by K T Bowes
Hana sighed into his chest and smelled shower gel and deodorant, mixed with his special, summer scent. “I’m glad,” she sighed.
Logan’s chest muscles tightened beneath her cheek. “I’m not riding round town like a dick again though. Next time, they’ll get what’s coming to them!” He jabbed his finger to punctuate his statement and Hana blanched.
“Maybe ride round town like a dick twice more?” she begged. “Then maybe the cops will pick them up and you won’t get shot or beaten, or dumped in the river.” Even the choices made her shiver with fear and a brick formed of terror lodged in her stomach.
Logan snorted. “The cops are overstretched. They couldn’t catch a cold right now.”
They sat at the kitchen table with mugs of tea and an air of defeatism surrounded them. “Help isn’t coming, is it?” Hana said, her tone sad. “We need to go into hiding and leave all this.” She looked around the comfortable room, her gaze straying outside to the darkened bush and Maihi beyond.
“I asked. It’s not an option.” Logan swallowed his tea and watched her beneath his eyelashes.
“But Bodie said we could.” Hana jerked backwards in her chair. “He said we could go into a witness protection scheme.”
“He still thinks we can.” Logan ran a hand through his hair and guilt spiked Hana at the sight of a peppering of grey in his sideburns. “But we can’t.”
“Why?” Hana pushed her drink away, watching as it slopped onto the wooden table and soaked into the grain. “Why not?”
Logan ground his teeth. “Some of the late night meetings you resented involved me meeting with the head detective. I think you’re bait for something massive. I asked him to take you into hiding and he refused.” Hana put a hand over her mouth and Logan reached for her fingers across the table. “Hey, on the plus side, I can tick something off my bucket list.”
“What?” Her voice wavered.
Logan smirked. “I razzed around the events’ centre on my bike. Always fancied doing that.”
“How?”
“A guy on a mower left the gate open. Your blonde guy dumped his car and followed on foot, but I zipped through there so fast, I left him for dust.” He wrinkled his nose. “I got airborne twice and dropped my bike off a low wall. I might need to get it looked at.”
“What if the mower man took your reggo and you get a ticket?” Hana bit her bottom lip and worried.
Logan laughed. “Always the good citizen, Hana. Well, the bike is now at the home of a very scary policewoman. She can explain it away, can’t she?”
Hana nodded and scraped her chair away from the table. She retrieved her phone from the hall table and dialled a number. “Hi, Amy,” she said, her tone serious. “Please can we visit after school tomorrow? No, not for Logan’s bike. It’s probably safer there right now. Bodie looked for something in Jas’ room a while ago and didn’t find it. Remembering how he looked for stuff as a teenager, I think I need to do it myself.” Hana raised a hand in placation, even though Amy couldn’t see her. “No, Jas isn’t in trouble, but I’ve lost something in there. It’s best if he’s not there when I visit. I might need to take the room apart.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Hana lay with her head cradled in the crook of Logan’s arm, awake before the alarm chirped. Neither slept well, starting at every creak and groan of the old house. Tiger sensed their unease and prowled, getting into awkward places and knocking things over with a clatter.
Logan’s breathing slowed as his sleep deepened and Hana lay still, watching the light change through the window. Exhaustion pressed her into the mattress. Logan’s truck sat downstairs in the garage and she struggled to remember if the blonde man knew the registration number. Events tumbled through her tired brain as their chronology defeated her. They knew Logan’s bike, but would they recognise his truck? Hana swallowed back the sense that the blonde man toyed with her like a cat teases a mouse.
Time ticked by as work drew nearer and doomed her. Sleep snatched her away, but the confusion went with her. Strange women with expanding pink flesh like marshmallow, gave her rotten advice in her dreams. Jerking awake, Hana reached for more obvious help through frantic, heartfelt prayer.
Using her imagination, she placed her insurmountable problems at the foot of a wooden cross. Scarred wood and huge nails held it together. She dropped her burdens at the bottom like pebbles one after another. The pile grew so high, Hana feared it might topple and crush her, anyway. It didn’t and she dozed, her soul lighter.
