and a half til daybreak.

Chapter Three

“Astro, quieten down.”

Caught out by the earlier than expected rap on the door, Allegra jogged down the hallway and pressed her eye to the peephole.

Sure enough, Luke stood on the landing outside.

Damn! His definition of daybreak differed from hers. He was half an hour early by her calculation.

“Won’t be a minute,” she called, trying to kick start her caffeine deprived brain as she grasped hold of the C.D cabinet and dragged it back to its spot in the living room.

Relieved she’d thrown on leggings and a tee-shirt, she pushed the dumbbell under a pillow and scooped Astro into her arms so he wouldn’t bolt at the first opportunity.

Expecting to find Luke cooling his heels on the landing, she ran back to the front door and took another look. But he was standing with his back to her, casually checking out the interior of the building. Trying not to puff, she slid the chain off its catch and opened the door, her heart kicking against her ribs as he turned to face her. Close fitting jeans hugged muscular thighs, while a Led Zeppelin tee-shirt, Harley Davidson jacket and designer stubble completed the picture. Mouth wateringly attractive, Luke Neilson could pull off hardcore without even trying.

And just like that a latent desire unfurled inside her. She’d snuffed it out that night on the terrace, locking it away in her most powerful sexual organ, her brain.

“Morning.” He greeted her with a polite smile.

“Hi.”

He brushed past her, filling the small space, shoulders massive in the casual, battle style jacket. “I’ve installed cameras front and back.”

“Already?” Allegra closed the door and glanced at the gym bag he carried. “What did you use, night vision goggles—it’s still dark.”

He grinned at her quip, the smile transforming his warrior face into something dazzling. She recognised that grin too, couldn’t help the buzz she caught at making him smile.

“It’s light enough.” He reached out and scratched Astro under the chin. “I’ll be checking the cameras twice a day. If our visitor returns, we’ll know about it.”

Allegra bent over and set the little dog on the floor. She knew it to be rude, but she couldn’t keep from staring. He’d morphed from a businessman to a tough guy overnight, and seemed more at ease in today’s skin. In a moment of clarity, she realised she preferred him that way. The morning stubble and facial scar lent him a raw masculinity she found reassuring. This is how he would have looked as a member of the elite SAS. If she were a criminal, she’d fear him.

“I’ll grab those names you asked for,” she rushed on, eager to put some distance between them. Luke Neilson’s physicality made her breathless, and no way would she go there. He worked in dangerous situations, and though men like him were good to fantasise about, in reality, she wanted a partner with a safe desk job.

Ducking into the living room, she retrieved the list from the coffee table, starting in surprise when she turned to find him standing right behind her.

He put down the gym bag and raised both hands in a silent apology. “Sorry, I never meant to startle you. Years of stealth training.”

She nodded and handed him the sheet.

He didn’t look at it, just folded it over a few times and shoved it into his hip pocket, eyes shifting to the blanket and pillow lying in a crumpled heap on the lounge. “Rough night, counsellor?”

Allegra nodded, thinking of the free weight buried under the pillow. “I—didn’t sleep that well.”

He squatted and scratched Astro under the chin again, an aroma of leather wafting towards her on a cloud of air. “Anything happen?”

Allegra hesitated, uneasiness stirring her stomach even as she formed the words. “Simon Poole rang after you left. He’s never phoned me at home before.”

She pressed a hand to her throat, guilty for even mentioning the name of Grace and Poole’s widely respected senior partner.

Luke straightened, the movement fluid and effortless. “What did he want?”

“To talk about an inauguration dinner on Friday for a new judge.” Before he could say anything, she was besieged by second thoughts. “Oh, I’m not even sure I should have mentioned this.”

His eyes softened a fraction. “You’re right to tell me. No-one is above suspicion.”

He was trying to make her feel better, reassure her it was okay to suspect those closest to her. But she could never be comfortable suspecting Simon Poole.

“Anything else?”

“There was a guy on a motorbike a while ago. He stopped to look at the place across the street.”

She watched him digest the information, but like yesterday, he didn’t supply any feedback. He wanted her to ‘give him everything’, to trust him to do what he did best. But asking her not to reason, not to filter information, was akin to asking her not to think.

Still, it felt nice to have someone care, even if she were paying him to do it.

“You have to be vigilant with your security, more so here than at work,” he was saying. “The swipe cards at the office make it impossible for anyone to directly approach you there. Here, it’s a different story.”

He angled his head towards the French doors. “I’d like to put a camera on the balcony.”

She nodded. “Do whatever you feel is necessary. The key’s still on the coffee table.”

Suddenly awkward, she hooked a thumb in the direction of the bedroom. “If that’s all, I’ll get ready for work while you’re at it.”

“Sure.” He turned away to unlock the door, speaking over his shoulder. “One thing, find out which courier company delivered the photograph to the office.”

He swung around, and for the barest second his eyes raked over her. “I’ll attract attention if I question the receptionist.”

He’d attract attention just by walking into the room.

Allegra’s cheeks grew warm, and she tried not to think about the fact he’d seen her naked, if only in a photograph. “Sure. I’ll find out first thing.”

Fifteen minutes later, Luke was finished.

Unable to curtail his interest, he surveyed Allegra’s living space with a critical eye. If she was the hard-arse lawyer he believed her to be, there wasn’t any evidence of it here. There was an oversupply of greenery, books and flowers and the place had a nice feel to it, calm—very feminine.

Would the real Allegra Greenwood please stand up?

The apartment reminded him of his sister’s place in London, a bolt hole he’d used for years. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d crashed there, seeking respite after a dangerous mission, the softness a soothing contrast to the regimented starkness of his military lifestyle.

Checking his watch, he decided to ring Tom Randall. What his software engineer didn’t know about computers wasn’t worth knowing.

He listened for Allegra, heard the water running in the bathroom, and jabbed at Tom’s quick dial number on his phone.

The IT encryption expert picked up on the third ring. “Luke? What’s up?”

“New case.” He kept his voice low. “Get Nat in for a seven am meeting.”

“Just us three?”

“Yep. This one needs to be kept quiet.”

“Who is it?”

Luke hesitated, listening. The water was still running. “Allegra Greenwood.”

“The lawyer?” Luke heard the surprise in Tom’s voice.

“That’s the one. She’s had some correspondence.”

“What can I start on? I’m almost at the office.”

“I want a 24/7 search on her name. If anything is uploaded to YouTube, or the net, if her name shows up anywhere delete it ASAP, and track the source. And search for a Christopher Noble, working as a photographer in Melbourne, about seven eight years ago.”

Luke recited the address Allegra had given him yesterday. “I want everything, the state of his financial affairs, whether he has a police record, what he eats for breakfast.”

“I’m on it.”

Luke looked up as the bathroom door opened. “Nat can start on the client.”

He killed the call and pocketed the phone, took another look around as he heard Allegra go into the bedroom. Two framed portraits hanging on the wall caught his attention and he wandered over. One was of an older man with glasses and dark hair, the other, a much younger man.

Trooper Martin Greenwood.

Luke sucked in a breath, his heart beating out a heavy baseline. From where he stood he could have been looking at a photograph of himself, geared up the way he was in camouflage.

“My father.”

He turned to see Allegra wearing a snug fitting knee length black dress, sheer stockings of the same colour and heels high enough to give most women a nose bleed. She came towards him, shrugging on a bright orange jacket.

The perfumed steamroller.

She moved closer and touched the frame with reverent fingers. “A homicide detective killed in a sting when I was five. After losing him, Mum was forced to sell the house.”

Luke stalled, inhaling, as a cloud of exotic air enveloped him. The unexpected luxury of a woman’s fragrance should never go unappreciated. There were times in his life where he’d gone for months smelling nothing but dust, mud and death.

She touched the other portrait, pain evident in her eyes. “My brother Martin was a brilliant engineer. He only joined the army as a way to earn his degree.”

Somehow Luke found his voice. “Why didn’t he get out once he qualified?”

“They started giving him special assignments. High paying ones.”

Luke held his breath, anticipating her next question as she turned and looked straight at him. “I read in your tender document you were in Afghanistan. Did you ever meet him?”

Fuck.

His jaw clenched until his teeth ached. What was he supposed to do now, spin her some bullshit story? He couldn’t do that, but he couldn’t tell her the truth either.

“I can see it in your face.” She laid a hand on his arm. “You knew him, didn’t you?”

Luke barely managed a nod, wishing himself anywhere but facing Greenwood’s sister and those blue eyes shining with hope. “Yes, I knew him.”

Her fingers dug into his wrist. “What happened? How did he die? I’ve spent years trying to get information, but the military keep stonewalling me.”

There were times when he cursed the SAS code of silence, longing to share his burden. This wasn’t one of those times.

Luke curled his hand around her wrist, her pulse erratic beneath his fingertips as he loosened her grip. “I can’t tell you anything.”

She stepped back as if he’d struck her.

“You know,” she whispered.

Luke’s heart contracted in his chest. “I took an oath of silence. You’d understand that.”

“The Black Ops code of silence?” She spat angry words at him. “The secret operations that never happened?”

“That’s it.”

He looked into stormy eyes as she backed away from him. “I have to take Astro outside before I lock him in for the day. Can you pack up and leave?”

Her clipped tone sent a buzz of awareness along his nerve pathways, sparking something in his brain he hadn’t felt for a long time. Allegra Greenwood was one feisty woman, and he was going to need balls the size of melons to deal with her. Well, that was okay, he wasn’t afraid of an arm wrestle. She might be accustomed to getting her own way—but so was he.

He watched her go, irritated at his body’s response. It was an unwelcome distraction from his primary focus. And the need to help her was clawing at his insides.

Maybe then, his conscience would ease a little.

Maybe then, Martin’s ghost would stop haunting him.

Luke stared into the eyes of Allegra’s brother and all at once he was back there, shrouded in the dust of the latest IED blast, choking on a mouthful of dirt. Numb from the waist down, he turned his head and stared at the streaks of camouflage paint on Martin’s face, cursing the complexity of a war with no front line and no neutral space. The combat forces had responded to the intelligence alert, rushing the location of a master bomb maker holed up in a compound.

As usual, he’d sent his best search dog in first.

Martin.

A familiar anger coursed through him as he turned away and threw his stuff into the gym bag. A mechatronics engineer, Greenwood had planned a post army career developing machines for use in surgery. As it was, the talented bomb disposal expert died two days after being flown to the International Military Hospital in Kandahar.

A biting guilt ate at Luke’s gut. His decision had robbed the Greenwood family of a much loved son and brother, the wider community of a future leader.

What a bloody waste.

A rattling sound drew his attention to the doorway, and he glanced up as the white puppy rounded the corner, dragging the lead across the floor behind him.

“Allegra?” he called, his voice hoarse.

No answer.

Slowly he drew the pistol from inside his jacket, carefully releasing the safety catch as he stuck his head into the hallway.

“Ally?” he called again, louder this time, surprised at his automatic shortening of her name. Where the hell was she?

Nothing.

From his position, he could see the front door standing ajar. Gun raised, he stepped into the hallway, back against the wall. She wouldn’t be impressed if he charged into the lobby and she was speaking to one of the neighbours. Probably send his sorry arse packing for good.

He covered the remainder of the hallway in two strides, checking the landing before slipping through the door. Heart booming, he ran lightly down the stairs, blew out a breath as he caught sight of her standing in the lobby holding a newspaper.

She looked up, and her shiny mouth fell open. In that one unguarded moment he saw naked fear in her eyes.

“Relax.”

Sounding calmer than he felt, he moved past her to where the lobby door stood open. He pushed it closed, stowed the pistol inside his jacket and went back to her.

“The space dog ran in dragging the lead, and you were nowhere in sight. I was coming as a precaution.”

But she didn’t seem to register what he was saying, just gave him the newspaper with hands that trembled slightly. “Someone stuck this in my letterbox,” she whispered. “Page six.”

Luke took one look at her white face and thumbed through the tabloid until he found the article that had robbed her of her feistiness. Her name, centred in a large, bold faced font, headlined a detailed report of a recent court case.

Anger boiled in his veins.

Christ Almighty. What kind of a fucked-up person were they dealing with here?

Laden with files, Allegra was ascending the court house steps, flanked on either side by her client and what looked to be a junior associate. But she was unrecognisable, her face scratched out with angry slashes of blood red ink.

***

The everyday man stepped inside the Internet Cafe, his commonplace features creating not a ripple of interest among the rowdy mix of students and backpackers inside. They were too busy emailing people and checking Facebook messages for him to register on their radar.

He wore a cheap green cap with the outline of a kangaroo on the side, and the word ‘Australia’ embroidered across the brim. With a bit of luck the cap and sunglasses made him look like a middle aged tourist.

He moved past the congregation of young people and chose a computer with a printer attached, away from the front counter. Taking a seat, he inserted a flash drive into the USB port and checked the room again. No-one seemed remotely interested in him. Good. He couldn’t go back to the George Street Cafe. The guy there had nodded in recognition this morning, and he needed to print another photo.

Chapter Four

Tom Randall and Natalie Slater were deep in conversation at the large, circular table when Luke entered the conference room just after seven.

“What do you have on Allegra?” he asked Nat, relieved the investigation proper was finally under way. He glanced at his most trusted confidantes. Together, their track record for solving cases sat on the ninety-fifth percentile.

“There’s a ton of information on the net, even a fan based website devoted to her,” replied Nat, a rough diamond ex-cop, grateful to be off the force now she had kids to worry about. “The blog gets a lot of traffic, mainly from students and academics.”

“An obsessed fan?” asked Tom.

Luke snapped on a pair of latex gloves and spread the evidence on the table. “Could be. I didn’t know her celebrity status had reached such heights.”

“It’s not of her making,” Nat pointed out, consulting her iPad while Tom turned his attention to the evidence. “She’s single, private, doesn’t partake in any social media, which is unusual for someone twenty-nine. If she’s spotted out, it’s at a work function, or having drinks with her—,” Nat made the quote marks sign with her fingers, “learned colleagues.”

“What’s the chat?” Luke asked, sitting down and combining this new information with what he knew of Allegra. She might come across all businesslike, but underneath the persona was a woman who’d suffered loss, and now betrayal. And thankfully, her cute dog wasn’t one of those handbag varieties usually favoured by celebrities.

Nat stroked her index finger down the iPad screen. “Her cases and judgments are analysed at length, and occasionally the women discuss her wardrobe and how she’s broken through the glass ceiling.”

“And the men?” Luke stared over Nat’s head at the flat screen tuned to a twenty-four hour news channel. He could guess the answer to this one.

“The sculptured legs, how hot she is.” Nat rolled her eyes. “These are law students remember.”

Keeping one eye on the news, Luke picked up the plastic tweezers and turned the naked photograph of Allegra face down, deliberately ignoring Nat’s inquiring look. “Go on.”

“The general consensus is, she’s a brilliant lawyer, but standoffish. There’s almost a— mystique about her.”

Luke mulled over Nat’s words. Intense curiosity could lead to obsessive behaviour. “Tom, check out the stats, numbers and locations of the people following her career on the net, particularly the lurkers.”

The tall young man with shoulder length black hair grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Nothing better than a good cyber stalk.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Geek.” She bent over the iPad again. “The HR departments of all the big firms keep an eye on young achievers like her.”

“To head hunt them?”

“Yes.”

Luke thought about Allegra’s loyalty to Simon Poole, the guilt she’d suffered for merely mentioning his name. Somehow, she didn’t seem the type to jump ship because another firm waved dollars in her face.

“One partner, Henry Grace, is getting close to retirement,” Nat continued. “If the grapevine proves accurate, the next partner will be female. Two other female lawyers are her only real competitors, but they practice in family and commercial law, while she handles criminal cases that put the firm on the nightly news.”

Luke helped himself to coffee from the plunger on the table.. “She has the edge.”

Nat looked up. “You think it could be a competitor?”

He gave her the same answer he’d given Allegra. “I’m not discounting anyone. It’s logical to suspect Noble, but it would be a mistake to confine our investigations to him.”

“The size of the firm, the client base, the web fans…” Nat leaned back in her chair. “We’re going to need more manpower, Luke.”

“No.” It was a stubborn answer, and it came a little too quickly for his liking. “If this gets leaked, her career’s dead in the water. We’ll get the creep with hard new evidence, a print, a camera shot, or we’ll track him on the net until we find him. I’ll even draw him out; make her a target if I have to.”

A chill radiated through him as he said the words, but he shoved it aside and turned to Tom. “Any word on Noble?”

“Nothing yet.” Tom pointed to the photograph he’d turned face down. “Does Allegra have a digital copy of that photo?”

Luke shook his head. “Hard. Why?”

Tom tapped his pen on the desk. “I can scan it, try and do a reverse image search, see if the photograph is already up on the web.”

Luke shook his head a second time. “I’m not keen on that. If the photo’s not on there, the last thing we want is to upload it ourselves. And there are fifteen of these pictures in total. If our man has the storage device, we have no idea which photograph he’ll choose.”

Tom pointed to the rapper lyrics. “What about this?”

Luke left his coffee and went to stand at the window. From here he could see a corner of the office tower where Grace and Poole were housed on the other side of Martin Place. If Allegra had a problem, he wasn’t far away.

Resting his hands on the window sill, he caught his grim reflection in the glass, as somewhere below sulphur crested cockatoos screeched from inside the botanical gardens.

He straightened up. “West sings about anarchy and mayhem, something that could resonate with our perpetrator. That’s all. We don’t waste time trying to analyse that.”

“So, do you think she’s in real danger, or is someone just trying to scare the crap out of her?” asked Nat.

Luke turned and came back to the table. “Someone was game enough to break into her garage last night and walk right up to her front door. She was lucky. She thinks he was in the garage when she arrived home.”

Tom and Nat exchanged worried glances, which only served to validate his own concern. He’d feel a whole lot better if Allegra checked into a hotel in the city, preferably one with secure access to the floors.

But he was guessing she wouldn’t leave the dog.

Astro.

Martin’s codename.

Pushing aside that disquieting thought, he pointed to the evidence. “Re-bag this and get it to the lab. See if they can lift some prints. And join in that blog Nat, ask questions, find out everything you can. Pay particular attention to any high profile cases she’s got coming up.”

Nat pursed her lips and bent over her iPad again. “Speaking of that, she has a monster appearance this morning. God, this girl takes on some heavy shit.”

Luke’s heartbeat cranked up, and not in a good way. “What’s on the list?”

Nat looked up. “Lizard Mulvaney’s bail hearing.”

Luke froze, Allegra’s words from this morning replaying in his head.

“There was a guy on a motorbike a while ago. He stopped to look at the place across the street.”

Tom sat straighter in his chair. “What?”

But Luke didn’t have time to explain. He grabbed his jacket off the wooden coat stand and headed for the door. “I need to get up there.”

Tom glanced at his watch. “Court doesn’t sit for another hour and a half.”

But Luke didn’t stop. “I’ll try and catch her before she goes in.”

If Allegra was successful, Mulvaney’s release could piss off some very nasty people.

Jesus!

***

Her sixth sense tuning into the female stirrings in the room, Allegra knew, just knew Luke had entered Courtroom No. 3.

Halting mid-sentence, her eyes scanned the gallery. Sure enough, he’d slipped into a seat five rows from the front, his stony expression giving her no clue why he’d come.

“Ms. Greenwood, I thought women could multi-task.” The Judge’s sarcastic voice boomed from behind, making her jump. “Do you plan continuing this plea for bail?”

Allegra turned to address the bench, glancing at police prosecutor, Jim O’Callaghan, who stood watching her with interest. O’Callaghan was an experienced prosecutor, and away from the Courtroom, a mate.

“Your Honour, my client isn’t a flight risk,” she began, struggling to reboot her brain. Luke wouldn’t be here without good reason. “He resides with his wife and children in the family home, which they own. He will surrender his passport if required.”

“Your Honour!” O’Callaghan interrupted. “Whether Ms. Greenwood’s client owns property in this country is irrelevant. He is the president of a notorious Sydney bikie gang, the Southern Cross. It’s in the community’s interest to have him off the streets.”

A contingent of Southern Cross members jeered from the upper left hand corner of the gallery while members of the Altar Boys, the rival bikie gang nodded and clapped.

Allegra turned towards the heckling bikies, watching as two policemen from the increased contingent of duty officers, moved towards them.

“Order!” The judge banged his gavel, took off his glasses and glared at the gallery. “I will have you removed from this court.”

An uneasy silence fell over the crowd as Allegra turned towards the bench.

“You can proceed, Ms. Greenwood,” ordered the Judge, voice laden with authority, eyes still on the gallery.

“My client poses no threat whatsoever to the community, Your Honour.” Allegra raised her own voice in an effort to refocus the Judge’s attention on her. “He intends pleading not guilty to this charge.”

O’Callaghan threw his hands in the air. “He’s been charged with serious assault and affray.”

Allegra gave O’Callaghan a withering stare. His fake look of outrage was getting a little old.

“Your Honour,” she went on, “we will prove my client acted in self-defence. In the meantime, he should be allowed to reside with his family. He’s been in custody for three days; nothing further can be gained by incarcerating him until the hearing.”

“Your Honour,” argued O’Callaghan, “the turf war between these two gangs has escalated to the point where innocent members of the public could be caught in the crossfire.”

For a few seconds the Judge wavered as he considered O’Callaghan’s argument. Then he turned and looked at her again.

“This is a serious charge, Ms. Greenwood.”

Allegra glanced at Mulvaney in the dock. Black handlebar moustache, greasy hair pulled back in a ratty ponytail, muscular arms sporting two full sleeves of tattoos, he wasn’t the sort of the person who harmed the general public. She knew, from past representations, that he loved his family, and was one hundred percent dedicated to his gang. He operated outside the law, and his beef was with the rival gang.

“I respectfully agree, Your Honour, but I have no reason to believe my client will abscond. And he will require access to his legal advisers for the preparation of his defence.”

O’Callaghan started to protest, but she cut him off. “And I’m sure I wouldn’t have to remind the Court, but with all due respect, Your Honour, my client is innocent until proven guilty, and there is a presumption in favour of granting him bail.”

“I’m well aware of the law, Ms. Greenwood,” the judge said dryly, leaning back in his chair, “but thank you for the reminder.”

Allegra’s heart pounded in her chest as the judge paused.

“I’m going to grant bail under strict conditions.”

There were stirrings amongst the crowd, murmurings and scuffling movements as the gallery shifted in their seats.

“Bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars with the accused to report daily to the police station at Parramatta, at ten am. Also, the accused is to reside at 27 Cumberland Street, Harris Park, and must surrender his passport within twenty-four hours.”

Allegra glanced at O’Callaghan, but he turned towards the prosecution table, lips drawn in a straight line, shaking his head with disapproval.

The judge then addressed the two police officers standing either side of Mulvaney.

“The accused is to be returned to the cells until the bail conditions have been met. Next matter.”

Allegra gathered her files together and looked around for Luke, but his seat was vacant, and she couldn’t see him among the brotherhood of menacing bikies exiting the room. Perhaps he was waiting in the foyer.

Eager to know what had brought him here, she slung her satchel over her shoulder and joined the throng of people filing out. Sliding her phone from her jacket pocket, she glanced at her messages. Three missed calls. All from Luke.

Crap.

“Got time for a sandwich, Allegra?” O’Callaghan asked from somewhere in the crowd of people behind her.

Before she could reply, strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm and a deep voice spoke over the top of her head. “No she hasn’t.”

Allegra looked up to see Luke towering over her, a ‘don’t argue with me’ expression on his face.

She gave O’Callaghan an apologetic wave, and he waved back, eyes flickering over Luke.

Pleased O’Callaghan hadn’t taken his defeat too hard, Allegra glanced at Luke as more people joined the throng and packed in around them. “I missed your calls. I was down in the cells. Is something wrong?”

His fingers tightened on her arm and he didn’t answer her question. “You act for the Southern Cross?”

Allegra glanced at the people around them. It was noisy and crowded, but the angry looking bikies behind them seemed more interested in what was happening up ahead.

She leaned closer, taking advantage of the unexpected opportunity to study his profile from a different angle. Even with the scar, a tattoo life had given him without his consent, he really didn’t have a bad side.

“Yes, they’re a major client.”

He didn’t comment further, just shook his head, his face impassive.

Narrowing her eyes, she bit back her annoyance at his silent judgment. “You don’t approve of my area of law, do you, Commander?”

“Keep it real,” he muttered, a dark stain suffusing his neck. “I catch the bad guys and you go to Court and get them off.”

Allegra sighed with frustration. Law students always asked why she chose defence law, and she always gave them the same answer. It was better that four guilty people go free, than for one innocent person to be imprisoned for a crime they didn’t commit.

“I don’t see it that way,” she said, wondering why he was here and why they were arguing about their respective professions. “Justice is served when the prosecution proves, beyond reasonable doubt, the defendant is guilty. Overcoming and discrediting a strong defence, is still the best way of achieving that. This system saves innocent people going to prison, a thought I find abhorrent.”

He turned and gave her an annoyed look. “Are you finished?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes.”

“Good.”

The room tapered towards the double exit doors, and they were crushed closer together, her elbow pressing into the solid warmth of his torso, the outside of her leg rubbing against his thigh.

“Sorry,” she muttered, going hot all over and wondering whether the proximity was having the same effect on him. She doubted it. He was still giving off one giant vibe of disapproval.

Up this close, she caught a trace of his cologne, fresh, tropical, like sandalwood and cardamom. He might have gone all dominant male on her, but damn he smelled good.

Then someone pushed her in the back and she almost dropped her files.

“Take it easy,” Luke snarled at the people behind, grasping her shoulders and shifting her in front of him so she was shielded by his body.

Taken aback, Allegra hugged the files to her chest. There was no denying it. Luke Neilson had a nice way with him, when he tried.

“The police will be lucky to disperse this crowd before something erupts,” he muttered in her ear. “The bikies behind us are pushing their way forward. Check out this crowd, will you?”

Allegra looked around, but it was impossible to concentrate with his hands warming her shoulders and his breath in her hair. He was so tall, his knees brushed against the backs of her thighs as the crowd moved forward, and she had to fight a sudden urge to press her bottom up against him, the muscles in her lower body clenching deliciously.

And you haven’t had sex in like—forever.

He stayed like that, creating a buffer with his body, until eventually they filed out through the double doors and into the comparatively less crowded foyer.

Suddenly there was space around her, and Allegra could breathe. It was safer if he didn’t touch her, because he was temptation, just like the night on the terrace. Yes, Luke Neilson was like dessert to someone on a calorie-controlled diet.

“Ms. Greenwood?” A reporter with grey hair thrust a microphone in her face. “About Mulvaney’s bail?”

“Not now.” Luke brushed the reporter aside, his hand in the small of her back as he steered her into an interview room, muting the drone of numerous conversations as he closed the door behind them.

Allegra put the files on the table and took a seat, watching as he pulled out a chair with an impatient scrape. “What’s happened, Luke?”

He rested one elbow on the table, knuckles of his clenched hand barely touching his pursed lips, in a gesture she recognised. “You should have told me you act for the Southern Cross.”

Allegra blinked, taken aback. “I didn’t think it was relevant.”

Oh crap, that’s right. He decides what’s relevant.

“So the rider outside your place at four thirty didn’t raise a red flag, even with Mulvaney’s bail hearing this morning?”

Allegra considered the question. “No. Why would it? All my cases are bad, this one no more than the others.”

“Mulvaney allegedly assaulted a member of the Altar Boys at Sydney Airport.”

“I know that. It’s my case.”

He continued as if she’d never spoken. “Between them, these gangs have bombed a clubhouse, shot up a tattoo parlour and even murdered a rival gang member up in Newcastle.”

Allegra pressed her lips together, bristling at his high handed manner. Honestly, the man needed knocking down a peg or two. “What are you getting at?”

“I think one of the Altar Boys put that newspaper in your mailbox.”

Allegra caught her breath. She’d been expecting news of Chris Noble, not this. “No. You know the bikies’ beef is with each other. They don’t involve the general public.”

“Historically, that’s been the case.” He leaned forward and spread his palms on the table. “But things are changing. Just think about it for a minute, Ally.”

She didn’t want to think about it. She wanted to concentrate on her job—a job she desperately needed to keep. And why was he calling her Ally? He’d used it this morning, and no-one apart from Martin had ever called her that.

He knew Martin, remember?

She glanced at the door. “Why would the Altar Boys scratch out my face, and how does that relate to Chris and the photographs?”

“It may not be related.” His eyes darkened to a slate grey, and she could see now he was more troubled than angry. “But the retaliatory strikes have grown more violent, and taking out the enemy’s lead counsel would be one hell of an effective strike.”

Allegra sat stunned, heartbeat echoing in her temples, a sudden nausea churning her stomach. Could he be right? Were the Altar Boys mounting a scare campaign, hoping she’d crack under the pressure and withdraw, leaving someone else to handle the case?

“It’s only a theory at this point,” Luke said quietly. “And a few things don’t add up, I’ll admit. I can see them defacing the photograph in the paper, but the message containing the Kanye lyrics doesn’t fit at all. In any case, you should be aware of it.”

Allegra swallowed and steadied herself, using every tool she possessed to hide how this new information rattled her. Were these incidents related? Or did she now have two separate problems?

“Okay, you’ve made me aware. What do you suggest we do about it?”

Oh shit, why did it sound like she was talking about something else?

Before he could answer, she pushed back her chair and stood up. “On second thoughts I don’t have the time. I’m an officer of this court with a job to do and a client in the cells. I should be down there with him now.”

He looked straight at her, and something passed between them, an undercurrent, a buzz, a goddamn awareness, just like before.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed to slits of chrome. “He’ll be there for a while yet. It takes time to organise half a million bucks.”

He was right, but she gathered up her files anyway. “I understand what you’re saying, but I swore to devote myself to my client’s legal needs. During work hours, that has to remain my first priority.”

“I appreciate that.” He got to his feet and came around the table to stand stiffly beside her.

The SAS commander.

Seriously pissed off.

To his credit, he didn’t say any more, just shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her leave.

Allegra closed the door with a quiet click, the beginnings of a headache behind her eyes. A coffee from the cart in the corner would help.

“Ms. Greenwood?”

Allegra heaved a deep sigh and turned, expecting one of her clients, or the grey-haired reporter who seemed to live at the court house. But it was the young clerk of the court.

“A delivery came for you.”

Allegra frowned. Josie hadn’t left a message telling her documents were coming. Why would her P.A. ignore standard procedure? She reached for the envelope and her hand froze in mid-air.

The envelope looked horribly familiar.

Her legs threatening to fold, she turned her back on the confused clerk, looking for Luke as he followed her out of the interview room.

“Luke.” She managed to push the sound past the contracted muscles in her throat. She didn’t care he’d been pissed off. She needed him. Despite the fact she’d just told him her client’s interests took precedence over her own, she needed him now.

“Luke.”

Chapter Five

Luke took one look at Allegra’s crestfallen face and cut his way through the busy foyer. Something was very wrong.

“What is it?” He pressed his hand into the small of her back to steady her.

She didn’t say anything, just tilted her head at the bemused clerk standing beside her. In his hand was an old envelope.

Luke stared at the familiar scrawl. Shit!

“Who gave you this?”

The clerk thrust the envelope at him if it might contain biological warfare. “A bike courier said it was for Ms. Greenwood.”

Tightening his hold on Allegra, Luke scanned the immediate vicinity. Delivering it to the court house was an overt display of arrogance—a message he could get to her even in a crowd of people. He scanned the foyer, searching for the high vis lycra uniforms synonymous with couriers.

“How long?” he demanded, glancing at Allegra’s ashen face.

Flustered, the clerk shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “A few minutes ago.”

Resisting the urge to stay with her, Luke eyeballed the young man and propelled Allegra towards him. “Accompany Ms. Greenwood to the cells. I’m taking a look around.”

Gripping the envelope, he turned and threaded his way through the sea of people. The crowd had swelled, and when he emerged at the top of the court house steps, it became apparent why. Mulvaney’s imminent release had tensions between the gangs running high, with an undermanned police force trying to disband a large contingent of bikies from both gangs.

Motorcycles revved, police lights flashed and media teams jostled for the best position to obtain footage. The traffic was at a standstill, all sensible members of the public having left the area or retreated inside the court house.

Luke scanned the congested street, hoping the courier had stuck around to witness the melee. He ran lightly down the steps, wishing he could peel off the Harley jacket. A bike enthusiast, it would be bad news to be mistaken for a gang member, but with the holster strapped on, he didn’t have a choice.

Desperate for a description of the guy sending the packets, Luke slipped through the crowd, searching for the courier and any suspicious bystanders. Was he here, hoping to witness Allegra’s reaction to whatever fucked up message he’d left this time?

Not if he were known to her.

He spent the next fifteen minutes mingling with the crowd, committing certain faces to memory, before ascending the steps to the court house. Halfway up, he passed O’Callaghan, the prosecutor eager to share lunch with Allegra, despite her trouncing him in Court. Was he one of the ‘learned colleagues’ she was occasionally seen with?

There was a loud cheer and he looked up to see a triumphant Mulvaney emerging from the court house. The chapter leader came to a halt about ten steps above him, watching the mayhem below.

And next to him was Allegra, fending off questions from the grey-haired reporter.

Luke watched, his mind scrolling through Mulvaney’s suspected links to organised crime. Someone must have wired in the half million for him to be out this quickly.

A motorcycle revved from the street, and he turned to see one of the Altar Boys mount the footpath, petrol fumes billowing from the bike’s exhaust. Those in close proximity scattered, while the remaining crowd pressed forward, craning their necks for a better view.

Was the rider drawing attention to himself?

Or creating a distraction?

Luke’s heart boomed in his chest and his gut clenched tightly as the police converged on the bikie. Unable to shake the feeling something big was going down, Luke turned in the other direction, searching for anyone not looking at the revving bike.

Then a glint of metal flashed in the sunlight—and he knew. All at once he was back in Afghanistan, only the decoy wasn’t some innocent child with a herd of goats used by the Taliban, but a bikie in a leather vest.

Adrenaline dumped into his system, and everything turned to slow motion. He charged up the steps to Allegra, roaring her name, anxiety cranked to the limit. She turned, took one look at his face and stepped towards him, the same instant a gunshot exploded in the air around them.

He yanked her against his chest, muffling her scream and turning his back on the shower of debris caused by the bullet hitting the sandstone wall.

She clutched at him, eyes wide with fear as he wrapped an arm around her slender waist and turned her back inside. Careful not to lose his grip on her, or the explosive contents concealed inside the envelope, Luke ploughed through a sea of stunned faces towards the small interview room in the back corner.

Mercifully, it was empty.

Heart drumming in his chest, ears ringing from the gun shot, he locked the door, switched off the fluorescents and pulled down the blinds.

Then he went to Allegra, dropping the envelope on the table and reaching out to take her chin in a gentle grasp. “You’ve been hit by debris.”

Angling her face towards the window for a better light, he brushed her silky hair away from the graze above her eyebrow.

She lifted shocked eyes to his. “It’s numb.”

He slid his other hand into her hair, holding it away from her face, a dark anger burning inside him. The area was already starting to bruise.

She flinched as he pressed the pad of his thumb around the wound. “Sorry. I’m checking for a fracture. There’s not a lot of flesh in this area.”

“How did you read that situation?” she asked, mouth trembling.

Luke fought the urge to slide his thumb over her full, pink lips. It was the same damn compulsion he’d suffered the night he’d kissed her, and it made him angry he couldn’t pass it off as a once off stuff up anymore.

“Years spent looking for an ambush.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was low, the gratitude genuine. “You probably saved my life.”

Her appreciation sent a rush of satisfaction through him. Hell. The endorphins from the near miss were playing havoc with his brain. “All part of the service, counsellor.”

Releasing her chin, he stepped back. “That’ll heal up. Are you hit anywhere else?”

She shook her head. “No—you?”

“No.” He took out his phone, punching in the quick code for his office. Nat picked up on the second ring.

“Luke, are you all right? It’s coming up all over the net.”

“We’re fine. Give me the low down.”

“Word is there’s a price on Mulvaney’s head.”

For the first time in hours, Luke breathed a little easier. “That’ll take the heat off Allegra.”

There was a moment’s silence before Nat replied. “You think the shot was meant for her?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances.” He told her about the bike rider Allegra had seen in the early hours.

“No wonder you bolted from the meeting. They’re talking about closing the court.”

“Good.” He watched Allegra sink into a chair, worry turning the hue of her eyes a stormy shade of indigo. He’d feel a whole lot better if she was in her office. “Keep me updated.”

“Before you go, Tom’s got something big.”

Luke inhaled sharply, every nerve in his body jerking to attention. “Put him on.”

He listened as Nat handed over the phone.

“Luke? I found Noble.”

“Where?”

“Rockwood Cemetery, London.”

Agitated voices filtered in from the foyer, and out on the street someone was talking through a loud speaker. But Luke blocked it out, conscious only of Allegra’s gaze on him as he processed Tom’s words.

“Tell me.”

“His real surname was Bainbridge, Noble his mother’s maiden name. Second son of Earl Alistair Bainbridge, a member of the British House of Lords, Allegra met him when he was out here on a student visa. According to his brother, he wanted to fly under the radar at the time, wasn’t keen on his privileged upbringing following him around.”

Thrown by the unexpected development, Luke stroked a thumb across the scar on his cheek. “What happened?”

“He returned to Australia six weeks ago, around Anzac Day. Died in Papua New Guinea while walking the Kokoda Track.”

Luke frowned. The Kokoda Track. Strange how old battlefields and war sites always became tourist attractions. Pearl Harbour, Anzac Cove, Hiroshima’s A-bomb dome. Would tourists one day climb through caves in the Afghan hills the way they crawled through the Viet Cong tunnels near Saigon today? Most likely they would.

Pushing that disquieting thought aside, he pressed on. “What about his camera stuff?”

“His brother thinks he sold all the equipment years ago. But he’s looking into it again for me.”

“Good work. Keep me in the loop.”

Luke hit End Call and pocketed the phone. When he looked up, Allegra’s eyes were two huge pools in her ashen face.

“What?” she said.

Luke picked up the envelope. “First, we deal with this.”

Perching on a corner of the table, he pinched the wings of the butterfly clip together and opened the flap. Carefully, he shook out a single sheet of paper.

He heard Allegra’s sharp intake of breath as she shifted in her chair. It was another naked photograph. Underneath the picture, were the printed words ‘PAY ATTENTION…or kiss your career goodbye’.

Angry capitals.

No lyrics.

No demand for cash.

He looked up to see Allegra, elbow propped on the desk, a hand shielding her eyes.

Luke spun a chair around, straddled it and sat down so he was facing her. Reaching out, he closed a hand around her wrist, gently pulling it away from her eyes.

“Hey—look at me.”

He watched her skin flush a dusky pink as he turned the photograph face down. The last thing she needed was him staring at another naked image of her.

“There’s a price on Mulvaney’s head. The bullet could have been meant for him.”

She nodded, embarrassed eyes meeting his.

“There are people who want him dead, but you’re the one receiving the threats, and my only concern is you. After three communications, there’s still no demand for cash. I’m worried. It doesn’t fit the profile of an extortionist.”

She nodded again, her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers. “I trust your judgment. Do whatever’s necessary.”

Luke released her hand, his stomach clenching. His judgment had got her brother killed. And if she found out? What then?

Worried at the thought of discovery, he took a deep breath and pushed on, certain she wasn’t going to like this next bit. “From now on, we’re an item. When things settle down here, I’ll take you back to your office, and tonight you’ll meet me at six. Greet me as you would a lover. If he’s watching, he’ll realise you’re not alone, and he’ll be forced to change his game plan. It’ll buy us valuable time.”

He held his breath and watched her mouth fall open, dusky pink skin turning a dull shade of red. The urge to tease her, to see her smile again, was strong, but he pressed on before she had time to object.

“I know it’s awkward, but it’s logical to explain me away as your boyfriend, especially to neighbours and co-workers. Our ages match up. I’m thirty-six, you’re late twenties. It gives me a legitimate reason to be around you all the time.”

She gave a slow blink and got to her feet, wrapping her arms around her middle as she moved to the window and stood with her back to him, looking out.

“You want me to play a part?”

Did he? “Yes.”

She turned around, uncertainty clouding her eyes. “I’m not an actress, Luke.”

“Yes—you are.” He stood, swivelled the chair around and pushed it underneath the table. “I saw you in that courtroom today.”

She drew herself up to her full height, her eyes searching his face. He moved closer, taking a gamble, laying down the challenge. “That’s not the real you.”

His gamble paid off. Her eyes narrowed and she tossed her head and glared at him. “It’s one side of me.”

“So draw on that ability,” he said, pleased to see her inner spark revive. “Apart from when you’re in the office, everywhere you go, I go.” He inclined his head towards the door. “Court personnel won’t question my presence now this has happened, but there will be times when I can’t be with you. Then you’ll have my back-up, Nat. Do you have spare blankets and pillows at the apartment?”

She looked totally thrown by the question, two lines creasing the middle of her forehead. “Yes. Why?”

“Because Chris Noble’s dead, and you need more than an investigator, you need a bodyguard.”

***

Late that afternoon Allegra sat at her desk, squinting at the affidavit she was attempting to read. She hadn’t eaten all day, and the bruise on her forehead was aching.

The print swam on the page, and she closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair. In her mind’s eye, she saw the printed image slide from the envelope, its obscene message scrawled at the bottom of the page.

PAY ATTENTION…or kiss your career goodbye.

Pay attention to what—to whom?

Allegra opened her eyes and checked her watch for the umpteenth time. Almost six. She stood up and turned off the lights with a shaking hand.

Time to meet her ‘lover’.

“I’m heading home, Josie,” she said, walking into the general office area. Even at this time, Grace and Poole was a hive of activity. The corporate section never closed, the night shift aligning their workday with the Northern Hemisphere, and the constant need to prepare court documents meant the criminal division often worked late as well.

Her P.A. lifted the transcription plugs from underneath her curly brown hair. “Night Al, see you tomorrow.”

In the outer office the elevator doors sighed open, and she stepped inside. Jabbing the button for Ground, she closed her eyes against the descending numbers, a light show in red that compounded her headache.

The computerised voice announced, ‘Ground Level’ and she stepped into the modernistic steel and glass foyer, stilettos tapping out a staccato rhythm on the marble tiles. Housing the US Consulate, the building was considered a terrorist target, its top line security the only reason Luke was satisfied leaving her at work.

Her heartbeat changed rhythm as she caught sight of him across the lobby. He’d changed into black jeans and a long-sleeved black ribbed shirt. The fine knit clung to the outline of his body, a perfect contrast to his fair hair.

Gripped by a sudden excitement she couldn’t deny, she smiled and walked over to him. “Hi!”

He sucked the air between his teeth and studied the bruise on her forehead. “Looks like you’ve gone a few rounds in the ring, counsellor.”

Then he winked and one corner of his mouth curved up. “Hi yourself.”

His hands skimmed down her arms, and she shivered, tilting her face to look up at him. His eyes sparkled, just as they had the night on the terrace, and a heady jolt of awareness ripped through her central nervous system at his close proximity. She put her hands on his chest, steadying herself, bunches of well defined muscles moving beneath her fingertips.

And then he coaxed her closer to his warmth, and she was there, savouring every sensation as her cheek pressed into the hollow of his shoulder and warm lips skimmed her temple. Allegra closed her eyes for a beat or two, a seductive whiff of fresh, clean male scrambling her sensory receptors.

Then stubble grazed her cheek as he dipped his head and warm, firm lips pressed against hers.

Oh God!

Shockwaves of heat dispersed throughout her body, melting her insides, and this time she didn’t pull away, just surrendered to the heady warmth of his lingering kiss.

It’s an act. It’s all an act.

A charade for the benefit of your tormentor.

An irrational jealousy targeted at the faceless women he willingly kissed, clawed at her as he lifted his head and relinquished possession of her lips. As they turned towards the revolving door, she kept her eyes trained on him, tempted though she was to scan the face of every passing stranger.

Outside, they merged with the moving river of jaded office workers, purpose written on their faces in their determined rush to exit the city.

As they headed towards the car, she felt his arm come around her waist, his warm lips against her ear sending aftershocks of pleasure radiating through her body.

“What do you know? Finally managed to snag that kiss after all.”

***

Minutes later, Luke slid behind the wheel of his Mercedes AMG and glanced at Allegra as he fired the engine. “Good job.”

He waited until she’d engaged the seatbelt, checked both mirrors and shifted the car into gear. Once in the line of traffic, he passed Hyde Park and the Domain, made two unnecessary turns while he checked for a tail.

Satisfied, he gunned the engine and headed for her Bondi apartment.

He needed to say something, anything to take his mind off the feel of her in his arms. “Did you ask the receptionist about the courier?”

She nodded, wincing as the movement caused her pain. “A temp was manning the desk over lunch. She didn’t take notice.”

“No matter, the clerk today was observant.”

Gripped with a desire to make it all go away for her, the bruise, the fear of exposure, the threats to safety, he stepped on the gas. The big V8 left everything in its wake as he powered through the cross city tunnel and bypassed the Red Light District of Kings Cross. Popular for rave parties, drugs and all kinds of excess, his ballistics team had investigated many a shooting there, and the whole place left him cold.

Taking the back way, he cut through the leafy eastern suburbs, the light atop Sydney’s Centrepoint Tower winking in his rear vision mirror. He glanced across and saw the tension in Allegra’s shoulders, the anxious clasp of her hands in her lap as she stared out the passenger window. Reaching forward, he flicked through his iPod playlist and within seconds a mellow flurry of notes from John Coltrane’s tenor saxophone filled the cabin. Hopefully, the music would work its magic and relax her, or at the very least, distract her.

He stared at the broken line in the centre of the road, his thoughts drawn to the second photograph. Allegra was reading on a canopied bed, a gold quilt spread out beneath her, smiling face cupped in her hands. The only part of her private anatomy on display was her peachy little booty clad in a lace G-String.

Although privileged to see another photograph, the second even more beguiling than the first, his R-rated thoughts were inappropriate. She wasn’t some lingerie model, but a top shelf lawyer as he’d witnessed today.

The scrawled words on the bottom of the photograph worried him. PAY ATTENTION…or kiss your career goodbye. They were a demanding threat. To Allegra, so defined by her work, it meant ‘kiss your life goodbye’.

Luke glanced at her long slender legs. Living under the same roof would be an exquisite form of torture, equally as difficult as dealing with the person threatening her. But what choice did he have? She didn’t have a husband or a live-in lover to protect her. Hell, she didn’t even have any family she could stay with.

He eased his foot off the brake and accelerated out of a hairpin bend. She might be a tireless advocate when it came to defending her clients, but right now she was sitting beside him, bruised and sick with worry. And trying to hide it from him.

Chapter Six

“Room service!”

Allegra jumped and turned to stare at the bedroom door.

Luke!

“Come in,” she called, scrambling up straighter in the bed and pointing the remote control at the nine pm news broadcast.

“Leave it on.” He strolled into the bedroom like he did it every day of the week, plate and mug in one big hand, Astro at his feet like some strange wingman.

“I just woke up.” Allegra put the remote down beside her legs. She hadn’t figured he’d knock on her door. But Luke Neilson had a disconcerting habit of catching her off balance.

“I know. I heard the TV come on.” He inspected her forehead in the same impersonal way he’d studied the first photograph. “How’s the head?”

Heat flooded her body and she moved her legs restlessly between the sheets. “Better, the painkillers worked.”

“You just needed a couple of hours to sleep off that bump.”

She nodded, wondering how on earth she would cope with him in her one bedroom apartment every night. “I heard you working. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “It’s your place. Just pretend I’m not here.”

It was such an absurd thing to say that it released some kind of pressure valve inside her and she burst out laughing, the mere thought of ignoring him totally ludicrous.

“Don’t encourage my lame jokes.” But he looked pleased, eventually joining in, his laugh a musical rumble in his throat. “Here, I made you something to eat.”

“What is it?” she spluttered, taking the plate from him.

“My signature dish. Vegemite on toast with tea. Sorry, that’s about as far as my culinary skills stretch.”

“You and me both.” She balanced the dinner plate on her lap. “Thanks.”

It didn’t sound enough. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.” He looked around the room, spotted a chair in the corner and strode towards it. “I didn’t save you to have you expire from starvation.”

Oh God! He’s going to sit down.

Allegra cleared her throat, a hundred butterflies in her stomach, glad of her leggings and tank top. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Nat’s trawling through your fan site. As you can imagine, it’s going off after this morning.”

“Oh don’t tell me.” Allegra covered her ears. “I never read my own publicity.”

He raised an amused eyebrow. “Frightened you’ll start believing it?”

Short of a quick comeback, she screwed up her nose, went hot again as he snatched up the slinky satin nightdress she’d left on the chair and tossed it onto the end of the bed. He was so darn natural, totally at home wandering around her bedroom.

She watched him fold his long, lean body into the chair and tune into the news. He’d changed the black knit for a white tee-shirt, and he smelled fresh and clean, like he’d taken a shower while she’d been asleep.

Imagine that. Luke Neilson naked in your bathroom.

A nervous excitement built inside her, and she bit into a finger of toast, her eyes straying to his tanned, muscular forearms. Covered in a fine smatter of golden hair, they looked more appetising than the toast, and she had a sudden urge to lick and taste, even sink her teeth into them like one of those fashionable vampires on TV.

Holy shit! That bump has screwed with your head. Or you’re high on painkillers.

“My people are monitoring the lurkers on that site, collating IP addresses and seeing to the lab work,” he was saying.

“And you’re babysitting me.”

A barely discernible wink. “A perk of being the boss.”

He made it sound like a privilege, and she cursed the fact she was sitting up in bed with a black bump on her skull while he looked hotter than he had this morning.

Well suck it up princess, ten months ago you ran away from him.

“We’ve established Noble flew in six weeks ago, and died three weeks later in New Guinea, around Anzac Day.”

Allegra set aside the finger of toast, unable to stomach another bite… “I still can’t believe he came from such a privileged background, that he fooled us all.”

“Everyone’s entitled to their secrets.”

Their eyes locked, and she knew he was referring to the oath he’d taken.

“Especially when they’re convenient, Commander.”

Was it only this morning she’d left him in the apartment after his refusal to talk about Martin, only to discover her desecrated face in the newspaper?

It seemed more like a week.

He ignored her pointed remark, fingers brushing her leg as he picked up the remote and turned off the TV. “The bikies have gone to ground. From that news report, it appears no one saw the shooter.”

“You saw the flash.” She still couldn’t believe she’d come so close to a bullet. “Even better, you knew what that meant.”

He stood up, hands lightly resting on his hips, eyes on her face. “I was a sniper, Ally. You never forget the signs.”

The intimate shortening of her name gave her a charge of surprised pleasure. He hadn’t asked permission to do so, or to sit in her bedroom. But when did Luke Neilson ask permission to do anything?

“No one ever calls me Ally,” she said softly.

A flash of uncertainty crossed his to-die-for face. “Martin did.”

Allegra stilled, a sudden lump in her throat at his mention of her brother.

“He talked about you a lot,” he said simply. “I guess that’s where I picked it up. Does it bother you?”

She slid the plate and mug onto the bedside table as she thought about it. Though he’d taken the liberty of shortening her name, she liked it. She’d missed hearing it.

“No,” she admitted, wondering just how well he’d known her brother. “What bothers me is not knowing what happened to him.”

“Allegra.” His eyes turned guarded. “You know I can’t say anything about that.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

He turned away and strode towards the door. “That’s a moot point, counsellor. Come on. I need your help.”

Damping down her frustration, Allegra threw off the covers and hopped out of bed. The subject might be closed for now, but as far as she was concerned the issue was far from over.

In the living room, he shifted a pile of folders off the table and dumped them onto a chair, giving her a glimpse of an iron cross tattoo decorating one well-developed bicep.

“Looking at the timeline, I’m betting Noble brought the storage device with him from England. You’re sure he didn’t try and contact you?”

“I wasn’t in Sydney on Anzac Day.” Just to be sure, she took her phone from where she’d left it on the drinks cabinet and scrolled through her calendar. “I had a case in Brisbane all week. And there were no messages from him.”

He looked up and caught her eye. “Well he must have made contact with someone.”

“You’re thinking the Altar Boys, aren’t you?”

“If he had a drug problem, he could have.”

“He wasn’t into drugs when I knew him.”

Uncomfortable at discussing her past relationship, Allegra looked around the room, spotting the black sports bag sitting on the floor and the three ironed business shirts hanging on the bookcase. Gees, she hadn’t even shown Luke where to put anything.

“I’ll hang these in the hall closet,” she said, reaching for the shirts and carrying them into the hallway. She fingered the expensive cotton fabric, reading the labels and noting his shirt size as she opened the cupboard door.

He likes blue, she thought, pushing aside some of her longer evening dresses so she could hook the hangers over the rail. Then without thinking, she pressed her nose against the soft material of one of the shirts and inhaled deeply, satiating her olfactory senses with the aroma of freshly laundered shirt and an underlying hint of whatever enticing cologne he wore. Then she took down two clean towels from the shelf and closed the door.

You really are losing it.

She felt his eyes on her as she came back into the living room and put the towels on top of the black sports bag.

“Bikies distribute amphetamines across Sydney,” he said. “And Noble had something to sell, something of use to them.”

Allegra searched her mind for another explanation, unwilling to believe Chris had sunk to such a low point he’d resorted to selling her photographs to a gang who wanted her removed from a case. Or removed permanently.

“What if he simply lost the storage device and it fell into the wrong hands?”

“It’s possible. But why bring it if he wasn’t going to sell it?”

Allegra felt the blood drain from her face. She hoped with all her heart he hadn’t—for both their sakes. “Someone could have discovered it in his backpack after he died.”

“Smart girl.” Luke’s approval sent a buzz of pleasure racing through her body. “But I already thought of that. His brother’s touching base with the tour company in New Guinea.”

His eyes darkened, drinking her in until a smooth warmth spread through every cell in her body. “Can you call your old friends in Melbourne, find out if he made contact with any of them?”

She nodded. “Sure, I’ll get right on it.”

She watched as he turned his attention to his laptop, eyes flicking over the screen, so overtly male that Allegra’s mouth went dry, body on high alert. Ten months ago he’d taken her by surprise, scared her even with the force of his unleashed passion. But tonight, he’d kissed her with a lingering tenderness she couldn’t erase from her mind, and though she knew it to be a pretend kiss, she’d learned the gentleness he was capable of.

She turned away and went to fetch her old address book from years ago. If she were honest with herself, she wanted Luke Neilson to make her feel like that again, for real.

Two hours later, the task having proved more time consuming than anticipated, Allegra got up from the table, stiff and sore. With the exception of two people, for whom she’d left messages, she’d spoken to everybody she could think of.

“No luck?” Luke asked, looking up from the computer, thick lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones.

She shook her head. “It’s only natural people were keen to catch up and curious about what happened. What about you?”

“Nothing to report. The guy with the ute checked out, the gardener saw nothing, but is coming around to prune the tree, and I’m presently working my way through the list of people who’ve been here. I’ll also need a list of your upcoming cases.”

Allegra sighed and picked up Astro, playing with her pet’s soft ears. “Anything more I can do?”

Luke stood up and came around the table, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s eleven thirty. I’ll check the cameras before you turn in. Make sure everything’s kosher.”

He reached out and scratched Astro under the chin, stroking him with long, brown fingers. “Feel like another walk killer?”

Allegra laughed as Astro lunged towards him, tongue hanging out.

Lucky Astro.

“Don’t open the door until you put him on the lead.” She passed over the little dog, had to extricate her hand when it became trapped under Luke’s larger one. “He’s a real Houdini.”

“I’ll remember that.” He grinned and pocketed the spare set of keys she’d given him when they’d arrived home. And then he disappeared into the hallway and a minute later the door closed behind him.

Too keyed up to go back to sleep, Allegra went into the kitchen and set the kettle to boil. How could she ever relax with Luke sleeping on her couch? She’d be listening for his every movement, and if she wanted something from the kitchen, she’d have to pass right by him.

She took the milk from the fridge and set it on the counter, the mere thought of Luke’s half naked body sprawled along her couch enough to make her mouth water and her core temperature spike.

No, better that she make a plunger of coffee and keep working, than lie in bed tossing and turning all night.

She was washing up the plate and mug from her bedroom when her mobile rang. Drying her hands, she hurried to retrieve it. Hopefully, it was one of the guys she’d left a message for, returning her call.

“Allegra Greenwood.”

“Allegra?” The voice was quiet, muffled.

“Yes, speaking.”

“Allegra?”

“I can hear you.” Allegra moved closer to the window, hoping for a better reception. “Thanks for calling back. Who is it?”

“Allegra!” The voice was louder.

Her spine turned to ice and she shivered, like someone walked over her grave as her mother used to say. The voice was deliberately distorted, not breaking up as she’d originally thought. And in that instant she knew it was him.

“What do you want?” she whispered, straining to hear over her thunderous heartbeat.

“Allegra.” A whisper, like some kind of sick caress.

Her entire scalp tingled and the bump on her forehead pounded in time with her heartbeat. She checked the caller ID, phone shaking in her hand.

‘Unknown Caller’.

“Why are you doing this?”

“All—”

“Don’t keep saying my name,” she snapped.

“Alleg-ra!”

She clapped a hand over her mouth, smothering a cry, a band of pressure tightening around her head as the voice broke.

“Give me the phone.” She started violently as a hand came down on her shoulder as Luke plucked the phone from her grasp. She hadn’t heard him come in.

“Who is this?” he barked into the phone.

The nuisance caller must have disconnected immediately, because she could hear Luke going through the phone at lightning speed, but he kept one hand planted on her shoulder, anchoring her, fingers warm on her bare skin.

“Settle down.” He was right behind her, his voice calm and reassuring.

Reaching up, she grasped his hand, thankful when his fingers closed around hers.

“I’m here, and I’m not an easy person to get past.”

His words calmed her, damping down her sense of panic. “I believe it.”

Reluctantly she lowered her hand and turned to face him. It would be so easy to step forward, to rest her head on his shoulder in the hope his arms would come around her. But she couldn’t do it. She’d rebuked him that night and it would make her the worst form of hypocrite.

He held up the phone. “I need to call Tom. Sit down and kick back for a minute.”

She did as he suggested, perching on the lounge, listening, stunned, while he gave instructions to Tom to hack into the service providers and see if he could trace the call to her number. The whole conversation lasted less than a minute, then he pocketed her phone and went over to the table.

“He’s here, watching.” He unfastened the leather holster, took out his gun. “He rang when I was outside.”

A sudden burst of energy propelled Allegra to her feet. “What are you doing?”

He released the safety catch and moved past her. “I’m going after him.”

Luke!” She grabbed his free arm, jerking him to a stop. She hadn’t meant to raise her voice, but she couldn’t help it. “I’ll come with you.”

His eyes burned into her, then silently, and deliberately, he took her hand from his arm. “Don’t move.”

She swallowed. Here was the SAS Commander she’d read about in his tender document. A man forged from the same steel as her father and brother. A man not used to being argued with. A man they would have approved of.

The type you swore never to get involved with.

He grabbed hold of Astro’s leash, which he must have dropped when he came in. “Hold onto the dog and put the chain on the door.”

Throat tightening, Allegra took the leash and slipped it over her wrist, only moving into the hallway and sliding the chain into position when she heard the door close behind him. Then she hurried to the French doors, Astro trotting at her side.

Opening the curtain a crack, she looked out onto the quiet street lined with jacaranda trees. After a while, Luke came into view, holding the Maglite. He cut an intimidating figure, striding up and down in front of the building and checking every parked car. He even shone the high powered torch towards the half constructed house across the street.

Then he turned and stared up at the apartment building, before walking down the driveway and disappearing from her line of sight, presumably to check the rear of the property.

Muscles taut with tension, Allegra straightened the curtain, and with Astro still on the leash, hurried back to the front door to wait for Luke’s return.

Maybe he was wrong, she thought, pressing her eye to the peephole. What actual proof did he have that the caller was outside, watching, and not ringing from a public phone booth miles away at some railway station?

And then something beeped—and the lights went out.

Allegra backed away from the door, staring at the darkness, throat constricting with a sudden alarm that had nothing to do with her own safety.

He has a gun, and a Maglite torch, a weapon in itself.

Dread lodged like a stone in the back of her throat as she felt her way along the wall, following the white glow of Astro’s fur until she was back in the living room. This room was better lit than the hallway, and she dropped Astro’s lead and ran her fingers behind the cushions of the lounge, searching for the free weight. When cold, hard steel touched her fingertips, she grasped it like a lifeline and moved to the French doors for the second time that night.

She pulled aside the curtain, heart sinking as streetlights blazed, and across the road, in the house next to the partially constructed mansion, light shone from behind the plantation shutters.

Neither of them had anticipated the power being cut, and she stood there, frozen, torn between racing outside and searching for Luke, or staying put as he’d instructed. He’d taken her phone, presumably in case the stalker called again, so ringing him wasn’t an option.

She was still standing there two minutes later when the power came back on. Coaxing her wooden legs to move, she hurried down the hallway and pressed an eye to the peephole. Moments later, relief flooded through her as Luke appeared at the top of the stairs and tapped on the door.

“Ally, open up.”

For one overwhelming second Allegra felt like bursting into tears. But giving in to her emotions wouldn’t get Luke back inside the apartment, and she could already hear him putting his key into the lock.

She reached up and took the chain off its catch. One second later he was inside, filling the hallway and locking the door behind him.

“Everything okay?” He turned around, eyes moving from her face to the weight in her hand and back again.

Allegra’s mouth trembled and it was all she could do to stop her teeth from chattering. He looked so damn capable, so larger than life that her relief turned to a livid anger. Reaching up with her free hand she pushed him hard in the chest.

“What do you think? Some creep calls, you leave and then there’s a blackout. You fucking scared the living daylights out of me. I thought you were lying out there dead somewhere.”

Completely on the verge of losing it, she turned away, clapped a hand to her head and winced, eyes watering as she accidentally hit the lump on her forehead. “Shit.”

He didn’t say anything as she went and sat on the couch, just took the weight from her hand and laid it on the table next to the Maglite and gun. Then he unhooked Astro from the leash.

The little dog came over and sat on her feet, and Allegra closed her eyes, still too freaked out to enquire what had happened out there. It was enough that he was here.

She heard him go into the kitchen and rummage around in a drawer, and when he came back into the room he sat beside her. She felt him press a glass into her hand, and when she opened her eyes he was holding a bottle of bourbon.

“I don’t drink bourbon.”

“Good time to start.” Eyes watchful, he poured a shot into her glass and an equal measure into his own. Sliding the bottle onto the coffee table, he clinked his glass to hers and threw back the shot, wiping a hand across the back of his mouth and nodding at her glass.

“Hit it up, counsellor.”

Allegra didn’t hesitate, just threw back the shot and swallowed in one go, needing something, anything to stop the damn quaking. Bourbon seemed as good an idea as any.

Until she tasted it.

Fiery hot liquid took her breath and burned all the way down her oesophagus. She gasped, grimaced, eyes streaming as she swiped a hand across her mouth.

“Yuk! I hate bourbon.” Yet she could feel its effects straight way, probably because she never drank anything stronger than white wine and champagne.

He grinned and refilled both their glasses. “Hit it up again, counsellor. You’ve got some damn fine spirits in that drinks cabinet of yours.”

She stared down at the liquid, swirling the contents of the glass. “Clients give it to me for Christmas. I never drink it.”

He shook his head and threw back another shot, and she followed suit, and this time it wasn’t nearly as bad. Even better, the shaking had stopped, replaced by a gentle lethargy that warmed her body, seeping through her bones and taking away her fear.

“Better?” He screwed the top back on the bottle.

“Luke—?”

“No need, counsellor.” He got to his feet and carried the bottle and glasses into the kitchen.

“Tell me,” she said as he came back into the living room. “I looked out the window. The rest of the area had power.”

“Someone flicked the switch in the meter box, probably the prowler from the garage yesterday. Dark hoodie, dark pants, obscured face. He was gone when I got there, but I caught him on the back camera. I’d say it’s your phantom caller. What did he say by the way?”

Allegra shuddered. “Just my name, over and over. It was distorted somehow.”

“Any background noise?”

“No, just his voice.”

She wanted to ask if he still thought it was the bikies, but she refrained, knowing he wouldn’t rule anything out.

“Come on,” he said suddenly, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet, “you look done in. You need to go to bed.”

Heat skittered along Allegra’s veins, desire burning low in her body as his words conjured up all kinds of carnal images. Right now, sleep was the last thing on her mind. She was alive! He was alive! Bring on more bourbon!

She swayed.

“Whoa.” He grabbed her shoulders, laughing, holding her steady. “You’re a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, counsellor.”

“Well it’s not much fun drinking alone.” To her embarrassment her voice dropped to a whisper. “I apologise for losing it when you came in. It’s just—I’m cursed that way.”

“What way?” He frowned, looking totally clueless. Hell, the alcohol was messing with her mind, and she wasn’t sure what she was trying to say either.

“It’s the story of my life.” She stared at the dark stubble on his chin, remembering the feel of it against her cheek. “Without fail, every goddamn man I ever cared about ended up dead.”

“I see.” His eyes studied her face, and Allegra caught her breath as he slid one hand under her hair and stroked her cheek with the soft pad of his thumb. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s worried about my safety.”

Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to her forehead and she closed her eyes, heart ballooning in her chest.

It’s a real kiss this time.

But he pulled back and turned her towards the bedroom. “I should get an Order of Australia for this,” she heard him mutter. “Now go to bed, counsellor, before you do something you regret.”

Chapter Seven

At eight am the next morning, Luke stepped into the George Street office of ‘On Your Bike Couriers’, the monorail humming overhead carrying tourists from the city to Darling Harbour.

A balding, middle aged man wearing a harassed expression looked up from behind the counter. Further back, a girl sat answering the telephone and working the two way radio.

“G’day mate. What can I do for you?”

“Luke Neilson, Neilson’s Security.” He slid a business card across the counter. “I’m working a case that involves a package sent to the Supreme Court, Criminal Division yesterday. I understand the courier worked for this company. I need to speak to him.”

“Yeah?” The slightly built man reclined in the chair, gesturing for the girl to lower the radio volume.

Luke extracted his wallet, flicking it open to reveal his investigator’s licence. “I have an Authority signed by my client asking you to release any information which might pertain to the case, to me.” He produced the sheet. “You can phone her if you need verbal approval.”

The guy studied the signed Authority. “I’ll run a search on her name.”

“Much appreciated.”

“I’ll photocopy this too.”

As he turned away, Luke scanned the gallery of photographs hanging on the wall, searching for the courier who matched the clerk’s description.

“Righto.” The guy handed him back the original and sat down at his computer.

A while later he looked up. “Nothing delivered to an Allegra Greenwood from this office.”

It was hardly news to Luke. He pointed to a photograph on the wall. “What’s this guy’s name?” It matched the clerk’s description of a tall, lanky red haired guy with pale skin.

“He’s a pecker.”

“A what?”

“A pecker, a newbie. A Scottish backpacker…Grant McGregor.”

“Where can I find him?”

The guy swung around and spoke to the girl. “Hey, where’s McGregor at?”

The girl stared at her screen. “In transit to Kent Street.”

The guy turned to Luke again. “If McGregor delivered it, he probably hawked the job on the street. It happens all the time. Nothin’ we can do about it.”

“You got a mobile number?”

This time the guy gave an adamant shake of his head. “Sorry, we can’t hand out that kind of personal information.”

The girl gave Luke a friendly smile. “The boys usually gather down at Farrer Place in between jobs. It’s central, near the Department of Education building and a government office tower. You’ll find him down there at some point.”

Luke returned the smile. “Thanks for the heads up.”

The bicycle couriers sat on the edge of the garden bed, messenger bags slung diagonally across their chests. They ate fast food and drank from water bottles, phones within easy reach.

From his position across the plaza, Luke watched as McGregor rounded the corner with speed and pulled up next the others.

Hell on wheels for the city’s pedestrians.

Luke tossed his coffee cup into a bin and made his way over to the Lycra-clad cyclists. “Morning fellas.”

The group looked up as he joined them.

He pointed to McGregor. “Can I have a word mate, about a job?”

“Sure thing.”

Bingo. Scottish Accent.

The courier jumped to his feet, his look of anticipation confirming Luke’s suspicions. The guy thought he’d scored another cash job.

“In private.” Luke took him aside, aware some members of the group were watching.

“McGregor, you delivered a package to a Ms. Allegra Greenwood at the Supreme Court Criminal Division yesterday?”

The courier’s expression changed from expectant to wary. “Er, I don’t think so. How do you know my name? Are you a cop?”

Luke shook his head. “Look buddy.” He let his voice sink to a low drawl. “You’re not in any trouble, but my client is.”

He pulled out a business card and shoved it at the courier. “I’m investigating a personal problem for Ms. Greenwood. The package you delivered forms an integral part of my case. I need to find the guy who gave it to you.”

“Ah man.” McGregor looked around, uneasy with the situation. “I’ve got work to do. Time’s money you know.”

Luke withdrew a hundred dollar bill from his wallet. “I’m buying your time.”

McGregor pocketed the money, looking around again, but the others had lost interest. He looked at the ground. “Yeah, I remember the job.”

“And doesn’t money talk? Where did you pick up the package?”

“Bottom end of Pitt Street, near the Basement nightclub. I’d just made a delivery when the guy stopped me in the street.”

Luke’s heart rate increased, a rush of adrenaline surging through his system. He could almost smell the guy. “Tell me everything.”

McGregor unclipped his bike helmet and ran a hand through his longish hair. “He needed something taken to the Court. Said it was a surprise. That’s not unusual. He, well, he gave me the impression she was his girlfriend, or his wife.”

Luke’s stomach recoiled. “How old?”

“Forty, forty five maybe.”

“What’d he look like?” Luke damped down his impatience. “Think McGregor. A woman’s well-being’s at stake here.”

“No shit.” McGregor’s eyes widened. “I had no idea man. I went to the Court House and gave it to the clerk. He said he’d make sure she got it. That’s it.”

“Describe him.”

“Medium height, about five ten I’d say, around eighty kilos, normal kind of face …”

“Thin, chubby, round, square, rock jaw? Details McGregor.”

“Round.” The courier wiped the sweat off his brow. “No definition. Pale skin. I couldn’t see his hair colour, he wore a cap.”

“What kind?”

“The Australia ones, you know, the kind every souvenir shop sells.”

“The green and gold ones?”

The courier swallowed, unnerved at the rapid fire questions. “Yeah, with the kangaroo on the side and ‘Australia’ on the brim.

“A tourist?”

“Yeah, and he wore sunglasses.”

“Clothes?”

“Jeans I think, or trousers, joggers and a colourless shirt with a collar.”

“What about his voice?”

“Umm,”

“Come on man think. Accent?”

“Australian.”

Maybe not a tourist after all. “Pitch?”

“Normal. Look, there was nothing unusual about the dude. He looked like your average punter.”

“Except he was dressed more like a tourist than say—an office worker?”

McGregor nodded. “For sure.”

Luke slapped the courier on the shoulder. “You see this guy again, or remember anything else you ring me, okay? And ask around. Find out if any of the other guys delivered a package to her at her workplace at Grace & Poole, Lawyers. Can you do that?”

“I’ll spread the word, for sure.” McGregor ran his hands down his thighs, clearly relieved the interrogation was over.

Luke pointed to the business card still clutched in the courier’s hand. “Ring my office and ask for Natalie Slater. She’ll make an appointment for you.”

McGregor’s eyes widened. “What for?”

“Look through some shots, make up an identikit.”

“Okay.” The courier nodded then seemed to remember something. “Oh, another thing.”

Luke’s heart shifted up a gear.

“He carried a newspaper under one arm.”

Luke stared at the courier. “A tourist with a newspaper? You sure it wasn’t a travel brochure or a map?”

“No man, it was a regular newspaper, the Telegraph. I saw it because he had the envelope inside.”

The Scot seemed certain of his facts.

Luke covered his eyes with a pair of black aviator sunglasses and surveyed the plaza one more time. “McGregor, you spot this guy, don’t let him out of your sight. Stick with him and call me. I’ll make it worth your while.”

The Scotsman grinned for the first time. “In that case, I hope I see him again.”

Luke set off across the square, unease settling deeper in his gut as he rang Nat and relayed his findings. “Get McGregor in as soon as you can and forget ringing the courier companies, the two jobs were off the books. Walk the city and give his description to every bike courier you see.”

“I’ll get them working the grapevine.”

“And see if you can access the CCTV footage from the area around the Basement and court house.”

“Will do.”

“How’s Tom doing tracing that call?”

“No luck yet. And there’s only one regular call after seven at night, from Groves Hill Aged Care Facility.”

Luke sighed. Her mother.

He hung up, deciding to make for the area where the guy had pulled over McGregor. All he had was a middle aged Australian man potentially disguised as a tourist. He’d printed off two photographs, put them in old deed packets and carried them around concealed in a newspaper. He’d hailed a bicycle courier on the street. One delivered, as is, to her office, the other to the Court House. PAY ATTENTION…or kiss your career goodbye.

And a note, hand delivered to her apartment.

The prettiest people do the ugliest things. Pay attention…or else.

Medium height, medium build.

It matched Allegra’s description of the guy in the garage. The guy he’d captured on camera last night.

Luke’s unease turned to worry as he headed downhill towards Circular Quay, sifting through the facts in his mind.

Noble was dead.

A man unknown had possession of the photographs.

No demand for money.

A prowler at the apartment on three occasions.

One worrying phone call.

And nothing in McGregor’s description that led him to believe the sender was linked to a motorcycle gang.

Luke knew in that instant he was dealing with an unbalanced person. Someone obsessed with her. A man with unrealistic expectations; a man who thought he deserved a prize, a beautiful woman like Allegra.

Luke stopped across the road from the Basement nightclub. All around the plaza outdoor cafes overflowed with shoppers having their morning coffee, and office workers taking a break. If this was where the guy had hailed McGregor, one of the wait staff could have noticed.

And if this man didn’t win her?

The lights changed and Luke jogged across the street, fear building.

He tried to shove it aside, but the voice in his head wouldn’t let up. What if the guy got to her before he could intervene? Slightly built, she wouldn’t stand a chance against most men. And to think she’d been worried about him last night.

Luke opened his jacket and took out his phone. He was beginning to think Allegra was less perfumed steamroller and more soft-centred chocolate, firm and smooth on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside.

Christ man, get a grip.

He heard McGregor’s Scottish accent in his head. ‘He gave me the impression she was his girlfriend, or wife.’

Swearing softly, Luke caved in to his urge to check on her and punched in the number for Grace and Poole.

“Put him straight through, Josie.” Allegra lowered her dictation handset and pressed the flashing button. “Hello, Luke?”

“Hey.” His baritone voice came down the line. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine at this end. What about you?”

He didn’t answer right away, and she heard the airbrakes of a bus as it pulled into a curb somewhere close to him.

Background noise.

She waited for his response, conscious of the change in her breathing pattern.

“Making some progress,” he said finally, though he didn’t elaborate. “What are your movements tomorrow?”

Allegra sighed and clicked on her calendar. “I’m in the office all morning, and then I have that inauguration for the new judge tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s it?”

“No. There’s a formal dinner in the evening and I can’t get out of it. I’m going with Simon Poole and his wife.”

“How do I score an invite?”

Allegra’s heart did a strange flip flop and a surge of excitement rushed through her body. “Oh, it’s plus one. I’ll make a call this afternoon. Do you have a dinner suit?”

She closed her eyes and imagined him in a tuxedo. Without a doubt, she’d have the hottest date in town.

She heard him laugh. “You make the call. Let me worry about the dinner suit. Remember, where you go, I go.”

Chapter Eight

In the early evening the weather turned wet and miserable.

Traffic crawled along Pitt Street as sheets of rain bounced off the bitumen and gutters barely coped with the runoff. On the footpath, shop vendors rolled down security grills at the end of another trading day.

The everyday man opened the door of the Internet Cafe and sidled up to the counter. A kid with a Mohawk looked up as he approached, spiked band encircling his right wrist. “You want Internet time?”

“Fifteen minutes.” With one swift glance he took in the clientele as he passed over the cash. He was new here and being among only a handful of people made him nervous.

The guy loaded time onto a key card and gave him change.

“Thanks.”

Careful to choose a computer halfway down the room, he inserted the flash drive into a USB port, staring at the screen as he waited for files to load.

Who was the leather-clad guy with the fair hair? The built one with the AMG?

Twice now she’d been with that prick.

It was a break from the norm.

He jabbed at the keyboard with trembling fingers. He’d give his right arm to be a fly on the wall at Grace and Poole tomorrow morning.

Anticipation made him salivate.

This would finish her career and then she’d need him. He ran a clammy hand down the leg of his jeans, anger burning in his belly.

She only had herself to blame.

And the new lover? How long would he stick around once he learned of the lewd photographs?

Jealousy twisted the knot in his stomach. He intended to punish her. She was meant for him and she refused to acknowledge it.

Breathing uneven, and jeans uncomfortably tight, he hit Send.

“You’ve got mail.”

***

“Bring your heel down hard on the bridge of my foot, and simultaneously drive your elbows into my ribs,” instructed Luke, his breath warm on her neck.

Allegra frowned. They were facing each other in the middle of the living room floor. After a dinner of Thai take-out, Luke was giving her a lesson in basic self-defence. And he was far from satisfied with her attempts.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

He chuckled as if she’d made a joke. “Trust me, you won’t.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around, then wrapped his arms tightly around her middle, his hard body pressed up behind her. Struggling to even breathe, Allegra could neither move nor concentrate on his instructions.

“Come on. Give it another go.”

Allegra gritted her teeth and tried again, this time with more success. Even so, he barely uttered a grunt, merely flexing his abs as her elbows hit a solid wall of muscle. She managed to spin around when he loosened his grip, but failed to get her arm free.

“That’s better.”

He grabbed her upper arms and pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length with an ease that was terrifying. He’d changed into a pair of rugby shorts and a sleeveless muscle shirt. What the guy did to gym gear should be outlawed. He was all broad shoulders, muscle, and lightly tanned golden skin.

“An attack is over within seconds,” he said. “It’s panic, chaos and confusion. You have to grasp any chance to break free. So far, all you’ve made me do is loosen my grip. You’re still vulnerable.”

He yanked her close until she cannoned into him. The breath was knocked out of her as she slammed into the brick wall of his body.

“Come on, go for it,” he urged. “Drive the palm of your hand up under my chin and go for the eye gouge. And bring your knee up into my groin.”

Allegra went hot all over. “What if I make contact?”

He gave a derisive snort. “No chance.”

Flustered, she turned away and planted her feet shoulder width apart, bracing herself as he wrapped his arms around her in what she called a reverse bear hug, and he called a ‘wrestler’s waist lock’.

No chance? We’ll see about that!

Repeating the earlier moves she spun around when he loosened his grip, freeing her right arm. His stubble grazed her palm as she drove her hand upwards with every ounce of strength in her body.

No match for his lightning reflexes, he averted his face, and her palm ended up caressing his cheek.

He looked startled. She waited to see if he’d pull away, but he stayed motionless, his warm breath fanning her face.

Slowly, with the tip of her index finger, she traced the line of the scar.

He inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing to twin slashes of silver. “Forget the next move?”

She flashed him a look from beneath her lashes. “It’s a surprise tactic.”

A muscle flexed beneath her fingertips. “It’s a surprise to me.”

“Then it worked.” She grinned triumphantly. “While you were standing there Commander, I had time to take your eyes, and your balls.”

His head jerked back, and in the same instant he captured her wrist with one easy movement.

He leaned in close and spoke in a low growl, his eyes flashing with excitement. “Oh baby. You’re playing dirty.”

Shrieking with laughter, she tried breaking his handcuff grip. “Just levelling the playing field. You have a brawn advantage.”

Her nerve endings went electric as she tried to push him away, but he easily captured her other hand, pinning both behind her back. Immobilised, she was crushed against his chest, heat coursing through every capillary in her body. Any movement, any struggle, and her breasts would rub up against him.

And he knew it.

He shook his head from side to side and made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Rookie error. What happens when you play with fire?”

She shivered, nipples going hard inside her lacy bra.

Her silence had him leaning even closer, his mouth only inches from hers. “You get…?” he prompted.

She wanted to say ‘kissed’ but she didn’t dare. Anticipation had her parting her lips. “Burned?”

“Spanked.”

He released her wrists and clamped his hands around her waist, and in one swift manoeuvre hoisted her in the air and draped her over his shoulder

“Luke, put me down,” she shrieked, her body pulsing with a sexual excitement off the Richter scale. Upside down she had a great view of his firm buns. She bucked and kicked her legs, but it was futile against his ironclad hold. She pummelled his back as he stalked across the room and plonked down on the tub lounge, one quick twist sending her sprawling across his lap.

Beneath her, he was rock hard in his rugby shorts.

One glance over her shoulder had her breath backing up in her chest. His eyes glittered with lust, his expression hard with intent.

She tried to push away, but he prevented her moving with an ease that was terrifying, and more arousing than anything she’d ever known.

She stiffened as he rested one hand on her butt cheek, gasping as he spread his fingers wide and squeezed.

“You wouldn’t dare. Oww!”

The playful slap had her wriggling around to face him, struggling to sit up, indignation and need fighting for supremacy.

“You have a hell of a hide, Commander.”

His eyes swept her body. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

They moved simultaneously. She reached for him as he pushed her down on the sofa, coming together with an intensity that sent blood rushing to her head. His arms came around her, this time in a lovers’ embrace, and he claimed her mouth with the skill of a man long practised in the art of seduction.

She parted her lips at his insistence, his tongue probing for entry. Moisture pooled between her thighs, his fierce dominance leaving her weak and trembling.

This was ravishment pure and simple.

Unable to think, or even breathe, she melted beneath the onslaught. As one large hand moved beneath her tee-shirt, she arched closer, willing his hand to massage the aching breast straining towards him. He gave her what she craved, and she moaned into his mouth, head spinning as his thumb flicked and teased her nipple through the lacy fabric of her bra.

All the while, the assault on her mouth never lessened.

Desperate to feel his skin, Allegra slid one hand beneath his shirt, her palm caressing furnace-hot muscle and sinew as she desperately sought to learn every crevasse of his battle-hardened body. Her other hand speared his hair, and like a starving person she gripped him tighter, revelling in his taste, the heated warmth of his skin, and the crush of his arms.

“Harder,” she gasped against his mouth, feeling his powerful frame shudder in her arms and his hand move to her other breast.

Luke lifted his head and gave her a wolfish smile. “Bossy! Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

He ripped her tee-shirt up over her head and tossed it aside, the iron cross rippling with every flex of his powerful bicep. Then his hand fisted in her hair, and he tilted her head back, trailing his lips down the sensitive column of her throat.

Allegra’s breath came in pants. She loved the feel of him, the taste of him and the way his cologne and sweat sent her olfactory senses chaotic. He freed his hand from the tangle of her hair to pull down one cup of her bra. He dipped his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth, and it was all she could do not to moan out loud as he shifted his weight and settled his erection snugly in the apex of her thighs.

The warble of his mobile phone was like a douse of cold water.

Luke lifted his head, closed his eyes in disbelief.

“Ignore it,” Allegra whispered, pulling his head down and smoothing her hands across his back.

“I can’t.” With a frustrated groan he pushed away from her and levered himself off the sofa. “I need to get this.”

She watched him grab his phone off the coffee table and swipe his thumb across the screen. “Tom? Hang on, Allegra’s here.”

As Luke switched the phone onto loudspeaker, Allegra retrieved her shirt and pulled it over her head.

“Go ahead.”

“Our guy’s made a move.”

Her body pulsing with desire, Allegra wanted to cover her ears with her hands. She so didn’t want to hear this.

“I’ve just pulled three emails from Grace and Poole. One landed in Allegra’s Inbox, the other two were sent to the partners.”

“Another photograph?” Luke’s concerned eyes scanned her face.

Ice spread from the base of her spine to the top of her head, the sudden chill sucking the air from her lungs.

“Attached yeah, no content in the body of the email.”

“Can you trace the source?”

“Not worth the time, Luke. It’s a hotmail address, set up with fake info and used once.”

“Good work Tom. And thanks. Stay in there and stay alert.”

“Will do. Be in touch.”

Luke disconnected the call.

Fear and a sick sense of dismay welled in Allegra’s throat as she stared at him. “Tom hacked into my firm’s computer system?”

Luke’s eyes narrowed at her sharp tone. “On my instructions.”

She jumped to her feet, dismay and frustration turning to anger. “Well there goes my job. If the photographs don’t end my career the security breach will. And don’t even mention the invasion of client privacy.”

“Hey.” He grabbed her shoulders, quickening her pulse despite her anger. “We need to fight fire with fire. If we didn’t locate those emails you’d be out on your arse first thing tomorrow. You should be grateful Tom intercepted them. You get to work another day.”

She shook free of his grip. “Oh, excuse me for being a pawn in a sinister chess game.”

He sucked in a breath. “You’re not a pawn.”

“No? Then why do I feel like I’m waiting to get knocked off the board?”

She didn’t want to hear this. Not while her body still pulsated with desire. Not when her body still craved his touch. She wanted to turn the clock back five minutes.

Spinning on her heel, she made for the bedroom, needing to escape.

He grabbed her hand, pulling her back with a heavy sigh. “No-one at Grace and Poole will ever know Tom’s been in there, Ally,” he said, his voice softening. “He’s an expert. You have to trust me. This is what I do. This is what you’re paying me to do.”

“Am I paying you to kiss me too?” Furious he could turn off his emotions while her own body ached for him, the words slipped out before she could stop them.

She watched the colour drain from his face, but he held himself in check. “Let’s not confuse two very separate issues.”

Allegra closed her eyes. How could he compartmentalise his feelings like that?

His mobile rang again.

“Shit! Neilson?”

She watched him give his undivided attention to the person on the other end of the line. “How many Tom?”

Tom, again.

She watched as Luke checked his watch.

“Meet me at the Bligh Street address. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

He hung up and jabbed at the phone again. “I have to make this call.”

He looked at her as he waited for the person to pick up. “Tom’s picked up three IP addresses from your blog. The computers are located in three separate Internet Cafes in the vicinity of the Basement nightclub where our guy flagged down the courier.”

He looked away suddenly and spoke into the phone. “Nat?”

He paced the room and mouthed another swear word. “I’ve got her voicemail.”

Allegra watched as he began gathering up his jeans, jacket, car keys and wallet. “Nat, I need you to come over to Allegra’s ASAP. I have to get into town.”

Her heart fractured as he disconnected the call. “You’re leaving?” Despite her misgivings about his methods, she wanted him with her.

He nodded. “Tom and I have to get in there.”

He moved closer, worry clouding his eyes. “Once he realises his plans have been foiled, that the emails have been intercepted, there’s a chance he’ll go all out and put a photograph on the net.”

Allegra stared at him in horror, the ramifications too dreadful for her to contemplate. And she trusted his intuition, knew he’d profiled similar people in the past. He was preparing her for a new reality.

Suddenly their argument wasn’t important. Not when he had to leave.

“If I get another description and we merge it with McGregor’s, there’s a chance you’ll recognise him from the mock up,” he was saying. “It’s the best lead we’ve had. This could be our chance to flush him out.”

She nodded. He was one hundred percent focussed now, the professional hunter. And after all, this was the reason she’d retained him. Still, it took every bit of nerve she possessed to encourage him to leave.

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

He surprised her, stepping close and taking both her hands in his. “Lock yourself in until Nat gets here, and keep Astro with you.”

“Okay.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I can go next door as well.”

He gave her a wry smile. “She’s eighty.”

Allegra fought off her vulnerability and did her best to smile back. “Just go, Luke.”

He let go of her hands. “If you get scared, or Nat’s longer than expected, promise me you’ll go next door.”

She nodded and called for Astro, scooping the little dog into her arms and watching as he opened the front door. “Be careful.”

He turned, pewter eyes meshing with hers. “Lock the door behind me, Allegra. And don’t worry. The curse ends here.”

Chapter Nine

Late the following morning Allegra composed an email to Luke on her office computer, conscious of Tom watching her every move from Neilson’s Security.

The partners would blow a gasket if they knew their system had been hacked. As yet, there’d been no outcry, and she was beginning to believe Luke’s assertion that they would never know.

The risk she was taking weighed heavily on her conscience.

Dear Luke,

Please find attached the list of cases you requested. I’ve looked them over and nothing jumps out at me.

Hope everything is moving along well.

Allegra

She attached the file and hit Send.

The moment the email disappeared she pressed Delete. There was no way she’d risk it catching Josie’s attention.

She glanced at her diary. Three hours until the inauguration, and then the dinner this evening. Would Luke be able to make it?

It shocked her to admit how much she missed him, and in more ways than the security he afforded her. She missed the way they butted heads, and his sense of fun. More than anything, she missed the way he made her feel, and for the umpteenth time she relived that incredible kiss. If Tom hadn’t interrupted, they would have ended up in bed.

But it was more than physical for her.

She liked him. She liked him a lot.

Her mobile buzzed, breaking into her daydream. Bolting from the chair, she ran to close the door, her heart soaring like a teenager as his name lit up the screen. Good news or bad, she longed to hear his voice.

“Luke?”

He got straight down to business. “Thanks for getting the file to me so quickly.”

“It wasn’t a problem.” She held her breath. “What’s happening?”

She heard him sigh. “McGregor and another guy are in with the sketch artist. They hope to have an image for you to look at by the weekend.”

“That sounds promising.” She grimaced at their awkward conversation. The issue of the kiss hung between them.

Kiss? Who are you kidding – it was foreplay.

“Tom’s looked over the computers, but it’s a dead end, and we’ve had no luck with fingerprints.”

Who the hell was this guy? “Well, hopefully the sketch will give us the break we need.”

“I’ll get him. I’m only worried he’ll upload a photograph first.”

A chill crawled across her skin. The thought was enough to give her nightmares. “I’m aware of the measures you’re taking to find him, Luke.”

There was a long silence, and she pressed her lips together, determined not to fill the void with chatter before he had a chance to speak. He knew her feelings about Tom hacking into Grace and Poole’s computer system.

“Look, you mightn’t agree with some of our methods, but I trust my people. Tom keeps his eyes open. He gets in and he gets out.”

“You can’t use those emails in Court.”

“That isn’t my concern. Finding him is. The police can worry about admissible evidence.”

She glanced at the framed Practising Certificate hanging on the wall. Years of focussed study and dedicated work. Years of sacrifice. Would it all amount to nothing?

“I just wish I didn’t know about it.”

His irritated voice came down the line. “Look Ally, we work at opposite ends of the law. I don’t necessarily agree with some of the things you do either.”

She frowned. “Like what?”

“Defending groups widely known to manufacture illegal drugs, for one.”

Exasperated, she shook her head though she knew he couldn’t see her. “What is the point of even discussing this?”

She heard his frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry. I understand you’re under a lot of strain.”

“I think we both are.” She reclined in her chair and closed her eyes. Their squabbling wasn’t about the law or their individual methods of operation. It was about the foreplay.

She decided to extend an olive branch. “Despite everything, Luke, I know I’m in safe hands.”

“Thanks, I think.”

There was another lengthy silence before he went on.

“I’m trawling through the CCTV footage, then I’ll search your former clients, see who’s in the slammer, who’s out, how many are residing in Sydney. I’ll be looking for a connection to Noble. To print these photographs individually, our stalker has to be in possession of his storage device. Or at the very least have copied it.”

“Are you sure you have the manpower?”

“It’s surprising how much we can accomplish. And try not to worry. Nat’s stationed outside your office in case the guy’s hanging around waiting for your expulsion.”

Allegra’s stomach lurched. Fear made her sick and dizzy.

Then Luke’s voice softened, and suddenly he sounded a lot more personal. “And don’t work too hard. Remember, I’m only a phone call away.”

Allegra’s throat closed over, her emotions perilously close to the surface. She had to get off the phone, had to refocus on her work and allow him to do his job.

She drew in a painful breath and pushed the words past the contracted muscles of her throat. “Thanks, Luke. I’ll see you later.”

“You will. Cheers.”

And then the line went dead.

Luke sat at his desk and rubbed a hand across his eyes, Allegra’s words stuck in his mind like a catchy guitar riff.

‘I know I’m in safe hands.’

Well that was debatable.

How safe had she been last night, when he’d been ready to rip every piece of clothing off her body and haul her into the bedroom? She hadn’t been safe from the likes of him, and he’d been hired to protect her, not seduce her. Getting up close and personal with Allegra was begging for trouble. He’d known that, and yet he’d gone ahead and suggested self-defence training anyway.

Clicking on the Taskbar, he maximised the image of the third photograph, shaking his head at the sheer beauty of it. A secluded beach, she was coming out of the surf wearing only the bottom half of a bikini. Her blonde hair was slicked back from her face and droplets of water clung to her lashes. Wet sand stuck to her body in all the right places.

It was enough to send any red blooded guy crazy.

And it wasn’t just her beauty.

Allegra was a heady combination; witty, yet seriously impressive as a litigator. Past tragedy had given her a tough outer shell, but he’d glimpsed softness and vulnerability in the last few days. She might have rejected him ten months ago, but she’d been feverishly passionate in his arms last night, and he was having a devil of a time putting it out of his mind.

He shook his head. He prided himself on his ability to shut out the white noise and internal monologue. But last night he’d been conflicted between staying and going. And he’d been sick with worry since leaving her.

He’d never had a problem leaving a client with Nat before.

Sighing, he ran an impatient hand through his hair. It was impossible to deny how much he wanted Ally, which was amazing, considering they argued over just about everything.

He shut down the image on screen. It was dangerous to be distracted by their personal relationship. Allegra’s life could be at risk. He dare not slip up on this assignment. He could never live with the guilt of something happening to the other Greenwood sibling.

He slid the CCTV tape into the machine and began scanning one frame at a time. It was time consuming and tedious, but it had to be done. So far, no-one had even come close to McGregor’s descriptions.

He stared at the screen. It was useless. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

He re-read the draft email he’d composed earlier. Allegra wanted information about her brother’s death and he was determined to come through for her, one way or another.

He inhaled briefly and hit Send before doubts assailed him again.

Would she ever forgive him if she found out the truth?

***

That evening, just after six thirty, Allegra closed the door to her mother’s room at Groves Hill and hurried to where Nat was cooling her heels in the waiting room.

“Everything all right?” Luke’s assistant put down the magazine she was reading and stood up.

“She’s well, and in good spirits.” Allegra smoothed her hands over the long evening dress she was wearing. “And despite my embarrassment, very excited to see me in this.”

She glanced at the other woman as they waited for the elevator to arrive, doing her best to conceal her disappointment that Luke was still caught up with the case and Nat was accompanying her to the dinner.

“Thanks for letting me call by on the way.”

“Hey,” the other woman shot her a quick glance. “I’m a single mum with two kids. They better come visit me when I’m in one of these places.”

Allegra smiled as they stepped into the elevator. “I’m sure they will.”

The other woman pressed the button for the Ground Floor. “It’s nice, looks expensive though.”

Allegra sighed. “It’s not cheap, but it’s my first priority. More than anything I could want for myself.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, and when the doors opened a bunch of brightly coloured balloons greeted them. Holding them was a man Allegra recognised as Brian Morag.

“Oh my! What’s the occasion ladies?” He gave them a friendly smile and stepped aside so they could pass.

“Just a work function.” Allegra smiled at the balloons. “Someone’s in for a happy surprise.”

“Everyone.” He held his finger on the button so he could continue talking to them. “Balloon tennis after dinner. They love it.”

Allegra and Nat traded smiles.

“You look very nice,” Brian said, struggling to get the balloons inside the lift.

Allegra laughed and gave him a friendly wave. “Have fun. And thanks for all your help with Mum.”

“No worries, Allegra.” He nodded to Nat. “Drive safely.”

“Now why can’t I meet a guy like that?” complained Nat as they emerged into the cool night air, but Allegra didn’t miss the way she scanned the parking lot and kept her hand inside her jacket as they moved quickly to the car.

Only when they were leaving the grounds of Groves Hill did Allegra give in to the feeling of disappointment that washed over her. Luke was out there, trying to save her life and her reputation. She should be happy. It was utterly ridiculous for her to be feeling this way.

Even so, the night seemed to stretch in front of her as interminably as the black ribbon of road she watched through the windscreen, and for the first time ever she contemplated ringing Simon Poole and making her excuses. Surely the bump on her forehead would be reason enough.

Conscious of Nat’s glances, she flipped down the sun visor and peered into the mirror. The makeup and fringe had concealed the bump so well even her mother hadn’t noticed.

“Introduce me as a friend who’s staying with you for a while,” said Nat.

Allegra sighed and flipped up the sun visor. “Won’t that seem strange?”

Nat had attended the Inauguration Ceremony during the afternoon and had managed to blend into the crowd unnoticed. It hadn’t been difficult. The place had been overflowing with family members, friends, lawyers and Court personnel. But the formal dinner tonight would be more challenging.

“Pass me off as an old friend whose staying with you. I’m going through some marital strife, and you thought it would be good for me to get out. Best not to leave me alone in your apartment.”

“What happens if you run into someone you know?”

“Then we have another function to attend, and we’re simply making an appearance. We leave early.”

Simon Poole would think that strange, but what could she do? She’d promised the senior partner she’d be there, even dropping him an email telling him she was now bringing a guest. Luckily she hadn’t given him a name.

Allegra stared out the window, and before she knew it they were passing the Opera House, its gleaming white sails ghostly pale against the darkened waters of the harbour.

A few minutes later Nat pulled under the portico of the Four Seasons Hotel, joining the queue of luxury European cars waiting to be valet parked.

Fiddling with the fringe of her shawl, Allegra wished she could stay in the car. Was her tormentor out there, milling with the other guests, covertly watching and waiting? Worse, might he already be in the room, a person known to her?

Heart battering in her chest, she pulled long gloves over her shaking hands. Then it was their turn.

Nat brought the car to a stop and the concierge opened the passenger door with a flourish. Noise, and a cold, southerly wind engulfed Allegra as she swung her legs to the ground and stood, one hand clutching her evening bag, the other holding the skirt of her full length gown.

She stepped onto the curb and waited for Nat to join her.

And then someone shouted “Ms. Greenwood” and she turned.

White light exploded in her face.

Frozen with terror, she blinked blindly, praying Nat would come to her aid. A surge of adrenaline urged her to run, and she stumbled, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest. Just as she opened her mouth to cry out, a strong arm encircled her waist and warm lips pressed against her cheek. He didn’t need to utter a word. Even blind she knew his touch, recognised his clean, fresh aroma and the way her heart responded of its own will.

“Come on, deep breaths,” he murmured. “You’re okay. The idiot photographer got you smack in the face with his flash.”

She nodded her understanding, his voice calming her, though she heard the underlying anger in his tone.

When she didn’t say anything, he squeezed her waist. “So much for the life of a celebrity lawyer, huh?”

He was trying to make her feel better, but she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“Hold on baby and I’ll get you inside.” His voice was gentle and caring. “It’ll take a minute or two for your retinas to recover.”

As he steered her towards the entrance, shapes and outlines began appearing as if on an X-ray and finally Allegra found her voice. “Where’s Nat?”

“I sent her home to her boys for the weekend.”

Despite her stinging eyes, Allegra smiled. The former SAS man had a soft underbelly.

When she still didn’t say anything, he squeezed her waist again. “That all right?”

She nodded, her heart soaring despite the disastrous start to the evening.

It was more than all right.

Chapter Ten

She was falling in love with him.

Allegra knew it the instant her vision returned and he materialised beside her, drop-dead gorgeous in a white dress shirt and immaculately cut dinner suit, sporting a good three inches in height and shoulder width on every other man in the room.

And now, an hour and a half later, she sipped her wine and watched Luke converse with Simon Poole, testament to her growing addiction to the man. Never a people watcher, she couldn’t think of one single thing she’d rather be doing than watching Luke Neilson.

Well, maybe one.

She listened to the conversation, deliriously happy, even with his attention riveted on her boss rather than her.

“Why don’t you tender for our security work?” she heard Simon ask.

Allegra stiffened, holding her breath at the sudden turn in conversation. She’d been so preoccupied with her case, she’d forgotten all about the contract.

“I did.”

Simon chuckled, looking amused all of a sudden. “What happened, did Allegra knock you back?”

“She did actually.” Luke turned to look at her and reached for her hand.

Wishing she could somehow vaporise, she watched him thread his fingers through hers before turning back to Simon.

“It became complicated. We thought our personal relationship would create a conflict of interest. I pulled out at the last minute.”

Allegra let go of a breath, squeezing his hand in silent appreciation.

Simon gave a derisive snort. “Don’t worry about her giving you preferential treatment, we’re all professionals. If you’re the best person for the job you’re the best person for the job, notwithstanding your relationship. I tell you what, put something together for me and I’ll take a look at it.”

Then he leaned around Luke and stared straight at her.

“We’re not too happy with the other mob are we?”

Allegra flushed, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Talk about an evening of highs and lows. “Not really, no.”

Simon clapped Luke on the shoulder. “There you go. Get something to me next week and I’ll have a look at it.”

“Thanks Simon, I’ll do that.”

And that was it. The conversation was at an end and Simon turned away to speak to his wife.

Dizzy with relief, Allegra watched Luke turn to her, faint dimple flashing as he smiled. He raised his eyebrows, as if to say he’d fixed that easily enough, his hand warm around hers.

She smiled and mouthed a silent thank you. It seemed inconceivable that only a few days ago she’d faced him in his office, embarrassed and awkward about the kiss and the photograph. And now she sat holding his hand and wishing fervently they were alone.

She extracted her fingers from his and slid back her chair. She needed a few moments alone to regain her equilibrium. They continued to act the part of live-in lovers, but last night had been the real thing. The lines were beginning to blur.

“Excuse me a minute.”

A covers band tuned up on stage as she weaved her way between the tables and headed for the ladies bathroom. At least the dinner and speeches were over.

Pushing open the door, she escaped inside the luxuriously appointed powder room, sinking into a comfortable, floral upholstered chair and staring at her image in the mirror. Unclipping her evening bag, she took out a make-up brush and ran it lightly over her pale face.

Luke had effortlessly put forward a plausible reason for missing out on the contract, his quick thinking succeeding in getting her off the hook as well. They could strike that problem off the list.

But where did the playacting stop and reality begin?

She heard his voice in her head. “Our ages match up.”

So did their libidos.

She sprayed herself lightly with perfume. She wanted him to stay with her tonight. She’d known it the moment she felt the touch of his hand on her waist and his lips against her hair, from the moment they’d locked eyes when she could finally see properly.

Standing up, she smoothed down her dress and pulled on her gloves. All she had to do was give the new Family Court Judge her congratulations and they could take their leave.

But as she exited the ladies room and passed by a table of rowdy police prosecutors, Jim O’Callaghan stood up, effectively blocking her way.

“Allegra, would you do me the honour of this dance?” he asked, loud enough to draw amused sniggers from the others.

She smiled and glanced at his companions, nodding to a few of the prosecutors she recognised. She liked Jim. He was harmless, but he had two or three too many drinks under his belt.

“I was just about to leave, Jim.”

“Go on Allegra. Put the guy out of his misery,” one of them called out as the rest laughed in unison.

“Yes, put me out of my misery.” With an amusingly pathetic expression, Jim reached for her bag and shawl and placed them on the table. “You can make it up to me for bailing on our lunch date.”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “It was hardly a date. More a hastily grabbed sandwich.”

“You’re a real big spender, Jim.” Another in the group laughed as he took her by the arm and led her to the dance floor.

Allegra gave up and followed. Any further protest would be futile. She’d have one dance, thank him nicely and make her escape.

Across the room Luke stood at the bar, watching as O’Callaghan took Ally in his arms.

“What can I get you?” the barman asked from behind him.

“Bourbon straight, thanks.”

Officially he might be working, but he still felt like a drink, needed something to take the edge off, particularly now when he felt like striding across the room and reclaiming his woman.

Only she wasn’t his to reclaim.

He saw Ally’s eyes slide in the direction of their table, noticed the slight frown crease her forehead as she spied his empty seat, but then O’Callaghan turned her the other way and she didn’t see him standing at the bar.

Luke picked up the heavy tumbler and brought it to his lips. Did she feel unsafe with O’Callaghan? Granted, the guy seemed busy working an angle and talking himself up, but the poor sod had it bad for her, whether she realised it or not.

Luke took a hit of bourbon, the fiery liquid sliding down his throat as his eyes flickered over her. The rich purple gown left one shoulder exposed while clinging to every curve of her hourglass body then falling in soft folds to the floor. As she danced, a slash to the knee exposed a shapely lower leg, her black four inch stilettos no impediment to the way she moved…

Glancing around the room, Luke took stock of the men watching Allegra. She naturally stood out, though she didn’t try hard to draw attention to herself. Tonight, she wore her hair loose, her only jewellery a pair of silver, sparkling earrings that dropped almost to her shoulders.

But the black satin gloves that reached past her elbows were definitely the ‘pièce de résistance’ and added to her elegant style. She’d worn them when she’d first arrived and must have put them back on when she went to the ladies room. Now, the two of them moved in a casual waltz, their legs moving in unison to the three four time signature.

To Luke’s relief, the song ended, and he saw Ally take a step back as the band began jamming on a slow blues. Only O’Callaghan wouldn’t take no for an answer, coaxing and cajoling a reluctant Ally back into his arms.

Too well mannered to make a show, or perhaps because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, Ally continued dancing.

The fool couldn’t take a hint.

Or was it more?

Obsession?

Luke drained the remainder of his bourbon in one go, seething with anger at the uncomfortably strained look on her face. He was supposed to be here tonight as Ally’s lover. It was about time he started behaving like one.

Leaving his glass on the bar, he headed for the dance floor, incensed as he watched the prosecutor’s hand slip lower and lower down her back and slide over her shapely bottom.

The guy was history.

But then Ally caught sight of him and smiled, looking so relieved his heartbeat shifted into overdrive, his aggression towards O’Callaghan fading. Much as he’d love to flatten the guy, he wouldn’t embarrass her that way, or himself for that matter. There were more civilised ways of getting what he wanted than taking out his frustration on a half drunk lawyer.

Threading his way through the dancing couples, he tapped O’Callaghan on the shoulder, giving the guy a cordial nod as he turned around. “Excuse me, mate. Mind if I dance with my girlfriend?”

O’Callaghan’s eyes widened, and to his credit he stepped away immediately. “Oh, of course, I apologise for monopolising her time. We go way back,” he added, by way of explanation.

“Thanks.” Luke didn’t move a muscle, just waited as the guy nodded hastily to Ally and took his leave.

Luke’s eyes locked on hers and he held out his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

She stared at him, the dress showing off her eyes. He held his breath, wondering if she intended declining.

“You took your sweet time getting here, Commander.”

And then she glided towards him and he folded her in his arms, holding her closely against his chest. He heard her sigh as the tension left her body and her head came down on his shoulder.

Possessiveness had him tightening his hold on her.

It felt right. It felt so right.

He began moving in time to the slow beat of the music, eyes watching the crowd of people, her perfume tantalising his senses. “I couldn’t be sure you’d welcome my interruption.”

“Are you serious?”

He sucked in a breath as her arms slid beneath his jacket and curled around his waist.

“I am serious,” he managed to say. “For all I know, you might fancy O’Callaghan.”

The lights dimmed and he steered her into a protected corner of the dance floor. Enveloped in the darkness, fire surged through his body as her gloved hands pressed into the small of his back, urging him closer.

“You really think I’d kiss you if I were interested in O’Callaghan?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

Luke pressed his lips against her shell-shaped ear so she could hear him over the music. “You really think I’d stand you up after arranging our date?”

Luke’s heart thundered in time with the rhythm section as he felt her arms tighten around him. “It’s not a real date.”

Dear God it felt like one!

Luke squeezed her gently, hated breaking the spell, but he was left without a choice. He’d have to convince her of the real date thing another time.

“Much as I love you draped around me this way, be careful not to run your hands too high up my back. I’m wearing a piece.”

As expected, she froze in his arms, which wasn’t a bad thing because it gave him a chance to get his body parts under control. Slowly she brought her hands up to his chest and lifted her head to look at him.

“Really?”

“Yes, it’s why I haven’t removed my jacket.” Sliding his hand beneath her hair, he moved the pad of his thumb across her soft cheek. “But don’t worry. I don’t think it’s necessary for me to plug O’Callaghan.”

To his relief she burst out laughing, and he watched, pleased to see her happy and enjoying herself for a short time.

As he took hold of her again, this time in a more conventional dance style, she gazed up at him.

“Is it—loaded?”

He tightened his hold on her and twirled her in a spin, catching her by surprise and making her gasp. Unable to resist teasing her, he growled in her ear. “It’s always loaded, baby.”

He watched her lips part as the double entendre sank in. She blushed, a deep plum colour diffusing her alabaster face and neck. She was so darn gorgeous, proper, and dangerously sexy all rolled into one package.

“I’m sorry, that was out of line,” he said, though he was having difficulty wiping the grin off his face.

She laughed, and at that precise moment Luke couldn’t believe she was the cool lawyer with the glacial stare he’d watched strutting her stuff in court.

Then, as if she’d read his mind, she morphed into that very person. He knew she was only acting, yet she gave him the same stern look she’d given him when he’d kissed her the first time they met.

“That was so unprofessional, totally uncalled for. See, I can’t take you anywhere.”

He laughed in amazement, and she joined in, as if it were all a game.

Then he said something he’d been dying to say all night and hadn’t found the right moment, because he’d spent too much time talking to her boss and not her.

“You look beautiful, Ally.”

Allegra stopped moving and stared up at him, knowing he meant every word he said. Luke Neilson would never resort to flattery to get what he wanted.

“Thank you. You’re pretty hot yourself, Commander.”

He gave her that same sexy wink that always made her heart jump. “Well, I’m an acquired taste.”

A heady mixture of excitement and pleasure raced through her body. She reached up and made a show of straightening his bowtie, aware he was watching her through narrowed eyes. He lifted his chin a fraction, and she smiled as the satin material of her glove caught on his stubble. Unable to resist the impulse, she ran her finger lightly over the scar.

“How did you get this?”

He captured her hand and swung her around. “Keep the moves up, or we’ll draw the attention of others.”

“You won’t give me a straight answer will you?”

He chuckled, and she couldn’t work out whether he was enjoying teasing her, or if he really didn’t want to answer.

“It’s not as interesting a story as you might imagine.”

“Try me?”

“I got in a fight over a girl.”

“Liar!”

He threw back his head and laughed, and Allegra caught her breath. She loved him like this, all playful and flirty.

“What?” he asked, “you can’t imagine that happening?”

She took a deep breath, an internal battle raging inside her.

If he were right in his assessment of her situation, and one of the photographs ended up on the net, it would be there for the entire world to see whenever her name was typed into a search engine. And all these people here tonight, her colleagues and peers would never look at her the same way again. She’d lose all credibility as a litigator.

And when that happened, her time with Luke would be over. He’d move onto the next case, and if he scored the Grace and Poole contract, she wouldn’t be employed there anymore.

She wanted him. Now. And she needed him to know. If she didn’t make a move she knew she’d regret it. Just like she regretted running away from him ten months ago.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he prompted her. “Despite me getting rid of O’Callaghan, you can’t imagine I’d get in a fight over a girl?”

She lifted her eyes and looked into his, her gaze never wavering. She’d never been a gambler, but this time she was prepared to gamble everything she had and was.

“What I can’t understand, is why the girl would even consider anyone else.”

Chapter Eleven

“Ally!” Luke groaned. “I should check the cameras first.”

He said ‘should’ not ‘must’!

Holding that thought, Allegra pressed her lips into his neck, stubble scouring her cheek as he attempted to unlock the door of her apartment.

Apart from a lingering kiss in the car, which left her restless and unsatisfied, he hadn’t touched her, his priority to get her home safely.

The trip had taken a century.

Huddled in the small foyer, she nuzzled closer, his clean, tangy taste stimulating her tastebuds and for one insane moment she was tempted to give him a love bite. She checked her rampaging hormones, shocked by her desire. She was hardly a teenager.

Luke growled low in his throat and fumbled the keys. “Baby, you’re making this impossible.”

Allegra lifted her head and ran a fingertip along his jaw. “The problem is Commander, unlike you, I’ve endured a sexual drought of El Niño proportions.”

He chuckled, powerful shoulders shaking with amusement. “A self-imposed drought?”

“Are you complaining?” She smoothed her hands over his chest, her fingertips tracing the contours of well developed pectoral muscles. The man was one hundred percent male, his face all strong planes and rigid angles. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, thrilled and nervous at the thought of making love with him.

He swooped and planted a hot kiss on her mouth, robbing her of oxygen. “Sexual favours aren’t in my job description, but since it’s a deal breaker for you, I’ll bend the rules.”

She gave him a playful punch in the chest. “Can you please hurry?” That damn door was the only thing standing between them and a good time.

The lock clicked, and he hustled her inside, kicking the door closed with the heel of his shoe. In the hallway, his tall form merged with the midnight shadows.

Eyes like black onyx roamed the length of her body.

Allegra’s heart battered in her chest, and her breasts swelled of their own volition. Her nipples went painfully hard inside her strapless bra.

A muscle moved in his cheek, and his breathing turned ragged. “I have work …”

Allegra reached for him. “You have work to do right here, Commander.”

She hit the solid wall of his chest as he pulled her into a fierce embrace, his lips crushing hers in a warm, wet, bourbon-flavoured kiss. Strong fingers plunged into her hair as he backed her up against the wall, one muscular thigh separating hers. He pinned her with his weight, tilting her face upwards, his questing tongue invading the inner softness of her mouth.

Allegra reeled, her body in meltdown, the muscles in her lower belly clenching with anticipation and longing. Aroused by his sheer physical dominance, she clutched at his jacket, sharing his breath, barely able to withstand the onslaught.

She gasped, and he checked himself, his conquering kiss turning sweet and seductive. His lips softened, and his mouth caressed hers with a sensual reverence that heated her blood. A gentle hand smoothed her hair from her face and she melted against him, his heart a metronomic pulse beneath her fingertips.

The instant she went boneless and her body began trembling, Luke harnessed every bit of his willpower and broke the kiss.

He let her go—and stepped away.

It just about killed him.

Ignoring her cries of protest, he reached beneath his jacket and unbuckled the harness, sliding it from his body in one swift movement.

“What are you doing?”

She flinched as he took out the pistol and released the safety catch.

He put the leather strap on the hall table and met her eyes. “I want you baby, so bad it physically hurts. But it’s not going to happen. Not until after I check those cameras.”

She buried her face in her hands and his heart went out to her. He longed to take her in his arms again, but he steeled himself, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop. A moment ago he’d been ready to take her against the wall, hard and fast like an oversexed high school jock.

And that’s not the way he wanted this to go down. He could do so much better.

“Please, Ally. Don’t make it more difficult.”

She looked up and his heart sank at the frustration in her eyes. Moments before her body had been molten liquid in his arms, her eyes dazed and drunk with passion.

She dragged in an unsteady breath and wrapped her arms around her body. “You’re right for pressing the pause button. I hope everything’s okay.”

“Me too.” He clicked his fingers for the dog. “But hope isn’t a strategy.”

When she didn’t say anything, he took the lead from behind the kitchen door and clipped it onto the dog’s collar, fearing the resignation in her voice. He had to give her more, something to hold onto.

“One of us has to keep a level head.” He grasped hold of the lead as the animal bounded around excitedly, accustomed now to their late night outings. He winked, desperate to make her feel better. “You can have your wicked way with me afterwards.”

She didn’t answer right away and Luke held his breath, fearing what might come next. If she changed her mind, he’d be in for one hell of a rough night.

But she smoothed down her gown with nervous hands and looked embarrassed. “Can I hold you to that?”

His heart swelled and he let go of his breath, relief washing over him. “I’ll give you my personal guarantee.”

Against his better judgment, he reached out and caressed her cheek. “After this, I can relax.”

He stepped away before his resolve caved in. At the door he glanced over his shoulder. “And stay as you are. I remove the dress.”

His command brought colour to her face and his heartbeat shifted gears. “This time we go slow.”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling in the dark. “Hurry.”

***

For the third time that night, the everyday man pulled the car into the curb halfway up the block from her apartment, watching as the lights flicked on inside.

Anger welled up inside him. She was finally home.

Killing the engine, he sat in the darkness, watching for movement on the street, but other than Allegra, the neighbourhood appeared to be sleeping. Strange for a Friday night.

He opened the door and climbed out, closing it with a quiet click. Silence—other than the distant sound of breakers on Bondi Beach.

He paused, letting his eyes adjust, scouting for obstacles that could prove hazardous in the dark. Numerous times he’d made the journey here, wandering around the seaside suburb during the day.

Blending in with the tourists.

Familiarising himself with the streetscape.

There was a gap in the cyclone fencing of a partially constructed two storey home, making it the perfect spot to hide while he watched. But he wouldn’t be watching for much longer now. He’d wasted too much time admiring her from afar. Believing her pure. Untouched.

And then he’d found the photographs.

Impotent anger crackled along every nerve ending. She wasn’t who he thought she was.

Pulling the cap low over his face he set off down the darkened, tree-lined street. In less than a minute he’d slipped through the gap in the wire and moved into the shadow of a dumpster. The midnight air was cool, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his fleece and trained his eyes across the street.

A light remained on in her apartment. Through the blinds he glimpsed a fleeting shadow. Two shadows.

He gave the rage in his heart free rein. Something had prevented the photographs from arriving at Grace and Poole, most likely a security program filtering straight to a spam file. It was something he hadn’t considered. A mistake he wouldn’t make again.

She’d looked like an angel tonight, but she wouldn’t be rubbing elbows with Sydney’s top legal eagles for much longer. She might have escaped this time, but Allegra Greenwood was living on borrowed time. He was ready to make his move whenever the opportunity arose.

He started as light spilled from the side entry onto the driveway. Someone came out of the apartments. Pressing back into the shadows, he squinted in the darkness.

It was her lover, taking the dog out for a leak before bedtime.

He watched the bloke walk the dog in the front yard, then squat near the boundary fence. Straining his neck he tried to see what he was up to, when there was a sudden flash of light lasting a couple of seconds.

Could he have lit a cigarette, squatting down next to the dog as the animal did its business?

Glancing into the dumpster, his eyes rested on a piece of four by two hardwood. He reached for it. If he got close enough he’d take him out once and for all.

He moved towards the gap in the fence as the bloke walked up the street and turned around. And then the dog came to a halt, turning its head in his direction, sensing him, forcing him back into the shadows.

Stupid bloody mutt! Maybe he’d prepare a special dinner for him to enjoy.

The big bloke stopped too. He looked in his direction for what seemed an eternity.

Finally he tugged on the dog’s lead and went back inside.

The everyday man let the piece of timber slide from his hand, breathing heavily as he moved through the gap in the fence.

He crossed the road, using the wall of the building as cover as he moved down the driveway, footsteps scrunching on the loose gravel.

The AMG was in the visitor’s parking area.

Shaking his head, he dug in his pocket for the Swiss Army knife. Her lover should know better than to leave a high end luxury car sitting out in the open.

Hate burning in his heart, he pushed the knife from its cover and thrust the blade into the rear left tyre, then the right.

He moved to the front end, grinning. He’d only bought this gadget last week. It had everything; a blade, tiny LED torch, even a USB flash drive where he now stored the photographs of Allegra.

Thrusting the blade into the two front tyres, he listened to the hissing sound of air escaping.

Time to go.

He hurried back to his car, started the engine and did a U turn.

That would surprise her lover in the morning.

Next time, he’d be thrusting a knife between the bloke’s ribs, and listening, as the hiss of air escaped from his lungs.

***

Allegra opened the door when she heard the knock. “Everything okay?”

“I’m not sure.” Luke unclipped the lead from Astro’s collar, setting the dog loose before turning and bolting the door.

She laid a hand on his arm. “You were gone a while. What happened?”

Luke shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. Then he took her arm and they sat together on the couch. “Take a look at this.”

He pulled a remote control from a trouser pocket and scrolled through images taken from the camera. “This shows the front of the property and the street.”

He pointed to a car, an early model Toyota. “See this car.” He scrolled through more images. “It came down the street twice tonight, and when I went out it was parked half way up the block. It’s the first time I’ve seen it. Do you recognise this car?”

Allegra shook her head. “No, but it could belong to anyone in the street, or a visitor perhaps. I haven’t taken much notice.”

Luke nodded. “Another thing. This is the last shot taken just before I went out. See here, there’s a person getting out of the same car, wearing a cap. We know the guy who gave the packet to McGregor wore a cap, but it’s too far away to get a good look. I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.”

Allegra sucked in a breath, fear chilling her heart as she gazed at the grainy photo. Up until now the person threatening her had remained faceless. “You think this could be him, or her?”

Luke pulled her close and pressed his lips to her temple. “It’s possible, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ll have Tom run the plate number.”

The light from his phone lit his strong features as he waited for Tom to pick up. “Something in that half constructed house got the dog’s attention. It makes me uneasy, too many hiding places.”

Icy spiders crawled up Allegra’s back. “You think this guy is out to hurt me? That he’ll do more than expose me on the net?”

Luke pulled her closer and she shuddered, laying her head on his chest.

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

He threaded the fingers of his free hand through her hair. “I promise he won’t get within an inch of you.”

Allegra closed her eyes, comforted by his warmth as he spoke to Tom. He was totally focussed. At a time like this, she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather have in her corner.

He hung up, and she sat up as he shifted beneath her, watching as he stood and moved across the shadowy room.

She held her breath as he parted the curtain a fraction and surveyed the street.

He turned to her, relief plain on his face. “It’s not there. The car’s gone.”

She rose unsteadily, unsure what he planned next.

Then he grinned and opened his arms.

Allegra didn’t hesitate. She closed the distance between them, reluctant to waste even a minute of their stolen time together.

In one easy movement he swept her off her feet as if she weighed nothing and strode towards the bedroom.

“Come on, counsellor. I’ve got a promise to keep.”

Allegra lit the scented candle on the dressing table and turned to face him. “I know you want to remove the dress,” she said, arching an eyebrow, “but I should take off my accessories first.”

“Not the gloves.”

“Ooh, not the gloves,” she said, giving him a naughty smile and enjoying his amused expression. “Who knew the tough Commander had a thing for satin gloves.”

“I like them.” He ran his hands up and down her arms, turning her skin to gooseflesh. The difference in him was notable. The edginess had disappeared.

She fiddled with his bowtie and studied his face. “I like a man who doesn’t feel his masculinity threatened by such an admission.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Don’t tell me we’re finally in agreement?”

“We are.”

“So leave them on.”

“Yes sir.”

Tilting her head, she unhooked one sparkling earring, then the other, and dropped them into a glass bowl on the dressing table.

He’d made a point of saying they would go slow. She couldn’t imagine anything more erotic.

With a rustle of fabric, she lifted her skirt and planted a stilettoed foot on the bedroom stool. No matter what the future held, she was determined Luke Neilson would remember this night.

“You may have to help me, Commander. I can’t manage the straps wearing gloves.”

With something like a feral growl, he squatted to undo the shoe, but stopped short, his attention diverted by the silky stocking she wore. As she hoped, his eyes zeroed in on the clips of her garter belt, peeking out from under her hitched up dress.

She heard him inhale sharply, quivered as he placed one large hand on her calf and with deliberate slowness ran it up and over her knee, all the way to her thigh where he pushed the luxurious material aside so he could admire the lingerie.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “God, Ally, you’re a sight to behold.”

Then he effortlessly straightened and pulled her to him, kissing her with the same fierce rapture, feeding her habit with another addictive hit. She parted her lips under his, helpless against the drugging rub of his tongue, his jaw abrasive against her cheek.

Allegra swayed, light-headed, her arms creeping like ivy around his neck, her blood flow diverted to organs lower down.

Breaking the kiss, she groped for the dress studs on his shirt, her gloved fingers an impediment to her endeavours. He captured her hands when she groaned in frustration, chuckling at her haste.

“Slow down, baby—me first.”

He spun her around so she was staring at their reflection in the framed wooden mirror. She gasped as he pressed up close behind her, his hardness at her hip, one hand wrapped around her waist as he drew her back against him. Gathering her hair in his free hand he lifted the whole mass off her shoulders and pressed his warm lips to her nape.

Her entire body trembling with arousal, Allegra curled one gloved arm around his neck as he freed her hair and reached for the zipper of her dress, opening it with tantalising slowness, until the material loosened and he gently lifted the garment from her shoulders.

With a rustle, the purple material pooled at her feet, leaving her standing in a black strapless bra, panties, garter belt, shoes and stockings.

“You’re beautiful.” Deft fingers expertly unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, large warm hands taking its place, the most perfect bra nature could provide.

Allegra leaned back against the hard wall of his torso, staring in awe at their reflection. He towered over her, strong hands massaging her breasts, his face turned into the exposed, white expanse of her neck. She closed her eyes as his lips moved over the sensitised flesh of her throat, blood roaring in her ears, burning moisture pooling between her thighs.

Luke groaned his appreciation as Allegra’s nipples hardened like blood diamonds in his palms. Then she swivelled in his arms and rewarded him with an R-Rated view of her back.

Kissing the soft spot beneath her ear lobe, he ran his lips down the pale length of her neck to the juncture of her collarbone. She murmured, swaying like an exotic dancer as his hands roamed her back, her gloved arms looped around his neck. He slid his hands lower, skimmed the lacy black knickers, garter belt and stockings, rock hard in his trousers.

Luke slammed his eyes closed, felt his temperature spike as his fingers worked at the studs of his shirt. He managed to release the top two before she dragged her mouth away and reached for his bowtie. One quick pull and it joined the bra. She reached up and helped him tug the shirt over his head.

Finally, skin met skin, the exquisite softness of her breasts pressing against the wall of his chest. He palmed one perfect globe then dipped his head and moistened a cherry-coloured nipple with his tongue. Then drew it between his lips and suckled strongly.

She cried out, thrusting her gloved hands into his hair and cradling his head as she arched closer. She smelled like warm peaches, skin flushed and feverish beneath his hands. He shifted his attention to her other breast, grazing her nipple with the edge of his teeth then soothing it with his tongue.

“Yes, Luke.” Her breathy cry had his groin throbbing with exquisite torture and his mind shutting down.

“I want to feel your skin,” she murmured, the breath hitching in her throat as she peeled off the gloves. And then her bare hands were smoothing across his shoulders, her questing fingers pressing and massaging the joints and muscles in his arms and chest.

At flash point, Luke wondered how long he could keep control.

He scooped her up for the second time that night, their shadows merging on the wall. He laid her on the bed and stood looking down at her, heart racing along in top gear.

Spread out that way, she looked like a beautiful sacrifice.

With as much smoothness as he could muster, he undid his belt and trousers, slipping them off along with the rest of his clothing, until he stood naked before her. He’d seen practically every inch of her in the photographs. It was only fair he afford her the same courtesy.

He swallowed as her ‘come to bed’ baby blues lingered on every part of his body, for the first time ever suffering a degree of uncertainty. Smart and stunning, she had high standards, and he hoped she liked what she saw.

He wasn’t disappointed.

With a gentle smile she sat up and reached for him, the trust in her luminous eyes making his heart constrict.

“You look amazing,” Allegra whispered, barely able to speak as she continued gazing in awe at the ruggedly handsome man eager to make love to her. In superb shape, his muscled torso was ripped and toned, his chest covered in a fine smattering of dark blonde hair that dipped in a narrowing column to his navel and beyond.

The wide shoulders and bulging biceps reminded her of a competitive swimmer, the scars he bore adding character to his battle-hardened body.

Allegra swallowed, her mouth going dry. Though she’d glimpsed bits and pieces of him before tonight, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of him fully naked.

“I think you’ve set a new benchmark,” she said, making him splutter with laughter as he joined her on the bed.

“I mean it.” She couldn’t keep the admiration from her voice. “You are one hot guy, Commander.”

He loomed over the top of her and pushed her gently back against the pillows. “And you’re using flattery to get what you want.”

He dipped his head and she threaded her fingers into his hair as he pressed his lips between her breasts.

“Am I so transparent?” She gasped, watching as he moved lower and began undoing the clips on her garter belt.

“Tell me you wore these for me.” He rolled one stocking all the way down to her ankle and removed it along with her shoe. He did the same with her other leg.

“Well I didn’t wear them for O’Callaghan.”

He scowled at the mention of the prosecutor’s name. “Just as well, or I might have to end the guy.”

Her amused laugh ended in a throaty cry as he trailed hot kisses across her abdomen, his hands gently parting her legs so he could stroke the tender skin on the inside of her thighs.

“I wear them because they make me feel sexy.” She leaned against the pillows, struggling to stay coherent as his mouth moved lower. “And I might have been living in hope you’d show up some time tonight.”

He lifted his head and grinned at her, a triumphant expression on his face. “Is that right?”

Placing her hands on either side of his face, she nodded. “But don’t get a swelled head, Commander.”

He turned and kissed the inside of her thigh, causing her to catch her breath again. “It’s not my head that’s swollen, baby.”

She laughed, loving their sexual banter. It made what they were doing hotter, if that were possible, and more fun. He had a natural way about him that made her feel uninhibited. And he’d seen the photographs, so in some strange way they’d already shared a certain level of intimacy.

He slid his hands beneath her bottom and coaxed her lower body upwards. Then with a tantalising slowness that edged her towards madness, he inched off her knickers and garter belt.

“You enjoy feeling sexy?” he asked, his voice going husky, his eyes burning with arousal.

She nodded, a heated wetness pooling at her centre as she stared at his to-die-for face.

He moved lower, rubbed his jaw along her thigh making her breath hitch in her throat. She knew it to be impossible, but her heartbeat seemed to suspend in her chest as he parted the soft lips hidden amongst her curls.

“Time to get sexy for me, baby.”

More effective than any defibrillator, the stroke of his tongue on the cluster of nerve endings at her centre charged her body with an electrical impulse so strong she cried out.

She caught his ‘relax baby’ and sank back against the pillows, closing her eyes. She threw a forearm across her face as her limbs began to shake, couldn’t help her soft murmurs of appreciation as she surrendered to the devoted pleasure being lavished on her.

She tunnelled her hands into his silky hair, unable to stop the slight rotation of her hips as the muscles in her lower abdomen tensed and relaxed in delicious response to the motion of his questing tongue.

She moaned as a column of heat rippled outwards, her core in meltdown, her breath coming in soft pants.

Sensing the point of no return and desperate for him to join her, she tried coaxing him upwards. “Please, Luke…”

Her plea had him sliding two fingers inside her, and with a defeated moan she surrendered, allowing him to take her closer to the edge, her body shamelessly seeking the gratification he offered.

She came with a cry, her body convulsing with a series of powerful contractions that had Luke’s erection throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Jesus!

She was so darn sweet and sexy and carnal, he had to fill his mind with something else—and quickly. He cast his mind back to their first meeting. This might have happened ten months ago if he hadn’t monumentally stuffed up.

When she lay quiet, sated, he slipped off the bed and took a condom from the pocket of his trousers. Her soft eyes followed his every move as he sheathed himself then slid across the bed to hold her again. He settled her against his chest, his body hot and pulsing with the full force of his libido.

Tucked into the crook of his arm, she gave him a dreamy smile. “That was incredible. I want to do it all again.”

He wasn’t about to argue.

“Would you like me to reciprocate, or are you excited enough?”

Luke groaned at the visual, rested his forehead against hers, careful of her injury. “Baby, I’m so turned on I could come right here.”

She gave a delighted laugh and nuzzled her face into his neck like she had when they’d first arrived home. “Well come on, Commander, don’t hide that heat seeking missile.”

She wrapped her long legs around his hips and he didn’t need to be asked twice. He rolled her on her back and pushed inside her warm, moist depths, groaning with pleasure as her internal muscles grasped him with a strength he wouldn’t have believed her capable of.

She sighed, moving her hips to accommodate him more easily and Luke slammed his eyes closed, cradling her warm body. Her hair brushed his cheek, as did her lips, and he marvelled at the softness of both. Her throaty voice murmured in his ear driving every thought from his head until there was her, and only her.

It felt right. It felt so damn right!

He kissed her swollen mouth, parting her lips and searching for her tongue, his body moving in a rhythm evolved over millions of years. She moved with him, her cries of pleasure urging him on and he drove harder, until he lost himself totally in her body.

And then his heart seemed to burst, and his brain fogged over, as with one final thrust he exploded inside her, triggering another orgasm in her so she convulsed around him, their bodies riding out the wave of passion in perfect synchronised harmony.

Wrapped in an afterglow from which he never wanted to emerge, Luke held her for a long time, their limbs entwined. Eventually, their heartbeats slowed, and their bodies began to cool, and he shifted his weight and stretched out beside her, reaching for her in the candlelight.

As she snuggled against him, he stared up at the decorative pressed metal ceiling. There’d been times when he’d feared for his life, more so for the lives of the men under his command. There’d been times when he’d feared other things, like being permanently maimed by war, or never making love to a woman again.

Now, he feared for his heart.

He gathered her closer, knowing he could never deliberately hurt her. She didn’t know it, but he already had, when he failed to save her brother’s life. And he dreaded her rejection when she discovered his culpability.

It scared him, as much as the psychopath pursuing her.

Chapter Twelve

Luke disentangled his leg from the lilac-coloured sheet and rolled over, squinting at the illuminated numbers on Ally’s radio.

Five thirty.

No matter how much or how little sleep he got, his body was like clockwork. Even on Saturday.

Collapsing onto his back, he watched her sleeping the ‘sleep of the dead’. Last night had been a revelation. Beautiful in the extreme, they’d made love with all the unleashed power and intensity of a category five storm.

Bringing his hands behind his head, he interlaced his fingers and stretched out his shoulders. He knew he should get up and start work, but he quickly talked himself out of it. He was overseeing his client’s wellbeing right now.

He glanced again at her tousled blonde hair. Who really knew that this ice cool lawyer wore sexy undergarments beneath her conservative attire as if in silent protest at the establishment? Who knew that beneath the ambitious veneer lay a seductive temptress, the kind of woman a man would be eager to come home to every night?

“You can wipe the smug smile off your face, Commander.”

He rolled over, his body stirring at the sound of her voice.

Skimming her hair away from her face, he sidled up close. “The candle’s out. Your screams of pleasure snuffed it.”

With an effort she lifted her head, her unfocussed eyes moving between him and the burnt out candle. With a tired sigh she lowered her head onto the pillow.

“You’re full of it.”

He chuckled at her inability to wake quickly, slipping his arms around her warm body and pressing his lips against her ear. “Why are you tired? We only did it five times, not that I’m boasting.”

She sighed, looking like she wanted to go back to sleep, so he ran the tip of his tongue around her outer ear, making her shiver. He was hard again, couldn’t believe the more he had her, the more he wanted her.

She shifted her head onto his shoulder, and snaked her arm across his chest. “You seem pleased with yourself.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Didn’t we break some kind of record?”

“Thanks to my box of antique condoms.”

He laughed again. “I thought I was living in hope, bringing one.”

Her eyes zeroed in on the small tattoo on his right pectoral muscle. “What do these numbers mean?” she asked, gazing up at him as she pressed her lips to the series of numbers inked into his skin.

“Don’t worry about that now,” he whispered, wanting her again. He stuck the soft tip of his tongue into her ear canal and watched in fascination as her cherry coloured nipples hardened instantly.

“I want to know you,” she objected. “It’s only fair.”

He swallowed, lowering his head back onto the pillow with a sigh. It wasn’t common practice for him to make love to a woman then bare his soul. In the past, he’d kept the emotional and physical firmly separated, but it was becoming impossible to do that with her. He’d overstepped his self-imposed boundaries from the very start.

And now, she wanted to talk to him intimately, and he wished for her sake he was better at it.

“You know all about me,” she was saying. “You’d even seen me naked before last night.”

He couldn’t argue with that, or deny the jealousy he’d suffered when she’d danced with O’Callaghan. He was getting deeper into her with every minute they spent together. Couldn’t deny the way she’d jump-started his jaded heart.

“It’s a mate’s number. A good mate of mine who didn’t make it.”

Her limpid eyes swimming with sympathy, she used her index finger to trace the numbers on his chest. “You must have been close to get this done?”

He nodded, groaning inwardly with every question she asked. He didn’t want to talk about the awful stuff, not when they were naked in bed together and her fingers were stroking his chest. Couldn’t she at least wait until they were dressed?

Gritting his teeth, he did his best. “The greatest asset a soldier has is the man standing next to him. We worked in Special Forces together for a long time.”

“Did he die on your watch?”

His stomach clenched. Her brother had. “No, he was killed when a Blackhawk went down. I was home by then.”

“And you had the tattoo done after you left?”

“How did you know that?”

“Martin told me tattoos that reveal nationality are banned.”

Her mention of Martin was like a douse of cold water. “I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to talk, Ally.”

“I know, but how do you unburden yourself?”

“I don’t. I live with it.”

“That’s a tough gig, Commander.” She moved to the Celtic iron cross tattooed on his bicep. “Are you of Irish stock?”

He sighed, embarrassed at the question. “I got it when I came back from my first tour of duty, when I was young, stupid and drunk.”

To his relief she didn’t press him further. He’d had it done after his fiancée shot through, craving a level of pain that would diminish the ache in his chest.

“Well I love them and the scars even more so,’ she said, kissing the two inch scar on his shoulder. “It’s your story. Like the photographs are mine.”

He threaded his fingers through her silky hair. “Your story makes for prettier viewing.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.” She ran a fingertip over the raised scar on his shoulder. “What happened here?”

Luke held his breath. It had to be co-incidence. She couldn’t know.

“Enemy gunfire. The same spray of bullets put one in my lower back. I was lucky it didn’t hit the spinal cord.”

She went still, her eyes troubled, and he sat up quickly and threw off the sheet, wishing he hadn’t been so honest. Nothing like war stories to kill the mood. Swinging his legs to the floor, he raked his fingers through his hair.

He was done talking.

“Luke?”

He flinched as she touched his back, recalling her words as he pushed himself to his feet. I’m cursed. Every man I ever cared about ended up dead.

“You knew you weren’t going to like the answer, Ally. So why ask?”

Confused, and more than a little hurt, Allegra watched him leave the room and go into the bathroom. What did he mean? You knew you weren’t going to like the answer…

Of course the thought of him being injured filled her with horror, but she still wanted to know part of his history. The bits he was allowed to share with her, or wanted to. She groaned and flopped back on the pillows, covering her eyes with her hands. Maybe it was all too soon.

Hearing Astro bound into the room with a sharp yelp, she sat up. “Come here boy.”

She dragged the satin nightdress over her head and reached down to pat him. “It’s okay. It’s only Luke in the shower.”

But he trotted to the door, looking back as if expecting her to follow.

With a sigh, Allegra trailed him into the hallway, heard Luke turn off the shower. “You want to go outside?”

The dog looked at her expectantly.

“Stay,” she said quietly. Her stomach grumbled and she felt like tea. “He’ll only be a few minutes.”

As she passed through the lounge room, she glanced at the balcony door, curious to know if the Toyota was parked on the street again.

Pulling aside the curtain, she recognised the car immediately. It was parked across the street and up the road a bit. She let out a relieved sigh. It had to belong to a neighbour, probably someone working shift work.

She reached up to straighten the curtain, and froze. A dark shape moved in her peripheral vision.

The hairs on the back on her neck stood up.

Her heart squeezed in her chest.

Someone was standing there, on the other side of the glass.

She turned her head a fraction.

A man in a black balaclava.

Allegra’s hearing diminished and her scalp tingled as a burst of stress hormones sent blood gushing to her heart and lungs. Her stomach constricted, and for a few moments she failed to coax her paralysed limbs into action.

But she screamed long and hard until her throat burned, wheeling away as he took a backswing and drove something resembling a bat through the glass. He smashed the door with a deafening crash, sending projectiles of glass and wood across the room.

Allegra saw everything in slow motion as she dived for the lounge, her arms coming up instinctively to protect her head as she fell forward. She heard the bathroom door crash open, Luke shouting her name and Astro barking frantically.

She fell across the lounge, the hard curve of its arm striking her in the abdomen, knocking the wind out of her. Then Luke burst into the room in a pair of low riding jeans, gun at his shoulder as he swept the room with a laser-like focus.

There was a thud and a grunt from outside as the uninvited visitor dropped to the ground. Her attacker fled down the street, his footsteps pounding on the bitumen.

Allegra slumped forward, her left arm stinging, unable to get her breath after the sickening contact with the hard arm of the lounge.

“Ally!”

In the one fluid motion Luke stuck the weapon in the back of his jeans and sank to his knees beside her, eyes scanning her body, hands gentle as he checked for injuries.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his eyes wild. “God, Ally, are you hurt?”

When she couldn’t answer, he scrambled to his feet. Grasping her under the arms he stood her up, stretching out her ribcage until the breath came back into her lungs.

“That’s it,” he urged her on, his voice heavy with concern. “Nice, big, slow breaths.”

Gradually, the feeling of suffocation vanished, leaving her with the weakness that follows a sudden burst of adrenaline.

“I’m okay now.”

Luke eased her down until she was sitting on the lounge, then squatted next to her and examined her arm.

Allegra’s stomach heaved at the sight of her blood covered limb, and for one crazy moment, wondered whether she’d been shot.

“It’s glass from the broken door.” He glanced at her, controlled fury evident in his voice. “A piece caught you just below the shoulder.”

She looked towards the shattered door, her body wracked with tremors. A length of wood, the type used in construction, lay discarded on the balcony.

“Hold the dog, he might step on the glass and he’ll keep you warm.” Luke deposited Astro in her lap. “Hold tight Ally, I need to grab a few things.”

He disappeared for a minute, returning to drape a blanket around her shoulders, and push her feet into a pair of shoes. “You have to keep warm.”

With a loud rip, he tore a clean tea towel in half, winding it around her upper arm and tying it firmly. “It’s a surface cut of about an inch. I removed the piece of glass.”

Surprised, she tried to stop her teeth from chattering. “I didn’t even feel it.”

“Your body’s in fight or flight response. Everything’s heightened, including your pain tolerance.”

He glanced at her, his mouth set in a grim line. “Come on, let’s get you out of this room.” Bending down, he hooked an arm under her knees and scooped her, and the dog, into his arms.

“Is your tetanus shot up to date?”

She nodded as he carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. Then he sat beside her and pulled her into his arms, forcing Astro to wriggle out from between them and settle indignantly at the foot of the bed.

“I’m sorry.” He buried his face in her hair, breathing heavily. “It’s my fault. I made a mistake.”

Alarmed by the regret and self-blame in his voice, Allegra rallied, horrified he felt responsible for the actions of someone clearly deranged.

Gathering every ounce of strength she could muster, she caressed his face, framing it between her hands. “No, that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” He took her hands away and stood, swept a hand around the room. “I should never have slept in here last night.”

His declaration sent a fresh chill down her spine, and Allegra shook her head, hot tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered. “You don’t mean it.”

He pointed to the door. “I should have slept on the couch like before. If I’d stayed out there and done my job properly, I would have caught the bastard.”

Allegra stared at his angry face, her heart filled with sympathy. It was his way of expressing frustration and distress. “You can object all you like, but I’m not going to agree with you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Bending, he pulled the blankets firmly around her, his jaw clenched tight, a muscle tensing in his cheek.

“I knew the balcony was the most likely point of entry, and I left it unguarded.”

“Luke …”

But he wouldn’t listen, just turned and walked to the door. “He could have killed you. Now lie there, and do as I say.”

***

Two hours later Allegra sat in the passenger seat of her turbo-charged Volkswagen Golf, glad it wasn’t a work day. She stared blankly at the passing landscape as Luke took the M5 and headed south-west.

The mess in the apartment had been put right, and Tom had arrived, armed with an impressive array of computers, modems and assorted ‘techie’ equipment.

The AMG had been towed away to be fitted with four new tyres.

“Did you speak to my neighbours?”

As soon as she’d felt up to it, Luke had insisted she pack an overnight bag and then requested her car keys. He’d barely been off the telephone, issuing instructions to Nat and arranging for Tom to stay over until the door was repaired.

“Yes. They’ve been made aware Tom’s keeping an eye on things.”

Allegra sighed. “They’re probably terrified, the poor old things.”

Luke changed lanes and for a few seconds their eyes met. “I think we can safely cross them off our list of suspects,” he said with a grim smile. “I assured them the person was only a threat to you, that it was probably a disgruntled client.”

“Did they accept that?” She turned around and checked on Astro. The little dog was on the rear seat, standing on his hind legs, his nose stuck out the window.

“Seemed to.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer. “What’s Nat doing and where are we going?”

Luke sighed. “Okay, one thing at a time. We’re sure it’s the same guy. Sometimes he wears a cap, other times a hoodie, and now a balaclava. He’s been to your apartment on at least three or four occasions.”

He took one hand off the wheel and counted them off with his fingers. “The night in the garage, the time he cut the power, and last night he was pretty much there on and off all night. I’m not sure whether the guy you saw on the bike, who I assume delivered the newspaper, was him or not. It just doesn’t fit in with the other sightings. I think that’s more likely to be connected to Mulvaney and the shooting.”

He indicated and changed lanes again, overtaking a learner driver. “He must have been watching, because he destroyed the camera out front. The one I put on the balcony is intact, although it only got the top of his head. But the one out back recorded images of him slashing my tyres not long after we came home last night.”

He turned his head at her sharp intake of breath, and she caught the worry in his eyes. He was trying to protect her, concerned about the awful scare she’d had this morning.

“Is his face visible?” She wanted to identify the arsehole, wanted him locked up.

Luke shook his head. “He was wearing the cap earlier in the night. Tom’s trying to enhance the shots, and we’ll combine them with the mock ups, let you take a look at them later this afternoon.”

Allegra felt her skin crawl again.

“I checked out that house across the road. There’s a hole in the fence and a pile of wooden off cuts in the dumpster, like the one he used to break the door.”

Allegra shook her head and stared blindly through the windscreen. “Who the hell is he?”

“We ran the plates on the Corolla. It belongs to a woman who owns a boarding house in Darlinghurst. Nat’s on her way there now.”

“A boarding house? Inmates released on parole often stay in boarding houses.”

“I know.”

Allegra bit her lip. Maybe the whole unsavoury thing was linked to work. If that were the case, how they’d managed to get hold of Chris’ photographs was anyone’s guess.

“To answer your next question, we’re going to my place.”

She blinked in surprise. “We are?”

“Yep.”

“Where do you live? We’re leaving the city behind.”

“Bowral.”

“Bowral,” she repeated, thinking of the quaint village an hour’s drive from the outskirts of Sydney. .

He glanced at her, amusement lighting his eyes… “We’ll be back in the city tomorrow evening in time for work on Monday. What’s so strange about the Southern Highlands?”

Desperate to cheer him up and take his mind off the responsibility weighing him down, Allegra shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with God’s waiting room.”

His sudden shout of laughter sent her spirits soaring and only served to encourage her. “It’s very garden-oriented. I imagined you living in a modern, high rise city apartment—with a gym.”

He grinned at her oblique reference to his physique. “I have a small apartment near the office where I stay during the week. On weekends, I like to get out of the city.”

“Do you like tulips?”

“I like space, and I need it. You’ll see when you get there. You shouldn’t make assumptions.”

She smiled back, secretly thrilled she was about to see his more private side. Bowral was barely an hour and a half south west of the city. It would be nice to spend the weekend there.

“Nor should you, Commander.”

***

The man sat on the edge of the single bed and looked around the dreary room, thinking of the balaclava hidden at the back of the wardrobe. There’s no way she would have recognised him. She’d only seen him for a split second before he’d shattered the door—along with their weekend plans.

He snarled, wondering again what lame story she’d spun her lover for not wanting to call the police. He bet his life she wouldn’t have confessed about the photographs. With a bit of luck they would have had an almighty row and he’d shot through, leaving her alone.

The man rose, pulled back the covers and made sure the disk containing the photographs was still tucked between the mattress and the bed clothes. Her name written on the disk in permanent marker.

Allegra.

He hadn’t been able to resist taking it, looking at the images over and over, unable to believe what he’d discovered.

Allegra Greenwood.

The angel he’d been worshipping from afar wasn’t who he imagined her to be. And her indifference to him took on a whole new meaning.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the Swiss Army Knife and turned it over in his hands, wondering again about the person behind the lens. Had the Englishman been her lover, or had she paid him to do it?

Grinding his teeth, he closed the knife with a snap.

On Monday he’d print off two hard copies and courier them to Grace and Poole.

Then he’d lure her into his trap.

Her time had well and truly come.

Chapter Thirteen

Allegra opened her eyes and stared at the cream damask curtains drawn across the floor to ceiling windows. The bed was unfamiliar, and for a few seconds there was nothing. Then it all came rushing back. She was in Luke’s colonial style homestead.

She’d been dreaming again, black and white with splashes of red. Luke in camouflage gear, but the uniform was red instead of green. He smiled at her and then a photographer’s flash erased him. She went looking for him, but she was searching through piles of law books in her old university library. Red lips behind a large black telephoto lens.

Allegra wiped a hand across her brow and tried shaking off the remnants of her dream. She was safe here.

Set on five acres, the property boasted fortress style security, invisible to the naked eye. With the natural landscape in mind, Luke had installed an electronically controlled gate and hidden cameras around the perimeter. He’d shown her the constant stream of images feeding into monitors in the study and kitchen. All outbuildings on the property were individually alarmed.

When she’d questioned his need for such security, his reply was that he worked here on weekends. She hadn’t pressed him further.

She glanced at her watch. Four pm. She’d been asleep three hours.

Pushing aside the luxurious coverlet, she struggled to sit up, sore stomach muscles protesting with every movement. After they’d arrived, she’d taken a shower. Then Luke had changed her bandage, fed her two painkillers and put her to bed. Thankfully, the cut on her arm hadn’t needed stitches.

Looking around the femininely furnished guest room, she wondered at the separate sleeping arrangements. Especially after last night.

She stood up with a sigh and began making her way around the bed. Who was she kidding? According to Luke, last night was the entire problem.

“I thought I heard movement in here.”

She grasped hold of the bedpost and looked up to see him standing in the doorway.

“Nice sleep wear.” His observation was accompanied by a heart-stopping grin.

In her haste, she’d forgotten to pack pyjamas. The Cold Play tee-shirt he’d given her reached halfway to her knees.

She glanced down at the item of merchandise from their last Sydney concert. “I don’t fill it out the way you do.”

He laughed, and as always the sound lifted her spirits. He seemed more relaxed now they were here.

“You like your music, Commander.”

He came further into the room, hitched the shirt back onto her shoulder, his fingertips brushing her skin. “It’s a universal language.”

She wanted to say ‘like love’, but the words wouldn’t come. “True.”

The faint dimple flashed as he smiled. “More importantly, how are you feeling?”

“I can’t believe I slept so long.”

His hand was in the small of her back as he walked alongside her. “You needed it.”

Allegra glanced at up him, her heart skipping a beat. He’d changed into stressed denim jeans, a light grey ribbed knit shirt and riding boots. Could he ever look bad? She didn’t think so.

The guy was hotness squared.

She searched her mind for a light-hearted comment. She wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough morning. “You sure those painkillers you gave me weren’t horse tranquilisers?”

He threw back his head and laughed again, making her heart swell. “Where are you off to?”

“To make a cup of tea.”

“I’ll do it, the kettle’s just boiled.”

“Where’s Astro?”

“He’s fine. He’s running around with Chloe.”

Allegra’s step faltered. “W…who’s Chloe?” she stuttered. She’d never considered the possibility he might have children.

“My giant Irish Wolfhound.”

Heat flooded into her face. “Oh.”

He grinned as they crossed the pastel green hallway. “I don’t have any children—or at least none I’ve been made aware of.”

Great. Now he could read her mind.

“Any other family?”

“Only parents in Perth, and a nosey sister in London.”

By now they were in the sunny, informal part of the house. She settled herself on the L-shaped modular lounge and watched as he made the tea.

“This house is very family friendly.” She waved a hand around the tastefully decorated room.

He gave her an amused look. “Is that right?”

“Have you ever gone close, you know, to having a family of your own?” She took the cup of tea he offered, pleased when he sat down beside her.

“Only once. I was engaged a long time ago.”

Was this the reason he’d remained single into his mid-thirties? Curling her legs beneath her on the couch, Allegra picked up her cup.. “What happened?”

“She threw me over for my best mate.”

“Ouch.” She wrinkled her nose. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.” He smiled, didn’t seem to have a problem talking about it. “I lost both her and my mate—but that’s life.”

Sending a silent ‘thank you’ to his ex-fiancée, she wondered if this was the girl he’d fought over, amazed any woman would consider dumping someone like Luke Neilson.

She eyed him over the rim of her cup, deciding to press a little more.

“But you’ve never gone there again, hey Commander?”

He glanced sideways at her. “Cross-examining, counsellor?”

“I’m just curious.”

He swirled his tea around, the cup tiny in his hands. “I got an email from my ex-fiancée—a couple of weeks before I was due to come home on leave.”

Sensing he was about to open up a little, Allegra held her breath, watching him, afraid he would clam up. Maybe he’d never talked about this. To anyone.

“I lost focus—and in my job that can be lethal.”

She nodded her agreement, pleased he was sharing his feelings with her.

“The woman gutted me. My life spun out of control.”

Allegra pressed her lips together, hiding the surge of sympathy that made her want to reach out and touch him. A man like Luke would hate not being in control. Still, she had a hard time believing one bad experience would have scarred him forever.

“It’s no picnic for those left at home, Luke. Worry and fear consume their lives. They live in dread of that call. I watched my mother live her whole life like that.”

And you made a vow you’d never do the same.

He slid his cup onto the coffee table and reached for her hand. “I know, and I don’t blame my ex-fiancée for rejecting military life, it’s not for everyone.”

He stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face as he threaded his fingers through hers. “I guess I’m just used to being on my own.”

It hurt to hear him verbalise these feelings, but she’d asked, and it wasn’t his fault she didn’t like his answer. Everything to him was either black or white. There was no room for the unexpected, like meeting the love of your life.

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

She loved him.

And she’d fallen so quickly.

Last night?

It hadn’t been about love for him.

It was about sex.

And he’d just spelled it out for her. He had no intention of being tied down.

At least she knew where she stood with him.

She gazed down at their intertwined fingers, unable to stop the huskiness that crept into her voice. “I must say, it’s a terrible tragedy you’ve decided not to contribute to the gene pool, Commander.”

She raised her eyes to his. He’d been honest with her. She could do no less. “The world could do with more men like you.”

He tapped the knuckles of his free hand against his lips, like she’d seen him do many times, clearly touched by her compliment. Then he urged her into his arms, his embrace so gentle it made her want to sob. Closing her eyes, Allegra fought off the urge to lean into his warm body, steeled herself against the brush of his lips on her temple.

Mindful of her injuries, Luke held her gently, frustrated he couldn’t offer her more. But she deserved better than a battle-hardened veteran with a gag order on him, who couldn’t even fess up about her brother’s death. And when she found out, she’d despise him anyway. It was a ticket to nowhere.

He dragged in a lungful of air and reminded himself why he took the job in the first place. He had to keep her safe because he owed Greenwood.

He loosened his hold as she began to pull away. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Somehow he had to get them back on solid ground. “Do you feel like taking a look at the mock-up? Tom faxed it through while you were asleep.”

He watched her face go a whiter shade of pale, saw the tremor in her hand as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sure.”

He’d seen the fear that accompanied this type of exercise, so he took things slowly as they moved through to his spacious, wood panelled study. He picked up a file and dragged a chair close to hers, watching as she straightened her shoulders, her expression changing to one of resolve.

“Okay, show me what you’ve got.”

Luke kept the folder closed. “How are you feeling?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m a little sore, but no worse than I was this morning. Why?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Are you dreading having to do this?”

He already knew the answer. She wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t dreading it. No one looked forward to being betrayed by an acquaintance, a work colleague or a friend. He’d seen many people suffer shock after identifying a person known to them. And she’d already suffered one shock today.

To his relief, she rolled her eyes and shifted irritably in her seat, all of a sudden looking like the pissed off lawyer he’d watched in Court, and the woman who’d ticked him off on the terrace. He found it endlessly fascinating, her ability to harness strength and focus on what she needed to do. Nevertheless, he steeled himself for a spray of words. By the look on her face she would have poked him in the chest if he’d been within reach.

“Spare me the touchy feely stuff will you, and just show me the bloody picture.”

More impressed than annoyed, he clamped his lips together and put the folder on the desk, ready for her to open whenever she was ready.

He saw her momentary hesitation, before she glared at him and grabbed the folder off the desk. With one quick flick of her wrist she opened it and stared.

Luke held his breath, disappointed she showed no immediate sign of recognition. She took her time, running her eyes over every millimetre of the sketch.

Finally she lifted her head. “I don’t know this person.”

“Okay.” He reached across the desk and turned the laptop to face them, maximising images from the toolbar. “This is the best we can do with the shots taken from the camera.”

He pointed to the images. They showed the figure of a man bent at the waist, slashing the rear tyres of the AMG, his face almost entirely obscured by the brim of his cap.

“Look at the guy’s build.”

She nodded. “That could be the guy in the garage and the guy who broke the door this morning—but I don’t recognise him as someone I know. He could be anybody.”

“What about the clothes?”

She frowned, leaning forward to concentrate on the image. “I don’t remember anything about his clothes, I only saw his face.”

Luke damped down his frustration. They couldn’t make any headway with this guy. He blended into the crowd, invisible and dangerous. Ally didn’t know him.

But he knew her.

She gave a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry I’m no help.”

He reached for the sketch again, folding the paper over so only the mouth was visible. “Don’t apologise for something that’s not your fault.”

“Here.” He passed it back. “Just concentrate on the mouth for now.”

Allegra stared at the partial drawing. From her experience in the Courtroom, about fifty percent of perpetrators were recognised from a sketch.

She had a toss of the coin chance.

As opposed to Luke’s strong, angulated jaw line, this one was rounded and slightly fleshy, the lower face lacking definition. And the cruel slash of mouth in no way resembled Luke’s firm, well-shaped lips.

He lifted his eyebrows. “Anything?”

“No, nothing.”

He took the piece of paper and folded it again. “Concentrate on the eyes this time.”

She turned back to the drawing and immediately caught her breath.

Luke leaned forward, his eyes riveted on her face. “What is it?”

She pointed to the sketch, unable to suppress a shudder. “I can’t be certain about the rest of his features, but the eyes are accurate. When he stared at me through the balaclava, his eyes were just like these.”

“Good girl.” Luke’s hand caressed her knee. “Do they remind you of anyone you know?”

She shook her head, disappointed when he withdrew his hand. “No. And if I’ve met him, I don’t know him well.”

His face a picture of concentration, his eyebrows snapped together. “Why’s that?”

She handed him the sketch. “It’s not like looking at you for instance. Even in a balaclava, I’d know you immediately by your eyes.”

His expression softened at her words.

“Coupled with your build, you’d be instantly recognizable to me, as would my mother. Even Josie, my secretary. I’m certain I don’t know this person.”

She got to her feet, in sudden need of air. “But I will have a long hard think about it.”

“Thank you Allegra.”

A lump formed in her throat at his sudden formality. So they were back to that now.

“I think I’ll take a walk outside Luke, clear my head.”

As she made to leave he reached out, catching her hand in his. “I’ll join you.”

She glanced down at their intertwined hands, her heart spinning at the prospect of spending more time with him. “Aren’t you snowed under?”

“Yes, but there’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight again. I’ll be pulling an all-nighter anyway, so it won’t make much difference.”

Perhaps that’s why he’d put her in the spare room. He didn’t plan on sleeping.

In the kitchen, he pushed the sliding door aside and she stepped onto a wide veranda skirting two sides of the house. While the front of the property was all trimmed hedges and formal garden beds, the rear overlooked a wide expanse of mown lawn and a small dam.

“Oh, this is beautiful, Luke.”

“Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

The centrepiece of the whole vista was a sparkling in-ground pool, surrounded by white sun loungers and bright yellow umbrellas which fluttered in the soft breeze. Inside the Balinese-style pavilion, was the largest barbeque she’d ever seen.

They skirted the pool and headed towards two outbuildings. “Do you entertain a lot?”

He shook his head, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. “No, I’m too busy. The couple who look after it use it more than I do. I host the Christmas party though.”

Allegra pointed to the larger of two bottle green buildings off to one side. “That’s one impressive men’s shed, or is it a bowling alley?”

He smiled, slowing his pace to match hers as they strolled across the grass together. “Not quite. I’ll show you.”

As they drew closer, Allegra noticed the windowless building was constructed entirely of brick and concrete, painted in a colour that matched the Colorbond shed alongside it.

Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, Luke unlocked a heavy double deadlocked door and punched in a security code. Then he reached inside and flicked on the light switch.

“Wow, you’re really protective of your ride on mower, Commander,” she teased, stepping inside and turning to watch as he locked the door behind them.

The fluorescents stuttered, before bathing the interior of the building in an eerie, artificial light.

Allegra turned, totally unprepared for the sight which greeted her, the air conditioning cool on her skin.

With a small cry, she took a backward step, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Luke was right behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

Mounted on one wall, were more guns than she’d ever seen in her life.

Chapter Fourteen

“Relax—they’re models.” Luke’s hands warmed her shoulders and his deep voice rumbled in her ear. “You know the law, counsellor. It’s illegal to store weapons on a wall.”

Allegra cringed, heat flooding her face. “I recall the legislation now you mention it. It’s just, they look the real deal.”

“The real ones are located on an industrial estate, a short drive away.” He let go of her shoulders as she turned to face him. “Alarmed, and locked in safes, bolted to the concrete floor.”

She let go of a breath. “Good to know.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “This is where I do the ballistics, so sometimes I have a piece or two here. I can’t risk a break-in at either property. It’s why I have staff here.”

She laid a hand on his chest, the thrum of his heart steady beneath her fingers. “And here I was thinking you were just a lazy housekeeper, Commander.”

He laughed and her pulse gathered speed. “You can use the security I can provide.”

She took her hand away, irked by his reminder she was here only because of the attack, not because she was special to him.

Needing a distraction, she moved away and studied the masculine work space. Protective goggles, face masks, drills and an assortment of paraphernalia covered the adjacent wall. One long work bench held an assortment of machinery. Cleaning equipment lay strewn across the floor. Two computers sat on a large corner desk.

“You reproduce the crime here?”

“Pretty much.”

She glanced sideways at him as he drew level with her, his scent and body heat beckoning her closer. “My father’s paranoia about the safe storage of his weapon instilled a fear of guns in me I can’t shake to this day.”

She half turned, feeling the weight of his gaze on her. “Martin went looking for it once. I’ve never seen my father so angry. He got into so much trouble.”

Luke remained silent, though his eyes softened at her words.

Pain knifed through her at the memory. “I’m grateful Dad died before Martin. At least he was spared that agony.”

“Oh, baby.” Luke took her hand and drew her close. “If I knew this would stir up painful memories I wouldn’t have brought you in here.”

As always, his proximity had her senses spinning. Would she ever stop reacting to him this way? “It’s okay. I was keen to see inside.”

He nodded, reaching out to gently cup her cheek. His voice dropped a semi-tone. “Look on it as part of your education then.”

She reached up and put her hands on his shoulders. This nightmare would end one way or another, and when that time came he would take another case, try and save another life. And she would be forced to let him go.

But not today.

Unwilling to dwell on that depressing thought, Allegra ran her hands down his arms and curled her fingers around his tanned biceps, searching for a humorous remark.

“I must say, I prefer these guns to the ones on the wall.”

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “They’re just as lethal, my fingers just as comfortable wrapped around the handle of a gun.”

Desire coursed through Allegra’s body and she moved closer, breathing in his sexy man smell. “Are you trying to scare me off, Commander?”

His hands slid to her hips. “Just reminding you what you’re dealing with.”

She’d always been organised, disciplined, and too darn driven to live in the moment. But Luke Neilson made her want to do just that. He didn’t do long term, and if the guy in the balaclava got his way—neither would she.

She pressed her hips up to his. “This place has the security of a nuclear power plant. No-one can get to us here.”

“Here?” His eyes narrowed and the scar on his cheek moved a fraction. “You, Ms. Greenwood, are one bad girl.”

But he pulled her to him, searching for her mouth and filling his lungs with her sweet, heady aroma. Her breasts pushed against his chest, the warm curves and deep valleys a magical landscape for his hands to explore.

It’s just sex, Luke told himself, his mind in denial even as his heart engaged. He was getting deeper into her with every minute they were together.

Then she snagged his lower lip between her teeth.

Jesus! He went rock hard in his jeans.

He captured her chin in the V of his hand and returned the favour, nipping her plump bottom lip and swallowing her gasp with a kiss. He tilted her face to just the right angle, the pulse in her throat fluttering beneath his fingertips.

He took control, as was his nature.

And she let him.

With a satisfied growl, he plunged his tongue into her hot, wet mouth, her taste a drug that fogged his mind. Driven on by a primal need to claim her, he spread the fingers of his free hand across her bottom and pulled her hard up against his erection.

Her gasp dragged the oxygen from his mouth.

Luke wrenched away. What in God’s name was he doing? “I’m sorry. Did I hurt your arm or something?”

Her grip on him tightened, and she got right up in his face. “Give me a break, Commander. If you think a cut and some bruises are going to put me off, you don’t know me very well.”

She was all fired up like she’d been in Court, her breath coming in shallow little pants. But her eyes burned with arousal and her jutted chin dared him to argue.

He broke eye contact and glanced around the shed. “How the hell are we going to manage this?”

“The work bench?”

“Too dirty,” he muttered.

“The chair?”

“Unstable, and the floor’s concrete.”

Shit, he sounded as desperate as he felt. He needed to think with his bigger brain. He studied the workspace again, his vision drawn to the black shape in the far corner. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

“Get undressed.” His request sounded more like a command, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she appeared to like it.

“Ooh, yes sir.”

She did a slow pirouette, lifting the hem of the shirt with tantalising slowness before pulling it over her head. Grinning, she twirled it around once and tossed it on the bench.

Luke stared, heart booming as she stood before him clad only in a scrap of black lace masquerading as knickers. She was, without a doubt, the most goddamn incredible woman he’d ever known. The thought of another guy so much as laying a hand on her…

And bloody O’Callaghan stood waiting in the wings.

He reached into his back pocket and took a condom from his wallet, nerve endings like live wires. With a flick of his wrist he threw the wallet on top of the tee-shirt.

“This is a first,” he murmured, sliding a hand behind her neck and drawing her to him for a brief kiss. “I’ve never banged my brains out in the work shed before.”

She lowered her voice and gently mocked him. “Consider it part of your education.”

“You, my girl, are begging for another spanking.”

“Ooh, promises, promises.”

She laughed and helped him dispose of his clothes. Then she wriggled her hips and stepped out of her knickers.

Impressed by her adventurous spirit, he led her to the back of the room and grasped the edge of a black tarpaulin. Feeling like an illusionist revealing his most impressive trick, he dragged it away with a flourish.

Allegra stared at the gleaming black and chrome motorcycle secured in a heavy duty stand. “A Harley Davidson?”

Luke nodded. “A vintage Fat Boy.”

She raised an amused eyebrow, looked him up and down. “You don’t say.”

He laughed, the condom between his teeth as he folded the tarpaulin to roughly the size of a single bed mattress. Her eyes followed his every movement as he spread it on the floor. Perfectly proportioned, his body could have been sculptured by Michelangelo himself.

He straightened, must have read something in her face, because he took the condom from between his teeth and drew her to him. “Hey, if you’re having second thoughts, we don’t have to do this. I’m the first to admit you deserve more luxurious surrounds.”

Allegra’s throat constricted. Any day now she could be unemployed, alone, or dead. She didn’t care they were in a shed. She longed to spend every minute with him, doing exactly this.

She ran her fingers through his silky chest hair and tilted her head to look at him. “It’s not that.”

His eyes narrowed. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She ran her hand down his arm and plucked the condom from his fingers. “I’m thinking, that I want to put this on you.”

She opened the packet and withdrew the condom, heard his breath hiss between his teeth as she reached down and rolled it over his silky hardness. He swallowed, the Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, a dark flush staining his face and neck.

Then his hand shot out and captured her wrist and the next thing she knew he was on the improvised bed, pulling her down on top of him.

He stretched out on his back. “Get on top, baby.”

A bolt of desire tore through her lower body, so strong her internal muscles clenched of their own volition. He had more experience than her in every facet of life, but he was just that sort of man. Sex to him was as natural as breathing.

She straddled him, and he helped her find a place for her knees on either side of his hips. He settled her on top, his body cushioning hers from the concrete floor and dusty tarpaulin.

Then his hands spanned her waist and he nudged for her heat. He brought her down on top of him, stretching her with his hard thickness, his eyes locked on hers as he slid into her warm, moist depths.

Allegra caught her breath. “I like it, Luke,” she whispered.

He groaned as if in pain, an untamed sound coming from deep within his throat. “Oh I like it too, baby.”

“I mean, I like that you’re experienced.”

He shifted the angle of his hips a little. “You’ll like it when I find your G-spot,” he said, stroking the sensitive undersides of her breasts so her nipples went hard. “Don’t move.”

Somehow she managed a nod. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His chest shook with silent laughter. “Let me do the moving. You’re sore, remember? The slightest pain and we stop.”

“Not on your life, Commander, and I’m feeling nothing here but pleasure.”

He looked delighted with her answer, and Allegra closed her eyes and relaxed, safe in the knowledge he was a sensitive and generous lover, if not a long term one. Savouring every new feeling his exquisite touch elicited, she pressed down on his shoulders, felt him harden even more.

Then all at once the slow rocking wasn’t enough. Unable to resist the burgeoning feelings of arousal he stoked in her, Allegra began to move, her overly stimulated body craving a greater friction between them.

She slid down onto his chest and stretched out on top of him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his throat as he took a firm grip on her hips. He was strong, grinding his pelvis against her clitoris, and going harder and deeper than he had last night. He ground away with a steady determination, and she learned what it meant to be given a good hard ride.

Allegra’s heart got out of rhythm, and blood roared in her ears as a tsunami of passion built between them. He must have sensed she was on the brink because he turned his head and looked deep into her eyes.

“Come for me.”

His erotic request had her crying out, her body shattering around him as he hit her in all the right places. Mindless, caught in the throes of the best orgasm she’d ever experienced, Allegra bathed him in her body’s moisture, his powerful thrusts reverberating through every cell in her body.

Only when she’d quietened somewhat, did he give in to his own needs.

Drunk with pleasure, Allegra acted on instinct. As his body tightened with tension for one long beat, she kissed him. Hard. Wet. And with a lot of tongue. To her delight he groaned deep in his throat and exploded inside her, his body wracked with enormous shudders as he pounded his way to ecstasy.

Later, she lay in his arms, luxuriating in the soft stroke of his hand on her back and the feeling of her limbs entwined with his.

As their sated bodies cooled and the sweat dried on their skin, Luke’s hand stilled, and he dozed. Undetected, Allegra propped her chin in her palm and studied his arched brows and long lashes, the scar on his cheek and the stubble that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he shaved.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. Together, they’d created a memory.

One she’d never forget.

Luke Neilson had left her more satisfied than she’d ever been before. And though she knew it to be impossible, more loved.

Shivering, Allegra pulled the quilt over her legs and glanced at her watch.

Eleven pm.

Every now and then the cloud cover would peel back from the moon, allowing soft beams of lunar light to shine through the overhead skylight and brighten the bedroom. But mostly, the night was black in the Southern Highlands.

And silent too.

Allegra put her case notes on the bed, and listened for the low tones of Luke’s voice coming from the study.

Nothing, only a distant roll of thunder.

She returned to her notes, pleased she’d brought the file with her. The case was coming up for hearing soon, and she was finding it hard to settle to sleep. Accustomed to the urban noise and rhythmic pounding of breakers on Bondi Beach, the silence was disconcerting.

Get real! You’re waiting for that big, gorgeous hunk of male down the hallway to come and ravage you again.

Allegra smothered a smile, remembering how they’d laughed and teased each other doing the ‘walk of shame’ from the shed. They’d taken a long, hot shower then eaten the meal Luke’s housekeeper had left in the fridge.

Then Nat phoned with the news.

The boarding house owner was visiting her sister, though a tenant confirmed the Toyota belonged to her. A call to the owner’s mobile established she’d taken the train to Newcastle. No-one had permission to use the car in her absence. She denied being in the vicinity of Bondi Beach, but refused to provide a tenant list.

But the woman had agreed to an interview with Luke on Monday morning.

Was this the breakthrough they’d been waiting for?

Allegra sighed and considered offering Luke her help. Earlier, she’d left him searching through lists of suspects, hoping the boarding house would show up as a place of residence. Meanwhile, Tom worked from her apartment and Nat kept watch at the boarding house hoping their quarry would try and use the car again.

She leaned forward and gave a tentative stretch. The laceration on her arm barely bothered her, and aside from being a little sore around the ribs, she felt fine. In fact, she felt more than fine.

Maybe she could help out in some way.

Throwing off the covers, she got to her feet and padded down the hallway to the study. Knocking quietly, she opened the door and stuck her head inside.

The lights were blazing, as was the computer monitor and director’s lamp. But Luke’s chair was vacant, though the papers strewn across his desk suggested he’d be back any minute.

Maybe he was in the bathroom or getting something to eat in the kitchen.

As Allegra went to close the door, something scraped across the floor to ceiling window.

She froze, hairs raised on the back of her neck as she stared at the curtain. It sounded like a branch tapping against the glass, only no tree stood outside the window. Only rolling lawn.

Her heart boomed and her scalp crawled as she closed the study door and continued down the hallway towards the kitchen. She should find Luke and bring it to his attention. Even if it proved to be nothing, he’d prefer to know.

Her footsteps faltered as an unwelcome thought crossed her mind. Had he seen something on the monitors and gone to investigate? Sweat beaded her forehead as the eyes in the sketch came to mind, a man in a black balaclava.

Licking her dry lips, she forced her legs to move, biting back the impulse to cry out to him.

One step.

Another.

Could it have been some kind of farm animal? She clamped her teeth together. She couldn’t remember farm animals, not even chickens

Kangaroo?

It was possible. They’d spotted a mob on the way down from the city.

At the end of the hallway she stopped and cast her eye around the kitchen and family room. It was sterile clean, and deathly silent. The monitor on the wall showed the driveway. All looked quiet.

Maybe he’d gone to bed. Even as the thought crossed her mind she dismissed it. She’d been half expecting him to come to her tonight, at the very least look in on her if he intended working through. But there’d been no sound from the study for hours.

A clicking sound had her swinging back to the monitor, and her body went weak with relief as she stared at the image.

Chloe! With a huge stick in her mouth! And Luke, outside on the lawn.

Allegra’s knees trembled as she leaned against the kitchen bench. Thank God she hadn’t raced through the house, screaming his name, or rang his mobile phone as she’d been tempted to do. Much as she yearned to crawl inside his skin, it was vital she keep a level head.

He was outside with the dogs. He was safe, and so was she.

Allegra turned and walked over to the kitchen door. She’d been too worked up to notice earlier, but now she could see it stood ajar a few inches. She pulled it wide, shivering as the night air rushed in and cooled her heated skin.

Through the screen door she saw the wolfhound streak across the grass to where Luke stood at the foot of the veranda steps. He wrested the stick from the dog’s mouth then threw it like a boomerang in the other direction, his hair shining in the light of the porch. The wolfhound went charging off into the darkness as he bent down and tossed what looked to be a tennis ball to Astro.

Could she have dozed off at some point, and not heard him take the dogs out for a last run?

As if sensing her presence Luke turned, trapping her in his stare, a pensive smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Allegra raised her hand, embarrassed he’d caught her watching him. Unable to read his mood, she closed the door, breaking their connection. Even at a distance he did things to her no other man could.

Back in her room, she sat on the bed and harnessed every molecule of inner strength. Her life and career were on the line, and the thought of her mother, destitute, just didn’t bear thinking about. But all of it paled in comparison to the fear of something happening to Luke. She loved him, more than life itself, and by asking him to take the case, she’d put him directly in the path of a madman.

If she brought him harm she’d never forgive herself.

Allegra climbed into bed and turned to face the wall, fisting the sheet in her hands, her body rigid with tension. Minutes later she heard Luke bring the dogs inside and lock the door.

After a while he came into the room and she listened to him undressing in the dark, the sound of him opening a condom enough to send a shaft of desire straight to her loins. Then he slid quietly in beside her and gathered her to him in a hot, powerful embrace.

“Were you waiting for me?” He nuzzled gentle kisses down her neck turning her tension into desire.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” She tunnelled her fingers into his hair and dragged his head down, craving his kiss.

“I wasn’t going to,” he muttered against her lips, “but I couldn’t stay away.”

The words were torn from him.

Allegra’s heart ballooned with hope and she took his face between her hands, caught her breath at the storm of emotion in his eyes. “Then don’t.”

Her possessive kiss shattered Luke’s thoughts into a thousand pieces, and when she pulled him down on top of her and opened her soft, warm thighs in welcome, he couldn’t hold back. Moving over her in the dark, he claimed her with one powerful thrust, her grateful cry all the confirmation he needed.

She yearned for this, as badly as he.

A hungry fire licked along his veins, his heart a ticking bomb in his chest. Their bodies moved in unison, speaking the same beautiful language, no words, only the needy sounds and gentle urgings as he took her with him to a higher plane. And then her body spasmed and his guttural cry split the silence as with one final thrust he joined her.

Waves of pleasure crashed over them and he held her tight, his face buried in her hair as they rode the exquisite turbulence together.

Afterwards, he rubbed her back, her cheek damp against his chest. Then her head grew heavy on his shoulder and her breathing evened out as she slept.

Loath to disturb her, Luke stared at the canopy of stars shining through the skylight and felt something seismic shift inside him. As the scudding clouds moved shadows across the wall, he tightened his hold on her body, cherishing the feel of her in his arms.

Allegra didn’t know it, but tonight she’d carved her name across his heart.

Chapter Fifteen

Allegra gazed at the crystal pool, wishing she’d packed a swimsuit. Despite sunscreen, the fierce rays bit into her exposed skin, forcing her beneath the shade of the umbrella.

She smothered a grin, considered stripping off her sundress and diving in. If Luke caught sight of her on the study monitor he’d be joining her before she broke the surface. She decided not to be so selfish and tempt him. He had work to do.

Stretched out on the sun lounge, she flicked through the Sunday paper, but the rehashed news failed to hold her interest. The last few nights had left her sleep deprived, but Luke had no such problem. Trained to function on minimal sleep, he possessed an enviable store of energy.

Not that she was complaining!

She set the paper on the ground, eyelids heavy behind dark glasses. Hopefully a nap would re-energise her.

A while later she awoke with a start. A light breeze caressed her face and sheets of newspaper careened across the sandstone flagging. Groggy, she stood up, pushing what remained of the newspaper under the leg of the chair and scrambling to retrieve pages caught by the pool fence.

Two pages floated in the water beyond her reach. Grabbing the long handled leaf scoop, she manoeuvred one beneath a sodden page and carefully brought it closer.

She froze, an icy chill slithering up her backbone.

Her name undulated beneath the surface in the bold print headline of the social page. It rose and fell with the movement of the water.

“Objection! Allegra Greenwood off the market?”

With extreme care she retrieved the offending page and laid it on the pool surround. One photograph showed her arriving at the function last Friday, her expression surprised. A second, taken towards the end of the evening, showed her and Luke waiting for the valet attendant to bring the car. Absorbed in each other and looking very much a couple, his arm was wrapped possessively around her waist, his head bent close as he tried to catch what she was saying.

Is Allegra Greenwood officially off the market? A member of Sydney’s legal fraternity confirms this to be the case. The glamorous criminal lawyer has reached celebrity status in recent years through her representation of certain sporting and racing identities. Fiercely protective of her private life, she was snapped leaving the Four Seasons Hotel late Friday evening, cosying up to the handsome owner of Neilson’s Security, Luke Neilson.

Sources confirm Neilson and Greenwood to be an item. It is believed the genetically blessed pair first met years ago when Greenwood’s late brother formed part of an elite military unit of which Neilson was Commanding Officer.

Allegra’s heart froze as she re-read the last sentence.

No! Her mind screamed a denial. It couldn’t be.

Aware Luke may be watching her on the monitor, she spread the page out to dry in the sun. Shaking, she slumped on the sunlounge. She had to think.

The SAS were secretive.

And yet a reporter garnered information while she’d been stonewalled for years. And she’d met Luke at the firm’s ill-fated cocktail party, not through Martin.

Allegra’s heart hammered in her chest, palms clammy as she recalled in vivid detail every time the subject was raised between her and Luke. The first day when he’d looked at Martin’s photograph in her bedroom, and again when he’d shortened her name. Had he been closer to Martin than she ever could have guessed?

She glanced again at the soggy sheet of newspaper lying on the pavement. She had to give Luke a chance to refute the claim. What if the reporter had it wrong?

Pushing the sense of foreboding to the back of her mind, Allegra stood up and walked towards the house.

Luke looked up to find Ally standing in the doorway, her face pale, blue eyes glazed with shock.

She knew.

He knew too, but he asked anyway. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Don’t call me that.”

He put down his pen, watching as she came into the room. She rested her palms on the edge of his desk and leaned towards him. “Have you seen today’s paper?”

Shit!

Luke sat back in the chair, his heart beating double time. “I don’t need to. Tom’s search picked it up from the net late last night.”

Her eyes widened, sparked, and not in a good way. “And it didn’t cross your mind to tell me?”

It had, but he’d wanted one more night, needed to hold onto her for as long as he could.

She searched his face, the way he’d seen her do with an unreliable witness. “Please tell me it’s sensationalised trash.”

Luke swallowed. He’d dreaded this moment. Now it was here, it was a hundred times worse than he’d imagined. “It’s true.”

She straightened slowly and took a step back, a look of disbelief on her face.

Luke jumped up and rounded the desk. He’d lain beside her all last night, thinking about what he could say in his defence. But he had nothing.

“Ally.”

“Don’t touch me!”

He jerked to a halt, feeling like the biggest bastard that had ever been born.

“You were Martin’s Commanding Officer?” she asked in a cold voice.

He nodded in confirmation. That much was common knowledge now. “Yes.”

“Did you lead his final mission? Were you there when he died?”

He clenched his jaw and brought to mind the oath he’d taken. It took every ounce of willpower not to break it.

She stepped closer, spoke to him through clenched teeth. “What happened to my brother?”

He grabbed her shoulders.

She brought up her palms and shoved him hard in the chest.

Oh yes, she was angry. No, not angry, furious.

“Let me go.”

He ignored her, tightening his grip until she was forced to look at him. “I’ll only say this once. An error of judgment on my part resulted in Martin’s death.”

Luke was glad he had hold of her. She seemed to crumple in the centre at his brutally honest words. But there was no going back now. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, I’m your man. You can’t make me feel any guiltier than I already do.”

When she didn’t say anything, he gave her a light shake. He could take her anger, he couldn’t stand her pain. “Is that what you needed to hear?”

“Let go of me,” she repeated.

He let her go. If he had a stake, he’d swear to God he’d drive it through his own heart if it’d make her feel better.

“I’m sorry, Ally. I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t react, just stared out the window to where the blue sky and sunshine seemed incongruous with the depressing mood in the room.

“Is that why you took my case?” she asked in a dull voice. “Guilt?”

She was smart. He’d known it wouldn’t take her long to connect the dots. “I owed your brother a debt to look out for you.”

He watched as she digested his words. “And I thought you wanted the contract, or to get me into bed.”

He wasn’t going to deny he’d wanted those things too. “When I realised you were Martin’s sister, those things became secondary to keeping you safe.”

“Safe in your bed.”

Luke bit back a retort. She was hurting, bad, and it was his goddamn fault. “I didn’t force you, Allegra. You were there every step of the way.”

Luke clenched his hands at his sides. He had to physically stop himself from pulling her into his arms and trying to make it all go away.

“At least I was honest with you.”

Could he feel any more like a bastard than he already did? “I don’t have that liberty.”

When she raised her eyes he saw understanding and resignation in their depths. “All this time you were doing it for Martin.”

“Ally, don’t.”

She raised her chin and seemed to look right into his soul. “You’re with me for all the wrong reasons.”

Jesus Christ!

Floundering, he ran a hand around the back of his neck. He had to give her more. “It might have started out that way, but it has nothing to do with Martin anymore, and everything to do with you.”

But she was deaf to those sentiments. “I’m rescinding our agreement effective immediately. I’ll arrange for someone to take over from you tomorrow.”

Luke stared at her in disbelief, the thought of another guy taking his place too awful to even contemplate. And she was deadly serious, delivering it with a cool indifference that scared the shit out of him.

“This is crazy!” He was tempted to kick a chair or slam his fist into the wall, anything to release the frustration of his enforced silence.

But he wouldn’t frighten her like that.

He had to think!

As she turned to leave, he moved past her and blocked the doorway. If he got his hands on that scandal-seeking reporter he’d rip him limb from limb.

She stopped, drew herself up to her full height and gave him some serious wattage. Lesser men would have quailed, but he was a selfish bastard and he wanted everything from her.

“Get out of my way, Luke.”

He grabbed her shoulders again, her silky skin warm from the sun. “For God’s sake Ally, listen. This stalker’s counting on you not going to the police. The article exposes me. We know he’s smart. It won’t take him long to figure out I’m not just your lover.”

She shook her shoulders free of his grasp. “I’ll take the risk.”

“Jesus, Ally, be reasonable.” He didn’t often plead, but he was pleading now. “We’re too close to pull the plug on this. I’m due at the boarding house at eight tomorrow.”

“I don’t care.” She gave a stubborn lift of her chin and glared at him again. “I want Astro, and my car.”

She was slipping away from him. He could feel it.

He didn’t move. “You’re not leaving.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking every inch the perfumed steamroller. “What are you going to do, Luke? Tie me up?”

He said the first thing that came into his head. “You never know, you might like it.”

He didn’t even attempt to intercept the stinging crack of her palm as it struck his cheek. He flinched, the force of the blow snapping his head to one side. He deserved it, hell he even welcomed it.

At least she still cared.

When he opened his eyes she was staring at him in anger, chest heaving, eyes glistening with tears. Then she pushed past him and ran down the hallway as if she couldn’t bear to be near him a moment longer.

Luke dragged in a choppy breath, rubbing his cheek as he followed her into the kitchen. “Don’t leave. Please.”

Without a word, she snatched her car keys from the bowl on the table and turned towards the bedroom. Moments later he heard the bedroom door slam.

Cheek smarting, he paced the hallway, making contingency plans in his head. She was one determined lady and he was in unfamiliar territory. Normally, in these situations, it was easy remaining detached. But not this time.

Fuck!

Minutes later she emerged, face set with grim determination as she strode towards the kitchen door.

“Ally. Calm down.”

She didn’t even afford him a sideways glance.

As she opened the door, he reached above her head and pushed it closed, keeping his hand there, not knowing what else to do.

For long moments, neither of them moved.

Then she slowly turned around. “It’s not entirely your fault. I broke my own cardinal rule.” The certainty in her voice matched the awful resignation in her eyes.

Luke pushed himself off the door and tried swallowing the lump of fear in his throat. He didn’t like the sound of this. “What do you mean?”

She hitched her bag further onto her shoulder. “In a broad sense, staying away from men like you. Like Martin, and my father.”

Unable to restrain himself, he stepped into her personal space. It wasn’t fair play, but she couldn’t deny their chemistry anymore than he. Cardinal rule or not.

“You’d rather settle for a man like O’Callaghan?”

She rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

He reached out and captured her wrist in a firm hold, satisfied at her soft gasp. He had no qualms upsetting her if it meant keeping her safe.

“I can stop you.” He raised her trapped hand and dropped his voice half an octave. “I’ll prise the keys from your fingers and disconnect the spark plugs.”

She stared up at him, eyes two huge pools in her pale face. “But you won’t.”

Despite her confident tone, her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers. “You’d never restrain me against my will. Me, or any other woman.”

She would never know how much he envied her astute judgement of character. If only he’d possessed the same skill, her brother would still be alive.

“How can you possibly know that?”

“I just do.” She jerked free of him. “Now let me go.”

***

Luke zipped up the backpack containing his laptop, tapes and files and hoisted it onto his shoulders.

In the shed he called Tom.

“Hey Luke. Heading back early?”

Luke breathed a sigh of relief. He’d taken the liberty of installing live tracking software on Ally’s mobile. Provided she carried it with her, they could pinpoint her location.

“You got her up on screen, Tom?”

“Yep, around Campbelltown. You’re not with her?”

“Not exactly. She’s driving back alone.”

There was a moment’s silence before Tom spoke again. “What happened?”

Luke lifted the Harley off the rack with a grunt. “She took me off the case.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you one day, when I have a week.”

“Was she serious?”

“Oh yeah, left me stranded without a car. I’ve got the bike, but she’s half an hour ahead and I need to stop for fuel.”

“Does she want me out of the apartment?”

Luke donned his helmet, heard Tom through the inbuilt blue tooth. “With a bit of luck she’ll have calmed down by the time she gets there. She’s pissed off, but it’s me she’s got the beef with.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Don’t take your eyes off her location. I’m assuming she’ll head to the apartment. Buzz me if she goes elsewhere.”

“Okay.”

Luke shifted the bike into neutral and rolled it out of the shed. “When she gets there, tell her I’m on my way.”

“All right.”

“And Tom? If our guy sees that photo in the paper, it could push him into making a move.”

“I’m on it.”

Luke punched in the security code, dead locked the door then turned and swung his leg over the bike. It spluttered as he started the engine, before settling into its familiar throaty growl.

Then he kicked up the stand with a booted foot and roared off down the driveway.

Luke had just passed through Pheasants Nest when his phone buzzed against his chest. He hit the button on his headset and spoke to Tom.

“Allegra just left. Sorry man, I couldn’t hold her here.”

Luke frowned at his watch, his heart jackhammering in his chest. She’d made good time, must have pushed that turbo charged Golf to the max.

He spoke into the small microphone. “Where’s she headed?”

“Work. Said she’d sleep on the couch in her office. She took the dog next door, grabbed some clothes and took off.”

Luke let go of his breath, his mind shifting to the U.S. Consulate building. “That’s not a bad outcome all things considered. It’s a large firm, there’s always someone in there.”

“Even on a Sunday?”

“Yep. And the corporate section has a rotation shift, so they’re working the same time zone as the Northern Hemisphere.”

And then Tom voiced the question already on his mind. “What if our guy works for the firm?”

Luke opened the throttle and overtook a B-Double truck. He had to push aside his personal feelings for Allegra, and think of her as just another client. She might have fired him, but he wasn’t going anywhere until she’d arranged for someone else to take over.

And only then if he couldn’t talk her around.

And if she were just another client, he wouldn’t be concerned with the office staff. The trail of evidence pointed to the boarding house, the absent owner and the old Toyota.

“It’s a calculated risk we’re going to have to take,” he said. “The searches I did on the staff failed to throw up any red flags.”

“What’s our next move then?”

Luke checked his watch. “Lock up the apartment and head over to the boarding house, relieve Nat. I’ll head straight into the city.”

“Okay.”

“Keep a good watch on the GPS Tom. Make sure she gets there.”

“I’ll buzz you if there’s a problem.”

Apart from the annoying babble of a second rate, reality TV program coming from the landlady’s bedroom at the end of the hallway, all was quiet in the boarding house. The old bitch had looked them all up and down with her beady little eyes when she’d come home around dinner time, as if she suspected half the place to be missing.

It put him on alert. As did the photograph of Allegra in the newspaper with that security expert she’d hired to hunt him down.

Impotent rage skittered along his veins as he stared at the newspaper photograph in the weak light. Tomorrow she would pay for that betrayal.

In the gloomy bedroom, he took a gym bag from the bottom of the wardrobe and put it on the bed. He unzipped the bag, shoving aside the numerous packets of prescription drugs he’d stolen, and pushed enough rope, a half roll of masking tape and a soft cloth inside.

He turned and opened a drawer, felt around under the clothes until his hand touched the cold handle of the knife. He added it to the bag. A small bottle of liquid solvent followed. The ether should knock her out long enough for him to get her out of the city. Last of all, he slipped the newspaper photograph inside.

“Say goodbye to him,” he whispered, “tomorrow you belong to me.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Wake up.”

Josie’s voice filtered through to her, and for a moment Allegra wondered how. She certainly hadn’t been dreaming of Josie.

She cracked an eyelid to find her P.A.’s concerned face hovering over her. And then it all came rushing back.

“Al, are you okay?”

She struggled into a sitting position, wincing at the crick in her neck and squinting at the sunshine pouring through the window. “What time is it?”

“Seven thirty.” Josie sat beside her on the couch. “Things must be bad if you’ve slept here.”

Allegra massaged her temples. A headache lingered and she wanted to curl up and go back to sleep.

She smothered a yawn and turned away from Josie’s scrutiny. “I need a shower.”

“Hung over?”

Allegra couldn’t help smiling at that comment. “I wish!” She leaned over and squeezed her secretary’s hand. “There’s no need to worry, Jos.”

Allegra reached for her mobile which lay on the small table beside the couch. No messages. She stared at the screen, torn between relief and disappointment. Was Luke on his way to the boarding house? He was stubborn enough to ignore her directive.

Nausea churned her stomach. “Do I look as bad as I feel?”

Josie nodded. “You look like crap.”

Allegra rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the couch, grabbing her tote and suit from the small closet. At nine o’clock she’d call the firm currently handling their security work, the ‘second raters’ as Luke called them.

Now that was karma.

***

The grey-haired woman who opened the door of the boarding house looked weighed down by life, despite her weekend away in Newcastle.

Luke trailed her limping figure down the central hallway, scrutinising the run down inner city terrace as he went. They passed a common room where a number of frail men watched the morning show on television. Luke doubted any of them were agile enough to climb onto a first floor balcony and swing a lump of wood.

The woman ushered him into an untidy home office where he took a seat among towers of dusty papers and watched as she closed the door.

“Thanks for seeing me.”

A wooden chair creaked beneath her bulk as she sat opposite him and leaned fleshy elbows on the small desk. “What’s this about my car being at Bondi?”

Luke slid a business card across the table. “An incident occurred in the early hours of Saturday morning. A Toyota Corolla registered in your name was seen three times on Old South Head road on Friday night. You told my associate you hadn’t loaned the vehicle to anyone?”

The woman shook her head. “Nope, nobody had permission to use it. It’s right there in the garage but someone’s been in it all right.”

Luke’s senses went on high alert. “Go on.”

“The seat was pushed back. I couldn’t reach the pedals.”

“How far back?”

“About three notches.”

Luke mentally calculated the guy’s height.

“The petrol gauge was lower, and it was parked too close to the garage wall. I could barely squeeze inside.”

“Did you take the car keys away with you?” Had the car been hotwired?

“Nope, I left them in here.” She opened the top drawer of the desk and held up a bunch of keys. “I keep this drawer locked.”

“Where do you keep the key to the drawer?”

The woman reached across the desk and lifted the lid on an old cigar box. “In here.”

Luke sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Not exactly high tech security?”

A snort. “Not exactly a high tech kind of place.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Any idea who took it?”

“No, but you can cross off that lot in there.” She inclined her head in the direction of the living room. “They’re harmless. It’s the ones who work during the day I don’t trust. Most are on parole.”

Luke took a copy of the sketch from a leather document holder. “Recognise this guy?”

She groped for a pair of eyeglasses dangling from a cord around her neck and slid them onto her nose.

Luke held his breath, heart beating out some undiscovered rhythm. He had to find this guy before Ally gave him his marching orders a second time.

The landlady wrinkled her nose, head inclined to one side as she perused the sketch. Finally, she looked at him over the top of the narrow lenses. “Does look a bit like one of the blokes here I suppose.”

Oxygen flooded into Luke’s muscles, the adrenaline dump electrifying his nervous system. He’d have the bastard back in prison like a shot if that’s the hole he’d crawled from. He wanted him as far away from Allegra as possible.

Leaning forward in the chair, he stared hard at the woman. “Tell me about him.”

***

Allegra stared at the flashing cursor, her fingers poised on the keyboard. If that reporter had more information about Martin and Luke’s relationship, and why Luke felt responsible for her brother’s death, she intended finding out. Time to do a little investigation of her own.

Before she lost her nerve she typed in the reporter’s name. Selecting ‘Images of Tony Grantham’ from the list of websites, Allegra caught her breath at the grey-haired, middle aged man who stared back at her. It was him, the one never satisfied with merely reporting the facts of the case. He’d lie in wait and follow her down the street, all the while probing for a loose-lipped comment from her client.

She’d noticed him just the other day, at the bail hearing for the bikies’ chapter leader. Luke had brushed him aside as he’d ushered her into the interview room.

She closed the page and opened a website dedicated to Grantham. A former foreign correspondent, he’d reported from numerous war torn countries before being injured by insurgents in Iraq.

Allegra reached for the phone and buzzed Josie, asking her to get Grantham on the line. What on earth was the guy doing reporting for the social pages?

She glanced at her watch. Eight thirty. No point in delaying it further.

She needed to replace Luke.

Her hand hovered above the phone. Just who did she think she was kidding? A man like Luke couldn’t be replaced, not without lowering the standard considerably. How could anyone make her feel as safe as he did?

Allegra smoothed a hand across her stomach, the ache in her midsection tangible. Was she destined to live her life comparing his razor sharp wit and rugged toughness to every man she met? Not to mention his looks and the way he made her feel.

She jumped as the phone buzzed. “Yes, Josie.”

“I have Tony Grantham on the line.”

“That was quick.” Allegra leaned back in the chair, her hands beginning to shake. “Put him through.”

She waited as Josie connected the call.

“Hello, Mr. Grantham.”

“Ms. Greenwood.” The reporter’s voice was crisp and clear. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling re the article in the ‘Word about Town’ yesterday.”

A hint of wariness crept into his voice. “Not thinking of suing, I hope.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Well that depends, it’s partially inaccurate. Luke Neilson and I met barely ten months ago.”

There was a brief silence. “I’ll admit that part was supposition.”

“Hence your phrase ‘it is believed …?’”

“That’s right.”

Allegra clicked her tongue. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. I’m more concerned how you knew Luke was Martin’s superior.”

He didn’t answer, and a long silence stretched between them.

“Mr. Grantham.” Allegra cleared her throat. “I don’t have to tell you how secretive the SAS are. If you possess information concerning my brother’s death, I’d be interested in learning it.”

She held her breath as a longer silence stretched between them.

“Why don’t you ask Neilson?”

Allegra put down her pen and stared at the scribbles she couldn’t remember drawing on her legal pad. “He’s under an oath of silence.”

“Oh.”

“Can you help me or not?”

“Can I have your assurance you won’t sue?”

“Yes.” Allegra turned towards the window and stared at the river of workers rushing through Martin Place. “Do you need it in writing?”

A faint chuckle. “Not really, but you could loosen the leash on your post-court interviews.”

Allegra bristled. The bloody hide of the man. “I shouldn’t have to point out that Australia has an open justice system; members of the public and the media are allowed to attend Court. Surely, if you’ve watched the proceedings, an interview isn’t necessary.”

“It’s all about getting the jump on our competitors.”

“I can’t discuss details of a case, you know that.”

“I’m not asking for details. Just give me first crack at some general questions, like, ‘where to now’ or ‘how are you holding up?’”

Allegra gritted her teeth. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge him a little if it meant finding out how Luke was responsible for Martin’s death.

“I’ll agree to that. Tell me what you know.”

“Well—I don’t have specific information concerning your brother, only knowledge of why that mission ended so badly.”

Blood roared in her temples. Grantham had firsthand knowledge.

“I was at the military hospital when they were brought in. Your brother and Neilson were both critical. Word had it they were given faulty intel—from rogue Afghani soldiers.”

Allegra went weak all over, her legs trembling under the desk as she remembered the scars on Luke’s body. A bullet wound, close to his spine.

She moistened her parched lips, somehow forcing out the words. “They were led into a trap?”

“Yes.” The reporter’s voice softened. “By Taliban sympathisers.”

Allegra tightened her grip on the phone, not trusting herself to speak.

When she didn’t reply, Grantham continued. “Neilson took it hard. As Troop Commander he trusted the Afghanis, convinced they were aligned to the coalition.”

She wanted to slam down the phone and cover her ears with her hands. But she could only listen on in horror.

“He went back for one more tour after that. Then got out and set up his business.”

Another silence stretched between them, the only sound Grantham’s breathing over the telephone line. “I’m sorry about your brother,” he said eventually.

“Thank you.” It was all she could manage.

“Is there anything else?”

Allegra sucked in a deep breath. “Only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I was surprised to see you covering the social pages.”

Grantham gave a short laugh, clearly relieved the conversation was nearing an end. “The social page reporter took your photograph but couldn’t find any info to accompany it. I helped him out, and they credited me with the article.”

He hung up and Allegra sat gazing out the window, appalled to learn Luke had been injured too. He’d trusted the wrong people. Forgivable in the circumstances, especially if those you trusted were intent on deception. But she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t see it that way. He would blame himself, believing the buck stopped with him.

A lump formed in her throat and her eyes misted over. He’d made a human error, and despite Martin dying on his watch, she knew he would have acted to the best of his ability.

But it was war. Bad things went down, and a betrayal of such magnitude would leave an indelible imprint. Little wonder he hadn’t trusted her after the fiasco with the contract.

Had he lost faith in people generally, or in his own ability to judge character?

The phone buzzed, a sharp reminder of where she was.

“Yes, Josie?”

“Mr. Poole wants to see you in his office.”

Allegra sat straighter in the chair, her headache worsening by the minute. “Did he say what it’s about?” A summons from the senior partner this early usually meant a new case, but with everything going on, it could mean just about anything.

“No. He only said for you to go right up.”

Fearing the worst, Allegra banged down the phone. She switched her mobile onto ‘auto reply’ advising anyone who called she was in a meeting. Leaving the phone on the desk, she grabbed a pad and pen and took the elevator to the seventh floor.

***

Luke took the light globe off the landlady so she could unlock the door of Arthur Clements’ room. “He’s been complaining of bad light in here for weeks now. You’re tall, you can change it for me. If he suspects I’ve been in his room, I’ll have an excuse.”

Luke brushed past her, and as she closed the door he reached up and twisted out the old globe, replacing it with the new one. He flicked on the switch.

The light was better.

Luke reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. He had a list of Allegra’s clients with him, and Clements wasn’t on it. Tom was already searching up his record, current place of employment and the name of his parole officer. Hopefully, the information would be sitting in his email by the time he was done here.

The landlady raised her eyebrows. “What are you looking for?”

Luke pulled on the gloves with a snap and studied the dismal room. “Anything that links him to my client.”

With her standing over him like a foreman, Luke began a search of the wardrobe. The bland mix of chain store merchandise revealed nothing, though the size was consistent with what he knew of the guy.

After going through the wardrobe, he moved to the bed. He pulled back the bedclothes, ignoring the landlady’s clicking tongue as he patted around the sides of the mattress. Then he tipped it up on its side and looked underneath. Nothing.

As she grumbled and re-made the bed, Luke rifled through the small chest of drawers. Again, nothing but socks and underwear.

He raked his fingers through his hair. What had he expected to find? The guy’s wallet complete with photo ID inside? His adversary was smarter than that.

“Can I see the common room? Then I’ll take a look at the car.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “You can, but you won’t find anything. And don’t question the tenants. All we know about Arthur is that he has a casual job packing shelves in a supermarket. And he volunteers somewhere two days a week.”

She stood aside to let him pass and locked the door behind them. Then she led the way to the common room.

“They’ve gone,” she announced as they stepped into the room. “Probably in the kitchen making a cuppa.”

A retro looking coffee table holding a stack of magazines stood in the centre of the floor, while a lounge and a number of mismatched easy chairs were angled towards a large flat screen. Two faded landscapes clashed with the geometric 70’s wallpaper.

The landlady waved an arm around the room. “See, nothing here.”

With a frustrated sigh, Luke surveyed the room. The house was turning up empty. Maybe he’d have more luck with the car.

As he turned to leave, a stack of newspapers caught his attention. Striding across the room he picked them up, looking for yesterday’s paper.

“Did you get Sunday’s Herald?”

“Yeah, it should be there.”

Luke looked up, remembering something he’d seen in Clements’ room. “It’s not.”

The landlady sighed, just about out of patience.

“I need to see his room again, take a look at his shoes. I’ll only be a minute.”

“His shoes?” she muttered, shaking her head and stomping out into the hallway. “Lucky you’re cute.”

Back in the room, Luke manoeuvred his way around the landlady’s bulk and stared at the shoes standing just inside the door. Bending over, he grabbed the folded newspaper from underneath them.

Sunday’s Herald.

Heart slamming in his chest, he thumbed through the paper, searching for the article on Allegra.

Then suddenly he was staring at the social page. Half of it was missing. Arthur Clements had carefully cut out the article, refolded the newspaper and placed his shoes on top of it.

Not so smart after all.

His breath coming hard and fast, Luke reefed his phone from his pocket and dialled Tom. He held up the paper for the landlady to see.

“My client’s photo was in this paper yesterday.”

He watched her mouth fall open as Tom picked up.

“Hey Luke.”

“We’ve got him.”

***

Simon ushered her into his office, pointing at the pad in her hand. “You won’t need that, Allegra.”

Butterflies took flight in her abdomen at his unusually subdued demeanour. She slid the pad and pen onto the desk and perched on the edge of the seat, watching as Simon sat down in the high backed green leather chair.

With an apologetic smile, he extracted two envelopes from a desk drawer and held them out to her. “I received these about fifteen minutes ago. One came to me and one was sent to Henry. Both marked ‘Confidential’”.

Allegra froze, the familiar sight of the ominous old envelopes filling her with such humiliation she couldn’t bring herself to touch them. She could only stare into the confused eyes of her boss as every pore of her skin oozed embarrassment.

When she didn’t reach for them, he laid the offending items on the desk. “You’re not curious about the contents?”

She looked to him for confirmation. “Photographs?”

“Yes.”

“Anything written on them?”

“No.” A worried frown creased his forehead. “You can imagine my shock. Who would do such a thing?”

Allegra shook her head with a weary sigh. “We don’t know.” We?

“So these aren’t the first?”

“No.”

Simon took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. “Allegra. You need to tell me what kind of trouble you’re in.”

She held Simon’s gaze and steadied herself, garnering every ounce of strength she possessed. How she handled this could very well decide her future.

And her mother’s future.

As succinctly as possible, she gave him her reasons for having the photographs taken, her state of mind at the time, and the events of the past week.

Simon listened carefully, interrupting her every so often when he needed clarification. He looked disappointed when she admitted parting ways with Luke.

“There was an article in the paper …” she began.

“I saw it. Is it true, the connection between Luke and your brother?”

She nodded. “We, I, haven’t been able to get past it.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “If you can’t work things out with Neilson, hire someone else. Your safety is paramount.”

Allegra nodded, touched and grateful for his support. She’d been anticipating irritation and even anger from the senior partner. “I’ll see to it immediately.”

“And take leave until the situation’s resolved. You won’t be at your best, distracted like this.”

“Oh!” She hadn’t seen that coming. No doubt he was trying to help, but making her take leave would deprive her of the most important thing in her life.

Luke’s face flashed in her mind, but she pushed it aside.

“I’d rather be at work, Simon. I’m perfectly safe here.”

He ignored her protests. “We’ve invested time and money in you, Allegra. You have a stellar career, and we’re not going to risk it over one poor decision.”

Her heart swelled. Simon Poole had proved himself to be a loyal person. Maybe she could convince him to let her keep working. The thought of being couped up all day with nothing to occupy her mind filled her with horror.

“Thank you for your support, though I’d prefer to keep working.”

He shook his head. “You need time to straighten this out. You were right not involving the police. Keeping something like this under wraps would have proved impossible. And Neilson’s a professional.”

Allegra stayed silent. She longed to ring Luke and apologise for her behaviour, beg him to stay on her case. Stay with her. But she couldn’t. If she asked him not to walk away, he’d stay—for Martin.

No, she’d call the other security firm and fill them in. She’d been dealing with the other security guy for the past ten months as it was. And they weren’t that bad.

“I know it’s difficult when you’re personally involved with someone,” Simon was saying.

‘Personally involved’ didn’t go anywhere close to covering how she felt. She loved Luke madly, but she wasn’t about to admit it to Simon Poole. Not with her job on the line.

She stared at the crystal paperweight on the desk, feeling like a school girl on detention for someone else’s misdemeanour.

“You should take these.” Simon picked up the envelopes and handed them to her. “Give them to your investigator. Whomever you choose.”

She’d take that as her cue to leave.

Silently she stood and reached for the envelopes, mortified that the man she so admired, her mentor, had seen photographs of her like that. It had to be every bit as embarrassing for him as it was for her.

She turned away.

“Allegra.”

She halted, not trusting herself to speak.

“If those photographs weren’t evidence material, I would feed them into the shredding machine this very moment, and we’d never speak of them again.”

“Thank you.” Somehow she managed to push the words past the contracted muscles in her throat.

She watched as he came around the desk and held the door open for her. “Arrange for the junior members of your team to take over. They can keep in contact with you via email. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“And don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s all very well to look back with crystalline hindsight, but at the time we do the best we can.” With a sympathetic smile he retreated into his office, no doubt relieved their meeting was over.

She stepped into the outer office and stared at the two envelopes in her hand. She had to forget about her cases for the moment, and as hard as it would be, forget about Luke. She had to make a fresh start, hire a new security expert and move forward. At least she had an ally in Simon.

As Allegra forced her wooden legs to move, the elevator announced its arrival with a subtle chime. To her surprise the doors sighed opened to reveal Josie, a distraught look on her face. She had Allegra’s satchel in her hands.

For one idiotic moment Allegra wondered if Simon expected her to leave immediately.

She took her bag from Josie. “Why are you bringing me this? What’s going on?”

“I just got a call from Groves Hill. Your mother’s taken a turn and they’re not sure she’ll pull through. You have to go immediately. I’ll drive.”

Chapter Seventeen

Allegra pointed at her red Golf, puffing from the sprint through the underground parking lot. “You don’t have to drive. My car’s right here.”

A flash of headlights illuminated Josie’s features as she unlocked a small blue sedan about four cars along from Allegra’s. From the determined set of her chin it was clear she wouldn’t hear any more protests.

“You’re in no state to drive,” she said, throwing her handbag onto the rear seat.

Allegra opened the passenger door and sank into the seat, her chest tight with barely controlled panic. “Thanks, Josie.”

She glanced at her P.A. as she slid in behind the wheel. “Who phoned?”

“I don’t know. I was in the loo. One of the other girls answered my phone and gave me the message straight away.”

Allegra bit down on her lip as Josie accelerated up the ramp and joined the queue of cars at the exit gate. A driver up ahead swiped his card and the grill rolled upwards with a screech, allowing the line of vehicles to pass through.

They got the run of the lights, driving against the flow of morning peak hour traffic, the electronic tag beeping as they passed through the Harbour Bridge toll gates.

Allegra’s stomach tightened and she fought down the rising nausea. She loved her mother desperately and she loved Luke. In the space of twenty-four hours, it seemed she would lose them both. Suddenly the publication of the photographs didn’t seem quite so important.

She glanced over at the speedometer. “Don’t speed, Jos. It’ll only make things worse if we have an accident.”

The car slowed, and Allegra kept her mouth shut then, and let her P.A. drive. From the height of the bridge she stared down at the Luna Park rollercoaster built out over the water. The laughing clown’s face that formed the entrance to the fun park seemed to mock her fear.

Once on the north shore they took the Manly exit and headed towards the Spit. As Josie slowed at the designated zones, Allegra watched as parents dropped their children off to school.

She caught Josie’s sympathetic glance as they crossed the famous drawbridge at Middle Harbour, and then a worried silence filled the car for the remainder of the journey until Josie finally turned into the driveway of Groves Hill.

“Do you want me to come in?” Josie asked as she brought the car to a halt.

Allegra hopped out, slung her satchel over her shoulder and spoke to Josie through the open door. “I’ll be fine, really.”

“What if the worst happens?” Josie’s voice quavered. “You’ll be all alone.”

“Don’t you worry. The staff are like family.”

Josie didn’t look convinced. “Oh, I put your phone in your bag.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

As Josie drove off, Allegra hurried up the ramp to the rear door, panic wiping her memory clean as she stared at the access keypad. She’d punched in the code a thousand times. How could she forget it now?

Along the veranda, the laundry door opened. “Allegra?”

Oh God! It was Brian Morag. They were on the lookout for her. It could only mean bad news.

“Your mother’s a lot better.”

For a moment his words failed to penetrate her panic-filled mind. Then gradually her alarm receded, and she sagged with relief, limbs weary from the adrenaline coursing through her system.

“Oh.” Unmitigated joy welled up inside her. “Oh, that’s welcome news.”

Gathering her strength, she hurried along the veranda, following him as he stepped back inside the laundry. “Honestly Brian. I’ve had the week from hell. What happened to Mum?”

To her surprise he ducked behind her and closed the door.

Allegra swung around, glancing to where he’d been folding clothes at the long bench. Strange, she couldn’t remember seeing him in this part of the building before. Wasn’t he a volunteer who helped the residents play bingo and carpet bowls? What was he doing down here in the laundry?

Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird, intuition warning her of something amiss. She heard Luke’s voice in her head. Intuition is your internal sat nav.

She hid her shaking hands in the pockets of her suit coat. No. She was being ridiculous, beginning to suspect everyone. Soon she’d be jumping at shadows on the wall.

And then he turned around.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Brian Morag’s lips twisted into a snarl and his eyes turned cruel and hard. She’d seen those eyes before, peering out from behind a mask.

Instinctively she stepped back, wincing as the bench hit her in the small of her back. “You …?”

He didn’t utter a word, just stood between her and the door, staring at her with a violent intent that turned her blood to ice.

Allegra screamed.

Searched for a weapon.

He came towards her with a feral growl and she filled her lungs with oxygen, but he grabbed her hair, snapping her head back with a viciousness that sucked the scream from her throat. Blinded by tears of pain, she kicked at his shins and tried gouging his eyes as Luke had taught her.

A kick connected, and he howled in pain, momentarily loosening his grip. Allegra stumbled forward, scalp burning as she lunged for the doorknob. Desperately she twisted it back and forth.

It wouldn’t budge!

He was right behind her, his breath hot on her neck.

She shuddered, and her spine turned to liquid.

As she raised her hands to pound on the door, he brought something down over her face. She gasped, inhaled some kind of toxic fume.

Her vision blurred, and she stumbled.

“Your week from hell just got worse,” he rasped, almost wrenching her arm from its socket.

Allegra screamed in pain, inhaled another mouthful.

Through the sickening haze it registered in a far corner of her mind that her mother must be okay. And that made her happy. Brian Morag had been waiting in the laundry. It had all been a ruse to lure her here.

Allegra’s head seemed to detach from her body. Luke wasn’t the only one who’d walked into a trap.

She saw his face in her mind’s eye, wished she could really see him again. Touch his face. Ease his conscience.

But it wouldn’t happen now.

It was over.

I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so sorry.

Then blackness engulfed her and she slumped to the floor.

***

Luke shone a torch over the interior of the car.

“Aren’t you going to brush it for prints?”

Luke checked under the dash then moved the driver’s seat forward and back. “I’m not the police.”

They would be involved soon enough. He’d hand over the evidence he had on Clements then strike a deal to keep the photographs of Allegra under wraps. They would brush the car for prints, move in and arrest him.

His gloved fingertips touched something under the seat. Groping around, Luke extracted a scrunched up ball of paper.

He smoothed it out as best he could and shone the torch light on it. It was a copy of a prescription for pharmaceuticals, the writing so faded it was barely legible. It could have been wet at some point.

“It’s made out to a Merle Anderson, dated roughly two months ago.” He held it up for the landlady to see. “Who’s Merle Anderson?”

She shrugged. “Never heard of her.”

“How long have you owned this car?”

“Eight years.” She planted her hands on generous hips and glared at him. “And before you ask, I don’t know how that got there.”

Luke bagged the piece of paper then phoned Tom and gave him the details. “I can’t read the address, but the pharmacy’s Piggotts at Cremorne.”

“You think Clements might have dropped it?”

“Seems likely, or someone he had with him.” Luke straightened and stretched out his back. “Anything on him yet?”

“He works in a supermarket at Yagoona three days a week. Has a record as long as your arm.”

Luke discarded the latex gloves. “For what?”

“Everything from petty theft to break and enter and assault. Going right back. Then six years ago he was convicted of sexual assault.”

Bile rose in Luke’s throat. “Shit!”

He pushed past the landlady and walked outside, needing some fresh air. He needed to see Allegra, reassure himself she was okay. If Clements so much as put his hands on her …

Calm down! Think of it as another mission. You do your best work that way.

Luke raised his free hand and leaned against the doorjamb. He couldn’t let his emotions screw with his head. She was at the office. Nat was stationed outside. Both his associates had her on GPS.

His phone beeped.

“I called the supermarket,” Tom was saying. “He’s not in today.”

“Did you get on to his parole officer?”

“Had to leave a message.

“Keep trying, find out where Clements volunteers. I’m not hanging around waiting for him to show up.”

“Will do.”

“And Tom, cross search Clements with Merle Anderson and Chris Noble. There’s got to be a link, however tenuous.”

“I’m on it.”

Luke disconnected Tom and brought up the incoming call. It was Nat. “Hey, what’s up?”

“There’s a problem this end.”

The urgency in her voice almost caused his heart to stop.

“I’ve lost her. Four cars came out one after the other, none of them the Golf. They turned in different directions. I couldn’t see which car she was in.”

Luke swallowed, his mouth going dry. Why would Allegra get in someone else’s car? “Tell me you’ve got her on GPS.”

“I do, but the Spit Bridge opened up. I’m stuck, waiting for the yachts to go through.”

Luke’s mind raced. Groves Hill was in that direction, but why would she be visiting her mother on a work morning? And why wasn’t she in her own car?

“Hang on, Nat. I’ll ring her.”

Luke paced around the tiny yard at the rear of the garage waiting for the call to connect. Allegra would be furious about the tracking software, and she’d be pissed to learn he was still on the case. But he couldn’t worry about her reaction. Not when he was this close.

Within seconds an automatic reply came back. ‘I am in a meeting.’

Luke swore under his breath. She wasn’t in a bloody meeting. She was on the North Shore.

Aware of the landlady watching his every move, he phoned Grace and Poole and asked to be put through to Allegra.

“One moment please, Mr. Neilson.”

The call went straight to her voicemail.

Luke clenched his teeth, hung up and redialled. This time he asked for Allegra’s secretary.

Voicemail again.

He disconnected the call and stared at the phone in his hand. What the fuck was going on?

“She could be going to see her mother,” he told Nat. “Catch her up. I’ll keep trying her mobile. I’m almost done here.”

“Okay.”

Luke hung up and turned to the landlady. “Have you got someone who can stay with you?”

She looked embarrassed all of a sudden, like she wasn’t used to people watching out for her. “A nephew does some odd jobs around the place. He’d stay over if I asked.”

“Then ask. And can you not use the car?”

“For how long?”

“Give me twenty four hours.” Luke held out the car key. “And hide this in a better place.”

She rolled her eyes and reached for the key. “Okay, but only because you’re so pretty.”

“Stay out of his way,” Luke said in a low voice as they walked back through the house.

“What’s he done?”

He retrieved his helmet from the hallstand. “I can’t say. Just sit tight and call me immediately he gets back.”

Luke buckled his helmet and vaulted down the front steps. He couldn’t lie in wait for Clements when Allegra was running around loose on the Northern Beaches. Tom’s searches could take a while, and God only knew when he’d get to speak to the parole officer.

“Hope you find that girl of yours,” the landlady called as she closed the front gate.

***

Weaving through Sydney’s gridlocked traffic, Luke was grateful to be on the bike. He ignored the frustrated expressions of irate drivers going nowhere, and emerged from the Harbour Tunnel into bright sunshine.

His phone buzzed against his chest.

Tom didn’t bother with a greeting. “Merle Anderson is a 92 years old resident of Groves Hill Aged Care. Isn’t that where Allegra’s mother lives?”

Luke’s body went stone cold, his theories turning to dust. Jesus! Clements and Groves Hill? The threat was closer to home than he’d imagined.

“I need a minute to think, Tom.”

A debilitating fear, unlike anything he’d ever known, infused his body. Allegra wasn’t in her car, or at the office. She’d travelled in an unknown vehicle to Groves Hill. And she wasn’t answering her phone.

“What about the parole officer?”

“He doesn’t know anything about Clements volunteering.”

Unanswered questions filled Luke’s mind. Could Clements be a volunteer at Groves Hill? It seemed unlikely. Volunteers were thoroughly vetted, and a Police Record would throw up a red flag immediately. Then how come a prescription found in the landlady’s stolen car belonged to a resident at Groves Hill?

“Tom, ring Groves. Ask the Director to keep Allegra in his office until I get there, and find out if Clements is a volunteer?”

“Right.”

“Fax them a copy of our sketch too, in case he’s there under an assumed name.”

“Okay.”

“Where’s Nat?”

“Over the Spit now.”

“And Allegra?”

“At Groves Hill.”

Luke breathed a sigh of relief. “I hope I’m wrong, Tom. I hope Allegra slipped into a cab without Nat noticing, but I don’t think so.”

“How do the photographs fit in?”

Luke glanced over his shoulder and changed lanes. “No idea, but our first priority is to secure Allegra. Then we go after Clements. The evidence against him is mounting.”

Luke killed the call and pulled into the transit lane reserved for buses and cabs. Ignoring the speed cameras, he passed the turnoff to Balmoral Beach and roared downhill towards the Spit Bridge, relieved to find it closed and the traffic moving freely.

A call came through from Nat.

“Luke, she’s on the move, but not headed back this way.”

What the hell was going on? “Where’s she headed?”

“Manly Beach I’d say.”

“Where are you?”

“At a servo in Balgowlah.”

Luke checked the traffic ahead of him. “Stay where you are, I’m only a minute or two behind. We’ll swap phones. I’ve got more chance of catching her on the bike. Keep trying her mobile.”

“Gotcha.”

Minutes later Luke spotted Nat’s car and pulled in beside her. He spread his legs wide to balance the bike, leaving the engine running.

“I can’t raise her,” Nat said as they swapped phones. She leaned over and pointed to the screen. “Do you really think that’s her? I mean, I didn’t actually see her leave the building. What if someone else has her phone?”

Luke stared at the moving arrow, a cold wad of fear lodging heavily in his gut. The possibilities were endless. Allegra could have called a cab and gone to see her mother. She could be rejecting his calls because as far as she was concerned he was off the case. Hell, she could even have had her phone stolen.

But every instinct told him otherwise.

“Go straight to Groves and question the Director. I’ve got a hunch Clements is a volunteer there. Tom’s faxing through the mock up. Find out everything you can.”

“Okay.” Nat stared at him through worried eyes. “What’s your take on this?”

Luke swallowed and closed his eyes. It was futile putting himself in Allegra’s shoes and trying to second guess her movements, when his tried and tested modus operandi was to approach things pragmatically and listen to his gut. And his gut told him everything pointed to Groves Hill, Clements and Merle Anderson. And that circle naturally widened to include Allegra and her mother.

Just how the photographs fitted in, he didn’t know.

But he did know his personal relationship with Allegra was distorting his thinking. If this were any other client he’d analyse the cold, hard facts and not be afraid to face the impending nightmare about to be unleashed.

And he’d know what to do.

He opened his eyes and stared at Nat, barely managing to articulate his worst fear. “She’s in trouble. I have this god-awful feeling he’s got her already.”

Chapter Eighteen

She was in a moving vehicle.

Allegra pushed her tongue around the dry insides of her mouth and stared at the specks of light piercing the fabric of her makeshift hood.

Those specks told her she wasn’t in the trunk.

Relief drained her already depleted energy stores, and she screwed up her face and held her breath as dust particles irritated her nasal passages. Her heart pounded with the effort not to sneeze.

The slightest noise would tell Morag she was awake.

Sweat trickled down her face and into her eyes. She blinked, fighting the lethargy weighing down her limbs. Her hands were trussed so tightly the pain was almost unbearable.

Tentatively, she moved one foot, and then the other, surprised to find it was only paralysing fear that bound them together.

She needed to think.

Self-defence 101 with Luke had equipped her with the basics, but physically, she was no match for Brian Morag.

Her mouth quivered beneath the crude hood as she tested her restraints.

Luke!

You only have a small window of opportunity to break free.

She heard his voice in her head and she clung to it like a life buoy. She visualised his face, the slash on his cheek, the firm lips and roughened jaw that drove her to madness when they made love.

Courage welled within her, silent and energising, bringing strength to her limbs and infusing her with a steely resolve.

She wouldn’t give up. She would see Luke again. See her mother.

No way would she die like this!

There was a sudden squeal of tyres and Morag braked hard, cannoning her into what had to be the back of the front seats. A cacophony of horns and a string of obscenities from the front of the vehicle covered her grunt. As Morag accelerated, she flattened herself to the floor, trying not to roll on the carpeted flat bed surface. She lifted her head, and her crown rubbed against a flexible, vinyl like cover.

She was in the back of a wagon, or SUV.

Harnessing every ounce of her strength, she struggled with the restraints on her wrists. Pain shot through her fingers and she bit down hard on her bottom lip.

She had to remain silent.

Her jaw tensed as she strained to hear any audible clue as to where they were. A hiss of airbrakes indicated a large vehicle to the left of them, and a motorcycle revved in the distance. Every sound suggested a built up area.

With grim determination she worked at loosening her bonds, nauseous from the substance Morag had given her and the stop start motion of the car. Fear ate at the lining of her stomach.

The vehicle rounded a long bend, the traffic moving more freely now, suggesting the outskirts of the city. Growing more frantic, Allegra twisted her hands back and forth, damping down her panic as sensation leached back into her fingertips.

She prayed Luke was still working the case, clinging to the belief he wouldn’t let things slide until she got around to retaining someone else. He wasn’t the type of man to just let things go. He’d done everything he could to stop her leaving yesterday.

She worked away, her hands chafing as she dragged at the restraints. As much as she longed for Luke, she was faced with the harsh reality.

She was on her own.

How could he ever find her now?

***

At the stop light, Luke left two cars between the white wagon and the Harley. Another minute and he’d get a look at the driver. He made a show of gazing at his surroundings, disguising the mix of adrenaline and fury racing through his system. If Clements was behind the wheel, he didn’t want to tip him off. Patience and timing worked best.

The phone buzzed against his chest.

“What do you have, Nat?”

“I recognised one of the cars from the underground coming out of Groves.” Nat’s relieved voice crackled through the connection. “I cut it off. It was Allegra’s secretary.”

Luke frowned behind the black Perspex lens of his helmet. “Josie?”

“That’s her. They got a call that Mrs. Greenwood was gravely ill. She drove Allegra. That’s why I missed them.”

Up ahead the light turned green and the wagon moved off. Luke followed at a slower pace, letting the car gain ground. “That accounts for her movements up until then.”

“You think it’s a ploy?”

“It’s what I’m guessing.”

“Where are you now?”

“Manly Beach, tailing a white wagon.” He recited the plate number to Nat. “Get Tom onto it. Check if Allegra’s with her mother before I make a move.”

“Sure thing.”

The line went dead in his ear.

***

Arthur Clements thumped his palm on the steering wheel and swore profusely. Any minute now she’d be awake, and the retractable load cover wouldn’t contain her if she began thrashing around. Just his luck this heap was the only one unlocked in the supermarket car park.

For the umpteenth time he checked the vehicles around him. No sign of Neilson’s AMG. What the hell had happened to him? All week he’d been hanging around like shit on her shoe and then he just ups and leaves?

He turned his head and spat out the window. Good riddance! Neilson’s absence made his job a whole lot easier.

He peered through the side mirror—not a police car in sight.

He checked the rear view. No movement from the back of the wagon either.

The traffic had thinned out now. One by one the cars he’d been watching had turned off, until only the guy on the gleaming Harley remained. When he’d finished with Allegra, he’d think about stealing a bike like that and cruising up the Queensland coast. Maybe he’d cut across to the Northern Territory and Uluru. Get lost in the Australian outback.

He couldn’t go back now. They were already suspicious at Groves Hill and when they discovered Brian Morag was an alias it would all be over.

And he was ready to move on, be rid of the old bitch at the boarding house and that loser Parole Officer, always on his case for missing appointments with the psychologist. He wouldn’t miss that bloody quack either, forever questioning him about his urges.

The lights changed and he pressed the accelerator to the floor. He took Darley Road, glancing briefly at St. Patrick’s Seminary which now housed the International Hotel School, before passing beneath the Park Hill Arch.

He knew the layout of North Head Sanctuary backwards. He’d spent hours up here reading thousands of inscriptions left by people who had passed through the old quarantine centre. He knew every building of the World War II Military Base, every gravestone in the cemetery, every square metre of wild tea tree scrub.

Yes, it had been too long since his last visit here.

***

Luke’s phone vibrated. He pulled into the lookout area, left the bike idling and pretended to inspect the view. From the corner of his eye he watched the wagon turn into the car park of the Military Base.

“Yep?”

“It’s bad.”

Nat’s words stunned Luke like a blow to the heart. His legs went weak as an image of Allegra lying injured, worse, flashed through his mind.

Dear God, don’t let me be too late.

“No one’s seen Allegra. She didn’t sign the visitor’s log and her mother’s fine. The Director confirmed the identikit as being Brian Morag, a volunteer under suspicion for stealing prescription drugs, among other things, from residents.”

That explained the prescription under Audrey’s seat.

Luke checked the GPS app. The signal from Allegra’s phone was still coming from the wagon. He blew out a huge breath and revved the engine, the rear wheel kicking up a plume of dust as he took off.

She had to be in that car!

“Clements stole the identity of a dead guy.” The roar of the Harley just about drowned out Nat’s voice. “How do the photographs tie in?”

“Keep digging.” Luke yelled his final instructions. “And call the police. The parking lot at the old military base.”

“It’s crawling with tourists.”

“Not on a Monday.” Luke had the bike on a lean as he rounded the corner, his heart throbbing in time with the engine. “It’s closed.”

***

Allegra tore at her bindings, her own carbon dioxide sending her dizzy. She slowed her breathing and pressed her face into the floor, waiting for the light-headedness to pass.

Morag made a sudden turn and she pitched sideways as they left the bitumen. She winced as her shoulder slammed into something hard as the car bumped over a potholed surface.

This was it! Her fate a done deal if Morag had his way.

A cold draft of terror blew through her heart. Her poor mother would never survive the trauma of outliving both her children. And Luke would live his life believing he’d failed her brother twice.

She couldn’t let that happen!

With a strength borne of desperation, she ground her teeth together and shut out the agony in her bruised and bleeding hands. Biting down on her bottom lip to prevent any sound from escaping, she managed to drag one hand free. She clawed at the ties securing the hood with her broken nails. Thank God he hadn’t tied her feet.

She was tough goddamnit! She was a Greenwood—and she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Morag brought the car to a stop.

Allegra’s heart boomed as she clawed at the knots and wrenched the crude cover from her head. She dragged oxygen into her lungs, squinting in the sudden light, eyes scanning the confined space.

Morag killed the engine.

She ran her shaking hands over the carpeted surface, feeling for something, anything she could use as a weapon.

Morag opened the driver’s door.

A whimper rose in her throat, the deafening roar in her temples drowning out all other sound. The car was old, damaged in places. Frantically she ran her hands over the plastic trim.

The car shook as Morag slammed the door.

Footsteps crunched on gravel.