The alarm sounded into the silence, frightening them both. Logan fumbled around on his bedside table to still the ringing. “I feel wretched,” he groaned. Hana pushed herself into a sitting position and he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her back down. He stroked her cheek with gentle fingers and she saw a distorted reflection of herself in his grey irises. “I’m stoked about the baby,” he whispered. “We’ll get through this.”
Hana nodded and studied the chiseled contours of his face. Closing her eyes, she saw the teenage boy on the train who fell in love with a pregnant stranger after a single, chance meeting. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered and Logan narrowed his eyes.
“Yeah, ya do,” he said, pulling her into his chest.
“What’s the plan for today?”
“Go to work,” he replied. “My Year 13s are expecting an assessment and they need the credits.” He kissed her forehead. “But you look shattered. Why don’t you call in sick?”
Hana shook her head. “Can’t. I’ve taken too much time off lately. And I hated wondering where you were. At least if I’m with you, we’ll be in danger together.”
“I don’t like that idea.” Logan’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak. Hana pressed her fingers over his lips.
“You make tea and I’ll grab the first shower.” She dragged herself from the warm bed and braved the wintry bathroom.
Logan drove the truck, parking on the side street and entering the school grounds via the gully. He kissed her as she balanced on the front steps, leaving to find his tutor group.
“Ah, hi.” The biology teacher from Hana’s rental property on Achilles Rise met her at the office door. She jumped as he stepped from behind a brochure rack.
“Don’t do that!” She clutched her chest and felt the ground tilt in her vision. “You scared me!”
“Sorry, sorry.” His flaccid cheeks wobbled, an embarrassed flush rising beneath his many chins. He held his large paws out in front of him. One contained a set of keys. “My mother-in-law died last night.” He swallowed. “I need a favour.”
Hana unlocked the office and turned on the lights. Laying her handbag on her desk, she turned to face him. “I’m sorry for your loss. What can I do?”
He hopped from foot to foot with awkwardness and Hana waited. “We bought a kitten,” he said, licking his lips. “It’s against the terms of our rental agreement.”
“It is?” Hana shrugged. “The agent handles all that. You should tell him.”
The big man rolled his eyes. “I’d rather not involve him. I wondered if you’d feed it while we’re away. We’re flying to Christchurch at lunchtime today.”
Hana gaped. “You want me to feed the kitten which you’re not supposed to own in my house?”
“Yes.” The man wrung his hands. “I’m sorry. Please don’t evict us.”
Hana sighed and ran a hand across her forehead. “You know this is messed up?”
He nodded. “If Margo hadn’t died, you’d never know.” He jangled the keys and Hana held out her hand.
“I knew you wouldn’t refuse,” he gushed and turned on his heel.
Hana stared at her old front door key and sighed. “Yeah, because I have the word ‘mug’ tattooed on my forehead.”
Sheila barrelled into the room, handbag flying at ninety degrees from her body. “What’s up?” she demanded, disappearing into her office.
“Nothing.” Hana winced. “Yet.”
A conviction of her own stupidity gripped her as she contemplated confessing to Logan. She imagined the conversation and it didn’t go well in her head.
Hana met her husband in the staffroom, hoping an audience might reduce his ire. Her heart fluttered as she caught sight of him at a table with Pete and the other sports teachers. He rose as she approached, his old-fashioned chivalry an instant aphrodisiac. “Sit with me,” he ordered, pulling up a chair for her.
Pete took the opportunity to lean forward and snag Logan’s toast, shoving it in his mouth whole. He gagged and Hana closed her eyes as the other members of the group gave a collective groan. Logan turned back to his plate and feigned ignorance, focussing on his wife instead. Chris Carter slapped Pete on the back. “You okay?” Logan whispered, leaning close.
Hana nodded. “Yeah. A bit rattled. What about you?”
“Na.” Logan shook his head. “I’m over it. I want them to come after me again. Then they can answer my questions.” He smiled and grazed her lower lip with his thumb.
Pete recovered enough to mock their whispered intimacy. “Get a room you two,” he guffawed, drawing the attention of staff on nearby tables. “What do you think this is?” Sitting opposite Logan gave him a false sense of safety.