Allegra tore at the trim in desperation. A piece came away in her hand and she stared into a hollow cavity.

Her captor moved to the rear of the car.

She thrust in a hand and groped around. Her fingers touched something hard.

A key sliding into a lock.

A tool kit!

A cocktail of chemicals surged into Allegra’s bloodstream as she dragged the heavy vinyl pocket containing the tools from its hiding place.

Then sunlight streamed in as Morag raised the tailgate and everything moved in slow motion.

She fought back the retractable load cover and sprang to her haunches, her gaze drawn to the carving knife in his hand.

A feral grin split an evil face.

Her fingers tightened on the cold wrench.

Luke rounded the corner, the bike on a lean.

Clements stood under the tailgate, something in his right hand.

Pushing aside all kinds of unimaginable horrors, Luke opened the throttle and revved the engine. The distraction worked. He was halfway across the deserted lot when Clements wheeled around.

Luke sprang from the bike. The Harley toppled over, wheels spinning noisily as it skidded across the parking area. Clements’ gaze followed the path of the bike.

Time passed in seconds. One… two … three.

By the time Clements saw him, it was too late. Luke was down on one knee.

“Step away from the car,” he roared, his pistol trained on Clements. Much as he longed to shoot the bastard, he needed to find Allegra. If she wasn’t in the car she could die somewhere, hidden. Never to be found.

Clements didn’t move. He didn’t panic, didn’t even make a run for it. He just stood there, a grin spreading across his face, his wild eyed stare turning Luke’s blood to ice.

Resisting the temptation to put a bullet in the guy’s leg, he kept the gun trained on what looked to be a knife. McGregor’s physical description had been spot on.

He looked like any regular punter man.

“I know you’ve got her Clements.” Luke pushed the words past the blockage in his throat. “She’ll be in good shape or I’ll have your pathetic arse.”

From the back of the wagon Allegra’s face swam into view.

“Luke!”

Sunlight flashed on metal. There was a dull thud and Clements staggered sideways holding his head.

“Ally.” Luke’s voice was a hoarse croak.

He lowered his weapon and took off at a run, his heart soaring at the sight of her. She leaped to the ground, moving with a drunken gait.

Was she hurt, drugged?

Then her legs buckled and she pitched forward.

It was the opportunity Clements needed. He grabbed her and pulled her round in front of him, the knife pressed against her throat.

Luke raised the gun again.

“Back off, Neilson.”

Everything around him faded and receded. Everything, except the small patch of Clements’ forehead visible behind Ally’s terrified face. A severed carotid artery would bleed her out in two minutes.

Clements moved and he lost the line of his shot.

“I said back off Neilson or I’ll kill her.”

White hot fury coursed through Luke’s veins as he closed one eye and found another spot on Clements’ forehead. “Let. Her. Go.”

The guy kept moving around and he couldn’t get a clear shot.

Shit! No way would he risk shooting Allegra.

“Drop the gun,” Clements screamed. “Or she’s dead.”

She whimpered as Clements pressed the point of the knife into the soft spot under her ear.

All at once Luke was back in Afghanistan. He tuned out the sounds escaping Allegra’s lips, tuned out her glorious face as a familiar calmness settled over him. He’d been here before, more times than he cared to remember. Only this time the woman he loved was in the line of fire.

I can’t lose her. I’ve only just found her.

He shut down the voice in his head. Right here, right now, there was only him and Clements.

Luke steadied himself. “It’s not a video game, Clements.” Beneath the bike leathers, sweat trickled down his chest. “There’s no pause and replay. No second chances.”

A snarl. “So hotshot, you know my name.”

“Wasn’t hard,” Luke replied smoothly, stalling for time. He could hear sounds behind him and it wouldn’t be long before the police arrived. “I got your landlady’s number plate on camera, found Merle Anderson’s prescription under the seat. Sloppy.”

He noted the way Clements’ gaze moved past his shoulder. What was going on back there?

Focus! One mistake and she’s dead.

“It’s a low act Clements, preying on the vulnerable and elderly.” He spoke neutrally and unemotionally, his finger curled on the trigger. “You’re going back inside. Just don’t make me put a bullet in you.”

Allegra’s breath was coming in short, shallow gasps.

Come on, baby. Remember what I taught you. Don’t let him drag you into that scrub.

“I’m not going back,” Clements yelled, squeezing Allegra’s ribs so hard she screamed in agony. “Drop the gun.”

Fury scorched Luke’s flesh as Clements dragged her backwards, pulling her closer to the tangle of tea trees.

The gun was Allegra’s only chance. One slice of the knife and it would all be over.

Manly Hospital was close.

Not close enough for the paramedics to save her.

Only he could do that.

And he had to save her. If she died, his heart would bleed out with her.

Luke stepped closer to his prey, controlling the raging beast inside him.

This was personal.

No one hurt his woman.

No one touched his woman.

Chapter Nineteen

Allegra shuddered, her stomach heaving as ‘Clements’ pressed his sweaty body close up against her. Rough fingers drilled into her ribs, her head forced back at a painful angle by the lethal weapon at her throat.

Luke’s features were indistinguishable, but she could hear the aggression roughening his voice as he advanced on them.

And Morag was revelling in it.

Only Luke kept calling him ‘Clements’.

As Luke closed the distance between them, her captor tried to drag her towards the scrub. She back peddled, the loose gravel grazing her heels as she searched for a foothold.

“I won’t tell you again, Neilson,” Clements bellowed. “Drop the gun or she dies.”

Allegra’s heart boomed like a bass drum.

For God’s sake think!

She was Clements’ armour, Luke an expert marksman. But he wouldn’t risk hitting her, wouldn’t risk spilling more Greenwood blood. She didn’t have a choice. She had to move, had to give him the required seconds to fell Clements with a disabling shot.

Words. Words were her speciality.

She moistened her parched lips and forced the words out. “Why me, Brian?”

It worked!

Clements stop moving when he heard her voice. He straightened, pulled back slightly.

Keep talking!

Gritting her teeth, Allegra steeled herself to the blade at her throat. She turned her head, making eye contact.

His stance shifted. He angled his head to look at her, his voice an unrecognisable whine. “I tried talking to you, but you never had time for me. Always busy.”

Across the car park, Luke could have been a statue.

“I’m sorry Brian. I didn’t mean to be rude.” In her peripheral vision she saw Luke creep forward. “I’m—time poor.”

“You brushed me aside,” he screamed, eyes bulging, the cords in his neck straining with the effort.

Allegra fought against the urge to cower.

Then his voice dropped to a whisper and he looked at Luke. “You were beautiful.”

Allegra swallowed, the blade cold and threatening.

Were.

“And a lawyer—even better.”

“You hate lawyers?” she bit out, her mouth devoid of saliva.

Clements’ mouth curved in a cruel grin. “I hate unfaithful women.”

Unfaithful women.

Allegra stared into the eyes of a fanatic. Her left arm was pinned by his, making it impossible to move. But his right arm was raised, holding the knife to her throat, exposing the right side of his torso. She had to ignore the knife. If she could just turn one more inch she could drive her elbow into his ribcage.

Groggy, she wondered whether she had the strength. Would it be enough?

There were more people in the car park, and Clements still hadn’t moved. Allegra gazed into his eyes, read the resignation there.

The man was prepared to die. And he intended taking her with him.

She swung her eyes towards Luke, trying to convey her love, hoping he’d read the apology in her eyes.

Do it now.

Praying Luke would somehow read her mind, she curled her right hand into a fist and tried not to think of the knife. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she flexed the muscles in her right arm and drove it backwards. Hard.

Clements grunted, sagged as her elbow impacted his ribs. For the briefest moment he loosened his hold.

Allegra contorted her body, thrashing about as she tried to break free. Stronger than he looked, he recovered quickly, his iron grip tightening. Instinctively she went ragdoll limp, sinking to her knees, making it harder for him to control her body.

Someone yelled, “Freeze.”

Stars burst behind her eyes as his knee landed in the small of her back. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs. She pitched forward, sharp stones slicing her palms as she tried crawling away.

Cruel fingers plunged into her hair and her head was dragged back. Someone screamed. A gunshot rang out. A sting on her neck.

Behind her, Clements thudded to the ground.

Allegra turned her head. He lay sprawled on his back, a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead. Blood pooled from beneath his head, rivers of red cutting a path through the dust and stones.

Sightless eyes stared at the sky.

Her ears ringing from the gunshot, Allegra touched her neck. Her fingers came away, wet, warm and covered in blood. The landscape tilted and she slumped sideways, her vision patchy. She clutched at the dirt, her head too heavy to hold erect.

Luke called her name.

She was cradled in his arms.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered.

Something pressed against her neck.

Allegra tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form. She could hear him saying her name again, and again.

The darkness swallowed her.

***

Luke’s fingers were digging into her upper arm. “Come on, baby, come on.”

Allegra tried pulling her arm free. “You’re hurting me.”

He tightened his grip, sending her arm numb.

She gasped. “Luke…

Allegra could hear voices. She was lying down, and people were touching her. Luke had hold of her arm and she wanted to see him again, wanted to touch him again.

Like a diver surfacing from deep water, she gasped and opened her eyes.

“Welcome back.”

She stared into the face of a stranger, a reassuring stranger in a doctor’s gown, standing beside the bed she was lying in.

She’d been dreaming of Luke. This time in colour.

“That’s looking better.” The doctor pulled at the Velcro strips and unwound the blood pressure cuff strapped to her upper arm. “You have a fairy godmother sitting on your shoulder.”

Allegra had the urge to laugh hysterically. What would Luke make of that comment? She felt amazingly clear headed for having her…

She inhaled sharply and raised a shaking hand to her throat.

“He didn’t get a chance to do any major damage. Had he cut an artery…” The doctor shook his head. “You are one lucky lady. You escaped a murderer with five stitches. The scar shouldn’t be too noticeable.”

Allegra struggled into a sitting position. She was in a busy emergency ward. The last thing she remembered was Luke, distressed, holding her.

“Where am I? How long was I out?”

The doctor checked his watch. “Not too long. You’re a little shocked up.” He leaned closer, speaking quietly. “You’re in Manly Hospital. You have multiple lacerations, nothing too serious, but you’ve lost some blood. There are contusions on your lower back which will need to be X-rayed.”

A nurse appeared behind him. “Doctor, you’re needed out front.”

The doctor gave her a courteous nod. “Rest up a while. We’ll give you something for your pain shortly.”

He disappeared around the curtain.

Allegra didn’t care about cuts and bruises, X-rays or pain relief. She was alive!

Luke hadn’t given up on her. He’d come through. Saved her life. Who needed a fairy godmother when she had Luke watching over her?

God she loved him. He was the only drug she needed.

“Could you get Luke Neilson for me please?” she asked the nurse who brought water a little while later.

“Is he out in the waiting room?”

Allegra nodded. “I expect so.”

As the nurse went to fetch Luke, Allegra tested her body. The edge of her skirt rubbed her grazed knees and her scalp burned from Clements’ brutal hand. And though her limbs were heavy, she could move everything without a problem.

She sank back against the pillows. She’d cheated death and come though relatively unscathed. If not for Luke, she’d be dead.

“Allegra?”

She looked up to see Nat’s head poking through the split in the curtain. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Allegra tried hiding her disappointment. Where was Luke?

Nat moved to her bedside. “Am I glad to see you alive and breathing.”

Allegra struggled to sit upright. “What’s happening? Where’s Luke?”

“One thing at a time.” Nat pointed an index finger towards the ceiling. “Hear that? It’s the media choppers. North Head is crawling with television crews and police.”

Pain knifed through Allegra’s heart, more painful than any injury Clements had inflicted. Had Nat accompanied her to hospital, while Luke attended to the aftermath of the shooting?

Before she had a chance to voice the question, another thought crashed into her mind and she stared at Nat in horror. “Oh my God, my mother. Does she know anything about this?”

“No, she’s absolutely fine. They have a nurse with her until you can get to see her.”

Allegra relaxed a little. “I can’t believe it was Brian Morag.”

Nat shuddered. “I tell you, you can’t pick them.”

Allegra couldn’t wait any longer. “How did Luke find me?”

Nat’s glance was wary. “After Clements attacked you in the apartment, he installed tracking software on your phone. While you were packing. You were so pissed off at him for hacking into the firm’s computer system, he didn’t tell you.”

“You keep calling him Clements. Why? And how did he get the photographs?”

“We found a letter in Clements’ locker at Groves Hill. It was addressed to you from Chris Noble. He tried to contact you when he was out here, but you were away. He wanted to return his copy of the photographs, so he packaged them up and took them to your mother to pass onto you. But she wasn’t well that day, and Clements took them. He must have said he’d pass them onto her, but he kept the disk. The packaging was still in his locker.”

Allegra’s head began to spin again.

Nat reached out and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “The note says he couldn’t bring himself to destroy them, and he thought you might have regretted destroying your copies. And he hoped you were well.”

A painful lump lodged in Allegra’s throat and she massaged her temples with her fingertips. Perhaps she’d take those painkillers after all.

“Clements worked under an assumed name. At night he’d steal drugs, jewellery and money from the residents’ rooms. Luke made the connection when he found a prescription in that Toyota at the boarding house. It was made out to a resident at Groves Hill.

Allegra closed her eyes for a long second. Luke had ignored her rant and gone to the boarding house anyway. She’d never complain about his stubbornness again. “Who has the disk now?”

Nat dug into a black bag hanging from her shoulder. She pulled out a silver and white disk. “Moi!”

Allegra stared, and for the first time let herself grieve a little for Chris Noble. He’d labelled the disk with her name, scrawled in his familiar hand with a pink, permanent marker.

Who could have ever imagined the disk would end up in the hands of someone like Clements?

Nat’s voice brought her back to the present. “Luke got me to search the wagon. So far we’ve kept it quiet. Why leave the disk for the police to find? I’ve also got your satchel and the flash drive Clements attached to his army knife.”

“Can you keep evidence from the police?” she asked Nat.

The other woman shrugged. “You retained us to solve the case. Luke will hand everything over only when he gets the deal he wants.”

Luke had thought of everything, working with a military precision that left no loose ends. That’s why he was the best.

“This is Luke’s phone,” Nat said, pulling a mobile from her bag. “I have to message him, let him know you’re okay. I’m not sure he’ll get it though.”

Allegra jerked to attention. She searched Nat’s face. “Why won’t he get it?”

Nat looked up. “I wanted to make sure you were up to hearing it. A cop in an unmarked police car was the first to arrive on the scene. He witnessed the entire thing, along with me and a few other people at the Military Base.”

Allegra nodded, as sense of foreboding cascading over her. Something wasn’t right.

“The officer stopped Luke getting in the ambulance. Luke was so furious he took a swing at him. The officer cuffed him and took him to Manly Police Station.”

***

“I’m Luke Neilson’s attorney. I demand you release my client immediately.”

Luke lifted his head from his hands.

No way!

It couldn’t be her.

He sprang from the bench and grasped the bars of his cell, straining to hear the conversation coming from the open door leading into Gary Redman’s office.

“Good afternoon to you too, Ms. Greenwood.”

Luke’s heart jackhammered in his chest.

It was her!

What the hell?

The siege had ended barely four hours ago. By everybody’s reasoning she should be in hospital.

“On what grounds are you holding him?” he heard her ask.

God he loved her snooty manner. For the first time since the ambos had taken her to hospital, his tension eased.

“Refusing to co-operate.”

Redman was a good cop. They’d worked in conjunction in the past and Luke hadn’t enjoyed pissing him off. But he had, bigtime.

Allegra’s career was at stake.

“In what way?” She snapped out the question, giving Redman a classic dose of her perfumed steamroller treatment.

“He refuses to give details of your case. I’m sure you didn’t miss the media camped outside. They want blood.”

“Since when have the police become the media’s lapdog?”

Luke grinned. He could hear Redman floundering already.

“A man was killed.”

Allegra’s retort was quick and sharp. “You don’t have to tell me officer, I was there. If it wasn’t for Luke Neilson, I’d be in that morgue, not Clements. And God knows how many other innocent women.”

“I’m not arguing with you, Ms. Greenwood, but I’ve got a job to do.”

“Then do it. Charge him or let him go.”

“I have a dead body on my hands. Neilson’s never had a problem sharing details of his cases in the past.”

“Neilson was doing a job I retained him to do.”

Luke clenched his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. The last thing he wanted was for her to give Redman what he wanted. He had to warn her, say something.

“Don’t do this, Ally,” he called.

There was a pause in the conversation. He could imagine the two of them glaring at each other. Then the sharp crack of heels rang out on the polished cement floor, and suddenly she appeared in the doorway, barely four metres from him.

Her eyes locked with his and Luke’s heart just about stopped. Dressed at her formidable best in a black pants suit, she looked the same as always, the only difference being the colourful scarf tied at her throat.

But he didn’t buy it. Not for one second. She had to be hurting.

He cleared his throat. He wanted her to come closer, so he could satisfy himself that she was really okay. But one look at her face told him that wasn’t going to happen.

“Shut up, Luke. You’ve done your job, now let me do mine.”

To his amazement, she turned away and spoke to Redman. “Officer, there are multiple witnesses to Luke Neilson shooting in my defence.”

“That’s not in dispute.”

“You’re not charging him with assaulting an officer, or murder?”

“Of course not. The young cop first on the scene went off half cocked.”

“Then release him, or I’ll file a complaint of police intimidation and false imprisonment on his behalf.”

Luke groaned.

“I’m entitled to hold him for twenty-four hours.”

“You really want to do that?”

“No, I don’t.”

Luke heard the frustration in Redman’s voice. “Luke and I have a history of sorts, helping each other, that kind of thing. This is the first time we’ve encountered a problem.”

There was a long break in the conversation.

Please, don’t do it, Ally.

“All right, Officer,” he heard her say. “I’m going to show you something, and only once.”

Oh Christ!

Luke threw his hands in the air in frustration.

There was a rustle of paper, and when Redman spoke next, his tone had changed markedly. “I see. I can understand the importance of keeping this from the press.”

Luke couldn’t help shouting out, angry with Allegra for taking matters into her own hands. “You breathe one word of this Redman, and you’ll have me to deal with.”

“The only points you’re earning here Luke, are frequent fliers. Zip it. Or I’ll arrest you for threatening a police officer.”

Allegra trailed Redman into the room, her eyes blazing a warning. “You’d do well to heed his advice.”

Stuff that.

“It doesn’t leave this room,” Luke pressed, eyeballing Redman as he unlocked the door to the cell.

He brushed past the policeman and for the first time got a good look at Ally. Beneath the make-up she was pale, and though she tried to hide it, she limped when she walked. But she gave nothing away, her inscrutable legal mask firmly in place.

Before he could say anything, Nat appeared in the doorway. “How are we going to do this?”

“Get her home, Nat.” He looked into Allegra’s eyes, hoping she’d read the promise there.

Redman took a bunch of keys from a hook on the wall. “Use the back door. Luke and I will put something together to feed the wolves at the door.”

Chapter Twenty

It was past six when she heard Luke’s knock on the door. Dressed in comfortable sweats and a tee-shirt, Allegra took a deep breath and looked through the peephole. When she opened the door of her apartment, her heart just about stopped.

Casually elegant, Luke had taken a shower and changed into jeans and a long sleeved blue striped shirt. A week ago she’d thought him arrogant. Now he held her heart in his hands.

She stepped aside to let him pass, smiling at Astro’s enthusiastic welcome, and though he caught her in a gentle embrace, she sensed him holding back, sensed a nervousness in him that matched her own.

And she was afraid she understood his reticence.

After Nat had dropped her home, she’d spent hours dissecting their relationship. No matter which way she looked at it, she always arrived at the same conclusion. The case was finished. Luke was free to move on to the next one. Move on from her.

He’d saved her life, his debt to Martin repaid.

She closed the door behind him with a soft click. “Come and sit inside.”

They sat on the couch, facing each other as they had a week ago. But so much had happened and there was so much to say. For the first time in her life Allegra didn’t know where to begin.

Luke was first to break the silence.

“Have you spoken to your mother?”

She nodded. “She’s totally fine.”

“That’s good.” Luke shook his head. “It’s such a random event. No-one could have predicted it.”

She drew a deep breath, longing to move her aching body closer to his warmth. “I know. It’s just—fate. I’ll go and see her tomorrow. Simon’s given me two weeks leave.”

“Good.” He looked relieved. “At some point the police will require a statement from us, but Redman’s given us some latitude.”

“He’s an okay guy, though I don’t think he likes me much.”

Luke smiled, the dimple flashing in his cheek. “I suspect he might have changed his mind.”

“What happened after I left the station?”

“After we dealt with the media, we went to the boarding house. The entire place is a relic, and we found the old envelopes Clements used in the landlady’s office. And there was an iPod in a dresser in his room. It had Kanye West’s album on it.”

Allegra shook her head. “The last piece in the puzzle.”

Luke nodded. “Redman impounded the Corolla. Clements’ prints have got to be all over it, unless he wore gloves. We know he did when he sent you the photographs.”

Allegra frowned. “But it’s a clear cut case. It’s not as if we need a conviction. He’s dead.”

Luke nodded again. “The hard part’s done. Redman only has to speak to his parole officer and he’ll be able to wrap it up. Clements has a record as long as your arm. It shows a typical pattern of escalating violence.”

A glacial shiver trembled through Allegra’s body. Only now was she beginning to form a clear picture of who they’d been dealing with. “With a bit of luck the whole thing will go away without too much media coverage.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “I think that’s wishful thinking on your part. You’re high profile. People want to know what happened.”

“Well, I’m not talking to the press.” She’d never courted the media, never aspired to make Sydney’s so-called ‘A’ List.

“No. You’re not.”

His possessive tone sent an unexpected surge of pleasure through her body. Luke was still protecting her.

“Redman and I already worked that out. He won’t go near the word ‘blackmail’. If the press get wind of that they’ll go looking for what Clements had on you. We’ve kept it simple. The guy became obsessed. Nothing more.”

Something Nat said had been playing on her mind. “Is it true he stole an identity so he could volunteer at Groves Hill?”

“Yep. You’re familiar with the lengths people go to for drugs. Facilities like that are softer targets than hospitals and medical centres. He was going through the rooms at night.”

Allegra shuddered, appalled at the thought of Clements being in her mother’s room while she slept. “It doesn’t say much for their screening process.”

He must have read the worry in her face, because he reached out and took her hands in his. He gently turned them over, stiffened when he saw the raw patches of exposed skin.

“I know he lured you there with the telephone call. Tell me what happened after that. Fill in the blanks for me.”

Allegra stared down at their intertwined hands. She dreaded verbalising the horror of what happened. But how could she deny him?

“Josie drove. He was lying in wait because he called out from the laundry, told me Mum was better. I was so relieved I walked straight into it.”

When he didn’t say anything, she struggled on. “I was just lucky I regained consciousness. Whatever he gave me wore off before we reached North Head.”

“He used some sort of liquid solvent. We found it in the car. They don’t keep it in the aged care facility, but criminals have contacts everywhere for this sort of stuff.”

“Liquid solvent.” Allegra studied Luke’s rigid jaw as she digested this latest piece of information. “Well, if I develop a petrol sniffing habit, I’ll know why.”

He didn’t smile at her feeble attempt at a joke. It was like he could see into her soul and knew she was keeping the worst from him. And she was. She had no intention of revealing her state of mind at that time. She wouldn’t dump that on him. He’d done enough.

She pressed on, wanting to get it over with. “I just kept pulling at the ties, bearing in mind what you taught me in Self-Defence 101.”

He wasn’t buying her false joviality, but he played along anyway. Did he recognise her defence mechanisms for what they were?

“What part of my customised training program did you retain, Ally?”

Desire, hot and needy, rocketed through her battered body as her mind ricocheted back to the playful smack he’d given her that night.

And their first kiss.

She pulled her hands away and took a tube of lip balm from the pocket of her pants. Blindfolded and bound, she’d clung to that memory. It was one of many that had kept her going.

“The one about risking it all. Taking advantage of the slimmest opportunity.” She wound the tube up and ran it across her dry lips, adrenaline making her heart pound as she relived the horror. “I found the tool kit just in time.”

She replaced the top and rubbed her lips together. “My only regret is that I didn’t hit him harder with the wrench.”

Luke reached out and gently touched the side of her hair. His eyes glittered in the contracting light. “You did just fine, baby.”

It was the way he said it, like he was proud of her or something, that almost brought her undone. A week ago she’d deemed him arrogant, feared she wouldn’t cope with him in her apartment. Now, her greatest fear was him leaving.

“I didn’t do just fine,” she said, refusing to be placated. “I should have taken the bastard out first go.”

“What you shouldn’t have done was leave the hospital. You’re exhausted.” Luke’s words held a gentle rebuke. “Tell me what the doctor said.”

She rubbed her clammy hands on the legs of her pants. “It’s no worse than schoolyard scratches and bruises. I got more stitches in fifth grade when I fell off my bike.”

She spoke the truth. Her bumps and bruises were nothing compared to the pain tearing up her heart.

She studied him from beneath her lashes. He looked drawn around the eyes, the scar prominent on his pale cheek. With a shock, she realised it wasn’t the scar but the welt where she’d struck him yesterday. Shame and guilt washed over her. They’d fought bitterly, and yet he hadn’t given up on her.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said eventually. “You were forced to take a man’s life today, Commander. As grateful as I am, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

Suddenly his mask slipped a fraction. He ran a hand around the back of his neck and her heart ached. She longed to splay her hands across his back and knead the tension from his shoulders. But something held her back. Something in him had changed.

“I’m more worried about you,” he said.

“I know.” She reached out and took his hands in hers. They were warm and strong and his fingers curled around hers, sending shafts of pleasure up her spine. “Thank you, Luke. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead now.”

With a low groan he drew her into his arms and Allegra buried her face against his chest as remembered fear threatened to overwhelm her. “I was so scared Luke, so scared.”

He held her gently, his hand stroking the back of her head with infinite care. “I know. I was scared too baby, more scared than I’ve ever been in my life—and I’m used to scared.”

“I owe you my life.”

He shook his head, his eyes shining like liquid silver. “You don’t owe me anything, Allegra. It’s me who owes you an explanation, about Martin.”

She sat up and stared at him in astonishment. It was the very last thing she’d expected. Surely, he didn’t intend breaking his oath now?

Before he could say another word, she reached out and placed her fingertips over his warm, firm lips.

She wouldn’t let him do it.

“Please, Luke. I already found out, and even if I hadn’t, it wouldn’t make any difference now.”

Luke stared into her eyes as she lowered her hand, a hollow feeling in his chest cavity. Where his heart used to be.

He was too late.

She couldn’t forgive him for the decision that got her brother killed.

“I rang that reporter,” she was saying. “He told me you almost died too. It made me realise the details weren’t important. I know the man you are. I know you would have done everything to save my brother if it were humanly possible.”

He had done everything.

But sometimes everything wasn’t enough.

Thankfully, today, it had been.

She’d finally come to terms with her brother’s death, but that didn’t mean she’d forgiven him his transgressions, like kissing her without permission and taking her case in a misguided attempt to appease his conscience. He’d dumped his world-weary suspicion on her in bucket loads.

She deserved her peace, and if he really wanted what was best for her, he’d leave now, so she could begin her search for the desk jockey.

But the selfish part of him, the part that wanted all of her, couldn’t let it go. It just wasn’t in his nature to give up.

Yesterday she’d left him, and today she’d climbed out of her hospital bed and disclosed the photos to set him free. In doing so, she’d jeopardised her career. He’d saved her life. And she’d turned around and saved his sorry arse.

It was the only thing he had to hold onto. That, and the explosive passion that threatened to erupt every time they were in arm’s length of each other.

He took a deep breath, ran a hand through her silky hair. “How’s your head?”

She laughed then. Really laughed, and not the false bravado of a moment ago. “My head’s fine, my scalp’s still burning.”

Her smile gave him the courage to go on.

“And your heart?”

She looked flustered all of a sudden, as if she wasn’t sure of the question. “My heart?”

“Yes. You know that organ that pumps blood and goes soft sometimes?”

She looked dumbfounded. So much so, that when she went to speak he raised a hand and cut her off. It wasn’t fair to coax a response from her because he was too much of an emotional cripple to admit how he felt.

He swallowed, his heartbeat a heavy pulse in his chest. God, it was so much easier putting his body on the line than his goddamn heart.

“I’ve never been comfortable being enslaved by emotions, Ally. Frankly, it scares the crap out of me.”

He reached for her hand, turned it over and kissed her palm. She shivered, and his body hardened in response. He knew now, she didn’t hate him for his part in Martin’s death. And that had been his greatest fear.

But it didn’t mean she loved him either.

“I’ve avoided any emotional ties for ten years. I guess that makes me an emotional coward.”

Before he could say any more, she reached out and stroked the scar on his cheek with the pad of her thumb.

“What are you afraid of, Luke?” she asked, searching his face. “Are you afraid you’ll pick the wrong one?”

She didn’t wait for his answer.

“Look at the people you have working for you. Look at the solid ties you have with the police force. You know good character, so don’t keep second guessing it. Don’t let one unfaithful woman and a lying informant close down a part of you. Think of everything you’ll miss out on in life.”

It was a struggle, but Luke kept his hands off her. He stood up and moved to look out the recently repaired door. She knew his deepest fears, could see right into his soul when he hadn’t been able to see it himself.

She wanted him to live, really live, but she didn’t understand. For him to live that way, he needed her with him.

He gazed across the street to the partially constructed house where Clements had secluded himself at night. Today, the place was a hive of activity.

“See that’s it, Ally. You—get me. With you, I can be myself.”

He turned at her sharp intake of breath. Perched on the edge of the lounge, she was looking at him with such joy he caught his breath. He moved towards her and pulled her gently to her feet. He had to say more, give her more.

“I’ve been going out of my mind ever since you left the property yesterday.”

She reached up and caressed his cheek a second time. “You think I’m worried about our fight, after everything that happened today?”

Luke closed his eyes on the hideous memory. “When I saw that creep with the knife at your throat, Jesus, Ally, I died a thousand deaths. All my training deserted me. I knew if we survived I was never going to let you go. And to hell with your desk jockey.”

Elation, vast and uncut, welled up inside her at his words. He didn’t want to move on. He wanted a relationship, with her!

She reached up and stroked her fingers through his silky hair. She needed him to understand what she was about to say. “When I left the property yesterday, I was angry. But more than that, I was scared, not for me, for you. I knew, then, you were the most important person in the world to me. And I’d put you directly in the path of a sociopath. Taking you off the case was my screwed up way of trying to protect you.”

“Oh, baby.” He wrapped her in his arms and buried his face in her hair. “I’m big enough and mean enough to take care of myself.”

She nodded against his chest, felt the brush of his lips in her hair as he rocked her gently, like a child. She could have stayed like that forever, soaking up his warmth, his strength. But after a while, he straightened and set her away from him.

“Let me look at your throat.” With gentle fingers that shook slightly, Luke untied the scarf and removed the gauze bandage. Then he bent and kissed her throat beside the wound. “The bastard. Shooting him was too quick. Too painless. I’ve never wanted to make a man suffer before.”

Allegra looked into his eyes, and for an instant glimpsed the hunter in her man. “He’s dead, Luke.”

She slid her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest again, listening to the reassuring beat of his heart. “Every time I close my eyes I see his face. I can’t get him out of my head.”

Without warning, he bent at the waist and scooped her up in his arms. “I know how to get him out of your head.”

He carried her through to the bedroom and laid her on the bed.

“You said you have two weeks off. You’re not getting out of this bed for at least one week.”

Allegra stared up at him, her heart shifting into overdrive. “And how do you propose to keep me here?”

“Oh no.” He shook his head and pointed to the welt on his cheek. “I’m not going there again anytime soon.”

He stretched out next to her and kissed her breast through the material of her tee-shirt, sending heat straight to her core.

She drew in a choppy breath. “You plan on keeping me company, Commander?”

“You bet.” He pushed up her tee-shirt. “Unless I have to neutralise Redman.”

She pushed at his chest, looking into his eyes. “What?”

“You showed Redman that damned photo. He’s seen too much of you.” He pulled aside a cup of her bra and treated her nipple to a long, slow lick.

“Ohh…” Allegra arched her back, her spine melting. Suddenly, there was no pain, only the anticipation of wild, abandoned pleasure.

“As I was saying,” he propped himself up on one elbow, grinning as she struggled to bring her breathing under control, “I just might have to kill Redman. How else will he forget what you look like under your power suits?”

Allegra laughed with delight. “You’re jealous.”

“You’d better believe it.”

All at once his playful expression turned serious. He bent his head, capturing her mouth in a kiss so tender it made her want to cry. When he lifted his head, she could see the love shining in his eyes.

“I will never let anyone hurt you again, Ally. I love you, and I need you with me.”

Allegra reached up and cradled her lover’s face in her hands. Vulnerability didn’t sit easily with Luke Neilson, and she didn’t underestimate what it had taken for him to expose himself this way.

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ve waited so long for you Luke, not even sure you were out there. And you’re so much better than anyone I could ever have imagined. I love you. You’re everything I want.”

As she pledged the words, she knew them to be true. There would never be any other man for her. Only with him could she be truly happy.

Silent, emotional tears slipped down her face. “And you don’t have to worry, Luke. Your heart is safe with me.”

This time his lips claimed hers with a raw possessiveness that stole her breath. It held all the promise of a strong and exciting lover and the security of a safe and steadfast partner.

Of one thing Allegra was certain. Life with Luke Neilson would never be dull.

A long time later—in the dark.

“You should know, counsellor, as a former military man, I like things official.”

She smiled in the dark, thrilled by his ‘unofficial proposal’. “That’s a yes, Commander.”

The long, slow strokes on her back made her want to close her eyes and purr.

“Tell me one thing.”

“Umm?”

“Which photograph did you show Redman?”

Allegra smiled again. “That’s for me and Redman to know.”

A groan. “When can I see the others?”

“You’re obsessed with those photographs as well.”

Warm lips nuzzled her neck. “Can you blame me?”

“I’ll give you one each year, on our anniversary. That should keep you happy for fifteen years at least.”

“Then the sooner we make things official, the better.”

“I might have some more taken,” she teased, “so we can continue the tradition forever.”

A growl in the dark as he claimed her mouth with the familiar hot, drugging kiss she’d come to crave. She kissed him back, with everything she had and everything she was.

They had a lifetime together. Would one lifetime be enough?

THE END

In Safe Arms
Lee Christine

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my critique partner, Linda Hills, for her tireless and valuable contribution over the last three years.

I would also like to thank the authors in my on-line loop, Helen Lacey, Jane Beckenham, Patti Shenberger, Kelli Finger and Lesley Millar for their advice and support, especially in the early years.

Thanks also to my mega talented friend, Jaye Ford, for being such an inspiration and for asking me to take part in her writing group.

To Paula and Kerrie, my readers, a big thank you for your input and enthusiasm.

And lastly, to my amazing family, Damian, Danielle and Adam, for their constant love, support and encouragement. You guys rock!

For my special mum, Bonnie

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 1

9:30 p.m. Sunday

Hidden in a darkened recess at the rear of the tattoo parlour, Nate Hunter studied the garden variety flatland lock. ‘More light, Kennett.’

Mitch Kennett adjusted the angle of the torch, a stench of garlic on his breath, nervous eyes scanning the alleyway. ‘Get a move on, Bolt.’

Nate pulled his tools from the back pocket of his pants and addressed the lock, holding his breath against the bikie’s sour body odour. He slid the pick into the keyway then gradually withdrew it, using sound and touch to visualise what was happening inside the mechanism. He inserted the pick a second time, sliding it over the pins and applying just enough torque with the wrench until one by one the pins set at the sheer line. Then, with a gentle flick of his wrist, he opened the lock.

‘There she goes.’ Nate glanced at the president of Sydney’s legendary motorcycle gang, the Altar Boys. ‘Sweet as a woman coming.’ He shoved the tools back in his pocket and retrieved the can of petrol he’d left on the ground. ‘Patience and a deft touch never fail.’

‘You’d know.’ A leering smirk split Kennett’s ruthless face as Nate followed his hulking frame into a dreary looking kitchen, decades past its prime. On the bench, an autoclave steriliser stood beside a microwave oven, while surgical gloves, ink and needles lay in a cluttered heap around the sink. Startled by the torchlight, cockroaches scuttled from an open food container left in the centre of an old laminated table.

Nate swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t imagine going anywhere near those needles, let alone eating in a room like this. The quicker they torched this dump, the better.

With a growing sense of unease, he watched Kennett set the Maglite down and take a pistol from inside his vest. ‘What’s with the piece, man?’

The bikie put an index finger to his lips and cocked his head towards the front of the property.

Muted voices filtered down the hallway.

‘No-one’s supposed to be here,’ Nate hissed, a cold sweat breaking out on his body. Ignoring the revolver, he pushed the heavy fuel container into Kennett’s chest, forcing him back against the cupboards. Nate wasn’t a small guy, but Kennett was a tower of granite, built like a world champion wrestler, and it took all of Nate’s strength to keep him there.

Kennett’s eyes turned to hard little marbles at the blatant challenge to his authority. ‘Mulvaney’s in there. You got a problem with that, pretty boy?’

Nate had a problem with a lot of things, the escalation of Sydney’s bikie war first and foremost. Only last week, Mulvaney’s gang, the Southern Cross, had peppered the Altar Boys’ clubhouse with bullets and beat three of their members senseless.

Kennett leaned closer, gold tooth glinting from behind a full grey beard. ‘You want your vest or not?’

Nate’s gut tightened, his mind filled with a dissonance he couldn’t reduce in any way, shape or form. He’d waited so long to be offered this upgrade in status, this progression, from nominee to fully fledged member of the brotherhood. And he shouldn’t be surprised Kennett had planned this operation knowing Lizard Mulvaney would be on the premises. It was part of the Altar Boys’ culture to use retaliatory strikes as initiations into the inner sanctum.

He’d supported Kennett’s idea to torch the tat parlour, owned and operated by the Southern Cross, but now he wasn’t so sure. The president of the rival gang wasn’t supposed to be here.

Fuck!

No-one was supposed to be here.

But he was out of time. Kennett was waiting for his answer.

Nate took a step back and pulled the container off Kennett’s chest. ‘I want the vest.’

The chapter leader sneered and pushed past him, light on his feet for a big man, leaving Nate no option but to turn and follow him out of the kitchen.

Moving with stealth for men over six feet, they inched their way down a dim, central corridor, walls covered in a floor to ceiling collage of photographed body parts, complete with designer tattoos.

Stomach churning, Nate sucked in stale air, heavy with dust particles and strained to hear over the tribal beat of his heart. He picked up the words “search” and “it wasn’t hard”, Mulvaney’s voice transmitting into the hallway from behind a scratched wooden door.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Kennett froze, listening.

Mulvaney’s companion spoke, voice a quiet hum.

As was expected of a nominee, Nate looked to Kennett for direction, nodding his understanding when the leader of the Altar Boys raised two fingers. It was unspoken bikie law that Kennett would take out the rival leader, leaving Nate to shut down the second person in the room.

Hard as it was to follow direction from a man he loathed, Nate tightened his grip on the plastic container. One well-timed swing and he’d lay Mulvaney’s guest out cold.

Kennett raised a fist, kissed the brass knuckleduster on his finger and threw open the door.

Light spilled into the corridor from a single, exposed bulb in the middle of the ceiling, and over Kennett’s shoulder, Nate could see Lizard Mulvaney sitting at a desk, his back to them. Startled, the man turned at the sudden commotion, half rising from his chair.

But they didn’t call Kennett “the viper” for nothing. Two long strides and he immobilised Mulvaney with his signature headlock, revolver rammed into the hollow of his throat.

Poised for an attack, Nate slipped into the room behind Kennett. He scanned the space in seconds, sweat trickling between his shoulder blades.

Mulvaney was alone!

Tightening his grip on the fuel, Nate checked every corner of the run down office, but the room was empty, the door through which they’d come the single point of entry.

A chair crashed to the floor beside him, Mulvaney’s booted heels scuffing the worn out carpet as Kennett hauled him backwards.

And then above the din, a woman screamed, the sound oddly electronic, as if coming from a distance.

And suddenly everything made sense.

Nate turned his head and stared at the computer monitor.

From the open Skype program, a woman watched in horror, eyes stricken, fingers pressed against her mouth.

Skirting around Mulvaney’s thrashing legs, Nate zeroed in on the computer. The woman’s eyes widened and she jerked backwards, as if he could somehow reach across the digital divide and physically grab her.

Mulvaney was making gurgling sounds low in his throat, and the woman tore her gaze from Nate to focus on what was happening at the back of the room.

Nate swung around, the same instant Kennett crushed Mulvaney’s windpipe in a sickening crunch of bone and soft tissue.

The bikie leader turned his back to the computer in an obvious effort to hide his identity, and lowered Mulvaney’s dead body to the floor. ‘Find her, and shut her up.’

Nate let the container slip from his fingers and turned to face the woman. She lowered her hand, and in the moment before she killed the connection, Nate glimpsed her face.

Jesus Christ!

He dived for the outdated mouse on Mulvaney’s desk and clicked on the woman’s profile, the implications of the unfolding horror assaulting his mind like death metal music.

Behind him, Kennett splashed petrol over the shabby, mismatched furniture.

Contingency plans flooded into Nate’s mind.

This was bad.

This was really bad.

‘I witnessed a murder — on Skype.’

Josephine Valenti sat hunched over the mahogany kitchen table and stared at her wide-eyed face in the blackened laptop screen. It had taken all of ten seconds for the emergency number to connect her with Mona Vale Police.

‘Okaaay,’ replied the male police officer — like she’d spent all weekend snorting crack. ‘Take a deep breath, Miss, and tell me what happened.’

Josie fought off her panic and tightened her grip on the phone. ‘A man was strangled — or had his neck broken, I’m not sure — it was quick.’

‘Your name?’

Josie spelled out her name before the policeman could ask, closing the computer lid with a snap. It made her feel better, like the action might trap the horrifying images inside and leave them there.

‘Your location please?’

‘Rainbows End.’ She couldn’t think, her overstimulated nervous system out of sync with her disbelieving mind. ‘Andrew Road, Cottage Point.’

‘Is that your place of residence?’

Not for a while now.

‘It’s my parents’ home.’ Josie steadied her trembling hand as the receiver clattered against her earring. ‘I’m looking after the place.’

‘Is the alleged victim known to you?’

Alleged?

‘Yes. Lloyd Mulvaney.’

A pause. ‘As in Lizard Mulvaney, the president of the Southern Cross?’

‘Yes.’

‘Miss Valenti, what is your relationship to Mr. Mulvaney?’

Josie moistened her dry lips with her tongue and cleared her throat. ‘I’m Allegra Greenwood’s P.A. at Grace and Poole, Lawyers. She’s acted for the Southern Cross for years.’

Prior to ringing the police, Josie had left messages for Allegra and her husband, Luke Neilson. Luke’s company, Neilson’s Security, provided investigative and consulting services to Grace and Poole’s criminal division.

‘So, why would you, her secretary, be Skyping with him at nine forty-five on a Sunday night? It seems rather unorthodox.’

‘He called me,’ Josie insisted, beginning to dislike the reproachful tone creeping into the officer’s voice. ‘He did a Skype search when he couldn’t find my number in the book. I’m the only Josephine Valenti listed in Sydney.’

‘Why did he call you?’

Josie looked down at the harem style pyjamas she wore. She’d barely hung up from speaking to her mother when the second Skype call came in. Had she turned off the computer and gone to bed, Mulvaney’s call wouldn’t have made it through.

‘Well?’ prompted the police officer.

Josie suppressed a shudder. She’d never found Mulvaney frightening on the occasions he’d come into the office, but tonight, there’d been a desperation about him. ‘He never got a chance to say.’

It was common knowledge there was a price on Mulvaney’s head, the bikie war escalating to the point where the chapter leader had been reluctant to appear in public. Seems his concerns had been warranted.

‘Do you know if Mr. Mulvaney called you from his home?’

‘No.’ Josie massaged her temple with her fingertips. ‘I wouldn’t recognise his home, and I wasn’t exactly checking out the decor.’

The officer ignored her exasperated tone. ‘I’m only trying to work out where we might start searching for the body.’

Oh God! Josie’s stomach heaved. ‘I have no idea where he was. He talked for a bit, explained how he managed to track me down, then said “I need to speak with…”’ She drew in a jagged breath. ‘Two bikies burst into the room. One broke his neck, I think.’

Josie trembled, the images of Mulvaney’s last seconds scorched into her mind. And she couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, but the second man in the room looked a lot like Ignatius Hunter.

Nate Hunter?

She hadn’t crossed paths with him since he’d left Luke Neilson’s employ over two years ago. If it was him, he’d taken a long, hard look at her as the ugly one murdered Mulvaney.

‘Are you there, Miss?’ The officer’s voice jerked her back to the present. ‘Was Lloyd Mulvaney trying to contact your employer?’

Josie glanced at her mobile phone, wishing Luke or Allegra would return her call. ‘It’s the only reason he’d have to call me.’

‘Can you identify these men?’

Josie wasn’t one to lie, in fact on occasion, she’d been criticised for being brutally honest, but she wasn’t about to start throwing Nate Hunter’s name around. Not when she couldn’t be sure it was him.

She skirted around the question. ‘I killed the connection pretty well straight away, but I’d recognise the murderer if I saw him again.’

The police officer drew in a sharp breath. ‘Did they get a look at you?’

‘I’m pretty sure one of them did.’

Her words hung between them, until finally the officer gave a frustrated sigh, as if it were somehow all her fault. ‘They would have checked your profile. We’ll need to look at your computer, Miss.’

‘Alright.’ Josie glanced at the closed laptop. What kind of footprint did the Skype program leave on the computer’s hard drive? She wasn’t enough of a tech head to know.

And now they were going to look at her computer.

Her mind whirled.

What was on there?

Her diary.

Her Facebook profile.

‘You need to come in immediately.’ The officer was hurrying things along now. ‘Do you have transport?’

‘Yes.’

Josie glanced at the oven clock in her mother’s newly remodelled, barely used, designer kitchen. Ten fifteen. Almost half an hour since Mulvaney’s call.

‘We’ll be waiting for you.’

Josie hung up the land line, forcing her wooden legs to move as she ran up the sweeping staircase to her bedroom. She tore off her pyjamas, scooped up tights and a dress from where she’d tossed them over a chair, and pulled them on. She’d been expecting the local policeman to contact homicide — but maybe that only happened after they found the body.

She looked up from lacing her Doc Martens when a tree branch tapped against the window, a southerly buster stirring the highest branches of the ghost gums. Standing up, she switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Outside, a handful of lights flickered and bobbed through the trees. Boat lights, from the yachts moored in the tranquil waters.

In the kitchen, she shoved her laptop and battery charger inside her computer bag, gaze falling on the pyramid of crystal martini glasses artfully arranged on the granite topped island bench. Earlier, she’d argued with her mother, disappointed Marilyn Valenti had ignored her wishes and organised an over-the-top twenty-first birthday party in her honour. Her mother simply couldn’t understand her preference for an intimate get together in her apartment over a pretentious shindig in this soulless mansion. Complete with martini fountain.

But to keep the peace, and for her father’s sake, Josie had capitulated. Who was she to deny Sydney’s charity queen the kudos of hosting a lavish celebration for her only child?

With the laptop tucked firmly under her arm, Josie grabbed her handbag, set the alarm and ran down the stairs to the four car garage.

None of it mattered anymore. As witness to the murder of a notorious bikie leader, she’d be lucky to reach twenty-one.

Forty-five minutes after Lizard Mulvaney tracked her down on Skype, Josie reversed through the automatic opening gates, shifted her car into gear, and headed towards the intersection at the top of the tree lined street. Once outside the national park, she’d pull over and call Luke and Allegra again. Arrange for them to meet her at the police station.

She was approaching the intersection, when a brilliant flash of light blinded her. Tightening her grip on the wheel, Josie squinted against the glare of driving lights reflecting in her rear view mirror.

A car pulled away from the curb and fell in behind her.

Coincidence?

Or had someone been sitting in the car – watching the house?

Waiting for her?

A long, extended note, summoned her from the back seat, her mobile ringing inside her handbag.

Shit!

‘Josephine?’ Marilyn Valenti’s sharp voice came over the Bluetooth connection.

‘Not a good time, Mum. I’ll call you back.’

Josie glanced in her rear view mirror. The car was tailgating her.

She pressed her foot down on the accelerator and switched on her high beam.

‘You need to ring the caterers,’ her mother was saying. ‘Get them…’

‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ Josie’s finger hovered over the button on the Bluetooth device. ‘I can’t do this now.’

With one hand working the wheel, she killed the call, sweat breaking out on her face as she glanced at the illuminated numerals on the dashboard.

Fifty minutes gone.

Mulvaney’s Skype location had shown up as Sydney.

Could he?

Could Nate Hunter have tracked her down? He’d been to her parents’ place before, the night she’d drank too much at Luke and Allegra’s engagement party and he’d insisted on driving her home. She’d had the hots for him back then, but apart from a rugged toughness and a certain hard edge she found appealing, what did she really know about him?

Nothing.

A big fat zero.

A flash illuminated the car’s interior, and Josie glanced in her side mirror as the vehicle pulled onto the wrong side of the road and began overtaking. Easing her foot off the accelerator, she fixed her gaze to the front and prayed it would pass in a hurry.

It didn’t.

Wheel sliding through sweaty palms, Josie turned to look at the car next to her, a slow tightening in her chest making it almost impossible to breathe.

An unfamiliar high powered ute growled along matching her speed.

And then she glimpsed the driver’s profile, and her legs turned weak, like she’d just stepped off the wildest ride in the fun park.

Chapter 2

10:35 p.m. Sunday

Nate gripped the flashlight and ran towards the blue sedan. The hood was concertinaed against the trunk of a eucalypt, a cloud of steam billowing from the hissing engine. The rear end jutted from the scrub at a forty-five degree angle.

Dense bush formed a dark canopy, the single carriageway lit only by the vehicles’ headlights. As he reached the car, Nate could see Josephine Valenti’s terrified face staring at him through the driver’s window. He gestured for her to unlock the door, but she ignored him, wild curls tumbling around her face as she struggled to unclip the seatbelt.

Too bad. He didn’t have time to play nice.

Ignoring the hunted look in her eyes, Nate tightened his grip on the heavy Maglite, centred his weight and took a swing, striking the driver’s window with a powerful blow. As the auto designers intended, the safety glass cracked but didn’t shatter, clinging to its sticky plastic insert. It took two more hard strikes until there was an opening large enough for him to slip his hand inside and unlock the door.

The glass continued to make popping sounds as he dropped the torch, flung the door wide and grabbed hold of Josie’s legs as she tried scrambling across the centre console. She howled, went feral, kicking and screaming as he hauled her backwards out of the wreck.

Free of the car, he yanked her hard up against him, got an accidental handful of soft breast as her shoulders slammed into his chest.

He kicked the door closed with his booted foot, lowered his arm and clamped his hand over her mouth. ‘Shut up! I won’t hurt you.’

She bit him.

Christ Almighty!

Pain shot up Nate’s arm as sharp teeth sank into the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. He dragged his hand from her mouth, twisted her arms behind her back and frogmarched her to his car, ignoring a string of obscenities that would make a wharfie blush.

Shocked by her potty mouth, he flung open the passenger door and pushed her inside. She fell over the handbrake, went still as the breath whooshed out of her.

Nate dragged in his first breath in a while and groped in the glove compartment for the plastic zip ties. Wresting her hands behind her back, he bound her wrists before she had time to recover. Then he bundled her inside, locked her in and raced back to the blue sedan.

Pushing his luck.

Risking everything.

Ignoring his throbbing hand, he dragged his tee-shirt over his head and scanned the black ribbon of road.

No company yet.

Josie’s belongings were on the back seat, and he tucked them under one arm, retrieved the flashlight from the ground, and wiped the doorhandles free of prints with his shirt.

Get out, Nate.

Go!

GO!

Adrenaline pumped into his system, fuelling his body and heightening his senses. He ran back to the ute, loose gravel sliding beneath his boots, a symphony of cicadas ringing in his ears.

He threw himself into the driver’s seat and rummaged through Josie’s handbag for her mobile phone, switched it off and dropped it back inside. Then he pulled onto the road and gunned the big V8, checking in the rear view mirror for the telltale glow of approaching headlights. But no vehicle crested the rise behind them.

There was nothing.

Only a comforting, inky blackness.

After a while, the marching beat in Nate’s chest began to fade, and for the first time he took a proper look at the terrified young woman in the seat beside him. She’d grown up in the couple of years since the night she got hammered on alcopops and made a pass at him. He remembered bringing her here, to the exclusive enclave of Cottage Point, a waterfront hamlet half an hour’s drive through the unspoilt bushland of the Ku-Ring-Gai Chase National Park.

A serene haven, in the middle of Australia’s largest city.

‘What were you doing talking to him?’

‘Fuck you.’

She glared from behind a silky curtain of honey blonde hair, chest heaving, a smear of blood on her mouth where she’d taken a bite out of his hand.

Nate clenched his teeth and held on to his temper. ‘Was it work related?’

‘As if I’d know,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘That brute — killed him.’

Welcome night air cooled Nate’s skin, and he glanced at her again. She was trembling from head to foot, rational, the hysteria given way to fury. She was still young though, compared to him. A typical “daddy’s little princess” from memory, who thought it might be fun to toy with the other side for a while. Mess with a hardened guy like him, twelve years older.

Seems she hadn’t changed much after all.

Socialising on Skype with a guy like Mulvaney.

If that’s what it was.

Nate’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. As if this operation wasn’t problematic enough, now he had a goddamn complication like her to worry about.

They rounded a bend and she sprawled in the leather seat, threw out a leg to brace herself as her shoulders ended up against the door. The movement caused her dress to ride all the way up her thigh, giving him a view of one slender leg, clad in black tights and ending in a flowery patterned Doc Marten boot. Without the use of her hands, she had no way of straightening the skirt.

And if he went to do it, she’d probably head butt him.

Nate shifted in his seat, ignoring his bloodied hand and the smell of iron permeating his nostrils. ‘There’s a beach towel at your feet. Get on the floor and I’ll cover you with it.’

Defiant green eyes flashed at him. ‘Screw you.’

God she pissed him off!

‘Good to know you took swearing as a second language. Now get on the fucking floor.’

She didn’t move.

‘Jesus Christ, Josie, I’ll knock you unconscious if I have to.’

That did it.

He watched her body go rigid, but she obeyed him, shifting awkwardly onto the floor, chin jutting at a stubborn angle. Huddled beneath the dash, she gave him an accusing look, but he wasn’t about to remove the zip ties, didn’t trust her not to bolt from the car at the first red light.

Nate stretched the taut muscles in his neck. His desperate gamble had paid off, the Valenti’s semi-isolated choice of abode the only reason he’d managed to intercept Josie in time. That, and sheer dumb luck he’d recognised the family portrait hanging on the kitchen wall behind her. He’d commented on that portrait the night he’d sat in the kitchen drinking coffee with her mother as Josie heaved in the bathroom.

Was it only two years ago? God, it felt like ten.

‘You won’t get away with this.’

Nate made a conscious effort to unclench his teeth and loosen his grip on the steering wheel. ‘I didn’t kill Mulvaney.’

‘But you’re going to kill me — aren’t you?’ Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘I heard what he said.’

‘Don’t tempt me.’ But he couldn’t help smirking at the wobbly defiance in her voice. He had to admit it, the princess had balls.

‘Why did you people kill him?’

‘You people?’ Nate raised his eyebrows. ‘Now that sounds like something an overly privileged, private school educated, North Shore brat would say.’

Her eyes turned wounded, and for the first time since he’d forced her off the road two red patches stained her cheeks, visible even in the light from the dash.

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she said, clearly taken aback.

He turned his attention to the road. She didn’t know it, but her cultivated accent had always gotten under his skin. He decided to change the subject.

‘Where are your parents?’

‘In Singapore. And don’t address me as if I’m a child. I’m twenty.’

For the first time in hours Nate’s heartbeat slowed as some of the tension left his body. He’d broken every speed limit and run every red light to get to the house as fast as he could after Mitch Kennett ordered he find Josie, and silence her — permanently. He’d watched the home for ten minutes, and then she’d come out, alone.

It was the only break he’d had in a while. And he desperately needed a break.

Needed to finish this — and get out.

Needed to feel normal again.

He raked a hand through his hair, not wanting to dwell on the direction his life had taken. Right now, he’d kill for a haircut. ‘Who’d you tell?’

‘The police.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘No, but the police will find my car — they’ll know someone ran me off the road.’

Nate gave an amused shake of his head at the allegation in her voice. He had to hand it to the little upstart, scared half to death, she still had a mouth on her. ‘You panicked, hit the loose gravel and slid into a tree. You should’ve pulled over.’

‘No, you ran me off the road.’

Nate ignored her. He could already see the street lights on Mona Vale Road shining through the trees. Any minute now, they’d be smack bang in the middle of greater metropolitan Sydney.

Keeping one eye on the road and one hand on the wheel, he reached over and covered her with the striped beach towel just as they passed under the first street light.

‘Don’t speak or move. There are cameras on the motorway. I can’t risk you being caught on one. You need to disappear for a while.’

Disappear?

Josie went lightheaded with renewed panic. He said he wouldn’t hurt her, yet running her off the road and abducting her proved just how desperate Nate Hunter was.

She leaned weakly against the door and stared at his bare chest from under the towel’s fringed edge. Where was the seriously straight guy from two years ago? The leather pants and boots, the studded belt, even the missing black tee-shirt were pure biker. And he wore his thick brown hair long, having traded the clean shaven look for the dense black stubble shadowing his chiselled jaw and neck.

Though she’d recognised him, he looked very different from the ruggedly handsome man she remembered dealing with two years ago.

So what was he now?

Security expert gone rogue?

Fear lodged like a cold stone in her throat. ‘Where’re you taking me?’

‘We’ll talk when we get there,’ he said, looking big and menacing and totally pissed off. ‘If you want to stay alive, princess, keep your mouth shut and your pretty head down.’

When Nate finally brought the car to a halt and came around to open the passenger side door, Josie could only stare up at him. An hour and a half in a crouch had left her mind and body numb, and without the use of her hands, she had no hope of levering herself off the floor.

He leaned inside, eyes the colour of Jack Daniels locking on hers. ‘Duck your head.’

Then two large hands pressed the sides of her breasts as he grasped her under the arms and lifted her out.

She went to grab his shoulders, stifling a cry as the zip ties bit into her wrists, cramped muscles screaming in protest at the sudden movement. He set her down in what was obviously a garage, one large hand wrapped around her upper arm, holding her steady.

‘Stand there, until you’ve got your legs back.’

He made no attempt to switch on a light and Josie blinked in the gloom, willing the feeling and strength to return to her limbs. Iron shelving lined the wall nearest them, and beside the ute, a car cover obscured a second vehicle. On the front wall, metal brackets held a variety of sporting equipment, skis, poles, and what looked like ropes and harnesses used for abseiling.

Calm down, Jos. Lead with your best foot.

After a while, he let her go and leaned inside the ute. He dragged out the black tee-shirt, donning it in one economic movement. Then he leaned in again and brought out her things.

‘This way.’ He pointed towards the front of the garage, indicating she precede him, and Josie took a tentative first step, conscious of him close behind. She took her time, careful not to stumble in the dark. She’d have no way of breaking her fall if she tripped.

Musty air filled her nostrils, and she opened and closed her hands, stretching out her fingers in an effort to eradicate the numbness. If Nate removed the plastic ties, she’d need to use both hands in any bid for escape.

Then her fingertips brushed his leather pants. Right there.

Oh God!

She jerked her hands away, cringing in the excruciating silence that followed.

SHIT!

When he spoke, Nate’s voice was an amused drawl in the dark. ‘Forward as ever, I see.’

Heat flashed deep within Josie’s body, spiralling upwards until her face and scalp burned. Typical of him. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to remind her of her drunken offer to hook up that night.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, bikie, I was wearing beer goggles. You’re a sober five and a drunk nine on anyone’s scale.’

Seconds of ominous silence slipped by, and Josie held her breath. Oh God! Why can’t you just play smart and hold your tongue?

A vibration tickled her shoulder blades, a warm rumble breaking free from deep within his chest.

The bastard was laughing at her.

Vowing to stay silent, Josie continued on, halting when she reached a sturdy looking fire door. Spine stiff, she stepped aside, letting him draw level so he could unlock the door. He was bigger than she remembered — and built. He had at least a foot on her in height, and shoulders broad enough to block out her entire line of vision.

He entered a series of numbers into a control panel, the alarm disengaging with a high pitched beep. Then they were in a white tiled entrance hall, the silence punctuated by the snick of the door closing behind them.

Nate cocked his head. ‘You first.’

The room was a shade lighter than the garage, and the rubber soles of her Doc Martens squeaked on the tiles as she walked. On the far side, she reached a carpeted landing and stood looking around at the shadowy interior of a home. Two steps led to a large sunken living room, its exposed brick walls and high-raked ceilings reminiscent of a mountain cabin or ski lodge.

‘Where are we?’

He didn’t answer, just reached under the leg of his pants to draw a revolver from a holster strapped to his calf.

Alarm bells rang in Josie’s ears, her gaze following his every movement as her heart gave one big thump. She screamed, lashed out with her foot and kicked him hard in the shin.

He gave a loud groan. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

She backed away, fear sending her voice an octave higher. ‘You pulled a gun on me.’

He tipped back his head, closed his eyes and grimaced at the ceiling. ‘I’d have shot you by now if that was the plan, not that I’d mess up the rug.’

He turned on his heel and strode away, seemed to think better of it, and came back. ‘I was going to undo the ties, but they can bloody well stay there now.’

Black clothing merging with the shadows, he took both steps in one long stride and skirted around two comfortable looking sofas. At the far end of the room he opened the plantation shutters a crack, and with a watchfulness that mirrored hers, stood for a full two minutes, looking out.

Silent.

Gun held close to his body.

Internally battered from the cocktail of emotions waging a war inside her, Josie listened for traffic noise, the ocean, any sound that would indicate where they might be. But only the cadenced call of a tawny owl and the answering hoot of its mate, fractured the silence.

After a while, Nate closed the shutters and retraced his steps, shoving the pistol into the back of his pants as he paused to switch on a lamp.

‘This is my home, in the Blue Mountains.’ He dimmed the lamp to a faint yellow glow. ‘It’s private. Overlooks the Jamieson Valley. Very few people know I keep this place.’

His home?

‘Why bring me here?’ Josie watched as he came up the stairs and stood facing her. ‘And why did that bikie murder Lizard Mulvaney?’

‘One thing at a time, princess.’

‘Lose the “princess” tag will you?’ she snapped. Her parents might be loaded, but she was hardly rich in the things that mattered. ‘Are you that guy’s security?’

He looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. ‘The guy’s a thug. He hardly needs a bodyguard.’

‘Then why are you mixed up with him?’

‘As a witness,’ he continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘You need to stay here for your own protection.’

Josie’s heart skipped a beat, got back in its rhythm, then skipped another one. ‘The police can give me any protection I need.’

He threw back his head and laughed, the sound strained, different to the natural way he used to laugh when he worked for Luke. Back then, he’d taken a delight in teasing her, until the night she hit on him.

After that, he’d kept his distance.

‘The police will find my car.’ Her words tumbled out. She stopped, drew in a breath. She had to stay calm if she were to have any hope of opposing what Nate Hunter had in mind for her. ‘They were expecting me to come in. Whatever your involvement, you’re not going to get away with this.’

A suggestion of a smile played around his lips as he unsnapped a leather cuff from his wrist. ‘You see, Josie, that’s the key. I am the police.’

The fog of confusion lifted a little and her body sagged with relief. And then she wondered why he hadn’t told her in the car — spared her the torture.

‘Let me reintroduce myself, shall I?’ He inclined his head, a lock of long, dark hair falling across his forehead. ‘Detective Ignatius Hunter. Sydney Gang Squad.’

With an impatient movement, he flung the leather cuff onto the nearest couch. ‘For two years I’ve been deep undercover with the Altar Boys, and there’s no way on this earth, you, princess, are going to jeopardise my operation.’

Chapter 3

Ten minutes past midnight: Monday

Josie sat on the couch wondering when Nate Hunter had become so cruel. In the car, she’d gone to a bad place, imagined him burying her in a shallow grave, her body discovered years later by a group of hikers.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

He moved aside one of the easy chairs and squatted on his haunches, leather pants moulded to muscular thighs like a second skin. ‘That’s not how it works. If you’d given me the slip, you’d have blown my cover, and the entire operation with it.’

He pulled back a corner of the carpet square, hooked an index finger through a silver ring embedded in the polished floor and opened a small trapdoor. ‘It’s a safe.’

‘It’s messed up,’ Josie retorted, still too angry to converse with him in any reasonable manner.

He ignored her outburst and spun the dial of what sounded like a combination lock. Something clicked, and he reached inside the floor cavity and took out a notebook computer, phone and leather wallet. Then he placed her laptop, mobile and money wallet inside the safe, spun the combination and stood up.

‘No phone calls. No internet. As of now, you’re off the grid.’

He straightened, set the furniture back in place and came towards her, holding his wallet open to display a police I.D. ‘I’d like to say pleased to make your acquaintance — again. But it couldn’t be further from the truth.’

Stung by the remark, Josie leaned forward and checked the identification. Dressed in a business suit, shirt and tie, he was clean cut, the way she remembered him coming into Grace and Poole on behalf of Neilson’s.

“By the book”, perhaps even “conservative”, was how she would have described him back then.

Not now.

‘I won’t risk carrying it on me, not until I’m ready to make an arrest.’ He rattled off the I.D. number and raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Okay?’

Reassured by the familiar image of him, Josie’s anger dropped a degree, and she nodded, taut muscles restricting the movement in her neck and shoulders. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the ramifications of what she’d witnessed tonight. And what it meant that Nate had brought her here.

Glimpsing a photograph of a blonde haired young boy in another plastic window of the wallet, she looked up in surprise. ‘You’re a father?’

A shadow crossed his face, and he flicked the wallet closed. ‘I wouldn’t go undercover if I had a family. Stay here while I make sure the house is secure.’

Josie watched him disappear down the dark hallway and wondered about the boy. Perhaps he was a nephew, or a godson. Someone close, if Nate carried a picture in his wallet.

Ignoring the biting pain in her shoulders, she turned her attention to her surroundings. The open fireplace was neatly stacked with wood, the country style furniture, dust free. And on the mantelpiece, a row of trophies gleamed in the subdued light.

Someone looked after the place.

A few minutes later Nate was back, taking her arm again and pulling her to her feet. ‘Come on.’

‘Where are we going now?’

‘The bathroom.’

Josie stopped. ‘I don’t need the bathroom.’

‘I do.’ He flexed the fingers of his injured hand and propelled her forward with the other. ‘I stink of blood and petrol.’

He led her down a wide hallway, walls decorated with black and white portraits of Australian pioneers, attired in old-fashioned mountaineering apparel.

‘The living room is in the centre of the house, with a wing at each end. Three bedrooms and a bathroom this way, garage, kitchen and laundry on the other side. It’s a mirror image.’

Barely pausing to draw breath, he pressed on. ‘This is my safe house. As of now, it’s your safe house too. It’s crucial you learn the layout.’

When he stopped outside what was obviously the bathroom, Josie hung back. If Nate Hunter thought he could railroad her like this, he had another thing coming.

‘Who was that man, the one who killed Mulvaney?’ She wanted to add “the one who ordered the hit on me”, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

‘Mitch Kennett.’ He spoke the words like they were a bad taste in his mouth. ‘The viper.’

She’d heard of Mitchell Kennett, had typed his name into Court documents when the firm represented Mulvaney. But she’d never seen the chapter leader of the Altar Boys before. Not even in a photograph.

Now she’d seen too much.

‘You could have arrested him without your I.D.’

He gave a curt nod, expression turning wary.

‘Why didn’t you?’ She’d worked in criminal law long enough to know the instant Kennett was charged he’d be off the streets. She’d only be called on to testify if he pleaded not guilty, and what were the chances of that? Both she and Nate were witnesses. Surely Kennett wouldn’t defend the charges.

Nate’s face was a canvas of steely determination. ‘Because I plan on landing a much bigger fish than Kennett.’

‘No!’ It was an instinctive response, the denial her mind’s way of protecting itself against one too many shocks. He couldn’t be serious. She’d been thinking once she was safely tucked away, he’d go back into the city and arrest Kennett. But his loaded words made it clear that wasn’t his intention.

A strong sense of foreboding stopped her from taking even one step inside the bathroom, and though she dreaded his answer, she forced herself to ask the question. ‘How long will that take?’

‘I have a chance to take down a major player.’ He reached inside the room and flicked on the light switch. ‘But if I end the operation now, we might as well give the grub controlling the drug trade the key to the city.’

Relieved as she was that Nate Hunter had turned out to be an undercover cop, right now, it wasn’t enough. Not when he was operating in his own best interests, not when he was intent on taking her prisoner while he chased someone higher up the food chain.

‘So, what am I, collateral damage?’

‘I’m trying to stop you becoming that.’

Josie’s stomach gave a sickening lurch and her head began to swim. ‘What about my family — my job? Allegra? My friends?’

The kids.

In her mind’s eye, she saw the disappointed faces of her tiny students. The annual concert was in two weeks.

He said nothing, just stared at her as if trying to read the emotions on her face.

‘I have to let people know.’ Her voice ascended like notes on a scale. ‘They’ll be beside themselves. At the very least, we should tell my parents.’

She jumped as he reached out and grabbed her upper arms. ‘We can’t. Yes, they’ll be beside themselves, yes, they’ll be sick with worry. But people are stronger than you think. They’ll cope.’

Josie shook her head and swallowed the painful lump in her throat. ‘So, you lose nothing?’

‘I’ve already lost two years.’

‘You chose that. I didn’t.’

He gave her a light shake. ‘You forfeited your choice when you accepted that call. You should have killed it the instant Mulvaney appeared on the screen.’

‘Easy to say in hindsight.’ She looked away, and though her insides trembled, she refused to let his authority overpower her. She might have been drawn into Nate Hunter’s undercover operation, but that didn’t mean she’d bloody well let him stomp all over her.

For God sake calm down. Lead with your best foot.

She needed time to think, to sort it all out in her head.

Bringing her gaze back to his, she copied his mannerism and cocked her head in the direction of the bathroom. ‘So — what’s all this about? If you want me to wash your back — I’m shackled, remember?’

The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Just the way I like you.’

‘You don’t like me.’

He let her go, resting his hands lightly on his hips and looking more like a bad outlaw than any detective she’d ever seen. ‘Are we going to do this every time I give you an instruction?’

Josie drew in an unsteady breath. He needed her co-operation. Surely that gave her some leverage. She lifted her chin.

‘How long have you been a detective?’

‘What is this, twenty questions?’

Nothing would be gained if she didn’t push him. He might be older, and the law, but she was a person too — with rights. ‘How long?’

‘Too long.’

The jaded response came quickly, and he closed his eyes for a beat, like he’d revealed too much. ‘Twelve years, okay? When you knew me, I was recently back from the States, between assignments. I filled in time working for Luke, until they called me up for this job.’

Before she could ask another question, he cocked his own head. ‘In you go.’

Satisfied she’d managed to stand firm against Nate Hunter’s dominance, Josie brushed by him and stepped into a stunning marble bathroom, double the size of a regular bathroom. Two shallow steps led to a Roman style Jacuzzi spa built into one corner, a fully enclosed two person shower alongside it. A collection of curved vases and urns made an eye-catching display at one end of a long, marble vanity. Gold fittings arched over twin white sinks.

And there were mirrors — lots of mirrors.

The room was such a departure from the rest of the house, it piqued her interest, said something about the leather clad detective standing next to her, though she wasn’t sure exactly what.

‘You hold parties in here?’

He rolled his eyes and gave her an exasperated look. ‘I haven’t been here for two years.’

Josie wanted to ask him who looked after the place, but she wanted the zip ties off more. Pressing her lips together, she watched him drag a piano style seat with curved legs from underneath the vanity unit. Large enough for two people to sit side by side, he put it in the centre of the room and pointed to it.

‘Sit down there. Face the door if you’re shy.’

Choices, Jos. You always have choices.

She stayed on her feet.

‘Please yourself.’ Looking fed up, he reached down and unlaced a boot, pulling it off and dropping it on the floor. The second one landed on top of the first, quickly followed by his socks. Next, he dragged the black tee-shirt over his head until he was standing in nothing but the leather pants. With a casual flick, he tossed the shirt on top of the pile.

‘Still watching?’

Bristling at his overconfidence, she perched on the edge of the stool, more to get out of his way than anything else. ‘You think I’d turn my back on a man with a gun in his pants?’

He smiled properly for the first time, white teeth splitting the dark tan of his face and softening the worry lines that hadn’t been there two years ago. ‘Smart thinking, princess.’

‘I’m a secretary. Nothing “princessy” about that.’

He stowed the pistol behind one of the urns and opened the shower door. ‘Last chance, princess.’

Heat warmed Josie’s face but she kept her eyes fixed on the broad expanse of his back as he leaned inside the cubicle and turned on the water. His skin was the colour of milk coffee, smooth, marked only by the movement of muscles visible beneath the surface. His hair fell in a thick black curtain around his shoulders.

‘I’ve seen my share of boys.’ She affected a bored tone, ignoring the inner voice reminding her Nate Hunter was a man. ‘So unless you have something unique — get on with it.’

He unzipped his pants and let them fall to the floor, and she was glad he couldn’t see the telltale flush heating her cheeks, couldn’t see what a fraud she was. His legs were long, well-muscled and covered in a fine smattering of black hair, his nicely rounded butt neatly encased in a pair of black swimmers.

‘Lucky for you I’m wearing my budgie smugglers.’ He disappeared inside the cubicle, groaning as he stepped underneath the jet of steaming hot water.

The sound of raw appreciation did strange things to Josie’s insides, and she couldn’t drag her gaze away as he tipped back his head and turned his face into the spray.

‘Why are you wearing them?’ She needed to interact, needed to get the goddamn ties off.

‘I swim every morning.’

His shoulders were testament to that.

‘Well, you’re showing your age, detective. Gen Y call them dick stickers.’

‘Gen Y.’ A disgusted snort from inside the steamed up cubicle. ‘And that’s senior detective to you.’

A woody, oriental fragrance drifted towards Josie on a cloud of steam, and she closed her eyes and inhaled the intoxicating aroma of body wash. It was a small comfort, the sandalwood and vanilla an invisible balm for her shot nerves.

‘Did you mention my name when you spoke to the police?’ he asked suddenly.

Josie opened her eyes. His tall frame was a motionless silhouette behind the glass. ‘No. I wasn’t sure it was you.’

There was a long pause. ‘Didn’t want to believe I’d crossed over to the dark side, eh?’

Josie rolled her eyes, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. ‘Oh joy. A thirty-something Star Wars fan.’

Through the smoky glass his body appeared to relax as he turned off the taps and reached for a folded towel from the rack above his head. ‘I’ll thank you for keeping my confidence when we’re out of this mess.’

His conviction that they’d somehow come through this settled Josie’s nerves a fraction more, and this time she averted her gaze while he dried himself behind the thin veil of steamed glass. She wanted to ask specifics, but Nate Hunter had concealed his occupation from her until the last possible moment. He’d tell her more when he was good and ready.

‘We have a small window of time.’ He opened the shower door and strode out, long hair slicked back, white towel hanging from narrow hips. ‘The bikies will go to ground, making the police our greatest threat. They’ll trawl through the camera footage and track the vehicles coming from the vicinity of the wreck.’

Josie studied him from beneath the awning of her lashes. His chest was covered in a light smattering of curly black hair, his body naturally athletic, buff, in an unpumped kind of way. ‘Won’t they trace the number plates?’

He scooped his pants up off the floor, whiskey eyes sweeping over her. ‘The ute has false plates.’

She sighed. ‘Course it does.’

Heat radiated from his body as he opened a drawer and took out a pair of scissors.

‘If I undo the ties, will you cut my hair?’

Josie blinked, taken aback by the unexpected request. ‘Okay.’

‘Stay still.’ He came around behind her and fiddled with the ties. ‘We need to move quickly. The people I know around here think I’m in Canberra, working for the Government. I can’t be seen looking like this.’

He trusts you enough to put a pair of scissors in your hand?

Josie turned and spoke over her shoulder, amazed how the shower had improved his mood. ‘Do the Altar Boys know your real name?’

‘No. I’m Nate Jordan to them, or Bolt. I retain my first name in case I bump into someone I know.’

There was a snip and her wrists were free. She winced, bringing her hands to the front and rubbing at the raised welts. ‘At least I met the real Nate Hunter.’

Josie’s remark caught Nate completely off guard, and something akin to grief slugged him hard in the chest.

The real Nate Hunter?

He barely knew who that was anymore.

Like any other job, he’d started this one with a desire to protect the community, get the drugs off the street, and put the people who manufactured them behind bars.

So how had he gone from that — to this? He should have eased Josie’s anxiety a lot sooner, cut the ties before now. For Christ sake, he was in his own safe house, he was armed, and she was half his size. The chances of her getting away from him were slim.

But the violence culminating in Mulvaney’s shock death tonight was becoming the norm. And the soul destroying loneliness of being undercover was hardening him.

He felt tarnished by association.

Desensitised.

Despite that, it was magic to be home, even with the operation going catastrophically wrong. He could breathe up here in the mountains, be himself. And it was nice to talk to someone other than his controller. Someone from his real life.

Even the annoying princess, who once upon a time, had imagined she’d fancied him.

Nate threw the pieces of plastic into the waste basket. ‘Your wrists are swollen. Hold them under the cold water.’

He straightened, knee cracking where he’d come off his bike on a road trip to the Hawkesbury River eight months ago. The Altar Boys had an interest in a pub up there and they’d gone to collect their share of the cash.

Memories of that day flashed through Nate’s mind as he turned on the tap. The instant loss of control as the tyre blew, the frantic scramble to get out of the path of the other bikes.

Josie’s gasp brought him back to the present. She was leaning over the vanity, face white, hands beneath the flow of water.

‘Stinging?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not that.’

Before he knew it, he’d raised his hands and pressed his fingers into her shoulders. ‘You’ll be feeling it here.’

He froze.

What the hell was he doing?

He waited for her to shake him off, or at least order him to take his goddamn hands off her. But she didn’t. She just turned off the tap and gripped the edge of the vanity unit.

Nate hesitated. It was a dumb thing to do, but he’d acted on instinct, and in a way, he should be cheering. He wasn’t desensitised to the point where he’d lost all empathy for a human being in pain.

And she’d think him a right prick if he stopped now.

Using circular movements on the superficial layer of muscle, he began kneading out the tight knots of soft tissue. Her skin was smooth beneath the silky fabric of her dress, the line of her collarbone delicate beneath his fingertips.

Something tightened in his stomach, and lower, and he knew if he were smart, he’d remove his hands right away. But he couldn’t break the human contact, and he wanted to do something nice to make up for the rough way he’d treated her tonight. He needed her co-operation, needed to build the trust between them if he had any hope of keeping them both alive.

And he was having little success doing it with words.

He watched her in the mirror, increasing the pressure in his fingers when her muscles began to free up. She inhaled deeply, and when her shoulders lowered, Nate relaxed a little too. One thing about Josie, he could trust her to pull him into line quick smart if he overstepped the mark.

‘How close are you to arresting this person?’ she asked, opening her eyes and sounding a lot older than her twenty years.

His eyes met hers in the mirror. ‘Close, but I won’t lie to you, this is a major setback.’

‘Who is he?’

‘If I knew, he’d be behind bars. We call him “O” for “the overseer”. He’s the organised crime boss we think bankrolled the bikies years ago. The capital he provided let them expand from a cottage industry, growing a bit of weed, into a highly sophisticated network of money launderers. Kennett’s the conduit. That’s why I didn’t arrest him. He’ll lead me to him.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You sacrificed Mulvaney?’

He stopped rubbing her shoulders, his gaze locked on hers. ‘The situation got out of control. The tat parlour was supposed to be empty. I tried talking Kennett out of it in the back room, but he made me choose. It was a test. I guessed then Mulvaney was in for a beating but I had no idea Kennett was going to kill him.’

He hesitated, searching for the words that would explain the choice he’d made. ‘If I’d defended Mulvaney, I would have blown my cover and probably got myself killed. Shutting down the computer — protected you. It was an easy decision.’

‘What about the rest of your squad?’

He let go of her shoulders. ‘There are no others, just me and my controller. Welcome to our party of three.’

She turned, troubled eyes studying his face. ‘So — my life’s in hiatus?’

Nate wanted to be gentle, he really did, but gentle didn’t work with what needed to be said. ‘You show your face to the Altar Boys, princess, and you won’t have a life. Kennett learns you’re alive, and you sign your own death warrant — along with mine.’

While he wouldn’t resort to emotional blackmail, he wouldn’t hold back either, because unlike him she had another option. Daddy could come to her rescue, use his considerable money and influence to ship her off to some exotic place on the other side of the globe where the Altar Boys would never find her.

But would she go? Leave the undercover cop twisting in the wind? She had no obligation to save his skin, if anything, she should hate him. He’d snatched her off the street and not given her a say in the matter. And he intended doing everything he could to keep her with him so she could testify when the time came. When he locked away Kennett and the overseer for good.

Nate held up the scissors, rolled the metaphorical dice for the second time that night. ‘Ready to do your worst?’

She moved around behind him and he sat down on the stool.

Again, their eyes met in the mirror.

She said nothing, just held out her hand, face pale.

He laid the scissors across her palm.

‘Try not to embed those in my jugular, will you?’

Chapter 4

1:00 a.m. Monday

Allegra Greenwood stood in the bedroom of the terrace house she shared with her husband Luke Neilson, and spoke to Henry Grace on the phone. ‘The police found Josie’s car in the national park, near the family home.’

She watched Luke dump their overnight bags on the bed, her voice breaking as he came towards her. ‘There’s no sign of her.’

Luke wrapped his arm around her waist and she leaned into him, drawing comfort from his body warmth and quiet strength. It felt surreal to be discussing Josie’s disappearance with one of Grace and Poole’s senior partners in the early hours of Monday morning, and Allegra would have preferred it to be Simon Poole.

But he was on sabbatical in the United States, attending his father’s alma mater, Harvard.

‘Do they know who’s involved?’ Henry’s voice was low, so quiet Allegra could barely hear him.

‘Two men, but she couldn’t identify them.’

‘Do they have any idea why she was speaking to Mr Mulvaney?’

Allegra swallowed her irritation. It wasn’t in Henry’s DNA to break with formality, even at a time like this. ‘She thought he was trying to contact me.’

There was a pause, then, ‘What matters do you have with him at the moment?’

‘I don’t have anything, but he might have had some new instructions. His body hasn’t been formally identified but the police are sure it was him the firies dragged from the building. It fits — with what Josie witnessed.’

Allegra faltered, nausea churning her stomach. The thought of something happening to Josie because she worked for her…

‘And someone intercepted her?’ Henry was speaking louder now, repeating what she’d told him earlier, as if he’d overcome the initial shock and was trying to get everything straight in his head.

‘Yes. The tattoo parlour was in Ryde, about half an hour’s drive from her family home.’

Allegra dragged in an unsteady breath, her heart a dull ache in her chest. ‘I’ve only learned this much because of Luke’s connections to the police.’

Luke hadn’t pulled any punches either. With the bikies’ known ties to organised crime, Josie’s chances of survival were slim at best.

Allegra paused, waiting for some direction from Henry, but there was silence from the other end of the line.

‘Should I have Luke open an investigation?’ It wouldn’t have been necessary to press Simon this way, but Henry was the more reactionary of the senior partners, preferring to wait for things to happen rather than take the initiative.

‘It’s a terrible business, but I’m not sure there’s much we can do other than let the police do their job.’

Damn Henry! He was always concerned about things reflecting badly on the firm.

Allegra tightened her grip on the phone. ‘Should I ring Simon? He would want to know about this.’

‘Leave it to me, Allegra. I appreciate the call. We’ll confer again in the morning.’

‘Alright. Goodnight.’

Allegra killed the call and threw her mobile phone on the bed. ‘Bloody Henry! I’m tempted to tell him to grow some balls.’

‘Whoa!’ Luke grasped her shoulders and turned her round to face him. There was grave concern for Josie in his silver gray eyes, protective concern for her as well.

Allegra slipped her arms around his waist, breathing in his familiar masculine smell. Even after eighteen months of marriage she still couldn’t believe Luke was hers.

‘I know I’m catatrophising, but I can’t help it.’

‘You’re allowed, Counsellor.’ Strong arms held her in a fierce embrace. ‘Though I don’t think catatrophise is a word.’

‘Poor Josie. You know what she’s like, all hard shell on the outside and marshmallow inside.’

‘Reminds me of someone else I know.’

Allegra lowered her head onto his shoulder. ‘Despite the wealth, I’d never swap places with her. Nothing can make up for a close family. She loves them so much, and yet she’s closer to some of her former nannies than to Marilyn and Silvano. And, I know…’

Luke’s warm lips brushed her temple. ‘Hey, come on, try and settle down.’

‘She never speaks ill of them, Luke, but I know she hurts inside.’

‘Sshh.’ Luke stroked his thumb across her cheek. ‘Josie might be a poor little rich girl, but she’s got spunk in bucket loads. She’ll fight, don’t you worry.’

Allegra closed her eyes and let his voice calm her. No matter how bad things got, she had Luke by her side. And he’d never let her down. Two years ago, he’d tracked a stalker intent on harming her. The case had brought them together.

And now Josie was missing.

If anyone could find her, Luke could.

‘Could you…?’

‘You know I will.’

She gave an inelegant sniff. ‘Are we getting like those couples who pre-empt what the other is going to say?’

‘I hope so.’ He buried his nose in her hair. ‘Come on, counsellor, you need to go to bed. We have to be up in a few hours.’

Allegra turned her head and kissed his warm neck. She didn’t need sleep, she needed him to love her, to overwhelm her, to drive away every thought process and send her body into orbit, as only he knew how.

‘Do something, Luke,’ she whispered. ‘Take my mind off it — please?’

He groaned, slid his hands down her arms and took a firm grip on her hips.

‘How could I refuse,’ he trailed his mouth down the column of her throat, ‘when you asked me so politely?’

Henry Grace stood in his book lined study and stared at the darkened garden through the floor to ceiling window. Beyond the trimmed hedge, the creepy crawly hummed its way through the sparkling depths of the swimming pool.

He only moved when his old black Labrador, Missy, pressed her warm body against his leg. Chilled to the bone, he picked up his phone and called a number he’d long ago committed to memory.

The person at the other end picked up after three rings. ‘Yes?’

Henry closed his eyes. ‘We have a problem.’

Chapter 5

1:15 a.m. Monday

Josie made a conscious effort to avoid Nate’s eyes in the mirror as she draped a white towel around his shoulders and got to work. His hair was silky, sun burnished with strands of gold and auburn, the kind of dark mane many girls longed for.

Aware of the slight tremble in her fingers, she rough cut the damp mass to collar length, struggling to recall every scrap of knowledge she’d learned from years watching Sydney’s top hairstylists groom her mother.

That done, she divided his hair into sections and worked her way down from the crown. She caught each lock between her middle and index fingers, stretching it out and snipping off the extra length.

Little by little, the Nate Hunter she recognised emerged in the mirror, like a Polaroid shot from an instant camera.

‘Which side?’ she asked, brushing his hair back from his forehead. She’d never hear the end of it if he came away looking like a mangy dog.

‘Left.’

Josie parted his hair, deciding to leave it a little longer than in the photograph. The more fashionable he looked, the less he’d resemble his alter ego — badass biker, Nate Jordan.

Leaning forward, she placed her hands on either side of his head, holding it still while she carefully checked both sides were even.

Suddenly his face split into a wide grin, broad shoulders shuddering beneath her forearms.

‘What?’ Josie straightened, steeling herself against the roguish gleam in his Jack Daniels eyes. She hadn’t been the only girl at Grace and Poole to fall for Nate Hunter’s brand of charm.

But the only one naive enough to act on it.

‘I don’t need the latest Beckham.’

Refusing to bite, because that’s what he wanted her to do, she swept the towel off his shoulders and dropped it in his lap. ‘Done. You can sweep up.’

She turned and left the bathroom, half expecting him to come charging after her and hand tie her again. But there was no thunder of footsteps, no irritated male voice calling “princess” as she made her way back into the living room.

Maybe he’d decided she wasn’t stupid enough to thoughtlessly endanger both their lives. Then again, he’d already confiscated her laptop, phone and purse. And there wasn’t a landline in sight.

Josie checked her watch.

1:45 a.m.

Hell dark in the mountains.

Where on earth would she go anyway?

Taking advantage of her longer leash, she wandered over to the mantelpiece and studied the collection of trophies she’d noticed earlier. It seemed Nate had once been the consummate ironman. Again and again, he’d placed in the top three in numerous high level competitions, the most recent award five years ago.

Had he stopped competing, or was that around the time he’d left for America?

She looked at the comfortable room, heart rate climbing as she thought of the life she was being forced to give up. She enjoyed working for Allegra, loved her little apartment and the independence it gave her, almost as much as she enjoyed fostering a love of music in her toddlers and pre-schoolers.

Josie shivered, skin turning to gooseflesh and making the hairs on her arms stand on end. What would she do up here all day, devoid of the internet, social media and her mobile phone? She’d be disconnected from Grace and Poole, separated from the children and parents she loved interacting with.

Day after endless day, week after endless week…

Panic welled inside her, a cold sweat breaking out on her body.

How would she cope?

‘Bathroom’s all yours.’

Josie wheeled at the sound of Nate’s voice, grasped the back of the lounge to steady herself. He came towards her, white tee-shirt encasing his broad shoulders and complimenting the tan of his face. Fashionably frayed blue jeans, worn a little looser than his earlier leathers, hung from his narrow hips.

He looked nothing like the menacing bikie who’d run her off the road, and everything like the man who’d set her aside and told her in no uncertain terms she was too young, and too inebriated, to be coming onto him.

Blushing at the memory of being driven home legless by a detective, she watched as he sat on the couch and opened the notebook.

He glanced up when she didn’t move. ‘I want to see if anything’s been reported on the 24 hour news channel.’

She hesitated.

Choices, Jos. You always have choices.

‘Me too.’ She perched gingerly on the opposite couch.

He shot her a wary look and switched on the flat screen. The notebook hadn’t even booted up when the network crossed to a news update.

‘A tattoo parlour has gone up in flames in the Sydney suburb of Ryde. Fire fighters were called to the scene shortly after 10:00 p.m. to find the building well alight. Believed to be owned by the Southern Cross Motorcycle gang, the property was destroyed, leaving fire fighters battling to prevent the blaze spreading to adjoining buildings. Police have confirmed one person perished in the fire. It is the latest incident in the ongoing turf war between Sydney’s rival bikie gangs.’

‘Nothing to worry about yet.’ Nate killed the reception as the news anchor moved onto the next story. ‘I’m not expecting your disappearance to be reported for at least twenty-four hours.’

A bone wearying tiredness came over Josie, and it took every bit of energy she possessed to push herself off the lounge. What he said made sense. The police would need to contact her parents before releasing details to the press.

In the bathroom, she stood under a showerhead the size of a dinner plate, aching all over, stomach discoloured from her fall across the handbrake, teeth tender from where Nate had dragged his hand from her mouth. When she turned, her shoulders and sternum hurt from the rough handling, her wrists burning from the zip ties.

Shampooing her hair became an exhausting exercise in contortion, and afterwards, she braced herself between the shower walls and let the cascade of warm water rinse her hair and soothe her muscles.

Nate believed her over privileged, and she’d never refute that, but like every other guy, he couldn’t see past the sparkly wrapping paper.

She turned off the taps, resolve strengthening with every droplet of water she squeezed from her hair. She was alive and she could do this. Terrifying as it might be, she could cope with being holed up here until he made an arrest.

It hands down beat dying.

Hands down beat either of them dying.

She dried herself with a fluffy towel and glanced at the “Boston Celtics” basketball singlet Nate had left on the vanity. He hadn’t said anything but it was clearly meant for her.

She pulled the garment over her head and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She could dispense with the leggings. The green and white singlet was nightdress length on her.

Head on straight for the first time since Mulvaney’s Skype call, Josie was using a new toothbrush she’d found in the cupboard, when Nate knocked on the door.

‘Just a second.’ Hastily she rinsed her mouth and opened the door.

‘I found these in the freezer.’ He handed her two gel packs. ‘They’ll help with the swelling on your wrists.’

‘Thanks.’ Yawning, she switched off the light and tried not to think about the way he’d rubbed her shoulders.

‘You should try and sleep.’ He tipped his head in a gesture she recognised. ‘My room’s the one at the end, take your choice of the other two. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.’

She nodded, barely able to keep her eyes open. ‘Goodnight then.’

‘Oh, and thanks for the haircut.’ His eyes skimmed over the singlet she wore. ‘It doesn’t look half bad.’

Nate Hunter was a master of the ambiguous statement, and two years ago she would have laughed and asked if it were the haircut or her current state of dress he was referring to as “half bad”.

But that was back when they used to play. Now, all she could manage was a solemn nod.

Aware he was still watching, she turned away and headed for the bedroom.

‘Josie.’ He said from behind her.

And then the doorbell rang.

Josie’s mind came instantly alert; the harmonious sequence of notes an unbefitting announcement of what was sure to be an unwelcome guest.

Before she could physically react, Nate had shepherded her into the nearest bedroom, one large hand splayed in the centre of her back.

She dropped the gel packs on the bed as he pulled the revolver from the waistband of his jeans.

‘Do you think it’s Kennett?’

‘Unlikely.’ He flicked off the safety catch. ‘Kennett’s more a back door kind of guy.’

Jaw set in a brutal line, he grabbed her arm and steered her into a corner of the unlit room. ‘Get behind the door.’

She slipped into the space between the open door and the wall, legs shaky despite her earlier bravado that she could handle this.

‘Stay quiet.’ Nate’s eyes glittered in the dark, body a tense mass of sinew and muscle.

And then he was gone.

Josie wrapped her arms around her middle and stared through the gap between the door and the wall, fingers clutching the soft material of Nate’s singlet, heart labouring like a piston in her chest. They’d only arrived two and a half hours ago. Who could have found them in that time?

Seconds ticked by, and then she heard Nate call. ‘Who is it?’

Silence.

Then, ‘It’s Barry Simpson.’

Josie held her breath.

Keys rattled in the lock and she heard Nate open the door.

‘Barry. What’s up?’

Josie closed her eyes for a beat and expelled her pent up breath. Nate’s laid back tone suggested he knew this person.

‘Sorry, mate, I didn’t know you were back. I just closed up the pub and noticed your light on.’

Josie frowned. Surely he hadn’t called in to say hi at two thirty in the morning.

‘I got in around midnight,’ Nate replied, his voice neither rude nor overly friendly.

‘Still doing that job in Canberra?’

‘Yeah, mate, keeps me out of trouble.’

‘Sure does. Haven’t seen you in yonks.’

‘I haven’t been back in a while.’

‘Well, don’t be a stranger, call by and have a beer.’ Simpson’s voice grew softer, like a song going to fade out. ‘I thought you had a break in. Glad everything’s okay.’

‘Thanks, Barry, appreciate it.’

She heard the door close, and then the room grew darker as Nate extinguished the light in the foyer.

Josie’s body trembled. Apart from a few quiet creaks and groans, the house was silent, and in her mind’s eye she could see Nate standing at the window watching Barry Simpson depart.

Then from out on the street, a car door slammed, and an engine roared to life.

Moving on unsteady legs, Josie emerged from her hiding place and ran into Nate in the hallway. ‘Who’s he?’ she whispered.

Nate rubbed a hand over his face and around the back of his neck. ‘The local publican — lives down the end of this road.’

Josie clutched his arm, his skin warm and dangerously enticing beneath her fingers.

She removed her hand. ‘Do you trust him?’

They walked into the living room and if he noticed her hasty withdrawal, he didn’t say anything.

‘Well?’ Josie asked again. Getting information out of Nate was about as easy as coaxing knee cartilage to regrow.

He slanted a glance at her. ‘I don’t trust anyone.’

Knowing she was included in that sweeping statement, Josie sank onto the lounge he’d occupied earlier. ‘But do you believe him? I mean, who knocks on the door at two thirty in the morning because there’s a light on?’

His eyes softened, tired lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. ‘It’s more countrified here in the mountains. People are friendlier. They look out for each other.’

‘Something you could do without in your line of work.’

He stood looking down at her, hands on hips as if mulling over what she’d said. Then he shook his head as if to clear it, gaze slanting towards the front door. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, urgent.

‘I need to change the plates on the ute, get the other car up and running. Word will get out now I’m back.’

He moved and turned off the lamp, clearly focused on what he had to do to complete his transition from Nate Jordan to Nate Hunter. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll be in the garage if you need me. I’ll leave the connecting door open.’

Josie nodded and watched him go, and a few moments later the living room was bathed in the subdued light filtering in from the garage.

Josie glanced towards the hallway, the thought of sleeping in a dark and unfamiliar bedroom unappealing. She’d much prefer to lie here and listen to Nate’s tinkering.

She dragged a throw cushion beneath her head, closed her eyes and stretched out.

Maybe she’d stay here for a little while.

By three thirty, Nate had fitted new plates on the black WRX. He’d cleaned the spark plugs, changed the oil and water, and reconnected the battery. Apart from actually turning the engine over, the vehicle was good to go.

Wiping his hands on a clean cloth, he worked through the case in his head.

The Altar Boys held interests in various businesses across the city, including a scrap metal yard, a boxing gym and a few tattoo parlours. As well as these, there were nightclubs and strip joints in the Cross, a gambling establishment, plus the interest in the Hawkesbury pub.

On the surface, every business checked out, earnings receipted, money banked, and due taxes paid. But that’s where the bikies’ compliance with the Australian law ended.

Most were fronts for money laundering purposes, plus the earnings from those “legitimate” businesses provided capital for the club’s less legal activities. Drugs. Cooked up in hidden meth labs and distributed to suppliers across Sydney by a mobile network of bikies. The suppliers went on to cut the drugs with other substances, increasing the total quantity, which in turn, gave them their profit.

Nate threw the rag into a plastic bucket and switched off the garage light. From his observations, the bikies were having less to do with the crime at street level, and more to do with manufacturing the drugs and cleaning the dirty money.

And a small criminal faction within the Altar Boys took care of that.

Nate pulled the garage door closed and went to clean up, excitement rippling through his body. He was so close he could almost taste it. If he could reassure Kennett he’d carried out the hit on Josie, he’d use that valuable bargaining chip for a position in the inner circle, a job dealing directly with the businesses laundering the money.

His thoughts turned to the mountain of research he’d done. He’d ask for the fitness centre and the dry cleaners, both located in the maze of underground arcades, linking Sydney’s CBD with the inner city rail line.

Millions of people passed the dry cleaners and gym every day, and the plethora of surrounding shops and cafes provided the perfect vantage point for easy surveillance, something impossible to accomplish in a pub, club or scrap metal yard.

Yes, he’d lean on Kennett to dump Grassy and give him the job. The Altar Boys were already nervous about Grassy’s heavy dependence. It wouldn’t take much to convince Kennett that the bikie’s drug-fucked brain was a serious risk to their lucrative business interests.

In the bathroom, he gave his hands a thorough wash. Once he got the job, he’d get a sighting of the collector — then he’d get a name. And that would lead to another name. No doubt, there’d be a complex set of shelf companies and trust deeds set up for the purpose of concealing the overseer’s identity, but he’d flush the bastard out in the end.

He washed his face and thought of Barry Simpson’s visit tonight. There was an element of risk being here in the mountains, among acquaintances. On the other hand, slotting back in as a member of the community could provide him with a temporary shield from the Altar Boys.

He dried his face then plugged in a text message to his controller.

‘I have a joke. Where do you find a one-legged deer?’

Code for “Operation cut off at the knees, hold tight”.

Within seconds, the reply from Dickson Cross beeped on Nate’s phone. ‘Dunno?’

Nate keyed in, ‘Exactly where you left it’.

Code for “I made it to the safe house”.

Nate pocketed the phone and turned off the light. In his mind’s eye, he could see Dickson searching his phone for the news bulletins. In minutes, he’d be up to speed on the fire and Mulvaney’s suspected death. And in less than twenty-four hours, he should know about Josie.

Nate stepped into the hallway and headed for the master bedroom. As he passed by, he couldn’t help noticing the first guest room was vacant and undisturbed.

A little further on, he faltered outside the second guest room. The door was wide open, left in the same position as when Josie had hidden behind it.

Strange.

Nate stuck his head in the door. He’d be in for a spray from her potty mouth if he scared the living daylights out of her.

He froze. The gel packs were right where she’d tossed them on the bed.

‘Josie?’ He hit the light switch.

Nate’s blood turned to ice, heart a weighty thud in his chest. The room was empty.

She wouldn’t have. She couldn’t be so irresponsible as to make a run for it while he was in the garage.

‘Josie!’ He barked out her name and strode down the hallway to the foyer. The first thing he saw was her handbag lying open on the side table.

Fear lodged at the back of Nate’s throat and his temples pounded in time with his heartbeat. He’d fastened that bag himself, after he’d confiscated her wallet and phone. Now there was a perfume bottle protruding from the open flap.

Why hadn’t she taken the bag with her?

‘JOSIE!’

He wheeled around and stopped mid-stride.

She was there.

Curled up on the lounge.

In the dark.

Relief coursed through him, the emotion so strong it prevented him moving for an instant, stopped him running over and shaking her as punishment for scaring the bejesus out of him.

Instead, he took a long, slow breath and moved towards the couch, frowning at her slim outline, covered in his Celtics top. He had no problem with her sleeping wherever she liked, but did she have to sleep like she was anaesthetised? Surely she would have woken up when he began shouting?

He raked an unsteady hand through his hair and squatted beside her, resting his forearms on his knees. She’d surprised him tonight. After the initial panic, shock and anger, she’d settled down and listened to him. And when bloody Barry Simpson turned up, she had followed his instructions.

Nate’s heartbeat settled into its normal steady rhythm. Oblivious to his panic, Josie was lying on her side, curled up into a tight little ball as if to protect herself from the cold. And in her right hand, she held a portable music player the size of a matchbox, the attached cord disappearing under her hair.

Noise cancelling earphones.

The device must have been stored in an inside zipper of her handbag and he’d missed it.

Nate swallowed. He had to get it off her, couldn’t take the chance it had an activated “Find my iPod” option on it. The local police would be all over that.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, trying not to notice how she filled out the singlet in places he never had.

She lifted her lids, fright registering in her eyes when she saw him hovering over her.

‘Stay there.’ He slid his hands under the still damp, silky curls and pulled the buds from her ears. ‘I just need these.’

She didn’t come fully awake, but she lifted her head so he could free the cord from where it had caught beneath her shoulder.

‘Don’t get up,’ he murmured, watching as she sank back onto the cushion, dark lashes sliding over those spirited eyes that constantly challenged him. Up this close, she smelled like some exotic flower, her skin more Scandinavian white than bronzed Aussie. Like it had seen more of the northern lights than the sun.

Taken with a sudden urge to know what she was listening to, he lifted a bud to his ear. Ah, Maroon 5. That wasn’t too bad. He’d been expecting a boy band, though he didn’t know upon what he’d based that assumption.

Listening to the lyrics for a few moments, he stared at Josie’s pink, heart shaped mouth.

Jesus, she’s beautiful.

He rocked back on his haunches, turning off the device and looping the cord around his trembling fingers. He couldn’t start thinking of Josie in those terms when he never had before. True, he’d been flattered by her attention when he’d worked for Neilson, had enjoyed their innocent flirting. But when she began reading more into it, he backed right off for a multitude of reasons. She was too young to know her own mind yet, and the timing wasn’t right. And if he were honest, he didn’t want her finding out the real reason he was working for Neilson, how he’d been stood down, reprimanded for getting involved with a woman while undercover in the States.

And he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.

A mistake?

Nate shook his head. The reprimand still rankled. Try as he might, he would never be of the opinion that being stepfather to three-year-old Jonathan constituted anything close to a mistake.

Shoving the device in his pocket, he stood up and went to fetch blankets from the bedroom, remembering how Josie had enquired about the photograph. What answer could he have given her? That he’d lived with Jonathan’s mother for a while. That he hadn’t been able to speak to the child the entire time he’d been undercover.

That he wasn’t even sure the boy would remember him now.

Back in the living room, he covered her with blankets and stretched out on the other couch.

His momentary fantasy starring Josie was just that — momentary. It was nothing, just the close proximity after two years in chauvinism central with scant female company, none of which had even remotely tempted him.

She moaned in her sleep.

Nate’s body tensed and he closed his eyes, rolled over and prayed for sleep.

It was nothing.

Just a long time between drinks.

Chapter 6

9:00 a.m. Monday

Josie pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and walked into Coles, eyes trained ahead, conscious of the CCTV camera Nate had warned her about.

The supermarket was a hive of activity following school drop off, the store bustling with mothers replenishing supplies after the weekend.

Just as Nate assured her it would be.

She wore leggings, and Nate’s smallest tee-shirt, knotted at the waist. Her hair was dragged back in a ponytail and pulled through a hole in the back of a red and white Swans cap. Only the flowery patterned Doc Martens set her apart.

The thought of venturing into town had filled her with fear, but Nate wouldn’t hear of her staying at the house. Her face was yet to appear in the media, and according to him, she could be disguised easily enough. Together, they would halve the exposure time spent in the village, halve the chance of Nate running into someone he knew. And while she needed clothes and toiletries, they both needed food.

Even so, she suspected there was more behind his insistence that she accompany him.

He didn’t trust her not to run.

Aware of him a step behind, Josie pulled a trolley from the rack, recalling his earlier words. ‘Don’t freak out if someone spots me. To them, I’m a federal government security guy who drives a black Subaru and mostly lives in Canberra. The Altar Boys know me as Nate Jordan, mechanic by day, lock picker by night. I live in a miners cottage in inner city Surry Hills, and drive the ute when I’m not on the bike. I have two completely separate identities.’

And then there was the real Nate Hunter, undercover detective, hell bent on apprehending the shady underworld’s puppeteer.

Equal amounts of anxiety and hunger stirred Josie’s stomach as she watched Nate head to the far end of the store. Clean shaven, he wore knee length denim shorts, a blue tee-shirt with a surfing motif, sunnies and thongs. With the new haircut, he looked nothing like the intimidating bikie who’d kidnapped her last night.

She repeated his instructions like a mantra.

Get in and get out. Don’t linger, don’t rush. Get the essentials in the time it takes for me to fill my trolley with food.

Hoping she looked like any other tourist visiting the popular mountain village, Josie searched the overhead signs and made for the Health and Beauty aisle. She chose moisturiser, two large boxes of tissues and various personal hygiene items. Around in the next aisle, she added a three pack of ankle socks, a six pack of undies and some cheap flannelette pyjamas.

Feeling a tad more confident, she passed two women chatting and headed to the “Mix-n-Match” section, an open area of the store displaying cheap, casual clothing. Tempted to grab what she needed and hightail it out of the place, she took her time browsing through the merchandise, behaving like any regular female shopper.

Any regular female shopper not in protective custody.

Over the next ten minutes, she selected a pair of leggings, a track suit and three tops. Enough stuff to get by, not enough to draw the attention of other shoppers.

She was adding two pairs of shorts to her purchases when Nate rounded the corner with a fully laden trolley. Mindful of the cameras, and avoiding all eye contact, she moved to a display of paperbacks situated at the front of the store. Selecting a book, she pretended to read the back cover blurb as Nate progressed through the checkout.

Hands clammy, she studied him from behind her sunglasses, saw him nod in response to something the checkout girl said. He looked relaxed, unhurried, like a thirty year old with a rostered day off, or a young father stocking up on the weekly shopping.

He took out his wallet, and again she wondered about the boy in the photograph. She dropped the book into the trolley and selected another one from the shelf.

‘Excuse me.’

Josie swung around at the sound of a female voice.

Oh shit!

‘You dropped your money.’ A young, friendly looking woman with a child on her hip was standing a few feet away, pointing to the folded cash lying on the floor beside one Doc Marten boot.

Josie’s heartbeat accelerated like a V8 supercar.

‘I would have picked it up for you,’ the woman said, as Josie hastily bent down and scooped up the money Nate had given her. ‘But this little tike’s given me a bad back.’

‘That’s okay.’ Somehow Josie managed to straighten her trembling knees and push herself upright, had no option but to make eye contact behind the plastic lenses of her glasses. ‘Thanks.’

The woman didn’t move. She smiled at Josie, looked at the baby and said, ‘Say hello.’

Nate was right. People really were friendlier in the mountains.

The baby gave a big toothless grin, and Josie’s heart melted. She reached out and tickled the little boy’s tummy. ‘Hey there, buster.’

The little boy laughed and wriggled while Josie scrunched the money into her palm. The woman looked nice, like the parents of the kids she taught. The sort of person she would have enjoyed talking to on a regular day.

But not today.

‘Thanks again,’ she mumbled and turned away, wondering if the woman would recognise her when her face was splashed all over the newspaper.

‘I like your boots.’

Josie froze, superficial nerves prickling the surface of her skin.

She needed to get out.

Now.

‘Thanks.’

Before the woman could engage her in more conversation, she turned the trolley in an arc, tossed a wave over her shoulder and made for the bank of checkouts.

Sweat broke out on her body as she lined up behind a woman pushing her credit card into the machine. Judging by the conversation, the woman’s daughter had gone to school with the checkout chick, and the pair of them chatted away, installing updates on each other’s lives.

Wondering what Nate would make of her conversation with the young woman at the book display, Josie watched him head towards the exit.

Then the woman in front moved off, and it was Josie’s turn.

Without looking up, the operator doled out the usual customer service platitudes. ‘How’s your day been?’

‘Good, thanks.’ It was her standard bank/supermarket answer she used in Sydney. ‘Yours?’

The girl muttered something just as inane, and Josie pretended to watch the cash register, as one by one the items were scanned and placed in a bag.

She paid and exited the supermarket. Outside, she dragged in deep breaths of fresh mountain air and remembered to keep her head down. The plan was for Nate to get to the car ahead of her and pack the groceries in the boot. When she arrived, all they had to do was load in her stuff and get the hell out, minimising the time where they might be seen together.

Two young guys sitting at a bench, smoking, wolf-whistled as she passed. Josie ignored them, eyes focused on Nate standing a few rows back in the car park.

‘Get in,’ he said, eyes focused on the smoking boys.

He took the trolley from her, and Josie slipped into the passenger seat and closed the door. It took Nate under a minute to stow the bags in the boot and return the trolley to the parking bay.

Then he was in the driver’s seat, locking the doors and gunning the engine, brown lips pressed into a firm line. The cabin of the WRX was more confined than the ute, and Josie found herself staring at his chest as he twisted towards her and braced his arm along the back of her seat. Peering over his shoulder, he reversed out of the parking space.

Josie turned and looked out the window, wishing she’d brought along a water bottle. Her throat was parched, and her head banged from the tension. She needed fluid, not the hypnotic aroma of Nate’s aftershave messing with her senses.

‘What happened with that woman?’ he asked as soon as they were clear of the car park.

She should have known he wouldn’t have missed it. ‘I dropped the money.’

He shot her an angry glance. ‘You what?’

Irritation flared, and she glared back. ‘Oh don’t look like that, you heard. What am I anyway, the perfect fugitive?’

Eyes fixed ahead now, he held up his injured hand. ‘That’s a bit of a stretch.’

‘It’s your fault. I told you I had no pockets in my leggings. You should have let me bring my handbag.’

He shook his head — as if she didn’t have a brain in hers. ‘Yeah, stellar idea that. Waltz in with a pink designer handbag the size of a small person. That things’s so heavy it’s a wonder it doesn’t set off the “unrestrained” alert when you plonk it on the passenger seat.’

She screwed up her nose at him. ‘Oh you’re so funny — lol. You should be in P.R. not gang squad.’

‘Did you — did you just speak to me in abbreviated text?’

‘Oh get over it.’

They were arguing, bickering, and Josie didn’t seem to be able to stop. ‘You know, you act more like forty-two than thirty-two. You need to get a life.’

For a full five minutes neither of them spoke, a strained silence simmering between them. Finally, Nate jabbed at the radio, the cabin instantly filled with the slapstick routine of three sports jocks intent on shouting each other down over a new season rule that had been introduced to the game.

Out of the corner of her eye, Josie saw Nate give an irritated shake of his head and turn it off.

Great.

A return to the strained silence.

Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, the car swept around a wide bend, and the “Three Sisters” came into view. Set against a perfect azure sky, the stunning rock formations glistened in the morning light.

Josie caught her breath, recalling the story from the time she’d spent a week up here on school camp. According to aboriginal legend, three brothers from an opposing tribe wanted to marry three sisters, and a witchdoctor turned them into stone to protect them. But the witchdoctor was killed before he could reverse the spell and they’d stayed that way forever.

Josie glanced at Nate again. He could have been sculptured from granite himself.

‘I. Don’t. Believe. This.’

The resignation in his voice, coupled with the decelerating car, sent a fresh wave of anxiety rushing through Josie. Up ahead, two highway patrol vehicles, lights flashing, were pulled onto the shoulder of the road, uniformed officers waving the cars ahead of them over.

Josie shrank back into the seat. ‘Is it a road block?’

‘No.’ Nate squinted at the scene in front of him. ‘It could be an accident — no, it’s a Random Breath Test unit.’

Josie spun around and peered through the back windscreen. ‘There are four or five cars behind us already.’

Nate’s eyes shifted to the rear vision mirror. ‘It’s okay. I’m carrying my real licence and the car’s registered.’

Warning bells sounded in Josie’s head. Annual road worthy inspections and third party insurance were mandatory before a car could be registered. ‘How do you manage that when you’re away?’

Nate glanced at her. ‘I have someone who looks after my house, attends to the mail, that sort of thing.’

So that’s why the house was clean, the lawns mowed. ‘Do they know you’re back?’

‘He will, the next time he comes by. I’ve closed the top left panel of plantation shutters in my room. It’s a signal I’m home and not to come in.’

‘Who is he?’

The patrol officer had reached the car in front. He was leaning over, talking to the driver through the window.

‘An ex member of the force. Retired up here years ago.’

‘And you trust him? He understands your job?’

‘Yes, to both questions.’

The patrol officer turned and looked straight at them.

‘Okay, he’s going to head our way any minute now. Say something, talk about anything that comes into your head. Act natural if you can.’

Josie forced a laugh. ‘As in — last night I witnessed a murder, and this guy was supposed to kill me, but he didn’t — kind of natural?’

Nate’s chest vibrated in an amused chuckle, though he kept his eyes fixed on what was happening up ahead. ‘You are such a brat.’

‘And you are such a bully.’

‘And you’re hangry.’

Josie frowned. ‘Hangry?’

‘Angry at the situation and hungry. Adrenaline burns everything in your system. You’re probably suffering low blood sugar. Hangry.’

He was right. She was angry at the situation, and she did suffer low blood sugar when she was busy and forgot to eat. Only when she felt the beginnings of a headache, like now, did she remember.

‘I thought you were angry because I spoke to that woman.’

‘I was. What did she say?’

‘She liked my boots.’

‘That’s not good.’

‘I know.’

The highway patrol officer was checking the license of the guy in front.

‘Try not to look nervous. We’re just an ordinary couple, enjoying each other’s company.’ His tone turned dry. ‘Shouldn’t be hard, considering my personality.’

‘Yeah right.’

Josie searched her mind, eye on the stocky highway patrol officer waving off the driver in front of them. ‘Um, er, okay, let’s see. Ah, you know what really annoys me?’

‘Besides me?’

‘Apart from you, yes. Those inane customer service enquiries they dole out, you know, “thank you for your patience”, or “how has your day been so far”. I mean, why bother, everyone knows it’s an empty enquiry, that the person really doesn’t give a shit.’

‘Keep going potty mouth, you’re doing well.’

‘What did you call me?’

‘Never mind.’

‘Well, what if one day you answered truthfully?’ Josie turned towards Nate, watching the approaching officer from behind the shield of her sunglasses. ‘What if you said, “well it’s only nine am, and frankly, if my day gets any crappier, I’d be tempted to throw myself off one of the Three Sisters?”’

The highway patrol officer was at the driver’s door, his face at the open window. Unfortunately, he’d caught the last few words of her sentence.

His gaze moved between Josie and Nate.

‘Everything alright here?’

Shit!

She had to fix this. Fast. Nate had risked everything to hide her identity from the Altar Boys. They couldn’t be brought down by the booze bus.

‘Yes, Officer. She leaned across the gear stick and smiled at him, sliding her hand onto Nate’s thigh and giving it a rub. ‘Nate’s a base jumper. We were discussing the Three Sisters.’

The patrol officer peered at her hand on Nate’s leg, and then at Nate. ‘Can I have your licence, sir?’

‘Sure.’ Nate lifted a hand, holding the card like a cigarette, between his index and middle fingers.

The officer took his time studying the licence. ‘Had any alcohol in the last twenty-four hours?’

Nate shook his head, and the officer passed the Breathalyser through the window.

‘Count to ten, sir.’

Josie silently counted along with Nate, and though he looked bored by the whole procedure, she could feel his quadriceps tensing beneath her fingertips.

He got to five when the police officer stopped him.

‘That’s fine, sir.’

The two men swapped test kit and licence.

‘You’re good to go.’ The officer peered at Josie again. ‘Take care, miss.’

He stepped away and moved onto the next car.

Nate closed the window and started the engine. ‘Base jumper?’

Josie dragged her hand away, palm tingling from the heat of his hard thigh, hot from the flush she could feel creeping up her face.

‘I couldn’t think of anything else, and I remembered the climbing equipment in your garage. Sorry for the grope. I thought it might distract him.’

‘It worked — distracted me.’

Josie shifted in her seat, face burning as Nate got the car up to speed again. Just her luck he’d think she was making another pass at him. And she so wasn’t. Granted, she’d snogged him once in a dark corner, but she’d been winging it just now. And yesterday’s faux pas in the garage had been an accident.

‘I thought you’d make a run for it.’

Surprised, she turned to study his profile, only then noticing the light sheen of perspiration on his neck and forehead.

He turned and caught her eye. ‘It would have been your best chance you know, with the police right there.’

‘I know.’

A pause. ‘It must have crossed your mind.’

‘It crossed my mind. But I have a detective right here who knows more about the Altar Boys and what they’re capable of, than a highway patrol officer with a beer gut.’

When he didn’t reply, she returned to admiring the scenery, breathing a little easier, relieved he wasn’t thinking about how she’d rubbed his thigh.

Chapter 7

10:30 a.m. Monday

Nate couldn’t stop thinking of how Josie had rubbed his thigh, the firm stroke of her fingers through his denim shorts, her manicured, pale pink nails sweeping close to his…

Shit!

He’d gone rock hard and broken out in a sweat. And it had nothing to do with the highway patrol officer at the window, or fear she’d leap from the car.

Somehow, he’d known she wouldn’t run.

The remainder of the journey to Echo Point passed in silence, and while he now had his body under control, he decided not to press Josie about her conversation with the woman in the supermarket.

It was enough she’d chosen to stay.

She trusted him.

For now.

But would all that change once her parents arrived back in the country?

He turned into the driveway, pondering his decision to bring her to his home town. There was no doubt it was in his best interest. He was Nate Hunter again, and if he were careful, there was nothing stopping him going after “O” from here. And he could morph back into Nate Jordan if the Altar Boys summoned him to church.

When they summoned him to church.

But was it best for Josie?

The alternative was to take her further away, somewhere far removed from Sydney, like Darwin or Perth. She’d be safer there, they both would, but the operation would be abandoned. Kennett would learn he was a fraud. And the Altar Boys wouldn’t forget he’d double crossed them.

Neither he, nor Josie, would ever be safe in Sydney again.

Back at the house, he put a frozen dinner in the microwave and set two places at the island bench, while Josie put her things in one of the bedrooms. He was unpacking the food purchases when a movement in the doorway caught his attention. She’d changed into green shorts and a black singlet, and with her hair pulled into a high ponytail, looked about seventeen.

A jolt of awareness caught Nate by surprise for the third time in twelve hours. He’d have to be a monk not to notice how attractive she was.

And he was no monk.

He swung around and pointed to the meat pie, potato, peas and gravy rotating in the microwave. ‘Pull up a pew. Lunch is almost ready.’

She padded across to the island bench and slid onto a stool, lifted her bare feet onto the rung. ‘I’m starving.’

‘I know.’ The microwave beeped, and he transferred the meal onto a square white dinner plate. ‘Usually I can do better than this, but it’s an emergency.’

‘It’s fine.’

He set the plate in front of her. ‘Eat.’

Obediently she picked up her knife and fork. ‘What about you?’

‘I’m not the one white as a ghost and shaking.’ He held up a cardboard box containing an identical meal. ‘Mine’s going in now.’

She began eating, and by the time the microwave beeped again six minutes later, she’d polished off about two thirds of the meal.

Nate filled two glasses with orange juice, and smiled at her near empty plate. ‘You sure can eat, princess, for someone so small.’

Right away he knew he’d hit a nerve. She laid down her cutlery and the quick retort he’d been expecting didn’t form on her lips.

‘Hey, don’t stop eating because I said that.’ He searched his mind for a light hearted remark that would wipe the uncomfortable expression off her face. ‘I like a woman who can give her food a good nudge — as well as the alcopops.’

To his surprise, she blushed to the roots of her hair, wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Okay.

This was strange.

So unlike her.

A troubling thought took root in his mind. Did she have food issues, some kind of eating disorder maybe?

‘When I was little, my mother would scold me for eating too much.’ She reached for her glass and took a small sip. ‘She lives by the creed, “You can never be too rich or too slim.”’

‘I see.’

‘She was paranoid I’d gain a whole lot of weight. Dad didn’t care.’

Nate gave a slow nod. So that was it.

No eating disorder.

Just the product of a mother with high expectations.

‘Well you didn’t, and I’m paranoid you’re going to pass out.’

He watched her take another sip of juice and thought back to the night he’d driven her home. There was no question Marilyn Valenti was a very attractive woman, though a little too over-groomed in his opinion.

Her daughter was much more natural.

And a healthy appetite was obviously a sore point between mother and daughter.

He nodded at the remaining food on Josie’s plate. ‘Come on, eat up, you’re looking better already.’

Christ, he sounded like a parent, and his feelings for Josie were, well — he wasn’t quite sure what his feelings were, but they sure as hell weren’t fatherly.

She picked up her cutlery and began squashing peas onto the end of her fork. ‘Since I moved to Pyrmont, I rarely think of those things anymore.’

Those things? ‘You moved out?’

‘Eighteen months ago.’

A chill slithered down Nate’s spine, and it wasn’t the swig of cold juice he’d just taken. If Josie had been at her place last night, he wouldn’t have known where to find her. She would have made it to the police station, and with daddy’s money and influence, would most likely be winging her way to some exotic safe haven in the northern hemisphere by now.

Instead, she was in his kitchen, eating a microwave meal, and he was still in with a chance of arresting both Kennett and the overseer.

They ate the remainder of the meal in silence, then tossed the containers in the bin and stacked the dishwasher.

‘I might try and catch up on some sleep,’ she said. ‘Thanks for lunch.’

She turned away and Nate stood in the kitchen watching her go. Josie was a dark horse, more mature than he’d given her credit for. He could understand now why Allegra Greenwood thought so highly of her. She was quick thinking, brave and feisty, and for that he was grateful. She’d need to be, to get through this. Hell, she’d been straight enough to point out in no uncertain terms that he should get a life.

Like he needed to be told.

Nate worked at the table in the living room for most of the afternoon, retrieving data from the biometric thumb drive he’d attached to a magnet and hidden inside the spare wheel of the ute. With its double password, fingerprint scanner and metal anti-tamper waterproof casing, the thumb drive was the best portable storage device on the market, more secure than an easily hackable “storage cloud”.

While Josie slept, he copied the information onto the electronic notebook he’d taken from the floor safe, and printed out the mountain of information he’d collected.

He’d shadowed every one of the Altar Boys’ inner circle on more than one occasion, and in the clubhouse, he’d hung with those who suffered loose lips after sinking a skinful, while saying nothing himself. At night, he filled databases and spreadsheets with details of known associates, and collated information on the bikies’ everyday movements.

The next few hours were spent studying Google Maps at street level, particularly the area surrounding the dry cleaners and the gym. He memorised every cafe, shop and office until the images swam in front of his eyes. Eventually, he shut down the notebook and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. No use getting ahead of himself. It could be weeks, even months, before he landed the job of couriering the dirty money.

He glanced at the mobile phone issued in the name of Nate Jordan. No calls. No messages.

It seemed the bikies had gone to ground.

Growing more and more edgy as the news bulletin approached, Nate thought through the police procedure in his head. The arson squad would pick through the remains of the tattoo parlour, but Mulvaney’s computer was ash and Josie’s was locked in his safe. Even if the police commissioned Skype for their server records, they would only get the date, time and duration of Mulvaney’s call to Josie.

‘Hey.’

Nate looked up. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t heard her get up. She was standing in the doorway, face still pink with sleep.

‘Hey.’

Josie ran her hands up and down her bare arms and glanced at the TV. ‘Any news this afternoon?’

Nate pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Lizard Mulvaney’s body has been formally identified. Nothing on you so far. The news is just about to start.’

Josie perched on the edge of the lounge and folded her arms across her stomach, aware of Nate’s scrutiny. She’d stayed in her room until the last possible moment, imagining the media frenzy that was sure to accompany her disappearance. And now, her legs trembled and the blood pounded in her head, so even the familiar programming music coming through Nate’s Bose speakers seemed muted.

And then her face appeared on screen, the photograph taken at her Year 12 formal, nearly four years ago.

‘Ahead in the news. Fears held for the daughter of prominent Sydney businessman, Silvano Valenti. The Prime Minister assures the Australian public the government will turn in a surplus budget, and the NRL footy season kicks off tonight with a rematch between last year’s grand finalists.’

Josie wiped her clammy palms on her shorts, nausea churning her stomach as the network logo disappeared from screen and the cameras panned to the news anchors in the studio.

‘Grave fears are held tonight for the safety of Josephine Valenti, daughter of prominent property tycoon, Silvano Valenti, and his wife, Marilyn. Josephine Valenti’s damaged car was found abandoned in the Kur-ring-Gai Chase National Park in the early hours of this morning, not far from the Valenti home. The high profile couple flew in from Singapore this afternoon. We now cross to Channel Nine reporter, Melissa Manning, who was at Kingsford Smith Airport, when the Valenti’s chartered Gulfstream touched down minutes ago.’

Josie sucked in her breath as her parents came on screen, mother dressed in a smart white suit, shoulder length blonde hair perfectly styled. She kept her face averted, and didn’t once look at the camera.

But her father, as dark as her mother was fair, spoke to the huddle of reporters, his voice accompanied by the constant click of camera shutters. ‘As I’m sure you can appreciate, both Marilyn and I are shocked and distraught to learn our only daughter, Josephine, is missing.’

‘Oh, Dad.’ The whispered words escaped Josie’s lips as at least a dozen microphones were thrust into her father’s face.

‘At this point, I can only say police are doing everything they can to get to the bottom of this matter, and I ask that you respect our family’s privacy during this difficult and trying time. Thank you.’

He gave reporters a brief nod and then handed her mother into the rear seat of a waiting sedan. All around them, police were on hand fending off more questions from the media.

‘Melissa,’ the anchor asked, ‘what do police think happened last night?’

‘Police believe Josephine Valenti’s car was forced off the road sometime between 10:00 p.m. and midnight as she left her parents’ home in Cottage Point. She is the only child and sole beneficiary of the Valenti family fortune. From the moment she was born, fears have been held for her safety, and now the family’s worst fears have been realised. Tonight, they anxiously await communication from the kidnappers, re their ransom demand.’

Kidnappers? Surely the police would have known from her phone call that that wasn’t the case.

And then the picture changed and another photograph appeared on screen. Tears pricked Josie’s eyes and her throat ached with the effort not to break down. It was a picture of her mother, holding her at some social function when she was about eighteen months old.

Beside her, Nate could have been a statue.

Josie blinked, trying to clear her rapidly blurring vision, heart pounding so hard it was starting to make her feel sick. But she would not cry in front of Nate Hunter. Even now, it hurt when she recalled his words from that earlier time.

‘It’s not your fault you’re young and stupid. But you’re putting yourself in a vulnerable situation drinking like this.’

Clinging to that memory, Josie sniffed and swallowed her salty tears. No matter how bad things got, Nate would never see her cry.

‘What do we know of the Valenti family, Melissa?’ the anchor was asking.

‘Yes, Marilyn Valenti is known in social circles as the queen of Sydney fundraising, helping to raise hundreds of thousands of dollars annually for a variety of hospitals and needy causes. The socialite created headlines once, describing Josephine as her “must have accessory” which raised eyebrows and caused quite a stir at the time. Josie, as she’s known, was highly visible in her early years, but spent most of her young life out of the public eye at the exclusive Ascham School for Girls in Edgecliff. Due to celebrate her twenty-first birthday this Thursday, Josephine keeps a low profile, working as assistant to prominent lawyer, Allegra Greenwood, at the Sydney office of Grace and Poole, and running an early childhood music school on weekends. We ask anyone with information to call…’

The reporter read out the number which flashed on the bottom on the screen, and then the anchor thanked her for the report and moved onto the next story.

Nate muted the sound and glanced across at Josie. She sat lifeless as a shop mannequin, back rigid as she stared blindly at the carpet.

Fighting against a natural instinct to reach out and comfort her, Nate settled for shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘Hey, this is good…’

She moved so quickly, she took him by surprise, jumping to her feet and running from the room.

Nate stared after her.

Okay.

He pulled his hands from his pockets and started to follow, halting when the sliding door in her bedroom banged closed. She’d stepped out onto the enclosed verandah.

Nate blew out a breath. That was okay. She was obscured by darkness out there, and she obviously needed time alone.

And he was probably the last person she wanted to see right now.

Chapter 8

6:30 p.m. Monday

Allegra looked up to see Luke standing in the doorway of her corner office, short cropped fair hair shining under the fluorescents. She put her dictation handset on the desk and beckoned him inside, watching as he closed the door.

‘How did you go with the police?’

‘They’re moving quickly.’ He came around the desk to give her a hug then folded his tall frame into one of the ergonomic designed client chairs. ‘I have some news, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up.’

Allegra sat up straighter, mouth turning dry like it did when she was about to address the Court. She knew from her husband’s measured tone, whatever he was about to reveal was significant, much as he might downplay it.

‘The police are checking camera images within a specified radius around the Valenti’s house. Some of the shots are hit and miss, because primarily they try and get the plate number. But in a lot of cases, the driver’s face is visible.’

Allegra nodded, wondering what he was getting at.

‘I think I saw Nate in a lime green ute.’

‘Nate?’ Allegra blinked as her mind made the jump. ‘Nate, who used to work for you?’

‘Nate Hunter.’

Allegra frowned. ‘How is that relevant?’

Luke leaned forward in his seat. ‘Because he looked like a bikie, and I almost didn’t recognise him. No shirt, hair down to his shoulders, and a three day growth. And he had the whole bikie bling thing going on.’

Allegra felt the blood leave her face. ‘Did you tell the police?’

Luke’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘No. We can’t say anything.’

‘Why not?’

‘Nate’s a member of the gang squad, Ally. I gave him a job when he got stood down for a bit.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘He was a top bloke, and a smart cop. I was sorry to see him go.’

Needing something for her dry mouth, Allegra reached under her desk and opened the small bar fridge. She took out two Diet Cokes and passed one across the desk to Luke.

‘Thanks.’ There was a hiss of air as he twisted off the cap.

Allegra twisted the top off her own bottle and poured the liquid into an empty glass on her desk. ‘What do we do?’

‘Nothing. There’s a chance he could be undercover with one of the gangs. Ally, you know I don’t believe in coincidences. Nate looked like a bikie, and he was in the area when Josie went missing. If I’m right, she may have a very small chance. I know he’d do everything he could to help her — if she’s alive.’

Despite his warning not to, some of the tension left Allegra’s body and she couldn’t help the tiny spark of hope that flared up inside her. ‘Oh, Luke!’

‘No — please don’t get your hopes up. I could be wrong. I was in two minds whether or not to tell you.’

Allegra smiled at her husband across the desk. ‘I’m glad you did, Commander.’

He smiled back, grey eyes softening, the scar on his cheek moving a fraction. ‘I can’t get involved, you understand that don’t you? I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, that’s all. Any interference could put his life at risk.’

‘Of course.’ Allegra took a sip of her drink. ‘I remember him mucking around with Josie. She liked him. They got quite cosy at our engagement.’

‘I can’t give you a cast iron guarantee, but I’m fairly certain it was him.’

He swallowed a mouthful of Diet Coke and grimaced at the taste. ‘How long until you get out of here, Counsellor? I’ll buy you a glass of wine on the way home.’

Chapter 9

7:00 p.m. Monday

When Josie hadn’t come inside an hour later, Nate began to worry. He wanted to talk about the broadcast, and he needed to know she was alright.

Twenty-one this week!

Hell, what a birthday present.

She hadn’t mentioned it.

Maybe she wasn’t such a princess after all.

He paced the hallway, mulling over the personal aspects of her life, like what was the deal with her “you can never be too rich or too thin” mother? He could never imagine his own mother referring to him, or any of his siblings, as a “must have accessory”. To be fair, it did sound like a bit of a throwaway line that had turned into a media beat up.

And Josie taught pre-schoolers music?

‘Okay, princess, you’ve had your space,’ he muttered to himself, sauntering into the unoccupied guest room and sliding open the verandah door.

Cool mountain air drifted in as Nate stepped onto the screened verandah. He stood for a few moments, letting his eyes adjust before making his way over to where Josie was curled up in the egg chair.

Her voice came out of the dark. ‘Missing me already, Senior Detective?’

Was he?

For once, he didn’t retaliate.

Her flippancy was a front, effective, but a front nonetheless. Strange how he could pick it in the dark, when not distracted by her face.

He cleared his throat. ‘How long are you going to stay out here?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yeah. We need to talk.’

Her answer was to shift over and make room for him — in the one person egg chair.

A visual of getting up close and personal with Josie crashed into Nate’s brain, sending a jolt of awareness through his system.

Okay, if that’s the way she wanted to play it.

He leaned forward, grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet. ‘Get up.’

She came upright, pushing him in the chest with her free hand. ‘What’s your problem, Nate?’

‘Be quiet,’ he bit out between his teeth. ‘We’re not talking out here.’

He threaded his fingers through hers and led the way back along the verandah. ‘Christ, Josie, you’re freezing.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Your skin’s like ice.’ Nate shook his head, exasperated. When would they stop going hard at each other like this?

Back in the guest room, he unzipped his surf hoodie and shrugged it off, holding it open so she could slip her arms inside. ‘Put this on.’

‘Okay, don’t fuss.’ She looked flustered by his concern, as if she wasn’t used to someone looking out for her.

‘You’re in shorts and a singlet.’

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, wrapping the hoodie around her. ‘You’ll make a good father one day, detective.’

For the second time in twenty-four hours, her words probed at the open wound in his chest, dredging up memories two-and-a-half years old. Holding the small boys’ shuddering frame, reassuring him he’d be back to visit one day. Unwrapping the chubby arms from around his neck and telling him to be good to his mother, then disappearing into the crowd headed for the departure gate, too choked up to look back.

Nate rubbed his palm over his heart and watched Josie sit on the bed. Now wasn’t the time to bemoan life’s tough choices, it was time to help the woman right here. The one looking at him with a puzzled expression on her pretty face, like if she looked hard enough, she might just work him out.

‘I understand watching that broadcast was difficult,’ he began, ‘but it’s all good news for us.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘How do you figure that?’

Ignoring her dry tone, he continued on. ‘The police haven’t revealed the link between your disappearance and Mulvaney’s death. Thinking about it, it’s a deliberate tactic. They want the bikies to think they’re in the clear, to prevent them going to ground. As for Kennett, he’ll assume I carried out his order, and you never made it to the police station.’

Josie sat straighter. ‘What will he do?’

‘The Southern Cross will be in disarray. It’ll take time for them to regroup after Mulvaney’s death and elect a new leader. Kennett will capitalise on that. He’ll set the Altar Boys in motion, claim the turf while he can.’

Josie’s eyes shone, and for once Nate dared to hope the assignment might end sooner rather than later. ‘Kennett owes me big time, and I’m already very close. Once I find out who’s collecting the money, I’ll get a name and that will lead to another name. The overseer will be camouflaged by companies and trusts, but the undercover stuff will be over. It’ll be forensic accounting from then on.’

For the first time since he’d wrestled her into the ute, Josie’s face broke into a smile, a wide megawatt flash that illuminated her entire face.

Nate’s heart tripped and he couldn’t look away. He’d seen her smile like that when she’d danced at the engagement party, and when he’d teased her at Grace and Poole while killing time waiting to see Allegra.

And just this morning, she’d smiled like that at the baby in the supermarket.

‘Come on,’ he said, an idea forming in his mind. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’

Ignoring her “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about” expression, he pointed to her bare feet. ‘You’ll need shoes.’

While Josie put on her boots, he fetched the Maglite from the WRX then waited in the kitchen. When she appeared a few minutes later, he cocked his head in the direction of the door. ‘Ready?’

Her eyes widened. ‘We’re going out?’

He nodded. ‘Don’t look so excited, it’s not exactly clubbing.’

‘I hate clubbing.’

Outside, Josie squinted in the darkness, barely able to make out the overgrown pathway curving through what looked like a cottage garden.

The house was perched on the edge of the valley, and this afternoon she’d stood at the bedroom window watching the cable car lift tourists high above the heavily wooded valleys and gorges. At that time, the mountains had been bathed in the famous blue light after which they were named. Now, a smattering of stars and a shadowed slice of moon pierced the cloak of darkness wrapping around them.

‘See those two luminous stars?’

Josie looked up and studied the sky. ‘Is that the Southern Cross — because that would be just a little bit creepy?’

He gave a low chuckle. ‘No, the Southern Cross is the most famous constellation, but the Centaurus is the brightest in the Southern Hemisphere. Alpha Centauri and Beta Centauri. Much brighter up here than in the city.’

‘They’re beautiful.’ She glanced at the Alpha Centauri beside her, hyperaware of his hand on her arm. Crickets chirped, and a faint aroma of orange blossom and diosma perfumed the evening air. ‘Where are we going?’

He pointed with the torch, though he hadn’t switched it on. ‘There’s an old air raid shelter at the bottom of the garden. It’s built into the hill, obscured by vines and shrubs. Undetectable, even in the daylight.’

‘Is solitary confinement really necessary?’ She had the urge to tease. He’d been nice about the food thing at lunch, and she was buoyed by the news the operation could move swiftly now.

‘Well, let’s consider your misdemeanours. Biting a policeman, kicking a policeman, swearing at a — ‘

‘Okay, okay. So it’s rations for me.’

‘And a week in the hole — minimum, if you’re lucky.’

Something big shot out of the grass beside her and she clutched at Nate, the reaction instinctive, her body in motion before her mind could catch up.

To her surprise, he wrapped a warm, muscular arm around her waist and drew her close against his side. ‘Strange, how I’ve suddenly become the lesser of two evils.’

Heat flooded through Josie’s body, heart banging in a way she could get used to. ‘What was that?’

‘Probably just a bunny.’ His fingers squeezed her waist through the cotton material of her track top, sending a delightful buzz humming along her veins.

‘Really?’

‘No not really.’ He dipped his head, mouth close to her ear, breath warm in her hair. ‘There’s a goanna around here. He eats all the bunnies.’

The night shrouded them in an intimate darkness, so even the shadowy outlines of trees and shrubs were no longer visible. ‘Yeah, yeah, keep going senior, and I might just believe you.’

Oh gees, was that her voice, all breathy and excited? His body heat seared into her side, igniting a flame within, and suddenly it seemed perfectly natural to angle her body towards him and slide a reciprocal arm around his waist.

He pulled her closer, the decisive move scrambling her senses like words in a decoding machine. He handled her body with a man’s confidence, a man experienced with female anatomy by the feel of it. Moulded to his side, her hipbone brushed his thigh as they walked, the top of her head barely reaching his chin.

And then all too soon, it was over.

He came to a halt and switched on the torch. ‘We’re here.’

Josie blinked in the sudden light. She was staring at a wall of greenery.

They separated, and she turned, couldn’t help gasping as she stared at the wrought iron feature through which they’d come. An arbour arched overhead, and when Nate pointed the torch skyward, she could see a thick coverage of wisteria that had blocked out the breeze, the clouds and even the moon.

‘No wonder everything went so quiet. It’s beautiful. Why couldn’t I see this from the house?’

‘It’s off to one side. During World War II, the owner hollowed out a part of the hill. He built the arbour to disguise the entrance. In recent times, it’s been useful as a bushfire shelter. I don’t lock it for that reason.’

He turned back to the wall in front of them and began tearing away long pieces of vine. Then he thrust a hand through the foliage and groped around. ‘There’s a handle in here.’ He gave a grunt. There was a rusty squeak, and then a perfectly rectangular, vine covered door swung open.

‘Ever hear a strange crying from behind the door, detective?’

He gave her a blank look. ‘I won’t even pretend to know what that means.’

Josie smiled. ‘The Secret Garden. One of my favourite novels as a child. I used to pretend I was Mary. Looking back, I probably identified with her in some way.’

‘Fair enough.’ He shone the torch into the room. ‘I identify with vignerons. I turned it into a wine cellar.’

Delighted, Josie ducked her head and followed him inside.

The room was concrete, the walls hidden by hexagonal shaped terracotta wine racks, stacked together in a honeycomb format. The furnishings were sparse, one plastic armchair, a mat, and a small, metal stepladder, the roof so high that even a man of Nate’s height couldn’t reach the highest racks.

He shone the torch around the man-made dug out. ‘I never saw the point of hooking up the electricity.’

Josie shivered. ‘Maybe you should, it’s cold in here.’

For the barest second his eyes swept over her. ‘Perfect temperature for a wine cellar. Don’t worry, we won’t be staying long.’

He swiped a few cobwebs away, and they spent the next ten minutes rotating wine bottles by the light of the torch.

‘I’ll have to spend some time in here when all this is over,’ he said, sliding a bottle from one of the racks and reading the label. ‘Many of these are perfectly aged.’

Josie studied his face in the low light, the arched brows, the deep set eyes, the sexy crevice in the middle of his geometrically perfect chin. Despite her declaration to the contrary, Nate Hunter was a definite nine on anyone’s scale.

He turned and caught her watching him, held out the bottle of wine. ‘This one’s perfect for a twenty-first celebration.’

Touched by his thoughtfulness, and a little embarrassed she’d been caught checking him out, she took the bottle and brushed the dust from the label. ‘Penfolds Grange 1994. It looks rare, expensive.’

When she looked up, his eyes glittered in the dark. ‘It’s perfect.’

A warmness spread across Josie’s cheeks, but she ignored it, determined not to read too much into Nate’s comments. She’d already made that mistake once before.

‘I wouldn’t have picked you as a wine buff, detective, more a boutique beer kind of guy.’

‘Well, I’m more forty-two than thirty-two, remember. Anyway, I wanted to show you a safe hideaway, should you need it.’

Josie stilled, the little bubble of happiness bursting inside her as she recalled his words. It’s your safe house too. It’s crucial you learn the layout.

She followed him out of the bunker. ‘I’m not safe in the house?’

He pulled the door closed and cocked his head, indicating they begin making their way back. ‘You are while I’m here.’

‘And if you’re not?’ Josie searched his face, but his inscrutable expression told her nothing. ‘You think someone will come here?’

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting Barry Simpson to turn up. It’s an emergency option, that’s all.’

When they reached the beginning of the arbour, he switched off the torch and tucked it under his arm, placing his hand in the small of her back as they negotiated the pathway to the kitchen.

Ensuring the safety of his star witness, no doubt, Josie thought sourly. Keeping her in one piece — until it was time for her to testify.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost stumbled when Nate came to a sudden halt and put a finger to his lips.

‘Someone went down the side of the house,’ he whispered, steering her off the path and close to a large rhododendron. ‘Stay here. Use the bottle as a weapon and scream if you need me.’

He reached under the leg of his jeans and took his gun from the calf holster. ‘I’ll take a look.’

Body going weak with fear, Josie stepped closer into the foliage, watching Nate’s tall outline merge with the darkness. A few moments later she saw him pass by the kitchen window, then disappear around the corner of the house.

Standing amidst the oval shaped leaves, Josie tucked the bottle under her arm, high cirrus clouds shifting across the sky and bathing the garden in soft moonlight. From her position, she could just make out the back wall of the house and the enclosed verandah up top.

Something crawled up her calf, and she leaned down and slapped at it, swearing under her breath as the insect exploded, leaving a warm, wet mass in her palm. As she straightened, a branch caught in her hair, a sharp twig scratching the side of her neck.

She was shaking the dead insect off her hand, when something rustled in the bush again. The movement sent the cicadas quiet, ending their raucous love song with an abrupt cut-off.

Josie stared at the darkness, heart vibrating in her chest.

And then a shadow emerged from the undergrowth and sauntered towards her on four stout legs, elongated neck close to the ground, snake like tongue flicking from a mouth filled with sharp teeth.

More than a metre long, it was the largest goanna Josie had ever seen.

She lurched sideways before the reptile could rear up on its hind legs and run at her. Taking the bottle from under her arm she stumbled onto the path, knees trembling. The goanna’s nest was probably burrowed out between the roots of the rhododendron.

She was almost at the backdoor when a footstep scuffed in the ground behind her.

‘Hold it right there!’

Male voice, the command bitten out.

High octane adrenaline surged into Josie’s body, infusing her with energy and burning up her fear. She’d well and truly had enough of this shit!

She screamed for Nate, swivelling on the balls of her feet, wielding the makeshift weapon like a baseball bat, knees bent, full body weight behind a huge follow through.

With luck — she’d take the bastard’s head off.

But the Grange failed to connect with anything solid, and it took all her balance just to stay on her feet.

Breath coming hard and fast, she looked up to see a man illuminated in the light from the window.

Bald. Wiry.

And with a gun pointed right at her heart.

Chapter 10

‘Drop it.’ Nate jammed the gun barrel into the back of Dickson’s skull, watching Josie back away, the bottle still clutched in her hands.

His controller went still, then cautiously lowered his weapon.

‘What are you doing here, Dickson?’

‘I thought you could use my help.’

Nate didn’t budge. ‘Why sneak around? Our usual communication is by text.’

‘I sent one when I arrived.’ There was a defensive ring to his partner’s voice. ‘I was sitting in the car, thought I saw something move down the side of the house.’

Above Dickson’s head, Nate’s eyes locked with Josie’s.

And then his controller turned, forcing him to take a step back.

‘There was a moving light down the back of the property.’

Nate lowered the gun, satisfied with the answer. He had to give Dickson the benefit of the doubt. He and Josie had been outside for at least half an hour, and it had been remiss of him not to take his phone.

‘That was us.’ He looked at Josie again. She was panting like she’d run a marathon, eyes shifting between him and Dickson. She seemed okay, despite having had a gun trained on her.

Nate dragged his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. ‘Josie, go inside. Dickson and I will do a sweep of the property in case someone’s hanging around.’

To his relief, she didn’t argue, just brushed past him, clearly desperate to escape them both.

Nate pointed to the northern boundary. ‘I’ll go this way, you take the southern side. I doubt there’s anyone else. We’ve probably just spotted each other.’

Five minutes later they met again at the back door.

‘Clear?’ Nate asked.

‘All clear.’

‘Jesus, you took a bloody risk coming up here,’ Nate growled. ‘Are you sure you weren’t followed?’

‘I’m sure. And what the hell’s going on? Who’s the flashy chick?’

Nate almost snarled, and it took an exercise in restraint not to pin Dickson to the wall. At twenty-six, the controller was a bit of an upstart, keen to rise in the ranks. Not that Nate could fault him for that. Like him, Dickson was hungry for a conviction.

It really wasn’t surprising he’d turned up here.

Nate jammed a lid on his anger and spent the next few minutes bringing Dickson up to speed. When he finished, the younger man looked him up and down, a smirk on his face. ‘You should lock her inside, not take her for a moonlight stroll.’

‘You should remember I’m your superior.’

Nate cocked his head, and with one last scan of the back yard, followed Dickson into the kitchen. Josie was washing her hands and observing his partner with a healthy degree of suspicion, blonde curls framing her face where they’d escaped her ponytail.

‘Josephine Valenti — my controller, Dickson Cross,’ Nate said by way of introduction, irritated at the flash of interest in Dickson’s eyes as they swept over Josie. ‘Dickson — Josie.’

Dickson rubbed a hand over his shaved head and did a passable job of looking apologetic. ‘I wasn’t aware Nate had a house guest. My apologies for gate crashing.’

She wiped her hands with some paper towelling and arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Well you know what they say, two’s a crowd, three’s a party.’

Jesus!

One day that mouth of hers was going to get her in serious trouble.

But Dickson only laughed, seemingly delighted at Josie’s comeback, his gaze shifting between the two of them as if trying to weigh up their dynamic.

Well, let him think whatever the hell he liked.

Snatching up his phone, Nate glanced at the two alerts that had come in while they’d been outside. Sure enough, there was the coded joke from Dickson, but the other message made his heart double shuffle, caused every muscle in his body to tense up.

A call to arms.

Of sorts.

The Altar Boys were moving in on Southern Cross territory.

‘Nate?’

He looked up to see Josie watching him, a worried expression on her face.

‘Nine a.m.’ He held up his phone and looked into her eyes. ‘I have to go back.’

Her lips parted and he watched the blood drain from her face. Then he turned to his controller, a mixture of excitement and trepidation pumping through his veins.

‘Nice timing, Dick.’

They ate dinner, and by ten thirty they’d drawn up plans for the following day. Dickson would stay at the house and sift through the paperwork Nate had amassed, while Josie would put her legal skills to work, searching every company remotely suspected of being implicated in the money laundering racket.

At eleven o’clock she took a shower, wished Nate luck, and went to bed.

It seemed inadequate, but with Dickson in the house, she didn’t get an opportunity to say any more.

In bed, she tossed and turned and kicked off the bedclothes, and at midnight was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, sick at the thought of Nate walking into a dangerous situation.

A potentially lethal situation.

When she heard Dickson moving around in the guest room next door, she jumped out of bed and went in search of Nate. She had no idea what she was going to say, but she couldn’t leave things as they were, wishing him luck like he’d just made the run on side for the local footy team.

She found him in his bedroom, shoving things into a black backpack.

He looked up at her knock.

‘Hey.’ His newly cut hair was ruffled, eyes tired and brooding.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Sure.’ He straightened up. ‘I thought you were asleep.’

Josie stepped inside the spacious bedroom, heart sinking as she caught sight of the bike leathers hanging on the ensuite door.

Nate Hunter was about to become Nate Jordan again.

‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

God, who was she kidding?

‘No.’

He put down the clothes he was holding and came around the bed, taking hold of her upper arms and gazing into her eyes. ‘It’s natural to be scared, but you’ll be safe here with Dickson.’

She nodded and did her best to look brave, didn’t want him worrying about her when he was the one walking into trouble. ‘How come he’s your superior?’

‘He isn’t. Only the most experienced go undercover, Josie. Dickson’s job is to work the case from a distance, co-ordinate things if I need to be pulled out.’

‘Great, so now I’m stuck here with Boy Wonder.’

The corners of his mouth curved. ‘You seem to be getting along just fine.’

‘Yeah well he’s a bit of a jerk, and I just got used to Batman.’

His whiskey coloured eyes softened, and he cupped her chin in his hand, turning her head to one side and frowning at the scratch on her neck. ‘What happened here?’

‘It’s nothing, don’t fuss.’ She averted her face, forcing him to let go. ‘I took a walk on the wild side in your garden.’

She’d come here to tell him to be careful, and she needed to say those words before she chickened out. ‘Anyway…’

But he interrupted her before she could even start. ‘I swear to you, I’ll do everything in my power to finish this job — so you can get home to the people you love.’

The promise in his voice brought a lump to Josie’s throat and she nodded, opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. Nate Hunter was a good man, a dedicated detective with the heart of a lion, and suddenly she wished he’d never touched her, wished he hadn’t rubbed her shoulders, wished he hadn’t wrapped his arm around her in the garden tonight.

Because it made her want more.

Oh God! Not again.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She’d got over her thing for Nate Hunter years ago, yet in the space of twenty-four hours, they’d reverted to their old ways. At least in part.

Josie swallowed. It wouldn’t be smart to make a fool of herself a second time. She’d read about things happening when two people were thrown together.

Cabin fever.

Bonding through traumatic circumstance.

Stockholm Syndrome.

Gathering every scrap of her courage, she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek in the barest whisper of a kiss. ‘Come back safely.’

Face flaming, she turned away and hurried to the door, horribly aware she’d kissed Nate Hunter twice now, under very different circumstances.

‘Josie!’

She halted at the quiet insistence in his voice.

‘If I’m not back in twenty-four hours, you’re to go with Dickson to Police Headquarters. They’ll terminate the operation and arrange for your protection.’

A glacial freeze ran through her body, an invisible vice squeezing her heart. He was saying goodbye, preparing her, in case he didn’t make it back.

She turned around and walked back into the room, halting mere inches from him. She didn’t know how he prepared for these situations, didn’t know if he rang his own family in the event he didn’t survive the day. She only knew she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Nate Hunter yet.

‘Oh no you don’t, detective. I had to fight my way through a veritable jungle to save that fancy bottle of Grange, so you just get your tight arse back here — so we can drink it — on my birthday.’

His eyes widened and he stared down at her, clearly stunned by her outburst.

Seconds ticked by, and then he nodded. ‘It’s a deal, provided you keep that potty mouth closed while I’m gone.’

Josie blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean.’ There was a rough edge to his voice. ‘Don’t go giving my associate the wrong impression.’

Had she given him the wrong impression at some point? Josie glanced down at the flannelette pyjamas she’d bought from Coles.

‘And what would that be, Nate? I have ladybeetles on my pyjamas.’

His lips curved, and he lifted a hand and tugged on one of the spiral curls lying against her neck. He straightened it out, cool fingertips brushing her throat as he gave it a gentle tug, before letting it bounce back into place.

‘You have really cool hair,’ he said softly.

Josie couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Everything about him beckoned her closer, but she wasn’t artificially fortified with alcohol this time, and she had no intention of making a fool of herself over him again.

‘Why do you do that?’

He raked a hand through his hair, as if unsure of the question, grey tee-shirt lifting at the hem exposing two inches of washboard stomach above the band of his Levis.

‘It’s like,’ Josie searched for the words that would convey her feelings. ‘It’s like you give me a tasting plate, with little bits of you on it, and then take it away.’

There was a hiss of air from between his teeth, and an audible change in his breathing pattern. He reached out and slid his fingers under her hair, cupping her nape, thumb stroking over the racing pulse in her neck.

‘You hungry for the main course, princess?’ His eyes glittered with anticipation. ‘You sure you can handle it — handle me?’

Josie’s legs almost buckled, a blistering desire heating her body. She was dying for him to kiss her, but her thoughts hadn’t gone much beyond that.

Doubts crowded her mind.

He was warning her.

Of what?

Everything he’d demand of her in bed?

Something else?

He towered over her, his athletic build leaving her in no doubt he deserved those trophies on the mantelpiece. But beneath the golden tan and dark haired good looks, lay a contained strength, and the ability to inhabit another persona.

Think you can handle me?

She could handle him dressed in denim shorts and tee-shirt and standing in line at the checkout. She could handle him when he wrapped his arm around her and pointed out the star constellation.

But what about the B side of Nate Hunter, the side capable of mixing with the worst of Sydney’s underworld, the side capable of deciding in a split second — who lived and who died.

Josie moistened her lips with her tongue. ‘What’s wrong with an entree?’

He jerked her to him, the sudden movement sending a surge of excitement powering through her body. Desire flashed in his eyes, and then warm hands cupped her face, his thumb a hypnotic stroke across her cheek as he lowered his head and kissed the sensitive corners of her mouth.

Josie closed her eyes, legs turning to liquid as he licked and tasted, feeding her every morsel of the love entree she’d ordered. He held her head steady between his palms, preventing her from crushing her lips against his, until, desperate to have him closer, she reached for him.

A growl escaped from low in his throat and he pulled her against the hard wall of his chest. His tongue flicked across the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, granting him permission to deepen the kiss. He took his time, stubble roughening her cheek, tongue tangling with hers in a languid dance as if he had a lifetime, not hours, to lap up and savour something long denied him.

Robbed of oxygen, Josie swayed, head spinning. Steadying herself, she hooked her thumbs through the loops on his jeans as warm hands slipped under her pyjama top and roamed the contours of her back. She arched closer, Nate’s confident hands sensitising her bare flesh with smooth gentle strokes.

‘Okay?’ he murmured when she broke the kiss, a feather light brush of his hand across her ribcage and the sensitive underside of her breasts.

Josie inhaled sharply, a piercing ache low in her belly as he trailed kisses along her cheek and moved to caress one heavy, unrestrained breast.

He groaned with pleasure, circling her nipple with the pad of his thumb and teasing it into a hard little bud. ‘You’re so beautiful, princess. I don’t know what the hell you see in me.’

Drunk with pleasure at what he was doing to her body, Josie struggled to put the words together. ‘You’re one cool cat, detective, and if this is the entree, I’m good for the degustation dinner.’

He groaned again, arms closing around her like a vice so she couldn’t help crying out when he unintentionally squeezed the tender part of her side.

He froze, then immediately loosened his hold. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘It’s nothing,’ she whispered.

But the moment was broken.

He set her at arm’s length, eyes full of concern as he lifted up her pyjama top.

‘Oh man!’ He raked a hand through his hair and gazed in horror at the darkened flesh around her middle. ‘I’m responsible for this.’

‘It’s just a bruise from the seatbelt, or maybe from where I fell into the car. Nothing’s broken.’

‘Thank Christ for that!’

‘Nate, please, don’t…’

‘Don’t tell me not to fuss,’ he snapped, clearly upset. ‘Where does it hurt?’

Knowing he wouldn’t be satisfied until she complied, Josie lifted her pyjama top with one hand and touched the tender spot with the other. ‘There.’

She concentrated on her breathing as he gently examined the area with his fingertips. Molten heat burned between her thighs as he lifted her breast out of the way and probed at her ribs.

‘Really, Nate, is this necessary?’

He straightened, and she let the pyjamas fall back into place.

‘Does it hurt when you move around normally?’

Josie shook her head. ‘Only when I press on it.’

‘It’s not rib cartilage then.’ He blew out a relieved breath and glanced at his unfinished packing. ‘We should — leave this.’

“This” wasn’t the packing, and judging by the inflexible set of his jaw, Josie knew it was pointless to argue.

And suddenly, she didn’t want to.

Nate would make an overwhelming lover. But could she satisfy him?

Doubts crowded her mind.

What if she disappointed him, or worse, bored him?

Oh God!

She glanced down at her ridiculous pyjamas, desperate to get away.

She wracked her brain for an exit line, but before she could think of anything plausible, he spoke again. ‘It’s hardly responsible, with me leaving tomorrow.’

And there it was. The perfect exit cue.

‘True.’

For long moments they stood looking at one another, and then he reached out and pulled the spiral curl again. ‘Not tonight, hey, Josephine?’

Josie rolled her eyes and turned away. ‘Like I haven’t heard that before.’

Chapter 11

Ten minutes past midnight: Tuesday

Allegra groped around on the bedside table for her ringing mobile. She forced her eyes open, conscious Luke’s side of the bed was cold. A few seconds passed before she remembered he was up late, doing paperwork in the living room.

She peered at the screen. ‘Hello, Simon?’

Simon Poole’s voice was so clear he could have been standing in the next room, not calling from Harvard University. ‘Sorry to wake you, Allegra. I know it’s late, but I wanted to check in before we take off to Utah for the weekend. They’ve had a huge dump of snow up there.’

Allegra smiled. A die-hard skier, Simon was taking advantage of his time in the States, determined to ski as much terrain as possible.

‘The signal can be a bit sketchy in the mountains,’ he was saying. ‘How’s everything going with you?’

Allegra frowned. Did he mean her cases or Josie? ‘Everything’s fine — considering.’

A pause. ‘Considering what?’

Allegra sat up in bed, appalled one of the firm’s principals was unaware of the situation back home. She quickly filled him in on the details of Josie’s disappearance, leaving out the bit about Nate Hunter.

Luke had sworn her to secrecy on that topic.

‘I’m sorry, Simon,’ she said when she’d finished. ‘I was going to call you, but Henry assured me he’d do it.’

There was silence from the other end and Allegra frowned as Luke opened the door and came into the bedroom. He raised his eyebrows over the rim of his coffee mug.

‘Simon,’ she mouthed the words.

He nodded his understanding and sat down on the bed.

‘Well, Henry must have his reasons,’ Simon mused, and from his tone Allegra had no way of determining his thoughts. But that was Simon. It was one of the things she admired about him most. He kept close counsel, and if he had a beef with anyone, he’d speak directly to the person involved.

In this case, Henry.

They talked a little more about Josie, and then Simon asked if she were alright.

‘Yes, I’m okay.’ Allegra turned to look at her husband. ‘Josie’s parents are home now, and the police are doing everything they can. Everyone here is hoping for good news.’

‘Can anyone at the Southern Cross shed light on why Mulvaney was trying to make contact?’

‘I’ll call Mrs. Mulvaney tomorrow, see what I can find out.’

‘Good.’ Simon gave a heavy sigh. ‘Give her my condolences, Allegra, and keep me in the loop.’

‘I will. Have fun skiing.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, but the enthusiasm had gone from his voice.

Allegra killed the call and turned to look at her husband, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

‘What was all that about?’ Luke brushed her hair away from her face.

All at once Allegra was consumed with a terrible sadness. At the time Josie was taken, her only family were in Singapore, Henry hadn’t even bothered to inform Simon Poole about it, and she and Luke were flying home from Lord Howe Island, their phones off when Josie called.

She gazed into Luke’s steady eyes, and it was all she could do to get the words out. ‘I don’t understand. It’s not the kind of thing that slips your mind.’

Luke frowned. ‘What is? Come on, baby, talk to me.’

‘Simon had no idea about Josie, Luke. Henry never called him.’

Henry Grace loosened the paisley tie from around his neck and took the call in his office at Grace and Poole. He couldn’t speak about this at home, couldn’t risk his wife overhearing anything.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s me,’ the man said.

The man usually said very little, but that was the nature of their relationship.

‘I’m sorry this has happened,’ said Henry.

A pause, then. ‘The arrangement can stay in place.’

Henry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. ‘As you wish.’

The line went dead.

Chapter 12

4:00 a.m. Tuesday

Nate drove the WRX, choosing to leave Katoomba in the blackest part of early morning. As it turned out, luck was on his side, a thick fog blanketing the region and reducing visibility to a few feet.

Out on the highway, he switched on the fog lights, passing mostly semi-trailers and B-doubles on the steep descent into Sydney. At Wallacia, a small rural town situated on the banks of the Nepean River, he pulled into a deserted rest area. Within minutes, he’d changed into his bikie apparel and shrugged on the long black overcoat he usually wore over his suit in winter. If he were caught on camera, there’d be little chance he’d be recognised as the bare-chested guy with shoulder length hair driving a ute the night Josie went missing.

Josie.

She was as he remembered, and more. Was it possible she’d grown up so much in the space of two years, or had she always been perceptive and sensible at heart, and he just hadn’t looked hard enough?

He’d labelled her, and put her in a box he was comfortable with.

And that was Josie.

Except it wasn’t.

She’d enquired about the photograph in his wallet, and told him he’d make a good father. He’d almost spilled his guts right there and told her it was definitely part of his plan, that he had no desire to be an old father, or risk missing out entirely. But he’d refrained. There was no surer way of sending a twenty-year-old female, unlikely to start a family for at least ten years, running for the hills.

And he didn’t want Josie to run.

Nate rolled up his civilian clothes and stowed them underneath the spare tyre. He couldn’t deny there was some kind of pull/push dynamic going on with him and Josie, but it was nuts to get any ideas about the two of them. She was just shy of twenty-one, barely old enough to know her own mind. And they were from different worlds.

Before Josie had crashed into his world again, he’d been thinking of finding a woman his own age and settling down after all this was finished. He missed being a father to Jonathan, and while women worried about their biological clock, he’d seen too many detectives leave it too late. By the time they had kids, they were browned off, tired and overweight. And those who were childless routinely drank too much.

He could just imagine his mother clicking her tongue and pointing out it didn’t happen that way, that he couldn’t orchestrate a time to meet the woman of his dreams. That it just happened.

But he wasn’t sure about that either.

He only knew Josie was getting under his skin, distracting him a little, no, distracting him a lot from the job at hand, like now, when he couldn’t stop thinking about her asleep in the house with Dickson in the next room.

Nate scowled. His partner hadn’t missed the white skin, the golden halo of curls framing her face or the serious curves.

He opened the driver’s door and slid in behind the wheel, grateful she hadn’t unleashed her potty mouth on Dickson yet. Insane as it was, he found it hot when she let fly in that clipped, cultivated tone, and he liked to think she reserved it for him.

He smiled, a pleasant buzz humming through his body as he recalled her order to get his tight arse back to the house so they could drink the Grange.

Tight arse hey?

Nice that she’d noticed.

And that kiss!

He hadn’t meant to kiss her like that. He’d been going to return her peck on the cheek, but the way she’d looked at him, eyes all confused as she pointed out he’d been teasing her with a taste of him. It was so hot, he hadn’t been able to resist.

Desire tightened his body, and armed with an added incentive to get back to the mountains, he set off again, sun visor down so it covered much of his face.

He made good time, and once he hit the motorway he got a straight run into the city, the only hitch, a brief stop for some maintenance work being carried out under powerful light towers. For a full two minutes he sat there, exposed in a blaze of artificial light, waiting for the Stop/Go man to turn his sign around.

After that, he was passing through the sleeping north shore suburbs and crossing the Harbour Bridge. He turned right at the Conservatorium of Music, a gothic structure complete with turrets, then wound his way around the Barracks and Hyde Park.

At five thirty, he parked the WRX ten minutes from his home in inner city Surry Hills, stowed the overcoat with the rest of his clothes, and covered the remaining distance on foot. It was humid in the city, and he was sweating inside the leather jacket by the time he turned into James Road and scanned the streetscape.

As befitting his bikie status, the house was in the light industrial part of the suburb, surrounded by clothing factories and printing businesses, away from the trendy shops and cafes. This early, the road was eerily quiet, streetlights reflecting on the wet bitumen, the only sign of life a guy who’d passed out among the rubbish near a set of concrete steps.

Resignation weighed Nate down like body armour, anxiety eating away at the lining of his stomach as he let himself in the front door and switched on the hall light. A central corridor ran the length of the house, transporting him back to Sunday night.

Another house, another corridor, walls papered with magazine cut-outs.

Kennett’s massive frame.

A crunch of bone, a hiss of air as the breath left Mulvaney’s body.

Josie’s traumatised face on screen.

It was an image that would haunt his dreams.

Looking for signs of disturbance, Nate checked the two bedrooms and living room. The house, so different from his home in the Blue Mountains, remained exactly as he’d left it. Not that he was concerned. There was no incriminating evidence here that would reveal his true identity, save for the notebook computer hidden under the old copper in the laundry.

He ran his eye over the cheap vinyl lounge and scratched wooden furniture, the “clincher that made the place a real bargain”, according to the leasing agent. A mug, half filled with congealed coffee sat where he’d left it on the wobbly table, along with last Saturday’s newspaper.

He stared at the room as if from a distance. Was he capable of stepping inside this world again, this dreary undercover existence? A few days ago, browned off and lonely as he was, he would have said yes.

Now he wasn’t sure.

Gees, Hunter, get a grip. No going soft. Not with the end in sight.

Forcing aside the negativity, Nate checked the back door then went into the laundry, a largish room at the back. The suburb had little in the way of off-street parking, and the room served as a garage.

He hesitated in the doorway, again checking for signs of disturbance. An oval, plastic basket filled with clothes, sat atop the old-fashioned copper in one corner of the room. A washing machine stood under the window, hose draping into a large cement tub, black motorcycle helmet perched on the lid.

But it was the blacked out, double-barrelled exhaust, Harley Davidson Night Rod standing in the centre of the room which commanded Nate’s attention. Sinister as hell and aggressively styled, the bike was a dream to ride, and by far the most valuable item in the house.

He stared at the beautifully constructed motorcycle.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of freedom.

The signature phrase was losing its relevance, the fabric of the bikie movement fraying at the edges. Outlaw gangs recruited young men straight from prison, and drugs weren’t the only order of the day, but luxury car jackings for spare parts, and the importation of illegal firearms.

Josie wouldn’t stand a chance.

Nate’s gut tightened like a steel band. He wouldn’t stand a chance if they caught the merest whiff of betrayal.

And if they discovered he was a cop?

The end wouldn’t be quick.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of freedom.

Bullshit.

He reached under the copper, slid the notebook out from the hidden bracket underneath and put it in the storage compartment on the bike. Then, he picked up the black beanie from where he’d left it on the bike seat. It would cover his newly cropped hair, at least until he got inside the bikie compound and confronted Kennett.

Half an hour later, Nate stopped at a small deli on his way to western Sydney and forced a bacon and egg roll and a cup of strong coffee into his rebellious stomach.

As planned, he was half an hour early when he pulled into the driveway of the Altar Boys’ compound and saw Bull on the gate.

Bull was around five ten, with a shaved head and a long seedy plait hanging between his shoulder blades. He was patched up, and had a reputation as an extreme member of the inner circle.

No-one ever crossed Bull.

Nate sat on the idling bike, scanning the compound from behind the perspex shield of his helmet. Three lines of barbed wire topped the corrugated iron fence surrounding the property, the gate being the sole access in and out. Cameras, mounted on either side of the driveway, fed CCTV footage back into the clubhouse. The club flag flew at full mast from a white pole just inside the gate.

Barely glancing his way, Bull came towards Nate. Edgy, the bikie’s eyes followed the movement of traffic out on the road, as if expecting trouble.

A counter strike from the Southern Cross no doubt.

‘Bull,’ Nate greeted him, flipping up the facial, the collar of his jacket turned up. There was no way Bull would notice the long hair was gone.

‘Bolt.’ Bull swung the gate open, eyes still on the street. “Bolter” was Nate’s club name, bestowed on him after he’d taken out one of the club’s in-house boxing tournaments. Compared to the stouter bikies who favoured street fighting, Nate was light on his feet and had a quick one two jab, thanks to hours of training in the police boxing gym.

He’d bolted in, they’d said, the win earning him as much respect as his ability to pick a deadlock. Within hours, “Bolter” had been shortened to “Bolt”.

Kennett was the only one who sometimes referred to him by another name, usually “pretty boy” or “dolly”.

Nate opened the throttle a little and roared up the driveway. An old hosiery factory, the clubhouse was a large, single story brick structure with an iron roof. Access into the clubhouse was via two roller doors, now open.

Kennett’s bike was parked outside.

The only other machine was Bull’s.

If luck was on his side, he’d get to speak to Kennett before the other bikies arrived, though the chapter leader wouldn’t want to know the details of Josie’s demise. The less Kennett knew, the better he’d perform in any police interrogation or lie detector test.

Arranging his features into an expressionless mask, Nate parked the Night Rod on the other side of Bull’s Chopper, took off his helmet and entered the clubhouse.

Stretching out the taut muscles in his neck, he scanned the huge space. The club banner hung above an unlicensed bar, three quarters the length of one wall. The adjacent wall was decorated with framed photographs of special edition Choppers and Harleys.

Nate walked towards the bar, eyes shifting to the boxing ring in the corner where he’d achieved much of his notoriety. Two pool tables and a couple of white plastic outdoor settings were arranged nearby. More chairs were lined against the wall as if in an old-fashioned dance hall.

The place was deserted and Nate relaxed a fraction. He’d been summoned here. Surely if they were onto him, there would be more members present than Bull and Kennett.

A boot squeaked on the polished cement and Kennett came towards him from the direction of the kitchen. The chapter leader hesitated when he saw Nate, then continued on, holding out a cardboard box so Nate could put his mobile phone inside.

Standard procedure. All mobile phones were handed in when the bikies attended church.

Nate wasn’t sure why, maybe because he’d spent the last day and a half staring at Josie, but Kennett looked bigger and meaner than ever. Completely bald, save for one black tuft of hair at his nape, the chapter leader stank of sweat and axle grease, his grey beard tinged a seedy yellow.

Tension cramping his stomach, Nate maintained eye contact with Kennett and fantasised about killing Josie. Sick and twisted as it was — he needed to imagine her dead in his arms if he were to be convincing.

‘Viper,’ he bit out, eyes stinging as his breakfast made its way back up his gullet. He coughed, swiped the back of his gloved hand across his mouth and fought down the self-inflicted nausea.

‘You fix things?’

He nodded, once.

Kennett’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.

‘You — owe me,’ Nate bit out. ‘I want Grassy’s run. The guy’s a fucking liability and I’m not sticking around here doing this kind of shit and getting nowhere.’

He let the insinuation hang in the air. The bikies hated nothing more than a member defecting to another gang.

And Nate had a lot on Kennett.

Not that they’d ever let him leave.

Kennett glanced towards the open roller door. ‘Take it easy, Bolt.’

He’d bought it!

‘I don’t know, man.’ Nate dragged off the beanie and went for broke. ‘I’ve been earning my patches for two years now, even had to cut my fucking hair in case the pigs got me on camera.’

Kennett’s gold tooth glinted from behind his beard. ‘Shave it.’

In your dreams, dickhead.

Nate dragged some gold coins from his pocket and turned his back on Kennett, inserting the money into a nearby drink machine and keying in the code for a Coke.

‘I broke you into that joint, had your back, even dealt with the bitch.’ Nate picked up the can from the collection tray. ‘What more do you need?’

‘You know how things work around here, Bolt.’

‘I’ll tell you what I know, Viper.’ Nate stepped closer, got right up in Kennett’s face for the second time that week. ‘Most of our members are decent people, simple bike enthusiasts, but there’s a handful who take care of the rough stuff, and make the serious dough.’

He popped the top and took a long drink, glancing towards the roller door as another bike roared up the driveway.

He brought his gaze back to Kennett. ‘I want in.’

Chapter 13

3:00 p.m. Tuesday

Josie smiled her thanks as Dickson set a mug of coffee in front of her. It was their third for the day.

Earlier, he’d taken detailed notes of her version of Sunday night’s events, and after sharing sandwiches at lunch time, she’d grown more comfortable with Nate’s controller being in the house.

It was infinitely preferable to being alone.

In the afternoon, Dickson began working through the files restored onto Nate’s computer, insisting they work side by side at the dining room table so he could watch her screen as she accessed the Australian Securities and Investment Commission’s website. Never once did he leave her alone with the computer.

It was annoying that he didn’t trust her, and understandable he wouldn’t.

Now, as she studied him over the rim of her coffee mug, she came to the conclusion Boy Wonder was okay.

But he wasn’t Nate.

And the hollow feeling she’d woken with was still there.

‘Any patterns?’ Dickson asked, looking up and catching her watching him.

Josie lowered her mug and glanced at the flowcharts she’d drawn on her legal pad. Nate had asked them to pay particular attention to the drycleaners, which was in the underground section of the Queen Victoria Building and a Fit Forever gymnasium situated in the same arcade at street level.

‘I haven’t got far enough in to detect any patterns. I’ve got company tax file numbers and registered business names, but there’s a network of companies involved, and each time I follow one path it leads me down another.’

Dickson reached for his mobile as an alert came through. ‘Keep looking.’

Josie tensed, holding her breath and praying the message was from Nate.

‘It’s not him.’ Dickson put the phone down. ‘There’s been nothing since this morning when he left the house in Surry Hills.’

‘Should we be worried?’

Dickson pressed his lips together and gave her a look that said he didn’t appreciate her questioning him. Not that she cared.

‘It’s normal. We keep contact to a minimum. He’ll check in when he can.’

Josie let go of a breath and turned back to the computer.

‘What’s so great about him anyway?’

Josie looked over at Nate’s partner. He was reclined in the chair, fingers interlocked behind his shaved head, weight balanced on the chair’s back legs.

He spread his hands. ‘I mean, the guy’s so intense.’

Josie turned a page on her pad and waggled the pen between her fingers. Obviously Dickson had never witnessed Nate’s lighter side. ‘If you need to ask, you won’t understand.’

‘Ouch. Touchy.’ Dickson lowered the chair back on all four legs and shrugged. ‘I just want to know how he pulls all the chicks.’

Small pinpricks of disappointment stung Josie’s stomach. She knew Nate possessed a flirty gene, but she’d always thought it the harmless “fun” variety. “Pulling all the chicks” suggested a serial flirt. Did she believe that? When she’d made the ill-fated move at the party, he’d been openly mortified he’d given her the wrong impression.

She shrugged. ‘Some guys just have the X factor I guess.’

Hoping that would put an end to it, Josie peered at her computer monitor, but Dickson wouldn’t be discouraged.

‘There’s a history between you two, isn’t there?’

‘Hardly.’ Josie typed a company name into the ASIC search tool. ‘He worked for Allegra’s husband for a while. There was office contact, that’s all.’

‘Was that when he was suspended?’

Josie’s fingers stilled on the keyboard and she looked at Dickson again, torn between wanting to know, and refusing to pry into Nate’s business.

‘For getting involved with that member of congress in the States?’ he went on.

Josie shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

‘She was receiving threats from some Australian ex-pat wanted back here.’ Dickson frowned. ‘She had a kid too. I think Nate wanted them to move out here.’

The boy in the wallet.

Not a godson. Not even a nephew.

Oh God!

She was such an idiot. How could she be so stupid as to go there a second time? With the deadline for his return to the bikies hanging over him, Nate had obviously given in to a sudden urge, a moment of madness that wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t got out of bed and gone into his room.

A dark pall of regret settled over Josie. Thank God he’d seen her bruises and brought things to a halt before that kiss led to something else.

A United States Member of Congress.

A mature woman — probably of a similar age.

A boy he loved — enough to carry his photograph in his wallet.

‘Anyway.’ Dickson waved a hand, voice breaking into her thoughts. ‘I’m not speaking out of turn. It’s common knowledge in the service.’

‘I’m not in the service.’

‘No.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But Hunter has a habit of “falling for his leading lady” if you know what I mean.’

Josie glared, would have told him to stick his opinion where the sun don’t shine, except Nate’s warning not to unleash her mouth on Dickson stopped her. ‘And you thought I should be aware of it?’

‘Something like that.’

‘I don’t give a damn about Nate Hunter’s pattern of behaviour.’ She shifted her attention back to the computer screen, female intuition warning her Dickson Cross had an ulterior motive for telling her this.

‘I just want my life back.’

Darkness surrounded Nate, not the protective kind, like when he and Josie had walked through the arbour, cool mountain air brushing their skin.

Oppressive.

Spinning.

He tried to make a fist, lift his arm.

Numbness — a dead weight.

His diaphragm contracted, squeezing his stomach muscles and threatening to expel its contents.

He jerked forward.

Upright.

A moving weight on his knees.

Hands around his neck.

Jesus!

A sickly odour made him want to avert his face but he couldn’t move. He opened his mouth, searching for oxygen, throat like sandpaper, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

Josie’s face swam into view and he mentally grasped at it.

Concentrated on keeping her near.

She drew closer, young and beautiful. She was holding two champagne flutes.

Cute.

Small.

She offered him a glass. Picked up a strawberry and ate it. Said something, her mouth moving.

He couldn’t hear.

Speak up, Josie.

Why couldn’t he hear?

She reached for him.

He held out his arms. Agony in his left shoulder.

He faltered, breath leaving him.

Come on, Hunter — fight.

Josie stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

Sticky — sweet.

Nauseating.

Wrong!

Chapter 14

5:00 p.m. Tuesday

Allegra climbed out of Luke’s AMG and pulled a white baseball cap over her hair. She leaned down and spoke to him through the open window.

‘Do I pass as a jogger?’

One arm resting on the steering wheel, his eyes flicked over the white tee-shirt and stretchy black exercise pants. ‘Maybe.’

He didn’t smile, gaze now scanning the park which was a block from the Mulvaney family home. ‘I’ll be watching.’

Allegra clipped her iPod mini to the band of her leggings, unfazed by his displeasure. While Luke admired her work, he’d never quite reconciled himself that sometimes it was necessary for her to associate with the shady element of Sydney society. He just insisted on accompanying her. Like now.

She placed the buds in her ears, though she had no intention of listening to music. ‘I’ll be fine, Luke.’

‘Don’t be long.’ There was an edge to his voice she recognised as worry.

Dappled autumn light bathed the park in a soft glow as Allegra jogged around its perimeter where a game of touch football was taking place. Around the rubbish bins, crows scavenged for food, their mournful cries in sharp contrast with the piercing trill of the referee’s whistle. One or two dogs dashed around, eager to join in the sport, while teenage boys shouted for the ball and parents shouted from the sidelines.

At the southern end of the park, Allegra could see Lizard Mulvaney’s widow where she’d promised to be, walking the family’s Staffordshire terrier alongside the storm water drain. Allegra slowed to a power walk, striding out alongside Sandra Mulvaney, within earshot, but not too close.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Sandy. Thank you for meeting me.’

Allegra glanced at the other woman. Apart from a Betty Boop tattoo peeking above the scooped neckline of a white singlet, Sandra Mulvaney was dressed in her usual head to toe leather, a Southern Cross bandana tied around her shoulder length bleached blonde hair.

‘It wasn’t easy getting out of the house, but I’m doing it for Lizard,’ she said softly, silver bangles clinking as she jerked on the dog’s leash.

Allegra admired the woman’s courage. Outlaw motorcycle gangs refused to speak publicly, especially to police, and only to lawyers when they needed representation. As far as she knew, Sandra Mulvaney wasn’t in need of the latter, though her husband may have been, if that’s why he’d called Josie last Sunday night.

‘As I said in my text, Simon Poole asked me to pass on his condolences. Are you alright? Have you had threats made against you personally?’

Sandra popped a piece of chewing gum into her mouth and shook her head. ‘The boys take care of me, just like they did with Lizard.’

Allegra frowned. ‘I was surprised he was alone when he died. Didn’t he have round the clock protection after the Court House shooting?’

The memory of that day sent a shudder down Allegra’s spine. A member of the Altar boys had taken a pot shot at Mulvaney after he’d been released on bail. She’d been there, the bullet lodging in the sandstone wall between them.

‘He didn’t want the boys around him that night,’ Sandra said in a low voice. ‘Told them to take off for a few hours.’

Allegra’s heart began to beat faster. ‘Why?’

‘Why are you so interested?’

Frustration bubbled up inside Allegra. She couldn’t mention the connection with Josie, not when her P.A.’s disappearance was yet to be publicly linked with Mulvaney’s death.

‘We have a long association with the Southern Cross, and we’re here to help with Lizard’s estate — should you need it.’

From the corner of her eye, Allegra saw Sandy’s mouth twitch. ‘Didn’t think Grace and Poole needed to tout for business, Allegra.’

Allegra ignored the remark. ‘Why would Lizard tell the security boys to go home that night?’

A pack of cyclists came hurtling around the corner, reflective bike lights glowing in the early evening dusk. Sandra waited until they’d passed. ‘He was tired of living frightened. He missed hanging with the family, but he wouldn’t risk putting me and the kids in danger. It was really getting to him.’

‘Was he depressed?’

Sandra snorted. ‘No.’

‘So why tell the guys to lay off?’

They paused again for three cyclists, separated from the peloton, to go by. ‘He was trying to make contact with whoever ordered the hit. He wanted it called off.’

Allegra’s step faltered. In that case, why would Mulvaney need to speak with her?

She looked at the other woman. ‘Do you know who ordered the hit?’

‘I’m guessing the Altar Boys. Most likely one of the heavies.’

Allegra frowned, the information churning through her head. If Lizard was bargaining for his life, he’d need to pay off the Altar Boys.

How would he do that?

Her mind leaped ahead. He’d offer them money, information, or resources — such as a network of contacts.

Maybe even turf.

But would Mulvaney have gone through with it? Sold out his beloved motorcycle gang? Sold out the Southern Cross for his life and his family?

If that were his intention, little wonder he’d rid himself of his minders. If the Southern Cross learned of his betrayal, they’d have motive for murder as well.

By this time, they’d walked a half circuit of the park, and Allegra could see Luke, leaning against the car, pretending to watch the football game.

The crowd cheered and clapped as one of the players crossed the try line, and Allegra took advantage of the noise to finally ask the question foremost in her mind.

‘I was away last weekend when it happened.’ She moved towards a bubbler as the other woman let the dog sniff around the flower beds. ‘Do you know if Lizard tried to reach me?’

‘No, he never said anything to me.’

Allegra leaned over and sipped at the water, took the opportunity to look both ways and make sure they were still alone. ‘Do you know if he was in need of legal representation, if he had any new instructions?’

The other woman’s jaw worked as she chewed on some gum. ‘No. There’s nothing I can tell you.’

Allegra straightened, swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and thought about Luke’s theory that Nate Hunter could be working undercover with the Altar Boys.

‘I appreciate you meeting me. I know it won’t bring Lizard back, but with luck, the police may get to the bottom of this.’

Sandra shot her a doubtful look. ‘Believe what you want, honey. One thing I know, the police won’t be doing me and my kids any favours.’

Chapter 15

10:00 p.m. Tuesday

‘Josephine Valenti.’

Nate pulled back, harnessing every particle of energy in his body to force his eyelids apart.

Breasts bounced in his face, a red-haired lap dancer writhing on his knees, arms linked around his neck — the hands he’d imagined encircling his throat in his semi-comatose state.

Ah, that’s right.

The hazing ceremony.

A mixture of relief and horror sobered him a little.

He was in the compound, in the midst of the initiation.

Heaviness weighing down his limbs, he looked towards the bar, muscles in his eyes aching.

The crowd had thinned.

Christ he felt crook.

‘Josephine Valenti.’

Nate jerked his head up, heart pulsing against his ribs as someone spoke Josie’s name a second time.

It was coming from the mounted flat screen on the wall. Dressed in light coloured trousers and a blue polo shirt, Josie’s father, Silvano, was standing in the driveway of the family home at what appeared to be a press conference.

Across the room he caught Kennett’s eye.

‘Mr. Valenti. How is the police investigation progressing?’ a reporter asked.

‘The police are doing everything in their power to find my — I’m sorry, our daughter.’ The man’s voice broke, and he paused, staring at the ground as he struggled for control.

‘Have you received a ransom demand?’

‘As yet, no. The police are chasing several leads, and in an effort to expedite this matter, my wife and I are offering half a million dollars reward, for any credible, I repeat, credible information that could lead to the safe return of our daughter.’

‘How is Mrs. Valenti?’

The camera zoomed in on Silvano’s despondent expression, and it was then Nate became aware of the striking resemblance between father and daughter. ‘She’s in the kind of state you would expect a mother to be in. Again, anyone with information about my daughter, please contact police on the number below.’ A telephone number flashed at the bottom of the screen, and then it faded to black and cut back to the anchors in the studio.

Just then, Bull looked over and realised Nate was awake. He yelled for more Absinthe.

Head on fire, shoulder burning, Nate raised a hand and signalled no more.

Half a million bucks.

Sweet Jesus. Every bounty hunter in the country would be searching for Josie now.

‘Come on, baby,’ the redhead cooed in his ear, ‘you got patched up. You have to come out back and celebrate with me.’

Oh God.

He had the sweats.

Needed to get out.

How much liquor had they given him?

‘Thanks for the offer, sweetheart.’ The sediment from the Absinthe burned his throat, and he rested his forehead against the redheads, just to keep his head up. ‘But I won’t be any good for you tonight.’

‘You’ll feel better once we’re alone,’ she crooned, spreading her hands across his chest. ‘It’s a twenty-four hour gig. You may as well make use of me.’

Twenty-four hours?

Nate focused his stinging eyes on the clock behind the bar.

10:10 p.m.

Eighteen hours gone.

Getting under the limit would take — God knows how long.

He was dehydrated, needed water.

Bit by bit, Nate’s memory of the morning returned.

The arrival of club members. The official vote, and his successful admission. His sworn allegiance to the club.

And best of all, Kennett’s agreement for him to take over from Grassy.

In the afternoon they’d plied him with beers, and sometime during the evening, switched to Absinthe. After that, everything became a blur.

Nothing. Until now.

The Altar Boys would like to see him celebrating, but the liquor, combined with the pain from the club crest, newly inked into his shoulder, was making him feel like shit.

Nate took a deep breath and fought down the nausea.

He’d done it though.

He was in.

Tomorrow morning, the couriers were pushing into Southern Cross territory, distributing drugs to the known suppliers. They’d collect the cash and bring it here, where it would be split into separate bundles to be laundered.

The following morning, he was charged with the task of delivering bundles of the dirty cash to both the drycleaners and the gym.

Grassy was so pissed off he’d split early and gone home.

Home.

Six hours until the deadline, when Dickson would take Josie into Police Headquarters.

Six hours, until they presumed him dead.

It would be unlikely for them to leave at four in the morning though, and he could probably count on Dickson giving him another few hours, til seven at least.

But he couldn’t bank on it.

He needed to get an urgent text to Dickson Cross.

Nate patted his pockets.

Where the hell was his phone?

He’d put it in the cardboard box earlier this morning.

Nate raised his hands and slipped them around the redhead’s waist, pulled her close and held her long enough for the group of Altar Boys to notice and start making a noise.

She began dancing in his lap again.

His “get out of gaol card”.

Nate lifted the girl off his lap and dragged himself to his feet.

If he wanted to get home, his only choice was to go out back — with the scantily dressed redhead.

Ten minutes later, after retrieving his phone and sharing a goodnight joke with the bikies still throwing back the grog, Nate stepped into a bedroom at the back of the compound, right arm draped across the redhead’s shoulder.

He closed the door, pulled his wallet from his pocket and watched the redhead jump on the bed and begin unzipping one knee high black boot.

‘You can stop now. Nothing’s going to happen here tonight.’

The girl stilled, pouted, but then her eyes widened as he began taking fifty dollar bills from his wallet.

Nate pushed himself off the door, crossed the room and sat down beside the girl. ‘Here’s what you’ll do. Go out to the bar and get me a jug of water and three of the portable breath testing kits they keep out there. We use them all the time, so no one will think it odd. Come straight back here. I’m going to sleep for three hours, and then split. You’ll lock the door behind me and stay here until daylight. Get it?’

She nodded, eyes moving from his face to the money, and back again.

Nate raised his hand, the folded currency secured between his middle and index fingers. ‘Two fifty for your trouble now, another two fifty when I leave. In the morning, if anyone asks where I am, tell them you fell asleep and don’t know what time I left.’

‘Okay.’

‘Take the money.’

Nate watched as the girl took the money, stuffed it inside her boot and zipped it up.

He reached out a hand and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. ‘You’re very pretty, but — girls don’t do it for me — you understand?’

Realisation dawned on the girl’s face, and then she closed her eyes for a second and wailed. ‘This is so depressing. Why are the good looking ones always gay?’

Nate gave her a rueful smile. ‘Just keep it to yourself will you?’

‘For sure.’ The girl tipped her head in the direction of the door. ‘There’s a few out there who won’t like what you are, but I’ll keep your secret.’

The girl pecked him on the cheek and stood up. ‘It would have been a pleasure doing you, gorgeous, and I’m bummed that of all the seedy punters I’ve got, you’re the one paying me to have a good night’s sleep.’

She leaned down and patted her boot where she’d stowed the money. ‘Not that I’m complaining. Any time you need a cover, call me.’

Nate smiled and pushed himself up, staggered a little as the room tilted, though he was sobering up with every passing minute.

‘I’ll remember, sweetheart.’ He nodded at the door. ‘Off you go.’

The instant she closed the door, he pulled his iPhone from his pocket and pressed the button.

The screen remained black.

Panic surged through Nate’s hung over body.

No, not now.

He pressed the button a second time, and a third.

Fuck!

The phone was dead.

Shoving the device back into his pocket, he went into the adjoining bathroom, ran the tap and splashed his face with cold water. He couldn’t risk using the girl’s phone, or anyone else’s, couldn’t leave a trail that could potentially bring the operation undone.

What were the alternatives?

Buy a cheap pre-paid? Finding one in the early hours of the morning would burn time. Time he didn’t have.

He checked his watch.

Five and a half hours until 4:00 a.m. He’d need to sleep at least three to get under .05, possibly longer. Once on the bike, he’d head back to the house in Surry Hills, leave the Harley and walk the few blocks to where he’d parked the car. Not the best thing to be doing in the early hours of the morning when trying to stay under the radar.

Once he reached the WRX, he’d plug his phone into the car charger and send a message to Dickson.

It was his best shot.

His only shot.

Desperate to get some water into him, he drank from the tap, wondering whether the police had got him on camera last Sunday night. If so, they’d be going through the plate numbers of all the cars of interest to them, and it was only a matter of time until they turned up at James Street wanting to speak to him. The missing ute and shorter hair would raise a red flag, but it was critical he protect his cover. He couldn’t risk crossing paths with a corrupt police officer benefiting from an association with the bikies.

Nate clenched his teeth until they ground together, steeled himself as he pressed his fingertips into the tender flesh surrounding the tattoo.

Pain shot down his arm and his vision blurred.

He closed his eyes, dragged in a breath, did it again, harder.

This time, his stomach shifted, spasmed.

He leaned over the cistern and stuck two fingers down his throat.

Short of a stomach pump, it was the fastest way to rid his body of the alcohol.

Chapter 16

3:00 a.m. Wednesday

Josie stared at the flashing numerals on the clock radio and tried to quell the restless anticipation inside her. She shivered despite the warm bedclothes.

Nate had to come back.

Through the wall, she could hear Dickson tossing and turning, and she imagined him lying awake as she was, glancing at the clock, ears straining for the first sounds of a car, or the automatic roller door being raised.

Every hour Dickson did a sweep of the house, and in between sweeps, she tensed every time his bed creaked. She’d hold her breath, waiting, hoping he’d knock on her door and say he’d received a text from Nate.

But so far — nothing.

She closed her eyes, thoughts turning to her mother and father. In her mind, she saw them dealing with the police investigation, besieged with media attention, overrun with calls from concerned friends and business associates. Cancelling plans for the extravagant party she’d never wanted.

While she hated protracting her parents’ grief, even by a few hours, she’d made up her mind prior to midnight. If Dickson came in at 4:00 a.m. to take her to the city, he’d have to arrest her. She wasn’t leaving until daybreak. Surely it couldn’t hurt to wait until six, just to give Nate that extra time to get back.

After all, anything could have happened.

Dickson had spoken out of turn by telling her Nate had been on probation when he’d worked for Luke. But she couldn’t be angry with him. He’d only been letting her know about the woman and child, warning her there was someone else.

She’d kind of suspected it, at least around the time of the engagement party.

And now?

Josie closed her eyes and relived that kiss for the umpteenth time, relived Nate’s body hardening against hers, his groan of pleasure as his arms tightened around her in a crushing embrace. Nate had wanted her last night. There was no way she’d imagined his desire, though she was surprised he’d acted on it, considering the earlier reprimand, and their history.

Or had he merely been craving a woman?

Any woman?

Josie turned over quietly and stared at the strips of moonlight filtering in through the plantation shutters. It seemed unimportant now, when her only wish was for his safe return.

He didn’t know it, but his rejection two years ago had armed her with valuable knowledge. She would have slept with him that night — God knows, she’d been drunk enough and willing enough. But he’d acted with integrity, and in the process set a benchmark for her. From that moment, she knew the kind of man she wanted, and she’d hung onto that, unwilling to settle for second best. Not that she’d compared every man to Nate and found them lacking, but she’d hoped when she settled down in the future, it would be with someone like him, a man in his mould.

Someone strong.

Someone unwilling to take advantage, just because he could.

And then on Sunday night, the real deal had burst back into her life, an undercover cop dressed as a bikie. And she realised she didn’t know Nate Hunter very well at all.

That didn’t mean she believed Dickson.

Nate would never have kissed her if there was someone else in his life, no matter how far away they were.

Suddenly, the quiet hum of an engine fractured the stillness of the night.

Josie sat up and threw off the bedclothes, energy flowing through her veins, heart leaping in her chest. She heard Dickson moving in the next room, and by the time she stepped into the hallway he was already heading for the foyer, gun held close against his shoulder.

He placed a finger to his lips as she joined him, and they stood on the cold tiles, listening as a car came slowly up the road. A sweep of headlights illuminated the foyer through the stained glass panels on either side of the front door, and Josie held her breath, waiting to see if the car turned into the driveway or continued along the road.

It did neither.

The engine cut out, and everything went silent again.

In the shadows, Josie stared at Dickson’s worried face, his gaze on the front door, listening for any sound coming from the road.

‘Go into the living room, Josie,’ he said, a minute or so later when they still hadn’t heard so much as a door closing. ‘I’ll take a look out the front windows.’

She did as he asked, hurrying down the steps. She wouldn’t earn herself any brownie points by insisting she go with him.

Too keyed up to sit, Josie took one of Nate’s trophies off the mantelpiece. Unable to read the engraving in the gloomy light, she wrapped her hands around the shiny gold cup, feeling better for holding one of his personal possessions in her hands, especially one awarded for his strength and endurance. Traits she knew him to possess. Traits he relied on for his survival among the Altar Boys.

‘There’s a car across the road,’ Dickson said a few minutes later when he came back into the room. ‘I can’t make out the colour or model, but from the general outline, it could be Nate.’

Josie tightened her grip on the cup, fear weighing down her limbs. ‘Why wouldn’t he come into the garage?’

‘Don’t know. He could be waiting, making sure he wasn’t followed.’

‘Wouldn’t he have messaged you?’

‘Not necessarily.’ Dickson checked his watch. ‘It’s only three fifteen. He’s still within the time frame. If there was a problem in town, I’d expect to hear from him closer to the deadline.’

Josie breathed a little easier.

‘I should check it out though. Will you be okay here?’

She nodded.

‘Stay in your room, so I know where to find you.’

For the second time that morning, Josie did as he asked, returning to her room and slipping into the corner between the door and wall, just as she’d done the night Barry Simpson turned up.

Trophy still clutched in her hands, she tried to remain positive, despite an almost psychic feeling something was wrong. It was almost twenty-four hours since Nate had left, more than enough time for the thirsty iPhone battery to run down. She’d noticed a phone charger in the WRX the morning they’d gone to get food supplies, so the phone would have been fully charged by the time he reached the city. After that, he was on the bike, and she had no idea whether he had access to a charger in the interim.

And who knew what plans the Altar Boys were making, and how long they’d require him to be there?

There were so many variables, and with no communication, it was all guess work.

But one thing she was certain of. If Nate was in the clear, he wouldn’t be sitting in the WRX outside. He’d want to get the car off the road and into the garage as soon as possible. And he’d know she and Dickson would be worried.

Five minutes later, she was still waiting, trying to hold back the wave of uneasiness threatening to swamp her. Shivering, she peered through the narrow gap, heart thumping so hard she could see the ladybeetles on the front of her pyjama top moving.

Where the hell was Dickson?

Just then, there came a footfall, and the front doorknob turned.

Josie listened, throat like sandpaper from breathing through an open mouth.

Slowly, stealthily, the door swung open.

Outside, the breeze had picked up a little, whispering through the valley like a soft breath, sending cool fingers of air wafting into the bedroom.

And then the door closed with a quiet snick.

Silence.

Nothing.

Josie swallowed the lump of fear wedged at the back of her throat.

Then a man’s voice cut through the silence. ‘Hello?’

Josie’s legs almost gave way beneath her. The man had to be standing in the foyer, listening, just like her.

A shoe squeaked on the tiles, then, ‘Can you come out, girl?’

Josie jumped, as if he’d whispered the words in her ear. It sounded like the same man who’d knocked on the door the other night — Barry Simpson.

Maybe.

She slammed her eyes closed, suddenly four years old again and hiding under her bed, Nanny Kate’s kind voice coaxing her out, the soundtrack to her early life.

Come out, Josie, hiding won’t make them stay, and you’ll miss your chance to say goodbye. Your parents have to go away and you need to be brave. Come on, lead with your best foot.

Josie wanted to scream, and she wanted to curl up on the floor. She wanted to go to sleep so it all melted away.

But it wasn’t her nature to give in like that.

Especially not now.

Not with Nate missing.

And Dickson.

God, where was Dickson?

Come on, Jos. Best foot forward.

She was twenty-one tomorrow, not a four-year-old child consumed by a separation anxiety so severe it delayed her speech, turned kindergarten into its own special kind of hell.

Lips trembling, she stared at the trophy until her eyes stung, finger tracing its sharp edge. She’d learned — until she could speak like the rest of them. She’d learned, until she could swear with the best of them.

A huge relief.

Being able to express herself.

Another squeak on the tiles as the man moved further inside the house.

‘No use hiding, girl. I’ll find you.’

Blood surged through Josie’s arteries, temples aching from the pressure, muscles in her legs turning weak.

‘I need that reward.’

Reward? What reward?

‘I saw your old man on TV, and my son saw you in the car park with Nate.’

Josie stilled. From the carry of his voice, Barry Simpson had gone the other way, towards the kitchen.

This is your safe house. It’s crucial you learn the layout.

Nate’s voice in her head brought strength to Josie’s limbs, and she slipped from her hiding place and glanced at the sliding door. If only she could go over the railing and flee to the air raid shelter, but there was no way off the enclosed verandah.

‘The guy outside. I knew he was bad news.’

Josie’s blood went cold in her veins.

What had the bastard done to Dickson?

‘I need that money. I’ll be good to get you to the police station.’

He was taking a conversational tone, trying to entice her out, desperate enough to gamble on coming into Nate’s house, when he couldn’t possibly be sure of the facts.

The house is a mirror image. Three bedrooms and a bathroom this side. Kitchen, garage and laundry on the other.

Gathering her courage and grateful of her bare feet, Josie tiptoed to the door and listened. The hallway was in darkness, the only light coming from the foyer up ahead. If Barry Simpson went far enough in the other direction, she’d have a chance of making it outside. She counted along in her head as he opened and closed doors along the opposite passageway. The laundry. The garage.

The linen closet?

Praying he was near the kitchen, Josie stepped into the hallway, treading lightly, carpet soft beneath her soles and muffling her footsteps. Eyes trained ahead, she clung to the shadows, creeping closer to the foyer and ignoring every female instinct to run away from Barry Simpson and not towards him. But only the bathroom and bedrooms lay behind her, windows locked, trapping her inside the house.

Arms extended, she gripped the heavy trophy, the need to escape infusing strength into her legs. The landing was ahead, where the carpet met the white tiles, living room to the left, entry foyer to the right.

Two doors.

One leading into the garage.

The other, out the front door.

And then a man stepped into the hallway opposite. He looked straight at her, older, broader than she’d imagined him.

They moved as if a starting pistol had been fired in the fifty metre dash, Josie hurtling towards him, anger propelling her forward. He was thick set, barrel-chested and deceptively fast, and by the time she reached the living room she knew she wasn’t going to make it.

They circled each other like sumo preparing to grapple, him stocky and a little stooped, Josie younger, fitter and filled with a burning rage that made the difference.

How dare he come uninvited into Nate’s home!

How dare he hurt Dickson!

The side of his foot caught the rug, and for half a second he lost his balance. Josie struck, wielding the trophy like a cricketer going for a hook shot. He raised a forearm, tried to deflect the blow, but she was quick, the sharp edge of the cup catching him across an eyebrow.

He went down on one knee, claret flowing from the wound.

She glimpsed his face.

Grey hair.

Hawkish nose.

Seventies “porn star” moustache.

Barely conscious of the scream escaping her throat, Josie raised the cup and brought it down on Simpson’s crown, the force of the blow so hard the cup broke off from its base and skated across the white tiles.

She glanced at what remained in her hand, a jagged piece of metal protruding from the wooden base.

He lashed out, backhanding her with a slap that snapped her teeth together. Josie reeled and went down, half landing on top of him, the remains of the trophy still clutched in her hand. Head spinning, ears ringing from the blow, she drove her left elbow hard into his groin.

He sagged, groaned, and Josie’s stomach heaved as she inhaled a lungful of stale body odour and beer breath. She raised her right arm, checked the position of his thigh, the jagged piece of metal glinting in the light.

And then it was wrenched from her fingers and thrown across the room. Someone grasped her under the arms and lifted her up and away from Barry Simpson.

She struggled, hands clenched into fists as she was hauled backwards.

Then something registered. She knew the hands, recognised Nate’s hold from when he’d dragged her out of her car. She spun around, all fight going out of her as she stared into eyes gone black with fury.

He set her down against the wall, eyes dipping to the spot where Barry Simpson had struck her. Then he wheeled around and went to where the other man was dragging himself to his feet.

‘Get up you bastard!’

Josie leaned against the wall and sucked in mouthfuls of air, watching as Nate grabbed the other man’s shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. Simpson staggered sideways, but in seconds Nate had him by the throat and pinned to the wall.

‘I should turn you to pulp you fucking loser! Is that how you get off, huh, beating up on women?’

The fog in Josie’s mind began to clear, and she flattened her palms against the wall to keep herself upright. She could see Nate more clearly now, dressed in the bike leathers like the first time she’d seen him, body a controlled mass of unleashed fury. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered he’d come straight back without bothering to change.

Barry Simpson said nothing, his gaze moving from Nate to her.

‘Don’t look at her you scumbag.’ Nate grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him off the wall, pushing him down the two steps so the man stumbled and fell onto one of the couches.

Nate hauled him up again, hooked a foot around one of the dining room chairs and dragged it from under the table. ‘Sit down.’ He shoved Barry Simpson into the chair. ‘And start talking.’

A movement in the doorway caught Josie’s eye and she turned to see Dickson braced unsteadily between the door frame, a red welt on one side of his shiny head.

‘Thank goodness.’ She went to him on shaky legs, wrapping her arm around his waist and helping him back inside the house.

‘I’m sorry, Josie, Nate. He wasn’t in the car when I got there. He came out of the bush, got me with a wheel brace I think.’ Dickson rubbed the side of his head and winced, leaning heavily on Josie. ‘I lost my service weapon in the scrub. Still haven’t found it.’

Barry Simpson turned a sickly shade of grey at the words “service weapon”.

Nate dragged him to his feet again, frisked him, then shoved him back in the chair. ‘I’m throwing the book at you, Simpson.’

The man’s eyes widened, and he turned even paler. ‘Throw the — you’re a cop?’

‘Unfortunately for you,’ Nate growled.

‘I saw the reward on offer.’ Simpson’s voice took on a whining tone, though he didn’t look at her again. ‘Robbie, my boy, said he saw you with her at the supermarket. When I thought about it, I remembered you turning up here the night she was kidnapped. I only came up to observe, see if I could catch a glimpse of her.’

Nate said nothing, though his gaze slanted to where she and Dickson stood holding each other up.

‘That’s all I was going to do, I swear. Then that guy…’ He pointed an index finger at Dickson, ‘came out the door. He had a gun. I thought he was one of the kidnappers. When he leaned down to look in the car, I hit him from behind, kicked his gun into the bush.’

Nate cut an intimidating figure pacing up and down in front of Barry Simpson. ‘And then you entered my house?’

Simpson spread his hands, obviously trying to appeal to Nate’s better side. Josie didn’t like his chances. Right about now, Nate looked like he didn’t have one.

‘I went to the door, saw it unlocked and figured I might as well take a look.’

Nate stopped pacing, leaned down and got right up in Barry Simpson’s face. ‘Who, apart from Robbie, knows about this?’

‘Only my wife.’ Simpson visibly shrank from Nate. ‘Why would we tell anyone else? We want the money. The bank’s going to foreclose on the pub any day.’

‘I don’t give a shit,’ Nate hissed, struggling to contain the fury inside him. He longed to punch Barry Simpson’s lights out for even daring to touch Josie, let alone giving her the bruise darkening her jaw…

But he was a senior detective, in charge of an operation on the brink of collapse if he didn’t go into damage control right now. And there was never an excuse for police brutality.

‘You’ll go home, Simpson, and you’ll shut your family up, and never breathe a word of this, or I swear I’ll throw the book at you. Josie’s not been kidnapped, she’s a protected witness in a covert, undercover gangland operation, involving people you don’t want to know. You put one foot out of line, and I’ll have you up for unlawful entry, assaulting a police officer, assault occasioning actual bodily harm and impeding a police investigation. And that’s just for starters.’

Barry Simpson’s head bobbed up and down.

Good.

The guy was shitting himself.

Suddenly tired, Nate grabbed Simpson’s shirt front again and hauled him out the chair. ‘Get out of here, and don’t let me see you again.’

He shoved the publican in the direction of the door and pointed at Josie. ‘You can apologise to Ms. Valenti and Detective Cross on your way out.’

Nate raked an unsteady hand through his hair, watching as Simpson apologised to Josie and Dickson in turn. Then the publican fled, slamming the door behind him, like a nest of blood sucking vampires were on his tail.

Bone weary, Nate ascended the two steps and looked from Josie to Dickson. They were still close, supporting each other after the ordeal. Dickson looked sheepish, as if gathering words of apology together for his amateurish decision to go outside. But Josie was staring straight at him, green eyes glittering, long, blonde curls tumbling around her face.

Nate’s heart went from zero to a hundred in about five seconds.

‘Hey.’ He rested his hands on his hips and looked into her eyes, dug deep for a smile, though smiling was the last thing he felt like doing with her and Dickson joined at the hip.

And then something amazing happened.

She broke away and ran at him, covering the half dozen steps so quickly it seemed as if her feet barely touched the floor.

He crushed her in his arms, rested his cheek against her hair and let his eyes drift closed. Her beautiful face had kept him going, her demand he come back for her birthday, spurring him on to make the 4:00 a.m. deadline.

He only wished he was in better shape to greet her.

They stayed like that for a long time, her clinging to him while he warmed her chilled body, comforting each other, welcoming each other.

And when he looked up — Dickson had gone.

Chapter 17

Nate leaned his forehead against Josie’s and traced the pad of his thumb across her lips. ‘I would kiss you, but you can probably smell the beer and Absinthe. Let me go get cleaned up.’

She raised a hand and trailed her fingertips along his stubbly jaw. ‘The cheap perfume’s the worst.’

Anxious to reassure her, Nate captured her hand and kissed her fingers. She was so tender, so tentative the way she touched him. After the grubbiness of the hazing, her softness was mind blowing.

‘I escaped her clutches, princess.’

‘Not entirely.’ She pulled back and gave him a dubious look, gaze shifting to his neck. ‘There’s lipstick on your throat.’

Nate laid his free hand over his heart. ‘She was a lap dancer, Josie. She was all over me when I was semi-conscious. I paid her to go — really.’

He wasn’t the spill your guts type. It didn’t go with the job. But Josie would have concerns about a sex worker, any woman would. And he needed to explain. Hell, he wanted to share his tortuous night with her.

‘It was an initiation.’ He flexed his sore shoulder inside his jacket. ‘The good news is, I scored Grassy’s job, the bad news — I was expected to celebrate. There was booze, drugs and hookers. I sidestepped the drugs and the lap dancer.’

Shit. It was a seedy world, and he wouldn’t blame her one bit if she decided she wanted nothing more to do with him.

‘What did they do to you?’ she asked eventually, checking him out with concerned eyes.

‘Plied me with alcohol mostly, but hey, it’d take a lot more than that to keep me away on your birthday.’

He gathered her small frame closer, let his hands slide up and down her back. He desperately needed a toothbrush, and about half a bottle of mouthwash before he kissed her. But he couldn’t let her go, not yet.

She shivered, sighed, and laid her head on his shoulder.

Fire ripped through Nate’s veins as she relaxed against him, and he wished he could divest them of their clothing there and then. He wanted her — more than he could remember wanting any woman, but he had to take his cue from her, do only what she felt comfortable with. He was unsure of her experience, and to question her about it would be seriously uncool.

Two years ago, she’d taken his blunt rejection well, and if anyone had overreacted and gone all awkward — it was him. If Josie rejected him now, he’d just have to cop it on the chin.

Testing her a little, he ran his hands down her back and spread them across her shapely bottom, cupping both cheeks and urging her closer. When she murmured, he pressed his hips against hers, moulding their lower bodies together so she could feel his arousal, feel how much he wanted her.

He leaned back and watched for her reaction.

Her eyes widened, and then she grinned, gave him a tentative press back. ‘Judging by that, detective, the liquor hasn’t affected you.’

A groan escaped his throat and he hardened even more, her simple move more arousing than the lap dancer’s practised choreography. This was honest, forthright Josie, her judgment unimpaired by sugary alcopops, a woman who knew what she wanted.

And she wanted him.

Body wired with desire, Nate buried his nose in her hair, inhaling frangipani and almond oil. ‘I know the timing sucks, but would you run the shower for me, while I have a quick word with Dickson?’

She reached up and cradled his face between her hands for a moment, then tenderly brushed his hair back from his forehead. ‘I have a better idea. Why don’t I join you?’

Hoping Nate would appreciate a soak in the bath more than a shower, Josie sat on the edge of the tub and watched it fill with warm water. She inhaled the fragrant bath oil she’d found in a drawer next to a box of tea lights and matches, and tried not to speculate about whom Nate had last taken a bath with.

She leaned over and poured some oil into the water.

She was here now — and he wanted her.

Nothing else mattered.

Screwing the lid back on the bottle, she hummed along to Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” and began lighting the tea lanterns. One by one, she placed them inside the vases standing on the vanity, then switched off the overhead light.

In a bathroom full of mirrors, the effect was stunning. Open flames flickered and danced, creating shapes on the ceiling and leaving the room shadowed in an intimate half light.

Studying her reflection in the mirror, she turned slowly, observing herself from every angle. Her hair sparkled with highlights, and despite the redness of her jaw courtesy of Barry Simpson, her face had a healthy glow, eyes shining with an excited anticipation.

But the pyjamas were hideously wrong.

Slowly, and with fingers that trembled a little, she unbuttoned her top, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. Then with one quick tug on the tie and a wriggle of her hips, she stepped out of her pyjama pants.

She splayed a hand across her tummy in an effort to still the butterflies, and tried to see herself through Nate’s eyes. Breasts full and heavy for her slight frame, her nipples were large and pink, her waist narrow, still blemished with yellow bruising from her fall across the handbrake.

She turned her back and gazed over her shoulder, gathering her hair up into a ponytail. Twisting it around her hand, she followed the line of her neck, the curve of her back, the outline of her spine as it dipped towards her generous bootie.

Oh gees.

Suddenly self-conscious, she grabbed a clean towel and wrapped it around her, securing it under her arm and leaving her shoulders bare.

What did her predecessors look like?

Were they elegant?

Willowy?

Tall, like Nate?

She unstrapped her watch and laid it on the vanity, anxiousness cramping her stomach.

Fifteen minutes gone.

What could be keeping him?

Biting back her impatience, she clasped the towel to her chest and turned off the taps. The bathroom went silent, save for the hypnotic plip plop of water dripping from the stylish tap.

Come on, Jos, you know he likes you. Best foot forward.

She was unfastening her earrings when a light tap came at the door.

She turned, heart refusing to behave.

‘Come in.’

And then the door swung open, and the man she’d been waiting for stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Nate locked the door, heart cranking up at the vision that greeted him. Wrapped in a white towel, Josie was perched on the side of the bath, backlit by candlelight, golden hair framing her face.

She rose as he came closer, an uncertain expression in her eyes. ‘I thought you might enjoy a bath. It seems a shame not to make use of it.’

Heat infused Nate’s body at the visual of him and Josie sharing the tub, his primitive side eager to get there right away, his civilised side warning him to take it slow.

And more annoying, his common sense, reminding him of the perils of submerging a newly inked tattoo.

Gees, the last thing he wanted was to bring that up at a time like this.

He smiled and stepped closer, slipped one hand around her nape and kissed the fragrant softness of her neck. ‘You’re stunning in a towel.’

She shivered, gave a little gasp and tipped her head to the side. ‘They’re a wardrobe staple now, since you threw one over me in the car.’

‘You had too many clothes on then. This is much better.’ Nate pressed soft kisses to her reddened jaw, shutting out the image of Barry Simpson striking her. There was no room for fury in his veins right now.

‘You handcuffed me as well,’ she said.

Amused she’d broached the subject of the zip ties, Nate kissed his way down the creamy column of her throat, getting high on the intravenous drug that was Josie. Was his princess really that adventurous?

Careful to keep a teasing note in his voice, he spoke against her ear. ‘I can do it again if you like, though a fluffy pair would be kinder on your wrists.’

The thought of Nate restraining her with fluffy handcuffs sent a bolt of desire straight to Josie’s groin, mind filling with images of them shopping together at the Tool Shed, or one of the other trendy looking adult shops along Oxford Street.

‘Not yet, detective.’ She tightened her grip on his shoulders. ‘Not when I’ve just got my hands on your body.’

He straightened and gathered her closer, moulding her curves to his hardness until she wanted to crawl inside his skin.

‘Umm. You smell of toothpaste and mouthwash.’

‘I slipped into the ensuite, so I could do this.’ He captured her lips, stealing her breath and making her head spin. Like a wine taster savouring a full-bodied Shiraz, he sampled her mouth, licking, nipping at her plump lower lip then gently sucking on the same spot.

Josie’s body moved into overdrive, desire surging through the circuit board of her heart. Spearing a hand into his dark hair, she let the silky strands slip through her fingers, tasting him, as he was tasting her.

He deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. She moaned, a sweet ache between her legs. And then the towel went south, and she was naked in his arms.

Nate groaned and broke the kiss, eyes locking with hers as he raised a hand and cupped the fullness of her breast. A wave of longing washed over Josie, and she pressed her hips up to his, saw his nostrils flare at her panting response.

‘Nate — please.’ She closed her eyes for a beat as he teased both nipples into hard little pebbles. ‘Take your clothes off.’

Warding off the spinning feeling, she reached for his belt buckle as he continued to rain kisses over her face. He shrugged out of his jacket and she pulled his belt free of the loops. The tee-shirt was next, and then they melded together, skin to skin, breasts crushed against his solid chest, firm lips nuzzling her neck.

‘You shaved,’ she gasped as he moved lower and kissed the top of her breasts.

‘You don’t want gravel rash all over you.’

All over?

Desperate to get him naked, Josie reached down and unzipped his fly, heard the air hiss between his teeth.

‘Smooth move, princess.’ He ran his tongue around her nipple, then licked it into a taut little peak.

Josie moaned and arched closer. ‘Why are you still wearing pants?’

‘Shhh…’ He straightened and silenced her with a kiss, laugh a low rumble in his throat. ‘Dickson will be all ears.’

‘Screw Dickson.’

He set her aside, chest rising and falling as he leaned down and pulled off his boots. It was then she noticed the square piece of gauze on his triceps. She frowned, positive it hadn’t been there when he’d taken a shower the other night.

‘What happened to your arm?’

Nate stilled. Josie was staring at the gauze patch, a puzzled expression on her face.

Reluctantly, he pulled back the dressing, watched the blood drain from her face at the Altar Boys crest inked into his arm. It looked nasty, inflamed and covered in dried blood where he’d inflicted pain on himself.

She turned shocked eyes on him, and suddenly he wished he’d been more up front before letting things go this far.

‘They marked you.’ Her lips trembled as she leaned closer and studied it in more detail. ‘Tell me they used a sterilised needle on that.’

He nodded, touched by her gentle concern. ‘One thing about the Altar Boys, they have the best tattoo artist in Sydney. I wasn’t conscious at the time, but he was there, and I know he did it.’

She breathed a sigh of relief, even as she cast a disappointed look toward the roman bath. ‘We can’t do this. A girlfriend of mine had a flower done on her ankle. She could have a shower, but no bath.’

And then she reached up and stroked his cheek. ‘You should have told me, Nate.’

Nate captured her hand and kissed her palm. ‘And turn down the offer of a lifetime? I’m not that crazy.’

The corners of her mouth curved, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

He slipped his arm around her waist. ‘Hey, I’m tall enough to keep my shoulder out of the water.’

She didn’t look convinced. ‘Is it very painful?’

He shook his head, and hoped his next words might make up for two years ago. ‘Compared to the pain I’ll be in if you turn me down — zero.’

She smiled again, and this time a light shone in her eyes. ‘That’s blackmail, detective.’

Desperate to reassure her, he rubbed his hand up and down her back. ‘If it makes you feel better, we’ll clean it up and apply a fresh dressing. I’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t know.’ She flashed him a dubious look. ‘You should take some paracetamol.’

‘I’ll walk over hot coals if I have to.’ He rested his forehead against hers. ‘Please, princess. I want to do this with you. I promise I’ll be careful.’

She kissed him then, moving her lips softly over his, though she kept her arms by her sides, as if fearful she might touch the wound. When she pulled away, the telltale glisten in her eyes slugged him right in the guts.

‘Josie, don’t be upset. When this is all over I’ll get it removed.’

‘No!’ Her eyes blazed as she glared at the tattoo. ‘You’ve earned that, probably more than most of the members of that outlaw motorcycle gang. It’s like — it’s like a battle scar.’

Josie’s strength and determination humbled Nate, her words cutting straight to his heart. She’d witnessed a murder, been run off the road and forced into protective custody, and he knew she was worried about her parents and other people dear to her. And despite Dickson holding her at gunpoint, and Simpson physically attacking her, somehow, she’d managed to find space in her heart for him.

He slipped his fingers under her hair and stroked the pad of his thumb across her cheek. She was worrying about him, and he had to do something to put things right.

‘Stay here, princess. I’ll go get the first aid kit.’

Fifteen minutes later, after cleaning and bathing the tattoo with antiseptic wash, Josie dabbed it dry and fixed a new adhesive square to Nate’s shoulder. Then, she took a long piece of cling wrap and wound it around his arm from shoulder to elbow.

‘There,’ she said, standing back and assessing her handiwork. ‘I’ve waterproofed it as best I can, but don’t submerge it.’

‘Thank you.’ He swooped in and kissed her on the lips. ‘Do you have any idea of the self-control I needed to exercise then, with you leaning all over me like that?’

Before she had a chance to reply, he whipped off the towel she’d reinstated when he’d gone out of the room.

‘Nate!’ She strived for indignation, though her protest failed in light of his delighted expression, and she couldn’t help laughing.

‘You’re always doing something for me in here.’ Nate leaned over the bath and turned off the hot water tap where they’d been topping up the bathwater. ‘You’ve cut my hair, cleaned my wound…’

Before she could guess his intention, he wheeled around and grabbed her, lifting her off her feet and swinging her high in the air. She squealed, threw her arms around his neck, warm, curly chest hair a delicious friction against her breasts.

‘It’s my turn to do something for you.’ He lowered her into the hot, fragrant water, biceps bulging as he let her find her footing. Heart pounding with excitement, Josie sank into the soothing water, eyes locked on Nate as he rid himself of his swimming trunks and joined her.

‘Come here.’ His good arm came around her waist, and he tugged her into his lap, injured arm stretched out along the back of the bath.

She sat with her back against his chest, skin turning to goose flesh as he massaged her neck with his free hand. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades.

She shivered despite the warmth, blood pressure spiking so high she feared she might have her own private heart attack. His hard length was pressed against her thigh, longer than she imagined, thicker than she imagined, and definitely ready.

‘Slide down a little, and lay back against me,’ he murmured, reaching around and fondling her breasts, which looked like two white orbs floating in the water. ‘Rest your head on my shoulder.’

Josie did as he asked, body a mass of sensation as he stretched out beneath her and hooked one long leg around her ankle. Keeping her in place, he slipped his hand between her thighs.

Josie sucked in a harsh breath, tensing as he touched the most intimate part of her. ‘It’s okay,’ he murmured, soothing her. ‘I won’t do anything you don’t like.’

Josie reclined against him, blinked once as the room tilted, Nate’s touch so exquisitely gentle she feared she couldn’t stand it. Closing her eyes, she relaxed, heard his murmur of approval, felt the brush of his lips against her temple.

Her breathing slowed, deepened, as she gave herself up to his practised touch. With great care, he lit the flame within, stoking it into a fire until her legs grew restless and she rotated her hips, craving a greater friction on the cluster of nerve endings at her core.

Head lounging on his shoulder, she gripped his thighs, heard him growl low in his throat as she arched her back. He hardened beneath her, used his injured arm for the first time to turn her face towards him and capture her mouth.

She moaned as his tongue licked over her lips, an ache between her thighs where he continued to rhythmically stroke her.

Heat surrounded her.

Fragrant water.

The steamed filled room.

The flickering candlelight.

Nate’s toned body beneath her.

Dizzy and desperate for oxygen, she dragged her mouth from his, breathing shallow as she opened her eyes and stared at their reflection. Nate’s left arm was braced on the back of the spa, elbow crooked, muscled forearm crushing her breasts and holding her in place. His dark head was next to her blonde one, his face turned into her neck, broad shoulders visible behind her narrower frame. The sensual image tipped her over the edge, and suddenly she was climbing, free of inhibitions, shamelessly seeking the pleasure so closely within her reach.

As if sensing her desperation, Nate chose that moment to stop. But as she cried out in protest, he made soothing sounds in her ear, took hold of one knee and parted her legs.

Suddenly, all she wanted was him, rising above her and sliding his long, hard length inside her. Never had she wanted anything so much.

But it wasn’t to be.

The moment he touched her again she came in his arms, crying out, arching her back and sending water cascading to the floor. He held her tight, lips pressed against her cheek as she surrendered to the vibrations of pleasure wracking her body.

After a while, she let go of her pent up breath, sighs of pleasure echoing around the bathroom. She turned over, seeking his lips, curling up on his chest like a satisfied cat that had just got the cream.

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re thanking me?’ he said, smiling against her lips.

She gripped his shoulders and pulled herself up, breasts soaked, taut nipples scraping against his chest.

‘That was beautiful.’ Heat suffused her face at the admission she was about to make. ‘I’ve only ever done that with one other guy, and it was a bit underwhelming. He hurt me too.’

‘What?’ Nate’s body went rigid, his expression turning harsh, the way it had when he’d dealt with Barry Simpson. ‘Give me his name, and I’ll fucking arrest him.’

‘Not physically.’ Josie rushed to reassure him. ‘Just my feelings.’

He continued to watch her, mouth pulled into a firm line, eyes brooding.

Josie shrugged, wishing she’d stayed quiet. ‘It was a competition among some of the boys, you know, who could pop the rich girls cherry.’

She watched him close his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them, the softness had returned. He raised his hand and stroked the pad of his thumb across her lips — smiled when she caught it between her teeth.

‘You shouldn’t talk like that about yourself.’ Then he lifted her off him and rose like Neptune, water pouring off his gloriously naked body.

Josie gripped the side of the bath, tried to keep the panic out of her voice as she pushed herself up on unsteady legs. ‘Are we finished? I thought…’

He reached for a towel, and when he turned around the harsh lines had disappeared from his face. Droplets of water trickled down his powerful chest as he wrapped her in a bath sheet and lifted her out of the tub.

‘At the risk of sounding like a Neanderthal, it’s time we adjourned to the bedroom.’

Not bothering with a towel himself, he opened the door and carried her from the room.

Chapter 18

Nate kicked the door closed and laid Josie on the bed, watching as she lifted her hips and tugged the towel out from underneath her. Her eyes slanted towards his lower body, and he threw the towel aside, a little amused, a little guilty she was so youthful.

Her inexperience hadn’t really surprised him, though the depth of her feelings certainly had. She’d left Dickson’s side and flown into his arms, not caring what the other man thought. But that was Josie. She wore her heart on her sleeve and didn’t play games — had no pretensions, despite his earlier opinion of her.

She’d fussed over the tattoo, even though she hated him fussing over her, for reasons he didn’t understand. And she’d satisfied what little chauvinistic streak he had in him, by surrendering in the bath and allowing him to pleasure her.

But now it was time for the main act.

Was she ready?

Hoping his nakedness wasn’t too confronting, he dimmed the bedside light to a dull glow and stretched out beside her. Propping himself up on one elbow, he ran his gaze over the length of her body. The sooner she got used to his hungry eyes the better, because he planned on looking at her often.

‘You have faint tan lines.’ He used his forefinger to draw a triangle around one beautiful breast, following the line where white skin met golden. ‘I look forward to seeing you in that very brief bikini.’

She inhaled sharply, chest rising, and he chose that very moment to close his fingers over the luminous white flesh of her breast.

Her green eyes glazed over, her nipple pebble hard in his palm.

Christ!

Nate’s blood heated, headed south, hit by a primal urge to bury himself in the soft, moist place between her thighs.

Gritting his teeth, he composed himself. He wanted to love her properly, not in a “pop the rich girl’s cherry” kind of way either, but in a way that would get her so out of her mind she’d long for more of the same.

He moved his hand to her other breast, watching her face as he massaged the soft, silky flesh. She moaned, turned her cheek into the pillow.

‘Don’t close your eyes, princess.’ Mindful of her tender jaw, he captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger, the throb in his chest nothing compared to the one in his groin. ‘Look at me.’

Flushing, she opened her eyes.

‘I want to make up for two years ago.’ He parted her lips with his thumb and kissed her, hot and wet and with lava in his veins. She closed her fingers around his shoulders and he pushed her back into the pillows, a little more roughly than he’d intended, drunk on the sweet taste of her.

He took his time exploring her mouth, seeking out the hidden corners and running his tongue along the edge of her teeth. He raised a knee and slipped it between hers, mind hazing when she parted her legs, granting him permission to settle inside thighs still warm from the bath.

He tore his mouth away and moved lower, sliding down her body and kissing a trail from her chin to her breasts. He drew a nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue and sucking gently. Then her fingers speared into his hair, and she hooked her legs around the back of his knees and squeezed him with her thighs.

Holy mother…

Nate’s heart beat like an African drum as he kissed the sensitive undersides of her breasts. She said his name, and he answered with a low growl, pleased at her use of verbal cues to convey what she liked. And he was glad she liked this, because he was greedy — no, certifiably crazy for Josie’s breasts. Smooth, soft and sexy, covered or uncovered — they were heaven.

She whimpered, fingers clenching in his hair, and he knew she was close, primed as she would ever be to accept him inside her body. He took his weight on his forearms to give her a breather from the constant stimulation. She drew in a few deep breaths as he reached for a condom in the top drawer of his bedside table.

‘Can I do it?’ She smiled at his surprised expression and took the packet from his fingers. ‘I’ve only ever put one on a banana — in sex ed.’

Nate couldn’t help but burst out laughing. It was such a guileless thing to say, and he loved her for it, admired her daring attitude to life despite her inexperience. It may have lowered the sexual tension a notch, but her honest sharing made him feel closer to her. As if he, in turn, could tell her anything.

It also allayed his fears about whether she was ready.

She ripped the packet open and withdrew the condom, clasping it in long, delicate fingers. He turned towards her and gripped the side of the bed, praying he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

She glanced down at him, her eyes widening a little. ‘You’re beautiful.’

Nate went rock hard. He clenched his teeth, unable to tear his eyes away as she rolled on the condom and proceeded to smooth out the air bubbles. So much for lowering the sexual tension, he was at risk of losing it before the main game began.

To his relief, the rest of the application went smoothly, and soon she was cuddling into him, kissing his neck and running her fingers through his chest hair.

‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ she whispered. ‘I used to imagine it.’

Nate closed his eyes and thought of Margaret Thatcher. If Josie started whispering her fantasies in his ear, it would well and truly be over.

‘At work — sometimes.’

That was it!

He flipped her on her back and took her mouth, bracing himself on one hand, the other fisting in her hair and supporting her head. He searched for her tongue, enticing it into a heated tango that spiked his core temperature to flash point.

He lowered her head onto the pillow, freed his hand and parted her legs. Settling between her thighs, he nudged at her hot moist flesh.

‘Feel okay?’ He pulled back and spoke against her lips.

‘Yes, don’t stop.’ Her hands snaked around his neck and he knew she was trying hard to avoid touching his shoulder. ‘It feels so good.’

When she wrapped her legs around him, he pushed part way inside. Jesus! She was hot and tight and she gripped him with a surprising strength for someone so small.

He nipped her bottom lip to distract her, brain no longer his control tower. She opened her mouth, and he sank his full length inside her, swallowing her gasp, then holding still, giving her time to grow accustomed to the feel of him.

She relaxed, and he kissed her hair, looked into her eyes to make sure she was alright. She smiled, clenched her muscles around him again and shifted her hips.

‘Josie.’ Her name was torn from him, his voice disembodied.

And then she was cupping his face and murmuring his name, and he was lost. He began to move, gently at first and then with more urgency, taking his cues from her body, responding to what she liked. Her hands shaped his shoulders, his back, his hips, fingernails scraping across his skin when she wanted more friction.

And then her breathing turned shallow and her eyes closed. She cried his name, her body bowing beneath his as she shattered around him.

Only then did Nate give in to his own pleasure, revelling in the feel of her throbbing climax. He drove harder, lengthening her orgasm and feeding her rapture, until his mind shut down and his heart swelled, body shaking in an orgasm so powerful it felt like a dam had burst. His vision hazed, and he buried his face in her hair, riding out the blissful spasms with her locked tightly in his arms.

Afterwards, he held her while she slept, content and at peace for the first time in years. Josie might be young, but she was more emotionally mature than many thirty-year-olds he knew. And what did age matter anyway, when you possessed a head full of common sense? Surely once everyone reached adulthood, the playing field levelled out.

Feeling her skin cool, he untangled her limbs from around his and leaned down to pull the coverlet over them. She stirred, and he tucked her against his side, smiled as she slipped her arm around him.

‘How’s your shoulder?’ Her voice was husky, sexy, the voice of a woman who’d just been made love to.

‘Can’t feel a thing.’ He brushed the hair out of her eyes. ‘Sex is the best painkiller not on the market.’

She laughed, cupping a breast and lifting it out from where it lay squashed between them.

Nate’s throat went dry and he turned hard again, had to move a bit to hide his arousal. He’d never thought of himself as a boob man before, more a general admirer of feminine beauty. But there was just something about Josie, and the shape of her breasts that drove him to distraction.

‘Is Dickson okay?’ she asked.

Nate stretched out his legs. ‘I’d forgotten all about him.’

She pushed herself up on one elbow, eyebrows lifting in surprise. ‘How could you forget about Dickson? You went to check on him.’

‘I did. And then I forgot him.’

‘How is he?’

‘His pride’s hurt more than his head,’ he said with a scowl. ‘It was a fundamental mistake to leave you alone in the house. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get us all killed.’

‘Nate.’ She leaned over and kissed his nipple. ‘Did you really forget he was here?’

‘Yeah.’ His body tightened, and he brushed her hair back from her face so he could watch her kissing his chest. ‘Sex can drive everything from a man’s mind.’

‘Is that why you’re not supposed to get involved with anyone while you’re undercover?’

Josie felt his body tense, and when she turned to look at him, a frown marred his forehead.

‘Dickson told me about the woman in America. Is that her son, the one in your wallet?’

He nodded, his expression far from pleased. ‘Jonathan. Dickson shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of his business.’

From his curt response it sounded like it was none of her business either. ‘I didn’t ask, he volunteered it.’

He looked away. ‘What else did he say?’

Now wasn’t the time to ask about the suspension. ‘Just — that you wanted to bring them out here.’

Nate closed his eyes for a second, a muscle shifting in his cheek.

Josie’s stomach lurched, and suddenly she felt stupid, naive and nosy. Oh God. She’d asked one question about his past, and now it was going to blow up in her face. She’d been so positive Nate would never have started something with her if he had another woman, regardless of distance.

But Dickson had put doubts in her mind, and now she wasn’t sure.

And what had Nate just said?

Sex drives everything else from a man’s mind.

‘There was no question of her coming to Australia.’ Soulful eyes turned her way and he reached out and tugged one of her curls. ‘I didn’t ask. It was never an issue.’

Josie had to stop herself fist pumping the air in celebration, moving her head onto his shoulder instead. She couldn’t indulge in such juvenile behaviour with Nate, no matter how happy he made her. He was a thirty-two-year-old man with a terrifying job. And he’d cared for this broken family.

‘Did you love her very much?’

‘It was more a fondness.’ He blew out a breath as if the admission was an effort. ‘She’s a workaholic, divorced, driven. It was a convenience thing for both of us. I was in the house while we worked the case.’

Sensing he was about to share more, Josie stayed quiet.

‘I grew close to the kid.’ He rubbed a hand over his chest, a rough edge to his voice. ‘I became like a stepdad to him, taught him a lot of stuff.’

Josie’s throat closed over. The pain in Nate’s voice was tangible.

He’d loved this child.

She covered his hand with hers, satisfied when he entwined his fingers through hers and squeezed. ‘The relationship will have had a positive effect, Nate. He won’t forget you, I promise.’

Josie braced herself on one elbow and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. ‘I’m not trying to make you feel better. I had heaps of nannies when I was little. Some were middle aged, some were young European girls out here on a working holiday. All of them enriched my life.’

He frowned. ‘You’re a bit of an old soul, princess, for someone so young.’

‘Well, my family’s not for the faint hearted. Is Jonathan’s father on the scene?’

‘Yeah. He’s a good guy, very involved.’ Nate shook his head in disgust. ‘That’s why Dickson’s talking out of his arse. Jonathan’s mum would never take him so far away from his biological father.’

‘I’m sorry I listened to him.’ She caressed his face, pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

‘I’ll forgive you,’ he said against her mouth, and she was glad to hear the smile back in his voice. ‘It’s your turn now. I want to hear all about this famous family of yours.’

Josie sighed and flopped back on the pillow. ‘There’s not much to tell really. My Dad’s great, when he’s around — and Mum?’

Josie’s heart sank. The difficult relationship she had with her mother was never easy to discuss. It was a mystery even to her, and when she’d asked her father, he hadn’t been able to explain either.

‘It hurts that we’re not close, especially when I don’t have any siblings.’

‘She was nice when I drove you home that night.’

Nate’s non-judgmental, diplomatic answer gave Josie the confidence to go on. ‘She is, she’s beautiful. Everyone loves her. She’s just always been distant with me.’

‘Oh, Josie.’ His arms tightened around her and he began to stroke her back.

‘I think she suffered postnatal depression, and we might have had trouble bonding. I didn’t cope well. I remember when I was about three, she used to get dressed up and go out with dad. I thought she was a goddess. I started suffering separation anxiety attacks around that time. They’re common in kids, but mine were severe. I was so terrified something bad would happen to her, and she wouldn’t come back. It affected my learning, delayed my speech, reading, everything. I didn’t catch up until Year 2.’

Nate didn’t say anything, just continued to stroke her back.

Not wanting to get all gloomy, Josie tried for something lighter. ‘That’s why I talk so much now.’

He rolled onto his side with a grin, long, hard length digging into her hip. ‘So what’s your excuse for swearing?’

She reached under the covers and stroked his velvety hardness, desire building at the look of pleasure that came over his “nine out of ten” face.

‘Just another way of expressing myself, Senior Detective. I was so frustrated when I was little, once I learned, I never stopped.’

‘I can fix frustrated.’ He flipped her on her back, causing a heady excitement to rip through her body. ‘And I love the way you express yourself, especially when you’re all hot and wet — and underneath me.’

Chapter 19

Mid afternoon — Northern Hemisphere

Simon Poole hockey stopped midway down the Jordanelle run in Deer Valley, edged his skis into the snow and stared at the Wasatch Mountain range, Utah. It was a blue bird day in the “skier only” resort, and behind the polarised lenses of his goggles, he could see his wife about half way to the bottom.

He stretched out the band of his slightly fogged Oakleys and lifted them onto his helmet. To his left, the chair lift carried skiers back up the mountain, and to his right, a smattering of private cedar mansions overlooked the perfectly groomed terrain. In the distance, part of Lake Jordanelle glimmered in the sunshine, a blue splash in a landscape of silver snow.

Catching his glove between his teeth, he freed his hand and dug in his pocket for his mobile phone.

One missed call.

One message.

Allegra Greenwood.

Simon’s heart beat faltered, and he shivered, despite sweating inside his ski jacket. The outcome of this call could determine whether he stayed in the States or returned to Australia.

Edging his skis deeper into the snow, he listened as the computerised voice gave him the date and time. He waved his ski pole at his wife, who was now waiting for him at the bottom of the run. Most of her life had been spent this way, waiting for him, at home, at sporting events and school concerts, and now at the bottom of a ski run while he retrieved a message on his phone.

A pall of regret came over him at she waved her ski pole in reply. It wouldn’t be fair on her if he had to cut short their time in America.

And then Allegra began to speak.

Chapter 20

10:00 a.m. Wednesday

Josie woke, warm, contented and naked in Nate’s huge bed. She stretched out under the covers, luxuriating in the feeling of satisfaction deep within her belly. Dreamily, she trailed her hands up and over her breasts. They ached a little when she cupped them, sensitised and tender from Nate’s focused attention.

With a little smile, she burrowed deeper into the bedclothes, surrounding herself with his scent. Life had a way of throwing everything at you at once, the good, the bad and the ugly included. Last Sunday night, she’d witnessed Mulvaney’s death, and then amidst the danger and chaos of the last two days, she and Nate had been drawn to each other. And this morning, they’d made love, like they were the only two people on earth.

She turned over, then stilled as male voices filtered down the hallway, one of them unfamiliar. She sat up and threw off the bedclothes. Nate wouldn’t be joining her anytime soon, and she wanted to find out the identity of the third man.

Half an hour later, showered and changed, she hesitated at the entrance to the living room. Nate looked up and caught sight of her.

‘Josie, come and meet Dario Byrne.’

He came over and took her hand, led her to where a tall, slim, grey haired man was talking to Dickson. Dressed in a polo shirt, casual trousers and loafers, the man looked to be on his way to the local golf links.

‘Josie, this is our ex Superintendant of Police.’ Nate explained. ‘He takes care of things here while I’m away. Dario, Josie Valenti.’

Ah, the retired member of the force Nate had told her about, though he hadn’t mentioned the ex Superintendant bit.

Assessing brown eyes swept over her as he grasped her hand, mouth curving in a half smile that didn’t soften the deep grooves in his face. ‘Pleased to meet you, Josie.’

‘Likewise.’

She looked at Nate and wondered what was going on. Despite the horror of the initiation, and their lovemaking in the early hours, he looked fresh faced and invigorated.

‘We’re putting things in place for later today,’ he explained. ‘We can’t stay here, not with Barry Simpson’s family aware of the situation. It’s best we move to a hotel in the city, especially with me delivering the cash tomorrow.’

Nate rubbed a hand up and down her arm, eyes searching her face. ‘If we get a visual of the person collecting the money, we could bring the operation to a head. I could use your help, Josie, provided you’re okay with it. Dickson can stake out the gym, you the drycleaners. Dario’s bought clothes to disguise you.’

Josie stared at each of the three men in turn. Two days ago she would have welcomed this, but now her thoughts whirled at the thought of leaving their hideaway. She felt safe now Nate was back. And it was her birthday tomorrow. She’d been looking forward to spending at least part of it with him.

But of course the operation had to come first, and the thought of playing an active role was an exciting prospect. It would be terrifying, venturing into the city with the police searching for her and a half million dollar bounty on her head. But for Nate, she’d walk alone into the Altar Boys compound if it meant avoiding a repeat of last night’s agonising wait.

She wanted him out, away from the Altar Boys.

Away from the drugs and lap dancers.

She wanted him with her.

Josie brought her gaze back to his, and in that instant knew she’d go anywhere to be close to him. ‘I’ll do it.’

Nate’s hand tightened around her arm, and to her surprise he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. ‘That’s my girl.’

Josie’s heart raced, and she didn’t miss Dickson’s smile of gratitude, or the way Dario Byrne’s eyes narrowed as he looked from her to Nate.

If Nate noticed, he didn’t care, just led her over to the table where she and Dickson had been working yesterday. He picked up her notepad where she’d scribbled down the names of the companies she’d searched.

‘Can we clarify what you found yesterday? Run me through it. I want to see how it matches up with what I know.’

‘Sure.’ She moved closer and pointed to the messy diagrams she’d drawn. ‘The gym operates under a registered business name, Fit Forever, and the associated proprietary company is Mid City Holdings Pty. Limited. Mid City has two shareholders. Scott Tower, the gym operator holds one share and is also the Director. He has a registered Australian Business Number. The second shareholder, is Transfreight Pty. Limited. I’m assuming Transfreight is the party not involved in the daily operations.’

‘It’s the same structure as the drycleaners,’ mused Nate. ‘Registered business name, Uptown Drycleaning, associated company, Clean Holdings Pty. Limited.’

‘Clean?’ scoffed Dickson. ‘Clean clothes, dirty money.’

It was the first time he’d spoken since Josie had come into the room, and she noticed how pale he looked, the bump on his head visible due to his lack of hair.

Nate continued on. ‘The Director is operator Ong Chung, who holds one share, the other is owned by Clean Holdings.’

Josie pointed to the list she’d made. ‘I’ve used the companies as a starting point, but it’s getting difficult to follow the trail. Many are interconnected. Some companies have been deregistered along the way, while others have stopped trading. To make things more difficult, new ones have been set up.’

‘You’ve done well.’ Nate put down the pad. ‘We’ll get you set up in the hotel this afternoon, see if we can make more headway. I’m still of the opinion our best chance of cracking the case is through some good old-fashioned detective work.’

‘It always is,’ Dario Byrne agreed.

For a few moments no-one said anything, and then Dario turned and spoke to her. ‘If a decision is made to arrest the suspect at the scene, are you able to make your way safely back to the hotel?’

Careful to look the man straight in the eye, Josie nodded. ‘I know the city well.’

‘Good.’

Nate handed her a large plastic shopping bag. ‘The best disguise is bland clothing that allows you to blend into the crowd. You dress quite trendily, so Dario’s chosen clothes you normally wouldn’t wear. There’s a wig to cover your hair.’

Josie took the bag, conscious of the sense of urgency in the room. Now that he had her co-operation, Nate was moving quickly, eager to get into the city.

‘You need to eat something and pack,’ he said. ‘How long do you need?’

She only had the few things she’d purchased at Coles that first morning. ‘Half an hour, max.’

Nate checked his watch. ‘Make it an hour. You might need help with the wig.’

Then he looked at each of the men in turn. ‘If we leave then, we’ll be in the city by one.’

Chapter 21

1:15 p.m. Wednesday

Two blocks away from the “Sheraton on the Park” hotel, Josie sat in Dickson’s car, invisible behind the heavily tinted windows. Perspiring in the auburn wig and unfamiliar clothes, she watched the street from behind black sunglasses. On the footpath, office workers dodged each other in their quest for a hasty sandwich, or to run a lunchtime errand.

No-one even looked at the regular black sedan.

Josie searched for a familiar face in the crowd. They were only a few blocks from Grace and Poole, and many of her co-workers would be on lunch break. How strange it would be to sit behind the darkened windows and see someone she knew. Someone who probably believed she’d met a grisly end.

Her thoughts shifted to her parents, stomach churning with guilt. She imagined them at home, fearing the worst, while here she sat, three blocks from where she normally was at this time of day. If they knew, they would think it cruel and unnecessary. But Nate’s life was at risk, and she had no intention of going public until they could get out of this mess together.

She recalled his words from the first night. ‘People are stronger than you think. They’ll cope.’

She believed him. And somewhere deep inside, she hoped that maybe, just maybe, this experience would bring her family closer, though it was a hell of a way to do it. For most of her life, her family had lived under the same roof, her mother vague and disinterested and run off her feet with her charity obligations, her father usually out of the country. Three people rooming together more aptly described them. With parents almost indifferent to her presence, she began seeking out other people. At boarding school, she accepted invitations to spend holidays with friends, usually at their country property. During those visits, exposed to the warmth of a tight, cohesive family, she’d learned another way.

Josie shifted in the passenger seat. Those holidays had given her hope, and a determination that one day she would have her own family.

And she’d do better.

Midday sun filtered through the windscreen, and she yawned, thoughts returning to the present. She watched the crowd again, waiting while Dickson checked into the hotel, and Nate took the WRX back to Surry Hills. Sending up a silent prayer he’d find the Harley where he’d left it, she stared at a young couple sharing a joke over an alfresco lunch. Even if Nate solved the case, would they ever be carefree in Sydney again?

Right then, Dickson rounded the corner, looking more like a trendy shop assistant than a detective. He wore skinny jeans, Converses, a vest and a small fedora which covered the bump on his head. Within seconds, he was inside the car and locking the door.

‘Any problems, Mrs. Radford?’

Josie glared at him. From the multiple identities he carried in his briefcase, they were now Mr. & Mrs. Radford, much to his amusement.

‘The car park’s half a block this way.’ He started the engine and pulled his seatbelt across his chest. ‘The room’s ready.’

Five minutes later, he parked the car, leaving a substantial gap between their vehicle and the wall. The idea was for Nate to squeeze the Harley in when he arrived. The less visible the bike was to passersby, the better.

While Dickson retrieved their bags from the boot, Josie exited the car and straightened the skirt of the well-cut grey suit Dario Byrne had bought for her. The corporate attire was more Allegra’s style, but they were trying to make her look older. And it went well with the blunt cut auburn wig.

She stumbled on her way to the elevator, swearing under her breath so Dickson wouldn’t hear.

‘Take your time.’ He pressed the button and looked back at her. ‘And stop glaring at me.’

‘Only a man would choose such user unfriendly footwear. Give me my standard Docs any day.’

When the elevator doors hissed open they stepped inside. Dickson swiped the card, and they ascended in silence to the fourteenth floor. In the hallway, they nodded to a lady in a white uniform pushing a cleaning trolley, footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. And then they were stepping inside the room and Dickson was fixing the “Do Not Disturb” sign to the door, sliding the safety chain onto its catch.

Josie heaved a sigh of relief and looked around the sumptuous room, complete with two queen sized beds and a view over Hyde Park. Aboriginal artwork was a vivid splash of colour on the cream walls, tiny dots of lime green and sunburst orange, a theme reflected in the lavish bedspreads and scatter cushions.

While Dickson used the bathroom, she kicked off the user hostile shoes and padded across to the window in her stockinged feet. Strange how everything in the world seemed normal, and yet she was removed, hidden away in a modern day Rapunzel’s tower, complete with false wig.

Josie checked her watch. One thirty. Hopefully Nate wouldn’t be too much longer. With luck, his check in would go as smoothly as theirs.

A wave of compassion only served to strengthen her resolve. Apart from Dickson, Nate was alone in this, unwilling to involve more police for fear of tipping off corrupt members of the force. So it was up to the three of them to get the job done. And they needed to push ahead, needed to capitalise on his new position within the Altar Boys to achieve a breakthrough.

‘You hungry?’

Josie turned, Dickson’s words breaking into her reverie. She nodded. ‘Starving.’

‘We’ll order room service before setting up the computer. I don’t like the thought of a staff member coming in here, but I’m not going out for takeaway, not after last night.’

Feeling a little sorry for Dickson, Josie touched the side of the wig, wishing she could pull out the clips and bobby pins which secured it to the cap underneath. ‘I guess I’ll have to stay in this.’

Dickson’s eyes swept over her as he handed her the room service menu. ‘For now.’

Josie perched on the end of the bed and studied the menu, grateful for something to do. It was unnerving being in a room with Dickson when the two central pieces of furniture were two queen sized beds, and for the umpteenth time that day, she wondered if he’d actually heard anything last night.

Deciding on a toasted prawn wrap for herself and a plate of sandwiches for Nate, she gave him her order and decided to make tea.

Dickson was speaking on the landline, and she was filling the jug with water, when a loud rap came at the door.

Nate stepped into the room, dropped his bag and read the situation immediately.

Dickson was on edge, eyes scanning the hallway as he locked the door behind them. Then he stood off to one side, hands shoved in his pockets as if he didn’t know what was expected of him next.

And then there was Josie, holding a kettle, an expression of such pure relief on her face he had to stop himself striding across the room and dragging her into his arms. He made do with a quick embrace and a kiss on her forehead.

‘Any problems?’ He spoke to both of them, though he kept his arm around Josie, staking a claim, sending a message to Dickson, though he doubted the man needed him to draw a picture.

‘Everything went smoothly,’ Dickson said. ‘Lunch is coming, that’s why Josie hasn’t changed. What about you?’

‘The bike was fine, so I came straight here. Thanks for leaving that space.’ Nate slid the room key from his wallet and handed it to Dickson. ‘904.’

Dickson dug in his pocket and they swapped keys, and Nate didn’t miss the silent thank you in Josie’s green eyes, or the way her shoulders relaxed when she realised she wouldn’t be sharing a room with his offsider.

Nate slid the key into his wallet. Surely his princess didn’t think he’d make her sleep in the same room as Dickson the night before her birthday — or on any night for that matter. Sure, the operation was critical, but his number one priority was taking care of his woman.

The revelation hit Nate with the force of a head on collision, and he turned away as he stowed his wallet with unsteady hands. It seemed longer than three days since he and Kennett had broken into the tat parlour. Could it happen so quickly? He had no idea.

Shit! He was thinking like a teenager. It had to be the proximity and the danger. Or maybe a convenience — as it had been in the States.

Convenience?

Nate turned and looked at Josie, his heart a burning sun in his chest. Green eyes glowed under the blunt cut red wig, and in the fitted grey suit, he could have been looking at her in ten years time.

It didn’t matter what she wore, this girl was special.

And she looked nothing like a convenience.

Show’s over, Hunter. You’re a dead set goner.

Pushing everything from his mind, Nate picked up Dickson’s bag and held it out to him, forcing himself to focus on what needed to be done. He was a senior detective. People’s lives hinged on the decisions he made. He couldn’t allow his feelings for Josie to mar his thought processes.

‘Take that to the other room, and get back here ASAP. Josie, you and I will go into the bathroom while Dickson signs for the lunch. The less people see of us the better. This afternoon, we’ll set up the computers and configure our communications for the morning.’

He watched Dickson move towards the door. ‘In less than twenty-four hours we should have a photograph of the person collecting the money, maybe even an identity. Whether we arrest them immediately, will depend on how I read the situation.’

He turned to Josie. ‘Sometimes the “softly softly” approach works best. Massive publicity will only tip off the person we’re ultimately after.’

At five o’clock, Josie leaned back in the chair and stretched her arms above her head. Her back ached from being hunched over Dickson’s computer, and it seemed a long time since lunch. She glanced at the wig hanging on the bathroom doorknob and rubbed her tender scalp. At least that was off, and she was in her comfortable track suit again.

It had taken a couple of hours to get kitted out for tomorrow. Dickson’s expandable briefcase had revealed an amazing assortment of covert bodywear innovation, everything from wireless earpieces and tiny transmitters, to cameras hidden inside MP3 players and state of the art smart phones.

Eventually they got everything sorted, and the last couple of hours had been spent following the trail of companies, searching for that one common denominator that might lead somewhere.

For the second time in half an hour, something sparked in Josie’s mind. She mentally grasped at it, but it remained beyond reach, hidden somewhere in the murky depths of her memory.

‘Need a break?’ Nate looked up from his notebook.

She shook her head. ‘It’s that name, Providence Pty. Limited. I’ve seen it, typed it, heard it somewhere.’

‘I’ve got that too.’ Nate squinted at the screen. ‘In the — fifth tier — of the scrap metal yard.’

The two men gathered around Josie’s chair.

‘See, it’s there, and there again.’ She pointed to the mind map she’d drawn on her notepad. ‘In the centre I’ve written “laundered money” with each major branch representing businesses we know the Altar Boys have a stake in. The offshoots of the branches represent the beginning of a pyramid of companies which are clearly providing a screen for someone.’

‘You said it right there,’ mused Nate. ‘Provide. Providence.’

‘I think I know it from the office.’ Josie’s voice sank to a low whisper in her throat. ‘I could have typed it in a document, or opened a file in that name.’

Nate frowned, eyes narrowed as he continued to peer at the drawing.

Dickson swore.

Josie felt ill.

‘Okay.’ Nate rubbed a hand across his jaw and blew out a breath. ‘Let’s take it one step at a time. Who are the shareholders of Providence?’

Josie consulted her mind map again. ‘Eagle Eye Enterprises Pty. Limited and Alessandro David.’

‘Eagle Eye.’ Nate mused. ‘Eye of providence.’

Josie looked at Dickson. He raised his eyebrows in a “your guess is as good as mine” expression.

‘What’s the eye of providence?’ It was Dickson who asked.

‘A symbol.’ Nate leaned both palms on the desk. ‘Search it up, Josie.’

Thankful for her rapid typing skills, Josie keyed in the words.

‘There.’ Nate pointed to an image of an eye surrounded by a triangle. ‘It’s supposed to represent the all seeing eye of God. The triangle represents the Holy Trinity. Watching over humankind. Divine providence. That kind of thing.’

‘The overseer.’ Dickson muttered. ‘Creepy.’

Nate’s eyes glittered with excitement. ‘The Godfather.’

A chill spread out from the base of Josie’s spine, and she shivered. ‘It’s like something out of a Dan Brown novel. How do you know all this?’

Nate rubbed a warm hand across her shoulders. ‘The Great Seal of the United States contains a pyramid with the all seeing eye of God in the detached part of the apex. The most famous display of it is on their one dollar bill, right there along with the American bald eagle.’

Josie swivelled in her chair and looked at Nate. ‘And this is all about money.’

‘It’s all about money,’ Nate agreed. ‘Laundering dirty money until it passes through so many different entities, it’s clean when it comes out the other end.’

‘Should we be looking for an American connection?’ asked Dickson.

Nate was silent for a few moments. ‘Anything’s possible. Providence could be the final company before the money’s transferred offshore for all we know.’

‘The Cayman Islands — Bermuda…’ It was Dickson’s turn to muse.

‘Look.’ Nate straightened up, hands resting lightly on his hips. ‘We can study this all day, and we should, but I still maintain our best chance is old-fashioned detective surveillance. We get a visual on the guy picking up the money tomorrow, and the rest will fall into place.’

Troubled thoughts crowded into Josie’s mind. Where had she come across that damn name? That weird looking symbol?

‘Hey.’ Nate touched the side of her hair. ‘Don’t worry too much about the Grace and Poole connection. It could be something simple, like the firm acted for the plaintiff, with Providence on the other side.’

‘That doesn’t make sense. Allegra’s a criminal defence expert.’

‘Maybe it wasn’t in her section,’ put in Dickson. ‘Do you work for anyone else?’

‘Occasionally for Simon Poole. Allegra reports directly to him.’

Nate and Dickson exchanged worried glances, and Josie thought of Lizard Mulvaney, desperate enough to track her down on Skype in his effort to contact Allegra.

Nate checked his watch. ‘Let’s search Eagle Eye Pty. Limited and Alessandro David, not that I’m expecting information on him will be easy to find. Then we’ll have dinner and get an early night.’

He stared broodingly at her reddened jaw where Barry Simpson had hit her, mouth pulled into a firm line. ‘We hardly slept last night, and we have a monster day tomorrow. It’s crucial we be at the top of our game.’

Hours later, Nate’s warm body was pressed up against her, one strong arm wrapped around her middle. ‘Happy Birthday.’

Limbs heavy with a delicious lethargy, Josie forced her eyes open and squinted at the digital clock. ‘It’s only ten o’clock. You’re two hours early.’

She’d barely been asleep twenty minutes, spent from their lovemaking and the bottle of Grange they’d shared in bed. Despite their grim situation, it was the best birthday she’d ever had.

‘You need to sleep.’ Contrary to his words, Nate dragged the sheet lower and kissed the tip of her shoulder.

Josie smiled and turned to face him. In the flickering light from the television, his hair appeared darker than ever, warm, whiskey coloured eyes widening as she pressed her breasts against his warm chest.

‘How can I sleep if you keep waking me up?’

His arms tightened around her and he rested his chin on the top of her head. ‘I’m serious. I want to stay up until midnight, but these celebrations will keep until later tomorrow. I want you alert in the morning, for your own safety.’

She traced an index finger along his stubbled jaw. ‘You too, detective.’

His chest rose and fell in a silent laugh. ‘This isn’t saying much, but I can handle my alcohol better than you, princess. I thought you would have worked up more of a tolerance over the last two years.’

Grinning at his teasing, she hauled herself up and straddled him, pressing his shoulders into the mattress with her hands. ‘Are you calling me a Cadbury?’

‘Yep. I’ll have to watch you.’ He reached up and pushed her hair back from her face. ‘A glass and a half and you’re anybody’s.’

‘I wouldn’t say anybody’s.’ Loving the way his eyes were positively drinking her in, she leaned over and spoke against his lips. ‘I think I’m quite fussy about who warms my bed, and I love you watching me.’

She squealed as he flipped her on her back and rose over her, white teeth flashing in his tanned face. ‘I must say, princess, your recovery rate is impressive.’

Then suddenly her father’s voice broke into the room. Nate froze, and then they were both scrambling into a sitting position and Nate was grabbing for the remote and turning up the volume.

‘Despite the best efforts of police and everyone involved, to date our attempts to find our daughter have failed.’

‘Oh Dad,’ Josie whispered, horrified at her father’s hollow cheeks and the dark circles ringing his puffy eyes. ‘Where’s Mum? She should be with you.’

‘Despite this, my wife Marilyn and I will not give up in our quest to find Josie, who was to turn twenty-one tomorrow.’

At this point, her father’s voice broke, and Josie’s heart seemed to break right along with it. Hot tears pricked the backs of her eyes and spilled down her cheeks while her father struggled to bring his emotions under control.

Beside her, Nate dragged in an uneven breath as her picture appeared on screen.

‘The police are following certain lines of investigation, concentrating on vehicles known to be in the area at the time of my daughter’s disappearance. Again, I plead with members of the public. If you are in possession of any information, please call police on the number below. Thank you.’

Her Dad disappeared from the screen, and the news anchor looked directly into the camera and began wrapping up the story. ‘Details of the reward on offer, for information pertaining to the disappearance of Josephine Valenti, can be found on our website.’

Nate turned off the TV, plunging the room into darkness.

‘Everything will be alright,’ he murmured, pulling her into his warm embrace. He reached down and dragged the coverlet over both of them. ‘This time tomorrow, everything will be better, I promise. Please don’t cry, princess.’

Nate’s kind voice only made her worse. A few days ago, she’d vowed not to cry in front of him, but now she couldn’t care less about her silly pledge as salty tears drenched his neck and chest. Seeing her ordinarily strong father emotionally fragile like that, it just about killed her. She heard his words over and over, ‘our daughter, who was to turn twenty-one tomorrow.’

She slipped her arm around Nate’s waist and burrowed closer, trying to stem the tears as he murmured in her ear and his fingers combed through her hair.

For it was like, deep in her father’s heart, he already believed her dead.

Chapter 22

7:00 a.m. Thursday

Without warning, Nate’s voice came through the micro receiver ear bud fitted snugly into Josie’s left ear canal. ‘Leaving compound now. I have combination for Locker 17, Fit Forever. Copy.’

Heart thudding in time with the hanging clock chiming from the floor above, Josie stared blindly at the jewellery display in Pandora’s window.

Then Dickson’s voice came through the earpiece, the clarity amazing, considering how quietly he spoke. ‘Locker 17, Fit Forever.’

There was a pause, a throaty rev from the bike, and then Nate spoke again. ‘Only a member or a regular attendee would have a permanent locker. Repeat. I have the combination for Locker 17. We’re looking for a member, or a regular attendee. Copy.’

There was a long pause.

Josie held her breath and stared at her reflection in the jewellery shop window.

Then Dickson spoke again. ‘Copy that.’

She turned and headed for the stairs which led to the lower level of the Queen Victoria Building, heels clicking on the mosaic tiles of the central lobby. She could imagine Dickson in the gym, pretending to be listening to music while working out on a recumbent bike or treadmill. Was the collector already there, lifting weights or using a nearby machine? Or would he arrive ten, twenty, even thirty minutes after Nate had deposited the money in Locker 17 and begun his own workout.

There was no way of knowing, though both men were confident the cash wouldn’t be left in the locker for long.

The lower ground floor was a thoroughfare of office workers in transit from Town Hall Station to the city, and Josie easily joined the throng, stepping onto the down escalator and hitching the new leather handbag higher on her shoulder. Staring at the crowd from behind clear black rimmed glasses, she pressed her fingertips lightly to her chest, feeling for the necklace containing the tiny transmitter, hidden beneath the zipped up jacket of the grey suit.

Almost half the tables in the Coffee Bean Cafe were vacant, and in minutes she was sitting directly across from Uptown Drycleaning, with an unobstructed view of the shop.

She ordered bacon and eggs, toast and tea, and when the waiter retreated, she reached into her bag and took out the special smart phone with the inbuilt, long distance video camera. She only had to pick up the device and the camera would do its thing, recording everyone using the drycleaners. Best of all, the screen display and phone continued to work as normal.

Perspiring beneath the wig, Josie glanced at the other patrons. Most were business men and women, stopping for a quick coffee, or breakfast on the way to the office. Some were using their phones, others reading through notes, or engrossed in the morning papers.

No-one even looked her way.

She was flicking through a magazine when a small man of Asian appearance unlocked the drycleaners and switched on the lights. He flipped the sign from “Closed” to “Open” and shut the door behind him, retreating to the rear of the shop.

Doing her best to appear relaxed, Josie gazed over the top of the magazine then glanced at her watch.

7:10 a.m.

Ong Chung was open for business.

At seven thirty, Nate parked the bike in the underground QVB car park.

Dressed in jeans, a plain black tee-shirt and boots, he slung his back pack over his shoulder and stowed the leather bike jacket and helmet inside the storage compartment. Then he took the stairs two at a time until he reached the lower ground level.

Anxious to check on Josie, he slipped on black sunglasses and headed for the drycleaners. She should have picked up the exchange between him and Dickson, and if everything had gone to plan she would now be in position, recording customers dropping off and collecting clothes. As yet, he’d received no message from her, and that was reassuring, would indicate she hadn’t run into any kind of trouble. He’d feel better once he had a visual on her, better again once her part was done and she could return to the safety of the hotel.

Nate caught sight of the auburn wig long before he reached the cafe. He stopped and pretended to study some expensive leather goods displayed in a shop window while he checked his reflection. All good. He looked no different to half the population on their morning commute, listening to music on his phone’s inbuilt music player.

‘Approaching drycleaners, copy,’ he murmured, confident the inbuilt microphone attached to the cord would pick up his words without a problem.

‘Copy that.’ Despite the high energy music blaring from the gym, Nate easily heard Dickson’s reply.

Ahead of him, Josie lowered the magazine, an indication she too had heard the exchange, and for the first time since leaving the hotel at five a.m., Nate breathed a little easier. He drew level with the cafe, watched her spoon sugar into her tea and stir, a signal everything was fine. In response, he removed his sunglasses just before he pushed open the door of the drycleaners.

Ong Chung emerged from the rear of the shop, skirting around the items of clean clothing hanging from an alphabetised circular rack.

The man was small, coarse black hair streaked with grey, and he didn’t make eye contact as he came towards Nate, a bunch of wire hangers clutched in one hand.

‘Yes?’ he said by way of greeting.

‘Morning.’ Nate slid the backpack from his shoulder, grateful there was no one else in the shop to witness his first drop.

‘Trains are late this morning.’ He recited the words as per Kennett’s instructions.

The man put the wire hangers on the laminated counter, and if he were surprised to see Nate standing there instead of Grassy, he didn’t let it show on his face.

Nate waited for the scripted response.

‘It’s happening more and more.’

And there it was!

Ong spoke with a heavy Vietnamese accent, nervous eyes flicking towards the door, as if he wanted the exchange made before someone else came into the shop.

That made two of them.

Nate unzipped his backpack and pulled out the blue linen drawstring bag Kennett had given him at the compound. The bag was heavier than it looked, weighed down by bundles of cash zipped inside the deep pockets of a jacket.

‘I spilt red wine on my windbreaker.’ He loosened the drawstring a bit so Ong could see the material. ‘Are you able to get it out?’

‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’ Still refusing to make eye contact, the man took the bag and stowed it beneath the counter. ‘You can pick it up after eleven tomorrow.’

‘Thanks.’ Nate zipped up the backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He wouldn’t be coming back for the jacket. He’d be coming back to arrest Ong Chung.

‘Have a good day.’

Ong Chung was now in possession of a serious bundle of cash, but where the money went after that was anyone’s guess. Josie would continue to linger in the vicinity of the shop while he was in the gym. Hopefully, one of the photographs would show a customer leaving the drycleaners, carrying the blue draw string bag.

It was a long shot.

But a shot worth taking.

Nate opened the door and stepped outside, sliding on his sunglasses and glancing at Josie for a couple of seconds. She was biting into some toast and turning the page of a magazine. She didn’t even look up.

Good girl, he thought, with a sudden rush of affection. It was hard putting any member of the public in danger, particularly one as important to him as Josie. It just went against his natural instinct to protect. And she would never know how much it had torn him up — asking her to do this — on her twenty-first birthday of all days.

The age old adage “the greater the risk the greater the reward” came to mind.

It didn’t only apply to the stock market.

Nate shrugged the backpack more securely onto his shoulder and walked quickly towards the escalator which would take him up a level. Fit Forever was situated in one corner of the building at street level. Access was via George Street or from inside the Queen Victoria Building itself. A large, open space with a bank of lockers built along one wall, the gym provided the best chance of a sighting.

A light sheen of sweat broke out on Nate’s forehead. He needed to get in there fast. Dickson had been working out for over an hour. Any longer, and he’d start attracting attention.

Up ahead, the gym’s blue opalescent sign came into view.

Nate checked his watch.

7:45 a.m.

Even in Grassy’s unhealthy state, Kennett had insisted he do a minimum half hour of exercise following the drop. To leave right away would have created suspicion, and Grassy was a suspicious looking character at the best of times.

Nate was fitter, and he could easily stretch the session to an hour.

An hour, from the time he put the money in the locker.

An hour, before he needed to leave for the compound and report back to Kennett.

An hour, to get a sighting of the collector.

Chapter 23

8:00 a.m. Thursday

Luke put the skim flat white on the table in front of his wife, and slid into the booth next to her. ‘What’s that?’

Allegra lifted up a small, intricately wrapped gift box for him to see. ‘Earrings I bought for Josie’s birthday. I’m going to leave them in the top drawer of her desk.’

Troubled by his wife’s grief, Luke slipped his arm around Allegra’s waist. With Simon Poole away, she was busier than ever, and the temp she’d been assigned couldn’t make headway through the mountain of work as efficiently as Josie. To compound her irritation, she found Henry Grace difficult to talk to.

It all added up to his wife being tired, stressed and not her usual self.

But worst of all, Allegra was terrified for her friend.

Luke gazed at his wife’s profile. He loved the way she’d done her hair this morning, some kind of intricate upstyle that highlighted her bone structure and exposed the swan like curve of her neck. Known among the legal fraternity as the “perfumed steamroller”, to him she was a potent mix of strength and fragility. And right now, she was showing her vulnerable side.

Frustrated he couldn’t do anything to help, other than use his contacts to follow the police investigation, Luke rubbed a hand over her back. Most of the leads had dried up already. One or two functioning cameras had yielded a handful of plate numbers, Nate’s among them. But the registration details showed a Nate Jordan as registered owner, not Nate Hunter.

Luke was positive they were one and the same person, though to date, the police hadn’t been able to track down Nate Jordan. Just at the moment, they were more concerned with reports leaking straight from the rank and file of the Southern Cross, that a retaliatory strike against the Altar Boys was planned for Saturday afternoon, following Lizard Mulvaney’s funeral.

‘I can understand Lizard sending the boys protecting him home,’ Allegra said suddenly, resuming their conversation prior to him lining up for coffee, ‘especially if he wanted to discuss leaving the Southern Cross. But being murdered the very same night? Someone knew he was alone.’

Luke sipped his coffee and thought for a moment. ‘The protection boys could have gone back to the Southern Cross compound. Their presence would have tipped off certain parties that Mulvaney was alone. Josie told police it was two bikies.’

Allegra looked at him over the rim of her cup. ‘Do you think Mulvaney was killed by his own gang?’

‘I don’t know. The Altar Boys claimed responsibility for the attempt at the Court House.’ Memories of that day sent a cold draft through Luke’s body. Allegra had come close to a bullet that day. ‘The police are not prepared to state publicly that Josie witnessed the murder, and I agree with that. If she is alive, she won’t stay that way for long once the bikies learn she can identify them.’

Allegra flinched and put down her cup. ‘Mulvaney went to great lengths to try and contact me.’

Luke nodded. ‘He was a family man living on borrowed time. Maybe he wanted to discuss providing for Sandra and the kids in the event of his death.’

‘We’ll never know now.’

Another thought came into Luke’s mind. ‘What did Simon have to say?’

‘Not a lot. I expect he’ll call and speak to Henry again.’ Allegra pressed her lips together, as if she’d been about to say more, and thought better of it.

Luke frowned at her hesitation. ‘What?’

She gave a tired shrug. ‘I may be wrong, Luke, but I got the impression Simon was thinking of coming home.’

Henry Grace locked the office door then moved behind the huge oak desk to sit heavily in his chair. With a weary sigh, he buzzed his secretary.

‘Yes, Mr. Grace?’

‘Hold all calls please.’

‘Certainly.’

Henry listened to the dial tone, sweat beading his forehead so he had to wipe it away with the back of his hand. Eventually, he punched out the number, counted the rings at the other end. One…two…three…

His son picked up on the fourth ring. ‘Yeah?’

‘It’s me.’ Henry closed his eyes at the huskily slurred word. ‘Not working today?’

A yawn.

Henry could picture him, dirty blonde tousled hair, skinny frame sprawled out in the ground floor studio he rented somewhere in Sydney’s west.

‘Don’t start til five.’ His son’s voice was raspy, rough, damaged.

‘We’ve got a problem.’ Henry locked the disappointment and associated guilt deep inside him, like he always did. ‘Something bad’s happening.’

‘What do you mean bad?’ His son was more alert now.

That’d be right.

He showed a lot of concern when things affected him.

Henry sucked in an untidy breath. ‘You might have seen on the news that Josephine Valenti is missing. What police aren’t saying is that she witnessed Lizard Mulvaney’s murder before that tat parlour went up in flames. Allegra Greenwood acts for the Southern Cross. Naturally she’s been asking a lot of questions. Her husband’s one of Sydney’s top security experts. Between them and the police, God only knows what will be uncovered.’

‘How does it affect me? I thought you fixed my situation years ago.’

His situation?

A novel way of putting it.

The ungrateful little prick.

‘I’ve been fixing it ever since. What have you been doing?’

As he’d come to expect, his son’s voice took on a defensive ring. ‘Where was I going to get four hundred grand?’

Right then, Henry was grateful he couldn’t physically get to his son.

‘Paying your gambling debts was the easy part,’ he bit out between gritted teeth. ‘But the big shot realised I could be of use. I’ve been breaking the law for ten years so he wouldn’t send the bikies around to break your kneecaps.’

There was silence at the other end, and Henry gazed at the framed photograph of his wife, and tried to stay calm. If she ever found out, it would kill her.

‘If I get caught — I’ll be struck off, disbarred. I’ll go to prison, and I won’t be able to guarantee your safety.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘The bikies are on the brink of out and out war. You might want to think about getting out of Sydney.’

Chapter 24

The instant Nate stepped inside the gym he spotted Dickson by the weights, wiping himself down with something the size of a handtowel. A loud hip hop mix pumped through the stereo system. Everywhere people were in motion.

At the front desk, he registered as a casual and paid for an hour’s workout and a locker. In the men’s change room, he donned gym shorts and trainers, placing the plastic bag containing the bundles of cash on top of his boots and folded jeans.

Back in the workout room, he headed over to where Dickson was standing by the lockers. To the casual observer, Dickson looked to be taking a breather while he drank from a water bottle, but Nate understood he was directing him to locker 17.

As he passed by, his offsider slung the towel around his neck, a pre-arranged signal which told Nate he had nothing to report.

He relaxed a little and scanned the room. Nearly all the machines were in use, and the clientele not listening to personal music players were running, cycling or rowing in time to Jay Z’s “Ninety-nine Problems”.

No-one even looked in their direction.

Nate zeroed in on locker 17.

The door stood open.

Empty.

As Dickson performed a series of lunges, Nate placed the money inside the locker and spun the combination closed. Keeping his movements unhurried and relaxed, he located locker 26, put his gym bag inside and again spun the combination. Then without so much as a glance at Dickson, he headed across the room to claim a vacant treadmill.

‘Do you need help with the settings?’

Nate removed an ear bud as a female staff member wearing a blue Fit Forever tee-shirt stepped in front of him.

‘Thanks, I’m fine.’

The girl left, moving between the machines, eyes searching for anyone in need of assistance.

Nate stepped onto the black mat. The machine lit up like a Christmas tree and he punched in the speed and incline. It had been a while since he’d undertaken any hard exercise, and he was rearing to go, confident it would take the edge off his anxiety while he waited for the money to be collected.

He watched Dickson head towards the men’s change room and breathed a little easier. Both drops had been made now, and in less than ten minutes, Dickson would be watching over Josie.

After last night’s debacle, Nate was confident his offsider would be on his game.

‘Can I get you another tea?’

Josie pretended to check her watch before looking at the waiter. ‘Um, I might have a skim latte. I’m killing time until a job interview.’

‘One skim latte coming up.’

The waiter was back in minutes, setting her coffee on the table and tearing her account from his notepad. ‘Good luck with the job.’

Josie smiled and returned to watching the commuters, keeping a keen eye out for anyone going into the dry cleaners. There were constant updates coming in from the gym. The money was in place. Dickson should be with her in about ten minutes.

The plan was for the two of them to return to the hotel while Nate carried out surveillance. If no one showed in that hour, he’d head back to the compound and report to Kennett.

Her cup was halfway to her lips when there was a loud bang.

Josie’s body jerked, nerve endings prickling as hot coffee slopped into her saucer. Broken pieces of china skated across the floor in all directions, and when she turned to her right, a red faced waiter was apologising to patrons.

Josie put down her cup with a trembling hand, watching as the young man squatted between the tables and began gathering up the broken pieces. A triangular bit had come to a stop under her chair, and she bent down to retrieve it, passing it to the waiter with what she hoped was a sympathetic smile.

‘No, no, leave it, leave it,’ someone said in heavily accented English.

Josie looked up to see the owner bearing down on them with a mop and banister brush. He was shaking his head and glaring at the waiter. ‘You’ll cut your fingers.’

Josie froze, heart beating in and out of time, but it wasn’t the owner who commanded her attention. Beyond his rotund body, she could see Mr. Grace’s face in the crowd. The senior partner was moving with the steady stream of people, a Nike sports bag in his hand.

He was almost at the cafe when he made a sharp right turn, dodging between the crowd and stepping inside Uptown Drycleaning.

Josie reached for her cup, gulped down a mouthful of hot coffee then swore under her breath as she dripped it all over the grey suit. She reached for the phone with a trembling hand, sent a silent thank you to Dario Byrne for the effective disguise.

Disordered thoughts crowded into her mind, bouncing around and ricocheting off each other as she tried making sense of it all.

The Southern Cross.

Lizard Mulvaney.

Providence Pty. Limited.

Where had she seen that name?

Henry Grace?

Uptown Drycleaning.

A strange sensation, like a cold waterfall, rolled down her spine and spread throughout her lower back. Was Henry Grace’s next stop Fit Forever Gymnasium?

She had to message Nate.

No!

She wasn’t worried or threatened, was she?

She didn’t know, couldn’t bring order to the chaos in her mind. Grace and Poole was a large firm, with offices only a few blocks away. It wasn’t inconceivable Mr. Grace would drop off his laundry on the way to the gym.

But…

Doubts wormed their way into her head.

She took a deep breath, swallowed another mouthful of coffee and told herself to calm the hell down. The most important thing was to get a shot of him coming out the door. If he did end up at Fit Forever, she’d hear it through her ear piece.

And she’d message Nate then.

Nate started with a fast walk before breaking into a run, feet flying over the treadmill mat, buoyed by the prospect of making multiple arrests.

Barely noticing the ache in his shoulder, he kept his eyes on locker 17 and imagined the outcome.

Kennett, the Viper, behind bars for the murder of Lizard Mulvaney. The entire Altar Boys’ inner circle, including Bull, Grassy and Kennett, charged with money laundering offences, plus the manufacture and supply of illegal drugs. And there were others, like Ong Chung and the guy he was waiting for now, cleaning the dirty cash through a variety of means he was yet to discover.

Ultimately, there was the Overseer, an enigma, hiding at the end of an intricate labyrinth of companies and trusts.

Nate stretched out, revelling in the feeling of running again. When the arrests were made, he’d be credited for smashing the biggest drug ring in Australian history, and his career would be made. He’d have his choice of consulting work, and the opportunity to work with everyone from the Australian Federal Police, to U.S. Law Enforcement, even MI5 and MI6.

He studied the people around him. Most were women, and he barely gave them a second glance. Motorcycle gangs were run by men, with women unable to become fully patched. A chauvinist like Kennett would never trust a woman with a mountain of dirty cash.

Suddenly the door opened, and a man he recognised strode in.

Nate’s heart gave an enormous thud, which had nothing at all to do with the exercise. He knew the man, had looked at his portrait hanging next to Simon Poole’s in the waiting room outside Allegra’s office. But he’d never seen Henry Grace in person until now.

Thankfully, Grace didn’t know him.

Nate changed the speed and incline on the treadmill, the machine giving a series of beeps while he kept his eyes trained on the well-known lawyer. He watched him nod to the girl behind the front counter.

A regular customer.

Sweat poured down Nate’s face, mind racing as he watched Henry Grace pass by his treadmill and move towards the lockers.

Allegra acted for the Southern Cross.

Mulvaney called Josie.

Josie knew the name Providence.

Henry Grace?

What the hell was going on?

Blood roared in Nate’s ears. If Grace was the collector, he could be moments away from arresting one of the most respected lawyers in New South Wales. Adrenaline pumped into his muscles and he lifted the phone with his right hand, slowed the machine to a walk with his left.

‘Henry Grace is in the gym,’ he murmured. ‘Copy.’

He could only imagine Josie’s shock.

‘Copy that. Standing by.’ Dickson’s reply came back within seconds. He’d stay in his current position until further instruction.

Grace was now at the lockers. The lawyer turned, eyes performing a quick scan of the room. Nate focused on a spot on the carpet and didn’t make eye contact. Was Grace searching for Grassy? Had Kennett even alerted him to the personnel change? He doubted it. With these kinds of arrangements, the left hand never knew what the right hand was doing. Information got you killed, so no-one asked questions. People did their bit and got out.

Grace seemed to come to a decision. He turned around and moved to locker 17, opening the door and shoving his gym bag in beside the bundle of money Nate had left there. Then he spun the combination closed.

‘Got him,’ Nate murmured.

The lawyer flung his towel over one shoulder and sauntered over to a rowing machine. He was settling himself in the seat when Nate’s phone buzzed in his hand, the alert from Josie highlighted in the centre of the screen.

Henry Grace was in the drycleaners.

Nate’s mind screamed with possibilities. He had the lawyer accessing the locker, and Josie had him as well. If he arrested Grace now, they were sure to find the money he’d left with Ong Chung fifteen minutes ago inside the gym bag.

Henry Grace was the collector.

A slow, cold creep inched over Nate’s scalp despite the heat of his body.

Was he “O” as well?

Christ! He had no way of knowing for sure.

Blood continued to roar in his temples, drowning out the hip hop blaring through the stereo system.

‘Standing by,’ Dickson said again.

Nate looked around the gym. There had to be at least fifty people in the place. Arrest a prominent member of Sydney’s legal fraternity here, and it would be all over social media in minutes. There would be no way of containing it.

Worse, if Grace wasn’t the overseer, it would tip off the real deal — and the Altar Boys. His cover would be blown, and his quarry could flee the country before the story hit the nightly news.

Mulvaney’s funeral was the day after tomorrow.

All hell could break loose.

He couldn’t expose Josie — not yet.

He had to keep her safe.

While there was a mountain of evidence against Grace, he needed to know the full extent of his involvement.

It was time.

Time to contact Luke Neilson, bring him in on the operation.

‘Abort,’ he murmured, hoping the mike picked up his words over the throbbing beat of the music. ‘Proceed as initially planned, copy.’

‘Copy that,’ Dickson shot straight back. ‘Leaving the gym now.’

Chapter 25

2:00 p.m. Thursday

Centennial Park in Randwick was quiet, save for the odd jogger, and two horses from the nearby Equestrian Centre being put through their dressage paces. But the area around the duck pond was deserted, the young mothers and toddlers who frequented the area on a weekday, having left to collect older siblings from school.

Nate could see Luke’s white Holden parked up ahead, and he left a good distance between the car and the Harley. He would have preferred not to bring the bike, but with the investigation gathering momentum, time was of the essence. He’d come straight from the compound.

Checking they were alone, he approached Luke’s car from the back, slipping down the passenger side, opening the door and climbing in. Then he turned and looked at Luke for the first time in two years.

He hadn’t changed. The fair hair was a fraction longer, the silver slash on his cheek the only thing preventing the man from being too handsome. Broad shouldered, lean and folded into the car’s bucket seats, Neilson exuded the build and bearing of the ex military commander he was.

‘Man, am I glad to see you,’ Luke said.

Nate held up his hand and Luke grasped it in a solid handshake of mutual respect. It was a good feeling, and Nate had missed it, missed interacting with quality people like Neilson.

‘Slumming it in a Holden?’ Nate asked jokingly. They’d talked a lot about cars in the past, especially around the time Luke acquired a C63 Mercedes AMG.

‘Can’t beat a white company car for anonymity,’ he replied. ‘Do you have Josie?’

‘I do.’ Two short words, uttered in the confines of Luke’s car, and Nate realised Josie had become the most important thing in his life.

Luke gave a relieved sigh. ‘How is she?’

Nate held his mate’s gaze. ‘Better than you’d expect.’

Luke wasn’t the demonstrative type, but his grey eyes twinkled, enough to reassure Nate his former employer had read between the lines.

‘Allegra will be over the moon.’

‘Not when she learns what’s going on at Grace and Poole she won’t. But I’ll get to that shortly.’

Luke’s eyes turned serious again. ‘Are you undercover?’

He nodded. ‘Altar Boys.’

‘I thought as much. The police got you in the ute the night Josie went missing. They’ve visited your place in Surry Hills.’

Both men looked up as a seedpod fell from an overhanging tree and bounced off the Holden’s bonnet.

‘Are they looking for a Nate Jordan?’

‘Yes. Don’t go back there.’

‘I don’t intend to.’

Nate spent the next few minutes filling Luke in with the details of the case.

‘How are Grace and Poole involved,’ Luke asked, ‘apart from Mulvaney trying to reach Allegra on the night he was murdered?’

Nate took a deep breath, steeled himself for what he was about to reveal. ‘Henry Grace collected the money.’

Luke’s fingers closed around the top of the steering wheel. ‘Jesus.’

Nate swivelled in the seat, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no-one was showing any interest in them. ‘At first I thought he might be putting the money through the firm’s trust account, but the Law Society audits those accounts vigilantly. It’s more likely he’s writing up bogus receipts, putting it into the firm’s lending company.’

‘Loaning money to clients?’

‘Yeah.’

‘He’s laundering money for the Altar Boys, while Allegra acts for the Southern Cross.’ Luke shook his head. ‘It’s bizarre.’

‘Someone’s got something on him, Luke. The Altar Boys or “O”. For all we know, the other partner could be in on it as well.’

Luke turned to look at him then. ‘I doubt it. Simon Poole’s in the States. When Allegra spoke to him the other day, he didn’t even know Josie was missing.’

Nate drummed his fingers on the door sill, and decided Henry Grace was a cock. ‘He’s keeping everything on the down low.’

‘Allegra was furious, and there’s something else you should know,’ Luke went on. ‘She met with Sandra Mulvaney. Lizard let his security go the night he was killed. He’d had enough, wanted the hit called off apparently. Maybe he was going to defect to the Altar Boys.’

‘Maybe.’ Nate ran a hand down his face. ‘I can’t see it happening though. Kennett and Mulvaney hated each other’s guts, ever since Mulvaney defected from the Altar Boys ten years ago.’

Luke’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘That I didn’t know.’

‘Yep. Originally it was all one club. Kennett and Mulvaney were vying for chapter leader. They disagreed on a whole host of things. In the end, Mulvaney left, took a swag of members with him and formed the Southern Cross. They’ve been bitter enemies ever since.’

They fell silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Nate stared through the windscreen and watched four ducklings paddle behind their mother on the pond, the setting at odds with the topic of conversation.

‘Murder the chapter leader, and you ensure the two gangs remain bitter rivals,’ Luke mused. ‘It’s an insurance policy. It puts paid to the two clubs merging and becoming one very powerful group, which we know the bikies are beginning to do. We need to work out who benefits from the current situation.’

‘A crooked cop, paid by both gangs to look the other way?’ asked Nate.

‘Maybe.’

‘Definitely someone on the take from both gangs,’ Nate went on. ‘I think it’s the overseer. He could have given Kennett the order to kill Mulvaney. I’m just not sure that person is Henry Grace.’

Luke gave a slow nod. ‘Sure, how can I help?’

‘Do you still have that young gun hacker working for you?’

‘Tom Randall?’

‘That’s him.’ Nate had forgotten his name, but he could see the IT encryption expert in his mind. Tall, lean with long dark hair, the guy had a razor sharp mind.

‘I’ve got him for now. Costs me a bomb to keep him too.’

‘Could he hack into Grace and Poole, find out exactly what Henry Grace is up to?’

Luke didn’t answer right away and Nate held his breath. He knew it was a big ask, but he also knew it had been done before, when Allegra’s career was under threat. Even then, she hadn’t been happy about it, in fact she’d been downright furious. And Luke had borne the brunt of it.

‘I’ll understand if you refuse,’ he said when Luke still didn’t speak. ‘Either way, I’ll be arresting Henry Grace, Ong Chung, Mitch Kennett and most of the Altar Boys’ inner circle in the next day or so, ideally before Lizard Mulvaney’s funeral. Obviously, it’ll tip off the overseer, if we haven’t nailed him by then.’

Nate paused for a few moments. Luke Neilson wasn’t the type of guy you could pressure, and he’d make up his own mind when he was good and ready. Still, it was Josie’s life, and he had to do his best.

‘Josie and I are involved, Luke, and I know she’s close to Allegra. When all this is over, I want her to be safe in Sydney again.’

Luke stroked a thumb across the scar on his cheek. ‘You need to take as many of them off the streets in a co-ordinated raid.’

Nate didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he liked the way his collaborator was thinking. ‘Exactly.’

‘Josie is an innocent party, and if Henry Grace is a criminal, I know Allegra would want him caught.’ There was determination on Luke’s face now. ‘I’ll head back to the office, give Tom the instructions.’

Nate went on to explain about Providence, the name Josie thought she recognised from Grace and Poole. ‘If he could follow the paper trail, it could point us to the overseer.’

‘He can get in anywhere.’

Nate rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes for a beat. ‘I owe you one, mate.’

‘You’re tired. Two years undercover is too long — for anyone. The quicker you finish this, the better.’

Nate gave a quick nod to show that he’d heard, and when he opened his eyes, Luke was checking his watch. ‘It’s two thirty. I don’t like keeping things from Allegra, but I won’t see her until she finishes around six. Hopefully, Tom will have your info by then.’

There was a flash of excitement, and something close to anticipation shining in Luke’s silver grey eyes.

Nate held out his hand. ‘Thank you, man.’

They shook hands again, and Luke checked the side and rear mirrors. ‘All clear. Go now. Say hi to Josie.’

Nate smiled to himself as he opened the door.

He could count on Luke, for Neilson loved locking up the bad guys — just as much as he did.

Chapter 26

2:40 p.m. Thursday

Josie glanced at Dickson over the laptop screen. ‘Allegra’s going to be horrified when she finds out.’

‘She won’t be the only one.’ Dickson didn’t ask to what she was referring. They’d discussed little other than Henry Grace since returning to the hotel around mid morning.

‘Nate should be close to finishing with her husband.’

The hours had crawled by, worsening Josie’s demeanour as road block after road block thwarted her progress. Her efforts to navigate the endless maze of companies had yielded nothing, while “providence” loitered at the edge of her memory, as annoying as a pebble in her shoe.

She exited the ASIC website and typed “providence” into the general search engine, running her eye down the list of results.

The first link gave a definition as divine guidance or care, while the second referred to the Rhode Island city of Providence in the New England area of America.

Oh to hell with this!

‘I’m taking a break.’ On edge, and impatient to see Nate, Josie stood up and walked over to the bed, grabbing a travel magazine off the small table as she went.

‘Good idea.’ Dickson watched as she kicked off her shoes. ‘Nate will be back soon, and the sexual tension will be steaming up the room.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Since Barry Simpson’s attack, they’d grown more comfortable with each other, to the point where Josie could imagine them being friends in the future.

Dickson grinned and returned to his work, and Josie stretched out on her side, propping her chin in her hand as she began flipping through the magazine. There were promotions for adventure tours into the Australian outback, and diving holidays on the Great Barrier Reef. There was even a feature article on golfing safaris, including a round of golf and lunch at each course.

The magazine barely held her attention, and before long her limbs grew heavy and the print shimmied in front of her eyes. She roused herself as Dickson chuckled, blinked heavy eyelids at the page.

God, she was tired. But she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to hear what Nate had to say about his meeting with Luke.

Josie yawned and continued flicking through the pages. Maybe she should get up, splash her face with cold water and make another cup of coffee.

Then suddenly a photograph caught her attention. She became more awake, peering at the article featuring two Clare Valley wineries. There was an impressive cellar door, and a highly regarded restaurant which had featured in the Good Food Guide. One of the wineries had an art gallery attached to it, but it was the vineyard itself that evoked images from the past.

The place looked familiar, though she’d never visited the Clare Valley — not even once.

Distant memories rose, but like fragments of a dream that melted away upon waking, they stayed beyond reach.

Providence?

Trying to remember that name was making her crazy, and it was a miracle she hadn’t dreamt about it, not that she’d had much sleep the past week.

She turned another page, telling herself she was still keyed up from seeing Mr. Grace this morning, when another photograph jumped out at her. Taken from the air, row upon row of grape vines stretched all the way to the mountains, turning the landscape into a green patchwork of rolling hills that contrasted brilliantly with an azure sky.

She had seen it before.

In black and white.

Someone had shown her this picture.

Josie sat upright, wide awake now, heart jumping in her chest.

What was it she couldn’t remember?

Conscious of Dickson watching her, she carried the magazine to where she’d been working on his computer. Sliding onto her chair, she typed the word “providence” into the search engine again.

The same results came up. The definition. The city of Providence in Rhode Island. The symbol of the eye they’d studied yesterday.

Josie scrolled down. There was Providence the TV series. A map of inner city Providence. Information on Brown University, the much sought after Ivy League College which drew young adults to the city.

The next link was for Providence Winery.

She glanced at the magazine article, beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead. Sliding her finger across the touchpad, she clicked the link and scanned the home page. Providence Winery was situated in the Napa Valley, California. And there, in the top left-hand corner, was the winery’s crest.

An intricately designed Eye of Providence stared back at her, the lines of the crest sketched as vines.

Memories snapped together like pieces of Lego, until they formed a picture in her mind.

‘What’s up?’

She jumped at Dickson’s voice.

‘Nothing,’ she muttered, ‘I’m just tired of going around in circles.’

‘Welcome to police work,’ he replied, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he went back to what he was doing.

Josie refocused on the screen and clicked on the “About Us” page. Finger working the touchpad, she clicked on the heading “History of the Vineyard”.

And then her name flashed in front of her eyes, slugging her with the force of a king hit. Only it wasn’t her name, but one very close to it.

Joseph Valenti.

Her grandfather.

Faint memories drifted back. Sitting on his knee in their family home while he showed her photographs of the vineyard where he’d grown up.

This was it! He’d lived here, in the Napa Valley, before coming to Australia and starting the construction company her father had carried on. The vineyard was so similar to the Clare Valley vineyard, she’d thought it one and the same.

Hands clammy, Josie scrolled further down the page. Oblivious to the room around her, she read about the family vineyard in America her parents had never bothered to tell her about.

The Valenti family emigrated from Sicily after the First World War, purchased a small parcel of land in the Napa Valley and established a winery with vines brought from their native island. Joseph Valenti and his brother, Ziggy, had been born in the depression era. Joseph later emigrated to Australia, and left his brother to run Providence. Ziggy ran the winery until his death, and the company was now under the control of his son, Ziggy Jnr.

Should we be looking for an American connection?

She heard Dickson’s voice in her head and determinedly shut it down. The name had conjured up long forgotten memories — that’s all. It didn’t mean her family had any connection with the company Providence Pty. Limited, which they knew to be involved in the money laundering racket.

The sound of the door opening had her spinning around in her chair. She leaped up, gasped as she came nose to nose with Dickson.

She hadn’t even heard him get up.

Past his shoulder, she could see Nate coming through the door.

Then Dickson’s fingers closed around her arm, as if he thought she might run, eyes moving from her face, to the screen, and back again.

‘I think you’d better tell us what you’ve found, Josie.’

Nate closed the door.

He hadn’t caught Dickson’s words, but his offsider’s fingers were curled around Josie’s arm. And Josie was looking right at him, a shocked expression on her face.

Nate’s heart shifted like a tectonic plate.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked, the words rough and harsh. He looked from one to the other, unsure if he wanted to learn the truth. Hell, it would be easier to just walk out and leave them to it.

‘Oh Nate.’ Josie stepped away and Dickson released her. ‘I’m not exactly sure.’

And there it was — pain so fierce it felt like he was slicing off his skin without the benefit of anaesthetic. Should he be surprised? Not really. He should have known better than to get involved with someone so young, someone who didn’t know her own mind yet.

But Dickson?

Nate clenched his fists.

He wanted to tear the bastard limb from limb.

And then Dickson spoke, surprising him. ‘I knew by the look on her face she’d stumbled upon something. Take a look at this.’

Nate blinked, saw Josie turn away, eyes wounded. She’d read his expression, knew he’d doubted her.

Shit!

He’d jumped to the wrong conclusion and he needed to apologise. Josie wasn’t the type of girl to flit from one guy to another, he knew that, so why had he assumed the worst just now?

Take your pick, Hunter. Bottom line is, you’re nuts about her.

He was nuts about her, and the unfamiliar possessiveness was weird and disturbing. On top of that, the horror and drama of his job was a permanent encroachment on their time together.

And Luke was right.

He was weary. More than anything he wanted the operation over, so they could spend time developing their relationship.

But Josie knew none of this.

He went to follow her, to apologise, to remove the hurt and admit to being a stupid arse. But Dickson stepped between them, pointing anxiously at the screen.

‘Look at this, Nate. We should pass it onto Neilson’s IT guy.’

More than a little irritated, Nate stepped forward and peered at the screen.

Right off, he saw the name — Providence Winery.

A re-energizing buzz ran through his central nervous system. Was it connected to Providence Pty. Limited, the company involved in the money laundering racket? It had to be, for Josie and Dickson to be so strung out about it.

He moved the cursor across the screen, clicking on the heading “History of the Vineyard”. In the seconds it took for the page to load, he looked across at Josie. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him. He smiled in apology, but she didn’t smile back, just looked at him with unreadable eyes.

Nate refocused on the screen, blinking slowly to clear his vision.

What the fuck?

The words seemed to jump out at him in bold type.

He leaned closer.

Valenti?

The impact hit Nate with the force of a category five storm, sucking the breath from his body like he’d been sucker punched. He rested both palms on the table to steady himself, mind in overdrive as he pulled all the pieces together.

Mulvaney. Josie. Allegra. Henry Grace.

He himself had witnessed Mulvaney’s Skype call to Josie the night he was murdered. He himself had witnessed Henry Grace collecting the money from the gym this morning.

That left Allegra as the only unconfirmed link in the chain. And it fit with what Luke had told him as they’d parted ways.

They’d all assumed Mulvaney was looking for Allegra, but…

Go back, Nate. Go back the other way!

He started over.

Lizard Mulvaney. Josephine Valenti. This time he followed a diffferent path. Silvano and Marilyn Valenti. Providence Winery. Joseph Valenti, so similar a name it could be a family connection. Napa Valley. Sicily. Mafia. Organised crime.

The overseer!

Nate was so cold he could have been carved in ice.

Dear God! Was he right?

By the time he straightened and looked at Josie, she was standing, hands clenched by her sides, green eyes flashing in a silent challenge, daring him to voice his thoughts aloud.

Nate took a step towards her.

‘Is this,’ he stopped and pointed a shaky finger at the laptop, ‘is this what you say you’ve been trying to remember?’

‘Say?’ Her nostrils flared, and a furious red stained her previously white face. ‘I have been trying to remember it. You say it like you don’t believe me.’

He did believe her.

Absolutely. Unconditionally.

But they weren’t alone in the room, and some sixth sense told him not to trust Dickson.

Nate’s stomach twisted. He had no choice but to interrogate Josie. Afford her preferential treatment, and he left himself open to Dickson reporting him for not following the correct methodology.

Moments earlier, Dickson had suggested they contact Luke, making his position clear he thought they should push even harder with the tactic they’d chosen.

To arm Dickson with ammunition he could use later would be foolish. And while he believed Josie, it was crucial he get to the bottom of this if her family were involved, critical he remove her from what was certain to be a diabolical situation.

Nate shut out Josie’s face, shut out everything about her. If it were anyone else, he’d be gruelling them.

‘You expect me to buy that?’ He arched an eyebrow, kept his voice cool. ‘You think I’m fool enough to believe this has only come back to you now?’

She flinched, making him feel like such a shit he had to close his eyes for a second.

Dear God, this couldn’t be happening.

He took another step towards her. ‘Did you simply forget about this when we were searching up “providence”?’

‘Nate.’ Dickson shoved the magazine at him, but Nate raised his hand in the “stop” command and spoke to Josie again. ‘Well?’

He didn’t want to hurt her.

He loved her.

Jesus, he loved her, and that’s what made this so terrible.

To her credit, she held herself together and stood up to him, just as she had the night he’d abducted her and driven her to his safe house.

‘I think, when I was little, my Grandfather showed me a photograph of the winery where he grew up. I would have been about five at the time. Occasionally, wine from that vineyard would be delivered to our house. That’s where I know the name. Not from work. From the wine label.’

Nate’s chest grew tight. His gut instinct told him she was telling the truth, but Dickson was staring at him, expecting him to go harder at her.

Nate’s brain snapped into gear. ‘Providence, a company implicated in the money laundering racket, shares a name with a winery owned by your family. Are they connected?’

Come on, princess, fight me. Prove to Dickson you know nothing about this.

‘How would I know that?’ she snapped out the words. ‘Jesus, Nate, I’ve only just remembered myself.’

That’s the way, baby.

‘Really?’ he drawled the word.

‘It doesn’t mean it’s the same fucking providence,’ she said heatedly, temper rising to the surface. ‘It’s probably just a coincidence.’

Good girl.

She was stirred up now, and for once he was thankful for her potty mouth.

‘I don’t believe in coincidences.’

Christ, this was killing him, and he didn’t know what was worse — thinking something had been going on between her and Dickson, when it hadn’t, or the deception he was now partaking in.

He watched her face drain of colour. ‘I’m telling you the truth.’

Nake raked a hand through his hair, wondering how on earth he was ever going to pull this off. ‘I think it’s the same providence.’

She didn’t say anything, just stared at him as if she didn’t know him anymore.

‘I think it’s connected to your family.’

She shook her head, blonde curls dancing around her face as she spat the words at him. ‘You’re crazy, Nate, you know that? Certifiably. Fucking. Crazy.’

‘Think about it, Josie. Mulvaney tracked you down on Skype.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know. He needed to speak to Allegra.’

‘That’s what we all assumed.’ Nate lowered his voice, knew his quieter tone would double the impact. ‘What if he were looking for someone else?’

‘Who?’ He saw the panic in her eyes, didn’t miss the distress in her voice. ‘Henry Grace? I wouldn’t know how to contact him out of business hours.’

His poor, sweet, little princess. He’d prefer Kennett, Bull and Grassy beat the shit out of him than devastate her like this. ‘What about your father?’

‘My father?’ She clutched the back of a chair, eyes so wounded he doubted he’d ever be able to repair the damage. ‘What’s my father got to do with any of this?’

Nate shut his emotions down. He had no choice. It was the only way he could do it.

‘Luke said something as I was leaving this afternoon, something that had been bothering him and Allegra. When they switched on their phones that night, each had a missed call from you.’

She was still reeling from what he’d just said, couldn’t know where he was heading with this.

Beside him, Dickson shifted uneasily, rubbed a hand over his shaved head and spoke for the first time. ‘What are you getting at, Nate?’

Nate let the question hang in the air. He wanted to give Josie time to compose herself. It was the only thing he could do for her at the moment.

‘Mulvaney had always been in possession of Allegra’s mobile number,’ he said eventually. ‘So why didn’t he leave a voice message? If I were desperate, I would. But there was nothing, not even one missed call from him that night.’

Seconds ticked by, the only sound in the room the whir of the fan from inside the laptop.

In the end, it was Dickson who spoke first.

‘Anything could have happened. He probably just lost her number.’ He jabbed at the magazine. ‘I believe what Josie’s saying. She was looking through this before she went to the computer. I saw the shock on her face, knew straight away she’d discovered something. She was so engrossed, she didn’t even see me get up.’

Some of the hurt left Josie’s eyes. ‘Thanks, Dickson. I appreciate the support.’

Nate began breathing again.

He’d done it.

If Silvano Valenti turned out to be corrupt, at least Dickson was satisfied Josie had not been aware of it up until this point. And he couldn’t accuse Nate of going easy on her.

But he’d paid the price with his heart. He’d jeopardised their relationship, sacrificed possibly the best thing he’d ever had, to keep her above suspicion.

And understandably, she was too distraught to realise.

He’d fallen in love with her, made love to her, broken all the rules and it had been so good he hadn’t cared.

And he trusted her in a way he couldn’t bring himself to trust Dickson.

Nate’s mind raced. He needed to get onto Luke again, see if the wunderkind could find the connections.

Sick in the guts at what he’d just done, he looked over at Josie. She was standing by the window, staring into Hyde Park, refusing to even look at him.

He couldn’t blame her.

It was a bitch of a twenty-first birthday present.

Chapter 27

6:00 p.m. Thursday

When Luke Neilson stepped into the room Josie almost burst into tears. She knew Luke well — well enough to know from the expression on his face he wasn’t bearing good news. Nevertheless, he strode across the room and folded her into a type of bear hug, the kind she imagined a big brother would give a little sister. She clung to him, woollen fabric of his suit coat a rough texture against her cheek. He held her, his hand patting her back.

‘Hello, Josie. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through this week.’

Josie closed her eyes. Yes, he could. More than anyone, Luke Neilson knew about surviving horror weeks. A veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan, he’d experienced atrocities beyond most people’s comprehension.

And his words were a comfort.

She felt better for having him here.

He straightened, holding her at arm’s length. ‘Allegra’s been beside herself.’

Josie nodded, avoiding Nate’s brooding eyes. ‘Tell her I’m sorry, and that I’m okay — kind of.’

Luke gave her a sympathetic smile and lowered his hands. ‘Don’t worry. Nate will get this all sorted out one way or another.’

Luke’s faith in Nate fortified Josie, and she glanced at him again. The last few hours had been unbearable. Nate had alternated between pacing the room and working on the computer, while Dickson, caught in the middle, had kept his head down and stayed out of their way.

Conversation was non-existent, though every so often she’d look up to find Nate watching her. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she could have sworn he was trying to tell her something with his eyes.

Numb, and unable to interpret his message, she’d returned to watching the park and trying to piece together what little she knew of her family history. Her mother was of Irish descent, and they’d been to Ireland a couple of times to visit her grandparents over the years. But her paternal grandfather had died when she was six, and apart from that one time she remembered being with him, there was nothing at all in her memory bank.

Her thoughts returned to the present as she heard Nate introducing Luke to Dickson.

Then suddenly, there was no more to be said.

It was time.

Luke passed Nate an A4 white envelope. ‘The details are there, but to give you an overall picture of the Grace and Poole side of things, Henry Grace is siphoning huge amounts of cash into the firm’s lending company, writing bogus receipts using made up names. The money is deposited into the account, then loaned to various clients. Nothing unusual about that. Law firms do it all the time. It’s just another type of lending. The difference here, is that the sheer volume of cash has enabled them to become a substantial lender of vast funds. The money is paid back monthly with interest, so there’s cash constantly being withdrawn and deposited. It’s effective. Grace can clean the money pretty quickly through that account.’

Nate’s brows drew together in a frown. ‘What about Simon Poole?’

Luke shook his head. ‘There’s nothing to indicate he’s involved with the day to day administration of the lending company. That’s primarily due to the areas of law the partners practise in. Grace is corporate and investment, Poole litigation. It’s always operated along those lines by the looks of it.’

The room turned silent as each person digested the information.

Then Dickson shook his head, looked up from where he’d been staring at the carpet. ‘Why on earth would a man in Henry Grace’s position risk his career like that?’

‘I looked into Henry Grace’s family this afternoon,’ Nate said. ‘There’s a son prone to multiple dependency problems. Drugs, alcohol and gambling. Goes back ten years or more. He’s been cautioned a number of times, and at some point received a good behaviour bond. It’s a miracle he’s stayed out of prison.’

‘Daddy’s paying someone off?’ offered Dickson.

Josie stood with the men, worry eating at the lining of her stomach. It was bad enough these things were taking place in the firm where she and Allegra worked, but it was nothing compared to the immobilising fear threatening to overwhelm her as she waited for them to get onto the subject of “providence”.

But Nate hadn’t finished.

‘I also discovered Ong Chung’s an illegal immigrant. I suspected as much. He’s laundering money to keep someone quiet.’

There was a poignant silence, as if they all knew what was coming next, and no-one was willing to broach the subject.

Panic welled up inside Josie, her gaze meshing with Nate’s for a nanosecond before they all looked at Luke.

‘Is it okay to reveal this with everyone present?’ Luke asked.

There was no doubt Allegra’s husband was a class act, and for the first time Josie realised how similar the two men were. Both tall and handsome, Nate a half dozen years younger, as dark as Luke was fair. But what was obvious, was the mutual respect with which they treated each other.

‘It’s okay,’ Nate replied, his eyes resting on her face, ‘provided the information stays privy to the people in this room, until I say otherwise.’

A muscle tensed in his cheek as he looked from Luke to Dickson and back again. Both men nodded, and then Luke began to speak.

‘Tom managed to access the records of the Australian Securities and Investment Commission, the Australian Taxation Office, various banking institutions in Australia and off-shore, and one of the major accounting firms here in Sydney. The money trail was so well disguised, only someone of Tom’s capability would be able to navigate through the triple encryption and so on. He spoofed emails to gather information. The replies he received are printed off and in that envelope.’

Dickson looked at Nate. ‘Can we use those as admissible evidence if he obtained the information illegally?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Nate replied. ‘It’s sub-contracted work while undercover. Neilson’s is a registered security firm, and he has a good relationship with the police.’

Josie was beginning to sweat, the sickness in her stomach growing worse by the second so she wanted to run from the room. Then, just when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, Luke turned towards her.

‘I hate to break this distressing news to you, Josie, but it appears your father is involved in the same criminal operations as Henry Grace.’

Josie’s mind screamed, a flash of heat engulfing her body.

She stared at Luke, could see his lips moving, but the aboriginal artwork hanging behind him disappeared in a wall of spots. She stepped towards the bed, room tilting at a one-eighty degree angle.

She staggered, darkness encroaching, vision retreating.

Nate lunged at her, said her name, voice drowned out by the growing pressure in her skull.

Then suddenly she was standing in the ocean, wet sand sliding between her toes, hands trailing in the water as the sea raced around her. The sand fell away, and she lost her footing, dragged under by a vortex of water. She struggled, gasped, kicked her legs and tried to break the surface, reached for the pinprick of light way above her.

And then a giant wave swelled beneath her body, a moving mountain of water lifting her up into the sunlight and propelling her forward. She looked at the shoreline, teetered on the very crest of the wave for what seemed an eternity.

Finally, the wave unleashed its force, breaking with a powerful energy, gathering her up and tumbling her body over and over in the white wash.

The wave raced towards the shoreline, where it dumped her onto the hard, wet sand.

Hurtling her into oblivion.

‘Josie. Come on, princess, wake up.’

Nate’s voice. Kind, gentle, regretful.

That couldn’t be right. He’d been angry and accusing.

Why?

She couldn’t remember. She’d been tempted to tell him to leave her the fuck alone, but he didn’t like her swearing, and she was ashamed, so ashamed.

Behind closed lids, Josie continued to spin in the darkness, nauseous, like the time she’d gone on that roller coaster in the dark, like the time she’d drank…

That’s it!

She remembered now.

Nate was furious because she’d drunk too many Bacardi Breezers. He’d gone on and on, lecturing her on the dangers of binge drinking.

‘Princess — please?’

So why was he speaking to her now like he loved her?

She moved her head in the direction of his voice, felt the brush of a soft pillow on her cheek, a firm mattress supporting her body. But something evil prowled on the edge of her consciousness, patient, like a stalking animal.

Something she didn’t want to face.

Then all at once, everything came rushing back — the revelation and the hurt. The pain and the shame.

Josie forced her eyes open, groaning as three sets of male eyes turned to study her face. Nate was sitting on the side of the bed, Dickson standing at the foot. And over by the door, Luke was ringing for a doctor and saying something about getting Allegra.

She grasped whatever the wet thing was on her forehead and flung it away, ignoring the worry etched on Nate’s face.

‘Let me up.’ She struggled up on her elbows, but the room lurched sickeningly, and Nate’s big body wasn’t going anywhere. In the end, she had to lie back against the pillows.

He reached for her, but she slapped at him, furious at the way he’d treated her like a criminal. ‘Don’t touch me.’

He nodded, withdrew his hands, shock darkening his whiskey coloured eyes. Behind him, Dickson and Luke moved out into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind them.

‘You fainted,’ he said quietly.

‘No kidding.’ She averted her face, refusing to look at him.

‘There’s something you need to understand. I…’

‘Jesus! My life is falling apart and you want to talk.’ Furious at the way he’d treated her, furious at her father, for whatever the fuck he’d done, Josie couldn’t take any more.

‘Go away, Nate. Go away and leave me alone.’

‘I think you’d better leave, sir. You’re upsetting the lady.’

They turned at the sound of a strange voice. Luke was holding the door open and a Doctor was standing in the room, medical bag in hand.

Nate got slowly to his feet, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he raised a hand at the doctor. ‘Just give me a minute.’

He rested his hands lightly on his hips and stood looking down at her for a full ten seconds. ‘I’m moving you into a bigger suite upstairs. Allegra’s on her way over. She and Luke will stay with you until this is over.’

Josie’s hands bunched around the sheet. Even now, after what he’d done, she wanted to tell him to be careful, because she loved him, and she couldn’t bear to see him hurt.

How’s that for screwed up?

One week in Nate Hunter’s company, and his betrayal had devastated her more than her fathers. Why? Because he was a better man, and she’d expected more of him than she had of her own parents.

Then suddenly he reached out and trailed a finger along her jaw, and her heart contracted as she remembered his rage when Simpson had struck her.

‘You and I are going to have a conversation when this is over, do you hear me?’

Too choked up to answer, she kept her face averted. If she looked at Nate now she’d fall apart in front of everyone.

‘Josie?’

She could have sworn there was a catch in his voice.

‘Sir…’

He swung away then, pausing to speak to the doctor in a low voice. She couldn’t hear everything he said, but she picked up the words “shock” and “look after her”.

And then Nate was gone, closing the door behind him with a final click that made her throat ache.

And she was alone with the doctor, while Luke stood guard at the door.

Chapter 28

3:00 p.m. Monday — Three day later

Josie ran down the sweeping staircase, crossed the foyer where Luke’s two security guards were stationed, and went into the family room.

Allegra was sitting on the modular lounge, files and papers spread out everywhere, her west highland white terrier, Astro, at her feet. She looked up as Josie came in. ‘Is she sleeping?’

Josie nodded and flopped down beside her, lifting Astro into her lap when he tried to jump up on the lounge. Somehow, the little dog seemed to understand she needed comforting.

‘The half sleeping tablet the doctor gave her worked. She needed it, she’s exhausted.’

Josie was exhausted too, but unlike her mother, disinclined to go to bed. Bed made her long for Nate, so the last two nights she’d wrapped herself in a blanket and slept on the lounge. It didn’t help. Every time she closed her eyes she relived being held in his strong arms, relived cuddling into the hard heat of his body, relived the feel of his lips moving over hers.

Then she got angry, telling herself to be strong and accept that life had changed irrevocably, that she’d changed irrevocably. Her head understood what her heart couldn’t, that today was the first day of the rest of her life and that Nate belonged in her past — inextricably woven into the first twenty years.

And it had to be that way.

Nate was like Allegra, tireless in his dedication to put criminals behind bars, while she was the offspring of the biggest organised crime boss in New South Wales.

Sydney’s “overseer”.

The “Mr Big”.

The “lynchpin”, or whatever the hell you wanted to call him — and the media were calling him everything.

Dragging her thoughts back to the present, she watched as Allegra got up and went into the kitchen to boil the kettle.

‘I have to say, I’m surprised Mum’s cougar friends have been so supportive. I thought most people we know would be sending us death threats.’

Allegra leaned against the island bench, effortlessly elegant in a black stretchy top and skinny jeans. ‘These kinds of situations bring out the best and worst in people. At least you get to find out who your friends are.’

Josie nodded, thinking her pragmatic boss was definitely her best friend. ‘I’d like to think, after all these years, there’s hope for me and mum.’

Allegra nodded. ‘I’m sure there is.’

They were silent for a bit, the only sound the whir of the water heating.

‘What is that by the way?’ Allegra asked, pointing to the pyramid of crystal glasses still gracing the centre of the bench.

‘A martini fountain. It was supposed to be for my birthday party.’

Where once Josie had been embarrassed by the elaborate display, now it only made her feel sad for her mother.

Allegra tilted her head to one side and studied the intricate arrangement. ‘It’s very cool. I like it.’

Josie stroked Astro’s warm body and watched her friend set out two mugs. Allegra always insisted on making the coffee, her argument being she couldn’t cook anything, so she may as well make the coffee.

‘Shouldn’t you be in the office, Ally? We’re fine here, really. Luke has the place surrounded.’

Allegra smiled and poured boiling water into two mugs. ‘Simon’s back from the U.S. The firm’s in damage control. There’s enough going on in there as it is.’

Josie sighed, recalling the TV images of the police going into Grace and Poole.

On Saturday, Nate had spearheaded a number of tactical operations teams in a co-ordinated series of raids across Sydney and some country areas. After two years undercover, he’d finally succeeded in smashing one of the biggest drug rings in Australia, making multiple arrests, her father among them.

The same day, Luke had checked her out of the hotel and brought her home so she could be with her mother. For the past two days, six of his security guards had patrolled the property, keeping the media and interested onlookers at bay.

He and Allegra had virtually moved in.

‘I always wondered how I scored that job interview at Grace and Poole,’ Josie mused. ‘Now I know.’

Allegra gave her a stern look as she carried over their mugs. ‘Whether or not your father pulled strings with Henry Grace is irrelevant now. You’re a very capable P.A., and being without you last week reinforced that to me.’

‘Thanks, Ally.’

Josie reached up and took the mug from Allegra. In the days since her father’s arrest, she’d spent almost every minute rehashing and re-evaluating her life. Looking back, knowing what she did now, many things were put in perspective. The strange thing was, while she’d never been satisfied with her family life on any level, she found herself grieving for it now. Better the devil you know as the saying went. Only when she was talking to her mother, did the reflection stop for a short while.

‘He never wanted me to do the music thing, you know. He pressed me to accept the job at Grace and Poole, said he’d feel better knowing I was safe.’

To her horror, her voice broke again. Not that she needed to be embarrassed by crying in front of Allegra. She’d been doing it off and on for the past three days.

‘You can’t think everything he told you was a lie, Josie. For all you know, that could have been true.’

‘It’s disgusting isn’t it; the parent I thought I was closest to financed our lifestyle feeding drugs to kids. And the one I thought distant, deliberately kept me at arm’s length, even put me in boarding school, to protect me — from this.’

Allegra took a sip of her coffee. ‘You can live with people for a lifetime and never know them, just look at some of the cases we’ve had at the office. We’ve had women living with murderers, serial killers even, and what about that bigamist who was supporting an entire second family? His wife had no idea. Makes me thankful every day I have Luke.’

Josie smiled over the rim of her mug. ‘Luke is the furthest thing from a bigamist I can imagine.’

They laughed at that, and it felt good, the camaraderie cheering her after the shock and tension of the past three days. It gave Josie the courage to voice her most worrying thought. ‘Will Mum be charged do you think?’

Allegra shook her head. ‘They would have to prove she committed a crime for her to be charged.’

‘But suppose she was.’ Josie knew she was being negative, but she couldn’t help it. The last few days had been such a shock, she kept bracing herself for the next big hit. ‘Would they take her good character into consideration?’

‘Absolutely, that’s why I don’t think you have much to worry about. In the unlikely event she is charged, her charity work, the money she’s raised in the community, would all be taken into account.’

Josie nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. This hideous thing had finally brought her closer to her mother. She wasn’t ready to lose her again.

‘Here’s the news.’ Allegra moved suddenly, pointing the remote at the flat screen and turning up the volume.

And then Josie’s heart began to pound as Nate came on the screen. Dressed in a suit and tie, he was fronting some kind of press conference with the New South Wales Commissioner of Police.

Josie leaned forward, eyes drinking him in. It was the first time she’d seen him since he’d left her with the doctor, and he looked tired and drawn. Still, if anyone could make tired and drawn look sexy, Nate Hunter could. Clean shaven, dark hair trimmed and combed, his white shirt contrasted sharply with his tanned face. Whiskey coloured eyes looked unflinchingly into the camera as flashbulbs exploded around him and the Commissioner began answering questions from the assembled media.

Was it only a week since Lizard Mulvaney’s call? A week since she’d locked up this house in a panic and he’d run her off the road in the National Park? A week since she’d cut his hair in the bathroom, and he’d made her a microwave meal.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, the pounding in her chest turning to a sore ache. She was vaguely aware of Astro stirring in her lap, of Allegra taking the mug from her hands.

And then a young man addressed his next question to Nate.

‘Detective Hunter. With the Altar Boys aware they had an undercover officer in their midst for two years, do you fear retaliation? Are you scared for your life?’

Nate looked at the young man who had asked the question. ‘No. Most of the members are good people, simple bike enthusiasts who enjoy belonging to a club. The criminal element which flourished within that organisation have been arrested and charged, so the answer is no, I’m not fearful for my life.’

‘Detective Hunter?’ A young blonde reporter asked the next question. ‘It’s been revealed that Josephine Valenti was not in fact kidnapped, that she witnessed the murder of Lloyd Mulvaney and was removed from her home and taken into your protective care. Will she be called on to testify when Mitchell Kennett is formally charged with his murder?’

‘Yes, Josephine Valenti did witness that murder, and yes she will be called on to testify. However, I would point out that my involvement in the events of that night are the subject of an ongoing internal investigation.’

The woman jumped in again before anyone else could speak. ‘Do you believe Ms. Valenti was party to her father’s business interests, if you could call them that?’

‘No.’

‘Not the next generation being blooded into the family business?’

Josie gasped, watching as Nate pressed his lips together and gave the journalist a withering stare. ‘That’s a ridiculous suggestion. Ms. Valenti should not be judged by her father’s actions. She’s a twenty-one-year-old woman, an innocent party in all of this. For the record, she co-operated fully with police at all times, and greatly assisted us in making the arrests. Which of course wasn’t easy for her.’

‘What about Marilyn Valenti?’

White lines bracketed Nate’s mouth, and it was clear to Josie he was barely holding himself in check. ‘Marilyn Valenti is not our priority at the moment. We have a list of people we’re interested in talking to, and it’s likely further arrests will be made.’

‘But you can’t rule out that she could be charged in the future?’

‘Nothing can be ruled out,’ Nate snapped. ‘What I can say is that Silvano Valenti hid behind a screen of respectability provided by his wife.’

The next few questions were directed at the Police Commissioner, but Josie couldn’t take her eyes off Nate. He sat with his hands on the table, serious eyes downcast as he listened to what the Police Commissioner was saying.

‘Have you called him back yet?’ Allegra asked next to her.

Josie shook her head.

‘Why not? He’s called the house at least half a dozen times.’

There were nine messages on her mobile as well.

Josie shook her head again, eyes not leaving the screen. ‘It’s better I let him go.’

Allegra turned and looked at her then. ‘That’s rubbish, and you know it.’

‘It’s not. You didn’t see the way he looked at me, the way he accused me, like he didn’t believe me. He can deny it to that reporter all he likes, but he wasn’t sure about me for a while.’

Allegra sighed. ‘Even if he did, and I don’t believe it for a second, everyone makes mistakes, Josie. I can tell by his voice on the phone how upset he is. If you’d only talk to him.’

Unable to sit any longer Josie pushed herself up off the lounge, pleased the press conference was coming to an end. ‘I’ll see him at Dad’s court appearance tomorrow. It’ll keep until then.’

Allegra glanced at the screen, unconvinced. ‘I’m not sure that’s the right place. It’s an open court, and there’s sure to be a media circus.’

‘It’ll be fine. You’ve made arrangements for me to see Dad afterwards. I’m sure I’ll get a chance to talk to him then.’

Josie injected a false bravado into her voice she didn’t feel. The thought of fronting the public, of seeing her Dad standing in the dock being formally charged with a string of offences as long as her arm, was enough to make her want to hide under the bed the way she had as a child. The disturbing thing was, that first night she’d stayed awake and contemplated doing a runner. Changing her name and taking off across the Nullarbor to Western Australia or the Northern Territory. Why should she be tarred with the same brush as her father, shoulder the burden of a family pedigree she’d been born into through no fault of her own?

But she couldn’t do it. She’d never been a choker, never been a quitter, and she’d never leave her mother.

‘I think I’ll take a shower before Mum wakes up.’ She picked up a take-away menu from where it lay on the table and handed it to Allegra. ‘Do you want to choose something for dinner? One of the security guys is going to pick up food for everyone later. They’re making a list.’

‘I hope it’s later,’ Allegra said dryly, ‘it’s only three thirty.’

‘I know, but apparently the boys are hungry.’

‘The boys are always hungry,’ Allegra replied with a smirk.

Josie stood, set Astro on the floor and cast her eyes around the spacious room. The house resembled something out of a beautiful living magazine, the clinical space decorated with large strategically placed ornaments. It lacked the cosiness of her small apartment close to the city, the soul of Nate’s comfortable mountain style lodge.

She sighed. For her, Nate wasn’t only on the TV — he was everywhere. She saw him in the ironman on the breakfast cereal box, saw the shade of his eyes in Luke’s nightly glass of scotch, heard him in the low tonal notes of a guard’s voice.

Come on, Jos, just keep swimming.

In the bathroom, she stripped off her clothes, turned on the shower and concentrated on what she would say to her father tomorrow.

And she steadfastly refused to look at the deep white spa bath in the corner of the room.

Chapter 29

9:30 a.m. Tuesday

The bustle of the gallery had hardly settled when Silvano Valenti appeared in the dock. As the media continued flowing into the court room, the police prosecutor read through the formal charges one by one.

Her father entered no plea.

Bail was formally denied.

The entire thing was over in fifteen minutes.

Luke left with her mother, exiting through a back door to avoid the media scrum, while Josie and Allegra made their way to the cells. Nervous and sick in the stomach, Josie rode the elevator to the lower ground floor, still unsure of what she was going to say to her father.

And then the elevator doors opened, and the first person she saw was Nate.

Josie forgot to breathe.

Devastatingly handsome in a well-cut suit, it was clear he’d been waiting for them.

‘Josie, Allegra.’

He didn’t smile, and his eyes were wary when he looked at her. He didn’t shake hands, maybe because of the thick file he held, just cocked his head in that endearing way and spoke in a soft voice. ‘Follow me.’

The bowels of the court house were a hive of activity, uniformed police and plain clothes detectives escorting handcuffed prisoners to and from the court. Many interested faces turned their way, and Allegra nodded to those she knew while Josie moved in a surreal state, gaze fixed firmly in the middle of Nate’s broad back.

‘Take that corridor.’ He stopped and pointed with the file, glancing over his shoulder as he waited for them to move in front of him. ‘Mitch Kennett’s down there, and you don’t want to walk past him.’

They turned into the corridor, this one quieter than the previous thoroughfare.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a private interview room, but with the number of people being charged today, we’re short on space. I’m afraid you’re going to have to speak to your father through the bars of the cell.’

Josie nodded, throat so parched she could hardly get the words out. ‘Thank you for letting me see him.’

His eyes softened momentarily, and then he pointed with the file again, indicating they keep going. ‘It’s not nice down here, but it’s better than the prison. Try not to look at the other prisoners as you pass. He’s down the end on the right.’

Blood pulsed through Josie’s head, a furious cymbal keeping rhythmic time. She clenched her hands, stared straight ahead, reined in the turmoil when she wanted to scream and shout and rant.

They came to a halt a short distance from her father’s cell.

‘Are you sure you’ll be okay?’ The kindness in Allegra’s voice brought a lump to Josie’s throat. ‘One of us will come with you, if you like.’

Josie shook her head. ‘No — thanks anyway.’

Nate’s eyes bored into hers, and he nodded once, as if he understood this was something she needed to do on her own.

Allegra reached out and rubbed the top of her arm. ‘If you’re sure, I’ll go see Henry for a minute. I don’t want to — but I should.’

Allegra’s words gave Josie strength. Life was full of doing things that you’d prefer not to do, like fronting up at kindergarten when you couldn’t speak properly, or leaving your primary school friends to attend boarding school, because that was your parents’ wish.

She could hide away, take the easy route like her mother, and leave. Or she could stand up like Allegra, confront her father when it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.

And she would, because she’d done it before, and it was those hard decisions that had made her stronger — in the end.

She looked into Nate’s eyes. ‘I’m ready.’

‘I’ll be right here if you need me.’

A strange calmness descended over Josie as she covered the final ten steps it took to reach her father’s cell. It struck her that this must be the way people felt when they faced their death, recognition of the inevitable, an acceptance of their fate.

And then she was there.

Her father was sitting on a metal bench fixed to the floor. He was dressed in the suit he’d been wearing when Nate had arrested him, the suit in which he’d made the first of what was sure to be many court appearances.

He looked up as the movement caught his attention. ‘Josie.’

He got up off the seat and came towards her, slowly, a man she felt she didn’t know. Face lined, there was a grey pallor to his skin, and he was thinner, as she’d seen in the news broadcasts. Those times, he’d been upset, his voice cracking as he’d spoken of his only child, but now, his eyes were watchful, harder, as if the need to hide his true self was no longer there.

She reached up and gripped the bars of the cell, and in that instant knew her father hadn’t been worried for her at all. What he’d feared was this.

Exposure.

Revelation.

Capture.

‘How’s your mother?’

Josie raised her eyebrows, let her voice drip with sarcasm as she repeated the words he’d said on TV barely a week ago. ‘She’s in the kind of state you would expect a wife to be in.’

She sucked in a breath as he too reached up and gripped the bars of the cell, saw Nate move closer in her peripheral vision.

Her father smiled at her fright, and in that moment something died inside of Josie.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Why? Because that’s who we are.’

She shook her head, refused to back away any further, refused to let him intimidate her. ‘Not me.’

‘Not yet.’

‘That will never be me.’

‘Wait until you hit a downturn, wait until you hit a recession and the building company your father started is going down the toilet.’

‘Is that what happened?’ She needed to know, needed to find out the reason why.

‘Yeah, that’s what happened.’ Her father pushed off the bars then, shrugged out of his suit coat and flung it on the bench. ‘I needed to find another way of making money, of keeping the company afloat. The bikies were growing more powerful, but they needed a large injection of cash to really get going. I saw an opportunity.’

‘So it went from there?’

Her father came back and stood on the other side of the bars, and this time Josie didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.

‘It went from there.’

‘So, it was greed?’

He smirked. ‘You never complained, did you?’

If there was any flicker of feeling left inside her for her father, it was snuffed out right then. But this time, she refused to let him see just how devastated she was. He hadn’t even asked about her ordeal, hadn’t even enquired if she was alright.

She just needed to say her bit, and go.

‘You’re wrong, Dad. Money never made me happy, and I would have given it all up for a two bedroom house in the suburbs. All I ever wanted was a normal family, so don’t you dare blame Mum and me for your weakness.’

She steeled herself inside, determined to get the words out. ‘You destroyed people’s lives, destroyed whole families, grew rich feeding other people’s addictions. I can never forgive you for that.’

He started to interrupt, but she stepped back, making it clear the conversation was over. And it was over.

She only had one more thing left to say.

‘I wanted to see you, so I could tell you I won’t be seeing you again.’

When he didn’t speak, she turned away. ‘And I needed to tell you that myself.’

Body numb, Josie moved towards Nate, and this time he splayed a warm hand between her shoulder blades as he led her back the way they’d come.

‘That was a brave thing to do. Are you okay?’

Finally, Josie let go of her breath. ‘Yeah. I mean, I feel like shit at the moment, but later I know I’ll be glad I did it.’

His mouth quirked in a half smile and when they reached the elevator, he turned and gazed back down the corridor. ‘Allegra seems to have been caught up somewhere.’

‘It’s alright. I can wait here.’

Before she could guess his intention, he pushed open a door leading into the fire escape. ‘Come in here for a minute. I need to talk to you.’

Panic welled inside Josie. She didn’t want to be alone with Nate. It tore at her heart just to look at him. And it was agony being this close, and not able to touch him.

But he left her no choice, and she followed him into the stairwell. And then they were standing on the cement landing, face to face for the first time since she’d fainted in the hotel.

‘Why aren’t you returning my calls?’ he asked bluntly, looking as pissed off as he had the night he’d run her off the road. ‘I want to be here for you, and you’re shutting me out.’

Clean.

Straight to the point.

No bullshit.

And she thought men were supposed to have a hard time expressing their feelings. ‘Oh, gees, let me think, Nate, maybe it’s got something to do with my life disintegrating around me.’

He raked an impatient hand through his hair. ‘Yeah well, my life’s not that great at the moment either.’

She didn’t want to fight with him. She wanted to lean into him, have him fold her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. But she couldn’t forget the way he’d looked at her — like she’d known.

‘You’re life’s great, Nate. You’ve got “O”, you’ve got Kennett and the main players in the Altar Boys, hell, you even got Henry Grace and Ong Chung as a bonus. You’re being hailed as a hero cop, and you are. You should be happy. What more do you want?’

‘I want you,’ he said hoarsely.

It was as if all the air left Josie’s body in the one puff. He wasn’t supposed to say that. ‘That’s just being greedy, detective.’

‘What kind of lame answer is that?’ he growled.

Before she could reply, they had to step aside as two people came up the stairs. When she looked at him again, he was staring at her, eyes narrowed, jaw set in a brutal line. ‘Come on, Josie, you’re not usually one to play games.’

When she didn’t answer, he tucked the file under his arm and raked an unsteady hand through his hair. ‘For the record, I always believed you. I never doubted you.’

‘Well you could have fooled me, detective,’ she said quietly.

‘I did it because Dickson was there. I had this feeling I just couldn’t shake. I had to force myself to treat you like anyone else.’

‘Well Dickson was kind to me that day. But that’s beside the point now. There’s something I need to say.’

Come on, just like he did. Clean. Straight to the point. No bullshit.

‘I can’t do this. I’m sorry.’

There, she’d said it. It didn’t matter that her heart was haemorrhaging, that he was staring at her with so much hurt in his eyes she wanted to take it all back and kiss his pain away.

‘Do I get a reason?’

She moistened her lips with her tongue, looked up and down the stairwell to make sure they were alone.

‘I’m ashamed,’ she admitted, voice barely a whisper. ‘I’m so ashamed, Nate, and I’m not good enough for you.’

‘That’s crazy.’ He stepped towards her, but she pushed a hand against his chest. She wouldn’t be able to stand it if he touched her. Wouldn’t be able to get through what she needed to say.

‘Please.’ She blinked to clear her vision, sending tears overflowing onto her cheeks. ‘Just let me finish.’

She pushed on before anyone else could interrupt them. ‘You’re an upstanding citizen, an outstanding detective with a brilliant career ahead of you. And I’m…’ To her horror her voice cracked. ‘I’m the daughter of a notorious crime boss.’

She could see by his expression he was doing it tough, see by the way he stood with his hand covering the lower half of his face, he was having trouble staying silent.

‘If we stay together, this will haunt us. People will know, and there’ll be speculation about why you’re with me. You’ll be tarnished through association, just like I’ll be tarred with the same brush as my father. While everything’s new, it’s easy to believe we could conquer anything. But it will rear its ugly head later on, and you’ll resent it, resent me.’

He closed his eyes briefly, and when he looked at her again, a telltale glisten glowed in his beautiful eyes.

‘I won’t do it to you.’ She dashed the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘I won’t bring you down like that. Please, don’t ask me to do it.’

He didn’t say anything for a while, and she knew it was because he couldn’t.

Eventually he spoke, the words bitten off, harsh. ‘Please — Josie. Don’t quit on us.’

She reached out and put her hand on the doorknob. ‘Goodbye, Nate. Just let me go. Let me walk away — now.’

‘I love you.’

She turned away, and when she opened the door and stepped into the foyer, Allegra was waiting by the lift.

Chapter 30

5:50 p.m. Friday — Three weeks later

Josie let herself into her Pyrmont apartment and sighed with relief.

It felt so good to be home.

She dumped her handbag on the lounge, picked up the dead plant from where it sat on the coffee table and carried it through to the kitchen. Unlike her, the poor thing hadn’t survived the last four weeks.

Three days ago, her mother had gone to stay with a friend, and she’d moved back into her apartment. Luke had withdrawn the security guards from around Rainbows End, and she’d finally gone back to work at Grace and Poole. Some of the staff were awkward, didn’t really know what to say to her, but most were fine and treated her as they always had. Of course, she’d had to put up with Allegra saying ‘I told you so’ every hour, but she didn’t mind, and they were so busy she hadn’t had time to think about much else anyway.

Working helped, and her life was inching its way towards a new kind of normality.

The drug network still figured in the news, but as fresher stories began to take precedence, the spotlight turned away from the New South Wales police. Still, Josie sat down each night and watched every broadcast, just to catch a glimpse of Nate.

He hadn’t called her again, and she hadn’t expected him to. Like the gentleman he was, he understood her position, respected her feelings.

It only made her miss him all the more.

She boiled the kettle and made some instant pasta, stirring it into a mug and carrying it back into the living room to watch the news. The turbulent emotions of the last few weeks had diminished her appetite, and the only thing she could bring herself to eat was creamy pasta.

She was about halfway through her dinner when the news anchor introduced the nightly update on the recent drug arrests.

A photo of Nate came on the screen. Josie froze, fork halfway to her mouth.

‘It’s been revealed today that New South Wales police were watching Detective Ignatius Hunter for two months in the lead up to him uncovering the drug ring. Aaron Michaels is at police headquarters in the city and has been following this breaking story. Aaron, these are extraordinary claims that police were concerned enough about Detective Hunter’s activities, to have his controller, or handler if you like, determine whether or not he should be pulled from the operation?’

Josie lunged for the remote, increasing the volume, heart beating wildly as Dickson’s face replaced Nate’s on screen.

‘Yes, Michelle. Police were concerned because of the sheer length of time Detective Hunter had spent undercover. Two years is a long time away from your family, your loved ones, away from normal life so to speak. It takes a special kind of person to do this job, and they can be at risk of becoming so entrenched in their other life, it becomes normal to them. They make friendships, they enter into relationships, and they can start to care about the people they ultimately have to betray.’

Josie thought of Mitch Kennett. There was no way Nate had come to care about the chapter leader of the Altar Boys. He loathed him.

She tuned back in to the news anchor’s next question.

‘But there were also concerns that Detective Hunter might have been “turned”. Can you explain exactly what that means?’

‘There’s always concern that if the operative’s identity is discovered, he may get offered inducements. In Detective Hunter’s case, this would be by the Altar Boys. Corrupt police have in the past been paid for turning the other cheek when crimes are committed, bringing pressure to bear to make cases go away. They’ve even been paid to make files go missing.’

Josie sat frozen on the lounge as the news anchor spoke again.

‘But it was determined that this actually wasn’t the case with Detective Hunter?’

Josie breathed a huge sigh of relief.

‘Yes, that’s right. I spoke today to Detective Dickson Cross, the controller in this situation. Here’s what he had to say.’

Dickson appeared on the screen. It was the first time Josie had seen him since that horrible afternoon in the hotel. He looked exactly the same, and the bump on his head had healed.

‘I was already working as Detective Hunter’s controller,’ he was saying in response to a question that had been cut out in the editing process. ‘That’s why I was given instructions to meet with him and determine the state of his health. I was able to do this when he removed Ms. Valenti from harm’s way. Look, this is not unusual. We’re always concerned about our operatives in the field. What I can categorically say is, from my observations of Detective Hunter, there was no indication he needed to be pulled out. Sure, he was deep undercover, but he was patient and strategic in what was an extremely dangerous situation. He exercised restraint until the very end. I have the highest regard for the skills he displayed.’

‘Oh.’ Josie clapped a hand over her mouth. Nate had been right being wary of Dickson. He had turned up with another agenda. Not an evil one as it turned out, but Nate’s intuition had warned him not to entirely trust him.

And if she were honest, she’d had her reservations too.

I always believed you. I never doubted you.

But he’d doubted Dickson, and she understood now why he’d pressed her that day. They hadn’t been alone. He’d been trying to tell her with his eyes, but she’d been too distraught about her father to pick up on it. And he’d tried to tell her after she’d fainted, only the doctor made him leave.

Oh God. She had to call him.

She ran to get her mobile phone, then stopped. No, she needed to see him. A phone call wouldn’t do.

Excitement raced through Josie’s veins. She’d survived the last three weeks, surely the worst was over now and things would improve from here. Maybe they could make it work after all. Luke and Allegra had done it, despite some incredible obstacles. Why couldn’t she and Nate do the same?

Yes, tomorrow she’d drive up to the mountains and see him. She’d have to rent a car, because hers was written off, but hell she’d ride a bicycle if she had to.

Nate loved her, and she hadn’t told him she loved him back.

It was about time she did.

Chapter 31

9:30 a.m. Saturday

When Josie knocked on the front door of Nate’s house the next morning, it was Dario Byrne who answered the door.

‘Josie! How lovely to see you again.’ He smiled, eyes dipping to the flowers and wine in her hands. ‘I’m guessing those are not for me and you’re looking for Nate.’

A mixture of excitement and anxiety churning her stomach, she looked past him into the white tiled foyer, hoping Nate would suddenly appear. ‘Is he here?’

Dario’s eyes turned apologetic and it was only then she noticed the can of furniture polish in his hand. ‘You’re a day late. He left for the States yesterday.’

All the breath left Josie’s body.

She’d missed him! And it was her own stupid fault. She’d pleaded with him to let her go, and he’d abided by her wishes.

‘Oh.’ Somehow she managed to speak over the mind numbing disappointment. He would have gone back to America to visit Jonathan. And that meant seeing Jonathan’s mother.

‘I…I see.’

‘They made him take some of his leave. He’ll be back in a couple of weeks.’

She nodded, throat aching, unable to think of a single thing to say.

For a moment, Dario Byrne looked lost for words. ‘My wife and I are about to take off around Australia for three months in the Winnebago. I thought I’d give the place a once over so it’ll be nice when he gets back. Got to keep topping up the beer fund money you know.’

Poor guy, he was trying to make her smile. And here she was, standing on the porch clutching her gifts, and probably looking like she was about to burst into tears.

‘Doing the grey nomad thing huh?’ she asked, brain finally beginning to function.

‘Yes, we’ve been planning it for years. Look, Josie, do you want to bring those inside? I mean, you may as well take the flowers home, but you can leave the wine for him if you like.’

‘Um.’ She raised the wine bottle a little. ‘Do you mind if I put this in the cellar?’

‘That’s a better idea.’ Dario smiled again, clearly relieved the awkward conversation was coming to an end. ‘Go right ahead.’

Josie turned and walked down the steps, berating herself for thinking she would just turn up and find Nate sitting around waiting for her. After all, he had his real life back now, a life she wasn’t part of. There would be family to catch up with, and friends to see, she understood all that.

But did he have to go so bloody far away so soon?

‘Enjoy your trip,’ she called over her shoulder, all at once eager to get away.

‘Thanks. See you, Josie.’

And then Dario Byrne closed the door behind him.

Chapter 32

Three months later

Nate dumped another armload of vines onto the pile he’d stacked near the arbour, and paused to take a drink from his water bottle. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades, and he wiped his forehead on the arm of his tee-shirt and gazed out at the mountains. Summer was on its way, and summer meant bushfires.

The quicker he thinned out the undergrowth the better.

He thought about going for a run, following the trails beneath the cool canopy of trees in the valley, but he was getting enough of a workout here. And he hadn’t even started on the cellar yet.

He turned and walked towards the old air raid shelter. He hadn’t been inside since the night they got the bottle of Grange for Josie’s birthday and Dickson had turned up. It was bad enough working beneath the arbour and dealing with the memories. Strange how he could still feel her body tucked against his side, smell the perfume in her hair.

He thrust his hand into the vines and groped for the metal handle, thinking he’d have to buy a few dozen bottles of water to stack in here the next time he went to the supermarket. But he avoided that place too. It reminded him of Josie.

Christ, Hunter, get a grip. When are you going to accept that it’s over?

He located the handle, pressed it down and opened the door. Daylight spilled into the room and he stepped inside.

What the fuck?

Nate’s heart began a slow throb in his chest. There, on the single plastic chair, was a huge bunch of flowers. Dead flowers. So dead they’d completely dried out, and some of the brown petals had fallen onto the floor.

And sitting beside the flowers, was a bottle of 1994 Grange.

Josie?

Nate’s breath hitched. When had she come up here?

Christ, he hadn’t known.

Hope welled up inside him as he spotted the small gift card attached to the flowers.

He snatched at it, tearing it off and taking it closer to the door so he could read it in the daylight.

I love you too. Call me. J

She loved him!

She loved him and she’d come up here and bought him — flowers?

Nate grinned like a fool. Wasn’t he supposed to do that?

Exhilaration raced through his body as he turned the gift card over. How long ago was this?

Nate checked the date on his watch against the date on the back of the card.

Two and a half months ago.

‘Arrgghh,’ he shouted in frustration and raked both hands through his hair. Two and a half months ago he was in the States, seeing Jonathan.

Why hadn’t she called again?

Because you didn’t call her, you idiot.

All that heartache. The pain. The sleepless nights.

All that wasted time.