He yelped as Logan’s leg moved beneath the table, administering a spiteful kick to Pete’s groin. The skinny man bent double and smacked his face into the table. The other men smirked. As Pete rolled around in his chair, Logan spared Hana the effort of her confession. “There’s another departmental meeting tonight,” he said, reaching beneath the table for her hand. “I’ll ask Pete to take you home.”
Hana’s eyes widened at the noise coming from across the table. “Is he okay?”
“He will be.” Logan smiled. “Don’t feed him. He’s under strict instruction to take you home and leave. Besides, Henrietta arrives at Auckland airport tonight so he’s got no reason to hang around.”
“Okay.” Hana nodded, grateful for her small reprieve. She could leave the argument until later.
Pete met Hana at the office, rubbing his groin with his palm. “Your husband’s an animal,” he complained.
“Stop that!” Hana locked the door and turned to face him, the keys to Achilles Rise in her hand. “I refuse to go anywhere with a man who’s fiddling with himself.”
“Tell Logan then!” he griped and Hana shook her head.
“Tell him yourself.”
Having established the unlikeliness of that scenario, they walked to the car park and Hana climbed into Pete’s dustbin on wheels. She kicked a fast food tray and an empty drinks can into the foot well. “What time does Henri land?” she enquired and Pete gushed for a couple of kilometres about his larger-than-life girlfriend.
“She almost slept with me last time,” he preened and Hana winced. “Yeah, she took her cardigan off,” he said, offering definitive proof of her lascivious intentions.
“I need to nip somewhere on the way home,” Hana said, sliding the location into the end of the sentence. She screamed as Pete slammed on the brakes mid traffic.
“No way!” he shouted. “Logan told me what happened last night. If I don’t take you home, he’ll kill me.”
They argued all the way up the expressway to Achilles Rise. Hana won. “I won’t take long,” she promised as Pete crunched his car up the driveway.
“I’m not coming in.” He cut the engine and folded his arms. “I protest against this whole, stupid idea.”
Hana shrugged. “Please yourself,” she said, climbing the front steps.
The revenue from the house rent covered most of the mortgage on Culver’s Cottage, although the agent took a handsome slice for repairs and the ever famous administration costs. Hana stepped through the front door, remembering her last unfortunate visit to her former home. Her sense of detachment surprised her.
She felt like a stranger in the familiar house, her name on the property deeds but her heart elsewhere. Closing the door, she left it unlocked in case Pete abandoned his sulk in favour of kitten cuddles.
Hana searched the living rooms for the kitten, finding an empty food bowl near the ranch slider. Nothing horrid lurked in the fresh litter tray. She wandered along the empty hallway, peering in bedrooms which smelled of a new family. In the master bedroom at the end of the house, she discovered a dark brown ball of fluff in the centre of the bed. “There you are.”
The kitten raised his downy head and mewed as Hana scooped him into her arms. She kissed his forehead and smoothed his furry face with her cheek. “Dinner time,” she cooed. “Then I’ll pop back tomorrow and check on you.” He wiggled and she put him on the carpet, following his eager steps into the hallway. “I forgot to ask where they kept your food,” she mused. “So I’ll have to follow you.”
The kitten nosed his way into the laundry next to the master bedroom and Hana followed. The cupboard beneath the sink revealed only washing powder and trays of seeds filled the sink and windowsills. Hana peered at the green buds poking from the soil. “He’s dedicated to teaching biology,” she told the kitten. “I thought they grew curriculum plants in the greenhouse at school.”
The kitten retrieved a plastic ball from between the washing machine and sink and Hana bounced it along the hallway towards the kitchen. A process of elimination found kitten kibbles in the bottom of the pantry. Squatting next to his bowl, Hana shook biscuits into a mound and stood back for him to eat. He bent his body into an arc and she stroked the soft fur of his back, watching as he closed his eyes with the double pleasure.
The click of the front door made her smirk and she stood, readying herself for Pete’s entrance. “Knew you couldn’t resist,” she said, the ready grin fading from her lips.