They’d make it up. It would be alright. She couldn’t fall out of love with him in two and a half months, could she?

Shit. He had to phone her.

Explain.

And he needed a shower, needed to get into the city as fast as he could.

Holding the card in one hand, Nate pulled the door closed.

Then he took off for the house at a run.

‘The hall’s filling up. There are kids everywhere.’

Josie looked up to see Allegra standing at the backstage door. She smiled at her friend and breathed a huge sigh of relief. She hadn’t been sure how many parents would bring their children along to the rescheduled annual concert, but from the look on Allegra’s face, it seemed they were getting a good turnout.

‘I’m going to go sit with Luke now. Good luck, Josie.’

‘Musicians say “break a leg”.’

‘Break a leg then.’

‘Thanks.’

Josie stood and smoothed her hands over her black top and skirt as the first of the parents began chaperoning their children through the stage door.

‘Hey guys,’ she said as they gathered around her, ‘come on through. For the Mums and Dads, there are refreshments for sale at the back of the hall.’

She watched, heart soaring as one by one her students began to turn up.

Tonight was another small step towards regaining her life. No, not regaining it, building her new life. Building the life she wanted.

She looked around the room and smiled at the children, her hope in humanity restored, even as the ache in her heart grew worse by the day.

The only thing missing was Nate.

Nate kept his head down and moved through the darkened hall. He could see Josie up on the stage, surrounded by children, and he didn’t want to distract her. She was playing a guitar, and the kids were banging a variety of instruments and singing. It looked like a scene straight out of The Sound of Music.

Sidestepping between rows of parents with cameras, he eventually slipped into the seat next to Allegra.

Luke reached around his wife and they shook hands.

‘Glad you made it,’ Luke said quietly.

For the first time since he’d found the card, Nate breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in the chair. When he hadn’t been able to get onto Josie, he’d eventually called Luke. Discovered tonight was the night of her concert.

‘Don’t screw this up, Nate,’ said Allegra, eyes fixed on the stage.

He smiled in the dark. Nothing could dampen his jubilation tonight. He only hoped Josie would understand why it had taken him so long to get here. ‘Nice to see you too, Allegra.’

‘She may be young,’ Allegra whispered, obviously intent on having her say, ‘but she’s coped with more than most people will in a lifetime. She needs someone strong, Nate, a man, not a boy, someone older who can handle her family, who won’t be intimidated by it all.’

‘I know that, Allegra. I just have to convince her of it.’

Luke peered around his wife again. ‘You don’t want to cross Allegra, mate. She can be scary when she gets like that.’

As Allegra elbowed her husband in the ribs, Nate sat back and watched Josie. She wore a long sleeve black top and black knee length skirt, blonde curls tumbling around her shoulders as usual. She was finger picking the guitar and singing along with one of the children in a high clear voice.

A picture flashed into his mind, an image of her with their children.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he hit the delete button, trashing the image. He had to stop dreaming. Josie was far from a sure thing, and he was getting way ahead of himself.

‘Aren’t you going to congratulate my wife?’ Luke said in a low voice.

Nate whipped his head around and stared at Allegra. ‘You pregnant?’

‘No!’ Allegra rolled her eyes. ‘I’m only thirty-one.’

Nevertheless, she and Luke exchanged some kind of “club of two” smile that had Nate thinking it would definitely be on the agenda in the future.

‘Simon Poole’s offered Allegra a partnership,’ Luke said, reaching for his wife’s hand, pride evident in his voice.

‘Yeah? Good one, Ally. When’s this happening?’

‘Start of next financial year. Josie’s agreed to stay on. She’s decided she likes legal work after all.’

‘Congratulations, that’s awesome news. This day just keeps getting better and better.’

‘Thank you, Nate.’

Allegra smiled, eyes still trained on the stage. ‘Now will you two please be quiet.’

‘Bye, thanks for bringing him along.’ Josie waved goodbye as the last of the children left with their parents. She checked her watch. What could be keeping Luke and Allegra? The concert had been a success, but it had finished almost an hour ago now.

All the families had left.

Josie opened the door and stepped into the small storage room where the kids had haphazardly stacked their instruments. She needed help carting all this stuff across the car park to her new “second hand” car.

Damn! She was going to have to go out the front and find them.

She left the storage room, then halted as the door banged closed behind her.

Oh no!

Josie groaned, realisation dawning that she’d left her keys inside. She swung around and grabbed the doorknob, twisting it both ways and trying to push the door open, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge.

‘Shit!’

‘Lucky the kids have gone,’ a deep voice drawled from behind her.

Josie stilled, the beats of her heart tripping over each other, her breath catching in her throat. Two and a half months, and she hadn’t heard a word. Two and a half months, six days and ten hours to be precise, and now, just when she’d given up all hope of ever seeing him again, he decides to turn up.

She turned around, and in that one moment, all her doubts melted away.

He was standing just inside the stage door, tall, dark, eleven out of ten on her personal scale. He wore straight cut jeans, a cream tee-shirt and a stylish brown leather jacket. He looked so good, he could have walked straight from a Fifth Avenue men’s boutique in Manhattan. Not that Nate Hunter was the metro-sexual type by any stretch of the imagination. He was lean, tough, tanned and naturally sexy, but she could see he’d gone to a bit of extra trouble with his appearance tonight.

But best of all, he wore a hopeful smile, and he was holding the bottle of 1994 Grange in his hand.

‘I know I’m late. I only found the flowers this afternoon.’

Clean.

Straight to the point.

No bullshit.

‘Oh.’ Josie’s stomach filled with butterflies as she ran nervous hands down the sides of her skirt.

‘When I didn’t hear anything, I wondered, thought — maybe you’d decided to stay in the States, you know, keep screwing the Hilary Clintons of the world.’

A rare flash of irritation sparked in his eyes. ‘Josie!’

Oh God, where had that come from?

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m really nervous, and you know how I say things when I’m nervous.’

His eyes softened, and his mouth curved in a dry smile. ‘Yeah, I know.’

She waved a hand in his direction and drew in an uneven breath. ‘And you caught me by surprise, coming in unannounced like that, and looking all great. If I’ve learned anything over the last three months it’s that I hate surprises.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Now he was apologising. ‘I tried calling, but your phone was turned off.’

‘Oh.’

‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ He leaned down and put the Grange on the floor. ‘How are you?’

Josie opened her mouth to say she was fine, to parrot off the automatic response that people just expected. But this wasn’t people, this was Nate.

Suddenly, she knew she had to be honest. This man knew her better than anyone else in the world.

‘I’m alright. Truly, I am. It hasn’t been easy, it’s been bloody hard work. But bit by bit, I’m putting my life back together.’

There was a moment of uncertainty in his eyes, but then it disappeared as quickly as it came. ‘Building the wall one brick at a time, hey?’

She nodded. ‘Something like that.’

‘And your mother?’

Touched that he’d asked about her mother when many didn’t, Josie smiled. ‘Mum’s getting there too. The house is being sold — proceeds of crime and all that. But it seems there’ll be enough money for her to live on. I mean, Dad did own the construction company, so not everything’s been bought with drug money.’

She closed her eyes and wondered whether she’d ever be able to utter the words “drug money” without a pain piercing her heart.

When she opened her eyes, Nate had moved closer. ‘I’m proud of you, Josie.’

The admiration in his voice sent a wave of pleasure through her. ‘I’m trying to turn things around. Mum and I have even joined forces, if you can believe that. We’ve set up a charity, raising money to rehabilitate teenage drug addicts.’

Nate’s eyebrows shot up, so close now she could feel the heat from his body, smell his sexy clean aroma. ‘I’m very impressed, but I need you to tell me what made you change your mind, about me?’

Josie stared at his firm brown lips, her breathing turning shallow. ‘I saw the interview with Dickson on TV. You’d been right all along about him. I understood then, why you did what you did.’

He reached out and cupped her nape, coaxing her nearer, and when he spoke, his voice was a low whisper. ‘Dickson was out in the hall. He left before I could speak to him.’

Josie moved closer too, parted her lips in anticipation. She didn’t want to talk about Dickson. She wanted Nate to stop talking and kiss her.

‘I feared he might have taken my place,’ Nate murmured, warm breath fanning her face, thumb a hypnotic stroke across her cheek. ‘Has he, princess? Has Dickson taken my place?’

Josie shook her head, raised her hands and splayed them across his chest. ‘No one could ever take your place, Nate.’

He kissed her then, softly and tenderly, lips clinging to hers, hands cupping her face.

‘Josie’, he whispered between kisses. ‘God I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too.’

He groaned and gathered her closer, wrapping her in his arms and claiming her mouth again, this time in a passionate kiss. Josie slid her hands upwards, stroking her fingers across his shoulders and down his triceps, where the Altar Boys had inked the tattoo into his skin.

‘You’re thinner,’ he said against her lips, hands roaming her body.

‘I lost my appetite.’

He rested his forehead against hers. ‘I’m going to have to take you home and fatten you up.’

‘Home?’

‘Home to the mountains, and then Tasmania. I haven’t brought a girl home since high school so Mum will know it’s serious. She’d be over the moon.’

Josie stilled, unsure she was ready to confront the entire Hunter clan. ‘Your family?’

‘Yes, my family.’ Nate raised his head and held her at arm’s length, so she had no option but to look in his eyes.

‘Princess, you have to accept that you are not your father, that you did not commit his crimes. I wish I could give you the self-esteem, empower you with the confidence to know that. But I can’t. All I can offer you, is me.’

His heartfelt, genuine words brought tears to Josie’s eyes, but she blinked them away and refused to cry even happy tears. This was a night for celebration.

Gathering every bit of internal strength she could muster, she forced herself to smile and give him a gift in return. Prove to him that she’d develop the confidence to overcome all that had happened to her.

And she would, with him by her side.

‘Okay. If I’m in love with you, and I am, I guess it’s only reasonable I meet your family.’

He crushed her in another hug, burying his face in her neck and inhaling deeply. ‘You’ll love it down there. There’s an apple orchard, and we can go for long walks by the river. We even get snow sometimes. It’s about as different from Sydney as you can get. It’s perfect for holidays.’

Sudden elation welled inside of Josie, and for the first time since making love with Nate in the mountains, she dared to think that she could be lucky enough to have all this. Have him. ‘It sounds beautiful, Nate.’

He kissed her again, tongue searching for hers. And then his hands were sliding all the way down her back and over the curve of her bottom.

‘No!’ He pulled away when she crushed her breasts against his chest. ‘We are not going to make love in the dusty back room of a community hall.’

‘Oh come on, detective.’ She had the urge to tease, like old times. ‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’

He growled. She didn’t know how he did it, but the low sound that rumbled from deep within his throat was positively primitive.

‘I’ve had enough adventure to last me a lifetime, and I’ve booked us a room at the “Shangri-La”.’

Josie raised her eyebrows. ‘Very posh.’

‘You better believe it. Undercover work pays extremely well.’

Josie sobered. She’d been so excited, she hadn’t even thought about his next assignment. How would she cope without him, cope with knowing he was constantly in danger?

‘Hey.’ He captured her chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting her face up so he could look into her eyes. ‘What just happened?’

‘When do you start your next assignment?’

He grinned. ‘My undercover career is over, princess. This face has been splashed all over the media for three months. I should have mentioned undercover cops have a limited career life. Most only have one or two big assignments in them.’

Josie breathed a huge sigh of relief. She hadn’t realised that, but of course it made sense when you thought about it. ‘What will you do now?’

‘I’ve had lots of offers, from overseas, from within Australia, doing anything I want.

Luke’s even offered me something.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ He reached down and tapped her lightly on the bottom. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Josie glanced at the small storage room. ‘Er. I have a problem. I’ve locked my keys in there, and all the instruments have to be out before Monday morning.’

Gees, great timing, Jos.

Nate rested his hands lightly on his hips. ‘Is that all?’

‘Is that all?’ Josie cried. ‘It’s a pain in the arse. I want to go now, Nate, leave with you — and I’m going to have to stay here and wait for a locksmith.’

‘Wait here a sec.’

He turned and disappeared out the door, returning a few minutes later holding a wrench and another fine instrument that looked like a pick.

Josie watched in amazement as Nate squatted on his haunches and carefully slid the pick into the keyway. He moved it around, using the tiniest of movements, and then he raised his other hand and did something with the wrench.

To the Altar Boys I’m Nate Jordan, mechanic by day, lock picker by night.

Suddenly there was a small click, and Nate lowered the tools, straightened up and opened the door. Then he raised an eyebrow and grinned at her, a slightly cocky expression on his handsome face.

‘That is so hot!’ Josie flung her arms around his neck and crushed her breasts against his chest. ‘I am so aroused right now, detective, you’d better get me to that hotel quick smart or we will be doing it on the floor of this hall.’

Nate laughed, picked her up in his arms and swung her around. ‘If I’d known you’d be so impressed, I’d have done it before now.’

Josie laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and savoured the moment. She’d come through the darkest days of her life and ended up with the most incredible guy on the planet. And she was safe again now.

Safe in her home city.

Safe in her relationship.

And best of all, safe in Nate’s arms.

THE END

In Safe Keeping
Lee Christine

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Kate Cuthbert and the supportive and efficient team at Escape Publishing.

Huge thanks to my critique partner, Linda Hills, for keeping me on the straight and narrow. Her belief that I can do this again is unwavering.

And finally, thanks to my amazing family. Danielle and Adam, you inspire me! And to my wonderful husband, Damian, who never complains about picking up take-away or having soup for dinner when things get a bit full on.

To my brother, Ray, with love.

For always being there.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter One

5 p.m. Friday

Laila Richards had always known success came at a price, but she could never have imagined it would cost her Evan Barclay, the man she’d been sleeping with for the past six weeks, the man she’d shared the most unbelievable sex with, and not much else.

So it was with a heavy heart she waited in the steel-and-glass foyer of Poole Greenwood Lawyers. This was her only chance to speak with him before the weekend, and the man needed to hear what she had to say — tonight.

‘Ms Richards doesn’t have an appointment.’ The receptionist spoke into a microphone attached to her wireless headset and continued to sort mail. ‘She’s left emails and messages, but Mr Barclay hasn’t responded.’

There was a halt in the conversation, then the woman’s white-tipped nails clicked against the plastic as she flicked away the microphone and looked at Laila.

‘Mr Barclay’s been in lockdown negotiations with a client for the past three days. A junior solicitor on his team can see you.’

Laila scraped back a few blonde hairs that had worked free of the thick braid she always wore to work. ‘I’m afraid that’s unsatisfactory.’

The receptionist’s lips compressed, her patient expression changing to one of forbearance as she watched Laila take a business card and pen from her handbag.

Scribbling the word Urgent on the back of the card, Laila handed it to the receptionist.

‘I act for Scarlett Peyton. Mr Barclay acts for her husband.’

It was typical, the way a name opened doors. The mere mention of one of Australia’s wealthiest families had the receptionist repositioning the microphone and pressing a button on the telephone console.

‘Please take a seat.’

Laila breathed a little easier and sat down in one of the ergonomically designed waiting-room chairs. Representing Scarlett Peyton in divorce proceedings was a coup by anyone’s definition, and it meant big things for her small family law practice. Scarlett’s patronage turned those she favoured into overnight success stories. Fashion designers and hair stylists became instant celebrities. Women wanted to frequent the same beauty parlour, the same gym. Even the school Scarlett’s children attended had a waiting list of more than four hundred.

If Laila handled the case well, a recommendation by Scarlett Peyton would have wealthy women lining up for her to represent them. And that meant success for the firm — and, more importantly, much-needed funds for her foundation.

It was so unfortunate, so damn disappointing, that the case brought with it a massive conflict of interest — and with Evan Barclay of all people.

Laila tried shaking off the regret threatening to swamp her. At thirty-two, Evan Barclay was one of Sydney’s young dynamo lawyers, working hard, playing even harder, and very much the helmsman in their relationship.

Until now.

When it all had to end.

Laila looked up as the receptionist came towards her, handbag hooked over one arm, a large bundle of mail in her hands.

‘I’ve sent your card upstairs, Ms Richards. But I should warn you, Mr Barclay works obscene hours.’

That she knew. How many times had he knocked on her door at three in the morning after working late? They’d screw each other’s brains out for the next few hours and then, just as the sun appeared on the horizon, he’d unwrap himself from around her body, tell her to go back to sleep, and leave.

Laila flushed, the memory of those nights threatening her resolve. ‘I don’t mind waiting.’

‘Well.’ The woman pointed at a security guard stationed by the entrance. ‘The US consulate’s a tenant of this building. The guard’s here all night.’ She raised a doubtful eyebrow at Laila. ‘I hope you’re not.’

The other woman left, and Laila settled back in the chair, eyes shifting to the sophisticated logo displayed on the wall behind the desk. Formerly Grace and Poole, the firm had become Poole Greenwood Lawyers following Henry Grace’s very public downfall and arrest eighteen months earlier. Since then the firm’s partners, Simon Poole and Allegra Greenwood, had been rebuilding its reputation. Evan Barclay formed an integral part of that plan.

Laila drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair and thought back to when his appointment had featured in the Law Review. Headhunted from another firm, his brief was to clean up the mess left by Henry Grace, rebuild the commercial division, and recoup the two million dollar fine imposed by the Law Society.

Of course it was vital he bring with him one of Australia’s wealthiest men, his school friend Duncan Peyton, as a client. That had been the deal-breaker.

At the time of reading the article, Laila would never have dreamed her path would cross with Evan Barclay’s. But that had all changed at a Law Society dinner six weeks ago.

He was already seated by the time she arrived, but he stood, raising his red wine glass in a toast to her as someone or other introduced them. She couldn’t remember who. She was only aware of the blazing interest in his eyes as he put down the glass and reached across the table. A warm hand engulfed hers, his firm grip sparking every nerve ending in her body.

Over the next hour their eyes met again and again, until finally, in the midst of the after-dinner speech, his foot nudged hers beneath the table.

He mouthed the words balls-achingly boring.

A naughty boy.

She smothered a smile and reprimanded him with a nudge of her own.

His eyes burned brighter.

Time ticked by. Tension grew. People around her became an annoying distraction.

She was deaf to the speeches, blind to anyone else in the room bar them. She grew hotter and hotter under Evan Barclay’s continued scrutiny. Her panties grew damp. She couldn’t remember being so physically attracted to a man, so turned on, just in his presence.

And then, when she thought she couldn’t stand it, that she’d have to leave, he mouthed the words. ‘Want to get out of here?’

She’d gone, without the slightest hesitation.

He’d walked straight out to the reservations desk and booked a room on the spot. They didn’t even make it out of the hotel.

It was a night to remember, and the first tine she’d slept with a man since the death of her husband four years earlier.

Laila came back to the present as the elevator doors sighed open, and then the man himself stepped out. Well over six foot three with stone-cut, handsome features, Evan Barclay wore a tailored grey suit that was a perfect match for the serious eyes sweeping the foyer.

Laila stood, willpower threatening to crumble at the sight of him. Okay, so he was screwing her, but that didn’t mean they knew each other well. Hands clammy, she watched him come towards her. They were indulging in a convenient affair that was going nowhere, and now they had a professional conflict of interest. There was no possible way she could continue this.

What about the sex?

‘Laila.’ He stopped in front of her and placed a warm hand on her elbow, a concerned frown marring his beautiful, if slightly tired, face. ‘I came right away when I heard you were here. Is everything alright?’

She nodded, and his forehead smoothed. The strange thing was, he seemed pleased to see her, not in the least annoyed that she’d interrupted him.

‘Sorry to bust in.’ Even in the public foyer of a high-rise building she felt the searing imprint of his hand, the jab of attraction that remained as strong as the night they met. ‘I did email.’

‘Don’t apologise. We’ve been working around the clock here, that’s why I haven’t been over.’

It was Laila’s turn to frown. Is that what he thought? Seriously? That she was here because he hadn’t shown up for a few nights?

‘That’s not why I’m here.’

‘Oh.’ He checked the Tag Heuer watch that had graced her bedside table in recent weeks. ‘Can you come with me while you tell me what’s up?’

‘Err…’ Right away he had her off balance. This wasn’t how she’d planned things in her head.

‘I’m late for a close-the-deal party at The Bowery. It’s only around the corner.’

The Bowery. A mecca for Sydney’s hip and happening.

She’d heard about it, knew the cabanas around the roof pool rented out for a cool ten grand a night for the notorious ‘close-the-deal’ parties. And Evan referred to it like it was his local pub. It only served to highlight the yawning social gap between them, and was another reason for her to get this over as quickly as possible.

Laila’s heart gave a series of nervous throbs. ‘This won’t take long.’

Before she could begin, he leaned down and pressed his lips into the soft spot behind her ear, his hand coming up to rest on her braided hair.

‘I’ve never seen your hair this way.’ He breathed in her ear, roughened jaw scraping the side of her neck. ‘Very classy.’

Desire, hot and needy, had her stepping away from him. Of course he’d never seen her hair in a braid, they never made it out of the bedroom.

‘And that conservative little suit. It’s so proper.’ His eyes glittered as his arm came around her waist. ‘I can’t wait to get it off you.’

Heat flooded Laila’s face. She didn’t know how to act, didn’t know how to behave with him in a normal situation. But he appeared to have no such reservations. He was staring at her with that same driven expression she thought he reserved for the bedroom.

Dragging her thoughts away from the rock-hard body she knew lay under his business suit, she drew in a deep breath. ‘Evan. I took instructions from Scarlett Peyton last Tuesday.’

And I’ve thought of nothing else since then.

‘She’s taking family law proceedings against her husband.’

He remained silent, and Laila held her breath as intelligent eyes studied her face. Eventually, the corners of his mouth turned up in a pleased smile. ‘Congratulations, that’s great. A client like Scarlett will be a real boon for your practice.’

‘Not so great for us though,’ she managed to say, throat so dry the words came out with an uncool croak.

He gripped her hand and pulled her towards the door. ‘Why do you say that?’

Laila hurried along beside him, thoughts crowding her mind as he bade the security guard goodnight and pushed open the heavy glass door. She didn’t know what reaction she’d been expecting; an acknowledgement of the situation perhaps, followed by resignation. Certainly not this.

‘You know why. We have a massive conflict of interest.’

‘I’ll hand it on to someone else. I hate family law.’

Laila bristled. She hadn’t known that, but then they’d been so busy divesting each other of clothes, they hadn’t progressed much beyond the basics. And he only came to her two or three nights each week, so it wasn’t as if they’d spent a whole lot of time together.

But he wasn’t seeing anyone else.

That they had talked about.

Outside, the pavement was crowded with office workers, some heading home, others kicking off their weekend in one of the city’s bars. A few were headed for the Sydney Football Stadium, red-and-white Swans scarves flung around their necks.

They turned into a narrow alleyway, where hundreds of lanterns in every shape and size hung from overhead cables to form a colourful canopy. When Evan bypassed the queue lined up outside the swanky private hotel, Laila tried again.

‘I remember reading Duncan Peyton followed you to Poole Greenwood on the proviso you personally handle all his matters?’

Evan stopped by the elevator, released her hand and withdrew a black card from his wallet. ‘I’ll oversee it. Someone else can run it.’

She raised her eyebrows as he swiped the card and the elevator doors opened. ‘You’re a member here?’

He shrugged. ‘The firm gave it to me.’

Wishing they could have spoken in the privacy of a conference room or office, Laila stepped into the lift. It seemed this was about as private as they’d get.

‘It won’t work, Evan,’ she said, injecting as much finality into her tone as she possibly could.

He jabbed the button for the fifth floor, an unreadable expression on his face. ‘We’ll put up Chinese walls.’

‘Chinese walls?’ Laila almost screeched the words. He couldn’t be serious.

‘It’s a conceptual barrier that separates two or more groups, usually as a means of restricting the flow of information.’

‘I know what it means,’ she retorted hotly. ‘Your client might be willing to believe we won’t indulge in pillow talk, but I can’t ask my client to accept that.’

His eyes cut to hers. ‘Can’t?’

‘Won’t,’ she snapped. ‘I won’t risk it. If Scarlett Peyton finds out we’re sleeping together, she’ll find another lawyer.’

Oh god, stop looking at him. Remember the foundation.

‘This is my big break’, Laila went on. ‘I’ve worked one or two reasonably big cases, but this one’s huge. The referrals I’ll get after this — you can’t ask me not to take it.’

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he muttered.

The elevator doors opened and they stepped outside.

‘You’d be foolish Evan, to risk your biggest client, and the opportunity you have at Poole Greenwood, just because we’re…’

He swung around, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. ‘Just because we’re what, Laila?’

Laila’s gaze drifted past his shoulder to where a party was taking place beside a sparkling aqua pool. A guitarist was playing flamenco on a small stage while scantily dressed young women moved between the cocktail bar and the guests, drink trays balanced on their palms.

A scene flashed into her mind of the parties she’d frequented with Will, on the army base. Surrounded by friends, they were casual affairs, barbecues mostly, the setting so far removed from this sophisticated urban playground that it could have been another world.

She stepped back.

This wasn’t her scene.

Laila brought her eyes back to Evan. ‘I was going to say you’d be foolish to risk your biggest client just because you’re fucking me.’

His eyes widened, and he started to say something, but she cut him off.

‘I’ve made application to the court, seeking orders restraining your client from dealing with or encumbering any of his assets. Check your correspondence. The matter’s set down for Monday morning.’

The colour drained from his face, and past his shoulder Laila could see a man she recognised from the newspapers as Duncan Peyton. He was strolling towards them, an open Champagne bottle in one hand.

Laila braced herself and spoke neutrally, unemotionally, one lawyer to another.

‘Goodbye Evan. I expect our next meeting will be in court.’

Chapter Two

5.30 p.m. Friday

A heavy hand clamped down on Evan’s shoulder as he watched Laila walk away from him. Shoulders square, head tilted at a proud angle, she didn’t once look back.

Beside him, Duncan gave a low, quiet whistle. ‘Who’s the hot babe?’

Evan kept his eyes on Laila’s slim figure as she waited for the lift. He wanted to tell Duncan it was none of his damn business, but as of now it seemed they both had serious business with Laila Richards.

‘She’s a lawyer.’

‘Damn! I’m in the wrong job.’

‘You’ve never had a job.’

Duncan laughed, too loudly, making Evan wonder if he’d had something more than alcohol in the two hours since they’d signed off on the biggest deal of their lives.

A lock of prematurely grey hair fell over Duncan’s forehead as he jabbed an index finger into Evan’s chest. ‘My job is building the family fortune.’

‘You’ve got me for that.’

‘That’s right!’ Duncan thrust an open bottle of Bollinger at him. ‘So drink up buddy. I’ve got a two-hour start on you.’

‘No kidding?’ Evan looked down at the bottle in his hand, not bothering to hide his disdain. ‘If you’re insisting I drink this fizzy shit, the least you can do is get me a glass.’

As Duncan turned and beckoned over a half-dressed waitress, Evan watched Laila step into the elevator. She pressed the button and finally looked back at him, just as an attractive brunette sporting a ‘nothing is too much trouble’ smile — and a pony trot more suitable for the catwalk than the pool surrounds — handed him a Champagne flute.

Trying to order his chaotic thoughts, Evan filled the Champagne glass, hoping Duncan didn’t notice the tremor in his hand.

‘That lawyer, Laila Richards. She says she’s acting for Scarlett in family law proceedings.’

Duncan stared at him for a full five seconds, then threw back his head and laughed again, as if Evan had made a joke.

‘I assure you, she was serious.’ He knew the marriage had gone through rocky patches in the past, and while Scarlett had threatened to leave on numerous occasions, she’d never acted on those threats. Had she gone ahead and done it this time?

‘You didn’t think to tell me this while we were in negotiations? What’s going on, Dunk?’

Duncan gradually sobered. ‘Nothing’s going on. You know what she’s like.’

Spoilt and self-absorbed in his opinion, but he wouldn’t insult his friend’s wife, even if she had shot through.

‘I don’t live with her, so how would I know what she’s like?’

Duncan rocked back on his heels. ‘It’s just women, mate. Everything’s going along smoothly then all of a sudden they go a bit nuts. It’s probably another storm in a teacup.’

‘Don’t be so sure.’ Evan took a sip and tried not to grimace as the sparkly bubbled on his tongue and fizzed up the back of his nose. Christ, he hated Champagne. Duncan was right when he said you could take the boy out of the bush but you couldn’t take the bush out of the boy.

‘Laila Richards told me she’s made application to the court to freeze your assets. It’s set down for Monday.’

This time, Duncan visibly paled.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Anxious for his friend to understand the fiscal ramifications of any future family law proceedings, Evan set his glass down on the wooden edge of a large, white planter pot.

‘The deal with the Chinese is conditional upon you having a certain net worth. Should that net worth slip below the predetermined figure, there could be grounds to terminate the contracts.’

A chill ran over Evan’s pores beneath the fabric of his business shirt. The contracts were for the construction of two office towers and two six-star hotels — one on Sydney’s prime waterfront, the other in Hong Kong.

Fuck! He couldn’t believe it.

The ink wasn’t dry on the contracts and already they could be null and void, the partnership between the Chinese consortium and the Peyton family at serious risk.

Duncan gave a dismissive wave and staggered a little. ‘That won’t happen.’

Evan gripped his client’s arm and cast his eyes about to see if anyone had noticed. ‘You’re half tanked.’

Lowering his voice, he tried to drive his point home. ‘The Chinese get wind of a drawn-out divorce, and there’s every chance they’ll walk. Remember, Scarlett’s a signatory to certain companies and trusts.’

‘Mate…’ This time Duncan’s tone held a warning, like he was chiding an errant child. ‘Just forget about it, alright? The Chinese directors are over there in the cabana, already partying. I promise you, I’ll go home and sort out the problem with Scarlett, and I’ll call you tomorrow. Everything will be okay.’

It was possible Duncan was keeping something from him; understandable even, seeing as it involved his marriage.

Evan turned and looked out over the pool, jaw locked so tight his molars ached. Regardless of his personal reservations, he had to accept his friend knew best — as least where his wife was concerned.

‘Why isn’t she here?’ he asked eventually, deciding to back off.

Duncan made a sweeping movement with his hand and somehow managed to stay on his feet. ‘She hates all this.’

As they watched, a woman peeled off her top and bra and dived into the water, clad only in a moulded pair of jeans. A round of applause broke out, and Duncan joined in, punching the air and then wrapping his arm around Evan’s neck.

‘Can’t understand why, I mean, what’s not to like about this place?’

Six weeks ago, Evan probably would have agreed, but that was before he’d met Laila. Beautiful, mature, independent Laila.

Evan looked at the line of suits circling the pool waiting for more girls to show up. The rooftop bar was advertised as public, but you still had to have the right body shape, the right clothes and the right connections for the doorman to even consider letting you in.

‘I don’t know mate. Anyone with a credit card can buy an Armani suit and show up here. It’s not that great.’

Duncan gave him an accusing look. ‘You’re in a shit of a mood for someone who’s just put together a multimillion-dollar deal. Try and look a little happy, will you?’

That could take some work, when he was worried out of his mind and pissed off at Laila. Sure he regretted not being able to return her emails and calls, but that was due to him being in lockdown. He’d been stuck at the office, snatching an hour or two of sleep on the couch when he could, with everything else on the backburner. The tender process required all information be kept on laptops not connected to the internet. Christ, the Chinese even demanded the conference room be swept for bugs every morning. And not the six-legged variety.

Laila had taken instructions three days ago and already made application to the court. Surely she could have shown him more courtesy than fronting up at his office at close of business on Friday. After all, this affected them personally as well as professionally.

Conscious of Duncan’s scrutiny, Evan picked up the Champagne glass.

‘You’re right, I’m in a shit of a mood. Lack of sleep. You go in. I just need a few minutes to myself, and I’ll be over.’

Duncan clapped him on the back, satisfied with his response. ‘You did well today buddy. Not bad for a kid from the bush.’

It grated, Duncan’s habit of bringing up the one-horse town he’d been dragged up in. Like he needed reminding. Like he was in danger of taking his success for granted.

Success.

Laila had jumped at her chance, seizing the opportunity to represent a high-profile figure like Scarlett. And he couldn’t blame her, though he hadn’t picked her as the ruthless business type who sacrificed relationships for work.

That was him.

Evan watched his friend move away, hoping for Duncan’s sake that the marriage crisis did turn out to be a storm in a teacup — and not only for the sake of the development. Duncan had been the only kid to befriend him when he’d arrived at their exclusive school in Sydney, and, in return, he’d fought off the bullies making the rich kid’s life miserable. And all these years later, though they were very different people, he and Duncan still needed each other.

But Laila didn’t need him. She’d cut him loose tonight without a second thought, which confirmed what he’d suspected for some time. While she wanted him for sex, and he’d been happy to oblige her, she was still in love with her late husband.

Gazing down at the golden liquid, Evan twisted the stem of the glass between his thumb and forefinger.

Oh, fuck it!

Maybe she’d done him a favour.

Determined to shake off his sombre mood, he called out to Duncan. His friend turned, eyebrows raised, a ‘what now?’ expression on his face.

Evan raised the glass in a toast, then slowly tipped the contents into the potted palm, smiling as Duncan’s expression turned scandalised.

He forced a smile. ‘Get me something worth drinking — a beer?’

As Duncan clapped his hands and disappeared inside the cabana, Evan cast a disinterested eye over the female smorgasbord on offer.

Who the fuck was he kidding?

Conflict of interest aside, he had every intention of making Laila Richards deal with him. He mightn’t be showing up at her place tonight, but his brown-eyed girl had needs to rival his own, and they’d been having too much fun for him to let her slip away.

Yes, if Scarlett had indeed left Duncan, it was time he brushed up on the Family Law Act.

And Ms Laila Richards had better square up for the fight of her life in court.

Chapter Three

7:15 p.m. Friday

An hour and a half after leaving Evan, Laila stepped inside her home in the beachside suburb of Bronte. In contrast to the upbeat, colourful atmosphere of The Bowery, where the beautiful people were dancing the night away and toasting each other’s success, the hallway of the semi-detached cottage was dark, silent and unwelcoming.

With a dispirited sigh, Laila dumped her bags on the floor and tramped towards the rear of the house, switching on lights as she went. Immediately the house changed character, the soft pastel paintwork, old-fashioned light fittings and wooden picture rails creating a cosy space that seemed to wrap around her.

She poured herself a glass of oaky Chardonnay in the kitchen, and carried it into the living room. A young Will gazed at her from the mantelpiece, the photograph taken at their high school formal.

Laila kissed her fingertips and placed them over Will’s lips. ‘I’ll fix this. I promise you.’

Laila took a sip of the full-bodied wine and settled herself on the comfortable sofa. Her mother had been beside herself with excitement when she’d seen that photograph, convinced Laila would abandon her big-time dreams of becoming a lawyer and settle in the satellite suburb of Adelaide, where she’d grown up. All she had to do was marry Will Richards, and the life her parents had mapped out for their only child would be complete.

But even back then, Will had plans to join the army.

And Laila had plans to get out of town.

The landline rang, its shrill demand interrupting her thoughts and making her heart jump. Pushing herself up from the lounge, she gave a weary sigh and told herself it was ludicrous to imagine it might be Evan. He always rang her mobile.

Still, she held an expectant breath as she hurried into the hallway and picked up the handset. ‘Hello.’

‘You’re late getting in.’

Laila went cold, her skin turning to gooseflesh. It was like one of those peculiar moments when she imagined the doorbell ringing, and then it did.

How long had it been? Two and a half years, give or take a month or two?

‘Hello Mum.’

‘Ever think of us?’

Think of them? She fought the battle of their conditioning every day of her life.

Laila stayed silent.

‘You can do a course and become qualified in South Australia. I looked into it.’

When hell freezes over.

‘I’m qualified in New South Wales.’

‘Well, you’ve always been selfish.’ Her mother’s voice grew louder, her tone more accusing. ‘There’s no reason for you to stay up there now, with your husband gone four years.’

The old anger welled up inside Laila. How long would this go on? How far away did she have to go?

‘I’ve renovated a house. Imagine that. Hopeless old me?’

Don’t do this Laila. Don’t engage. Just hang up.

Her mother laughed, as if she knew she could still get to her.

Laila ground her teeth.

‘Well you won’t get anything from us when we’re gone. You were the one who decided to choof off to the big smoke, after all we did for you.’

The resentment in Pauline Richards’ verbal slap down never failed to pull Laila down like an invisible undertow. But this is what people like her parents did. They manipulated and controlled their children’s behaviour using guilt and obligation.

And now, insinuation. Insinuation that she’d grown too big for her boots and had left them in her wake.

As difficult as it was to steel herself against her parent, when all she’d ever yearned for was a close relationship with mutual respect, Laila recalled the words of her high school counsellor.

The only thing you can do is get out. When you’re an adult, your parents don’t get a vote in your life.

‘Anyway, I must go.’

She cut off her mother’s stream of conversation and walked into the bathroom. As she always did after a confrontation with her mother, she decided to take a bath. The practice had soothed her through her tumultuous teen years, providing a place where she could lock herself away for a short while and cleanse herself of the toxicity of the household in which she lived.

She put her wine glass on the edge of the tub with an unsteady hand, telling herself the old feelings of inadequacy, drilled into her by her parents, would pass. When she emerged in half an hour’s time, the person she’d fought hard to become would be back.

But when she leaned over to turn on the taps, she froze. Small pieces of grey, fibrous material lay scattered on the floor, right near her discarded shoes. A few pieces had even fallen in the bathtub.

Frowning, Laila sank down onto the bathmat and ran a hand over the cold, white tiles. Tiny bits of a rigid, foam-like substance stuck to her upturned palm.

Resting back on her haunches, she brought her hand closer to her face. She hadn’t dragged this in on her shoes. She recognised the grey, fibre-like substance. Spray-on insulation, from inside the roof. She’d vacuumed the darn stuff up enough times when the electrician had worked on the wiring.

Laila tipped her head back and stared at the manhole directly above her, then back down at her palm. Last night she’d polished furniture, vacuumed carpets and mopped over this very floor.

Laila straightened up, running though reasons for the mess on her bathroom floor. Sometimes the wind got in under the tiles and blew through the ceiling space. Once, when a southerly buster had howled up the coast from Antarctica, a couple of roof tiles had blown off and the cover had shifted a bit. She remembered fetching the stepladder and straightening it.

But last night had been still, peaceful and dark. She’d tossed and turned, unable to sleep, knowing that today she’d be sacrificing the only thing in her life that gave her joy.

Laila turned on the tap and washed her hands in the basin. She had no idea what the weather had been like today. She hadn’t left the office until she’d gone to see Evan at Poole Greenwood.

Drying her hands, she glanced at the common wall dividing the two properties. The most likely explanation was that Grind had accessed the combined ceiling space and forgotten to tell her. The young musician had little time for the mundane aspects of life.

Still, it was disconcerting to think someone had been crawling around in the ceiling without her knowledge, and as Laila walked through the house, making sure everything was in place, she vowed to talk to her neighbour about their security.

She checked her watch. 8 p.m. Grind could have left already to play his regular Friday-night gig.

Scolding herself for being lazy and not walking next door, Laila raised the handset and pressed the short-cut button for Grind. There was probably some crazy explanation. Maybe he’d run out of space, and decided to store an amp in the ceiling.

The dial tone buzzed in her ear, and Laila listened for the beeps that would connect her call. Nothing happened. The dial tone continued its monotonous buzz.

She hit the number a second time.

Again, the call failed to connect.

Laila’s mouth went dry, heart racing in her chest as this time she chose the pre-programmed number for her office.

Again, nothing.

She lowered the handset, keeping it in her hand as she walked back into the kitchen. Maybe a workman had switched off the power, or they’d had an electrical outage, and the pre-stored numbers in her phone had been wiped. When that happened, the digital clock on her oven went back to zero.

She stopped in the doorway.

Even from here she could see the digital display glowing 8:05p.m.

Back in the hallway, she retrieved her mobile phone from her handbag and called Grind. After five rings the call went to message bank.

Tapping her foot on the polished boards, Laila waited as Grind’s recorded voice mumbled a random greeting.

‘Hi, it’s Laila. I need to know if a tradesman’s been in the roof space today. There’s some insulation on my bathroom floor, and I’ve lost the call history settings on my phone.’

Laila felt the heat rise in her face. Spoken aloud, the words sounded crazy, certainly nothing to get all worked up about. It wasn’t as if there were signs of forced entry and things were missing.

Laila closed her eyes and shook her head. She could just imagine Grind listening to her message during a break in the band’s set list, and shaking his head at her weird behaviour.

‘It’s okay,’ she mumbled. ‘Call me if you get a chance, otherwise I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’

She killed the call and looked around. She was tired, sleep deprived and strung out from her conversation with Evan, not to mention the one with her mother, of all people.

She glanced around for her wine glass.

What she needed was a soak in the tub and a solid night’s sleep.

Chapter Four

11 a.m. Saturday.

Trudy Henderson’s puffy, black-ringed eyes spoke of years of sleepless nights. But it was the sad acceptance lurking in their depths that made her look older than her thirty-five years — a look that said life had dealt her a crappy hand.

And it had.

Life had dealt them all a crappy hand the night the Blackhawk went down.

‘Thanks for coming in, Trudy.’

Trudy sighed and sat down in one of the client chairs across from Laila. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get in during the week. It’s easier on the weekends to get someone to sit with Eddie.’

Eddie had been on the Blackhawk. Now he had shrapnel in his brain.

‘It’s never a problem. I often come in on Saturdays.’ Laila watched the other woman take off her pale blue cardigan and fold it in her lap. ‘How’s everything going?’

Trudy gave a dispirited shake of her head. ‘He has good days and bad — mostly bad. He won’t improve, Laila. He’s totally dependent on me, and he hates it, so much.’

Trudy’s eyes glistened and she leaned over and pulled a tissue from her bag. ‘He thinks he’s a burden. I fear, one day — well, you know.’

Sometimes, in her dreams, Laila saw Will, like Eddie. She always woke with a sense of relief, followed by a profound guilt that tore at her insides and left her unable to go back to sleep.

Except when Evan was beside her.

Laila pushed the images away and took a steadying breath. ‘Did you manage to speak to Eddie about the class action?’

Trudy’s nervous fingers plucked at a fine gold chain encircling her throat. ‘He wants to take part in it.’

‘He’s willing to be named as one of the plaintiffs?’

‘Yes, and he understands I would have to act as his representative, because of his incapacity.’

‘Good.’ Laila leaned back in her chair. ‘Are you sure you’ve had enough time to think everything through? If either of you have second thoughts, we should discuss them now.’

Trudy shook her head. ‘No, he’s sure. So am I.’

Laila breathed a sigh of relief. She now had nine plaintiffs, more than enough to act as standard representatives of the eighteen injured or deceased men.

‘Okay.’ She opened the file and took out the pages she’d printed that morning. It was a statement of Eddie’s recollections of that fateful night. It had taken all of her resolve to get through another account of the last moments on board the Blackhawk; the final, frantic moments of Will’s life.

‘Take this home, and when Eddie’s having a good day, read it to him. If everything’s in order, we can go ahead and have you sign as his representative.’

Trudy nodded. ‘How long until you file the suit?’

Laila wished she knew. ‘I need to secure sufficient funding. Until I do, I can’t arrange for a proper investigation to start. And a thorough investigation is necessary before we start our case.’

Acquiring Scarlett Peyton as a client would help fund the action. In the meantime, frustrating as it was, there was no point in her clients believing things would move quickly.

Trudy picked up the statement, but didn’t look at it. ‘The army wives — we’re grateful for everything you’re doing Laila. And it would be nice, you know, if you’d come back to the base and visit us sometime.’

Laila smiled and reached for her legal pad. She didn’t want gratitude. She wanted to help these people get compensation, and more than anything she wanted to clear her husband’s name.

‘I don’t think the top brass will be laying out the welcome mat for me Trudy, and I’m more useful this way. I’m making progress, but it’s a long and involved process.’

‘I understand.’

‘Don’t lose heart.’ She didn’t want to give her friend false hope, but she didn’t want Trudy losing faith either. ‘The court is more sympathetic to a class action than a whole host of separate, individual suits. And it’s more cost effective this way. It’s important we get it right.’

Trudy nodded again, balling the tissue in the palm of her hand.

‘Well,’ Laila said, standing up and coming out from behind the desk. ‘I guess that’s it for now.’

At the door, the two women hugged, clinging together for a few moments.

‘I remember the day you graduated.’ Trudy’s smile was sad, and there was a faraway look in her tired eyes. ‘Will was so proud of you. Who would have thought back then, half the unit would be gone, and we’d be suing the military?’

Laila put her arm around Trudy as they walked down the corridor and into the waiting room. ‘It’s unbelievable, I know.’

‘And I know this face.’ A deep voice boomed from the waiting room. It was Mike, rolling his wheelchair out from behind the reception desk.

Trudy squealed her surprise and made a beeline for him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m here to see you.’ Mike wrapped his over-developed arms around Trudy’s waist as she leaned down and almost choked him with a hug. ‘I work here now. Didn’t Laila tell you?’

‘No.’ Trudy straightened and gave her an accusing glare.

Laila laughed. Suddenly, Trudy looked like her old, gregarious self, flitting around the mess hall with her list, telling everyone what plate they had to bring along for the next social occasion. God! How she missed those times and the company of her friends.

‘I haven’t been here very long. I’m Laila’s clerk. The legs mightn’t work, but I’m a gun on the computer. Pardon the pun.’

‘I know.’ Trudy gushed. ‘You were our “go to” man. We miss you.’

Mike raised his hands and made a touch-typing gesture. ‘Now you know where to find me.’

Trudy laughed again and caught Laila’s eye. ‘I’m so proud of both of you. You’ve moved on with your lives.’

Moved on? Maybe Mike had to some degree. He was enjoying the job so much he was considering studying law. But Laila didn’t feel like she’d moved on; she felt like a car stuck in neutral. She’d never understood the concept of moving on anyway. How could a person slam the door on one part of their life and blithely open another? Life for her didn’t work that way. She was the sum total of her experiences, the beautiful and the burdensome. She’d missed Will every single day for the past four years, and then six weeks ago Evan Barclay had drawn her to him with the force of his personality, breathing life into her numb body.

Now, she had to ‘move on’ again.

As Mike and Trudy caught up on each other’s news, Laila’s thoughts drifted back to the previous night at The Bowery. In hindsight, she was glad she’d raised the courage to front up at Poole Greenwood. Apart from the night she’d met Evan, they’d never been out in public together. Last night, she’d had a few minutes to observe him in his usual environment, a scene of corporate deals, takeovers and lucrative property developments. He pressed the flesh with merchant bankers and international consortiums, no doubt concerned with the return on the dollar and the company’s bottom line. That side of him wasn’t apparent when he was naked in her bed, but in the cold light of day it was clear that they moved in entirely different circles.

Despite that, she’d missed him last night, missed his heat, the strength of his arms around her, his hands and lips on her body. Every time she closed her eyes she saw his shocked expression at her parting words. She’d tossed and turned, half listening for a knock at the door, half hoping he’d come over for break-up sex.

She’d still been awake when Grind came home around 4 a.m.

Laila checked her watch. Grind hadn’t returned her call. He probably wasn’t awake yet.

‘Laila?’ Mike said quietly.

Laila looked up to see her next appointment standing in the doorway. Six feet tall in heels and model slim, Scarlett Peyton wore a red tailored skirt suit accessorised with a red and gold silk scarf. Gold jewellery flashed at her ears and wrists, her long dark hair swept to the side in one large curl that hung over her shoulder.

Here was a woman who circulated easily within Evan’s social circle.

‘I’m sorry I’m early.’ Scarlett glanced at Trudy, clearly mistaking her for a member of staff. ‘I assumed the traffic would be heavier.’

‘That’s fine Scarlett,’ Laila broke in. ‘Go through to my office. I’ll only be a moment.’

As Scarlett passed by in a cloud of Chanel, Laila walked over and caught Trudy in a quick embrace.

‘Take care Trude.’ She smiled at Trudy’s gobsmacked expression. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

In her office, Laila closed the door and sat opposite Scarlett, watching as the woman’s gaze flicked around the room as if assessing the decor, or lack of it. Apart from her practising certificate and a print of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, the walls were unadorned, the office furniture basic.

‘I meant to ask last time how you came to hear of my firm.’ It was strange, but she couldn’t see this woman partnering the man with the too-long hair she’d seen talking to Evan last night.

Scarlett crossed her slim legs and fixed her vivid blue eyes on Laila. ‘I did my research.’

Laila raised an eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t aware I was famous.’

‘You’re not.’

Scarlett smiled, softening her words. ‘I didn’t want any of the big firms acting for me. My husband’s family have contacts far and wide — it’s hard to escape the web. I need someone I can trust, someone who can’t be manipulated.’

‘Then you’ve come to the right place.’ Laila leaned back in her chair and opened the Peyton file. She’d been right. Scarlett would be unimpressed if she learned of her relationship with her husband’s solicitor, however casual it may be.

‘As long as you’re aware I specialise in acting for the wives of our defence force. I’d be remiss if I didn’t point that out.’

Scarlett raised one professionally shaped brow. ‘Why do you think I chose you? I know all about the Blackhawk Foundation. You only charge the minimum fee for your legal services, and when clients can afford it you ask them to donate the balance of your costs to the foundation.’

‘You have done your homework.’

Scarlett eyes flashed. ‘Oh, I always do my homework.’

Laila stayed quiet. She had to admit she was impressed by Scarlett’s diligence. Fees hadn’t been discussed at their previous appointment. Scarlett had been upset. Today, she was more contained.

The other woman leaned forward in her chair. ‘I have a proposition for you. Get me custody of my children, and the settlement I want, and charge me at the hourly rate a name firm would charge. I’m guessing that’s roughly double your standard hourly rate. After that, I’m happy to become a patron of your charity, if you like.’

Laila tried not to let her excitement show. The Peytons were known as a philanthropic family, particularly Duncan’s mother, who sat on the board of a number of Sydney charities. Negotiating a satisfactory property settlement for Scarlett would result in the foundation receiving a much-needed injection of cash.

‘That’s a very gracious offer, thank you.’ Laila folded her arms on the desk and looked her client straight in the eye. ‘As for the other, I’ll agree to get you a reasonable and fair settlement, after I’ve seen the Statement of Financial Circumstances of course.’

‘I only want what’s fair,’ Scarlett said quickly.

That remained to be seen. In Laila’s experience, couples often began with the intention of working everything out amicably. It rarely happened.

Laila picked up the affidavit she’d prepared from the top of the file. ‘While it’s smart to avoid a long, drawn-out court battle, it’s vital we move quickly to protect your interests. Bearing in mind the substantial family assets, there’s no avoiding court at this early stage.’

She slid the document across the desk. ‘This is a short affidavit in support of the orders we’re seeking. It’s straightforward. Basically, it sets out the concerns you have about your husband.’

As Scarlett read through the affidavit, Laila was gripped with more nervous excitement at the prospect of going up against a powerhouse firm like Poole Greenwood. Would her former lover appear on Duncan’s behalf, or would he hand it over to someone on his team?

She couldn’t help wondering if he was working today, preparing Duncan as she was preparing his wife. Despite his declaration that he hated family law, she knew he’d be very much involved in the case. And she was under no misapprehension. Evan Barclay would make a formidable opponent.

‘That’s all fine.’

Scarlett’s voice brought Laila back to the present, and they spent the next twenty minutes discussing the merits of sharing custody of the children. Eventually, the affidavit was signed and witnessed, the meeting at an end.

In the waiting room, Laila shook Scarlett’s hand. ‘Be sure you’re at the court by 9 a.m. sharp. The judge is certain to have questions.’

Scarlett left, and Laila stood alone in the quiet waiting room. Mike and Trudy were catching up over coffee somewhere. She’d heard Mike suggesting it as she’d followed Scarlett into her office.

In two minds whether to join them, she took her phone from her jacket pocket. There were no voicemail messages or texts as to their whereabouts. Mike’s desk was also free of the sticky notes he often used to leave her messages.

Laila straightened her shoulders, annoyed with herself for feeling a little let down. It was better this way. The conversation was always censored when she was around.

Her eyes cut to the picture of the Blackhawk helicopter hanging on the wall. In addition to the class action, she now had a huge divorce case to handle on top of all her other matters. The sooner she got to work the better.

Deciding to put Eddie’s file away, Laila moved towards the two steel filing cabinets housing the foundation’s paperwork. Side by side, they stood in a small alcove behind the reception desk. Taking a bunch of keys from her pocket, she located the right one and held it up to the lock.

Laila froze.

The drawer was already open, only a few millimetres, no more than the width of her index finger — but it was definitely open.

Laila’s heart began to race as she dropped the keys back in her pocket. Careful not to touch the surface, she inspected the cabinet. There was a clear dent in the steel frame where the lock had been jemmied open.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She’d unlocked the cabinet when she’d arrived this morning, taken out Eddie’s file, and locked it again immediately. As she always did.

When had this happened? Apart from her, only Mike, Trudy and Scarlett had been in the office today.

Laila turned to inspect the second cabinet. Again, the top drawer had been prised open. This time, there were scratches on the side where a steel implement had scrapped off some paint.

Hasty work.

Had it been done while she was seeing Trudy, before Mike had arrived? Or maybe in the last forty minutes while she’d been in the office alone with Scarlett?

It was a brazen move. Then again, it could just be kids looking to steal the petty cash. It had happened before. If that’s all it was, it was hardly worth calling the police.

With that in mind, Laila checked the petty cash tin in the middle drawer of Mike’s desk. Most of the fifty-dollar float was intact. Could the intruder have gone to the filing cabinet first, only to hightail it when they heard voices from the inner office and realised they weren’t alone?

Laila pulled a handful of tissues from the box on Mike’s desk so she wouldn’t disturb the fingerprints, and pulled open the top drawer of the cabinet.

Oh shit!

This wasn’t the work of kids. Every file had been taken out then shoved back inside in a haphazard fashion. Some of the clear plastic tabs had fallen off the file holders, and a few random papers had even come loose.

Laila stared at the mess in dismay. This was the last thing she needed. With the Peyton case looming on Monday, she still had a ton of work to get through. The class action could be put aside for a bit, at least until Trudy returned Eddie’s paperwork.

And now she had to call the police. They’d want to brush the office for fingerprints, and see if anything was missing. How could she establish that? Going through the filing cabinets would take the rest of the weekend.

A sudden movement of air had Laila’s heart leaping, and she swung around, every nerve ending in her body firing. The waiting room stared back at her, silent, empty, and it took a few moments to realise the sound had come from Mike’s computer. It was on, and the fan had kicked in.

Laila reached for the cordless mouse and went cold all over as the screensaver disappeared, revealing a message at the bottom of the screen.

It is safe to remove external drive E.

Mike would never copy anything from the office system without asking her permission. This had to have been done by the same person who’d rifled through the filing cabinets.

Laila’s eyes flicked to the computer’s USB ports.

Empty.

The device had been removed in a hurry, before the screen prompt had appeared.

A faint movement caught her eye and she jerked her head around. Outside, in the corridor, someone was standing on the other side of the frosted glass partition.

Eyes glued to the shadowy outline, Laila came out from behind the desk. People often worked on the weekend, but usually they were coming and going. They didn’t loiter outside, unless they were talking to someone else.

Laila’s glanced towards the door. She hadn’t locked it after Scarlett had left. If this was the same person who’d gone through her office, a few quick strides and he’d be back inside.

For long, agonising moments, Laila stood there, staring at the indistinct outline.

Waiting.

Willing the person to go.

What was he doing? Watching to see if anyone else was in the office?

Checking she was alone?

Laila forced her shaky legs to move. She headed for the door, arm raised, fingers reaching for the lock. She pressed the button in the centre of the handle, then turned and leaned against the door, shoulders lowering as her body went limp with relief.

Whoever was out there, they couldn’t see her now.

She groped in her coat pocket for her phone.

A door banged, and her heart leaped as the sound reverberated throughout the building.

Dragging in mouthfuls of air, Laila tried to bring her heart rate down. She knew the sound of the stairwell door; it banged like that fifty times a day. If the person had gone, there was no need to ring the police and have them race over in a panic.

Eventually, she stepped away from the door and peered through the frosted glass.

The shadow was no longer there.

Another wave of relief rolled through her body as she made her way back to Mike’s desk. Keeping a wary eye on the frosted glass, she reached for the phone and hit the speed-dial number for his mobile phone. Maybe he’d noticed someone hanging around the building. Maybe he had copied something onto a flash drive. Either way, she needed to alert him to the break-in.

A few seconds passed before Laila realised the dial tone was still buzzing in her ear. She felt an icy chill at the base of her spine, and she jabbed at the button with a jerky movement.

Nothing.

Just like last night, the pre-programmed settings had been erased.

Laila’s eyes cut to the Blackhawk. The picture had always fascinated her. If she stared hard enough, she could almost see the rotors turning, hear the unmistakeable whump whump whump as the blades sliced through the air.

She lowered the phone and thought of Will, Mike, Eddie and the others.

Had the military learned of the proposed class action and come here, searching for the information she’d gathered?

And if they had, what lengths would they go to — to ensure their cover-up remained intact?

Chapter Five

I watched Laila Richards.

Had been for a while now.

She was a creature of habit, one of those disciplined types you could set your watch by.

I liked that.

Made my job easy.

Every morning she was out the door by six, except Sunday, when she’d emerge at ten. She liked to walk, and she always took the same route, along the beach then up through the cemetery on the cliff.

Predictable.

As a lawyer, you’d think she’d be smart enough to vary her walking route — so it must have been laziness that she didn’t.

Last Sunday she’d looked my way, but my eyes were shielded by dark glasses. I’d joined a group of mourners at a graveside funeral, staying on the fringes and clutching my peonies. It was easy to blend in, standing among the others, head bowed, eyes fixed to a spot on the ground.

After she’d passed by, I’d broken away from the group and followed her, slipping between the large Victorian headstones topped with archangels and crosses. I read the names as I went, tossing the pink peonies onto a grave when I found a name I liked better than my own.

After her walk, she always went to the same cafe, sitting at a corner table and reading the Sunday papers.

Yes, Sunday was the best day to watch.

But not today.

She’d skipped her exercise this morning, and the bounce was missing from her step.

I knew why.

From my spot on the park bench, I gazed up at the glowing fluorescent lights in her fourth-floor office.

The newspaper shook between my fingers.

Chapter Six

10 a.m. Monday

Laila stood and inclined her head as the judge entered the courtroom. In her peripheral vision she could see Evan likewise deferring. On his left was Duncan Peyton, a belligerent expression on his face. The only other person in the room, apart from herself and Scarlett, was the judge’s associate, seated directly in front of him, on a lower tier.

Laila remained standing as the judge took his seat at the bench. She’d barely slept the last four nights, and it had taken all of yesterday to straighten up the filing cabinets and try to establish if anything was missing. As far as she could see, everything was accounted for — but as Mike pointed out, if the military were behind it, they’d just photograph the documents using a tiny, high-powered camera.

But she couldn’t let any of that affect her now. Depending on the outcome, the Peyton case could make or break her career.

Within moments, the judge was down to business. ‘I’ll deal with the matter of Peyton versus Peyton.’

Laila took a deep breath, nerves pinpricking her stomach. ‘Richards, solicitor, Your Honour. I appear today on behalf of the applicant wife.’

It was natural to be a little nervous representing a person of Scarlett’s standing, but Laila had appeared in this courtroom many times, and she knew the disposition of the judge well. Their relationship was one of mutual respect, and she was confident he’d treat her application with the gravity it warranted

‘Barclay, solicitor, Your Honour.’ Evan’s baritone voice projected around the room and Laila’s heart gathered speed. ‘I appear on behalf of the respondent husband.’

The judge looked up from his papers and peered at Evan over the top of his narrow reading glasses. ‘I don’t believe I’ve seen you in my court before, Mr Barclay.’

Evan’s dark head dipped a fraction. ‘No, Your Honour. I don’t often have the privilege of appearing before this honourable court.’

Laila smothered a smile. She had to hand it to him. He was smooth, controlled and charming, with an undeniable aura of confidence that gave the impression he would be as comfortable addressing a United Nations summit as he was addressing the Family Court.

With a half-smile, the judge turned to Laila. ‘Ms Richards. I’ve read through the application. Do you have any other documents for me?’

‘I do, Your Honour.’ Laila came out from behind the table and handed a document to the judge’s associate. ‘I have an affidavit sworn by my client last Saturday. A copy has already been provided to my friend.’

Her eyes cut to Evan as she returned to her seat. He was watching her, lids hooded, the corner of his mouth upturned, as if he too were thinking they’d been a whole lot more than friends.

While the judge took his time reading, Laila watched time tick by on the analogue clock. Every now and then she could hear the deep tonal notes of Evan’s hushed voice as he clarified something to Duncan Peyton, her body so attuned to his dulcet tones that the muscles in her lower body clenched. How many times had he whispered hushed words to her, sexy words, while threading his fingers through her hair?

Did Evan’s client know of their affair? Evan didn’t strike her as the kiss and tell type, but it was possible. They’d been best mates since high school.

Heat gathered in Laila’s chest and rose slowly until it warmed her face and neck. Her nerves were exacerbated because Evan was on the other side of this matter — the man who’d seen her in all her naked glory, the man who’d given her more orgasms than she could have believed possible.

Oh god!

Forcing another deep breath into her lungs, she focused on the judge. She needed to rein in her wayward thoughts or they were going to sabotage her. If there was ever a time to perform well, it was now.

To her relief the judge set aside the document. ‘Are you seeking any orders today, Ms Richards?’

Laila rose again. ‘Yes, Your Honour. I’m seeking interim orders to ensure the status quo remains, until a full hearing of the property application can be dealt with by the court.’

The judge gave a solemn nod. ‘Then I’ll address the matter of the assets first. Go on.’

Laila glanced at the opposition. Evan was writing on his legal pad, a black Mont Blanc pen — which had once slipped from his shirt pocket and landed on her bedroom floor — grasped in his right hand. His face was impassive, left elbow propped on the desk, chin cupped in his hand. He looked unconcerned, in control, as if he graced this particular courtroom every day with his presence.

‘My client is seeking orders from the court that the husband be restrained from further mortgaging any asset of the parties, any associated companies, and of any trusts of which the parties have an interest.’

‘Is there a significant likelihood of that occurring?’ asked the judge.

Laila looked at the document in front of her. ‘As deposed to in my client’s affidavit, Your Honour, you will note that paragraphs twelve to eighteen are instances where my client alleges her husband has acted inappropriately.’

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Evan look up.

‘On one occasion, there is an allegation her signature was forged. My client alleges her husband is constantly in discussion with a multitude of parties regarding different business ventures.’

Laila paused for a moment and looked at Scarlett. ‘My client is in court today, prepared to give personal testimony, if Your Honour so requires.’

Beside her, Scarlett lifted her chin, shoulders straightening under the judge’s scrutiny. But his next question was directed at Evan.

‘What does your client have to say in response, Mr Barclay?’

Laila sat, and it was Evan’s turn to stand.

‘My client strongly denies any suggestion of alleged wrongdoing, but of course I’ll need more time to get full and proper instructions in order to adequately respond to the wife’s affidavit, Your Honour.’

Evan sat down, and the room turned silent while the judge deliberated.

Laila held her breath and tried to relax her tense muscles.

After a few minutes, the judge looked up.

‘Ms Richards. At this stage, I’m going to make an interim order in accordance with your application, but the order will apply to both parties. Neither party will further encumber the assets until further order of the court.’

‘Your Honour.’ Evan’s voice reverberated around the room. ‘I strongly object to the proposed orders on the basis that their effect would prohibit my client from engaging in his day to day business.’

The judge looked unimpressed.

‘That may well be the case, Mr Barclay, but you’ll have to convince me that there is good reason for the orders to be varied. This application involves a division of the parties’ matrimonial assets, and it is proper that they not be jeopardized until the proceedings are resolved.’

Beside Evan, Duncan Peyton shook his head as if the whole thing was beyond ridiculous.

‘Your Honour.’ Once again, Evan’s voice filled the room. ‘I request an urgent return date.’

The judge hesitated, his eyes shifting between the two of them.

‘Very well, Mr Barclay, I’ll grant an order to that effect. I’ll adjourn this matter for further mention two weeks from today.’ The judge glanced at the pile of papers to his left. ‘Now, if that’s all, I’ll call the parties in the matter of Quinn versus Quinn.’

‘That’s a good outcome,’ Laila said to Scarlett as they packed up and prepared to leave the courtroom.

‘What happens now?’ Scarlett asked.

Laila led the way, pushing through the crowd and speaking over her shoulder. ‘We wait until they file their affidavit in reply. I’ll need to see you after that, to take more detailed instructions. As I said before, conversation and compromise works best. But for now, we’ll just have to wait and see what their response is.’

A posse of press surrounded them as they left the court. Sound booms were thrust in their faces, and camera shutters clicked. Laila pressed her lips together and walked on as if they didn’t exist.

‘Don’t speak to them. And expect a twitter storm. Whatever you do, don’t be goaded into replying or making any kind of statement on social media.’

Out on the pavement, Laila waved to Scarlett’s driver, watching as the black Mercedes pulled out from the curb and came to a stop beside them.

She held the door open while Scarlett climbed inside. ‘I’ll be in touch when I hear more from Evan Barclay.’

Laila slammed the door closed, then crossed the road, dodging between the cars to avoid the press as the Mercedes sped away. She always walked through Hyde Park on her way back to the office, and she needed the fresh air more than ever today. She craved a little exercise, and a few quiet moments to reflect on her first-round win.

And coffee — to keep her going.

The temperature was about five degrees cooler when she stepped into the park, the leafy oasis providing the perfect antidote after the frenetic tension of the courtroom. The bells of St Marys Cathedral rang out over the city as she passed by the Captain Cook statue and placed an order for a skim latte at the coffee hut.

It was strange speaking Evan’s name aloud — even in a professional sense. She’d never spoken about him to anyone before. In fact, up until now they’d hardly had a serious conversation that lasted more than five minutes.

He’d been honest with her from the start though, admitting he was so time-poor he was in no position to sustain a relationship. She hadn’t felt like it was an excuse. Poole Greenwood had shown faith in him, given him a great opportunity, and he was grabbing it with both hands.

His career was his priority.

She understood. The big firms extracted their pound of flesh but the rewards were astronomical. If that was the lifestyle Evan aspired to, he was entitled to go after it.

Her own priority was clearing Will’s name; that and the class action.

And if she were honest, she’d been simply enjoying Evan Barclay. She hadn’t been looking for the whole ‘serious’ thing again. Not yet. She’d been married, done the coffee and dinner dates, the engagement, the wedding, the coming together of two families. At thirty-four she was at her sexual peak, and Evan Barclay had proven himself capable of stoking her libido into a raging fire on all fronts. Still, it would have been nice to have gone out a few times.

‘Tell me you’re as turned on as I am.’ A sexy voice growled in her ear.

Laila gave a violent start and swung around.

He was standing right behind her, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, suit coat casually slung over one shoulder. He looked so darned gorgeous, and so damn hungry for her, that she wanted to push him onto the grass and crawl all over him.

‘What are you doing here?’ She looked around for Duncan Peyton, but apart from a group of mothers watching their children splash in the Archibald fountain, they were alone.

He turned his head in both directions. ‘Last time I looked, this was a public park.’

Laila’s heart beat a frantic pulse in her chest. ‘Of course it is — but…’

‘But what?’

He didn’t wait for an answer, just slapped ten dollars onto the counter and grinned at the barista over the splutter of the coffee machine. ‘I’ll have what she’s having.’

Laila raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re quoting When Harry Met Sally?’

‘Would you prefer I quote the Family Law Act?’ He moved closer and lowered his voice. ‘Better still, you do it. You were magnificent in there. I had a hard-on the entire time.’

Heat flooded Laila’s face and the park began to spin. She could handle his sexual banter in the bedroom, but mid-morning in the middle of Hyde Park was a whole different matter.

But it was so him, enticing her into his sexual field until she was powerless to resist. It just hadn’t happened in broad daylight before.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked again, wishing she could own his attitude for a day.

He waved away his change and picked up their drinks. ‘We’re having coffee Laila. That’s all. No law against it.’

She took the cup he offered, and they strolled along the path in the direction of her College Street office. ‘I know. It’s just, I thought we agreed…’

‘I didn’t agree to anything.’

She glanced at his suddenly stony profile, the cardboard cup warm in her hand. ‘You know what I mean. If the Peytons find out…’

‘There’s nothing to find out, you made that clear. For god’s sake, I have lunch with other lawyers all the time, and drink with them after work. We all end up on opposing sides at some point.’

She’d never seen him angry, or even a little bit irritated. She’d only ever seen him horny, and driven, as if on a personal mission to give her as much pleasure as she could physically stand.

Seeing him frustrated now only reinforced the fact that they didn’t know one another on a deeper level. How could they? They’d had limited time together, and she hadn’t wanted to waste their precious hours talking about a past that could never be changed, or worse, discussing hobbies.

She already knew his favourite hobby was sex.

He’d made it hers too.

‘So,’ he went on, raising his coffee cup in a toast, voice laced with derision. ‘We’re going to do what everyone else does when they break up. We’re going to stay friends’.

He said it like he didn’t believe it was possible.

They stopped walking and stood in the middle of the pathway glowering at each other.

‘Okay, I can handle being friends,’ she lied. ‘But you have to stop with the innuendo.’

‘Why?’ He moved closer, smelling of heat and sun and a compelling aftershave.

‘Just stop it.’ To Laila’s horror, her voice shook.

His face softened, and he reached out and caught her hand, eyes lowered as he ran his thumb over the rings she’d switched to her right hand.

Laila gazed down at the thin gold band and small solitaire glittering in the morning sun. Will had spent all his savings on the modest pieces, and she loved them. Now they were a reminder of vows spoken, a shared love and a life lost. She wasn’t ready to remove them. They were a daily reminder of the past, motivation for the fight ahead.

‘Alright Laila, I’ll go easy on you.’

Fearing Evan might pull her to him, and knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist if he did, Laila pulled her hand from his warm grasp.

His eyes narrowed, and then he turned away to toss his unfinished coffee into a nearby bin. ‘There’s something I need to ask about the Peyton case, before we go all formal and start discussing climate change.’

Laila breathed a sigh of relief. They were back on safe ground, for the moment.

‘There’s a pre-nup in place. I drafted it before the wedding.’

She knew about the pre-nuptial agreement. It had been the first thing Scarlett had mentioned. ‘I’m aware of it. You won’t get past first base.’

Laila waited for a crack that he’d got past first base with her, but it didn’t come.

She glanced at him as they continued down the pathway. She couldn’t help admiring the broad shoulders, the narrow hips, the sportsman’s build in the Hugo Boss suit. His expression now was all business.

She took a sip of coffee, the liquid moistening her dry mouth. ‘The family put pressure on her to sign, Evan, and afterwards she found out Duncan didn’t fully disclose his assets. It’s more than enough for the judge to throw it out.’

He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. ‘I was thinking we could use it as a basis to negotiate a settlement. Do you think Scarlett would agree to a quick mediation?’

A satisfied smile pulled at the corners of Laila’s lips. The other side was worried. That put her client in a strong position.

She tossed her cup into a green rubbish bin. Was this connected with the development they’d closed off on last Friday? The story had been all over the news on the weekend.

‘I can bring it up with her if you like,’ she offered. It was the sensible thing to do. It was in everyone’s best interest to have the matter resolved quickly.

‘That would be great.’ He smiled properly then, and Laila’s heart gave a little tumble. ‘See what can be achieved by staying friendly?’

Laila stopped walking. Evan Barclay was a master negotiator. She should have guessed there was another reason for him ditching Duncan Peyton and following her into the park.

‘Just don’t raise the issue of the pre-nup with the judge.’ She halted, waiting while an emergency vehicle passed, siren wailing. ‘If he learns you acted for both parties at the time, he’ll take you off the case. Conflict of interest.’

‘Ah.’ He gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘Conflict of interest. Has to be the story of my week.’

‘No, that would be the hotel development. I saw it on the news. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’ For the barest second his eyes flicked over her. ‘I’ll be doing my best to make sure it goes ahead as planned. I hate losing — anything.’

Laila swallowed. He was talking about the Peyton case, so why did he make it sound like he was talking about her?

The town hall clock chimed 11 a.m., reminding Laila the police were due at her office.

‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’

Evan’s eyes turned a shade cooler, and he stepped back, shoulders stiff. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

‘No. It’s…’ She started to reply, but once again her words were drowned out by the wail of a siren.

This time, Laila turned to look. A fire truck was turning into Park Street, closely followed by a second unit, sirens screaming in harsh accompaniment. As she watched, both units turned into College Street.

Laila scanned the streetscape, felt the breath freeze in her chest. Beyond the fig trees, smoke billowed from the third-floor window in her office building.

‘Oh my god!’ She kicked off her shoes, vaguely aware of Evan turning and following her line of vision.

‘What?’

But Laila was already running, briefcase clutched in one hand, shoulder bag thumping against her hip.

All she could think of was Mike.

Stuck in his chair.

And the building on fire.

Chapter Seven

11 a.m. Monday

‘Laila!’

Evan raced after her, footballer’s knees protesting at the cold standing start.

She was fast, despite being weighed down by a handbag and a slimline attaché case that probably held the Peyton file. Thank god he’d given his own file to a junior to take back to Poole Greenwood.

‘Laila, wait!’

She didn’t stop, didn’t give any sign she’d heard.

Adrenaline flowed into his muscles, warming his calves and quads. He accelerated, suit coat in one hand, tie flapping over his shoulder, a sudden rush of air cooling his face.

Ten minutes ago, he’d watched with his heart in his mouth as she dodged between the traffic. Now he feared panic would send her running onto the street.

Foliage became a green blur.

People stepped out of his way, then turned to watch.

In seconds he’d narrowed the gap.

At the park edge he skidded to a stop and surveyed the scene, tension easing slightly. Traffic was at a standstill, the fire trucks parked nose to nose and blocking access into College Street. A group of fire fighters were dragging out hoses while another two were looking up and pointing at the facade. A plume of black smoke billowed from a third-floor window.

When he looked back, he’d lost sight of Laila.

Heart slamming against his ribs, Evan scanned the crowd.

It didn’t take long to spot her. She was pushing against the tide of evacuating office workers, phone held to her ear. A few people tried to warn her not to go inside the building, but she paid them no attention and slipped into the stairwell.

Evan plunged into the crowd, enraged by her recklessness. As they had with Laila, a few people tried stopping him, among them a thick-set guy in a leather jacket who grabbed his arm and told him the smoke was becoming thick.

‘My girlfriend’s in there,’ Evan growled, surprised how the words rolled off his tongue.

The man let him go.

Evan stepped into the stairwell. A few stragglers were still coming down, and he heard one woman laugh and say somebody had probably burnt toast.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he caught up with Laila on the first-floor landing. Reaching out, he clamped his hand around her arm, hard enough to stop her in her tracks.

‘Are you crazy?’

She wheeled around, choked out some words, eyes already pink from the smoke. Evan leaned closer, unable to hear over the screeching alarm.

‘Mike.’ Soft lips touched his ear. ‘My clerk.’

She twisted out of his hold, but he caught her again, jerking her to him when she would have raced up the stairs.

‘No fucking way are you going up there. He’ll be downstairs in the crowd.’

‘I couldn’t see him. He’s not answering his phone.’ She pushed hard against his chest, and he could see now she was almost crying. ‘He’s in a chair. He won’t be able to use the elevator.’

Evan’s mind made the jump.

Jesus!

‘What floor?’

‘Four.’

He glanced up the stairwell. ‘Get out of here.’

‘No!’ She clutched at him, eyes wide and imploring. ‘It’s not your respons…’

‘Go downstairs.’ He made his voice as stony as he could. ‘You’re a slightly built woman. What are you going to do?’

She stared up at him, eyes glistening, whether from smoke or emotion or a combination of both, he wasn’t quite sure.

‘Get out Laila!’

She went.

Evan peered over the railing and watched her go. Before stepping outside, she turned and looked up at him. Her eyes meshed with his. When she didn’t move, he made an ‘off you go’ motion with his head. The next instant, she disappeared out the door.

Evan pulled back his shoulders, stretching out his diaphragm and sucking air through his nose like a swimmer preparing for a race. He felt in his pocket for his sunglasses, pulled them out and covered his eyes. Then holding his breath, he flung the woollen suit coat around his shoulders and raced up the stairs.

From the street, the blaze looked to be confined to the third floor. Mike could be okay, or he could be asphyxiating from the rising smoke. Hopefully, Laila would call any moment saying she’d located him downstairs. In the meantime, there was no way of knowing his whereabouts other than to take a look.

Evan paused on the second-floor landing, stepping aside as a couple of late evacuees came down the stairs. They looked like managers, bringing up the rear after making sure their staff had safely evacuated.

He took a breath. ‘What’s it like up there?’

‘Not too bad,’ one guy said. ‘The smoke’s filtering through the air-conditioning vents. You’re not going up are you?’

‘Just need to check on one guy.’ He took the next flight of steps, raising his coat over his head as he passed by the fire door leading into the third floor. The air was hairdryer hot, the smoke thicker, wafting in behind his sunglasses and stinging his eyes. Holding the coat sleeve across his mouth and nose, he bolted up to the fourth level.

He halted in the foyer, sucking marginally cleaner air into his lungs and scanning the board for the number of Laila’s office suite. An arrow directed him to the right, and he passed by an elevator with a brass warning sign stating ‘In case of fire, do not use lift’.

At the end of the corridor, a brass plate mounted beside the door said ‘Laila Richards, Solicitor’ and behind the frosted glass, Evan could make out the shadow of someone moving around inside.

Why would Mike voluntarily remain in the office with the fire alarms screaming and people evacuating the building? Surely, he would have gone to the stairwell where people could have helped him down.

Evan opened the door and stepped into Laila’s waiting room. The first thing he noticed was that the sprinkler system had activated; the second was the huge photograph of a Blackhawk helicopter hanging on the wall. And behind the reception desk, a well-built guy in a wheelchair was covering the computer with a plastic cover in an obvious attempt to protect the machine from water damage.

‘You Mike?’ Evan asked, chest rising and falling.

‘Yep.’

‘You gotta get out of here.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says your boss. She’s downstairs — worried.’

Mike grabbed a stack of computer leads and shoved them inside a desk drawer. ‘Who are you?’

Evan dodged a spray of water from an overhead sprinkler. ‘A friend.’

Mike looked him up and down, sizing him up.

Evan didn’t flinch, just held the guy’s steely gaze as it settled on his face.

Laila had mentioned in passing her clerk was male. That in itself wasn’t unusual in the legal profession. What was unusual was the bloke’s military appearance. He had the same hard-core look about him as Luke Neilson, Allegra Greenwood’s husband. And Will Richards had been in the army.

A memory flashed through Evan’s mind.

Rising floodwater. Bloated livestock. The military rolling into town.

‘I was ready to go when the sprinklers came on,’ Mike said. ‘I’ve tried to save as much as I could. The foundation’s everything to her.’

‘Her’ was obviously Laila, and she’d never mentioned anything about a foundation to him.

‘Nothing’s as important as your life mate, but you know that.’

Mike kept his eyes on Evan as he grabbed the push rims on the chair and wheeled himself out from behind the desk.

‘Then let’s roll. Can’t have you putting your life in danger for me.’

Evan tossed the jacket and sunglasses onto a waiting-room chair. ‘I’m guessing I owe you one.’

At the top of the stairwell, Mike levered himself out of the chair.

‘I can get down on my arse.’

Christ! He respected the military, he really did. Didn’t mean some of them weren’t arrogant pricks.

‘The smoke’s getting worse.’ Evan descended a few steps then turned and faced the other man. ‘It’ll be quicker this way. Come on.’

He bent low, preparing to take the other man’s weight.

Surprisingly, Mike didn’t argue. Moments later, Evan had him in the correct position, his shoulder pressed into the other man’s chest, arms wrapped around his knees. The stairs made the transition awkward, but Evan had lifted some serious weight in his time, and he knew how to do it properly.

Sucking mouthfuls of air into his lungs, he began pushing with his legs, powering upwards like a weightlifter as he straightened from the squat.

‘Should I be worried?’ Mike’s sarcastic voice rang out in response to Evan’s loud grunt.

‘Only that I might leave you here, smart arse,’ he hissed through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve put bigger bastards than you on my back in the past.’

Mike shut up as Evan turned in the darkened stairwell and began descending the steps. He moved carefully, staying close to the wall in case Mike tipped sideways.

Another wave of heat and smoke greeted them at the third level. Desperate to get to the lower floors, Evan rounded the corner, grabbing for the wall as Mike’s weight began shifting to the right. Daggers of pain shot up his arm as the hot door scorched his palm.

‘Fuck!’ He gasped, than coughed out a lungful of smoke.

‘You right?’ This time, Mike’s voice was devoid of sarcasm.

Chest burning, muscles shaking from the inflow of lactic acid, Evan descended another two steps. ‘We’re past the worst of it.’

On the second-floor landing, the first of the firemen were coming up from the street, oxygen tanks strapped to their backs. Evan could hear them discussing possible backdraft if they opened the door leading into the third floor.

‘Do we have a casualty?’ asked one, catching sight of Evan.

‘Paraplegic. Chair’s on the fifth.’

‘I’ll take him,’ another one said, stepping up.

‘I’ve got him balanced. Go do your job, boys.’ Ignoring his stinging hand, Evan continued his slow descent. He needed to get out. Talking used up breath he didn’t have.

‘Get checked by the medics when you’re outside.’ One of them said to his back.

Coppery light shone into the building through the bottom exit door as Evan descended the final flight of stairs.

‘How you doin’ back there?’ he managed to ask, relieved to be drawing fresher air into his lungs.

‘Better than you I’d say.’

Moments later, heart and lungs fit to bursting, Evan stepped through the doorway and onto the street. In seconds he was surrounded by people, anxious to help. A couple of guys took Mike’s weight and lowered him onto the concrete.

Evan stayed down, staring at the ground as he coughed out smoke and drew fresh air into his lungs. He couldn’t see, but he could hear Mike coughing beside him. Sweat and water from the sprinklers poured down his face, sending rivulets of soot into his eyes.

He heard Laila’s voice, felt her hands on his shoulders, pushing him down so he sat on the curb. A paramedic slipped a mask over his face, and for the first time in about eight minutes he inhaled pure oxygen.

His gut gave a sickening lurch and his head spun. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on his folded arms as he stared at his shoes and waited for the nausea to pass.

Beside him, Laila was rubbing his back and asking if he were okay. Evan nodded, and though she continued to rub his back he could hear her dressing down Mike.

‘Don’t do that again. You put your life in danger and the lives of other people. I know you meant well, but next time, please make sure you follow the correct evacuation procedure.’

Christ, she had a temper on her. He hadn’t known that. Hadn’t known she was involved with some foundation. Hadn’t known the guy she employed was Rambo in a chair.

Evan sucked in a deep breath, aware the paramedics were preparing to take Mike to hospital. There was a lot more to Laila Richards than a pretty face and a sharp mind, a lot he hadn’t bothered to learn.

A shadow fell across his feet. A different paramedic squatted in front of him.

‘You right mate?’

Evan nodded. ‘Just trying not to spew in your mask.’

The guy chuckled, relieved. ‘Take all the time you need.’

‘His hand’s blistered.’ It was Laila again, speaking to the paramedic as if he’d been badly injured.

Evan groaned and tore off the mask. He’d had football injuries worse than this.

His protest died on his lips when he saw her. Long strands of blonde hair had escaped from her braid and curled around her face in a riot of gold. Eyes, wide with worry flicked over him, streaks of dirt smeared across her cheeks like corroboree paint.

She was barefoot, and beautiful, her concern for him genuine.

He reached out and cupped her cheek, his annoyance melting away. ‘It’s alright.’

She sagged against his shoulder, and he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close. By now, most the office workers had dispersed into the park and the police had diverted traffic away from the scene.

‘I feel terrible,’ she said.

Evan gave her a gentle squeeze. ‘I was hoping for impressed.’

She went to say something, but the paramedic was back, insisting Evan go to the hospital. He eventually agreed, but only if he could sit in the back.

‘I’m coming too.’ Laila picked up the handbag and briefcase at her feet.

Evan stood. He was fit, and the lactic acid had already drained from his legs. Apart from a scratchy throat and a blistered hand, he was fine. ‘You should stay. They might need you for something.’

The look she gave him would have turned lesser men to ash, and he refrained from saying anymore as the paramedic flung open the rear doors of the ambulance and she climbed in ahead of him.

Inside, they sat on a bench seat bolted to one side of the van.

‘This is a waste of time’, he felt compelled to say as they pulled their seatbelts out of the retractor.

‘Will you stop protesting? You’re not bulletproof.’ She twisted around to locate the seatbelt buckle, sliding towards him on the vinyl seat so the length of her thigh and a nice portion of her bottom pressed against his leg.

Desire speared through Evan’s body, replacing the adrenaline from a few minutes ago with an entirely different stimulant. They were cocooned in the shadowed darkness of the rear of the van, visible only to the paramedics up front. The two men were paying little attention. The driver was manoeuvring the ambulance through the heavy traffic while the other guy was on the two-way advising the hospital who they were bringing in.

Evan couldn’t help himself. He ran his hand over the sexy dip in her spine and felt her still for a second, then fumble around as she finally located the buckle and snapped in the metal tab.

Before she could put a respectable distance between their bodies, he captured her hand, threading his fingers through hers and holding it tight. ‘I’m sorry I swore at you.’

Old-fashioned as it was, he did his best not to swear around women. It was the one lesson his mother had bothered to teach him, and only because he’d sworn at her and told her what a neglectful mother she was. She’d beaten him, but he refused to apologise for what he knew to be the truth. He’d heard what the town’s people called him — the neglected child.

Evan drew in an unsteady breath.

Laila squeezed his hand, soft brown eyes full of concern. ‘Do you need the paramedic?’

‘No.’

As always, when he remembered his childhood, his thoughts turned to old George Peyton, and he wondered how he was taking the news of Duncan and Scarlett’s separation. He was a good man, a tough old coot, and not in the best shape these days.

Christ, he was going soft, the smoke messing with his mind. The smell never failed to transport him back to that far northern corner of Australia where he’d played footy with the indigenous kids and stolen stuff from old man Peyton’s beef cattle station.

Evan closed his eyes, remembering the day the cattleman and entrepreneur had come home early from pig-shooting to find him stealing lollies from the property’s shop.

It was a day he’d never forget.

The day his life changed forever.

Chapter Eight

1.30 p.m. Monday

Laila flipped the magazine closed and sighed with relief as Evan walked into the waiting room of St Vincent’s Hospital. Two worrying hours had passed, but he was here now, the colour back in his face, his dark hair damp and combed. Apart from the soiled shirt and bandaged hand, he looked absolutely normal.

‘They cleaned you up.’

She’d managed to wash most of the grime off her body in the hospital bathroom. But she was still shoeless — and, without her heels, short next to him.

‘The nurse gave me a sponge bath.’

A rush of possessiveness robbed Laila of her voice, the thought of an attractive nurse running a warm washcloth over Evan’s chest and shoulders bothering her way more than it should.

‘You would have enjoyed that.’

His good hand lingered at her waist, the heat of his fingers searing her skin through the silky material of her blouse. ‘I can think of worse things.’

‘What did the doctor say?’

‘I’m fine. They monitored the oxygen level in my blood for a bit, that’s all. And the hand’s just blistered. How’s Mike?’

‘Unimpressed. They’re keeping him in overnight.’

‘I can imagine. And the office?’

Laila sighed. ‘Thankfully, the fire was contained to the third floor. According to the building manager, it began in a storeroom close to the exit door.’

‘Lucky.’ His grey eyes flicked around the waiting room, which had emptied out since they’d first arrived. Now, only a teenage boy with a swollen ankle and a mother, holding an asthma spacer over a child’s mouth, remained.

‘When can you get access?’

‘They’re hoping for late tomorrow.’ Nausea churned her stomach. Goodness knows what state she’d find the place in. She paid an IT company for remote server backup, so restoring their work wouldn’t be a problem, though she could do without the extra expense.

Evan nodded and took out his phone. ‘I should call Allegra. People are probably looking for me.’

She watched his retreating back as he walked across the room punching numbers into his phone. He’d done more than enough for her today, and she had no intention of burdening him further with her worries.

She sat down in a hard plastic chair and pulled out her phone. A couple of photographs of the fire had popped up on social media, one of smoke billowing from the building and another of the gridlocked traffic around College Street. But mostly they were of workers standing around in Hyde Park, bemoaning the fact that the directive to go home was taking an age.

Thankfully there were no shots of her and Evan together but, as expected, there were photographs taken earlier outside the court. Most were breaking news of the Peyton’s separation, but as yet neither lawyer had rated a mention.

Laila put her phone away as a middle-aged man walked into the waiting room, accompanied by what looked to be his teenage son. They glanced at each other when they saw Evan, the boy’s features lighting up with excitement.

Thinking she could be here for a while, Laila crossed her legs and tried getting comfortable in the chair. The duo looked to be friends of Evan, or maybe even family. They stood off to one side and spoke in hushed tones while Evan spoke to Allegra Greenwood.

There was a lull in the conversation and Evan turned, as if sensing someone behind him. Laila saw him wink at the boy, then go back to his conversation. The boy looked up at his father in obvious delight.

Intrigued, Laila watched as Evan terminated the call. Instead of approaching the couple with a smile of recognition and an outstretched hand, he waited for them to come to him.

How odd.

And then the father spoke.

‘Mr Barclay, Jake was wondering if he could bother you for your autograph.’

Laila’s mouth fell open.

‘Of course.’ Evan patted his pockets then looked around as though searching for something. ‘Err, I don’t have anything on me, I’m sorry.’

For a moment everyone looked a little embarrassed, then Evan looked straight at her.

‘Laila? Do you have a pen and paper?’

Laila closed her mouth with a snap, nodded, and fumbled with the zipper on her bag.

What the hell…?

Who…?

She burrowed through her handbag for her notepad and pen, keeping her head down to hide her astonishment. Okay, so he was well known in legal circles, but this, this was something else entirely, and it wasn’t because he’d just carried Mike out of a burning building.

She searched her mind, trying to recall the article she’d read about him. God, it was over twelve months ago and it hadn’t made mention of a previous career. She’d never heard of him, though he had the build of a sportsman. And she should know, she’d explored every inch of his body and had assumed he worked out at the gym. And he was strong. How many times had he picked her up and tossed her on the bed like she weighed nothing? And today he had carried Mike down four flights of stairs. No small feat.

Cricket?

Swimming?

Maybe a soap star — he had the looks!

Shit!

Flustered, she located the items and handed them over, confused eyes meeting his watchful ones before he looked away.

‘Who do you follow buddy?’

‘The Waratahs,’ the kid replied.

Football! A code she didn’t follow.

‘Good choice.’ Evan scribbled something on the pad then tore it off and handed it to the boy.

After many thanks and a lot of hand-shaking, the happy pair wandered off, gazing down at the autograph.

Then Evan was back.

‘Ready?’ He dropped the pad and pen into her handbag and picked up her briefcase.

Laila scrambled to her feet and followed him outside to the line of taxis. ‘So — what? You’re famous?’

When he turned around, she was amazed to see a light colour staining his cheeks. ‘A bit.’

‘Well — who are you?’

It was bizarre, asking this of someone she’d been sleeping with for the past six weeks.

He looked right at her. ‘I played football, that’s all.’

Laila could only stare at him. He was so self-effacing, almost embarrassed by the attention.

‘Well you must have been good at it for people to want your autograph.’

He tilted his head. ‘I was reasonable.’

She’d bet her house that was an understatement. Evan Barclay might have a lovely sense of unimportance about him, but in her experience he didn’t do anything by halves.

‘Union?’ she asked when they were inside the cab and he’d given the driver her address.

‘Hmm.’

‘I kind of worked that out.’ She grabbed hold of the armrest as the taxi driver turned out of the Outpatients driveway and pulled into the line of traffic. ‘I…I’m sorry. I grew up in South Australia. We play Aussie Rules over there.’

‘I know.’

She winced. ‘My family aren’t really into football. I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of you.’

His body shook with silent laughter and he leaned over and patted her knee. ‘Don’t stress, it’s no big deal.’

‘It is to me.’ She was curious, her mind working overtime as she thought back on the past six weeks. ‘Is that why we’ve never been out in public?’

Laila’s eyes met the driver’s in the rear-vision mirror. Was he listening to their conversation, or did he recognise Evan too?

‘It’s one of the reasons.’

‘You told me you were time-poor, a “punishing schedule” I think you called it.’

‘That’s another reason.’ He was staring straight ahead now, a ‘subject closed’ expression on his face.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

He didn’t answer, and Laila bit down on her bottom lip. She’d done an online search for him when they’d first met, but she’d only read the legal stuff, mostly his association with the Peyton family and his appointment at Poole Greenwood.

Now she thought about it, there might have been photographs of a guy playing football, but she’d skipped over them, thinking it was someone else. Why? Why had she not made the connection?

And why was she so worked up about it? As of last Friday, they didn’t even have a relationship. It was odd though, how she’d learned more about him in the three days since they’d broken up than in all the time they’d been seeing each other.

She glanced at him again, but his expression was the same. In the end, she just decided to be honest.

‘Why the lack of enthusiasm?’ She could understand him valuing his privacy. If she thought his actions were to protect a fledging relationship, she would have been flattered. But she knew that wasn’t the case. ‘Don’t you like talking about it?’

He gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘It’s no longer a big part of my life.’

‘You still have loyal fans.’

He nodded. ‘It happens occasionally.’

In an effort to lighten his mood, she bumped her shoulder against his. ‘I bet you scored a lot.’

She couldn’t help smiling at the double entendre.

His eyes cut to hers. ‘I got across the line a few times.’

‘I bet you did.’

Even as a lawyer, he was a female magnet. Add ‘famous footballer’ to the mix, and it would be an irresistible combination for a lot of women.

She’d never forget the first time she’d laid eyes on him. He was charismatic and gorgeous, and the sexual tension had positively crackled between them.

Laila’s smile died, her stomach beginning a slow churn as an unwelcome thought took root in her mind.

‘That first night,’ she asked quietly, aware of the stillness in him. ‘You thought I recognised you, didn’t you?’

There was a pause, then a hushed. ‘What does it matter now?’

‘It matters to me.’

He looked at her then, uncertainty in his eyes as he searched her face. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

At least he was honest. Still, his frank admission hurt. More than she would have expected.

She shook her head and moved closer to the door, putting more physical distance between them. ‘Here I was, thinking we were wildly attracted to each other, and you thought I was some kind of football groupie gagging to get laid.’

He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. ‘We were wildly attracted — are. I’m sorry. It’s not as if it hadn’t happened before.’

Laila averted her face and stared out the window. ‘Yeah, thanks for that too.’

What the hell was wrong with her? She was a big girl. Three days ago she’d ended this for professional reasons. Why should she care now?

Because you still want him, that’s why!

‘It didn’t take me long to realise you didn’t know, Laila. And I liked it that you didn’t.’

His words were reasonable, rational, but they angered her because that night had been significant. He was the first man she’d been with since Will, and now it was sullied. In the beginning, she’d told herself it meant she was ready to dip her toe into the dating scene again, that she needed male companionship, needed sex.

Now, she feared it meant her heart was open, and that wouldn’t do. An open heart made her vulnerable to manipulation, and she would never allow that to happen again.

Finally, she found her voice.

‘Wow, a desperate widow and a football groupie, all rolled into one package and sitting at your table. You must have thought all your Christmases had come at once.’

‘Hey.’

Suddenly the fingers of his good hand were on her chin and he was turning her head, forcing her to look into stormy grey eyes. ‘It wasn’t a one-night stand. I kept coming back, didn’t I?’

She laid a hand on her chest. ‘Consider me duly grateful.’

As always, he remained in control, refusing to retaliate to her undisciplined sarcasm. ‘We’ll continue this conversation when we get to your place.’

‘Like hell we will.’

He released her chin, and they sat in stony silence for the remainder of the half-hour journey.

Laila had her keys in her hand when the driver pulled up in front of her house. It was a welcome sight. All she wanted was to soak in the bath, make some coffee and find out about the state of her office.

Evan and his bloody notoriety could just take a hike.

The moment the car stopped, she flung the door open and climbed out.

‘Hold the cab,’ she heard him say, and then he was right behind her as she unlatched the small, wrought-iron gate leading into her front garden.

‘I don’t want you to come in.’ She flung the words over her shoulder and stepped onto the wooden bullnose veranda.

‘Calm down,’ he growled in her ear, taking absolutely no notice and following her inside when she unlocked the door. ‘I’m not going to drive off in the middle of our first fight.’

Exasperated, Laila turned on him. ‘Our first fight suggests we’re still together, and we’re not…’

His mouth landed on hers, stealing her breath and turning her protest into a needy moan. He growled low down in his throat, one warm hand sliding down her arm, fingers entwining with hers. He walked her backwards until she was against the wall, his mouth devouring hers with a dominance that left her in no doubt about how much he desired her.

Blood pounded through Laila’s veins, skin turning to gooseflesh even as heat engulfed her from the inside. She nipped his bottom lip. He groaned and kissed her harder. But when she scraped her teeth against his he pulled away, raised her arms above her head and pinned them with his good hand.

Thigh to rigid thigh, chest to heaving breasts, he crowded her with his body.

‘Tell me, Laila.’ His voice was ragged, lips hovering a hair’s breadth from hers. ‘Tell me I’ve only been turning up here because you’re an easy lay.’

She closed her eyes against his blazing ones.

‘Don’t close your eyes.’ He pressed his rock-hard erection to the sensitive spot between her legs, making her squirm. ‘Look at me, and say it.’

He was forcing her to face her own accusation, daring her to repeat it when he was only heartbeats away from taking her. She realised then that she didn’t actually believe it. Oh, she was disappointed, hurt, and jealous as hell of that bloody nurse, but she knew in her heart he came to her because he wanted her.

Laila opened her eyes and looked into his handsome face — this man that she was only now beginning to know. ‘I can’t. I know it’s not true.’

He expelled a deep breath and released her wrists, pushing away from the wall just as a horn blast came from outside.

Laila glanced at the front door. They’d end up in bed any second, and it wasn’t right. They both had responsibilities, places to be, appointments to reschedule.

‘You have a meter running out there.’

‘I have a meter running right here.’ He made a fist with his good hand and thumped it against his chest.

Fighting her own desire, Laila shook her head, lips still tingling from his kiss. ‘Please go Evan. We can’t, not now we’re both on the Peyton case.’

‘Oh, this is just fucking great,’ he said, then gave a frustrated groan as outside, the taxi driver leaned on his horn.

Striding to the front door, he flung it open and waved to the driver, signalling he was on his way.

Then he turned and looked back at her, angrier than she’d ever seen him.

‘Alright Laila, have it your way. You want me to stay away, I’ll stay away.’

Chapter Nine

7 p.m. Monday

Evan pulled off Old South Head Road at Rose Bay and turned into the Peyton compound. It was the time of day he loved the most, the gloaming, just after sunset, before nightfall.

Bringing the Porsche to a halt at the top of the curved driveway, he sat for a minute looking out over the formal gardens. The trees and shrubs were more established than when he’d first come here, and he smiled a little, remembering his first glimpse of the city, and this impressive, sandstone home. It was like something out of a movie. Not that he’d seen too many of those back then.

A few minutes later he was in the library, watching as George Peyton held up a bottle of Remy Martin with an unsteady hand. ‘Cognac?’

Evan nodded. ‘Please.’

Duncan’s father poured two fingers of the amber liquid into each glass. The French doors leading onto the flagged stone terrace were thrown wide, so they could look out over Sydney Harbour.

‘Cuban?’

George knew he didn’t smoke, but he always offered a cigar to those in his presence.

‘Thanks. I’ll pass.’

The older man opened an intricately carved box, complete with the Peyton family crest. He viewed the contents, taking his time selecting one, like some people did with a box of fine chocolates.

‘Smart boy,’ George muttered, as he cut the foot off the cigar, right at the shoulder where the curved end began to straighten out. ‘Won’t end up with emphysema, like me.’

He coughed as if on cue, faded rheumy eyes studying Evan. ‘Well, what’s going on with those two?’

Duncan and Scarlett.

The reason George had called him here.

Holding his glass, Evan moved into the doorway and stood gazing out to where the lights of the Catalina restaurant glowed in the distance. ‘Scarlett phoned me at the office last week, right before we went into negotiations with the Chinese.’

He heard a shuffle, looked around to find the older man standing beside him in the doorway. ‘What did she want?’

‘She said she was leaving Duncan. A friend of hers had recommended a female lawyer. Scarlett wanted to know if I knew of her.’

‘Do you?’

Evan nodded. He knew every inch of her.

‘I told Scarlett she was very competent, that she wouldn’t find better representation.’

For the hundredth time, Evan wished he hadn’t taken Scarlett’s call that day. ‘I didn’t think she’d go ahead with it. She’d called me on three previous occasions, saying she was unhappy and was going to leave. Nothing ever came of it. I didn’t think it would be any different this time.’

He’d been wrong.

Now he was paying the price.

‘You thought she needed an ear?’ asked George. ‘Thought she was letting off steam?’

‘Something like that.’

‘And you went ahead and wrapped up the deal anyway?’

Evan turned and stared at George. ‘I could have lost us the contract. I took a gamble. That’s what you pay me for.’

George flicked on the lighter and brought it close to his cigar. ‘Okay son, don’t lose your shit.’

George liked to call him son, even though it made Evan uncomfortable. ‘I accept I’m vulnerable if the deal falls through, and the Chinese sue for breach of contract. But eight out of ten enquiries made by women concerning divorce never eventuate into anything.’

And that statistic was higher for wealthy people like the Peytons. They usually found a way to live with it.

‘You still haven’t told me what their problem is.’

And he wouldn’t, even if he knew. This was Duncan’s personal matter, and he’d only speak about it with his father in general terms, or discuss how the situation affected the development.

‘I’m not aware of the problem, sir. Duncan’s my client, and my best friend, but I’m no third wheel in their marriage.’

George snorted. ‘He’s got bad taste in women, his mother always said so. He gives them business advice, that’s how he gets them. The first one wanted her own fashion label, and this one wants her own range of skincare cosmetics. Business advice — from someone without a business brain.’

Evan said nothing. He’d heard it all before. Despite what George said, he loved his son.

‘I wish he was more like you.’ George said.

Evan winced and raised the glass to his lips. The Cognac went down smooth as silk and he closed his eyes in appreciation. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘You know what I mean. He’ll never be you. Those first nine years before I took you in, they made you who you are — hell of a time though it was. You lived off your wits, learned how to survive. That’s something you can’t teach.’

‘I was lucky I could play football.’ Evan swallowed another mouthful of Cognac and thought of Laila’s reaction to what she’d learned today.

How would she react if she knew he’d played a part in Scarlett choosing her as a lawyer? Somehow, he didn’t think she’d be grateful for the endorsement.

‘You could really play football.’ George’s nostalgic statement brought Evan back to the present.

‘You only brought me down here to help Riverview win the premiership,’ Evan said, pleased the conversation had taken a lighter turn.

‘You’re right. I didn’t like you at all.’

They laughed. This is how it was between them. George thought of him as a second son, and Evan loved the tough old coot who’d given him an opportunity to make something of himself. The Peytons were the only family he’d known since his mother walked out and never came back.

‘You were the best, as fast as the Aboriginal kids,’ George said between puffs as he attempted to re-light his cigar. ‘Christ, when I first saw you, you were so brown I thought you were one of them.’

Evan smiled at the memory. Old George had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and thrown him in the bath. Then he’d given him his first hot meal in about six months and asked where he lived.

It was the start of a relationship that had lasted to this day.

They were quiet for a while, and once again Evan’s mind drifted back to Laila. She’d accused him of not telling her he was ‘mildly famous’. Well, he wasn’t the only one keeping things close to his chest. She’d never mentioned her foundation, the most important thing in her life, according to Mike. He’d managed to find out a bit about that this afternoon.

‘What is it with Scarlett?’ George inhaled, holding the thick Cuban between shaky fingers. ‘You go somewhere, and she doesn’t mix. She sits alone on a chair likes she’s special and expects everyone to come to her.’

There was a pause, then. ‘Do you think she’s met someone else?’

Evan turned to look at him. ‘I’ve no idea. I had a long talk to Duncan on Saturday. He doesn’t know what the problem is. She won’t talk.’

‘Yeah, that’s what he told me.’ George blew out a puff of smoke, the pungent aroma wafting towards Evan and turning his stomach.

Shit! As if he hadn’t inhaled enough smoke today.

‘I’m worried about the Chinese,’ George said after a while.

Evan swirled the Cognac in his glass. He’d expected George to say he was worried about Duncan.

‘I am too. We have the construction firm ready to go, and then there are the subcontractors.’

‘Little people?’

Evan nodded. ‘With families.’

‘Christ! What’s the chance of it all going down the shitter?’

‘There’s every chance if we don’t get a quick property settlement.’

George turned, bushy eyebrows pulled into a frown over the top of his wireless glasses. ‘Who’s this lady lawyer?’

Evan’s heart seemed to stand still.

He cleared his throat. ‘Laila Richards. She’s a single practitioner.’

‘Any good?’

‘Very competent.’

‘That’s bad news.’ George turned away and stared at the view. ‘Do we have anything on her?’

For a second or two, Evan wondered if he’d heard correctly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean, son. Everyone has a secret. Find out hers. Sometimes, a little pressure can be brought to bear, a little inducement offered.’

Evan’s heart pumped fear through his veins, and his fingers tightened around the glass. Surely George wasn’t thinking of putting pressure on Laila, or offering her a bribe, for god’s sake!

His mind rocketed backwards. He knew the Peytons had used people once or twice in the past to recover large amounts of money owed to them by those who refused to pay. Standover merchants, who operated outside the law, and were very effective. Not that he’d been privy to any direct knowledge. But he’d never forgotten his shock when Duncan had let it slip once.

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ he said, realising George was expecting some kind of response. ‘She’s reasonable enough. We spoke after court, and she’s agreed to an urgent mediation. Throwing our weight around could do more harm than good.’

‘Hmmm.’ George raised the lighter and re-lit his cigar. ‘Well, keep me informed on that, will you?’

Evan stayed quiet, a cold weight settling like a stone in his gut.

‘What happened to your hand?’ George asked suddenly.

Evan spread out his fingers and turned his hand over. ‘I touched something hot.’

‘A woman, I hope?’ George put down the lighter and laughed at his own joke.

‘A stove.’

Evan lifted his glass and drained the last of his Cognac.

It was the first time he’d ever lied to George Peyton.

Chapter Ten

1:30 p.m. Tuesday

Laila worked on the Peyton case from home, documents spread over the kitchen table, coffee pot at arm’s reach. Having the file in her briefcase had proved to be the one bright spot in a dark twenty-four hours.

Now she pressed on, determined to get as much work completed while she waited to hear from the building manager and the police.

Bringing the dictation handset close to her mouth, she finished the letter to Evan. ‘We confirm we have spoken to our client, who is agreeable to an early mediation of the proceedings. New paragraph. Accordingly, we look forward to hearing from you further, regarding a suitable date and time. Yours faithfully. Now Mike, if you could let me know immediately we hear back from Poole Greenwood. I’ll need to advise Scarlett of that date as soon as possible. That’s all for now.’

Laila clicked off the recorder, eyes sliding to her iPad. Last night she’d been too angry to bother searching for Evan online. But all morning, a rising curiosity had disrupted her concentration like an attention-seeking child.

Sliding her iPad towards her, she rolled her eyes at her own weakness. Hopefully, once she’d satisfied her interest, she’d be ready to close Evan Barclay’s metaphorical file and store it away in the archives.

Typing ‘Evan Barclay Sydney lawyer’, she waited for the results. Almost immediately, the screen filled with newspaper articles about his shift to Poole Greenwood.

Laila scrolled through the searches. She remembered reading all these after seeing the article in the Law Review. There were a number of short reports from the business sections of the newspapers. The articles mostly referred to his close association with his school friend, Duncan Peyton, and his family.

Laila closed the articles and scrolled further down. Towards the bottom of the screen, a heading caught her eye.

John Barclay recalled to Wallabies squad following knee surgery.

John Barclay? So that’s why she hadn’t looked.

Laila clicked on the heading, breath catching in her throat as an image appeared on screen. The photograph showed Evan clad in the representative green shorts and gold jersey, running for the line, ball tucked securely under one arm, the other outstretched as he fended off an opposing player.

He was younger, and more bulked up than now, his hair longer and a shade lighter beneath the headgear. But it was the familiar expression that sent Laila’s mouth dry and her heart racing — the concentration, the drive, the single-minded determination to win what was in his sight. It was all there, along with the massive biceps, the straining ligaments, the pumping thighs as he charged towards the try line.

Laila closed the article and opened another. This one claimed he was among the best Australian centres ever. Another said he’d reverted to his first name when he’d been sworn in as a lawyer. A more recent one lamented that, while Evan John Barclay was still in demand as an after-dinner speaker, he rarely accepted invitations.

Little was known of his earlier life, before his time at St Ignatius College, Riverview, where he was credited with being the architect of the school’s two premiership wins during the time he was a student. According to another article, there was a much-anticipated biography in the works, but when asked for his thoughts on the subject, he’d refused to comment.

Laila sighed. So much for closing her metaphorical file on him. The man was an enigma, and he intrigued her — more so now than in the beginning.

She moved her finger across the screen and pressed on ‘Images of John Barclay’. Immediately, the screen filled with pictures of him playing, celebrating, being sprayed with sparkling wine, a look of pure delight on his face. And then there were the awards nights, the red carpets, the tuxedoes, the medals, the procession of beautiful women on his arm.

Laila switched off the iPad, her curiosity replaced with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

He’d assumed she’d known.

And he liked it that she hadn’t.

Laila leaned back in her chair and thought back over the last six weeks. Okay, so they hadn’t gone out, but he’d been generous. He’d brought over Indian and Asian food, not that he’d eaten any. He’d stacked it in her freezer so she wouldn’t need to cook during the week. And one morning, she’d woken to find a beautiful carry bag on her kitchen table. Inside were scented candles, massage oil and a luxurious bathrobe, which she loved.

Still, Evan would have known there’d come a time when she’d question him, so there could only be one possible explanation as to why he hadn’t told her.

He hadn’t expected it to last.

Laila swallowed hard and set the coffee pot on the gas stove to boil. She’d been right to sever the relationship last Friday. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could hold onto a man like Evan Barclay. Judging by those photographs, he was used to dating flashy models with a high-octane lifestyle. One girl’s gown had a sheer mesh bodice that left nothing to the imagination, her nipples covered only with exotic embroidered flowers. Another was accessorized with fake tattoos and gold bracelets to both elbows.

Laila rinsed her mug in the sink while she waited for the water to boil. By comparison, she was a former army wife with a serious job — boring and conservative, with a troublesome family to boot.

He’d even said as much in the foyer the other night.

And that conservative little suit. It’s so proper. I can’t wait to get it off you.

Maybe that was her appeal. She was still sowing her sexual oats, the ones she hadn’t sown before marrying her high school sweetheart.

She was pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee when the doorbell rang.

It was Grind, standing on the veranda, baggy jeans slung so low they exposed half his bright red Mr Men underpants.

‘Hey.’ He gave her a goofy smile when she opened the door, eyes peering from behind square, black-rimmed glasses.

‘You change your hairstyle more than I do.’ Laila stepped back so he could come inside, grateful for the distraction. His hair was now shoulder length on one side and shaved on the other. The shaved side was dyed a bright punk pink.

He shifted his weight, hands shoved in the pockets of his tracksuit jacket. ‘I get bored if it’s always the same. And dad’s friends keep telling me to make the most of it while I can.’

Laila gave the new style a dubious look. ‘The most of what?’

‘Having hair. All them are bald.’

‘Oh.’ Laila laughed and tried to imagine her parents’ reaction should they ever meet Grind. She was pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to see past the spacers in his ears.

‘You want coffee?’

‘You’re an addict,’ he said by way of an answer, but he trailed after her into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

‘Probably why I can’t sleep.’ Laila gathered the Peyton file together and shifted it onto the bench.

‘Sorry it’s taken me an age to come by. We’ve been on a mini tour up the coast for a few days.’

‘Really?’ Laila handed him a cup of steaming coffee. ‘How’d it go?’

‘The pub at Woolgoolga went off. One chick got me to autograph her boobs.’

‘Livin’ the dream.’ Laila grinned over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘She’ll probably never wash them again.’

‘Hope not.’ He shot her a quick look from behind his glasses, a gentle pink staining his cheeks. ‘You should come to one of our shows at Scruffy Murphys. You’d like it.’

Laila lowered her mug and thought of the Irish pub down by the Haymarket. The place looked like a bit of a dive, the polar opposite of The Bowery, with its pretentious clientele.

Suddenly, she wanted to go, wanted to dance and let her hair down, forget everything from the past few days. She glanced at the Peyton file. A week ago she’d been so thrilled to win Scarlett as a client. Strange how things had gone from bad to worse since then.

‘Maybe I’ll swing by this weekend,’ she said, embarrassed she hadn’t made the effort sooner. It wasn’t the first time Grind had asked. ‘I went online and liked your band page though.’

‘Oh cool.’ He pointed his thumb and index finger like a gun. ‘I added you too. Took a look at your profile.’

Laila wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not exactly big on social media. I rarely post anything.’

‘You work too hard.’

All at once, he seemed to remember the reason for his visit. ‘Oh, and I didn’t get up in the ceiling, or ring a workman or anything. I did suffer a blackout though — too much booze.’

While Grind laughed at his own joke, Laila pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘Not exactly an active member of neighbourhood watch, are you?’

‘Huh?’

‘Never mind. Come with me.’

She led the way into the bathroom and pointed to a dustpan she’d left on the floor. ‘See that?’

Grind leaned over, exposing more of his red underpants as he peered at the loose bits of ceiling insulation she’d swept up. ‘That stuff’s from inside the roof.’

‘So what’s it doing on my bathroom floor?’

‘I dunno.’ Grind straightened up. ‘Maybe you’ve got a ghost.’

‘A ghost?’ Exasperated, Laila turned to face him. ‘What are you on?’

‘Well, I dunno. Is anything missing?’

‘Only the settings on my landline.’

He turned away and headed for the phone. ‘What’s the problem with that?’

‘Don’t touch it.’ Laila pushed past him and stood between him and the telephone. ‘I’m only using my mobile.’

‘Okay. Jeez, don’t freak out, I was just gonna take a look.’ Grind was staring at her as if she were neurotic.

Was she? Last night she’d lain awake, fearing she might be, then a little while later she’d changed her mind, certain it was all connected. Someone had been in her house and wiped the phone settings. A day later, they’d entered her office, gone through the filing cabinets, copied files from Mike’s computer and, again, wiped the phone settings.

‘Do you want me to try and get them back?’ Grind asked.

‘No. Leave it to the police.’

This time Grind looked at her as though she’d grown two heads. ‘You’re calling the police because your phone settings have disappeared? What if the telephone company had linesmen in the area?’

She hadn’t thought of that. It was possible, but it didn’t explain the problems at work, and Grind didn’t know about those. When she’d spoken to Mike this morning, he’d confirmed he hadn’t turned the computer on last Saturday, and he definitely hadn’t copied anything onto an external drive.

And then there was the fire.

Her mobile rang, fracturing the silence.

Laila slid her phone from her jeans pocket and read the text message.

‘Do you like Archie for a boy’s name?’

Laila’s heart squeezed, the ache radiating through her chest wall until she could feel it between her shoulder blades. ‘Sorry, I have to go out.’

He turned away and headed for the door. ‘No worries.’

‘Grind.’ Suddenly she felt bad for hustling him out. ‘I did a big cook-up this morning. Wait there and I’ll get you some. I can’t fit it all in the freezer.’

‘Oh cool. Thanks.’

‘Do one thing for me, will you?’ Laila said minutes later as she loaded him up and opened the screen door for him. ‘Tell me if you see anyone hanging around. Anything out of the ordinary — even if you don’t think it’s important.’

Grind stared at her through the wire, eyes magnified behind his glasses. ‘You got a crackpot client or something?’

Laila nodded once. ‘Something like that.’

‘Will do.’ He left, raising a hand in farewell. ‘Thanks again.’

Laila locked the door and pulled up the text again. ‘Do you like Archie for a boy’s name?’

She typed in the answer, fingers trembling. ‘Yes. I love the name Archie.’

Chapter Eleven

3:20 p.m. Tuesday

An hour later, Laila stood inside the New South Wales Art Gallery.

Hands clammy, stomach pitching and rolling, she stared at a portrait of a former prime minister, a contestant in this year’s Archibald art prize.

Across the room, a tall, lanky guy with salt-and-pepper hair was studying each painting, while a harassed mother tried to coax her three young children into showing some enthusiasm for the portraits. Down the end of the long, white room, two older ladies wearing sunhats were discussing something in earnest.

Laila walked towards another artwork, this one a portrait of a famous actor. Not a particularly good one, in her opinion.

‘Can you believe that’s the favourite?’

Laila stilled and glanced sideways. The man stood beside her, well disguised as an ‘arty’ type in cream trousers and a floral shirt printed with tiny flowers. A panama hat covered his short, military haircut.

‘It’s a mystery how they judge these things.’ She drew in a breath and kept her eyes fixed on the painting. This was their third meeting, always in the gallery. Each time she grew progressively more nervous.

The man made a show of reading the vinyl lettering on the wall beside the artwork. ‘There’s been another incident.’

A ring of dread tightened around Laila’s throat as she moved onto the next painting and waited for the man to join her. Hopefully, to anyone watching, they looked like a couple of strangers, sharing a few comments about the paintings exhibited.

‘What happened?’

‘Chopper too low. The paratroopers had good visibility though. If they’d jumped at that altitude, it would have been lights out.’

Laila closed her eyes, stomach churning at the thought of another horror accident. As the man recounted the incident, she stared at the angry strokes of oil paint, the black and grey tones giving the female subject a look of total despair.

‘Many are scared. Numerous night-time mishaps have been reported. Understandably, the men are frightened of the reprimands that come with being a whistle-blower.’

Laila nodded. The entry criteria for the SAS was gruelling. No-one wanted to leave once they’d made it in. The sad fact was that more SAS soldiers were killed and injured in training situations than in actual combat.

‘Thank you. I know you’re taking a huge risk. Do you have a name?’

The man spoke in a low voice.

Laila repeated the name, then committed it to memory.

‘I’ll move on. Take care.’ He moved away, strolling through a wide doorway and into an adjoining room, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his cream pants.

Laila didn’t leave immediately either. She wandered through to a different part of the gallery where some Brett Whiteley works were housed. She had enough information to get the class action underway now. She had plaintiffs, the names of men she could subpoena, and costs coming in from the Peyton case.

She stared at the vivid oranges in Brett Whiteley’s The Night Cafe. There was no denying it, she needed Scarlett Peyton as a client more than ever now. Time was of the essence if they were to stop more soldiers dying.

Her mobile phone vibrated against her hip.

Had her contact forgotten something?

Laila swiped her thumb across the screen. The message was from the New South Wales Police Department.

Special arrangements have been made for emergency access only, for tenants of 402 College Street, Sydney. Any tenant wishing to access the building can do so, via a restricted entryway, for one hour between 4 p.m. and 5 p.m. today. It is expected that normal operation of the building will resume from 7 a.m. tomorrow.

***

Thirty minutes later, still puffing from the climb up to the fourth floor, Laila stepped inside her office and cast an anxious look around.

Late-afternoon sun filtered through the windows, highlighting the smoky haze lingering throughout the room. Small puddles of water pooled on the coffee table, the filing cabinets, the reception desk and bookcases.

Laila sent a silent thank you to Mike. Despite the risk he’d taken, he’d covered the computer and photocopier with their plastic dust jackets. When she slipped her hand beneath the covers, the machines themselves were quite dry.

Buoyed by the fact that it appeared to be sprinkler damage only, Laila pressed her toe into the carpet. While her boot left a damp imprint, the floor coverings hardly squelched beneath her feet.

Blowing out a relieved breath, she walked through to her private office, smoke particles irritating her nostrils. There were benefits to being a neat freak, she thought, gazing at the puddles of water on her cleared desk. Again, the computer was protected, and while the vinyl chairs were wet, it was nothing a quick wipe over wouldn’t fix.

She crossed to the filing cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. A little water had seeped inside, but only the corners of the manila folders appeared to be wet.

Laila checked her watch. She had roughly forty minutes. If she mopped up now, the office would dry out even more overnight.

She took two garbage bags and half a dozen dry handtowels from the drawer in the kitchen and spent the next half hour soaking up the water. In her office, she wiped over the desk and chairs, noting with relief that the wall prints and practising certificate were hung too high to have been affected.

Back in reception, she dropped sodden magazines from the coffee table into one garbage bag, followed by the stack of business cards from the holder on Mike’s desk, and anything else unsalvageable. The steel cupboard housing the stationery was closed, and from Laila’s observations, the printer was the only piece of electronic equipment that had really copped a drenching. Mike had managed to clear every other surface.

She was wiping over the waiting-room chairs when she spotted Evan’s discarded suit coat and sunglasses. Dumping the garbage bags and towels on the carpet, she picked up the jacket and held it open for inspection. The fine wool material had mostly dried in the thirty or so hours since the fire, but when she held it next to her cheek, the familiar, sexy aroma she associated with him was missing, replaced with the strong smell of acrid smoke.

Wrinkling her nose, she put the garment inside the clean garbage bag and popped the Ray Bans into her handbag. Back in the kitchen, she dumped the garbage bag containing the rubbish into the bin, and threw out the milk in the silent fridge. According to the detective she’d spoken to downstairs, the electricity would be switched on at 6 a.m. tomorrow, an hour before the tenants were given access. All except the businesses conducted on level three, which would remain inaccessible until the cause of the fire was determined.

Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder, Laila picked up the garbage bag containing Evan’s jacket. She’d drop it into the drycleaners on her way to the train. The mediation was the day after tomorrow; not that she could give it to him there. Maybe she’d ask him out for coffee on the weekend. She wanted to thank him properly for what he’d done for Mike, and she wanted to ask about his hand.

The light was fading as Laila took one last look around the room. She was glad she’d rushed down here from the art gallery. It had put her mind at ease, and hopefully she’d sleep better tonight.

Picking the office keys out of her handbag, she glanced at the picture of the Blackhawk on the wall and thought about what the man had told her at the gallery. Once the mediation was over, she’d put in some serious hours on the class action. In the meantime, as the detective downstairs had pointed out, the most important thing was to lock up the office and make sure the premises were secure.

Chapter Twelve

11 a.m. Wednesday

Laila fetched the morning coffees whenever she could. Sometimes it was a rushed espresso, other times she got held up and they made do with instant. But with Mike supervising the guys pulling up the sodden carpet, she’d made it down to the coffee bar in the basement.

Now, as she stood waiting for two chai lattes, Laila tried warding off the uncomfortable feeling she was being watched.

It was nothing tangible, just an uneasy sixth sense that had stayed with her after the break-in. Sometimes it was a shadow at the corner of her vision, other times a subtle stirring of air. Now it was a sensation of eyes on her back, strong enough to make her turn around and scan the people behind her.

Her gaze fell on Dickson Cross, the trim detective with the shaved head and brash manner who’d given her access into the building yesterday. Now, he was five deep in the line, phone in one hand, the other in the pocket of his trousers.

With a sigh of relief, Laila walked over to him. ‘Hello. I got the feeling someone was watching me.’

He put his phone away. ‘I thought it was you.’

‘I’m waiting on the coffees. They’re taking an age today.’

‘Get that often?’

Laila frowned. ‘Coffee?’

‘The feeling someone’s watching you?’

Shrewd eyes studied her face, and Laila got the impression that, charmer though he was, Dickson Cross missed very little.

‘Sometimes.’

‘You should take particular notice. You work in an emotionally volatile field.’ He gave a shrug, the movement quick, like he was permanently hyped on caffeine. ‘Then again, it could be because you’re a babe.’

Laila smiled. Some would think him inappropriate, but Dickson Cross had the knack of delivering a line without it being offensive. And he’d uttered the words like an afterthought, as if his previous statement might have worried her.

She looked him over thoughtfully. ‘I have a feeling you get away with a lot, detective.

A shallow dimple flashed in one cheek and he jiggled some loose change in his pocket. ‘You have a lot of feelings, Ms Richards.’

She pointed an index finger at him. ‘Now that’s inappropriate.’

He tried looking contrite, but failed to disguise the twinkle in his eyes. ‘Are to going to report me?’

‘Probably not.’

The barista called her number.

‘Do you have time to see me now?’ he asked, as she made to leave. ‘You’re first on my list because of the problem you reported over the weekend.’

She nodded. ‘Bring your coffee upstairs. My calendar’s wiped until midday tomorrow.’

Tomorrow.

The day of the Peyton mediation.

An email had arrived late yesterday. A retired judge would oversee the matter at the family court.

Nervous excitement ran through Laila’s body at the thought of seeing Evan again. Not that she was marking off the days or anything.

Yeah, right.

She picked up the coffees, used her elbow to push the lift button, and stepped inside. In the beginning, she believed her relationship with Evan meant nothing more than she was ready to have sex with an attractive man again. But now they’d parted, the idea of finding a new bed buddy to satisfy her needs held no appeal.

As the lift passed the smoky third floor, Laila closed her eyes, nipples hardening beneath her silky work shirt at the memory of his parting kiss. Okay. She was horny as hell, and she was over the whole ‘he thought I was a groupie’ thing. He had kept coming back, and in all that time he’d never been rude or behaved like an uncivil boyfriend.

Drawing in a deep breath, she opened her eyes as the lift reached her floor. It was time she faced it. She found him irresistible, but it was more than that. She liked him — a lot. She hadn’t even looked at another man since she’d met him.

In the reception area, she picked her way around rolls of damp carpet, and handed Mike his coffee. ‘Dickson Cross is on his way up. Can you send him straight in?’

‘Sure.’ Mike watched as a workman pushed a mop over the bare floorboards in an effort to soak up the last of the dampness. ‘The new carpet won’t be here until next week apparently.’

‘That’s fine. As long as we’re operational, I can put up with floorboards for a while.’

Five minutes later, Dickson Cross was sitting opposite her, a pink iced bun and a cup of hot chocolate on the desk in front of him. He bit off a piece of the bun and added three sugar sachets to the hot drink.

A sugar addict. No wonder the guy was hyper.

He took a swig of hot chocolate.

Laila had to admit, it smelt good — it masked the mildewy odour of sodden underfelt.

‘We found traces of accelerant,’ he said without preamble. ‘And we shouldn’t assume because the fire started on the third floor, someone down there was the target. It’s natural to think that, but criminals aren’t stupid. Well, not all of them.’

‘Accelerant.’ She’d been thinking an electrical fault was probably to blame. ‘That’s worrying.’

‘Hmm.’ Dickson consulted his notes. ‘You reported a break and enter. The uniforms were on their way here when the fire broke out.’

‘It wasn’t strictly a break-in — the door to reception was open. They forced some filing cabinets while I was in here with a client.’

‘Anything missing?’

‘No. I spent Sunday checking.’

‘You keep cash on the premises?’

‘Only a small float, and that was untouched.’

Dickson pushed himself backwards, rocking slightly, balancing the chair on its two back legs as if he were in high school. Obviously someone had neglected to tell him how potentially dangerous it was, or he hadn’t listened.

‘Any disgruntled clients, bitter custody battles, that kind of thing?’

‘Not at the moment. There is something though.’ Laila proceeded to tell him about her concerns at home, including the problems with both telephones.

Righting the chair onto all fours, Dickson pulled a small spiral-bound notepad from his shirt pocket, just like the detectives in the movies.

‘When was this?’ he asked, pink bun forgotten.

‘Friday night. I didn’t report it. I wanted to speak to my neighbour first. I live in a semi. It has a combined ceiling space.’

‘I know the kind of thing.’

‘But now, with this…’

Dickson shot her a glance. ‘You’re thinking there’s more to it?’

Laila nodded, and her stomach shifted. God, she thought she’d feel better once she’d spoken to the police, but if anything she felt worse. What she really wanted was to talk to Evan. She wanted to call him, and enquire about his hand.

‘Anything missing at home?’

‘No.’

‘That’s a good sign.’ Dickson tipped his head in the direction of the waiting room. ‘I’ll check with the phone company, see if they’ve been doing maintenance in the Sydney basin. And I’ll get a tech up here to look at the phone and dust for prints, but honestly, with the drenching from the sprinklers, I’d say we’ve got buckleys.’

The military wouldn’t leave fingerprints.

‘Your neighbour at home didn’t see anything?’

‘No. But someone was hanging around here on Saturday, out in the corridor.’

Dickson looked up. ‘Go on.’

Laila recounted what happened, while Dickson polished off the remainder of his bun.

When she fell silent, he screwed the paper bag into a ball, half stood and lobbed it into the bin behind her desk.

‘Shame you didn’t see his face. I’ll check the CCTV footage again.’

‘Again?’

He reached into his coat pocket, took out a piece of paper and unfolded it. ‘Do you recognise this guy?’

Laila studied the picture. The man was thick set, with a broad forehead and short cropped dark hair. His eyes were covered with shield-style rimless sunglasses, and he wore jeans and a black leather jacket.

‘It was taken from one of the security cameras. We estimate he’s about five ten, around forty-five years old.’

Laila looked up. ‘I don’t know him.’

‘He got out of the lift on the third floor twenty minutes before the fire broke out.’

‘You think he’s the arsonist?’

‘Could be. We’ve spoken to the third-floor tenants. No-one had an appointment with him.’ Dickson picked up his cup. ‘I’m checking the other tenants now, starting with you.’

Laila studied the photo harder. ‘He’s not a client, and to my knowledge, he’s never been here. He has a certain look though — maybe military.’

‘Bikie.’

Laila chin came up.

‘See here.’ Dickson reached across the desk and pointed to the guy’s neck. ‘We have about ten shots of him. In this one, his jacket gapes, exposing a couple of inches of a tattoo. The weather’s hot, right? That’s why he’s wearing the jacket, to hide the ink.’

Laila squinted at the photograph. Sure enough, there was some kind of visible mark on the guy’s neck. ‘What is it?’

‘Rosary beads. The Altar Boys ink the club crest into their left shoulder, rosary beads around the neck.’

Everyone knew of the Altar Boys, like everyone knew of the Hells Angels. Eighteen months ago, the outlaw motorcycle gang had been busted apart by a series of police raids, the ongoing arrests and convictions severely curtailing their illegal operations.

The corruption had reached as far as Poole Greenwood, with former partner Henry Grace struck off the legal register for laundering money through their trust account. Henry Grace’s imprisonment had been Evan’s opportunity.

‘Look, I’ll be straight with you.’ Dickson said suddenly. ‘I’m gang squad, not arson. I got called in because this guy showed up on camera. We’ve been after him for a while. He’s involved in importing illegal firearms, and car re-birthing. He wasn’t here for a meeting with his financial advisor.’

‘You might want to show the photograph to Mike. He’s here all the time. He could have noticed him — I’m in court a lot.’

‘Will do.’ Dickson returned the printout to his pocket. ‘Any idea what your burglar was looking for?’

Laila deliberated, wondering how much she could reveal before ethics came into play. ‘There’s only one party who’d be interested in the contents of those particular cabinets. The Australian military.’

Dickson’s eyes widened. ‘The military? What does the military have to do with family law?’

Laila explained her speciality, then briefly mentioned the class action she was working on.

‘What kind of class action?’ Before she could answer, he was pulling his phone from his pocket. ‘Do you mind if I record this?’

‘Yes, I do mind. I can’t give you details about the case, Detective Inspector Cross — client confidentiality. Suffice to say, the military won’t be happy when they hear about it.’

‘If they haven’t already.’ Dickson’s keen eyes narrowed. ‘Okay, tell me this. Would they try and stop you, do you think?’

Laila looked squarely at him, trying not to let her inner turmoil show. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

He held her gaze for long seconds. ‘Does this have something to do with the feeling you’re being watched?’

‘It crossed my mind.’

Crossed her mind?

It was close to a week since she’d slept properly. Still, part of that was because of Evan, and the Peyton case.

‘Take this.’ Dickson slid a card across the desk. ‘You can call me any time, day or night. Don’t hesitate, okay?’

Laila picked up the card and scanned it briefly. ‘Thank you, detective.’

‘My pleasure. I’ll get someone up here as soon as I can to go over the computer and the phone.’

Laila reached across the desk to shake hands, but when she went to follow him out, he waved her away.

‘Stay there, I can show myself out.’

The next instant, he was gone.

Chapter Thirteen

Noon Wednesday

‘You wanted to see me?’

Evan looked up to find Allegra Greenwood standing in the doorway of his corner office. Graceful in a pale blue suit, blonde hair styled into some kind of French twist, she could have stepped straight from the runway in Milan.

‘Allegra. Come in.’

It seemed strange to invite a partner of the firm into his office but, unlike Simon Poole, Allegra simply didn’t walk in. She was respectful of the staff like that.

‘You should have buzzed me. I would have come up.’

He shut the door and pulled out a chair. There were many things he liked about Allegra; her grace, her razor-sharp mind, her ability as a criminal lawyer. Some people found her cool, formidable even, but he admired her straightforward manner. You always knew where you stood with the ‘perfumed steamroller’. And she made herself accessible to everyone at the firm.

Now she sat in one of the client chairs and looked squarely at him. ‘So, what couldn’t wait until the case meeting?’

‘I need more manpower.’ He didn’t ask, just stated his need. If you asked, there was a good chance you’d get no for an answer.

‘I’m assuming this is to do with the Peyton case?’

He nodded. ‘We have a mediation in twenty-four hours.’

When she didn’t say anything, Evan swept a hand towards the mountains of files stacked on his desk. ‘We’re drowning in a sea of financial statements. There are so many companies, we’ll be working with the accountants through the night just to get a rough picture of their position.’

Allegra’s gaze shifted to his desk. ‘You’re moving very quickly on this.’

It was an observation, with a ‘please explain’ question attached.

‘Duncan has to show goodwill by making some kind of fair offer to his wife, something in the ballpark of what she’ll ultimately end up with. We can offer her a part payment, provided she agrees to have the current orders lifted. We need to make some real progress tomorrow.’

He paused, Laila’s sweet face forming in his mind. ‘Laila Richards has us on the run.’

It felt odd speaking about her like this, and it struck him then that there were similarities between Laila and Allegra. Laila was warmer though, more animated. More inclined to take up a cause close to her heart.

‘And if you don’t make headway tomorrow?’ Allegra asked.

‘The matrimonial assets stay frozen. That puts the hotel development at risk.’

Allegra’s clear eyes flicked over him as she digested the information. ‘This is the hotel you have a personal stake in?

Evan nodded. ‘Five percent.’

With the Peyton family intact, there hadn’t been an issue with him investing money in any of their business ventures. But the split between Duncan and Scarlett had the potential to change the situation. The last thing Poole Greenwood needed was for him to be accused of acting in his own self-interest.

And it troubled him that Laila might see it that way, if she ever found out. Not that he had any obligation to divulge that kind of information. Legally, all he needed to do was provide financial evidence of the Peytons’ worth, in the form of financial statements submitted to the tax office, and property valuations.

Allegra leaned forward, a worried frown creasing her forehead. ‘You need to be very careful, Evan. I want this firm protected. We’re only now clawing back our reputation, and you’re a very big part of that.’

‘I understand.’

She had every right to warn him, though there was no need. He would do the right thing by both his client and Poole Greenwood, and the best way of achieving that was to do the right thing by Scarlett. The flow-on effect would be the funds becoming liquid, the development going ahead, the contractors remaining in work. With George and Duncan out of the trouble, the deal would be assured. Everybody’s interests — the Chinese, his own — would be safe.

‘I’ve heard enough.’ Allegra stood up, preparing to leave. ‘Bring on board whoever you need and get this sorted out as soon as possible. I’ll send an interoffice memo around.’

Evan blew out a relieved breath and jumped up to open the door. ‘Thank you.’

This is what he thrived on, listening, negotiating, working the situation, and ultimately keeping hold of what was his.

And that included Laila.

He closed the door and walked to the window, watched the crawling traffic down on the street. He’d never forget the first time he saw her at the Law Society dinner. He’d looked up when the bloke beside him pointed her out. She was standing inside the door, her back to him. But that was all it took.

The figure-hugging dress was emerald green, the shoes a matching colour. The blonde hair was swept up and held in place by a sparkling clip. Low cut at the back, the dress plunged all the way to her lower spine, the soft material draping at the last possible moment to cover her shapely derriere. A long silver chain dangled between her shoulder blades, a sparkling crystal nestling in the small of her back.

As the last golden rays of sun retracted through the arched windows, Evan’s heart rate soared and his mouth turned dry.

He’d never seen anything so alluring — and she hadn’t even turned around yet.

Chapter Fourteen

It was amazing, the minutiae of a person’s daily existence. Not that I was to concern myself with the personal aspects of Laila Richard’s life, but I couldn’t help it, couldn’t stay removed. The longer I watched, the more fascinated I became.

I wondered why she preferred to take this rattling form of public transport over driving the little red hatchback she kept in the garage. It seemed a waste to bring it out on weekends only to wash it. And I could see she wasn’t much of a gardener, more a general tidier. She ate fish, and preferred white wine over red. Sometimes, she’d have a glass or two when she got home from work. On those occasions I felt a strong desire to be with her. There’s something sad about drinking alone.

I wondered if she was still smarting over the argument with Barclay. I’d had to look away, unable to stomach the footage from the central hallway. I hadn’t enjoyed their clinch, their obvious passion for each other after arriving home in the taxi.

The fire had caught everyone by surprise.

And now there was a detective hanging around the building.

I looked away from where Laila sat dozing, a suit jacket covered in plastic lying on her lap.

The cityscape disappeared as the train rounded a bend and hurtled into a tunnel. Suddenly, I was staring at my reflection in the window beside me.

Craggy. Lean. Weary.

I’d done the unforgiveable.

I was supposed to watch.

I’d begun to care.

Chapter Fifteen

Noon Thursday

Laila sat beside Scarlett at the conference-room table. Across from her sat Evan, Duncan Peyton to his right. At the head of the table the mediator, Peter Barnes, had just finished introducing himself. Now he was running through the process for the benefit of Scarlett and Duncan.

‘No-one is providing evidence here. It’s a mediation only, an endeavour to come to an agreement to save time and expense.’

Laila crossed her legs beneath the table and accidently bumped Evan’s foot. His eyes cut to hers for an instant, and the corner of his mouth curved.

Laila swore beneath her breath, crossed her ankles and tucked them out of the way under her chair. Damn him for having such long legs. He was impossible to ignore as it was, and now his limbs were encroaching on her personal space.

Thinking about the length of his limbs led her to thinking about other body parts, and she threaded her fingers together and clasped them in her lap. If she wasn’t careful, she’d do something really clumsy, like knock over her water glass.

Sitting across from Evan reminded her of the night they’d met. Was he thinking the same thing? His attention was focused on Peter Barnes, but there was a glint in his eye and a curve to his lips, as if he was as aware of her as she was of him.

His eyes flicked to hers again, and Laila’s breath quickened, the muscles in her lower body clenching as she tuned out Peter Barnes’ monotone voice. Like an in-flight safety demonstration, this introductory talk was one she’d heard a hundred times, and she didn’t need to listen now. She needed Evan. Needed him to ease the constant ache, needed him like a starving vein needs its next hit. It had been three days since she’d seen him, three days since he’d kissed her in the hallway, and it felt like a month. It was all she could do not to reach across the table, grab hold of his tie and yank him to her.

Laila’s blood continued to heat as the mediator’s voice droned on.

‘No party is able to use any information, or documents provided, against the other party, nor can any offer, made in an attempt to settle the dispute, be used against a party in subsequent court proceedings.’

Please, get this over with so we can retreat to our respective rooms.

Suddenly, everything went quiet.

Warmth rose in Laila’s cheeks as she realised Scarlett had turned and was looking at her. The mediator had finished speaking, and Evan and Duncan were already getting to their feet.

Laila pushed back her chair just as Duncan leaned across the table and spoke to Scarlett.

‘When are you going to answer my calls?’

‘Dunk.’ Evan laid a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. ‘Not now.’

‘I’ve answered your calls.’ Scarlett gathered her bag and coat and drew herself up to her full height, which made her taller than Duncan. ‘We’ve made arrangements for the children this weekend. What more do you want?’

‘An explanation wouldn’t go astray.’

‘Come on.’ Laila touched Scarlett on the arm and began walking towards the door. ‘This is not the place.’

But as they made to leave, Duncan came around the table as if to head her off. Laila halted, unfazed by the aggression. Warring family law clients were nothing new to her.

‘Mr Peyton…’

Suddenly she was staring at Evan’s back. He was right up in Duncan’s face. ‘She’s right Duncan. This is not the place.’

‘Keep him away from me.’

Laila heard Scarlett’s voice behind her, though it came a little late, like an afterthought.

Evan swung around, though he didn’t look at Laila, just spoke directly to Scarlett. ‘How about you both calm down. You two have a lot of history. Don’t make this fail before we’ve even started.’

‘I agree.’ Laila said, eyes meeting Evan’s for the first time. ‘If you’ll excuse us.’

She walked towards Peter Barnes, who was holding the door open and watching the proceedings with interest. Outside, she looked around and chose one of the vacant interview rooms. It was marginally bigger than a work cubicle, with four tub chairs grouped around a circular table, and lighting so bright it washed the colour out of Scarlett’s face and highlighted the shadows under her eyes.

‘You okay?’ Laila closed the door.

Scarlett nodded, mouth pulled into a straight line.

‘It works this way.’ Laila sat down, glad to get to the business at hand. The parties could bicker on their own time. They were here to begin sorting out the assets.

‘We stay in separate rooms. Peter Barnes conveys the information back and forth. Poole Greenwood requested the mediation, so they’ll probably get things underway.’

She was careful not to use Evan’s name, should the slightest note of warmth or familiarity creep into her tone. Scarlett was a woman who missed nothing.

‘We don’t negotiate face to face?’

Scarlett’s look of disappointment surprised Laila. In general, her clients were relieved not to have to physically face their spouse, especially after a confrontation such as the one that just occurred.

‘Sometimes the legal teams confer, especially if an agreement’s reached. Only because it’s quicker.’

When Scarlett didn’t say any more, Laila went on. ‘Have you come to an arrangement about the children?’

Scarlett straightened her top more squarely on her shoulders then tugged down the hem of her short skirt. ‘For the moment, they’re staying with me during the week. He’ll have them on weekends.’

‘Good.’ Laila gave a satisfied nod. It was part of the job she enjoyed the least, parents, fighting over the custody of their children. ‘I’m glad you’re keeping the lines of communication open.’

‘It makes sense.’ Scarlett waved a perfectly manicured hand. ‘He has more time on the weekend, and it leaves me free to socialise.’

Laila continued to study her client. Scarlett’s demeanour was in stark contrast to the woman she’d spoken to last Saturday. Today, there were no bold statements such as ‘get me custody of my children, they are the most important thing in my life’. Today, she appeared serene — as if she were perfectly satisfied with the private arrangement she’d come to with her estranged husband.

That’s a good thing, Laila told herself. Scarlett had already relocated to an apartment in the city, and with custody of the children organised, they were free to concentrate on the division of assets. And despite what Evan might think, the sooner the order was lifted the better, in her opinion. She didn’t like holding up development and making life difficult for everyone. But Scarlett was her client and Laila didn’t have a choice. She had to protect the matrimonial assets until an agreement was reached. And there was no doubt that putting those orders in place had expedited the matter. If she hadn’t put a bomb under Evan Barclay and Poole Greenwood, they wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

She looked up as Peter Barnes entered the room and joined them at the table. ‘Mr Barclay has been working closely with the family’s accountants, ascertaining the financial position. They only need a few more minutes.’

Laila raised her eyebrows, surprised at the delay. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that too daunting a task. Last week the Peytons entered into a formal arrangement with an overseas consortium. Surely their financials would be up to date.’

‘I’ll convey those observations to Mr Barclay.’

Scarlett shot her a triumphant look as the mediator left the room. ‘You’re good.’

Laila shook her head. ‘I’m only needling them. They should come to the party with a figure pretty close to what you’ll ultimately receive. If you’re satisfied with the initial offer, we’ll agree to lift the orders, but only if they agree to pay a sufficient amount in liquid funds up front, with security for the balance.’

Peter Barnes appeared again, this time holding a stack of bound financial statements. ‘Mr Barclay said the figures are calculated from the commencement of the relationship. The value of assets prior to that haven’t been taken into consideration.’

Laila reached for the documents, unable to suppress the ripple of excitement racing along her nerve pathways. She was beginning to enjoy sparring with Evan — from a distance, when his commanding presence couldn’t distract her.

‘I’ll leave you to look over the figures,’ Peter Barnes said. ‘They’ve come up with a figure of seventeen million dollars inclusive of costs.’

‘Just a minute,’ Laila objected before Peter Barnes could leave. ‘Some credit has to be given to the prior assets. Those funds constitute an additional financial resource for the husband. The court would take them into consideration, should we end up there.’

‘I agree. I’ll convey that to Mr Barclay.’

Laila ran her eye over one set of financial figures and then another. They’d been duly certified by a reputable accounting firm and looked to be in order.

Before she knew it, Barnes was back. ‘Mr Barclay said there’s tax to pay and capital gains on the sale of certain assets. Additional costs will be involved.’

Laila ran her finger down the page. She’d do well to remember Evan was one of the best commercial lawyers in New South Wales. ‘All the assets appear to be included, but at their estimate values.’

‘I’ll give you ten minutes to speak with your client.’

When Peter Barnes left the room for the third time, Laila turned to Scarlett. ‘Look, their offer is in the range, but I believe it’s on the lower side. Your accountant will go through these figures with a fine tooth comb, but what we’re after today is a ballpark figure from which fifty percent can be released to you. My advice is, we make a counter offer somewhere between seventeen and nineteen million dollars.’

‘I want thirty.’

Laila recoiled at the words, shock rendering her speechless as she stared into eyes suddenly gone cold. Finally, she asked, ‘Thirty?’

‘Yes.’

‘Scarlett.’ Laila put down her pen and tapped her index finger on the cover of the financial statements. ‘According to these figures, that’s outrageous. There’s no way your case is worth that much.’

‘I don’t care.’ Scarlett stood up and walked over to stand by the window, her back to Laila. ‘I have information, and I have no qualms about using it. That’s what it will take for me to walk away.’

Laila said nothing, just worked the air back into her lungs as she waited for Scarlett to go on.

The other woman turned and came towards her, a superior smirk on her face as if she alone held the trump card. ‘I know things he’s done, in the past. He knows I know.’

Wary, Laila spoke quietly. ‘What things?’

Five minutes later, she was both taken aback and angry. It was obvious Scarlett had chosen this particular time to embarrass her husband and smear his reputation. Laila only wished she’d been more upfront with her.

‘Those things can’t be used in this forum, Scarlett. The mediator won’t convey threats of blackmail, and as a lawyer I won’t be part of it. I think it’s safe to say neither will Evan Barclay.’

A flash of anger darkened Scarlett’s eyes. ‘Just tell them I want thirty million dollars.’

Laila put her hand to her forehead as once again Peter Barnes appeared in the doorway. He came closer, paused, gaze shifting between the two women as if sensing something was wrong.

Laila massaged her forehead with her fingertips then held up her hand in the halt sign when Scarlett began to speak again. She needed time to think.

If Scarlett made these allegations public, there was a chance Duncan Peyton could find himself in the criminal court, his stalled business ventures the least of his worries.

And what about Evan?

Would he be implicated too?

Evan Barclay was known as a brilliant lawyer and a hard-line negotiator, but to her knowledge there’d never been a whiff of scandal about him.

A tight knot of anxiety formed at the back of Laila’s neck. Irrespective of what she personally thought of Scarlett’s outrageous demand for hush money, the woman had made her position clear.

Laila took a deep breath, loosened her shoulders and centred herself. She wasn’t used to working cases where millions were at stake, but as Scarlett’s lawyer, her only choice was to put the counter offer to Poole Greenwood and then discuss the reasons for it with Evan. Behind closed doors.

She raised her eyes to Peter Barnes. Her breakthrough case had just taken an unexpected and worrying turn.

‘We’d like to make a counter offer.’

She could only imagine Evan’s reaction.

‘Tell them we want thirty million.’

Chapter Sixteen

1 p.m. Thursday

‘I’m going to leave you two here and see if you can become a bit more realistic, so we can settle this matter. I’ll be outside, if you have any questions.’

The instant Peter Barnes was out the door, Evan was on his feet, disbelief blazing in his eyes. ‘What kind of game are you playing, Laila?’

Laila tried her best to stay calm, though she was anything but on the inside. She glanced at Evan. His coat had gone, his tie was loosened, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. A square of sticking plaster covered his burnt palm, the only outward sign of the fire last Monday.

‘It’s no game.’ She moistened her lips and did her best to stay cool as he began pacing the floor. ‘That’s the figure she’s demanded.’

He swung around. ‘On your advice?’

‘Of course not.’ Feeling at a disadvantage with him towering over her, Laila pushed back her chair and stood. ‘Would you stop prowling about like a caged animal?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just having trouble getting my head around your offer of thirty million bucks.’

Laila studied his face and wondered just how closely he was involved in the Peytons’ business activities. He appeared genuinely aggrieved, shaking his head, grey eyes flicking from one side of the room to the other. But Evan Barclay was a master of crisis management, a genius at salvaging deals when everyone else had written them off. Was this part of his game plan?

Only one way to find out.

‘She has information.’

He ceased pacing and slanted a suspicious look at her. ‘What kind of information?’

‘Bribes, paid to foreign officials to secure contracts.’

He didn’t react, just looked at her the way he had when she’d told him they couldn’t continue their relationship.

‘Which country?’

‘China.’

He spread his hands wide, palms facing upwards, the movement tightening the white shirt across his chest. ‘Facilitation payments are part of doing business with countries like China. They may be frowned upon, but it’s how they operate.’

‘Frowned upon? They’re illegal, and Scarlett knows it.’

‘Like it or not, Laila — both sides of government turn the other cheek. Foreign companies have to observe their business practices. Otherwise they’re not in the running.’

Laila frowned. ‘So, you condone this?’

‘No, I don’t condone it. I acknowledge it happens.’

‘Are you’re aware the Peytons regularly adopt this practice?’

‘Are you wondering if I’m involved?’

‘What?’ Heat suffused her cheeks. Like an amateur, she’d let her personal feelings for him intrude.

To her amazement, he smiled. ‘No need to worry about me, Laila, and no I wasn’t aware they adopted the practice.’ He went on, as if the little hiccup hadn’t happened. ‘I’m hardly surprised though.’

Laila decided to stay quiet. She’d put the counter offer to him, and the ball was now in his court.

‘Is that it?’ he asked after a while.

She shook her head. ‘There’s more. He organised high-class prostitutes for them when they came out here on business.’

‘Jesus!’ This time he did react. He ran a hand down his suddenly pale face and half turned away. ‘I’m beginning to understand why the marriage failed.’

Taken aback, Laila wondered at his response. Organising prostitutes wasn’t illegal. It wouldn’t enhance Duncan Peyton’s reputation any, but the facilitation payments were more damaging.

No, this was something else; it was as if Evan had suddenly turned inward. It was there in the rigid line of his jaw, in the tightness of his stance, in the glazed eyes that seemed to be looking into the past.

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. ‘Before you ask, I had no knowledge of that.’

Laila swallowed at his hard tone. She couldn’t deny it any longer. She wanted to know Evan Barclay at a deeper level, wanted to know what drove him, what made him tick, his loves, his hates, his faults, his prejudices.

She wanted it all.

Wanted him.

Laila clenched her hands at her sides. It hurt to have him so close and not touch him.

This is not the time. Stick to business.

‘She wants the premium, Evan. Either he pays, or it will come out in evidence in court.’

He turned then and gave her a steely look, the likes of which she’d never seen before. ‘I don’t like this, Laila.’

She held his gaze, refusing to look away. ‘I don’t either. But she’s determined to destroy him.’

For long moments neither of them spoke.

How much would Duncan be prepared to pay to save his company, his reputation, the family’s reputation?

Eventually, it was Evan who broke the silence. ‘How long has Scarlett had this information?’

‘Six months, apparently.’

‘Six months.’ He repeated the words softly to himself. ‘Scarlett’s threatened to leave on numerous occasions. I’d like to know what pushed her to do it now.’

‘I have no idea.’ Laila was at a loss to understand Scarlett herself. One minute she was offering to become patron of the Blackhawk Foundation, the next exposing her husband, the father of her children, as engaging in dubious practices, possibly ones that fell on the wrong side of the law. So much for her statement that she only wanted what was fair. A fair settlement was around seventeen million. The court would never award thirty million dollars. Somehow, she had to convince Scarlett that going to court wouldn’t earn her any more.

‘You realise thirty million dollars is ridiculous?’

Laila stiffened and pulled herself up to her full height. Of course she did. What did he take her for?

‘Maybe so, but that’s what it will take to stop her going to court.’

He gave a curt nod. ‘Okay. I’ll put it to Duncan, but don’t hold your breath. Your client’s going to have to come down to a more realistic level, otherwise we’ll never get agreement.’

He was back now from wherever he’d gone, the master negotiator with the fearsome reputation, unwavering in the face of Scarlett’s damaging accusations.

Laila closed her file. Despite Scarlett’s outlandish demand, she was in poll position and she had to make the most of it. Regardless of her personal feelings, she needed to steel herself and go for the jugular. In her position, Evan would do no less.

Laila picked up her file and rested it in the crook of her arm. ‘I would suggest you bring your client’s best offer to the table.’

She watched his eyes widen, didn’t miss his sudden intake of breath as she brushed past him. Her lips curved in a quiet smile. It was the first indication he’d given that he was as affected by their close proximity as she was.

Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke her name. Laila paused, heart thumping against the Peyton file clutched against her chest.

She turned and looked over her shoulder. It was as if he’d flicked some type of internal switch. His face had softened, and for a fleeting moment Laila thought she read longing in his eyes.

‘How are things at the office?’

‘Oh.’ She cleared the huskiness from her throat and turned to face him fully. ‘We lost a printer. The landlord has to replace the carpet. That’s about it.’

He nodded. ‘Lucky.’

‘Hmm.’ Then because she’d been dying to ask, and hadn’t had a chance. ‘How’s your hand.’

He looked surprised, raised his hand and turned it over as if he’d forgotten all about it. ‘The least of my worries.’

They smiled at each another then, and before she had a chance to really think about it, the words slipped from her lips. ‘I googled you.’

She held her breath, watching as he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, pursed his lips and gave a contemplative nod.

‘I switched the place cards.’

‘Place cards?’

What on earth was he talking about?

‘That night. I slipped a guy fifty bucks so I was sitting opposite you.’

His eyes meshed with hers and held, his scorching gaze sending her throat dry and her legs so weak they seemed to disappear out from under her.

Neither of them had physically moved, and yet in that moment, with those words, he’d forged an invisible bond that reached out and wrapped itself around her heart.

‘I had no idea.’

Eyes still locked on hers, he nodded once. ‘I know.’

Sparks of pleasure and optimism ignited inside her, and all she wanted was to run to him — but she couldn’t, not here, not now.

‘I really hope we get to settle this soon,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Me too.’

She went to turn away, but he stopped her again.

‘Whatever happens with this…’ He waved a hand towards Duncan’s file, still open on the desk. ‘Just remember Laila — I saw you first.’

Chapter Seventeen

6 p.m. Thursday

Laila stepped off the train at Bondi Junction and joined the weary throng of commuters. They swarmed like insects, listening to music and talking to no-one. Some broke away from the group and headed towards the large shopping mall attached to the station, while the remainder hurried outside to make their connections.

Tonight, nothing could puncture the protective armour of happiness that wrapped around her following Evan’s declaration. Not Scarlett’s mini tantrum accusing her of going easy on the other side, nor the fact it had taken fifteen minutes to calm the woman down. And definitely not the annoying amount of commuter congestion ahead of the long weekend.

I switched the place cards.

I saw you first.

Laila smiled and curled her toes with delight. She’d confessed to looking at the photographs, and he’d chosen to give her something back, something she could hold onto, a part of him he didn’t have to share.

He’d taken a risk.

Not that Evan Barclay was risk averse, not in a business sense anyway. If anything, he had a high tolerance for commercial risk. But from her observations, he hadn’t taken too many in his personal life. Even with models hanging off him in those photographs, she got the impression Evan kept things pretty close to his chest. There were no after-dinner speaking engagements, no dining out on his previous career. There were no dinner dates with her, and no comment on an upcoming biography.

Private.

A hard man to know.

But one worth the effort, of that she was certain.

She couldn’t deny her feelings anymore. She was seriously, dangerously attracted to him, in a way she hadn’t been with Will. But she’d been young back then, desperate to get away. They’d gone from best friends to high school sweethearts to married, and yes, she’d been happy.

But this thing with Evan was different. It was adult, raw and sexual, and she found him irresistible, even when they butted heads. She counted the days until she saw him again and when she did, her breath caught in her throat and it hurt just to look at him.

Laila sighed and headed for the bus stop. Far from ending their relationship, the Peyton divorce case had brought them together. Through that, she’d learnt more about him than she had in the whole time they’d been sleeping together.

Five minutes later, she was on the bus and heading down Bronte Road. A plump, middle-aged woman, arms laden with shopping, fell into the seat beside her. Turning up the volume on her iPod, Laila smiled at the woman then turned and stared out the window. She didn’t want to be rude, but she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. It had been a harrowing week, but at this very moment everything was right with the world.

Evan and Duncan wouldn’t be celebrating at The Bowery this weekend, she thought a little while later as the bus pulled into her stop. They’d be holed up with the patriarch of the Peyton family, discussing Scarlett’s allegations.

Alighting from the bus, Laila thought about the long weekend ahead. Some exercise would be good, and she should keep her promise and go see Grind’s band play. Apart from that, she was a free agent.

Out on the street, dark storm clouds rolled overhead and a stiff onshore breeze whipped droplets of rain in her face. Energised, and still on a high, Laila watched the taillights disappear into the sea mist before crossing the road and skirting around the edge of Bronte Park. Even the chance of a soaking on the way home couldn’t dampen the excitement charging around her system, and she had to consciously stop herself moving in time with the music.

She was halfway around the park’s perimeter, when the song on her iPod finished. In the five-second lull between tracks, a heavy footstep crunched in the gravel behind her.

Wrenching the cord from the jack, Laila glanced over her shoulder. A thickset man, dressed in black, was fifteen feet behind her.

Moving fast. Hands in pockets.

Laila’s nerve endings tingled.

Don’t panic. He’s just a commuter, hurrying home before the storm breaks.

Still, caution made her keep her earphones in her hand as she walked on, scanning the streetscape. Houses on the left, park on the right.

Ahead of her, the road lay deserted.

As every instinct screamed a warning, she kept going. Behind her, over the distant rumble of thunder, she could hear the rustle of clothes, the crunch of stones under his feet as he gained on her.

Scalp prickling, heart pumping hard, she turned and looked again.

He was closer now.

Hands free.

Hood up.

On instinct she changed direction, made to cross the street but he moved at the same time, cutting off her angle, menacing intent in every step.

‘Back off.’ Laila hissed like a cat, scrambling backwards towards the park, fingers gripping the strap of her bag.

He raised his chin and looked right at her.

Mean eyes in a rough face.

She turned and ran, searching for a light in a house, praying a car would turn into the street. Hampered by her pencil skirt and three-inch heels, she skidded in the loose gravel.

In the seconds it took to regain her balance, he was on her.

A calloused hand encircled her throat, cutting off her air supply and smothering her scream. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her arm was pinned painfully behind her back as he hauled her body sideways.

She struck out, clawing his face, fingernails tearing as she raked them down his nose. He loosened his hold and she sucked in air and tried bringing her knee upwards towards his groin. A thick arm slammed across her shoulders, and he pushed and dragged her into the bushes.

Struggling to gain a foothold, Laila turned her head and sank her teeth into a hot, hairy arm. He roared and grabbed her hair, pulling so hard her head snapped back. When he glanced at the bite mark, Laila raised her hand and drove her thumb deep into his Adam’s apple.

He gagged and let her go.

Eyes stinging, throat burning, she stumbled away. Branches tore at her skin, tangled in her hair as she changed direction once, and then again. Disoriented, she ran through the darkness, not knowing if she were headed for the road or deeper into the park.

Behind her, she could hear her assailant thrashing his way through the undergrowth.

She tripped and pitched forward, slamming into the cold ground. She tried crawling away, but rough hands manacled her ankles, and then a dead weight landed on her legs.

Beneath her cheek, the earth was pungent with fertilizer.

And then she heard the sound of a zipper being lowered.

Galvanised by a fresh wave of terror, Laila groped in the dark, feeling for the jagged piece of stone digging into her shoulder. She worked the rock into her palm and pushed herself upwards, bucking like a footballer trying to get free of a tackle.

A meaty hand slapped over her mouth, smothering the scream building in her throat. Laila twisted her body, twisted again, swinging her arm wide as she aimed the rock toward her assailant’s head.

There was a loud crack, an animal sound, a stink of nicotine and sour body odour.

Then something hard and cold jammed into the side of her neck.

‘Someone wants you dead, bitch.’

Laila froze. Beside her left cheek, his index finger rested on the trigger, the barrel of the pistol pushed hard against her carotid artery.

Evan’s face flashed in her mind.

She wanted to live.

She so wanted to live.

‘You bastard.’

He grinned, just before a sickening thump split the air. His expression froze on his face, and then he toppled sideways, knocked out cold before he even hit the ground.

Laila pushed herself up on her elbows as a tall figure loomed above her. A lanky guy, silhouetted against the trees, pistol held loosely at his side. As she watched, he planted his foot square in the middle of her assailant’s back and gave the prone body a powerful shove.

It was then Laila noticed her assailant’s jacket half unzipped. Her eyes flew to his pants, but the fly was closed. The noise she’d heard must have been the zipper on his jacket being lowered when he’d taken out the gun.

‘Go.’ The tall man leaned over and picked up the gun. ‘Run home.’

Laila scrambled onto her knees. ‘What about calling the police?’

He held out her handbag, his face averted. ‘Go now.’

Laila wasn’t about to argue. Standing on wobbly legs, she reached out and took hold of her bag. Calling the police wasn’t going to happen.

Chest heaving, she backed away, amazed she was still wearing her shoes. ‘Thank you.’

She turned and ran, stumbling through the trees until she found her way out to the road. Leaving the park behind, she ran like a crazy woman. Reaction set in, weakening her muscles and slowing her progress. Still, she ran on, past the houses where families were having dinner behind closed curtains, past the cars left parked on the street.

Chest burning from the effort, body wracked with uncontrollable tremors, she didn’t stop until she turned the corner and reached her little front gate. Tears of relief welled in her eyes, blinding her as she fumbled with the latch. She stumbled up the two steps and onto the bullnose veranda, digging in her bag for her keys, a sob bursting from her sore throat where cruel fingers had shut off her air supply.

Who was he?

What was he doing to the guy in the park?

Did she care?

All she wanted was to get inside the safety of her house.

Hands shaking, she aimed the key at the lock, fumbled and dropped the keys with a clatter.

Tears of frustration ran down her cheeks as she scooped them up and tried again. This time, she managed to slide the key into the lock. She was about to open the door, when a sound behind her made her scalp crawl.

Chapter Eighteen

7 p.m. Friday

‘Laila, it’s me. It’s me!’

She stopped fighting and went still. The wounded cry, which moments earlier had sent fear rolling through Evan’s body, died on her lips.

She swung around, eyes glazed with the kind of blind panic you hoped you didn’t witness too often in a lifetime. Only then did he notice the leaves and twigs in her hair, the dirty hands and broken fingernails where she held the keys in a white-knuckled grip.

Dread constricted the muscles in his throat, making it almost impossible for him to force out the words. ‘What happened?’

Her lips trembled, but she said nothing, just leaned forward and rested her forehead on his chest.

Slowly, Evan brought his hands up to cup the back of her head. ‘Laila, honey, talk to me.’

She pressed her cheek against his chest as if comforted by the sound of his heartbeat. ‘A man attacked me. He dragged me into the park.’

The words hit Evan like a freight train, one horror image after another flashing through his mind.

‘Oh, Laila.’ He choked out the words, rage dotting his vision, and for the first time in his life he wondered what it would feel like to slaughter a man.

‘Let’s get you inside.’

Fighting the monster that was his fury, he gently prised the keys from her fingers, keeping hold of her as he unlocked the door. Then he bent and scooped her damp body into his arms, kicked the door closed behind him and walked into the living room.

He put her down on the lounge, shrugged off his suit coat and wrapped it around her shaking shoulders. ‘I’ll call an ambulance, or would you rather me drive you to the hospital?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m okay. He didn’t rape me.’

Relief for her washed over him, and he sent up a silent prayer of gratitude that she’d been spared at least one horrific form of violence.

‘He would have killed me.’ She spoke in a flat, unfamiliar tone. ‘He had a gun.’

‘Are you physically hurt?’

‘Only my neck.’

She lifted her chin, bruises already forming where pitiless fingers had tightened around her throat.

‘The fucking bastard.’ Evan’s stomach gave a sickening lurch and he had to fight the urge to drive down to the park and look for the guy.

But he couldn’t leave her.

Couldn’t contaminate a crime scene either.

‘I’ll call the police.’

‘Ring Dickson Cross.’ With shaking hands, she unzipped a small bag slung diagonally across her body. ‘His card’s in here somewhere.’

‘Here, let me.’ Evan uncurled his fists and searched through the bag, needing something to prevent him smashing a hand into the wall. All he could think about was Laila, and what he’d do to the guy if he found him.

‘Who’s Dickson Cross?’

‘A detective I’ve been speaking to.’

He refrained from questioning her, just punched in the number. Conscious of her watching him, he reached out and touched the side of her hair while he listed to the phone ring at the other end.

The detective picked up on the third ring.

The conversation lasted thirty seconds.

‘He’s on his way.’ Evan sat down beside her. The shaking was intermittent now, and there was a little more colour in her face.

‘Come here.’ He reached for her, and she slid into his arms. ‘Should I call the emergency doctor?’

‘Not yet. Wait until we speak to Dickson.’

Her head came down on his shoulder, her familiar softness momentarily quenching his thirst for revenge. Not since school, when he’d lain in wait for the cowards picking on Duncan, had he been so consumed with a need to extract violence.

Not even in his football days.

But this?

This made him want to go out and hunt the guy.

Evan dragged in a ragged breath and held her loosely, trying not to manhandle her too much. He didn’t speak, didn’t want to push her for too many details. She’d have to relive everything soon enough when this Detective Inspector Cross arrived.

Ten minutes later, he was introducing himself. Even this late on a Thursday, Cross exuded a reassuring energy, and it didn’t take him long to get to work.

‘Laila.’ He sat opposite Laila on the ottoman and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. ‘I’ve got men scouring the park as we speak. Do you need a doctor right now, or are you able to tell me what happened?’

She nodded. ‘I’m fine now. I can tell you what happened.’

Evan moved to stand behind the detective, watching as Cross took a notepad from his pocket and flipped over to a blank page.

‘Start at the beginning.’

Laila took a deep breath. ‘I got off the bus. It was darker than usual, beginning to rain. One minute it seemed the storm was about to hit, then it blew over.’

‘Do you always catch the same bus?’

‘Mostly.’

‘Did he get off with you?’

‘I don’t remember seeing him on the bus.’

‘So he was lying in wait?’

Laila shifted uneasily. ‘I’m not sure. He could have been. I — I didn’t notice him when I got off either.’

‘Okay.’ The detective turned a page in his notebook. ‘You told me the other day you had the feeling you were being watched.’

‘What?’ Evan couldn’t help interrupting. Laila hadn’t said anything to him. Then again, why would she? They were officially broken up. He didn’t have a right to know anything now — if he ever did.

Laila turned wide brown eyes on him. ‘Dickson’s investigating the fire. It was deliberately lit. He showed me a photo of a guy they caught on security camera.’

She turned to Dickson then. ‘I think it might have been him.’

‘Okay, back up a bit.’ Dickson scribbled frantically on his pad. ‘Go from where you got off the bus.’

Over the next few minutes, Laila described her horror walk home and the ensuing struggle.

‘A gun’s unusual in a rape.’ Dickson said, when she reached that point in the story. ‘Usually it’s at knifepoint.’

‘At first I thought he was going to rape me, but the zipper I heard was from his jacket, when he took out the gun. And it was the words he used. He said “someone wants you dead, bitch”.’

‘That was after you hit him with the rock?’

‘Yes.’

Dickson took the picture from his pocket, the same one he’d shown her yesterday. ‘Take another look.’

The sight of her attacker sent a fresh shudder through Laila’s body. ‘I’m not totally sure. He was looming over me. There was lightning. I caught glimpses of his face.’

Concerned that she was still in shock, and wishing more than anything he’d been there, Evan moved to sit beside Laila again. He leaned over and looked at the photograph. ‘I’ve seen that guy.’

‘When?’ Dickson snapped out the question, eyes lowered to where Evan had slipped his arm around Laila’s waist.

‘The day of the fire. He was coming out of the building. He tried to stop me going in.’

‘Evan brought Mike out,’ Laila explained.

Dickson directed his next question at Evan. ‘What did he say?’

‘The smoke was getting worse, and not to go in.’

Laila leaned back against the cushions. ‘Maybe the man has a conscience after all.’

‘More likely he knows us both.’ Unable to sit still, Evan pushed himself up and began pacing the floor. ‘Laila, you said you thought you were being watched?’

‘Yes.’

‘If it was this guy, what if tonight was his second attempt to hurt you? Could the fire have been his first?’

He turned to the detective. ‘Think about it. He assumes Laila’s in the building, so he lights the fire. Only she’s in court. He evacuates along with the others, but outside, she passes him and goes into the building. At that point, he still thinks he’s in with a chance, whatever his motive is. What he doesn’t know is that I’m coming after her. Then he spots me. And if he’s been watching Laila, he knows me too.’

‘It makes sense.’ Dickson said after a while. ‘There’d only be one reason he’d risk speaking to you.’

‘He didn’t want me stopping Laila from entering that building.’

‘You missed your calling, mate. You should have been a cop.’ Dickson began writing again. ‘So Laila, despite the damage you did with the rock, he still managed to pull the gun on you? How did you get away?’

‘Another guy hit him from behind.’

Two sets of male eyes bored into her.

‘Pistol whipped him.’ Laila pointed to the printed photograph. ‘He was out cold before he even hit the ground.’

Dickson sat straighter. ‘Did this other guy say anything?’

‘He told me to go. I wanted to call the police, but he told me to run. I didn’t argue.’

For a few uneasy moments nobody spoke.

Finally, Evan broke the silence. ‘What’s he got to hide? Could this be another gangland thing?’

Dickson didn’t answer, just kept pressing Laila. ‘Did you get a look at him?’

Laila nodded. ‘Tall, lanky, salt-and-pepper hair. He looked kind of familiar. I think I’ve seen him before, but I can’t remember where.’

‘You’re still in shock,’ Evan said quietly. ‘It might come back to you later.’

‘He’s right.’ Dickson agreed. ‘If you feel up to it, I’ll take you down to the station. You might recognise him from a mug shot, and forensics will need to do a fingernail scrape and test your clothing for specks of blood.’

‘When you find him he’ll have scratch marks on his face and a bite mark on his arm.’ Laila shuddered. ‘I can still taste his skin in my mouth.’

‘Do you feel up to going down to the station?’ Evan asked. He wasn’t convinced they shouldn’t call a doctor first.

‘I’m okay now. I was very lucky.’

He smiled, pleased she’d stopped shaking. If he had his way, he’d personally check every square inch of her body. But she was a sensible woman. He had to take her word for it.

Tearing his eyes away, he jabbed at the printout. ‘So, who’s this guy?’

‘John Holt, a member of the Altar Boys motorcycle gang.’ Dickson pointed to the rosary beads tattooed around his neck. ‘He’s a professional crim.’

Evan heard George Peyton’s voice in his head. Who’s this lady lawyer? Pressure can be brought to bear.

His mind rocketed backwards to his conversation with George. That meeting had been last Monday night, after the fire. But Duncan had learned Laila’s name at The Bowery, the previous Friday, and he’d spoken to his parents over the weekend. There was every chance George would have known Laila’s name before he’d asked Evan about her on Monday.

Sick in the guts, his mind in turmoil, Evan stared at the picture. Surely George couldn’t be involved in this? Not the man who’d singlehandedly kept him out of foster homes and probably juvenile detention as well. It didn’t make sense. If George wanted someone stopped, the obvious person was Scarlett. Stopping Laila would only prove a temporary measure, until Scarlett found another lawyer.

And yet, he couldn’t help remembering Duncan’s slip about the standover merchant they’d hired to recover money. He wasn’t supposed to know about it, but he did.

What other Peyton secrets didn’t he know?

As much as his mind rebelled against the possibility, Evan feared that something Laila saw as her big break could be bringing her grief. And if that were true, then he was responsible.

And powerless to do anything about it.

The Peytons were his clients. He was bound by client attorney privilege to keep both oral and written communications confidential. He couldn’t divulge what was said to anyone, including this Detective Inspector Cross.

Not even to protect Laila.

Evan reined in his frustration. The only thing he could do was take her somewhere safe while he carried out some investigations of his own.

Realising the other two were looking at him, Evan put the obvious question to Dickson Cross. ‘Why would a professional crim be after Laila?’

Dickson and Laila exchanged glances, but it was the detective who answered. ‘Laila might be able to shed some light on that.’

Surprised at the detective’s answer, Evan turned and studied her face. The colour had returned to her cheeks, but her lips were pulled into a straight line and she looked far from pleased.

Evan frowned. If she had information that would ease his mind about the Peytons, he needed to hear it. It was tearing up his insides, imagining his adopted family could be capable of such evil — purely because a development was at stake.

Chapter Nineteen

7.45 p.m. Friday

‘Would you excuse us, detective?’ Laila asked, her eyes on Evan’s mystified face.

Dickson raised two hands in the air. ‘Alright, alright, I know you can’t say anything because of your client attorney privilege.’

Laila nodded. ‘That’s right. I can discuss the case with another lawyer though, providing there’s no conflict of interest. If Evan doesn’t act for the military, I’m free to seek his advice.’

‘I’ll remove myself then.’ Looking a little put out, Dickson stood and shoved his notepad in his shirt pocket. ‘I’ll go ring the boys, see if they’ve uncovered anything at the park.’

Evan shot the detective a grateful look. ‘Thanks Cross.’

Muttering something like ‘bloody lawyers’, the detective left the room. Seconds later, the front door slammed.

Laila jumped, nerves still on edge as Evan’s expression changed to one of disbelief. ‘The military?’

‘Yes.’

He raised both hands. ‘There’s no conflict of interest on this one. Poole Greenwood doesn’t act for the military.’

‘Good.’ Laila breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So long as we don’t discuss the Peyton case, we’re okay, right?’

‘Right. As far as I’m concerned, the Peytons are the only no-go area.’ He gave her the kind of searing look that had her thinking about something else entirely.

‘I think I need to move a bit.’ Without waiting for an answer, Laila stood. The muscles in her shoulders and legs were beginning to hurt, and a dull ache was already throbbing behind her eyes.

‘Do whatever makes you comfortable.’

‘You know my husband was killed while on a training exercise, when a Blackhawk went down?’ she began, nervous at the prospect of discussing her husband with her lover — her ex-lover.

He nodded. ‘That’s not the kind of thing I’d forget.’

Laila steadied herself. She’d only spoken the words aloud once before, to her parents. ‘Will was the pilot. There was an enquiry into the crash. The official finding was “pilot error”. Will was responsible for the deaths of nine men and another eight who were catastrophically injured. Mike was among them.’

Evan didn’t move, but the compassion in his eyes brought a lump to Laila’s throat. She’d bottled everything up for so long, now she feared it would all come tumbling out in a torrent of emotion.

Four long years.

Strange, but it felt like Will had been gone longer now.

‘Do you think the verdict could be behind the attack?’ Evan asked.

‘Oh — no.’ Laila blinked away the hot tears that stung her eyes. ‘Understandably, the families are bitter, but I doubt any of them would try and extract revenge on me, especially now. I was one of them. I lived on the base for years.’

Evan leaned forward, brows drawn together in a frown. ‘Why especially now?’

She moistened her lips and took a deep breath. ‘Months before the accident, Will told me there was a fault with the panoramic night-vision goggles. They were interfering with his depth perception. It totally freaked him out.’

‘Did he report it?’

Laila nodded. ‘The commanders dismissed it. It left him angry and frustrated, but in the end he had no choice but to accept their decision.’

Laila faltered, raised a hand to her forehead as a wave of dizziness came over her.

‘Laila.’ Evan stood and came towards her — tall, dark, reassuring. ‘You have to speak to someone. If you can’t speak to me, then…’

‘No, I can.’ Oh god! She wanted to tell him more than anyone.

He took hold of her shoulders, hands warm and comforting. ‘Just take your time. I’ll give you my honest opinion.’

She started again. ‘Will’s report was brought up in the crash enquiry. But they twisted it, made it sound like he wasn’t performing well at his job. They suggested he became disoriented. I guess it was convenient to return a finding of pilot error.’

‘Are you sure he didn’t have a physical problem, or that something else might have caused the accident?’ Evan asked.

‘At first I accepted their finding, along with everyone else. Then a while ago, another pilot contacted me — anonymously. Two more had experienced problems with the night vision. There have been many close calls, one only recently.’

Evan’s eyebrows shot up, and a different kind of respect shone in his eyes, as if she’d surprised him.

‘You’ve been talking to an informant?”

Laila nodded. ‘In the art gallery.’

‘The art gallery?’ An amused expression crossed his face. ‘Why not a seedy alleyway, or an abandoned warehouse?’

Laila gazed into his handsome face, and smiled a little. His teasing, his ability to add a light touch to the most dire of situations, reassured and calmed her, making her feel like he could handle anything.

Dickson’s voice drifted in from the veranda. Any minute now he’d be back to take her to the station.

Laila moistened her lips and went on. ‘The problem with the night vision hasn’t been isolated. There could be multiple factors involved, or it could be a gap in their training. Regardless of the cause, one thing’s for sure. More soldiers will die if something isn’t done.’

She quickly explained about the pilots’ fear of reprisals if they came forward.

Evan listened intently as she explained the class action she was handling, and how her filing cabinets had been tampered with.

‘So, you’ve had a break-in.’ Evan ticked the points off with his fingers. ‘Plus a fire in your building and now an attack on your person.’

Laila nodded. ‘And someone could have been in this house, but we’re not sure. Dickson’s checking the phones at the office first. I’ve had a problem with both landlines. Individually, they wouldn’t have raised a red flag, but in the space of a week…’

‘You think they’re connected to this case.’

Laila let go of a breath, relieved to have shared her concerns with someone other than Mike. ‘They could be.’

‘Are we talking a military cover-up here?’

She nodded again. ‘If the real cause of the crash has been covered up, heads will roll.’

‘Jesus.’ Evan wandered around the room as if checking out the soft furnishings, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Where are you at with the case?’

Laila thought of Trudy. She’d been hoping for a phone call saying Eddie had been through the document. ‘Hopefully I’ll file it Monday. I’m waiting on one more thing.’

‘You haven’t filed it yet?’ He swung around. ‘What’s the hold-up?’

Laila bristled. ‘I have a slight issue with money, Evan. That’s why I was so thrilled to get the Peyton case. I need the costs it will bring in to fund an investigation. I can’t go into this underprepared. If we lose, my clients will be slugged with the military’s legal costs. I can’t risk that. I have to be as certain of the facts as I can be.’

‘Okay, don’t get defensive. I have a few concerns though.’

She watched as long fingers worked at the knot in his tie. ‘Are you speaking as a lawyer, or as my…friend?’

‘Both.’ He lifted his chin and undid the top button of his shirt. ‘And you and I know there’s a lot more going on here than friends.’

Before she had time to react, he went on. ‘My experience with the military is limited, and hardly positive. Still, I find it difficult to believe they’re capable of sabotaging your office and potentially silencing you. Do you believe that?’

Laila hesitated. ‘Honestly, I don’t know.’

‘Then my advice would be to lodge the class action immediately. Once the documents are served on the military, they can’t touch you. Anything happens to you, and they’re the number one suspect.’

He had a point. The military would go into defence mode. With luck, they’d ground the fleet and launch another investigation, hoping the court would look upon their actions favourably. They’d want to be seen to be doing everything within their power to address the problem.

‘I agree, but the money…’

Evan closed his eyes for a beat. ‘Just forget about the money for a minute, will you?’

‘Okay.’

‘I agree that the best way to question them is in a court of law. However, I don’t think it’s wise taking on a case when you’re one of the plaintiffs. I know it’s allowed, but it’s generally not recommended.’

‘I’m not a plaintiff. I only want the verdict overturned, and Will’s name cleared. And proper compensation for the wives and widows, of course.’

‘You’re one of the widows.’

Laila went on as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘Their payout from the military was an absolute pittance, Evan. They deserve more for their pain and suffering. The men who survived — they’ll never be the same. And the wives need help…’

‘Don’t evade the question Laila. You’ve had pain, you’ve suffered.’ Evan zeroed in on her as if questioning a witness. ‘Will lost his life. They hung this on him. You lost your husband. You’re as entitled to compensation as anyone else.’

‘I know that.’ How had he managed to get so close to the heart of the matter so quickly? ‘I’m not interested in the money.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Really?’

Laila shook her head. ‘I don’t need it.’

‘You just said you did. You’re fighting for reasonable compensation for others, and yet you refuse it yourself. Why?’

She didn’t have a legal answer to that. ‘Why does it matter? I told you this because I wanted your advice. As a sole practitioner, I don’t have a partner I can run these things by.’

He lowered his voice a tone. ‘You don’t like the question.’

Laila clenched her hands at her sides and said nothing.

‘Why Laila? I’m trying to understand why you are not a plaintiff in the action?’

‘Because I don’t deserve it.’ The words were out before she could stop them.

He blinked, but he didn’t say anything, just waited for her to go on.

‘I was spared, Evan. My friend, Trudy…her husband, Eddie, is a shell of his former self. It’s the only way you can describe him. He’s totally dependent on her. Some nights, I dream Will survived. I see him, like Eddie, living every day wishing he was dead. When I wake up, the relief that he didn’t have to endure that — it makes me feel like a horrible person…’

He came closer, and she breathed him in, his scent fresh and clean, like an ocean breeze.

Laila stepped back. She’d been crawling around in blood and bone, or whatever fertilizer had been used in the park.

‘You’re not a horrible person.’ He reached out and rubbed the pad of his thumb across her cheek like he was wiping away a smudge of dirt. ‘None of us want to see a loved one suffer, and you knew him better than anyone. You know he would have hated living that way.’

This was the understanding and support she’d never had from her parents. Coming from Evan, it gave her the courage to go on.

‘I’m thankful he doesn’t know the blame they’ve laid at his feet. I intend to fix this, Evan. I will not allow his memory to be tarnished — not if something else was the cause of that accident.’

For the briefest moment Laila saw hurt in Evan’s grey eyes, and then just as quickly, it was gone. ‘You’re right. He doesn’t deserve it, and neither do his family.’

His gaze shifted to the photograph on the mantelpiece. ‘I think Will would be very proud of his wife right now.’

A lump rose in Laila’s throat. She loved this tall, dark, handsome man standing in front of her, just as she still loved her husband.

It was that simple, and that complicated.

‘You’ve done a massive amount of work on this. Maybe it’s got to a stage where you need some help. Let me talk to a few people. We have extensive connections at Poole Greenwood.’

Laila hesitated. The earliest she could lodge the class action was Monday. What harm would it do for Evan to make a few enquiries over the weekend? It would be silly to refuse his help because of a misplaced sense of pride.

She nodded. ‘Okay.’

Right then Dickson tapped on the door. ‘If you guys are finished, I’d like to take Laila down to the station.’

Laila glanced at Evan. ‘I think we’re just about done.’

‘Anything show up at the park?’ Evan asked.

‘No sign of anyone. The boys will be there for a while yet.’ He pointed an index finger at Evan. ‘Are you staying over? If not, I was going to suggest she stay at a friend’s place tonight.’

‘Excuse me, I’m right here.’ Laila interjected, heat suffusing her face at the awkward position Dickson had put Evan in. She might look a mess, and she desperately needed a shower, but her brain still worked. ‘You can speak to me, detective.’

Evan looked amused and Dickson had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘Err, happily. I’m sorry, I thought…’

‘You thought right, detective.’ Without missing a beat, Evan’s arm came around her waist. ‘I’m taking Laila to my place tonight. She’ll feel more secure in my apartment.’

Laila tried not to show her surprise as this time the detective looked squarely at her. ‘I don’t care where you go, as long as you’re with someone. I don’t want you on your own.’

Feeling as if she had to make some kind of protest, Laila turned to Evan. Dickson had just sabotaged his weekend plans. ‘You don’t have to do this. I can stay with a girlfriend.’

‘No way.’ His arm tightened around her waist and his eyes flashed as if daring her to challenge him.

‘I’d prefer you stay with him.’ Dickson cocked his head in Evan’s direction, then held up his hands when she went to say something. ‘I have nothing against your girlfriends, but he’s a big unit. I know who I’d rather have beside me, if I were in your position.’

‘That’s settled then.’ Evan said with a finality that didn’t brook any argument. Not that Laila intended protesting further. He’d been great tonight, and she wouldn’t diminish him in front of Dickson by arguing. She’d made her point. And realistically, how much sleep would she get if she stayed in the house on her own?

How much sleep will you get in his apartment?

Shocked at the nervous excitement stirring in her belly at the possibility of spending another night with Evan, Laila swallowed hard. It had to be the euphoric high following her narrow escape that was making her feel this way. Or perhaps the adrenaline rush.

Or the clarity that comes with having a gun rammed in your throat!

Anticipation made Laila’s heart rate climb. She didn’t care, she loved him, and that was the most important thing. She’d come close to dying tonight, and in that wild rage she’d realised just how much she wanted to live.

Now, cell by cell, her numb body stirred to life under Evan’s scrutiny. He was making her feel good, just as he always did, and as crazy as it was to be feeling this way after the horror attack, she wanted him, wanted more.

Laila took a deep breath, drank in the sight of him as the flame inside her burned stronger. As far as she was concerned, the military, the Peytons — even the damn conflict of interest — could go to hell.

Tonight was theirs.

Chapter Twenty

8.20 p.m. Thursday

Evan shifted the Porsche down a gear, turned into Sussex Street and headed towards the King Street Wharf.

Twenty minutes earlier, he’d left Laila with Dickson, with plans to meet back at the house in two hours. That left him about an hour to track down Allegra Greenwood. Understandably, she wasn’t answering her phone the Thursday night of a long weekend. But a quick call to her secretary, Josie, and he learned Allegra and Luke were at the Malaya Restaurant at the wharf.

He pulled into a No Parking zone outside the restaurant, threw the car into park and killed the engine. On the curb, he did up his top button and straightened his tie. With luck, he wouldn’t need a jacket to get in. Laila still had his coat.

For the first time since the fire, Evan remembered the jacket and sunglasses he’d left in her office. He smiled to himself. If he kept hanging out with Laila, he’d need to get fitted for some new suits.

A blast of cool, filtered air greeted him as he opened the door and stepped inside. An elaborately designed black-and-white marble counter dwarfed the demure Asian woman standing behind it.

‘Good evening sir. Do you have a reservation?’

‘I don’t. My name’s Evan Barclay. I’m a lawyer at Poole Greenwood. There’s an urgent matter I need to discuss with my employer, Allegra Greenwood. I understand from her P.A. she’s dining here tonight.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty…’

‘She’s not answering her phone,’ Evan continued on as if he hadn’t heard the objection. ‘She’s likely to be with her husband, Luke Neilson.’

The woman hesitated, looked him up and down, then appeared to come to a decision. ‘Just a moment.’

Evan held his breath as she consulted a leather-bound folder, running her index finger down the list of reservations. ‘There’s no booking for Greenwood. Was Neilson the other name you mentioned?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s a booking for a Mr Neilson.’ The woman looked up. ‘May I have your business card?’

‘Certainly.’ Evan opened his wallet, pleased he’d left it in the console of his car and not in his jacket. He took out a card and handed it to the maître d’. ‘Thank you.’

‘I won’t be a moment.’

The woman departed, and Evan looked around the impressive entrance. Wrought-iron wine racks reached to the ceiling and formed an attractive partition from the main dining area. Two enormous fish tanks stocked with lobsters and mud crabs, blissfully unaware of their imminent fate, graced another wall.

Why hadn’t he brought Laila to places like this, been more open with her, more honest about his background? After all, he had a lot to be proud of. It was only his early life that shamed him. Even now, he could feel the hurtful stares, hear the callous comments of the town’s people.

Look at the mother. What hope does the kid have?

Evan dragged in a deep breath and cast aside the memories. Like an idiot, he’d convinced himself that keeping his relationship with Laila a secret would give her time to get to know him, the real him, before she had to learn about all the other stuff, like his mother abandoning him before he reached double figures.

But he hadn’t used the time with Laila as he’d intended, and that was entirely his fault. He’d kept her at a distance, protecting himself, suspecting she was still in love with her husband, fearing he’d never measure up. One time, when she’d started telling him about her family, he’d changed the subject so quickly she’d never spoken of them again.

Evan shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and shifted his weight impatiently. Across the restaurant, he could see the maître d’ speaking to Allegra.

He blew out a relieved breath.

One weekend.

He had one weekend to fix everything, to bring Laila closer and come clean about those early years. Otherwise, she’d read about his background along with the rest of the country, when that bastard of a sports journalist released his biography.

Not wanting to speculate on what juicy titbits the journo might have dug up, Evan watched the woman come towards him, Allegra’s taller figure behind her. He wished those people from that one-horse hole of a town could see him now, see the money he made, the apartment, the Porsche — the rewards of years of hard work.

Still, none of that felt as good as knowing he’d proved them wrong. He hadn’t turned out to be the drain on society they all thought he’d grow up to be.

And he didn’t thank God for that.

He thanked George Peyton.

Moments later, he was standing by a window table and shaking hands with Luke Neilson. At thirty-nine, the former SAS commander was of similar height to Evan, and still in serious shape. He was not the kind of guy you wanted to meet under the wrong circumstances, but the kind you wanted next to you in the trenches.

‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.’ Neilson smiled, the silver scar on his cheek moving a fraction. ‘I spent years admiring you from afar.’

‘Ah, thank you.’ Evan returned the smile, taking an instant liking to Allegra’s husband. ‘I can’t say working for your wife’s any easier than playing footy. She’s a hard task master.’

Neilson laughed, and Evan winked at Allegra. Unlike many players, he wasn’t into reliving the glory days. He’d only ever played for the love of the game, and when the opportunity arose, he’d used it as a means of escape — a chance to use his brain instead of his brawn.

‘As you can see, Evan’s a bit of a charmer.’ Allegra smiled at both men, looking so relaxed she seemed like a different person. ‘It’s why I employed him. We need someone with a bit of savoire faire around the office.’

Evan caught Allegra’s eye again. It seemed Poole Greenwood’s criminal partner wasn’t short on charm herself. They both knew she’d employed him because of his ability to pull a deal together. Plus, he had Duncan Peyton as a client. That guaranteed a certain number of billable hours per month.

They sat, and Luke poured him a glass of red. Then he topped up Allegra’s glass, and finally his own.

Evan lifted the large balloon glass in a toast, then took a sip of the smooth Shiraz. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’

‘What can I help you with?’ Luke asked.

Evan broke the whole thing down, from Laila’s history with the military to how she’d established the Blackhawk Foundation and the work she did representing the army wives.

‘What an admirable woman,’ Allegra said when he paused to take another sip of wine. ‘No wonder you’re so proud of her.’

Allegra’s comment took Evan by surprise, but then Luke was speaking and he had no time to dwell on it. ‘I remember the crash. I was out of the army by then.’

‘You still have ties with the military.’ Allegra put her hand on her husband’s leg and Evan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. The perfumed steamroller was a different woman with her husband. Clearly, they were well matched.

A long-forgotten emotion, which he recognised as envy, resurfaced and burned in Evan’s chest. Would Laila ever get over her husband? Would she ever be capable of loving another man the way she’d loved Will?

Pushing the distracting thought aside, Evan told them everything he knew about the military’s finding in Will’s case, and the ongoing concerns of other pilots. He wrapped it up with the problems in Laila’s office, and the attack on her tonight.

Allegra’s sharp intake of breath and Luke’s shocked expression told Evan they hadn’t been expecting anything as violent as what he’d just revealed.

It was Allegra who spoke first. ‘Is she alright?’

Evan nodded. ‘She’s at the police station looking through mug shots.’

‘She didn’t recognise the guy?’ asked Luke.

‘She thinks he could be the same guy they caught on CCTV the morning of the fire.’

‘And the second bloke?’

‘She might have seen him. She can’t remember where though.’

Then, because he wanted them to know she was more than a friend, more than an associate, he added. ‘She’ll be staying with me until this is sorted.’

Luke and Allegra glanced at each other, and some kind of silent exchange passed between them. According to office gossip, the couple had met when she’d engaged Neilson to track down a stalker.

Allegra rotated her wine glass, the stem clasped between long, slender fingers. ‘Laila’s the lawyer on the other side of the Peyton case, isn’t she?’

‘Yes. We’re professional. We don’t speak about it.’

To his surprise, Allegra seemed to accept what he said without reservation. ‘We have a similar problem. Luke took an oath of silence never to speak about the black ops he was involved in during his time with the SAS. Despite my late brother being under his command in Afghanistan, Luke can’t speak freely about anything that happened during that time.’

‘That must be difficult.’ Inwardly, Evan welcomed Allegra’s revelation. It reinforced what he’d believed all along. If he and Laila cared enough, they should be able to function as a couple despite the conflict of interest brought about by the Peyton case.

‘It’s difficult, but not impossible,’ added Luke. ‘Let’s just say, it requires a certain amount of — discipline.’

Luke and Allegra exchanged amused glances, and right then Evan wondered if he’d ever be able to look at his ice-cool boss the same way.

‘I can take a trip out to the base tomorrow if you like.’ Luke offered. ‘I’ll ruffle a few feathers. See if anything comes of it.’

Evan smiled. This is what he’d been hoping for. A plan of action he could take back to Laila.

‘I appreciate the offer, Luke. I’m trying to help, but I don’t want Laila to think I’m trying to take over.’ He’d already won the battle to get her to stay at his apartment. Maybe he shouldn’t be pushing his luck this far. ‘Can I run this past her and get back to you?’

‘Absolutely.’ Luke reached into his shirt pocket and slid a business card across the table. ‘If she wants me to get involved, you can reach me on that number.’

Evan slipped the card into his shirt pocket, took one final sip of wine and got to his feet. ‘I’ll leave you to eat your dinner in peace.’

‘Thanks for everything.’ He shook hands with Allegra first, then Luke. ‘Thanks for the wine. I’ll be in touch.’

Five minutes later, he was gunning the Porsche up the hill towards the Sydney Observatory, his mind racing faster than the car.

If Laila lodged the suit on Monday, and Neilson put the military on notice, they’d have a good chance of keeping her safe.

Dickson Cross didn’t want her alone tonight.

That spoke volumes.

Did Cross think there was a chance Holt would try again?

The bikie had failed tonight, his attempt thwarted by a person unknown. What were his instructions? To go until the job was completed?

And who did he work for?

The Porsche’s engine growled as Evan shifted down the gears and stopped at a red light in York Street. Laila suspected the military, but he couldn’t see the military working with someone like John Holt. And who was the second guy — an innocent passer-by with his own reasons for avoiding the police?

A nauseous feeling settled like a stone in the pit of Evan’s stomach.

Who’s this lady lawyer?

George Peyton might play hardball when it came to business, but attempted murder? That was an entirely different animal.

No way! No way could the family he knew and loved be involved in something as sinister as this.

The light turned green, and Evan threw the car into first and accelerated through the intersection.

It had to be the military. It had to be.

Because the only other explanation was too odious to even think about. That the threat on Laila’s life was linked to him.

Chapter Twenty-one

11 p.m. Thursday

Laila became aware of a change in her surroundings.

The car had stopped moving. All was quiet, apart from the intermittent ticking sound of a cooling engine.

With an effort, she opened her eyes.

Evan was in the driver’s seat, watching her, one wrist resting on top of the sports steering wheel, handsome features illuminated in the blue and red glow of the dashboard.

He reached out and touched her loosely braided, freshly washed hair. ‘We’re here, sleepyhead.’

Laila leaned into his touch, breathing in his heady masculine scent and the aroma of near-new leather upholstery. They were parked in a small, underground garage, in what was obviously Evan’s apartment building.

‘You must be the only person I know who can sleep in a Porsche,’ he said. ‘The stiff suspension makes for a hard ride.’

A hard ride was exactly what she had in mind, but Evan was looking at her as though she had a ‘handle with care’ sticker on her forehead.

Time to fix that.

‘I like a good hard ride, with enough horsepower to throw me back in the seat.’ If that didn’t get his attention, she’d just have to stick her tongue down his throat.

His face broke into a smile. ‘Ha! Nothing like being pinned in position, huh?’

Laila nodded. ‘Less body roll.’

His eyes glittered in the intimate darkness of the cabin, and one hand moved to caress the back of her neck. The other trailed over her thigh as he leaned in close. But just when she was sure he was going to kiss her, just when she thought her heart couldn’t possibly beat any faster — the seat belt retracted over her shoulder with a whir.

‘I don’t like my women restrained.’ He captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger. ‘And I’m more interested in G-spots than G-forces — just so we’re straight.’

Before she knew it, he was out of the cabin. Seconds later, he was holding the passenger door open. ‘Let’s go.’

Out of the car, Laila watched him take her small, pull-along suitcase from the trunk.

‘You couldn’t fit your golf clubs in here,’ she said, leaning in and picking up the suit coat she’d had dry cleaned for him after the fire. She’d carried it home on Wednesday and hung it behind her bedroom door. She’d only thought of it again while she was taking a shower.

‘My clubs go on the passenger seat.’ He gave her a sexy wink and popped up the handle on her suitcase. ‘Rest assured Laila, if it’s a choice between you and my sticks, you win every time.’

Inside the elevator, he inserted a key into a lock beside the button for the fourth floor and rotated it. ‘There’s one apartment per floor. You use this key, and the elevator skips the other three floors and takes you directly into my apartment. You never have to ride in the elevator with anyone else.’

Possibilities of what they could do in a private elevator crowded her mind, but she didn’t voice those thoughts, just smiled a little. ‘Thank you for letting me stay,’ she said.

‘Are you kidding?’ The corner of his mouth turned up and he gave her that rakish grin that never failed to set her pulse pounding. ‘I don’t think either of us would have slept tonight, if I hadn’t brought you here.’

‘Do you think there’s any hope of us sleeping now?’

He pressed the button, and they began moving upwards. ‘I’ve never had an issue with the conflict of interest. That was all you. But I’m not taking advantage of this situation. You’ve had a terrible ordeal.’

He was unhappy with her for refusing to see a doctor. But she knew her own body and knew she was fine physically, apart from some bruises, scrapes and sore muscles.

Now, as she stepped out of the lift and into Evan’s stunning New York-style warehouse apartment, she remembered how his face had formed clearly in her mind tonight. In that moment of clarity, she’d regretted breaking up with him, regretted convincing herself their relationship was going nowhere.

She watched as he put down her suitcase and moved about the room, switching on the low-hanging, factory-style enamel lights.

Hadn’t Will’s death shown her how life could change in an instant? Hadn’t she vowed to grasp happiness and hold on tight when next it found her? When had she lost sight of that? When had she forgotten that life wasn’t a dress rehearsal, that she should live every day to the fullest?

Happiness had found her again in the form of Evan Barclay. But she’d sacrificed him for Scarlett Peyton, a woman she now found unpredictable, a woman willing to blackmail the husband of her children for monetary gain.

You took her case for monetary gain.

Laila’s stomach gave a sickening lurch.

That was different.

She’d taken it at the expense of her own happiness.

Did that make her some kind of martyr?

Confused thoughts swirled in her head as she stared at the herringbone ceiling, the exposed timber pillars, and the huge windows.

From this moment, she would do as Evan suggested. Put up Chinese walls, and not talk about the Peytons. If Scarlett learned of their relationship, and objected, she could darn well find herself another lawyer.

Laila watched Evan come towards her, excitement building as he closed the gap between them. She’d find another way to fund the class action. She wanted this man, wanted him in her bed, in her life — for as long as he was willing to stay there.

‘With the exception of the veranda, it’s basically one large room.’ He waved a hand around, looking flustered for the first time since she’d met him.

‘Sorry about the mess.’ He scooped up a pair of boat shoes in her path and set them to one side. ‘I wasn’t expecting, err, visitors.’

Laila glanced at the kitchen and figured he must have a cleaner. It was spotless. Apart from the shirts and jeans left draped over the back of the modular lounge, and the newspapers spread open on the breakfast bar, the entire place was spotless.

Laila smothered a smile.

Not a slob.

Just a messy boy.

‘The master suite is up there.’ He waved a hand towards a floating staircase hugging one wall and leading to a mezzanine level.

Not wanting to appear presumptuous by going up to the bedroom, Laila headed towards the modular lounge. Made of brown leather, it was arranged so it faced a large flat screen mounted on a cream brick wall.

She’d only covered half the distance when Evan was beside her, taking the coat from her hands and tossing it over the back of the lounge on top of all the other clothes. ‘Why don’t you go up to bed? I’ll take the lounge.’

‘Evan, please.’ All of a sudden her voice was unsteady. ‘Come with me. I need to feel your wonderful hands on me.’

He reached for her, pulling her into a fierce embrace. He didn’t kiss her, just held her tightly as she pressed her nose into the warm skin of his neck and breathed him in. So different to the man who’d attacked her.

A chill trembled down her spine.

‘Okay.’ He bent at the knees and scooped her up. ‘Come with me.’

Laila wrapped her arms around his neck as he began climbing the stairs. ‘Why do you like carrying me around?’

She smiled, thinking of the times he’d done a similar thing at her house.

He gave her a deadpan look. ‘I’m used to carrying a football.’

When she looked at him in surprise, he made a small, jerky movement with his arms, as if he was going to flick pass her.

Laila squealed and clung to him, a thrill racing through her body as they laughed together for the first time in ages.

‘The staircase can be disconcerting until you get used to it. As you can see, it doesn’t have a handrail. I don’t want you toppling off it just when I’ve got you in my lair.’

She refrained from saying she hadn’t been here because he’d never invited her. He’d brought her here tonight, and that was the main thing.

When it mattered.

When she needed him.

Laila peered over his shoulder at the floating staircase. It hugged the wall and fell away beneath them. ‘It’s looks amazing, like it’s suspended in air.’

‘You’re amazing.’ His tone was low and a little uneven. ‘This last week has been torture, Laila.’

He put her down, and her left hip grazed his erection. Laila caught her breath, eyes lowering to the solid bulge behind his fly.

She squeezed her thighs together, trying to curb the delicious ache between her legs. ‘Looks like you’re going to torture me in return.’

His chest rose and fell, his breathing as laboured as hers. ‘Torture’s a strong word. Torment, maybe…’

‘Evan.’ Laila whispered his name, unable to stand the tension any longer. ‘I had no idea how much I’d miss y…’

He kissed her, swallowing her words with an aroused groan he couldn’t hold back. One touch of her velvety lips and every nerve ending in his body was combusting. He had to physically restrain himself from grinding his rock-hard dick into her shapely hips.

He deepened the kiss, heart pounding, arteries spurting oxygenated blood through his body until it rushed in his ears and throbbed in his temples.

She moaned. Low. Deep. In her throat.

Evan’s body hardened to the point of pain.

Her lips parted, and he took advantage, sweeping his tongue inside her orchid-soft mouth and tasting her. She leaned into him, soft breasts crushed against his chest, hair smelling of frangipani and gardenia.

Then her hands slid down his back and she took a firm grip on his arse.

Fuck! He needed to be gentle, and she wasn’t helping any.

He pulled back, rested his forehead against hers and took the band from her hair with unsteady hands. He loosened the blonde mass until the silky strands slipped through his fingers and pooled about her shoulders in soft waves.

She’d missed him this week.

He wanted to tell her he’d barely managed to stay away, that seeing her in court, and at the mediation, and not being able to touch her, was its own special kind of torture.

Instead, he said nothing, reluctant to lay all that on her tonight. And yes, if he were honest, fearing her reaction a little.

He captured her hand, linked his fingers through hers and led her over to his king-sized bed. In the subdued light she smiled that sweet smile, eyes wide and trusting, lips swollen from his kiss.

In that instant, he knew there was no turning back from this. This wasn’t about satisfying some itch for a woman he had a temporary case of the hots for. He was fascinated by her mind, as well as the sexy curves of her body. He was hypnotised by her smile as much as the rhythmic stroke of her tongue. He was as high on the subtle fragrance of her perfume as he was on the heat that awaited him beneath the black lacy panties he knew she favoured.

He was hooked.

For the first time in his life, he was hooked on one woman.

Chapter Twenty-two

11.15 p.m. Thursday

Laila looked around Evan’s bedroom as he folded back the plush, chocolate-coloured comforter. The room had a functional, masculine feel to it.

The bed head and side tables were solid, dark wood, as was the desk with green leather inlay that stood in one corner. Even the vintage-style, green leather captain’s chair was constructed of the same dark wood.

Louvered doors leading into a walk-in robe stood open, revealing an assortment of shirts, ties, belts and shoes. Beyond that, a light shone from inside an ensuite bathroom, as if he’d left in a hurry that morning and forgotten to turn off the light. One white towel lay in a heap on the floor, another draped carelessly over the doorknob.

Besides the furniture and clothes, the only things in the room were a flat screen TV, mounted high in one corner, a green director’s lamp arching over the desk, and a digital clock and iPod dock sitting on one bedside table.

‘Sorry the place is so untidy.’ Evan raked a hand through his hair and glanced around the room. ‘I left in a hurry this morning.’

He would have been preparing for the mediation. How strange. It was only this morning but it seemed like a week ago.

Laila sighed, and pushed Scarlett’s outlandish demand from her mind. ‘Honestly, I don’t mind the mess.’ She caught her breath as his hands spanned her waist. ‘After living with a military man, it’s a relief.’

A few moments passed before Laila realised what she’d said. She bit down on her lip, appalled at the words that had come tumbling out.

‘Come on, get undressed.’ He began pulling her T-shirt free of her jeans. ‘There’s no need to feel embarrassed, or guilty.’

Minutes later, Laila slipped between the cool sheets. ‘The army breeds discipline in every facet of life. I didn’t mean to compare.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up. You made a natural observation, that’s all.’ Evan slid in beside her and took her in his arms, searing her with his body heat. ‘Besides, your approval of my mess feeds my ego.’

Laila swallowed, eyes drawn to where his erection tented the sheet. ‘So, it’s your ego that needs stroking?’

‘Don’t talk about stroking my anything Laila, while you’re staring at me like a hungry lioness. Otherwise, I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

Desire spiked through Laila’s body, nipples grazing his muscled chest as she raised her arms and linked them around his neck. She loved the way they were when they came together this way.

A burning heat gathered between her thighs as she pressed a lingering kiss to his warm lips. ‘Where’s the condoms?’

He pulled back a little. ‘You’ve had an awful fright. Why don’t I give you a massage?’

She kissed him again and spoke against his mouth. ‘You can. But first, I need satisfying.’

He smiled, white teeth flashing in the muted light. ‘I like the sound of that. Top drawer, your side.’

Your side?

She liked the sound of that.

Laila turned over and opened the drawer as warm fingers trailed a path down her spine and over the curve of her bottom.

Inside the drawer, was the biggest box of condoms she’d ever seen.

With a sinking feeling that was entirely irrational, she flipped open the lid and took one out. ‘I didn’t know you could buy these in bulk. Nothing like being prepared.’

His hand stilled.

When she turned around, he took the condom from between her fingers, eyes wary as he tore open the foil packet. ‘What’s the matter, Laila?’

She couldn’t hide her emotions from him.

Not here, like this.

Only in court, clad in her corporate armour.

‘Nothing.’

‘Liar,’ he said softly, his eyes on her as she pushed back the sheet.

‘Can you put it on?’ She didn’t want to think of the condom box or the models in the photographs. Not now.

‘Sure.’ Wrapping his fingers around the base of his impressive erection, he calmly proceeded to roll on the condom.

Laila stared, mesmerised by his firm grip and the confident way he handled his body.

‘We don’t have to do this, Laila. You’re shaken up by what happened tonight. This is entirely your call.’

She shook her head, heart plummeting at the thought of stopping now. ‘No, I don’t want to stop.’

He dragged the sheet up to his waist, cutting off her view. ‘No woman has been in this apartment since the night we met, if that’s what’s on your mind.’

It was.

She smiled a little. ‘It’s just this enormous bed, and the “buy in bulk” condoms. It looks like you’re ready for an orgy.’

‘Christ!’ He sat bolt upright, eyes widening in amazement. ‘Do you want to do that?’

‘No!’ Laila shook her head and squirmed in the bed, face so hot it felt like her cheeks were on fire.

‘But you’ve thought about it?’

She shrugged. ‘I wondered, about you, that’s all.’

He reared over the top of her then, pushing her back into the pillows, eyes troubled, powerful chest rising and falling. ‘I never date more than one woman at a time, and I’m not into gang bangs.’

‘Me either.’ She cupped his face in her hands, knowing she couldn’t share him. If there was ever anyone else, she’d have to go.

His grey eyes burned into hers. ‘I want you…’ He didn’t finish, swallowed, Adam’s apple shifting in his throat. ‘You got that?’

She nodded, and he collapsed onto his back and sucked in a harsh breath. Flinging an arm above his head, he stared at the ceiling. ‘You really know how to spring it on a guy.’

Laila didn’t apologise.

She wasn’t sorry.

She was glad she knew.

He turned on his side, narrowed his eyes, then shifted his head onto her pillow.

‘I’ll get even with you now.’ His voice turned low and sexy, and Laila’s heart began to pound. ‘Tell me, what else do you think about, Laila?’

Laila backed away a little so she could look more clearly into his face. There was a playfulness she recognised lurking in the depths of his grey eyes, like the day he’d followed her into the park and asked if she was as turned on as he was.

‘Like what?’

‘Oh.’ He pursued his lips. ‘Like that vibrator in your bedside table.’

Laila’s jaw went slack, her entire body flaming. When had he found that?

‘I…’ She hadn’t thought about it since she’d met him.

The corners of his mouth curved in a teasing grin. ‘Have you used it?’

Laila closed her mouth, heart banging hard as she moistened her dry lips. A lawyer friend had invited her to one of those lingerie and sex toy parties. It had been fun, and yes she’d bought it, and yes she’d used it.

‘I have, in the past.’

Evan groaned, and the sheet jerked below his waist. ‘The visual I just got was amazing.’

Laila’s head spun, the muscles in her lower body throbbing uncontrollably.

To Evan, talking about sex was a natural accompaniment to the physical act, and he’d encouraged her to do the same. ‘It saves a lot of trial and error’, he’d said. ‘Right away, I know what you like.’

Laila took an unsteady breath and decided to adopt his approach. The man had no hang-ups, no leftover religious constraints, no ongoing schoolboy awkwardness with the subject.

‘I didn’t know you found it.’

‘One night when I was looking for tissues.’

‘I haven’t used it since I met you.’

He laughed, looking like a male model on a toothpaste commercial. ‘Now you’re stroking my ego.’

He leaned close and put his lips to her ear, setting off a top-to-toe tremble. ‘Do you still use it?’

‘No. I fantasize about you.’

His eyes widened, and Laila couldn’t stop the satisfied smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

He nuzzled her neck, right at the base where it joined her shoulder. ‘Am I good?

Sensation speared through Laila’s body, her breath coming in fast little puffs. She wanted to rub herself against his steely hardness until her skin chafed and her body exploded in welcome relief.

‘Always.’ Her voice shook. This was part of his sexual game. Drawing things out until she grew so hot she was in danger of self-combusting. ‘You are always good.’

His eyes glittered as he turned her on her back and positioned himself on top of her. ‘Nothing beats the real thing though, does it?’

Laila arched her back, brought her hips up to meet him. ‘No, nothing beats the real thing.’

And then, because she feared she wasn’t going to last, and because she needed him, more than she’d ever needed him. ‘The ache I have. It’s worse than the night we met.’

She ran her hands up the corded muscles of his arms and across the wide contours of his shoulders. ‘Don’t make me wait.’

He kissed her hard on her open mouth, and Laila’s mind shut down. She was only aware of his hand trailing over her hip, her breasts crushed against his chest, his tongue finally touching hers.

He deepened the kiss, groaning low in his throat as his tongue pushed further into her mouth. Laila raised her lower body, high enough so he could slide his hands beneath her bottom and bring her pelvis snug up against his.

Then with one strong push, he was inside.

Oh god, she loved this! There was no better feeling than his long, hard length driving inside her, pressing her into the mattress, stimulating her in all the right places.

She took a deep breath, heard his groan of approval as she gripped him tighter, took him deeper.

He stilled, his mouth turning gentle, sensual, reverent — as though trying to kiss away the horrors of the night. Laila let her eyes drift closed as she worked her fingers into his hair, cupping his head, pulling him closer as his body throbbed inside her.

He deepened the kiss again, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. Laila moaned, tasting him, breathing him in. Unable to stop herself, she raised her hips, searching for a greater friction, hands stroking his broad back, tapered waist, firm butt.

Evan took over, holding her steady as he went about setting a more even pace. She wanted this, needed it, he could feel it in the shift of her body, in the silent invitation to fill her, stretch her, bury himself all the way in.

He did just that, gave her what she wanted, heart booming when she moaned his name. He lifted his head and kissed a trail down her throat, freeing his hands so he could fill his palms with her soft perky breasts.

She whimpered when he stroked his tongue across a nipple, cried out when he brushed the tender undersides with the pads of his fingers.

Resisting the temptation to fuck her hard, he pulled halfway out, then plunged back inside.

‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Again.’

He pulled out, further this time, then slammed in again.

It was enough, for both of them. Laila tensed, then came with a rippling shudder he could feel rolling through her body. She cried his name, face buried in his neck, slender frame bucking beneath him.

‘Fuck.’ Gritting his teeth, Evan rode her hard, pumping into her until he couldn’t hold on. Blood thundering in his ears, he let go, a wild groan bursting from his chest as he flooded her body with everything that was him.

For long moments, Evan basked in the afterglow, loving the sensation of their bodies pulsing in unison, loving the way Laila held him in her arms.

When he could manage, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. ‘That was totally out of control. Are you alright?’

‘I am.’ She cupped his face with her hands and he drank her in, loving the way her eyes turned golden when she was aroused. ‘I needed you, so much.’

He rolled over on his back, blew out a breath then turned and looked at her again. ‘I needed you too. It’s been so long, Laila — so bloody long.’

‘I feel that way too,’ she whispered. ‘When I was in the park, I heard him lowering a zipper. It was when he went for the gun, but I thought…’

Her voice broke, and he pulled her to him, swallowing the lump that was building in his throat. ‘Shhh — don’t think about it. I’m here now.’

‘It was his jacket.’ She went on. ‘But in that moment of absolute clarity, I knew if I survived, I’d ask you to be with me again.’

Evan kissed her. Not as he had in the hallway of her house, all demanding anger and frustration, and not with the deep-tongued arousal of a few minutes ago. He let his lips go soft, let them cling to her pink ones in the sweetest kiss he’d ever known.

She murmured, but he kept it long and leisurely, kept it in sync with their sated bodies, kept it sugary sweet until his head spun and he had to come up for breath.

‘Stay there,’ he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead and climbing out of bed.

In the bathroom, he cleaned up, then grabbed a large fluffy towel and a bottle of massage oil from the cupboard.

Back in the bedroom, he put on some relaxation music, then spread out the bath sheet. ‘On your stomach.’

She sat up and smiled, all ladylike, legs curled underneath her. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. Arms above your head.’

While she arranged herself on the towel, Evan grabbed his boxers and pulled them on. Even though the edge was off, this was going to be one hell of an exercise in restraint. Still, he was determined to make her relaxed so she could sleep off her ordeal. He wouldn’t be waking her. What she’d given him tonight was enough.

Placing his knees on either side of her thighs, he shifted her hair to one side so he could see her profile. Then he warmed the massage oil between his palms, noticing how her golden skin was covered in goose bumps. Was she cold, or were her nerve endings tingling with anticipation, waiting for him to begin?

He hoped it was the latter.

Leaning forward, he put his hands on her shoulders and began to rub, watching her face as she took a long breath then sighed in appreciation.

‘Usually I would do your neck first, but I can see the bruises.’

He concentrated on the joints in her upper spine, easing up when her muscles flexed beneath his fingers. ‘Too hard?’

‘No,’ she breathed the word. ‘It’s perfect. It’s genius.’

He smiled, enjoying the way her lips parted and her expression turned blissful as he massaged a little harder. ‘Not genius. I’ve been worked on myself so many times, I know a bit about anatomy.’

‘You certainly do.’

He smiled again, liking this new camaraderie between them. Was that the right word? Perhaps it was closeness he was feeling, the type of closeness he’d never experienced with a woman before.

He leaned over her, ran his hands all the way down her arms until his hands covered hers. He threaded his fingers through her slender ones and clasped them tight. For long moments he stayed like that, chest pressed against her warm back, almost reluctant to move.

He sat back on his heels again, massaging the large muscles attached to her spine and ribcage. Compared to his own skin, which had seen a lot of sun in the first nine years, hers had a natural golden tone, unmarked, slick now from the oil.

Suddenly, something unlocked inside him, and he needed to know more. ‘Did you go to the beach much when you were a kid?’

Laila’s eyes flew open and her body tensed beneath his hands.

‘No.’

‘Too far away?’

A pause. ‘I wasn’t allowed.’

‘Oh.’ Had she been sick as a child? She looked in perfect health now.

Not wanting to press her, he stayed quiet.

She closed her eyes and spoke in a low voice. ‘I have — difficult parents.’

Surprised, Evan moved lower down her back, using his thumbs to massage her lumbar region. ‘Do you get home much?’

‘Not if I can help it.’

He stilled, momentarily shocked by her answer, though he knew he shouldn’t be. Broken homes and blended families were common issues people struggled with. He just hadn’t picked Laila as one of them.

Aware of his reaction, she went on. ‘I’m an only child. They’re very controlling people. I was so conditioned, I really didn’t understand until I was a teenager and began noticing how my friends interacted with their parents.’

‘What kind of things?’ He knew what it was like to be neglected and abandoned, but not this.

‘It’s verbal. The school counsellor called it emotional blackmail. They manipulate, make you feel obligated, control your behaviour with threats, mostly by withdrawing their love. They say things like “I always thought you were a good girl” or “look at all we’ve done for you”. They put you down, tell you you’re hopeless, that kind of thing. They laughed when I said I wanted to be a lawyer. They tear you down instead of building you up, using fear and guilt to govern, basically.’

For a few moments Evan couldn’t move, so stunned that Laila could have emerged from such a family.

He’d always thought her strong and very together, but tonight she’d shown another side of herself. She suffered guilt over her friend’s burden, enough to refuse compensation herself. And there were times where she woke up feeling relieved, then felt like a horrible person.

Those were her words.

Evan reached out and caressed her cheek.

She was so beautiful, so caring, such a wonderful advocate for the army wives. Stupid bastards — not cherishing the wonderful daughter they had.

‘They really tried to shrink your world, honey, didn’t they?’

She rolled over on her side and looked at him, reached out a hand and stroked his jaw with tender fingers.

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

Evan lay down beside her, guided her head onto his shoulder, and wrapped them both in the bath towel.

‘Please don’t feel sorry for me.’ She drew a circle on his chest with her index finger. ‘Many people don’t have the strength to detach. I did, and I’m proud of that. I walked away from my parents, empowered, knowing I would never let anyone play me or manipulate me ever again.’

A defining moment in her life.

His had come at the age of nine.

He understood why she didn’t want sympathy. Hard times made you strong, not weak. It was the reason he didn’t want people poking around in his past. Men didn’t worry so much, they just accepted his background, but he’d always been scared that some soft-hearted woman would think he needed mothering.

Fuck that.

‘What about you?’ she asked suddenly, raising her head and smiling down at him. ‘Star footballer. Handsome lawyer. I bet you’re the apple of your mother’s eye.’

Evan’s heart began to thud and a cold dread welled up inside him. He wasn’t going to talk about his life, not with Laila, not tonight. She’d had it hard enough herself, without him laying the misery of his early years on her.

‘That’s for another time.’ He threw off the towel, sat up and grabbed the bottle of massage oil. ‘Let’s get on with this rubdown.’

Chapter Twenty-three

5 a.m. Friday

Laila blinked in the darkness and stretched her limbs, luxuriating in the comfortable warmth of Evan’s bed. The only light in the room was the tiny red glow from the TV and a narrow column of light shining from the direction of the ensuite bathroom. She smiled and turned over, feeling for him, but the sheets on his side were cool. How many times had she woken this way, relaxed and sated, only to find him gone?

Laila sat up, listening for sounds of running water, but all was quiet in the bathroom. Throwing off the covers, she climbed out of bed and wrapped the bath sheet around her. At the top of the stairs she paused to survey the shadowed living area below. Light shone from the partially opened door leading to the veranda.

She raised a hand to her grumbling stomach. The last time she’d eaten was lunchtime yesterday. Perhaps hunger had also woken Evan, and he’d gone downstairs for a snack.

Laila descended the stairs, bare toes gripping the polished wooden steps, right hand on the brick wall to steady herself. In the living room, she skirted around the modular lounge where Evan’s coat lay forgotten, drawn towards the sound of pounding feet and the whir of a treadmill programmed to a fast sprint.

Staying in the shadows, Laila peered through the doorway. Evan’s back was to her, the treadmill positioned to face a large window. But it was the scenery inside the room, not the ‘city by night’ view that held Laila’s attention.

Dressed in running skins and gym shorts, Evan’s body was energy in motion, a perfect example of male anatomy. He ran with the easy coordination of an athlete, shoulders loose, skin gleaming with sweat, trainers a blur on the moving rubber mat. A man primed to take on the world after four hours of sleep.

Laila caught her breath, gaze settling on well-defined muscles rippling beneath smooth, golden skin. Smooth, apart from the reddened, claw-like slash where her nails had raked his back.

Right then the treadmill slowed, and he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Hi.’

Before the machine completely stopped, he hopped off, sure-footed and agile for a guy of his size. Grabbing a towel from where it hung on the handrail, he wiped his face then ran it around the back of his neck.

‘I saw your reflection in the glass. I was going to have a shower, then bring you breakfast in bed.’ He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, gulping air into his lungs and speaking between snatches of breath. ‘There’s hot tea in the tea maker.’

‘Do you always push yourself so hard?’ With a rush of affection, Laila leaned forward and ran her hand through his damp hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. ‘It’s only 5 a.m. It’s still dark.’

He straightened, swiping at the rivulets of sweat running down his heaving chest. ‘It’s the only time I have.’

Laila understood. Working at Poole Greenwood wasn’t for the fainthearted. Many young lawyers had resigned over the years, unable to sustain the workload, while others cracked under the pressure of meeting their monthly fee targets.

Was that the reason he had always left her house at 4 a.m., so he could get back here and exercise? If that were the reason, why hadn’t he just told her?

Laila sighed. There were many things she didn’t understand about Evan Barclay; his urge to be answerable to no-one was only one of them. But something drove him on, drove him to be the best man he could be.

‘Everything okay?’ he asked, eyes watchful.

Something primitive in Laila’s brain propelled her forward, something basic, biological, something she hadn’t experienced before. ‘I don’t want tea.’

‘Okay.’ He gave her a funny smile. ‘I won’t make you drink tea.’

‘I want you.’ She didn’t ask him to make love to her, because he’d already done that, tonight and many times before. Nor did she say ‘come to bed’ because she didn’t want to wait that long.

With trembling fingers, she undid the towel and let it slide to the floor.

She heard his breath hitch, watched his eyes widen as they moved slowly up and down her body.

‘Five minutes,’ he said in a husky voice. ‘I’m sweating like a pig.’

Gripped by a sexual hunger so raw it overrode everything else, Laila linked her arms around his neck, the morning chill failing to cool her heated skin. ‘Here.’

Evan’s mind clouded, his body turning brutally hard as Laila’s soft curves, still warm from his bed, pressed into his hard frame. She was so darn beautiful, so soft, so fragrant. So selfless.

Everything he wasn’t.

And yet here she was, taking control.

‘Hit the light behind you. We’re not putting on a show for the neighbours.’ It sounded like an order, but he didn’t care. Laila wore the expression of a woman determined to have her way with him, eyes burning with an intensity that sucked the oxygen out of the room.

She turned and showed him her back, long hair curling over one shoulder. Like a model on a photo shoot, she glanced back at him, her smile sending a bolt of heat straight to his groin.

Greedy for one last look, Evan ran his gaze down the long sweep of her spine before she raised her hand and flicked the switch. The room darkened, the red glow from the treadmill’s dashboard the only artificial light in the room.

She came towards him, all creamy skin and silky hair. He sat down on the edge of the machine, telling himself his unsteady legs were from the hard run and not a sudden onset of nerves. Heart pounding, blood crashing through his veins like river rapids, Evan reached for her hand and drew her between his thighs.

‘Perfect height to do this.’ He trailed a line of kisses from her hip to her navel, felt her hands slide into his hair as he thrust his tongue into the small, sensitive hollow. He moved lower, licking and tasting his way down to the sensitive spot at the apex of her thighs.

She gave a soft gasp and stepped back, breaking contact. Then she leaned over and put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back until he lay on the rubber mat of the treadmill.

‘Is it off?’ She grabbed hold of his shorts and dragged them downwards.

He lifted his arse off the mat so she could pull his shorts all the way off. ‘Just don’t press any buttons.’

Evan’s head was clearer now that he was horizontal. He stared at her in awe as she tossed his shorts over her shoulder, long hair swinging over her breasts as she straddled him.

‘Fuck,’ he groaned, as she placed her knees on either side of his hips then reached down and took hold of his dick with a firm grasp. Holding it at the right angle, she lowered herself onto his throbbing erection.

Evan stared up at her as she began to rock, internal muscles clenching around him so he had to plant his feet on the floor and grab hold of her thighs. She was like some blonde goddess of love, determined to ride him, determined to use him as an instrument of pleasure, and he had absolutely no complaints about that at all.

Her breath was coming faster now, her eyes half closed as he pushed higher up inside her. She sat up, arching her back, seeking more friction, taking him deeper.

‘Hold onto the handrails.’

She did as he suggested, reaching up to grab hold of the bars. She lifted her weight off him, then slid back down again, and he brought his hands up to span her waist, to hold her steady.

She looked as if she was exercising, pulling herself up with the bars then letting herself down over and over, quicker and quicker, until her breasts bounced and Evan couldn’t take any more.

‘Oh..f…shit!’ He came with a wild rush, jackhammering his hips into her until she tossed her head, arched her back and came with a scream.

‘Yes….’

‘Jesus!’ Waves of pleasure crashed over him as she rode him, eyes closed, mouth open in wonder, her expression a mixture of unadulterated pleasure and sweet torture.

Eventually, she was spent.

Letting go of the handrails, she collapsed on top of him, and he folded her in his arms, pushing her damp hair off her face as warm breasts crushed against his chest.

She was a marvel, a revelation.

He wanted to keep her here forever.

‘Wow.’ He pressed his lips to her hair, closed his eyes and held her tighter.

Only then did he remember he was still wearing his trainers.

Chapter Twenty-four

10.30 a.m. Friday

Parked in the allotted space for visitors, Luke Neilson rested his hands on the steering wheel and stared at the sprawling expanse of land before him.

Once Australia’s largest barracks, the army base at Holsworthy was now home to several special forces and army reserve units, as well as the Active Air Regiment. The regiment had been established to transport special forces troops in the fleet of Blackhawk helicopters, and to assist in reconnaissance missions, and it was the ‘Double A’ unit that Luke had business with today.

Locking the car with the remote key fob, he headed towards the commander’s office. As always, the homecoming was bittersweet. The army had trained him to the highest level. The success of his company, Neilson’s Security, was built on the foundations laid down in this place. His training had helped save Allegra’s life.

Now, another woman was in danger.

The early-morning drive to the base had cleared his thoughts, cementing in his mind that a direct approach was best. Sniffing around, trying to locate a couple of pilots, would only arouse suspicion. And while Laila wanted an independent investigation into the matter, he doubted it would be necessary.

In his experience, the best way of bringing the army into line was to plant one of their own grenades under them.

And who better to do that than him?

Five minutes later, Luke was being shown into the office of Commander Reuben Lawrence, a soldier he’d known for years. A wary tolerance existed between them, and they shared enough history to dispense with formalities.

‘What’s so important it brings you here on a public holiday?’ Lawrence waved his hand towards a chair. He had a few years on Luke, a few more inches around the middle too.

Luke sat opposite Lawrence, casually raising one booted foot until it rested on the opposite knee. ‘Word is, there’s trouble with your night vision.’

To Lawrence’s credit, his face remained impassive. He didn’t speak right away either, just blinked a few times and stared hard at Luke.

‘Says who?’ he asked eventually.

‘Laila Richards.’

Lawrence’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Will Richards’ widow?’

Lawrence wouldn’t win any prizes for acting, that’s for sure. He knew very well who Laila Richards was.

While Luke remained silent, the other man made a ‘pftt’ sound with his lips and laced his fingers across his middle. ‘What Laila Richards knows about night vision she learned from her husband. And he crashed a bird, remember?’

The commander’s dismissive attitude rankled, and a latent anger unfurled inside of Luke. Typical bloody army! It asked the impossible then hung you out to dry.

‘The word’s coming straight out of Holsworthy, Lawrence. You’ve got pilots reluctant to fly because of problems with goggles.’ He held the commander’s stare. ‘I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. Richards put in a formal complaint prior to the crash.’

‘That’s classified information!’ Lawrence barked out the words.

Luke smiled. Was that the best he could do? ‘You have a security breach, Reuben.’

Luke stared in satisfaction at the flush rising in Lawrence’s face. The man had gone from dismissive to defensive in a matter of seconds, and the fact that he hadn’t thrown Luke out and accused him of talking bullshit was a good sign. It told him the army was likely involved in the break-in at Laila’s office. As to the extent of their involvement, he didn’t know. He only knew Lawrence was prepared to sit through this when he didn’t have to.

Luke tapped his foot in time to an imaginary beat and waited for the other man to speak.

‘You know the score, Luke,’ Lawrence said eventually. ‘Some pilots handle night flying better than others. Doesn’t mean there’s a problem with the equipment. It’s been checked, and the crash has been investigated.’

‘That’s not the way Laila Richards sees it.’

‘Damn Laila Richards! She’s been a thorn in our sides ever since her husband crashed that bloody Blackhawk.’

To Luke’s surprise, Lawrence turned his chair around and stood up. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his regulation army pants, complete with knife-edged crease, he walked over to the window and stood looking out at the airfield.

‘Tell me how she sees it then?’

Luke spoke to Lawrence’s back. ‘She believes the military covered up the cause of the crash. She’s set up a foundation for the defence force wives. According to my sources, she’s lodging a class action on Monday on behalf of the men who were on that Blackhawk. She has two pilots to subpoena. You don’t have to be a genius to see you’ve got major problems here.’