“I’m sorry,” Pete mouthed, his face ashen. “I’m really sorry.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Hana groaned in pain on the cold floor. Her dress didn't keep out the chill pushing through from the icy surface. “Pull the cupboard out from the wall, Amy,” she hissed. “We must keep looking.” Nobody answered and Hana opened her eyes. “Oh, no,” she whined as the mirage of Jas’ warm bedroom faded, abandoning her on the garage floor of the Achilles Rise house.
Shadows lengthened from the walls and Hana pushed herself into a sitting position without using her right arm. Nausea bit as the bones in her elbow ground beneath the skin. Squinting in the half-light, she saw Peter North slumped in the far corner, unmoving. He sat on the concrete floor, blood seeping from a cut to his crown. His thin dusting of hair appeared translucent in the disappearing light and his head resembled a smooth, round, pale ball. “Pete,” Hana whispered. “Pete, wake up.” She swallowed against the dryness in her mouth, remembering the sound of the second crack on the head he didn’t deserve. “Pete!” she called, but he made no response.
The coldness of the garage floor seeped through Hana’s dress and tights, chilling her to the bone. The sun dipped behind the windowsill. She estimated the time around five o’clock and rush hour began in the distance. Steady creaking came from overhead, accompanied by the crash of china and glass.
Pete stirred and Hana called out to him to sit still while she made her way across. She crawled on her knees to stem the nausea, holding her arm against her side. “Keep still, Pete,” she whispered. “Your head’s bleeding.” He moaned again and his heels ground on the concrete, thrashing and then stilling.
Hana knew without looking that her right arm had fractured just above the elbow. When she touched it with her left hand, it felt rubbery and unreal like it belonged to someone else. The pain seemed intermittent, veering between a dull, almost unbearable ache to the spasming, breath-taking throb resembling labour pains. Halfway across the distance towards Pete, the throb began again, leaving her sweating and praying for it to end.
“Henrietta?” Pete reached out for her like a child and Hana forced herself forward.
“No, Pete. It’s Hana. Do you remember what happened?”
“I’m not s
ure.” He spat out a mouthful of blood and reached a hand up to his crown. When he saw the gunky red stain in his palm, hysteria appeared in his eyes.
“Don’t scream!” Hana hissed. “Please don’t bring them back down here.”
“Your arm.” Pete pointed, noticing the odd way she carried her body and Hana nodded.
“An accident,” she admitted, her tone rueful. “I tripped on the landing and the taller man caught my arm to stop me falling.” Her voice cracked. “I could’ve lost the baby if I’d gone all the way down.”
She sniffed and Pete patted her skirt with his bloody hand. “Is the baby okay?”
“I think so. It’s moving around.” Hana swallowed. “The way he yanked my arm pulled it between two corners of the bannister rail. I heard the bone snap.”
“My head hurts.” Pete put his hand to it again. “I feel so tired.”
“Don’t go to sleep,” Hana begged. “This is all my fault. I’ll get us out of here.”
“Is it the same guys?” Pete asked and she shook her head.
“No. Different. But they want the same thing. They’re pulling the house apart upstairs.”
“They didn’t look like thugs.” Pete sighed and spat out more blood. “They looked like bankers.”
“I know.” Hana cast around her, seeking a ready exit. Nothing presented itself, but moving made the bone grind more and the heady sickness increased its grip. Blood soaked Pete’s jacket and ran into his collar, speckling the surrounding floor in an arc. “I need to stop the bleeding,” Hana said, her gaze searching the empty shelving in the distance. She forced herself to stand, tipping forward to control the jabs of pain stealing her breath. The nearest shelf unit revealed a pair of pliers sitting in the dust. Hana took them in her left hand. “I can’t rip bandages,” she grunted. “I need two hands.”
Pete moaned and slipped sideways against the wall. His body slumped and Hana panicked as his eyes rolled backwards in his head like two boiled eggs.
Fingers shaking, she tore at her underskirt with the pliers. She groaned in frustration at the fumbling of her least dominant hand. Sitting on the cold concrete floor, she took a break while the pain from her elbow reached screaming pitch. By the time she crawled back to Pete, she trailed a ragged piece of elasticated underskirt.