Lawrence swung around, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. ‘Did your sources reveal one pilot’s already been dishonourably discharged?’

‘Jesus, Reuben!’ This time it was Luke who stood up and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

‘You know what’s going on.’ Lawrence turned away to stare out the window again. ‘You haven’t been away that long.’

The mission before the men. Human casualties, regarded as a by-product of warfare, even on a training exercise.

Luke leaned forward and rested his palms on Lawrence’s desk. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but here it was again, the same old story. Grounded planes and helicopters didn’t get the special forces teams into the field, where they needed to be. And if someone dared lodge a complaint, the army found a way to dishonourably discharge them.

‘What’s Laila after?’ The commander asked suddenly.

Luke set aside his disquiet. The reflection would come later.

‘The original finding overturned, and her husband’s name cleared. That, and decent compensation for the survivors and their families, which is a great deal more than the pittance the army paid out.’

‘And she’s filing it Monday?’

‘Monday.’ Luke moved to stand beside Lawrence, though he looked at the airfield in preference to looking at the other man. He also left an arm’s length between them, a silent message that he couldn’t abhor the stench of corruption sticking to the other man like flies on a piece of shit. ‘There’s something else.’

Curiosity eventually got the better of Lawrence, because he turned and looked at Luke, one eyebrow raised.

‘Laila Richards was attacked last night on her way home from work. She managed to get away. A second man stopped the assault. Now, to my way of thinking, the army has a lot to gain if Laila Richards goes away, and both guys were carrying. In Australia, that’s unusual.’

Lawrence’s nostrils flared and his lips twisted into a cruel smile. ‘Anything else?’

That’s just for starters, arsehole.

‘She’s Evan Barclay’s girlfriend. Now, I’m not expecting you to know who he is, so I’ll fill you in. He’s a talented young lawyer with a huge future. He represents the Peyton family, and he works for my wife. So, while Laila Richards might be a single practitioner with divorce cases as her bread and butter, he’s seriously connected.’

Lawrence’s gaze raked over his face. ‘I’m only now remembering why I disliked you so much, Neilson.’

‘That happens when you can’t face the truth.’ Luke got right up in the other man’s face, close enough to smell the commander’s acrid breath. ‘Don’t think for a second she’s a woman you can squash under the military’s shitty boot. Evan Barclay is John Barclay, the former union international. He might dress like a corporate raider, but if you’ve ever seen him play, you’ll know he’s one tough unit.’

Lawrence swallowed. In that moment Luke knew that despite being in the army’s backyard, he’d gained the upper hand.

‘If your people are in any way involved, I’d advise you to fix it. It would be a mistake to underestimate Barclay. He’s not the type to let this go away.’

‘Is that all?’

Luke stepped back, pleased he was now a civilian and not required to salute Reuben Lawrence. ‘That’s all — for now.’

If the army were involved, he hoped what he’d done today was enough to get them off Laila’s back.

He turned to leave. ‘No need to show me out. I remember the way.’

Luke pulled the door open a couple of inches and looked back at Lawrence, surprised at the depth of hatred in the other man’s eyes. ‘As you said earlier Reuben — it hasn’t been that long.’

***

On his way to the car, Luke dragged fresh air into his lungs. The stench of the army hierarchy was worse than the stench of any battlefield, and his gut told him Reuben Lawrence was more on the nose than most.

In the car, he rang Evan. ‘They’re on notice. They know it’s happening Monday.’

‘How did they take it?’

‘Not well. Laila secure?’

‘Any safer, she’d be in prison.’

Luke smiled. Allegra had chosen well when she’d headhunted Evan Barclay. The young lawyer was well rounded, smart and personable, a man’s man with a straightforward, no-nonsense attitude. And according to Allegra, he brought the same winning mentality to his work as he’d brought to the sporting field.

But what Luke most admired was how Barclay went after what he wanted, undaunted even at the prospect of interrupting his employer’s dinner last night. The man had a girlfriend to protect, and that was his priority.

Luke understood.

‘My gut feeling says they know something.’ He took the small, high-powered binoculars from inside the console.

‘I’ve been thinking.’ Evan’s voice reverberated through the car’s speakers as Luke lifted the binoculars to his eyes and trained them on Lawrence’s office door. ‘I’m going to camp at Laila’s place.’

‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’

‘She’ll stay here. My place is like Fort Knox. I’m not kidding.’

Luke lowered the binoculars. For nearly ten years, Barclay had been one of the highest paid footballers in the country. Of course he’d have top digs with state-of-the-art security. He’d probably bought it to keep his fans at bay. For all his confidence, Barclay struck him as a bit of a loner, the kind of guy who backed himself.

‘If the military are involved, I’m thinking they might have another go at Laila over the long weekend,’ Evan was saying. ‘Some of her correspondence named Monday as the lodgement date.’

Christ, he’d been right about the guy. Barclay wouldn’t let it go.

‘And what are you going to do? Put yourself in the line of fire?’

‘I’ll think of something. I keep thinking there were two guys. I won’t rest until I find out exactly who’s behind this.’

‘Fair enough. Can you give Laila a message? Tell her I’m not sure an independent investigation is warranted. But if so, I’m prepared to do it pro bono and take my costs from any compensation awarded.’

‘I’ll pass that on. I’m sure it will be a great relief for her, Luke.’

Grateful for the black window tint, Luke lifted the binoculars to his eyes again. ‘Clue in your contact at the gang squad. Tell him you’re headed over to Laila’s.’

‘Okay.’

There was silence, then Evan spoke again. ‘Anyone turn up yet?’

‘Not yet. It could take a while. I’ll be in contact when something happens. In the meantime, watch your back.’

To his surprise, Evan laughed. ‘Don’t worry about me mate. I can look after myself. And when all this is over, I’ll buy you a beer.’

Evan hung up then, and Luke smiled to himself as he turned on the radio.

He’d enjoy a beer with him, and he didn’t doubt the guy could look after himself.

After all, he’d seen him play.

Chapter Twenty-five

Less than forty-eight hours ago, I’d given Commander Reuben Lawrence the name of the pilot Laila Richards had rendezvoused with at the art gallery. That poor bastard was gone already.

As I walked towards Lawrence’s office, a hollow resignation in my stomach, I feared my fate was sealed. I wasn’t scheduled to report until 1300 hours, but the call had come through just after 1100. My presence was required immediately.

It didn’t bode well.

How had Lawrence learned of last night’s events so quickly?

How much did he know?

I sweated as I opened the door and entered the small foyer outside his office.

He’d be furious to learn I’d involved myself in the attack, but the only thing I could say in my defence was that it wasn’t some random assault.

I wasn’t the only one watching Laila Richards.

For days now I’d been watching him — watching her.

I intended to report the information once I learned who he was. But last night he’d carried no identification, though the tattoos on his neck gave me a clue.

Inside the building, I took a seat and waited for Lawrence to fling open the door in his customary style.

Nothing I could say would improve my plight.

I hadn’t reported it, and that was enough to get me a severe reprimand, even a dishonourable discharge.

I stared at the floor, reliving last night’s events, knowing my conscience wouldn’t have allowed me to turn away. Yes, if I had my time over I’d do the same again. I’d knock the bastard out cold, leave his cash in his pocket and throw his weapon in the river. And I’d leave him to wake on his own, hoping his concussion lasted for days, secure in the knowledge he hadn’t seen my face.

The only thing I questioned was the wisdom of letting him live.

Chapter Twenty-six

11:15 a.m. Friday

Surprise, coupled with disappointment, had Laila throwing off the blanket and scrambling out of bed. ‘What do you mean I’ll stay here and you’ll camp at my place?’

She watched Evan stand and pull on a pair of boxers. Then he came around the foot of the bed towards her, stopping an arm’s length away. ‘Neilson’s convinced the army know something.’

Laila huffed out a breath and averted her eyes away from his chiselled features and half-naked body. ‘That’s hardly news.’

‘I know. But the guy has good instincts. And if an investigation’s warranted, he’ll do it pro bono and take his costs out of the payout.’

‘That’s fantastic news.’ Laila’s face broke into a pretty smile. ‘Thank you.’

Her heartfelt thanks brought a rush of pleasure to Evan’s body, like she’d handed him an unexpected gift. Still, he couldn’t take all the credit.

‘Don’t thank me, thank Neilson.’

‘But he was your contact.’

He winked. ‘True.’

Laila’s heart thudded against her ribs at an alarming rate, and not in a good way, not like it had hours earlier. ‘So, you’re going to lie in wait at my place?’

He nodded and pulled on his jeans. ‘In case they come back — looking for you.’

‘Can’t the police handle it?’

He sighed and pulled a maroon hoodie over his head. ‘They don’t have the manpower to stake out your place on nothing but a hunch. I bet the only thing Dickson Cross can do is send a patrol car around every hour.’

Laila lifted a hand and rubbed her temple with her fingertips. This wasn’t what she wanted to hear. ‘So, you’re going to take matters into your own hands, like some kind of suited vigilante?’

He slid a warm hand beneath her hair and caressed her nape, sending a delightful shiver right through her body. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not wearing a suit.’

He smiled, but there was regret and apology in his eyes. ‘If you don’t want me to go, I’ll stay. But what if they have another go at you before Monday?’

He dipped his head and planted a lingering kiss on her lips. ‘I have a lot to lose here too, you know.’

A bittersweet ache bloomed in Laila’s chest. It was the closest he’d ever come to saying how much he cared for her. And right when he was going to leave.

She remembered his words from the day in the park. ‘And you like to keep what’s yours?’

He smiled a little. ‘That’s right. I don’t like to lose — anything, especially when I’m capable of doing something about it.’

‘I don’t want to lose you either.’ Laila whispered, raising a hand and stroking her fingertips along the rough surface of his jaw. ‘I’ve already lost one man I loved.’

He hadn’t said he loved her, not in so many words, but he’d made it clear she was important to him. And it hadn’t come as a total surprise. She was hardly blind to his feelings. She could see the emotion shining in his eyes every time he looked at her, especially when they made love. And he was still here, despite the conflict of interest, despite the army problem, despite the fact that he could walk away and have any woman he desired.

‘You’re totally safe here.’ He took hold of her shoulders. ‘You have my number, Dickson’s number, and I’ll give you Luke’s as well. There’s an agent from Neilson’s stationed out the front. She’s been here since daybreak.’

That was a surprise.

‘I bought this place with security in mind, Laila. No-one can get in. I’ll run through all of the security features with you, but you have to know, I wouldn’t leave you here if I thought it was unsafe.’

‘I’m not frightened at all. Not for me.’ A cold lump of fear lodged in the base of her throat and a shiver passed through her body. ‘But the guy had a gun, Evan, they both did. What chance do you stand against a firearm?’

He ran his hands up and down her arms as if to warm her chilled body. ‘Surprise is the key. If he comes looking for you, he’ll find me instead. I’ll have the advantage, and I promise, first sight of him and I’ll be on the blower to Dickson.’

Laila moved into him, laying her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. ‘I’ll come with you.’

He groaned and one arm came around her waist while the other clenched her hair. He gave a gentle tug, tipping her head back and forcing her to meet his eyes.

‘You’re the target, beautiful. It’s crucial you stay out of the sight.’

He dipped his head then, flicking his tongue into the tender hollow at the base of her throat. Laila’s legs almost buckled, and she clutched at his shoulders, breath catching in her throat. He moved lower, roughened jaw scraping against the sensitised flesh of her chest before he covered a nipple with his mouth and sucked it through the soft cotton of her nightdress.

The room began to spin, and Laila arched closer, her mind screaming for him not to go. She needed him, inside her, satisfying the craving, feeding her habit, turning her into the woman she became whenever they were together.

Spearing her fingers into his hair, she cradled his head as he moved to the other breast. Maybe he wasn’t intending to go right away. Maybe they had enough time…

‘You see why you can’t come with me,’ he murmured, kissing his way back up her neck until his mouth found the tender spot behind her ear. ‘I have to lie low, stay quiet. It would be impossible if you were there.’

He studied her face, his lips curving in a slow sexy smile, the one she hadn’t seen nearly enough of lately.

She moved away, needing to put some distance between them. She couldn’t think straight with him so close. ‘You make me crazy Evan. You make me feel — things I’ve never felt before.’

He followed, so close up behind her she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the brush of his fingertips tracing her collarbone. ‘Not even when you were married?’

Laila turned, and in that one unguarded moment, caught a deep longing in his eyes. He needed her to say the words.

She reached up and cradled his face in her hands. ‘Not even when I was married.’

He nodded, and then the moment was gone. Evan Barclay wasn’t a man to gloat, and he wasn’t one to make her feel guilty.

He turned and pressed a kiss to her palm. ‘So, is it a good kind of crazy?’

Laila smiled. ‘That’s not the most articulate question I’ve heard you ask, Mr Barclay, but yes, it’s the absolute best kind of crazy.’

Chapter Twenty-seven

1:50 p.m. Friday

The best vantage point for Evan to lay in wait was Laila’s bedroom. Located off the central hallway, it was positioned half way between the living room in front and the kitchen out back. It had an ensuite bathroom he could use too, which saved him from moving through the house.

For the umpteenth time, he questioned the logic of sitting on her bedroom floor, questioned the sense behind his decision to lay in wait should her attacker return.

Would the military use someone like John Holt, a bikie, a member of an outlaw motorcycle gang that operated outside the law?

He didn’t think so.

Would the Peytons?

He prayed not.

Tired of going round in circles, Evan shifted his thoughts to the second guy, the one who’d saved Laila.

Pulling his phone out from under her pillow, he stared at the photograph Luke had sent through. It showed a tall, thin soldier heading into an office block shortly after Luke had spoken to Commander Reuben Lawrence. Not long afterwards, Luke had reported the soldier had left Holsworthy Barracks.

Luke had lost him somewhere in the traffic heading back into the city.

Evan stared at the photograph. It fitted Laila’s description of a tall, lanky guy, though his hair was obscured by a cap.

Dickson Cross had thought the man in the park might be a local, a passer-by, with reasons of his own for not coming forward. But what if the second man was this guy? Military?

Back propped against the side of Laila’s bed, Evan checked his watch. Five minutes off the hour. Time to text Laila again.

He punched out a quick message. Everything quiet here. Don’t worry. Evan x.

Next time he checked in, he’d send the photo through, see if she recognised the guy.

He returned the phone to its hiding place then pulled himself to his feet, stretching his cramped body and glancing at the cream cover on the bed where they’d spent most of their time. Looking back, he wished he’d stayed longer on those occasions, held her longer. But he hadn’t known what was expected. She still wore her wedding rings, and he wanted to give her time to get used to a man being around the house again.

Evan dropped to the floor and smashed through twenty quick push-ups. When he straightened, his heart beat faster, his mind sharpened by the oxygen. So far, there’d been no word from Cross on John Holt’s whereabouts, but if the bikie planned on coming here, Evan had every intention of making sure the man lived to regret it.

He was squatting, pulling a granola bar from the small pack he’d brought with him, when the ceiling creaked. It was long, slow and deliberate, as if it was protesting under a weight.

Evan froze, knees objecting, adrenaline kickstarting his heart into a heavy, rapid pulse. He waited, staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror on Laila’s wall, unwilling to move in case the sound came again.

Five seconds later, he heard it. Another creak.

Careful. Calculated.

He straightened up, ears straining to hear over the crashing in his temples.

Another creak. Another cautious step.

Evan didn’t know what he’d been expecting — a window sliding open, the back door forced, maybe a knock at the door.

But never this.

He looked up and scanned the ornate ceiling. No manhole.

Where was it?

Treading quietly, he stuck his head into the ensuite bathroom.

No access there.

He ducked back into the bedroom. If he moved around too much, he’d alert the intruder to his presence.

With the layout of the house in mind, Evan pushed the door nearly all the way closed. Gripping the doorknob, he pressed his eye to the opening and held the heavy wooden door in place. Regardless of where the guy came down, he’d have to come through the hallway. With the rest of the house empty, he’d come in here, looking for Laila.

Armed with nothing but his fury, Evan waited, a plan taking shape in his head. When the person stepped into the bedroom, one massive hit with the door should knock him back a step or two. His fist would do the rest.

There was a soft scraping sound, then silence.

The cover being shifted.

Evan waited, body beaded with sweat, knowing his adversary was doing the same.

What was he thinking, planning? Was he lying in wait up there, watching until Laila took a shower or maybe a nap, before he made his move to hurt her? Would he wait up there until she came home?

Images flashed in his mind. Cowards he’d fought off three at a time before they beat the shit out of Duncan. The sergeant major, standing over him, determined to physically break the student cadet, the football star he thought needed cutting down to size.

Sadistic bastard!

Evan harnessed the emotion the memories aroused, a seething hostility building inside him.

One minute passed.

Three.

Ten.

He heard a muted sound as something dropped.

A movement of air. A rustle of clothing.

He was here!

Chapter Twenty-eight

2:03 p.m. Saturday

Laila sat at the kitchen bench, reading the small excerpt from the morning paper.

A woman was attacked last night in Bronte Park in Sydney’s eastern suburbs. Anyone who may have witnessed the attack, or noticed a man loitering in the area around 7 p.m., is encouraged to come forward. If the man is sighted, please do not approach him as he is armed and dangerous. Contact Sydney Police…

There was a telephone number but, thankfully, no names.

While John Holt was the main suspect, and a person the police were desperate to interview, Laila couldn’t be one hundred percent certain it was him. Last night, at the police station, Dickson said that if Holt came forward he’d put him in a line-up and see if she could identify him.

Taking her coffee with her, Laila slid off the chrome stool and wandered out to the veranda, smiling as she ran her hand over the treadmill. Last night had been a revelation, and she wished with all her heart Evan was here with her now. But she understood he wasn’t the kind of guy to do nothing in a crisis, especially when Luke Neilson was giving up part of his long weekend to scout around the military base. If Evan felt more useful keeping watch at her place, then she’d just have to occupy herself as best she could.

She was looking at his trophy cabinet when her mobile rang. It was Dickson Cross. He too was working over the long weekend.

Laila swiped her thumb across the screen. ‘Hello detective?’

‘Afternoon. How are you?’

‘All good thanks.’ Despite the fact that someone had tried to kill her last night, she was the happiest she’d been in four years. Maybe longer. But she didn’t want to go there.

‘I just had a call from the tech guy. The directories on Mike’s computer were copied. And your phone was bugged.’

Laila sat down on Evan’s bench press.

‘It was a sophisticated line splitter system, in a position that was hard to detect.’

Laila closed her eyes for a few seconds and slid her fingers into her hair. ‘Could they do all that in forty-five minutes?’

‘A pro could do it in ten, and they’d still have half an hour to look through the filing cabinets.’

‘How do we find out who bugged it?’

‘It’s virtually impossible. Some systems use radio frequencies, some frequencies are set aside for the military. One thing’s for certain — they’re illegal.’

Laila raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘That’s just…nuts.’

‘It’s very worrying. Someone is extremely interested in what’s going on in your office. They didn’t go to all that trouble for nothing.’

There was a few moments silence, and then Dickson spoke again. ‘I asked you this the other day, but, leaving the military matter aside, are there any cases where the parties involved might be pushed to extremes?’

The Peytons?

All this had started after she’d accepted the Peyton case.

‘I’ve got a huge divorce on the go. There’s a dispute over the assets.’

She heard Dickson blow out a breath. ‘What kind of money are we talking?’

‘Big.’

‘Has this been in the media recently?’

The detective was digging, but Laila had said all she was prepared to say.

She changed the subject. ‘Any news tracking down John Holt?’

‘Not yet. There are two officers watching his house. When he comes home, we’ll be waiting, though with the head knock you described, he could still be in Disneyland.’

‘Are you checking the hospitals?’

‘As we speak.’

When she didn’t say any more, Dickson went on. ‘I want the techie to take a look at your home phone. Am I able to call by and pick up a key?’

‘Evan’s over there now.’

There was a moment’s silence. ‘Why?’

Laila rolled her eyes and shook her head. He’d find out soon enough. ‘He’s keeping watch.’

‘Keeping watch? On what, exactly?’

‘He has a theory the guy might try again before Monday.’

This time the silence was deafening.

‘I’m not happy about it either, detective, and not because I feel unsafe. I have a security guard stationed outside.’

‘I wasn’t thinking that. Barclay wouldn’t take any chances with you. But he can’t be playing the hero, or interfering with a police investigation.’

Laila bristled, her natural instinct to jump to Evan’s defence. ‘Pardon me detective, but hanging out at my place on the Saturday of a long weekend could hardly be deemed interfering with a police investigation.’

‘Which security firm do you have?’

Laila frowned at the quick change of subject. ‘Neilson’s.’

‘I’ve met Luke a couple of times.’ There was a note of approval in Dickson’s voice. ‘He’s a good operator.’

Thank goodness he was happy about something.

‘Righto, I’ll let Evan know I’ll be dropping by in the next hour or so. Be in touch.’

He rang off and Laila went into the living room, keeping her phone in her hand. Hopefully, Dickson might convince Evan to abandon his vigil, and come home.

Catching sight of the suit coat that had lain forgotten on the lounge, Laila picked it up, lifted the plastic and buried her nose in the fine woollen material. The smoky smell was gone, and only the natural aroma of the expensive cloth remained.

Laila sighed and looked around the apartment. He’d told her to make herself comfortable and use anything she wanted, but she was loath to go poking around. It just felt wrong. Maybe she could kill an hour having a bath and then make lunch. After that, there was probably a movie she could watch.

She stared at the heap of clothes on the lounge and couldn’t help smiling. Sophisticated as it was, Evan’s apartment was a bit of a man cave. Who knew the well-turned-out lawyer, capable of making her heart race every time he walked into the room, was messy in his personal space.

Thinking she could at least put the coat away and straighten the bathroom after using it, Laila climbed the stairs and walked into Evan’s walk-in robe. On one side were ties, belts, socks and shoes, on the other, the clothes were separated into formal and casual. Sports shirts, T-shirts, jeans and casual jackets took up one section, suits, trousers and sports jackets the other.

And there, hanging in the middle of a line of suits, was an empty Hugo Boss cover, its zipper opened to the bottom.

Laila checked the label on the coat she was holding.

Hugo Boss.

This had to be the one. The trousers were missing too. Evan had probably dropped them off for cleaning as well.

She lifted off the plastic and cast it aside, unpinned the docket from the lapel and slid the jacket inside the cover. She zipped it up then stood on tiptoe to hang the coat between the others.

Gathering up the plastic, she looked around for a bin, then remembered there was one beside the desk in the bedroom.

She was stuffing the plastic into the bin when a second sheet of paper slid out from behind the docket in her hand. It was a note, written on expensive notepaper. The drycleaner had pinned it onto the lapel so it wouldn’t be missed. It was standard practice. He’d done the same for her once or twice when she’d left things in her pocket.

Frowning, Laila straightened up. There was something familiar about the handwriting.

Thank you for your recommendation Evan. I’m pleased with her representation so far. S.

Laila took a gasp of breath, heart in denial even as her mind registered that once again her life had changed in a split second.

‘S’ was for Scarlett. Laila recognised the handwriting from the affidavits she’d signed.

Thank you for your recommendation?

Gripping the back of the chair, Laila stared at the note in disbelief, clinging to the ruins of her newfound happiness even as they turned to dust.

This note was about her.

Skin cold and clammy, she struggled to sort her thoughts into some kind of order. She clearly remembered Scarlett saying a friend had referred her to the practice, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that friend would be Evan.

Laila continued staring hard at the note, which now shook in her hand. Why hadn’t he referred Scarlett somewhere else? Why had he deliberately created a conflict of interest between them? Did he think she wouldn’t go as hard in the case, with him on the other side? Or had he recommended her, hoping to gain inside knowledge he could use for Duncan Peyton’s benefit?

Whatever his reasons, he’d made one fundamental mistake.

He would never have imagined she’d break up with him.

Betrayal and disappointment carved slashes across her heart, the resulting pain so debilitating she had to hunch over, unable to catch her breath.

He’d orchestrated this, like he orchestrated everything else.

The landline rang, shrieking into the silence.

Finally Laila moved her legs, the insistent sound coaxing her to the top of the stairs. If this was him, he was about to get a piece of her mind.

After ten rings the answering machine accepted the call. But it was Duncan Peyton’s voice that came through the speaker. ‘Hey mate, I can’t get you on your mobile. Are you there…’

He waited, as if he expected Evan to pick up.

Laila stood immobile, fury burning in her chest like dry ice.

‘Okay, no luck. Um, come over to the house around five. Meet us in the study. Mum’s having a lunch for twelve women in the dining room. It probably won’t wrap up until around then. We don’t want to get caught up in all that.’ He chuckled, an obvious warmth in his voice when he spoke of his mother.

Then Laila heard him sigh, and his tone turned serious. ‘We gotta get this sorted mate. Thirty million! Christ, Dad’s gone ballistic.’

Another pause.

‘Be sure and give me a ring. You must be out having fun. Hope it’s the best kind. Just remember, you’ve got a five percent stake in this development too. Anyway, cheers.’

As Duncan hung up, Laila moved back into the room, snatching up her things as she went. If she needed any more evidence that Evan was working in his own best interests, Duncan Peyton had just confirmed that for her.

Five percent interest in the hotel developments? No wonder he’d followed her into the park that day.

See what can be achieved by staying friendly?

Laila unzipped her suitcase and flung her clothes inside.

He’d used her!

Kept her close.

Manipulated the situation like the dealmaker he was.

Manipulated her!

She’d finally opened her heart, only to find he’d been moving her around like a piece on a chessboard.

And last night, she’d told him about her parents, and he’d been so wonderful. Surely, surely, he couldn’t be so duplicitous.

No, don’t make excuses. Don’t talk yourself out of it. The evidence is there.

Laila straightened, zipped up her suitcase and swiped at her eyes.

She could do this. She was good at detaching.

She’d done it with her family. She could do it with anyone.

Furious with herself for letting it happen, she wheeled her suitcase to the top of the stairs and stood looking around the apartment where only moments ago she’d been so happy.

A sob passed through her body like an earth tremor, and she wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward, nausea cramping her stomach as she fought against the pain of his betrayal.

Whatever he was doing over there, he could get the hell out of her house — get the fuck out of her life!

And so could Scarlett Peyton.

Chapter Twenty-nine

2:35 p.m. Friday

Evan waited for another ten minutes, thankful he’d lowered the blinds, secure in the knowledge the darkened room at his back obscured him from view.

The intruder came from the direction of the main bathroom, a shadow falling across the hallway as it interrupted the light shining through the square glass pane at the top of Laila’s front door.

A floorboard creaked, and suddenly he was there. The same man whose photograph now resided on his iPhone. Tall, lanky, salt-and-pepper hair.

Confusion clouded Evan’s mind. So this guy was military, not some local who’d refused to come forward because of unpaid parking fines or some other misdemeanour. This was the man who’d saved Laila from John Holt, and yet here he was, violating her home.

Warring emotions swept over Evan like sets of breakers crashing on the shore. He wanted to burst into the hallway and take the guy right now.

Moving with purpose, the man disappeared into the living room, only to emerge seconds later carrying one of the dining-room chairs.

Evan’s blood turned to ice in his veins.

He knew Laila wasn’t there.

So what was his plan? To wait? To prepare a chair so he could tie her up when she arrived home?

Fucking bastard!

Evan curled his fists into balls, cheekbone pressed hard against the doorframe as the man climbed onto the chair and raised his hands to the ceiling.

Breath suspended, Evan stared at the man’s back, too transfixed to even blink.

What the hell was going on?

The ceiling was high. To see, he’d have to open the door wider and squat on his haunches. But he didn’t trust the door not to squeak — or his knees not to creak.

Frustrated, he stayed where he was.

There was a soft grunt, followed by the sound of something being unscrewed.

A down light?

The man lowered his hands, dipping his head as he fiddled with whatever he’d taken from the ceiling. He appeared relaxed, not at all concerned Laila might be in the house.

Suddenly, Evan knew why.

He flung the door wide, body set at the correct angle, pushing off hard with his feet. He leaned forward, got down low and drove his shoulder into the back of the guy’s thigh. Momentum carried them forward, Evan’s arms wrapped around the man’s hips as he pitched forward from a substantial height.

Driving with his legs, Evan twisted, using the other man’s body to cushion his fall, even as he used his own weight to force the intruder harder into the floorboards.

A crack.

Wood on wood as the chair fell sideways.

The sickening sound of bone on wood.

The man groaned.

Evan pushed himself up and planted a foot on the guy’s neck. Then he leaned over and took his pistol.

Heart striking against his ribs, he sent the firearm skidding along the floor in the direction of the kitchen.

That evened things up.

He looked down at the dazed man. Dressed in army fatigues, he was tall and wiry with a craggy face and a buzz cut. Blood pooled on the floor near his mouth. Tangled around his wrist was a thin black cord with a tiny camera attached.

Increasing the pressure on the man’s neck, Evan looked up. The cover was off the smoke detector, the battery dangling in the air.

Checking that the man wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, Evan went to get his phone. Back in the hallway, he righted the chair, positioned it over the man’s shoulders and sat down.

He was pulling up Dickson Cross’s number when the sound of the front door opening made him look up. Thoughts crowded Evan’s mind as he launched himself off the chair and flattened his body behind the door. Had the guy unlocked it for an accomplice?

As if in slow motion, the door swung open with a creak.

***

Laila stepped over the threshold.

She gasped at the sight of a man lying on her floor, drew in another sharp breath as Evan stepped out from behind the door.

‘You have an unexpected visitor.’ He looked her up and down and then looked at the suitcase, but he didn’t ask why she was there, just turned and sat on the chair and put the phone to his ear.

‘Cross, get someone over to Laila’s house. I’ve got the second guy.’

Without waiting for an answer, he killed the call, keeping his phone in his hand as he pointed towards the kitchen.

‘Laila, the gun’s on the floor down there. Wrap it in a hand towel or something — and be careful.’

Shocked into action, Laila did as he asked, isolating her emotions in order to deal with what was happening now.

She hurried into the kitchen, took a clean tea towel from the drawer and returned to where the gun lay on the floor near the laundry. She bent down and covered it with the towel, careful not to touch any part of it with her fingers as she quickly wrapped it up.

Evan had been worried about Holt, but from what she could see, the man sprawled in her hallway looked like the one who’d come to her aid in the park.

Eager to be rid of the firearm, she looked around for a place to stow it. In the end, she put it inside the washing machine and hurried back into the hallway.

Evan pointed at the ceiling. ‘This dirtbag’s been watching you on camera.’

A slow creep inched its way up Laila’s neck as she looked up at the disassembled smoke detector. It was dangling from the ceiling, like an activated oxygen mask in an airliner.

She shifted her attention to the man lying half obscured under the chair. How many times had he been in her home? How many times had he watched her interacting with people — interacting with Evan?

She pushed back her hair with a shaky hand and watched as Evan leaned over and spoke to the guy.

‘You?’

The man turned his head and peered at Evan through one eye. Then he spat two teeth from his bloodied mouth.

Evan jerked back from the spray and Laila let out a cry. No matter what he’d done, she couldn’t help caring for him, just as she still cared for her parents.

He looked at her, a question in his eyes, not understanding. When she looked away, he turned his attention to the man on the floor again, jaw tight, voice low, eyes a steelier shade of grey.

‘If there’s a camera in the bedroom — your fucking nuts are next. And your dentist won’t be able to reattach them.’

Laila bit down on her lip and tried to slow her rapid breathing. There was a resoluteness in the depths of Evan’s eyes, a strength forged in steel, as if he wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything. As angry as he’d been in the Peyton mediation, as angry as she’d been only moments ago — it was nothing compared to this.

A car screeched to a halt outside, and thirty seconds later, Dickson Cross walked through the door. The detective assessed the scene with a sweep of his eyes, a none-too-pleased expression on his face.

Evan sat straighter in the chair. ‘You’re early, detective. I would have liked a little more time with this man.’

Laila’s shoulders relaxed, and she breathed a little easier. This time, Evan’s tone had resembled his regular courtroom voice.

‘I don’t give a flying fuck what you want Barclay, just tell me what happened.’

Evan stood. ‘He came down through the ceiling. Laila has the pistol. He had a camera hidden in the smoke detector.’

The detective grabbed hold of the chair and lifted it off the man’s body. ‘Get up.’

Still badly dazed, the man moved with slow, excruciating movements, groaning as he pushed himself up on his hands and knees.

Neither Evan nor the detective made a move to help. Both stood watching, hands on hips.

The man moved from all fours onto his haunches, then finally managed to stand. One side of his face was swollen, and blood dripped from his mouth and nose. He wiped it with the back of his hand and peered at them through his good eye.

Shifting the chair closer to the intruder, Dickson held up his I.D. ‘Detective Inspector Dickson Cross, Sydney Gang Squad. Sit down.’

For the first time Laila got a good look at the intruder’s face. ‘It’s him. He’s the one who helped me in the park.’

She’d seen him somewhere too, though it wasn’t from her time on the base. Tall, thin, short cropped grey hair, around forty-five. He’d been standing somewhere, looking up.

The Archibald Prize.

‘He was in the art gallery the other day too.’

Dickson’s eyebrows raised in a query.

Laila explained the arrangement she had with the pilot. The detective listened, lips pursed, gaze fixed to the floor.

‘This is the case you wouldn’t discuss?’

‘Yes.’

Dickson turned to the intruder. ‘What’s your name, military man?’

The man moved his mouth, but no sound came out.

‘Louder.’

‘Lance — Corporal — Jason — Moulder.’

‘How’d you get in the ceiling?’ asked Dickson.

‘Kid’s place next door.’ The guy spat saliva and blood as he lisped out the words. ‘Laundry window has a broken catch.’

Bloody Grind! She’d kill him!

Dickson’s eyes cut to hers. ‘Who’s your neighbour?’

‘A musician. He rents the place. Nice kid — bit of space cadet.’

Her answer seemed to satisfy the detective. He leaned over and shot the next question at Moulder. ‘How long’s the camera been in?’

‘Four weeks.’

Suddenly Evan stepped forward, jerking off the restraining hand Dickson laid on his arm. ‘Are there any more?’

‘No.’ The guy gave a weird lopsided grin, more confident now he had the police there to protect him. ‘I have no interest in your night-time exercise.’

‘Lucky,’ Evan snarled. ‘Otherwise I’d rip your fuckin head off.’

‘Barclay!’

Evan ignored Dickson and leaned closer to Moulder. ‘You’re speaking better now. Getting used to your rearranged teeth?’

‘I’m warning you, Barclay.’

Evan stepped back, shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered off down the hallway. He didn’t get far before Dickson was calling him back, asking how Moulder had sustained the injuries.

Laila listened as Evan recounted how he’d surprised Moulder while he was in a vulnerable position. It was clear Evan had gone about the process in a smart way, aware that tackling an armed man could never be seen as using excessive force.

Watching him now, it dawned on her that she was seeing the real Evan Barclay for the first time. It was as if the layers of his personality had peeled away and left him raw, angry and exposed. And yet he was tuned in to her feelings enough to know something was terribly wrong. And he wasn’t impressed. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, in the tightness of his jaw, in his searching gaze.

Evan Barclay was no longer an enigma, but he was many other things. He was the sharp lawyer capable of keeping all the balls in the air while he salvaged a deal written off by everyone else. He was the handsome lover who believed sexual enjoyment was pivotal to every human being. He was the private man who could charm crusty old judges and operate effortlessly on numerous platforms.

But to her, now, he was an exposed tough guy who wore a well-cut suit Monday to Friday like a uniform. And he was blessed with enough smarts to only use his impressive brawn when necessary.

She could see it all, and she wondered at its origin, wished she knew. Because maybe it would explain why he’d manipulated her, despite saving Mike, despite enlisting Luke Neilson’s help, despite coming here today.

Suddenly Dickson addressed Moulder again.

‘You want to give me your version of what happened in the park? Because I’m a little confused. And I suggest you start talking, if you want to save those pretty teeth of yours.’

When the man didn’t answer, Dickson tried a different tack. ‘Okay. We will contact your superior when we get to the station. The three of us can have a nice conversation.’

‘Don’t bother.’ Moulder said. ‘They’ll give you a blanket denial.’

Dickson leaned in closer. ‘Who? Who gave you orders to watch her?’

Moulder hesitated, then said ‘Reuben Lawrence.’

Laila looked up. ‘I know him. He was the commander involved in the Blackhawk enquiry. A man with a very big ego.’

‘Luke Neilson visited Lawrence at Holsworthy this morning.’ Evan held up his phone and pointed to a photograph. ‘Fifteen minutes after he left, Moulder showed up.’

‘What’s Lawrence after?’ Dickson asked.

‘Names.’

‘Go on.’

‘Someone put the word around she was taking a class action on behalf of some of the guys who’d died. It’s hard to keep secrets on the base. Everyone finds out everything in the end. He wanted to know who was giving her information, and details of the case, who was taking part, how much money, that kind of thing.’

‘Were you in her office last Saturday?’

‘I was snooping. Had nothing to do with that fire though.’ He looked at Evan. ‘I wouldn’t have hurt her. I know she’s a good person.’

‘But you hurt John Holt?’ Dickson jumped in, as if fearing Evan was going to have another go.

‘That his name?’

‘Where’d you dump the body?’

Moulder’s one eye widened. ‘I didn’t kill him. He was out cold, that’s all.’

‘Come on Moulder, don’t dick me around. Laila’s a witness. She says you killed him.’

Laila closed her eyes and turned away.

‘She’s wrong. I checked his vitals.’

‘So why was Holt watching her?’

‘I don’t know. I noticed him a week ago. I think he started the fire.’

‘See anyone else with him?’

‘Nope, but he’s no good.’

‘I know he’s no good, he’s a bikie on my “most wanted” list.’

Cross got behind Moulder this time, leaning down and speaking in his ear. ‘What piece was he carrying?’

‘A Ruger LCP .38.’

Dickson straightened up. ‘Where is it?’

‘Parramatta River, off Silverwater Bridge.’

‘I’ll send in the divers. You better not be jerking me around, Moulder.’

‘Laila?’ Evan cocked his head in the direction of the kitchen. ‘You too, Cross.’

Dickson rolled his eyes, but he joined them at the end of the hallway. ‘This better be good, Barclay. I’ve just about had it with you.’

‘The Parramatta River’s tidal. That piece could be in Sydney Harbour by now. Bikies trade in illegal firearms, you know it won’t be registered in his name. Wouldn’t your resources be better spent looking for Holt?’

‘Listen.’ Cross poked a finger at Evan. ‘Stick to football and the law and leave the detective work to me. I might be searching for a weapon, but I’m hoping for a body.’

Laila turned and looked at Moulder. The man had his fingers in his mouth, checking for more loose teeth. ‘You really think Holt’s dead?’

‘He hasn’t turned up.’ Dickson fished in his pocket as his phone started playing the Beatles’ ‘Drive my Car’. ‘We’re watching his home, and the Altar Boys compound, plus a stack of businesses they’re involved in.’

***

While Dickson took the call, Evan studied Laila, heart pumping fear through his veins. She was aloof, her body angled away from him, eyes focused elsewhere. And there was a coldness in her eyes he didn’t like, as if she didn’t know him, as if he was the bad guy here.

What had happened?

Why had she come back?

Trying to curb his impatience, Evan thought about Moulder’s impending arrest. It proved that Laila’s problems were linked to the military, and that should have reassured him — but it didn’t. Moulder had only been after information, whereas Holt had emerged on the scene a week ago, around the same time Laila had taken instructions from Scarlett.

Coincidence?

Someone wants you dead bitch!

Evan fought his way out from under the blanket of anger that enveloped him every time he thought of the bikie with his hands around her throat.

He sucked in a breath, steadied himself, only to hear George Peyton’s voice in his head.

Everyone has a secret.

He was in no doubt George was alluding to something in Laila’s past, something that might be exploited, something she was ashamed of. Like him, wanting to hide the fact that his mother had once been the town bike.

Evan’s heart gave a painful twist. He’d forgiven his mother her shortcomings long ago, but he’d always believed George could do no wrong. Now, he could see it for what it was, a hero worship developed in childhood and fast becoming an illusion. The pedestal he’d put George Peyton on was looking shakier by the day.

And then there was Laila.

Loyal, honest and caring.

Keep me informed.

He hadn’t kept George informed. He’d done the opposite, and kept away. He’d sought out Luke Neilson, used his connections to help Laila, even taking her to his place to ensure she came to no further harm.

Emotional decisions, based on his feelings.

For the woman on the other side of the Peyton case.

Evan raked a hand through his hair.

The Peytons were his family, his livelihood and his clients. It was his responsibility, as their lawyer, to go hard for them in this divorce case.

How in god’s name could he do that, fearing they were involved in the threat on her life?

How could he do it, feeling the way he did?

Chapter Thirty

4 p.m. Friday

The day was overcast and dismal, as Evan and Dickson shook hands out on the curb. Then the detective walked around the back of the patrol car, opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel.

From the veranda, Laila could see a handcuffed Jason Moulder sitting in the back seat. He had a long night ahead of him, certain to be charged with a string of offences, two of breaking and entering, two for illegal phone taping, as well as one for installing illegal spyware. He would also be charged for copying intellectual property from Mike’s computer, and anything else Dickson Cross could throw at him.

Still, he’d saved her life last night, and she was glad she’d thanked him again.

‘Cross thinks Holt’s dead.’ Evan came up the front steps and joined her. ‘Or at least gone to ground, as bikies tend to do. He’d have to know there was a chance he’d be caught on CCTV the day of the fire, and now you and Moulder can identify him. If he’s alive, he’s probably out of the city by now.’

Laila watched the patrol car pull away from the curb, lights flashing though Dickson didn’t put the siren on. She stiffened as warm hands touched her waist.

‘What’s wrong?’ Concerned eyes studied her face, reminding her of the way he’d looked the afternoon she’d gone to Poole Greenwood. ‘Why didn’t you stay at the apartment?’

Laila turned and went inside, heard his exasperated sigh as he followed her. But he didn’t ask her again, just pointed to the blood on the floor.

‘I’ll clean this up, then we’ll sit and talk.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Laila waved a dismissive hand and walked into the lounge room. ‘I’ll see to it after you’ve gone.’

There was silence.

When she turned around, he was standing in the room, hands on hips, jaw tight, a questioning look in his eyes. ‘Why would I go anywhere?’

Laila slid the card from her jeans pocket and handed it to him, anger boiling in her veins at the sight of Scarlett’s curling scrawl.

Holding the note between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes locked on hers. Then he lowered his gaze and read. After a few seconds, he looked up.

‘Where’d you get this?’

‘In your coat pocket, the one you left in my office. The dry cleaner pinned it your lapel. I was putting it away. I wasn’t snooping, I was just hanging it up.’

‘Okay.’ He stared down at the note again, a mystified expression on his face. ‘I’ve never seen this.’

‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I’m not lying.’

His words were punched out, fast and hard. Laila took a breath. ‘I know it’s from Scarlett. She said a friend recommended my practice, but I had no idea that friend was you.’

He brought his gaze up to meet hers again, the colour draining from his face, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

Laila held her breath, hoping he’d say something that would make sense, wanting him to wave a magic wand and make things right between them.

‘It didn’t happen that way.’

She’d steeled herself for the blow, but nothing could have prepared her for the shaft of pain that seemed to slice through her body, puncturing her heart, like she was bleeding inside. She brought a hand to her stomach.

He moved, grasping the tops of her arms in a strong hold. ‘Listen to me. It didn’t happen that way.’

Laila twisted, fighting her way out of his grasp. She stumbled backwards, hands curled at her sides. ‘How did it happen then?’

He turned away, moving restlessly around the room like he had when Dickson had questioned Moulder, like he had in the mediation, when she said they wanted thirty million dollars.

‘Scarlett’s threatened to leave Duncan before. She’s called me numerous times, asking what to do. Each time, I made it clear that first and foremost I act for Duncan and George, and she should get independent advice. I’d given her the names of a couple of lawyers she could contact, but nothing ever happened.’

He raked back his hair and turned to face her again.

‘She rang me, the morning of the negotiations. It was crazy in the office, we had a million things on. The Chinese consortium was in town and we had back-to-back meetings. We’d been working on it for months, staying up at night so we lined up with the northern hemisphere’s work day. When she called — I thought it was like all the other times. A girlfriend had given her your name, and she wondered if I knew you.

‘I told her I did, said you were competent. That’s all. After that, I left for the meeting. It might have crossed my mind, once, but like all the other times, Duncan didn’t say a word to me. There was no way I was going to broach the subject. I could have scared the shit out of him over nothing more than Scarlett having a rant because he wouldn’t buy her the latest model Merc.’

His nostrils flared as he pulled in a deep breath, eyes cutting back to her. ‘I’ll admit, it crossed my mind again, in terms of how it could affect the contracts, but I took a gamble and signed off anyway, always taking my cues from Duncan, my client.’

‘As for this.’ He held up the card and dropped it on the coffee table. ‘I have no idea how it got in my coat.’

Laila watched him, thinking back to the day she’d applied for the orders. She’d walked out of the courtroom ahead of Scarlett.

Then Evan spoke again. ‘The only thing I can think of, is that she must have put it in my pocket on her way out of the court. My jacket was hanging on the back of the chair. She must have slipped it in my pocket somehow. But honestly, I’m only guessing. I know about as much as you.’

Laila wanted to scream and shout and pummel his chest with her fists. He’d known from the beginning she hadn’t won Scarlett on her own merits. He’d had a hand in it. And despite his explanations, she didn’t believe him. The evidence was right there in front of her.

‘Scarlett told me it was hard to escape the Peyton web.’ Laila gave a sarcastic laugh, unable to disguise the bitterness in her voice. ‘She said she wanted someone who couldn’t be manipulated. God, what a joke.’

‘I did not manipulate you.’ He rubbed a hand down his face, tension radiating off him in waves.

‘Yes, you did. You manipulated me, manipulated the entire situation from the start.’ Laila couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d wanted to. ‘What did you think? That I’d go soft if you were on the other side? Or were you hoping for inside information you could use to Duncan’s advantage?’

‘Give me some credit.’ His voice was low, but his chest rose and fell with the effort of holding himself in check. ‘I’m not so bad at family law I have to pump you for information while we’re screwing.’

‘That’s exactly what you thought.’ Laila spat out the words, voice rising as she grew more agitated. ‘I must have derailed your plans though when I broke it off. I bet that wasn’t factored into your deal-making strategy, Mr Hotshot.’

‘There was no deal making where you were concerned.’ He swallowed, Adam’s apple shifting in his throat. ‘I might have made a poor decision that day, but I did so based on prior experience.’

‘Don’t give me that crap!’ Furious, she stepped forward and shoved him in the chest. ‘You did it based on your own self-interest.’

‘Come on.’ He raised both hands then and beckoned her forward. ‘Give it to me. You’ve come this far, why not get it all off your chest?’

‘Duncan left a message on your machine.’ She clenched her hands at her sides. ‘You’re to be at the house at five. He’s assuming that will be okay, seeing as you have five percent.’

His eyes narrowed, and he stared at her for a full five seconds. Then he checked his watch. ‘Fine. That gives me about an hour.’

‘Is that all you can say?’

He shook his head, pursed his lips, eyes glittering with anger. ‘You know I’m not obliged to disclose my personal assets and investments to you, just as I would never ask how you structure the Blackhawk Foundation. I had a ten-year football career. It set me up. My investments are diversified, and if I think one of the Peyton investments is a good one, and there’s an opportunity to invest in it, I’ll always consider it. It’s not illegal.’

He was right, it wasn’t illegal. And how he invested his money was no-one’s business but his own.

Still, his words played on a loop in her mind. See what can be achieved by staying friendly? I have a lot to lose too, you know.

She glared at him. Like an idiot, she’d believed he was referring to her, and all along his first priority had been the development.

‘You had an ulterior motive for staying friendly with me.’

‘I’ve always had an ulterior motive for staying friendly with you.’

Laila shook her head, blocked out the words, refusing to let him sidetrack her. Holding her resolve, she faced him again, nearly lost it when she caught the look of disappointment in his eyes.

‘I think you should go.’

He blinked, seemed to lose his way for a moment, then gathered himself again. ‘Listen to me. You’re linking this note to my five percent share, and the two issues are unrelated. The share I have was a commercial decision I made years ago, when this deal was in its infancy.’

‘I don’t buy that. Whether you made that deal years ago, or yesterday, you’d still do everything in your power to protect that investment.’

He threw his hands in the air in frustration. ‘What more can I say Laila? I’m telling you the truth.’

It sounded like he was speaking from his heart, but how could she be sure? She was terrible at this. She’d fallen victim to this kind of thing all her life, fallen for her parents’ manipulation, deluding herself that they loved her. Wanting to believe.

But wanting didn’t make it real.

‘I don’t get you, Laila. You fight for other people, and yet you won’t fight for yourself, for us. Why would I create a deliberate conflict of interest if it could have been avoided? That fact should reassure you I didn’t believe Scarlett would go through with it.’

Laila went icy cold all over.

‘Don’t fight for anything?’ She moved closer, jabbed herself in the chest with her index finger. ‘I fought for my independence, to have a life free of abuse, but you’ll never know about my struggle, never know what it took for me to walk away. It nearly killed me, would have, except for Will. And here you are, the product of some fancy boarding school, telling me I need to fight.’

She didn’t miss the flare of his nostrils, the rapid rise and fall of his chest underneath the soft fabric of his hoodie.

‘You’ve shared so little of yourself Evan, what would I have been fighting for exactly? For you to come over and fuck me twice a week? I can get anyone to do that.’

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, as if she’d physically wounded him. And when he opened them again, he was looking at her with so much hurt and disappointment, as if she’d betrayed him, not the other way around. As if he expected better of her.

Laila’s heart quivered in her chest and she blinked away the hot tears swelling in her eyes. ‘My parents always made me feel like a failure at life, and you just did too. But there’s one thing I can be proud of, Mr Hotshot. I got to where I am on my own, and I never needed the Peytons as my pimp.’

He swung away from her to stand rigid, head bowed. ‘You think I prostitute myself for the Peytons?’

‘They own you.’

Chapter Thirty-one

5:15 p.m. Friday

The call from Duncan came through the Bluetooth, his voice reverberating around the car’s interior.

‘Finally! I’ve been trying to get you all bloody afternoon.’

‘I’m on my way. See you in ten.’ Evan cut the call before Duncan could say any more, shifting down a gear as he took the car over a speed hump.

Laila was wrong. The Peytons didn’t own him.

He wasn’t his mother’s son.

A sudden mist clouded his vision, and he clenched his teeth and banged his wrist on the sports wheel.

He hadn’t looked at Laila again, just gone straight to her room, grabbed his bag and shot through. She was right about one thing. He hadn’t shared details of his early life with her. She didn’t know it, but they had more in common than she thought.

Now, he needed to fix things.

Ten minutes later, he was parking the car between two late-model Range Rovers. What the hell was going on here? There were cars everywhere.

For once he didn’t look at the view, just opened the front door and stepped inside the massive hallway with the curving staircase. A chorus of female voices rose from the dining room, and he skirted around the bottom of the stairs and headed for George’s study, hoping he didn’t run into anyone.

Outside the study door, he paused, dragging in a few deep breaths and clearing his mind.

Laila was a lawyer, and if you looked at the evidence against him, it was damning. Weigh in her fear of being manipulated, and he could understand how she’d come to the conclusions she had.

And she didn’t know of the suspicions he held about the Peytons. He couldn’t clear things up between them with that hanging over his head. His conscience wouldn’t allow it. He needed confirmation.

He rapped on the door and stepped inside the room.

George and Duncan looked up as he came in. They were sitting on brown chesterfields facing each other, a carved wooden chess set on the coffee table between them. But there was no game underway tonight. Deep in conversation, their bodies were angled forward, tense. Duncan stood up as he came in.

‘About time. Not like you to go missing in action. Drink?’

Duncan wandered towards the drinks cabinet as Evan leaned over and shook hands with George. The old man eyed him up and down, as if his lateness alone indicated a problem.

‘No thanks.’ Evan jiggled his car keys in his hands. ‘I can’t stay.’

‘You can’t stay?’ Duncan came back, an empty beer glass in his hand. ‘That crazy lawyer’s after thirty mil payout for my wife — and you can’t stay?’

Evan’s temper flared at the slur on Laila. ‘That crazy lawyer has more ethics in her little finger than you’ll ever have.’

‘What the fuck’s up your nose?’ Duncan demanded.

‘As I said yesterday, Ms Richards merely conveyed Scarlett’s outrageous demands. She won’t be party to any kind of blackmail. She knows thirty million is excessive, and she’s aware Scarlett won’t get an extra thirteen million if it goes to court.’

‘Jesus!’ George puffed on his pipe, shaggy eyebrows pulled into a frown. ‘How’d Scarlett get this information she’s bribing us with anyway? That’s what I’d like to know.’

‘I have no idea how she obtained it. It came as a complete surprise to both Laila Richards and myself. But I understand from Duncan the allegations are true.’

‘Hmm,’ George said.

Taking that as confirmation, Evan went on. ‘You know I’m not privy to the day-to-day workings of the family business. But what you have to think about over the weekend is how much you’re prepared to pay to keep the family’s reputation intact, and a potential criminal charge against Duncan at bay.’

‘I’m not fussed on thirty million if the settlement’s worth seventeen,’ George said.

‘I can guarantee she won’t get any more money by taking it to court. The family court will only give her what’s fair, regardless of any allegations she makes. But what she can do in court is trash the family’s reputation, which could result in Duncan being charged. So, one, do you pay it, and that’s the end of it? Or, two, do you make an offer of around nineteen or twenty and negotiate from there?’

‘What do you suggest?’ asked George.

Here was his opportunity! This could turn out to be the worst decision of his life, but it had to be done. For the first time since he was nine years old, the spot fires were flaring up faster than Evan could put them out.

‘I’d offer nineteen and give Laila Richards time to convince her client it’s a more realistic offer. At the moment, Scarlett’s adamant she wants thirty. It’s whether we can hold our nerve.’

When nobody spoke, Evan went on. ‘There’s something else. Laila Richards was attacked on her way home from work last night, and earlier in the week her office building caught fire.’

He watched George as the older man’s eyes dropped to the sticking plaster still on his hand, and then back to his face.

‘A man was caught on CCTV in the office building, and she’s pretty sure he’s the same man who attacked her in the park.’

Evan held his breath, watching as Duncan and George exchanged glances, but they said nothing, just waited for him to go on.

He turned to George. ‘The last time I was here, you asked me if we had anything on Laila Richards. You told me to find out her secret, so pressure could be brought to bear.’

‘Jesus, Dad!’ Duncan voice was a low whisper. He stared at his father as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘That’s what I need to know.’ Evan said. This was something he could never have imagined asking George Peyton in his lifetime. ‘Did you get someone to try and stop Laila Richards?’

George leaned on his stick and struggled to his feet, more fire in his eyes than Evan had seen in years. ‘You have a hell of a hide, son, coming in here and accusing me of that.’

‘They were your words. What was I supposed to think?’

‘I think you need to pick your side.’

When George wouldn’t answer his question, Evan turned to Duncan. ‘You told me something once. You said the family had hired someone to recover a debt, someone outside the law.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ George interrupted. ‘Some low-life ripped me off, to the tune of three hundred thousand dollars of payments to subcontractors who depended on the money. But the grub went into voluntary bankruptcy, and shifted all his assets into his wife’s name. He was living in luxury, and no-one could legally touch him.’

He took a few steps closer to Evan. ‘You weren’t qualified then. We were using a different firm. They couldn’t do a damn thing, and I wasn’t going to stand for it. A mate told me he had a contact, a guy in a motorcycle gang. They scared the crap out of him, promised they’d be back to break his kneecaps if he didn’t cough up the money. He got the cash. The bikies got their cut. The subcontractors got their money. Everyone was happy except the scumbag.’

‘Which motorcycle gang?’

‘The Altar Boys,’ Duncan said.

Evan’s scalp crawled and he lowered his voice, looked from George to Duncan and back again. ‘John Holt was the person who attacked Laila. Just give me a straight answer. Did you hire John Holt to follow her?’

‘What do you take us for?’ The old man said with a roar, thumping his pipe down on the table. ‘Coming in here and accusing us of something we know nothing about, and after all we’ve done for you.’

Evan thought of Laila’s words from last night, the words her parents used to say. How could you do that to us, after all we’ve done for you?

‘I think I’ve paid my dues George, given as much as I’ve taken. I might be your lawyer, but I’m no puppet.’

‘Jesus!’ Duncan was staring at Evan in amazement. ‘I know what’s going on here. You’re sleeping with the enemy.’

Red in the face, Duncan advanced on him, went to shove him in the chest but Evan stepped sideways, out of reach.

‘Hold on,’ he heard George’s warning from behind as Duncan wheeled around.

‘You’re screwing her, aren’t you?’ Duncan’s pupils were dilated, and one side of his mouth curved in a sneer. ‘It must be great to be you. Just crook your little finger and they all come running.’

Evan shook his head and looked at George. ‘We were seeing each other before Scarlett began proceedings.’

Duncan advanced on him again. ‘Bullshit! You’re pointing the finger at us because some broad’s leading you around by the dick.’

Evan threw out a hand and grabbed Duncan by his collar, shoving him against the wall and pinning him with his body weight. ‘I. Love. Her.’

The air was thick with tension, and in the silence, laughter could be heard coming from the direction of the dining room.

‘Then you’re not the best person for the job.’ Duncan said.

Heart knocking against his ribs, Evan let go of his collar and swung away. ‘That’s what I came here to tell you.’

George Peyton stepped closer to Evan. ‘You’re going to give up the work you do for this family — for some broad?’

‘I think he’s saying he’s prepared to give up his relationship with this family for her,’ Duncan added.

‘Maybe if you’d given up something you’d still have your wife.’ Evan’s words came hard and fast like a battery of quick blows.

‘You bastard!’

‘Duncan!’ George’s voice rang out, strong and clear despite his advanced age. ‘May I remind you this is still my house and your mother has guests in the dining room.’ He pointed his stick towards the chesterfields. ‘Sit down there and shut the fuck up.’

He turned to Evan, and for the first time ever the two men gazed at each, anger and disappointment in their eyes.

‘I did nothing to harm that lady lawyer. I was simply thinking aloud that night. Wondering whether she’d been in trouble with the Law Society — temporarily struck off the roll — or something in the family she wanted to keep secret. I’ll admit, I wouldn’t have been above offering her a monetary incentive to speed things up if necessary.’

Evan thought of Laila’s Blackhawk Foundation. ‘She would have been above taking it.’

George Peyton nodded and gave a sad smile. ‘It seems you know her well, by the sounds of it.’

Did he?

The two men looked at one another again, the old man, and the kid who was now a man.

Was it the last time?

Evan thought so.

He shifted his gaze to Duncan, but his school friend was staring at the floor, shaking his head, mouth set in a hard line.

Evan inhaled sharply and nodded at George Peyton.

‘Thank you for telling me.’

He turned and left, pulling the door closed behind him.

His vision blurred as he caught sight of George’s wife standing in the hallway looking towards the study.

‘Evan?’ Marcie’s gentle face was etched with worry as he walked towards her. ‘What’s going on? What’s all the shouting about?’

Too choked up to speak, he shook his head, leaned down and planted a quick kiss on her forehead as he passed.

‘Evan?’

He kept walking.

He’d lost Laila. He’d lost his family, and it was only a matter of time now until he lost his job at Poole Greenwood. Not since he was nine years old had he been so alone in the world.

He could feel Marcie’s eyes on him, knew she was trailing him as he strode towards the front door, wrenched it open and jogged down the front steps.

She was still on the front porch, hand raised in farewell, as he started the car, pulled into the driveway and headed for home.

Chapter Thirty-two

11 a.m. Saturday

It had been days since Laila had taken the time to exercise, if you didn’t count fighting off an attacker, making love to Evan, and the emotional energy expended yesterday.

Now, as she neared the end of her usual walking route along the beach and over the hill, she tried to push past the heaviness in her legs, the stitch in her side, the almost constant throb in her temples. Coaxing her reluctant body to move at its usual pace had depleted her energy stores to the point where, with luck, she’d be able to sleep for a while this afternoon.

But as she came in the front gate, breathing heavily, puffy eyes hidden behind dark glasses, her mind continued to whirl with the events of the last couple of days.

She sighed, knowing sleep would elude her until some hard decisions had been made. Decisions she couldn’t put off any longer.

She and Scarlett Peyton had to part ways. She simply couldn’t allow someone capable of blackmail to be the patron of the Blackhawk Foundation.

Scarlett had paid money into her office on account of costs, and though it probably didn’t cover all the work Laila had done, it went close. And close was enough. She wouldn’t render another account.

Mind made up, Laila scrolled through her contact list and rang her client, steeling herself and trying not to think of the tantrum the woman had thrown the other day.

Scarlett picked up almost immediately. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, it’s Laila Richards calling.’

There was a brief pause, then ‘Have they made a counter offer?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Laila rolled her eyes. Of course that would be the first thing the woman would ask.

She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been thinking things over since the mediation last Thursday, and I don’t believe I’m the best person to act in your interests anymore. I’d like you to come by my office first thing Monday morning and pick up your file.’

She wanted to add that maybe Evan Barclay could recommend another lawyer, but that would make her bitchy and petty and unprofessional, and she wanted to keep her good name intact. A slur from Scarlett Peyton could do a lot of damage in this town.

‘Are you serious?’ Scarlett’s voice vibrated with anger. ‘You’re dumping me?’

The woman sounded like a jilted lover.

Laila swallowed, her throat dry. ‘I’m uncomfortable with the allegations you made against your husband with the hope of substantially increasing your share of the matrimonial assets.’

‘You’re uncomfortable?’ The woman screeched, causing Laila to hold the phone away from her ear and switch it onto loud speaker. ‘You’re my bloody lawyer, you’re not supposed to be comfortable. You’re supposed to be getting me the best settlement you can.’

‘I agreed to get you a fair settlement, and all fairness ceased to exist last Thursday. I won’t be party to blackmail.’

Scarlett went to say something, but Laila cut her off. ‘Please collect your file from my office on Monday, so you can go about finding alternative representation.’

She killed the call, stood looking down at the phone in her hand. It was done. She was free of the Peyton case.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Laila walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of water and stood looking out into her small backyard. She’d been so excited when Scarlett had first contacted her. She’d taken the case in good faith, expecting a flow of other referrals and envisaging benefits for her foundation. But in reality, her client had thumbed her nose at the mediation process, and at Laila, with her threats of blackmail. There was nothing else she could do but put the matter behind her.

Putting Evan Barclay behind her would prove an even greater challenge.

Her heart physically ached, cramping in her chest with an intensity that took her breath. Despite her anger, her conscience kept reminding her of all the good things he’d done. Saving Mike from the fire was a heroic act, and bringing Luke Neilson on board had resulted in Jason Moulder’s arrest. Evan had taken an active role in that too, lying in wait with the patience of a predator until Moulder walked into his ambush.

But his help on the class action didn’t make up for his betrayal on the Peyton case, or the fact that he’d manipulated her, something she’d vowed would never happen again. Strangely, the only thing that gave her comfort was their six-week affair prior to the start of the Peyton case.

At least that part had been real.

Laila put her glass on the bench, went into the bedroom and opened the lid of the jewellery box her paternal grandmother had left her. According to distant aunts and cousins, her grandmother was the family member Laila most resembled. Throat closing over, she slid the rings off her right hand and placed them in a separate compartment of the jewellery box.

She was closing the lid when the doorbell rang, its familiar E to C melody echoing throughout the house.

Thinking it was probably Dickson come to give her an update, Laila hurried into the hallway. But when she opened the door, Grind was standing there, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

‘I heard the fighting last night. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’

An embarrassed flush warmed Laila’s face and she put a hand to her pounding forehead. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear that.’

‘I couldn’t understand what you were saying, but I saw Barclay leave.’

Laila raised her eyebrows. As far as she knew Grind had never met Evan. ‘Barclay?’

He shrugged. ‘He used to play rugby.’

Laila turned with a groan and went into the kitchen. Flopping into a chair, she rested her forehead on her folded arms and closed her eyes. ‘I have a headache.’

There was silence, then a hesitant ‘I’ll make the coffee.’

Grind’s goodhearted offer to do something simple, give her something he knew she enjoyed, finally broke the dam, and Laila was too exhausted to stem the flow of tears that seeped from her eyes and dripped on the table. Head pounding, she drew in several uneven breaths, heard the gurgle of the coffee maker, felt the touch of Grind’s hand on her back.

Eventually she stopped, coaxed out of her misery by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee somewhere close to her nose.

Sitting up, she winced as her head gave one almighty throb, and reached for the wad of tissues Grind offered. ‘Thanks. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s your house, you can cry if you want to.’

She smiled at his lame attempt to cheer her up and wrapped her hands around the warm mug. ‘I’ve had a bad week.’

‘The detective who came this morning said they got in my laundry window. I’m really sorry, Laila.’

Laila reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘It’s all right. The people who broke in here are professionals. They would have found another way in. You just made it easy for them.’

Even so, he watched her with worried eyes as she sipped her coffee.

‘I feel bad that I laughed when you showed me the insulation.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up.’ Laila pushed her hair behind her ears and wiped her eyes with the tissues. ‘He’s in police custody now.’

Moulder was no longer a problem and, according to Evan, Dickson Cross believed John Holt was either dead or had left town.

Suddenly, Laila felt another weight lift from her shoulders. As of Monday, the class action would be filed, and Scarlett Peyton would be out of her life. Maybe things would then return to normal — not that she knew what that was anymore.

Evan had become her ‘normal’.

‘I guess you won’t be coming to the gig tonight then?’ Grind was saying.

Laila blinked. She’d forgotten all about the gig.

Again.

She was about to say she could do with an early night, but one look at Grind’s crestfallen face and she found herself saying, ‘I’m coming, but only if the music’s so loud I won’t be able to hear myself think.’

‘You got it!’ Grind’s face broke into a smile. ‘You can sit at the table reserved for the band. That way, you won’t get hit on.’

‘Thanks, I think.’ Laila gave a wry smile. ‘I’ll look like the big sister come to watch her little brother play.’

‘That’s alright. They’ve cleaned the pub up a lot. It’s not nearly as seedy as it used to be.’

‘That’s a shame.’ Laila shook her head and pretended to be disappointed. ‘I was looking forward to getting groped on my way to the bar.’

He laughed, then asked if she could be ready by six.

A few minutes later, Laila was seeing him out the front door.

Determined to keep her mind occupied, she headed off to wash her hair, forcing herself to think about what she could wear tonight.

This was the first day of the rest of her life, and she was determined to make it count. And if a couple of glasses of wine and a few hours of ‘80s cock rock would put Evan out of her mind for a short while, then she was all for it.

Chapter Thirty-three

5 p.m. Saturday

Allegra glanced at Luke as he pulled the car into the curb outside her office. Up ahead, the Pitt Street Mall crawled with late-Saturday-afternoon shoppers and an eclectic mix of street performers.

‘It’s a shame this weekend hasn’t turned out as planned.’ They’d been going to drive a little way down the coast, towards Bateman’s Bay and Mollymook, but Laila Richard’s problem with the military, and Evan’s call last night, had sabotaged what plans they’d had.

She sighed. ‘When I left on Thursday, I never imagined I’d be back so soon.’

‘That’s what happens when you’re a partner.’ Luke draped his arm across the back of her seat and Allegra took a few moments to admire the broad expanse of chest and the bulging bicep close to her shoulder. She would have given anything to stay curled up on the lounge beside her hunky husband.

Luke smiled, the silver slash on his cheek moving. ‘As long as we have a bed and food, I don’t care where we are.’

‘In that order?’

‘Definitely in that order.’

Allegra turned her head and pressed her lips to that hard bicep. Luke had spent so much time in Iraq and Afghanistan, he was happy anywhere that wasn’t a war zone.

‘I shouldn’t be long. I’ll say my bit and leave Simon to make the decision. He’s the principal partner, after all.’

‘Still inclined to go in to bat for Barclay?’

‘Absolutely. Evan Barclay has success written all over him. He’s more than just the Peytons.’

‘Hey, careful.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned closer. ‘I’m getting a bit jealous here.’

‘No need.’ She smiled and stroked her thumb along his chin. Somehow, Luke Neilson was sexier than when she’d first met him three and half years ago. ‘Will you be in the coffee shop?’

‘Yep. Reading the paper, close on hand in case your temperature spikes. I don’t want you jumping any random guy in the street.’

She pressed a kiss to his warm mouth. ‘I’ll be sure to call you, commander. Just keep that mobile phone handy.’

His silver eyes turned serious. ‘If it’s meant to be, Ally, it’s meant to be.’

She nodded. ‘The doctor says we’re both fine, Luke. It’s my fault. Too much stress. He said it will happen, eventually.’

‘Just let nature takes its course.’ He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. ‘Go on counsellor, before I turn this machine around and take you right back home.’

Allegra climbed out of the car and walked towards the building, watching as Luke’s AMG gave a throaty growl and disappeared around the corner.

Five minutes later she was standing outside Simon Poole’s office.

‘Come in,’ he said in answer to her rap on the door.

The man who’d been her mentor since day one looked up from his desk, tall frame folded into the green high-backed leather chair, his silver hair cropped short. He was dressed casually, as if he might have played a round of golf earlier in the day. Now, he gave her a resigned smile and waved her into a chair.

As she always did, Allegra chose the left one.

‘Heard anything more?’ he asked as she took a seat.

‘Nothing since he phoned last night.’

Simon leaned back in his chair and looked at her across the vast expanse of polished desk. ‘He didn’t say what happened between him and the Peytons?’

Allegra shook her head. ‘Just that they’d parted ways, and he thought it was the right thing to do to let us know.’

Simon folded his hands across his stomach. ‘So he’s just lost his biggest client, the reason we hired him? Were they unhappy with his work?’

‘I wouldn’t imagine so. He’s too good.’

‘Do you think it has something to do with the marriage break-up?’

Allegra thought back to her conversations with Evan over the last week. The request for extra staff to prepare financial statements for the Peyton mediation. The restaurant visit concerning the attack on Laila and her problems with the military.

‘I’m not sure. He’s had a lot on his plate recently.’

‘Haven’t we all?’

Simon’s frustration was understandable. The firm had suffered a lot of upheaval in the past couple of years, but since Evan had come on board things had started to look up.

Now they had to decide if he still had a future.

Simon flicked through the Contract of Employment on the desk in front of him. ‘I’ve had a look at the figures. Removing a senior salary from the company’s outgoings will save us money. Maybe we should think about replacing him with a junior solicitor.’

Allegra said nothing.

After a few moments Simon looked up. ‘I’m taking it you don’t agree.’

‘I don’t. He’s heading up the commercial division. And he can work autonomously. A junior won’t be able to do that.’

‘But he won’t make the targets set out in his contract, not without the Peytons’ work.’

‘It’ll be a challenge,’ Allegra agreed. That was the problem with big clients. They left a massive hole in your practice if they left.

‘A challenge?” Simon raised his eyebrows. ‘You think he’ll go close?’

‘From the figures I’ve looked at, he was set to outperform. He’s smart, driven and tenacious. I’ve never seen anyone who can hold their nerve like him — apart from Luke, but he was a soldier.’

‘Well, you’ve had a lot more to do with him than I have, but I still think we should let him go.’

Allegra shook her head. Simon was the principal partner, but in her opinion, taking the easy way out wasn’t the best option.

‘I think you’ll regret it. Evan’s a master negotiator and good with the staff. I think he can build the commercial division and bring in more big clients.’

‘You have a lot of faith in him.’

‘The final decision’s yours, of course, but I’m prepared to call it.’

‘It’s a big call, Allegra.’

Allegra didn’t break eye contact, didn’t flinch as Simon pursed his lips and considered what she’d said.

Eventually, he brought his hands up and linked them behind his head. ‘I’m getting old, Allegra, and less inclined to take a risk. I forget what it’s like to be young and fearless. I suppose we can give him a year, see how he performs. We can look at his contract again after that.’

Allegra smiled, relieved and pleased with the outcome. ‘Thanks, Simon.’

‘Don’t thank me. You’re the one who gave him the outstanding reference. I just hope he lives up to your expectations.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘I’ll ring George Peyton on Monday and thank him for his business. It can’t hurt to let him know we’re always happy to act if they need us in the future.’

He slid the employment contract across the desk. ‘Can you make sure this goes back where it belongs?’

‘Sure.’ Allegra took the contract from him and stood up. ‘Are you leaving now?’

Simon turned the swivel chair around and looked at the files stacked on the credenza behind him. ‘Not for a while. I’m here now. May as well get a few things out the way.’

Allegra took that as her cue to leave. ‘I’ll see you later then.’

‘Yep. See you Monday.’

At the elevator, Allegra gazed down at the contract and couldn’t help wondering if part of the reason she’d come to Evan’s defence was because he reminded her a little of her husband.

Maybe.

But not solely.

Her points had been valid. She saw potential in Evan Barclay, partnership potential. And she needed to think like that, prepare for the future — because Simon wouldn’t be here forever.

Deciding to return the contract to Human Resources on Monday, she locked it in her desk drawer and decided to walk by Evan’s office. As she suspected, there was a light burning inside, and through the half open door, she could see his dark head bent over the desk. His eyes were tired, his jaw rigid and covered in dark shadow, his hair ruffled like he’d been raking his fingers through it.

‘I thought you might be here.’

***

Evan looked up. ‘Allegra, come in.’

He let go of his pen and waved a hand at the stack of files on his desk. ‘I’m just bringing everything up to date.’

He didn’t bother adding ‘before I leave’. He didn’t need to. Allegra knew the terms of his contract as well as he did.

He watched as she came closer, regret weighing heavily on his mind. This was the second woman he’d let down in the space of two days.

‘I’m sorry, Allegra. I hope you don’t suffer any adverse repercussions because of me.’

‘What happened, Evan?’ Allegra perched on the edge of a client chair. ‘Was it your work, or something personal?’

It was so personal he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it. And Laila was wrong. The Peytons didn’t own him. ‘Own’ suggested he did their bidding without question, and that wasn’t true. He’d encouraged them to exercise caution when necessary, and he’d never been afraid to disagree with them, or let his opinions be known.

‘It’s a bit of both,’ he said eventually. ‘There’s a great deal of tension surrounding the marriage breakdown, and the affect it will have on their business dealings as a whole.’

That was about as concise as he could be without giving too much away. He’d keep the blackmail threats and his suspicions about the Peytons to himself.

‘Did George Peyton actually say he was taking the work away from you?’

He didn’t have to. He could read between the lines. ‘Not in so many words.’

‘Then don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe all that’s needed is for everyone to settle down.’

‘I have to get all this in order, regardless.’

‘Well, there’s no hurry. I managed to get you another year on your contract, irrespective of whether you act for the Peytons. We won’t be visiting your contract again for twelve months.’

Stunned, it took him a moment before Allegra’s statement sank in.

When it finally did, Evan closed his eyes for a beat and sent a silent prayer to nobody in particular. When he opened his eyes, Allegra’s lips were curved in a satisfied smile.

‘Did he take much convincing?’ he managed to ask.

She shook her head and glanced over her shoulder as though Simon might suddenly appear. ‘He virtually left it to me.’

Evan blew out a relieved breath and held her gaze. ‘I promise you, I will do my absolute best.’

‘You always do, Evan. Why do you think I pushed for the extension?’

There were a few moments of awkward silence, and then Allegra checked her watch. ‘I have to run. Luke and I are having dinner in town.’

Evan stood up. Ah, to hell with it. Why not tell her actually how he was feeling. ‘Well, I would kiss you Allegra, except your husband would probably neuter me.’

She laughed, and just like that the awkwardness was gone. ‘Try and enjoy what’s left of the weekend, Evan. I’ll see you on Monday, and we’ll take it from there.’

He nodded. ‘Thanks again.’

When she left, Evan stood for long moments staring at the closed door. He couldn’t believe someone of Allegra Greenwood’s standing could think so highly of him. With the exception of George Peyton, he couldn’t remember anyone standing up and pleading his case before. Only himself. More often than not, he was standing up for other people.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he went over to the window and stood looking at the building opposite. One by one, the lights were starting to come on, and down on Pitt Street a soft rain was falling on the streetlight glow.

Yesterday he’d thought he’d lost everything important in his life. Twenty-four hours later, he had his job back.

One break point saved.

Could he save another one?

He had to try. No way would he give up the most important one without a fight, but he had to be careful, and patient. Laila needed time to cool down.

An alert sounded on his phone, and he turned and went to his desk. His social media program was set to send a notification every time Laila posted.

Which was hardly ever.

He pressed the notification, and sure enough Laila’s profile emerged. Someone else had written the post.

Grind

At Scruffy Murphy’s with Laila Richards

It was followed by the date, time and street map showing the location of Scruffy Murphy’s hotel.

Grind?

Wasn’t he the young musician who lived next door? What the hell was Laila doing out with him?

Jealousy speared through Evan’s body, the poisonous emotion spreading through his system like the sting of a dozen tentacles. He’d imagined her to be home, or maybe at her office, equally shaken up by their bitter argument.

But it appeared not.

Twenty-four hours later and she was out with this Grind, partying at Scruffy Murphy’s, while he sat worrying about her.

Evan leaned over the desk and shut down his computer, killed the lights and shrugged on his leather jacket. Okay, so it was ridiculous to be jealous of a guy in his early twenties, and he knew in his heart Laila wasn’t a fickle woman. She wasn’t going to find someone else the very next night — was she?

She’d slept with him the first night they’d met.

After four years of self-imposed celibacy, you stupid fuck!

But there was something else apart from his unreasonable jealousy at work here. Something nagging at the edge of his mind. Something worrying. Dickson Cross believed John Holt was dead or had skipped town, but what if he were mistaken?

Evan knew he was being overly suspicious, but he couldn’t get it out of his head that computer accounts were hacked all the time. The army had already copied the contents of Mike’s computer, and tapped the phones in her office and home. Who knew what information they had?

Grind was a regular visitor at Laila’s too. He would have been captured on the camera footage for sure. They probably knew who he was, knew the band’s name, where they played their gigs, plus a whole lot of other information.

Minutes later, Evan was on the street. Scruffy Murphy’s was a ten-minute walk down George Street. It wasn’t worth getting the car from the car park.

He pushed through the early-Saturday-evening crowd. Was he overreacting or looking for an excuse to turn up there?

To hell with it.

He was going anyway.

Grind, not Laila, had made the post.

Was she even aware it was up there, broadcasting to anyone with an interest, sinister or otherwise, exactly where she was?

Chapter Thirty-four

6:20 p.m. Saturday

Laila sat at a table close to the front, a glass of white wine in her hand. On stage, Grind was rocking out with the rest of his bandmates and, judging from the crowd’s response, doing a fairly decent impersonation of Axl Rose.

She sipped her wine and kept her eyes trained ahead, ruing her hasty choice of clothing. She’d been brave at the time, leaving her hair out and zipping her knee-high boots over the skinniest pair of jeans she owned. Spurred on by the memory of Evan’s ‘and that conservative little suit, it’s so proper’ comment, she’d chosen a shimmery top that clung to her upper body as tightly as her jeans moulded to her butt.

Now, sitting all alone at the table, she watched the band and avoided making eye contact with anyone. Every now and then a guy would come up and try to start a conversation, but she just wasn’t interested. As good as the band were, and they were good in a funny retro kind of way, she didn’t want to be here. She longed to be home in bed, with a glass of wine and a book, free to give in to her emotions if and when she chose to.

It had been a mistake to come here.

Laila toyed with the stem of her now-empty glass, a creeping feeling in the back of her neck. She wanted to go and buy another drink, but there it was again, that feeling someone was watching her. Which was crazy, because Moulder was in police custody and Holt had gone to ground or was dead. Plus there were close to a hundred people in the pub. She was hardly alone.

Laila pulled a ten-dollar note from her black purse, a favourite because of the silver bangle attached to one corner. It allowed the bag to hang from her wrist while leaving her hands free to carry a drink or open a door. Deciding she’d go now, before the band finished their first set, she slipped the bangle over her wrist and stood up.

She turned around and stilled when she saw him, though her heart seemed to turn over.

Standing about ten feet behind her, a sturdy column at his back, Evan wore loose-fitting blue jeans that couldn’t disguise the powerful shape of his legs. A soft grey T-shirt, and a black leather bomber jacket with small buckles attached to the collar, completed the outfit. His hair was slightly mussed and a little damp from the rain, while his jaw and both sides of his neck were covered in a dark shadow that gave him a slightly dangerous appearance. In his left hand he held a glass of white wine, a glass of red in his right.

His eyes glittered, and he dipped his head a fraction, raising his red wine in a toast to her, just as he had that very first night.

And just like that, her pulse quickened and a wave of heat engulfed her body.

He looked like heaven — even when he looked like hell.

When she didn’t move, he pushed off the column and came towards her. His eyes scorched a trail up her body, taking note of the spikey heels, the denim-clad thighs, the bag dangling at her wrist and the waves of hair tumbling over her breasts.

He stopped an arm’s length away and held out the glass of white. ‘I’ll fight every guy in the bar if I have to.’

Laila moistened her dry lips. ‘I’m still angry,’ she said quietly.

He gave a curt nod. ‘So am I.’

When she didn’t say anything, he tipped his head in the direction of the stage. ‘Your friend’s post popped up on my phone. With Laila Richards at Scruffy Murphy’s.’

‘Oh. I didn’t know that.’ She was still so angry at his deception, she didn’t know what to say. ‘Is that why you came?’

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. ‘Look, Laila. It’s loud in here, and people are watching. Can we go for a walk, maybe talk a bit?’

Laila glanced around at the other patrons. He was right. Curious eyes were glancing their way, and some people were even whispering and pointing towards Evan.

Laila looked back at him, and her heart melted a fraction. He was tight around the eyes, and it looked like he’d slept even less than she had. And from the determined set of his chin it was clear he wasn’t leaving without her.

And despite everything, she really wanted to hear what he had to say. Plus she needed to tell him that, as of today, she was off the Peyton case.

‘Okay. I’ll meet you outside in five minutes. I need to use the bathroom, and I have to let Grind know I’m leaving.’

His brow smoothed and his shoulders lowered, relaxing a little. ‘Thank you.’

To her surprise, Evan looked towards the stage and nodded to Grind, who was watching with interest.

Laila pointed to Evan and then to the exit door. In between chords, Grind gave her the thumbs up.

Drink forgotten, Laila headed in the direction of the bathroom, pulling up with a groan when she spotted the line. For a moment she debated whether to stay or leave, but in the end decided to stay. If she left now, she’d only have to find somewhere else.

Evan would just have to wait.

Ten minutes later, she finally stepped outside.

Cool air hit her skin. The clouds were low and heavy in the sky. Despite the hour, the night was dark, the wind blustery, the pavement slick from an earlier shower. She looked around for Evan, searching the nearby faces, but he was nowhere to be seen.

It was a little strange, but maybe she’d taken so long he’d gone back inside the hotel to look for her.

Laila hesitated for a few more moments, before deciding to stay where she was. He’d be back soon. He’d come all the way down here to see her — he wouldn’t run off now.

Three minutes later and the rain was falling hard. Laila bit her lip and looked around in annoyance. Maybe he was around the other side. She walked to the corner and peered up the narrow street, searching for a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a leather jacket.

Nothing.

Then a flash of blinding headlights made her blink, the glare reflecting off the wet road so she couldn’t make out whether it was Evan’s Porsche parked first in line at the curb.

Was it him?

She moved closer to the vehicle, stopped and squinted. The passenger side door was flung wide, but the car was too bulky to be Evan’s low-slung sports car.

She swung away and began heading back towards the pub.

‘Laila!’

She halted at the sound of Evan’s voice.

Slowly, she turned and walked towards the car.

He must be on the phone.

‘Did you buy a four-wheel drive? ’ Grasping hold of the doorframe, she peered inside, the metal cold in her hands.

Evan was sitting in the passenger seat, back stiff, face white, eyes full of regret and apology.

Too late, Laila saw Scarlett Peyton. She was sitting directly behind Evan, a cruel smile splitting her face, the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of his neck.

Chapter Thirty-five

7 p.m. Saturday

Scarlett ordered Laila to drive. ‘Go around the front. Get in the driver’s seat. Try anything, and he’s dead.’

Heart racing like a motor in her chest, Laila forced her shocked body to move. The four-wheel drive was high at the front, so she kept her arm by her side, concealing the handbag hanging from her wrist. Slowly, she rounded the front of the vehicle and opened the driver’s door.

Evan signalled with his eyes for her to run.

Laila took hold of the grab handle and hoisted herself up.

‘Give me your phone,’ Scarlett said, the instant the door was closed.

Laila reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her phone. As she passed it over her shoulder she let the bangle on her other wrist slide further up her arm so it almost reached her elbow. The attached bag settled high on her thigh, closest to the door. Temporarily out of Scarlett’s vision.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

‘Drive!’

Laila gave a violent start, hands and knees trembling as she located the key in the ignition. Planting her foot on the brake, she turned over the engine. The big vehicle started with a quiet purr, the dashboard lighting up like a cockpit. It struck her that Evan must have leaned over, at gunpoint, and turned on the lights as she walked towards them.

Forget the seatbelt.

Think, Laila! Think!

You want police to stop you.

‘Drive, and don’t look at him,’ came the command from the back seat.

‘I don’t know the car. Where’s the handbrake?’ She had to keep Scarlett talking, establish communication.

‘You stupid bitch, what does he see in you?’

‘Lever under the dash.’ Evan said quietly, then his head jerked forward as Scarlett rammed the gun barrel hard into the back of his neck.

‘Don’t speak to her! You can speak to me, but not to her.’

Grateful it had stopped raining, Laila put the car in gear and flicked on the indicator. Beside her, Evan was sitting forward, head bent, arms folded. She could see the gun barrel sticking through the gap between the seat and the headrest.

Forcing herself to slow her breathing, Laila pulled away from the curb, heard the door locks engage as if trapping them in a mobile prison.

They stopped in George Street, and Laila glanced in the rear view mirror, hoping the flashing seatbelt light on the dash didn’t draw Scarlett’s attention. But the woman was intent on keeping the gun at Evan’s neck, and she was looking around, as if searching for where to go next, as if all this was happening without much planning.

‘Why?’ Laila asked, forcing her shocked brain into action.

Hard, cold, pitiless eyes met hers in the rear view mirror.

‘You still haven’t worked it out yet, have you?’

‘Is it because I won’t act for you anymore?’

‘You forced me to do this. Now I have to rush it all.’

‘All what?’ Evan asked.

Scarlett stiffened, and for a moment she stared at the back of his head.

‘How could you?’ Scarlett’s voice turned low, beaten, terrifying. ‘How could you prefer her, to me?’

Laila went dizzy, face tingling as the blood left her head.

Dear god!

Not that!

Not Evan and Scarlett!

Feverish sweat broke out on Laila’s body, her heart slugging painfully against her ribs. She shot a glance at Evan. He was staring through the windscreen, wide-eyed, stunned.

Laila tightened her grip on the wheel and followed the line of traffic around Central Station and up into Surry Hills.

Eventually, he spoke. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

The woman in the back seat gave a chilling cry that had every muscle in Laila’s body tensing. ‘This thing between us.’

There was a long pause, then Evan spoke again. ‘There’s no “thing” between us, Scarlett.’

To Laila’s surprise, his voice was firm, gentle, as if he were explaining something to a bewildered child. Only then did she realise they were dealing with someone deluded, someone possibly in the grip of a psychotic episode, someone who’d lost touch with reality.

‘I rang you so many times and told you I was leaving him. It was the perfect opportunity for you to make a move, admit you wanted me. And you did nothing.’

‘You’re Duncan’s wife. There will never be anything between us.’

‘I hate him,’ she screamed, then her attention snapped to Laila, and she raised a hand and pushed her in the shoulder. ‘Go to Centennial Park.’

‘Don’t hurt her. Please. It’s me you’ve got the issue with. Let Laila go, and we’ll sort this out, just you and me.’ There was a pleading note in Evan’s voice that made Laila’s throat ache but only served to enrage Scarlett.

‘It’s too late. I overlooked your one-night stands, but you kept going back to this one. I knew it was different this time.’ Scarlett was rambling. Making statements, then refuting them, as if debating with herself.

‘How did you know these things?’ This time there was real bewilderment in Evan’s voice.

He was keeping her engaged.

Talking.

Establishing rapport.

Laila stayed quiet, looked left then right, slowed down each time they approached a camera. If they didn’t make it out alive, at least Dickson Cross would be able to put together a timeline of their movements.

Scarlett gave a manic laugh. ‘Surprised I could do it, huh? It was easy.’

She was boasting now, more powerful than angry. ‘I put remote spyware on your phones when you were playing pool at the house at three in the morning. You should be more careful.’

Laila’s mind raced. That’s how Scarlett had learned about the facilitation payments and high-class call girls. From Duncan’s phone. Private information belonging to the Peytons, obtained illegally by their daughter-in-law and wife.

Laila caught sight of her reflection in the rear-view mirror, face deathly pale, eyes wide with fright. She clenched her hands on the wheel and flicked her eyes back to the road. Beside her, Evan’s body was taut with tension, fists clenched at his sides.

Soon, Laila was turning into Centennial Park where huge Australian figs and eucalypts overhung the narrow single carriageway. Apart from one or two lights shining from the restaurant windows, there was no sign of life — no joggers, no horses, no groups of overly fit Lycra-clad cyclists.

On a wet Saturday night, the park was dark and uninhabited, the perfect place to commit a crime.

A crime of passion.

Whoever would have guessed?

Sweat stuck to Laila’s body as she flicked her eyes around the car, searching for something, anything she could use. If she lost her bag, the keys were a possible weapon.

What else?

What could she accomplish with a gun trained on Evan?

She only had her handbag, and Scarlett could spot that any time. One badly timed move, and he’d be dead.

Laila ground her teeth and pushed past the fear that threatened to paralyse her.

What else was there?

An electronic tag.

A GPS mounted on the dashboard, close to the window.

Laila took her eyes off the road for a few seconds to peer at the device. What she had first believed to be a GPS was actually a mobile camera used to record what was happening on the road in front of the driver.

And it remained on while the engine was running.

The keys were no longer an option. She needed to leave them in the ignition, switched to ‘accessories’, in the vague hope that its panoramic lens might capture some evidence of the crime Scarlett intended to commit.

Suddenly, Scarlett pointed to a narrow service road winding between the trees. ‘Down there. Go left.’

Laila pulled on the wheel, the sweep of headlights illuminating a number of wooden sheds that looked to house maintenance equipment. A remote section of the park, the area was dark and deserted, the padlocked sheds a clear indication that no activity was likely until Monday morning.

‘Pull over.’ Scarlett pointed to the where the road ended and the gravel widened out into a turning circle.

Fingers stiff from her death grip on the wheel, blood pounding in her throat and temples, Laila swung the car around so the lights pointed back down the road.

‘What are you going to do Scarlett?’ Evan asked between clenched teeth. ‘Kill us both?’

‘I’ll do a better job than Holt, the tool.’ She was crowing now, but not all her answers were in direct response to them.

‘Who are you talking you?’ asked Evan.

‘Shut up!’

‘Did you tell John Holt to hurt Laila?’

‘He’s an idiot. Failed twice. Told him I’d finish it myself.’

‘Is that where you got the gun, from the bikie?’

She didn’t answer but the weapon began to shake in her hand. ‘When you’re gone, I’ll feel better.’

‘No you won’t, you’ll feel worse.’ Laila said softly, trying to think of something, anything that might help them escape the horror of this nightmare. ‘Think of your children, Scarlett. You won’t be able to see them if you don’t get better.’

‘Get out!’ Scarlett screamed suddenly. ‘If you run, I’ll shoot him.’

Laila felt for the keys, turned them back a notch, then left them in the ignition.

This was her chance.

Maybe her only one.

She opened the door and looked at Scarlett. The other woman was already out of the car, throwing open Evan’s door and standing back, gun raised, waiting for him to get out.

Keeping her arm by her side, Laila slid from the car, making sure she landed squarely on both feet.

She had seconds.

Fail now — and Evan died.

At the exact moment Evan closed the door, Laila unzipped her handbag, shaky fingers probing for the pepper spray.

‘Get around here.’ Scarlett hollered.

Laila’s fingers closed around the small canister and she plucked it from the bag.

Without breaking stride, she dragged the bangle over her hand and dropped the bag beside the rear wheel. Then she was rounding the corner, the small can of spray tucked in her palm.

She needed to get close.

‘Stop there.’ Scarlet took two steps back, then waved the pistol at Laila, gesturing for her to go and stand beside Evan.

‘What are you going to do? Make us kneel while you shoot us, execution style?’ Evan’s voice was devoid of all softness now they were out of the car, reminding her of how he’d spoken to Jason Moulder yesterday.

Strangely, his more dominant attitude seemed to unsettle Scarlett, and for the first time since she’d been ordered into the car, Laila saw the other woman falter.

Evan pressed on, moving closer. ‘You’ll go to prison Scarlett. Your children will have a murderer for a mother. Think about that.’

Scarlett grimaced as though trying to shut down the voices in her head. ‘I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment Duncan first introduced us.’

Evan shook his head. ‘It’s all in your mind, Scarlett. I never encouraged you, ever. You’re just going to have to accept that.’

Tears slipped down Scarlett’s face, and the gun began to shake again. Laila held her breath, watching in horror as Evan held out his hand. ‘Come on. You haven’t hurt anybody yet. You don’t have to do this.’

Laila saw the change, the murderous expression that came into the other woman’s eyes, the way her index finger twitched on the trigger.

Laila moved, stepping in front of Evan, eyes fixed on the muzzle, fear eating at the lining of her stomach.

Scarlett’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then her lips curved in a cruel smile. ‘Well, well.’

The square hit to Laila’s back rattled her ribcage, the air leaving her lungs with a grunt before she sprawled on the ground. The pepper spray shot from her hand, hitting the gravel with a metallic bounce and rolling a few feet away. It took Laila a moment to realise she hadn’t been shot. When she rolled over, Evan’s hand was wrapped around Scarlett’s wrist, twisting hard.

Working the air back into her lungs, Laila turned and crawled towards the pepper spray. Groping in the dark, she closed her hand around the canister and struggled to her feet. Sirens screamed into the night, but Laila didn’t care. She stumbled towards the struggling figures. Taller and stronger, Evan had Scarlett’s arms above her head, their bodies plastered together as he attempted to prise the gun from her fingers.

Laila was close enough now. Raising her arm, she deposited a cloud of capsicum spray directly in the other woman’s face.

A shot went off, exploding around them like a bomb.

Birds fluttered from the trees, animals scurried from the undergrowth.

The gun dropped to the ground.

Evan swooped.

Ears ringing from the blast, Laila watched Scarlett stagger to and fro, hands covering her eyes, mouth open in a murderous howl before she finally collapsed on the ground.

Laila turned and clutched at Evan, felt his arms come around her, though she couldn’t hear anything he was saying.

Body trembling with shock, she pressed a hand to his chest, felt the vibrations of his heart throbbing beneath her fingertips.

And then Dickson Cross was running towards them, a dark silhouette against the flashing blue lights of three patrol cars.

Chapter Thirty-six

11:30 p.m. Saturday

The medical staff at St Vincent’s Hospital were on the frontline of Sydney’s Saturday-night war zone, and traumatized eardrums came way down the list after king hits and methamphetamine overdoses. Subsequently, it was past eleven when Laila arrived at Sydney Police Headquarters to find Dickson Cross waiting in his office.

‘Come in.’ He thanked the female policewoman who’d accompanied Laila to the hospital, and closed the door. ‘How’d you go?’

Laila nodded. ‘It’s not too bad. It improved while I was waiting. They said it should settle in about a week. The left ear’s worse than the right.’

Dickson looked her up and down. ‘You look pretty good considering what you’ve been through. So does Evan. He’s here somewhere. With another officer and Duncan Peyton.’

Laila breathed a sigh of relief. She was grateful just to be in the same building as Evan. And it was no surprise Duncan was here too.

Dickson went behind his desk and Laila pulled a chair closer. Other than being tired, she felt fine. The policewoman had given her hot tea and two paracetamol, and after watching the procession of car accident victims, stroke patients and drug overdoses brought in by the paramedics, she started to feel as if she’d escaped lightly.

‘I’ve been dying to know, how did you find us?’ she asked, as soon as Dickson sat down. She hadn’t been able to hear a thing following the incident — and then they’d whisked her off to hospital in a separate car.

‘We picked up Holt when he went home. Bikies are notorious for not talking, but I had him on CCTV from your office, and I convinced him you and Moulder would have no trouble picking him out of a line-up. I promised him leniency on the charges of importing illegal firearms. He talked, in the end. Said Scarlett had hired him to take you out first, and then Evan. Apparently, she wanted to see him suffer.’

An icy shiver ran up Laila’s spine, and she closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her mouth. She’d had her reservations about Scarlett, but never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined the woman capable of this.

When she opened her eyes, Dickson was watching her, the flash of anger in his blue eyes the only outward sign of emotion.

‘Where’d you get the capsicum spray? It’s illegal in New South Wales.’

‘I know.’ Laila clasped her hands in her lap. ‘I bought it when Will was stationed in Western Australia. He was deployed a lot back then. I never threw it out. For years, it lived in the back of the bathroom cupboard. After the attack in the park, I put it in my handbag.’

Dickson shook his head. ‘It won’t be a problem.’

Laila sighed with relief. ‘I’m sorry. I’m still getting my head around everything.’

‘Me too. Until Holt confessed, Scarlett wasn’t even on our radar. Then we couldn’t find her. In the end we got onto Duncan. She’d been over there, crying and carrying on because you told her to pick up her file. He believes that was the catalyst. She thought all contact with you would cease as of Monday. And then she took off in his car.’

‘How’s he taking it?’ Laila asked.

Dickson leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. ‘He’s shaken up, but mostly relieved for you and Evan. I think he’s known his wife’s been unstable for some time, and he’s thankful she’s in hospital getting the help she needs. He’s been worried about the children but, like everyone, he didn’t know the extent of her problems.’

‘It’s unbelievable. Who would have guessed?’

‘Well, Evan would have been our best hope, but he missed it entirely.’

He had. He’d never picked up on the signals.

Laila frowned. ‘I can’t work out how she knew I was at Scruffy Murphy’s?’

‘Evan’s phone had spyware, plus she’s admitted to stalking him on social media. If you’re linked to him, she’s probably been stalking you too. But we’re not certain about tonight. For all we know she could have been watching your house and physically followed you to the hotel.’

Laila rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. ‘So, how did you find us in the park?’

‘The CCTV’s central control room picked up the car without any problem. From then on, we were following you in real time. We lost you when you entered the park, but then we spotted your lights. You and Evan did extremely well. You would have made it, even if we hadn’t arrived when we did.’

She must have looked unconvinced because he went on before she could say anything else.

‘Do yourself a favour Laila. Don’t re-think the possibilities of what might have been if things had turned out differently. You two had a win. Focus on that.’

She guessed it made sense. Might be easier said than done though. ‘I’ll try, detective. So, what happens now?’

Dickson tipped his head in the direction of the door. ‘I need a detailed statement from you, and then we’ll run you home. Would you like to see Evan first?’

Laila’s heart began to thump, though whether through nerves or excitement she couldn’t be sure. ‘Yes.’

‘He’s already made a statement. He feels terrible your life was put in danger because of him.’

That made two of them. She felt terrible for accusing him of manipulating her, when it turned out Scarlett was behind everything.

Would he forgive her?

He’d come to Scruffy Murphy’s to talk before Scarlett had ambushed him. That was a good sign. And in the car, he’d pleaded for her release.

Dickson stopped, hand on the door handle that led back into the general office. ‘I did stress to him that men and women commit crimes very differently. When men murder, it’s usually over very quickly. There’s a fit of rage, a temporary loss of control, and it’s normally very messy. It’s pretty clear to us what’s happened. With women, the crimes are always personal, and well planned. They’re harder to apprehend, because months, sometimes years go into the planning.’

Dickson gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Scarlett got messy because you did the unexpected and dumped her as a client, right after Evan had had a falling out with the family. To her, it must have seemed everything was spiralling out of control. It forced her to act.’

Evan had had a falling out with the Peytons?

Was that what he’d come to tell her at the pub?

Dickson opened the door. ‘Come on. We’ll go find him. At this rate, you won’t be home until three in the morning.’

They passed through a central area where the phones rang incessantly, and then Dickson was knocking on the door of what looked to be a small interview room. There was the sound of a chair scraping back, and the murmur of low voices, and then the door opened and Evan was standing there, worry clouding his eyes, jaw and neck covered in dark bristles.

‘Laila!’

The worry vanished and he stepped into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind him.

Dickson checked his watch. ‘I’ll grab a coffee. Be back in five.’

As Dickson left, Evan took her hand and led her along the hallway until they came to a water cooler set into a small alcove. There, he took hold of her shoulders and looked her up and down, as if making sure she was all in one piece.

‘Can you hear me?’

She nodded. ‘There’s a bit of a hum, that’s all.’

‘Thank god.’ His eyes searched her face, hands massaging her shoulders and sending a delightful shiver rolling down her spine. ‘I’m so sorry. How can you ever forgive me?’

She smiled a little. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s me who should be asking for forgiveness. I blamed you, accused you…’

‘Shh. Don’t worry about that. Any level-headed person would have reached the same conclusion. All the evidence pointed to me.’

He drew her gently to him, and she went willingly, slipping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder. ‘I didn’t trust you, Evan. I wanted to, but I wouldn’t let myself.’

She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath and listened to the rapid beat of his heart, happy for the moment to be right where she was.

He stroked a gentle hand over her hair. ‘Trust has to be earned Laila, and I hadn’t earned it. I didn’t tell you who I was or even take you out in public. I let you stumble on those facts yourself, only showing you half the person I am. Why on earth would you trust me?’

She leaned back and looked into his eyes, took another deep breath — took a gamble. ‘My instinct was to trust you, and I was a fool not to listen. That night, in your apartment, you said my parents tried to shrink my world, and you were right. But you never did that. You were happy for me when I got the Peyton case, you said it would be a boon for my practice. You want me to do well, I can see that. And you did all you could to help me with the military matter. I have to stop expecting the worst of people. Not everyone behaves like my parents.’

She reached up and stroked her fingers over the course bristles on his jaw, let her eyes linger on his generous mouth only inches from her own.

‘You don’t shrink my world, Evan, you expand it, enrich it. And the really good thing is, I still only know half of you.’

He pressed his mouth against hers in the softest, sweetest of kisses, like an affirmation, like the promise of a new beginning.

Suddenly, an excitement welled inside Laila and she clung to him, only letting go when she heard Dickson coming back along the corridor.

‘If you’re done here.’ Dickson’s eyes shifted between them.

‘Of course, detective.’ Evan smiled and let go of her hand. ‘I’ll hand her back into your good care, for now.’

As Dickson turned away, Evan leaned in close and spoke quietly. ‘I have Duncan and George in the interview room. I’m not sure when I’ll get away. The children are with Duncan’s mother, but they want to go to the hospital after this.’

‘Do whatever you have to do, Evan. They’re your clients, and I understand, really. The policewoman’s driving me home after this.’

He frowned. ‘Would you like to go back to my place?’

Laila shook her head. ‘No, I want to go home. I need a shower and sleep. There’s nothing to fear now. Both Moulder and Holt are in custody, and Scarlett’s hospitalised.’

His forehead cleared and he nodded. ‘You’re right. I think I’m still in fight mode. I guess it’ll take a while to burn off all that aggression.’

She smiled, stood on tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘I can wait Mr Barclay. I’m good at delaying gratification.’

He made a low growling sound as they walked back towards the interview room. ‘Then you’re a better person than I am.’

Chapter Thirty-seven

11 a.m. Monday

Laila walked out the Supreme Court of New South Wales, flanked by Mike on one side and her friend Trudy on the other. A posse of press had been lying in wait since early morning. Now they gathered around the trio, sound booms looming overhead, a dozen microphones pointed towards Laila.

Today, she was pleased to speak to them. For a moment.

A young blonde woman shoved a microphone under her nose. ‘Ms Richards, is it true a class action has been lodged against the Australian military regarding aspects of the Blackhawk tragedy four years ago?’

‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘Is it true you’re seeking to have the military’s original findings overturned?’

‘Yes. We will be trying to get to the truth of the matter.’

The next question came from an older man with grey hair, one of the most experienced court reporters in the pack. ‘Will there be compensation for the victims?’

‘If the proceedings are successful, yes. The military awarded some compensation at the time of the original enquiry, but we feel it was inadequate.’

‘Ms Richards, can you confirm your deceased husband was the pilot of the ill-fated Blackhawk?’

‘I can confirm he was one of a number of officers on board the helicopter at the time of the incident. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m having trouble hearing you all. I have a slight auditory problem at the moment.’

The press parted then, pleased at what she’d disclosed. It was enough for them to begin their research into the matter, and the more coverage they received, the better.

‘Are you having coffee?’ Trudy asked when she joined them at the top of the steps.

Laila smiled. Much as she loved Trudy, she had a much more exciting coffee date. ‘Unfortunately no, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Can I take a rain check?’

‘Absolutely, you can.’ Trudy folded Laila in her arms, and as always, the two women clung together. ‘Thank you. I know I’ve said this before, but I’m so proud of what you’re doing for us. We needed an advocate like you, Laila.’

‘Thanks Trude. You know I’ll do my best.’

‘We’ve had a win already,’ put in Mike. ‘The pilot has been reinstated.’

Laila nodded. ‘That is good news, but it’s early days yet guys. Who knows what will happen.’

‘Anyway, you get going.’ Mike gave her a pointed look and tipped his head in the direction of the park. ‘Let me take this good sort out for a coffee.’

After arranging to meet Mike back in the office in an hour, Laila ran down the concrete steps and headed towards the park. At the intersection, she pressed the button and waited for the walk sign, a nervous excitement blooming in her chest as she caught sight of Evan waiting for her at the entrance to the park.

She walked towards him, heart tripping in time with her feet. He was watching her through dark sunglasses, one hand resting on his hip, suit coat slung over one shoulder, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows.

Laila slowed, drank him in, praying the thrill that surged through her body every time she laid eyes on him would never lessen. She hadn’t seen him since the early hours of yesterday morning, though they’d spoken a little on the telephone.

The policewoman had driven her home around dawn, and she hadn’t woken until after one on Sunday afternoon. By that time, there was a message from Evan saying he’d been called over to the Peytons’ place. He wanted to be with her more than anything, but they were mending bridges after some argument. She didn’t ask for details. She didn’t need to know. Then Poole Greenwood had called an urgent meeting last night in view of what had happened.

But now, for the next little while at least, he was all hers.

He mouthed the word ‘hello’, poking fun at her temporary hearing loss.

She gave him a playful punch on the arm. ‘I can hear perfectly well, thank you, apart from some high sounds.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’m sorry. I really can’t help myself.’

She laughed and glanced at his happy profile. Two weeks ago when they’d walked through this park, he’d been frustrated and angry. ‘It’s nice to hear you laugh.’

‘You too.’

They walked along the path to the coffee cart and waited while the barista made them lattes.

‘Congratulations by the way. I’m assuming that’s the class action filed?’

She nodded. ‘I can’t believe it. And we’re already beginning to see some positive things from the military, which is great.’

‘The press were out in force.’

‘I know. Mike tipped them off.’

‘I have a theory,’ he said, giving her the kind of dazzling smile that stole her breath. ‘You broke up with me, because you believed the divorce would be your breakthrough case, right?’

‘Right!’ Laila pulled a face. ‘From now on, I’m leaving the multimillion-dollar cases to you.’

‘Well, I think this class action will be your breakthrough case. It’s your passion, your area of expertise. This case will be a boon for your practice.’

‘Well, who knows Mr Barclay? You could be right.’

It was a nice way of looking at it anyway. And he’d alluded to their break-up. Had that been intentional? Was it a way of broaching the subject of where they went from here?

She hoped so.

‘I can’t believe it’s only two weeks since I filed those orders for Scarlett. What will happen with the development now?’

‘That’s one of the things we’ve been in discussion about. I’ll have to make special application to the court to get them lifted.’

Laila sighed. It was all such a mess, and with Scarlett yet to be stabilized, it wasn’t going to end any time soon. ‘I’ve still got her file. To think I asked her to come in today and pick it up.’

‘Don’t worry. We’ll work it out. The main thing is everyone’s safe, and the children are with their father.’

‘How are the family?’

Evan shook his head. ‘They’re devastated. The marriage breakup and blackmail threats were hard enough to cope with, but this? I mean, Scarlett’s a very sick woman, but George Peyton doesn’t take kindly to people hurting his family, and I’m family, according to George. They raised me from the time I was nine, you know?’

Laila blinked. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘It’s true.’

When the coffees were ready, they carried them over to a wooden picnic bench. The weather had cleared up, just in time for the beginning of the new working week.

‘The truth is, I don’t know who my real father is. He’s listed as ‘unknown’ on my birth certificate. My mother was, well, promiscuous is probably a nice way of putting it. I was a neglected child. For all I know, I could have half a dozen half siblings out there. It’s not a background I’m proud of.’

She could see that. Evan Barclay was a proud man, and yet modest at the same time. She imagined him the kind of man who’d keep a small inner circle, and keep them close.

‘I know all about bad backgrounds, Evan. We don’t get to choose our parents.’

He took a sip of coffee. ‘I still don’t like talking about it.’

His words made her heart constrict, and she reached out and covered his hand with hers. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘I want to. There’s a biography coming out about me in the next couple of days, and I have no idea what the author has dug up. I don’t think it’s right for you to learn about me that way.’

‘Okay.’ Laila sipped her coffee and waited. No matter what he revealed, she wouldn’t react too strongly. Evan Barclay wasn’t the kind of man to go looking for sympathy.

His eyes fixed on a point in the distance, like he’d turned inward, like he’d gone back somewhere. ‘There was a bad flood one year, when I was about eight. The army was called in to do the clean-up. My mother met this soldier. He was a really nice guy, well, I thought so, but I was only a kid.’

Even now it hurt, twisted his gut when he remembered back. ‘Mum really liked him, and I thought for a while I was going to get a nice father, but he shot through without a word. Mum went downhill after that, kind of lost it. That’s when I became homeless.’

‘Oh, Evan.’

There was shock and a glimmer of tears. But then she blinked a couple of times and appeared to steel herself, clasping her hands around the recyclable cup.

He took a deep breath. ‘I’m not going to bore you how I got by, suffice to say I made friends with the indigenous kids and played a hell of a lot of football. Then one day, George caught me stealing food from his property. He took a shine to me, took me in, and I guess, in the usual Peyton style, pulled some strings with the relevant department so I could stay on the property with his housekeeper, Marion. I lived there until I was fourteen. I did the school of the air, and I learnt to read. Marion loved books. Through her I developed a love of reading.’

‘Is she still alive?’

‘No, she died a few years ago.’

He paused for a while, and Laila continued to drink her coffee. She’d been so wrong in assuming his polished style came from a privileged background.

‘Anyway, when I was fourteen, George said I could apply for a football scholarship to the boarding school where Duncan went. I knew Duncan from when he’d stayed at the property on holidays. We became good friends, and while I loved the time I spent up there, the isolation was beginning to get to me. I needed more. Anyway, we’ve been best mates ever since. I became like an adopted son to the Peytons, though strictly I was a ward of the state.’

‘What happened to your mother?’ Laila asked. She hadn’t had the best of upbringings herself, but at least she’d had food and a roof over her head.

Evan drew in a deep breath. ‘She died when I was about sixteen. George paid for the funeral.’

Laila gave a sad smile. ‘I think I may have greatly misjudged the Peytons.’

‘I did too. Oh, they’re not perfect by any means, and they’ve done things in the past I wouldn’t have, but they do a lot of good things too, especially for the indigenous people in that area. They’ve built schools, hospitals and the like.’

‘Really?’

Evan nodded. ‘Duncan too.’

He heard his mate’s voice in his head. You know what she’s like. Everything’s going along fine, and all of a sudden she goes a bit nuts.

He sighed. ‘I think I’ve been a bit rough on Duncan lately.’

‘You couldn’t have known, Evan. Who really knows what goes on in other people’s marriages?’

‘I can’t help feeling I’ve let him down though. Anyway…’

It was time for the hard part. No way of getting around this, he just had to put it out there.

He took the cup from her hand and put it on the table. He was threading his fingers through hers when he noticed her rings were missing.

Was that significant?

He hoped so.

‘I think we’ve got something really good going on, if you take away all the crap of the last two weeks. I told you all this, because I think it’s important for you to understand that the person you’re seeing isn’t owned by anyone.’

A deep blush rose in her face and she shifted on the wooden bench seat. ‘I was awful to you the other night. I’m so ashamed…’

‘Don’t be. The Peytons don’t own me Laila, but they did make me who I am.’

To his surprise, Laila gave an adamant shake of her head. ‘No, you made you who you are. You were a little boy Evan, stealing food because you were hungry, doing what you needed to — to survive.’

She pulled a hand away and laid it over her chest. ‘That strength, that risk taking. It was already in you.’

Evan’s throat began to close over, and he swallowed hard. This woman talked so much sense, and she understood him more than anyone. Now she knew the truth, he needn’t worry about hiding it anymore. She’d had her own bad start, but she’d been open about it, shared it with him, whereas he’d never been emotionally mature enough to talk about it.

Well from now on, that was going to change.

Their eyes locked, and all of sudden the air became charged with the kind of sexual tension that always happened when they were together.

He looked down at her bare hands again. ‘You’re not wearing your rings today.’

‘No.’ Laila reached up, took hold of his sunglasses and lifted them off his face. She wasn’t sure how easily Evan Barclay spooked when it came to discussing these sorts of things, but when she said what she needed to say, she wanted to look in his eyes.

‘After our fight the other night, I realised I was wasn’t grieving for Will anymore, but mourning the loss of another man.’

She watched his beautiful mouth curve in a smile, but it was the loving glow in his eyes that had her standing up and coming around to his side of the table. ‘I love you Evan. I love you, and more than anything, I want to be with you.’

He stood and folded her in his arms. ‘I love you too, Laila, so much.’ The words were whispered right against her ear, like he was making sure she heard. ‘I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.’

She leaned back, took hold of his tie and pulled his head down until his lips claimed hers in a passionate kiss. He groaned deep in his throat, flicked his tongue across the seam of her lips until she parted them. She linked her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, breathed him in, felt his coat brush her legs as his arms tightened around her.

‘Oh, get a room.’

They pulled apart as two teenage boys rode past on skateboards, grinning.

‘That reminds me,’ Evan said, his lips against her cheek.

‘Hmm.’

‘Are you free tonight?’

Laila pulled back a little and raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t tell me we’re actually going on a date?’

‘I made a reservation at the Rockpool, if you’d like to have dinner?’

‘I would love too, Mr Barclay.’

‘Oh, and pack an overnight bag.’

She reached up and fiddled with his tie. ‘You want me to stay over?’

He grinned then. ‘Give me some credit. I’m more romantic than that. I’ve booked a suite at the same hotel where the Law Society dinner was held. I think we should start over.’

Happiness bloomed in Laila’s chest, spreading throughout her body until her entire being hummed.

This was big.

No, this was huge.

A man like Evan Barclay didn’t make these sorts of gestures unless he was serious about a woman.

‘So, we’re outing ourselves as a couple, making our first public appearance?’

Grey eyes glittered in the sunlight. ‘If that’s okay with you.’

‘On one condition.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Only one?’

She smiled and pressed her lips to his again. ‘That we make tonight a very early night.’

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ISBN: 9781489221261

Title: Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection

Copyright © 2016 by Lee Christine

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises (Australia) Limited, Level 13/201 Elizabeth Street, Sydney, NSW, Australia, 2000.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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