“No. She didn’t leave the property.”
A pause. “That’s a shame. Could you answer some questions for me about Henk Jennings’ compound?”
“Of course.”
“Where are you staying?”
She glanced at Jeremy. “At a friend’s place.”
“Can I meet you there?”
“Sure. Let me get you the address.” She lowered the phone and Jeremy told her. She repeated it to the agent.
“That’s next door to the Jennings place.”
“Yes.”
Franklin made a considering sound in her throat. “All right. I’ll be there within half an hour.” She hung up.
“Who was that?” Jeremy asked.
“Agent Franklin with Border Force. She’s coming out here to talk to me.”
He stood, gathered their mugs from the coffee table. “That’s good, right? They must be ready to act.”
She hoped so. Either way, she should change so she was presentable. She wanted to make a good impression.
She hurried into the bathroom and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her hair looked like she’d been dragged through the bush backwards, the short strands sticking up in myriad directions. Combing it didn’t help. She’d been too sore to lift her arms above her head to blow dry it this morning and the wind had played with it on her walk.
“Everything all right?” Jeremy leaned against the bathroom door frame.
“I look a mess.”
He walked in, stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You look beautiful.”
Her heart expanded and she smiled briefly. No, she couldn’t get caught up in the intensity in his eyes. She shook her head. “I need to look professional. My job might depend on it.” She sighed. “Ever since my grandmother told me how she was treated like a slave when she migrated here, I’ve wanted to be an agent with the Task Force. I keep getting knocked back. If I can impress Agent Franklin it might help.”
“All right. What can I do?” He stepped back, tilted his head to the side. “I guess you’ve got another fancy outfit in your suitcase, so what does that leave — hair, makeup?”
Fancy outfit? None of her clothes were particularly fancy. “My hair’s the big problem. I can’t blow dry it without hurting.”
He frowned. “I can give it a shot if you’ve got a hair dryer.”
So incredibly sweet. He was her only hope. “That would be great. Let me take a quick shower. Can you keep an eye out for the car?”
“Sure.” He left her in the bathroom and she stripped, quickly washing and drying herself. Then with the towel wrapped around her body, she hurried down the hallway to Jeremy’s room. Her grey pants were the only ones she hadn’t worn yet, and she had a nice blue blouse that would work. She dressed and retrieved her makeup kit, checking the time as she went. Fifteen minutes.
Hair first. “Jeremy!” She was being ridiculous, they wouldn’t care what she looked like, but she couldn’t stop now.
He appeared at the door. “What do I need to do?”
She plugged in the hair dryer and took out her curling brush. Lifting her arm she winced as her muscles pulled and she demonstrated how to dry her hair. She handed the brush and dryer to Jeremy and he looked a bit dubious.
“All right.” He emulated what she’d shown him, pulling her hair. “Sorry.”
His whole focus was on the task, his tongue just sticking out between his lips as he curled and dried.
He did a good job. When it was dry, she kissed him. “Thank you.”
A knock on the front door had her jumping. “Can you stall her? I haven’t done my makeup.”
He nodded. “For what it’s worth, you don’t need any makeup.” He brushed a kiss over her lips and went to answer the door.
She pressed a hand to her chest. Comments like those could really get to a girl. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall in love with him. Shaking her head, she then quickly applied the basics and in the living room, Jeremy offered Franklin a drink. With a deep breath, Zamira joined them.
The table was completely clear as were the coffee table and bench top. Jeremy must have tidied while she showered. How sweet.
The woman standing in the kitchen was tall, with long brown hair tied back in a braid, and wore plain clothes — black pants and an emerald green shirt rather than the Border Force uniform. She turned as Zamira walked into the room.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Zamira held out her hand. “I’m Zamira Musa.”
“Agent Tara Franklin.” Her handshake was firm, no nonsense. “Jeremy was just making me a coffee.”
He had the coffee plunger out and had measured several spoons into it. “Why don’t you two sit down while I make it?”
Zamira gestured to the kitchen table and they both sat.
“First I want to check my facts,” Agent Franklin said. “Your cousin is working for Henk Jennings?”
“Yes. Annisa came to Australia on what she thought was a legitimate work visa, but Vince — my manager at Border Force — couldn’t find any reference to it. No one had heard from her since.”
“How did you discover she was here?”
Was Franklin questioning her again to ensure she said the same thing? Didn’t she trust her? “There was a fire at Henk’s place. She was trapped inside and Jeremy rescued her. They were both taken to the hospital.”
Jeremy placed the coffee and mugs on the table. “She was confused by the time I got to her.”
Zamira nodded. “She called me from the hospital and since I was going on holidays anyway, I changed my flight to come here.”
Franklin raised her eyebrows. “I understand you went to your boss first.”
Zamira winced. “Yes, but he couldn’t tell me anything more than that someone in Blackbridge had been identified as a person of interest by the Task Force. I didn’t know if Annisa was there, so I came to find out.”
“How did you find her?”
Zamira sipped her coffee and told the agent how she’d worked out where Annisa was and about talking to her the other night. “I didn’t want to blow the Task Force’s operation by taking her with me at that stage.”
Franklin nodded. “I appreciate it. What can you tell me about the property and the other workers?”
Jeremy described Henk’s place. “Some of the men are working at the winery, and at the local mechanic’s.”
“How do you know all this?”
He shrugged. “I asked around. Said I had a couple of big jobs coming up and could do with some help.”
The agent studied him. “You don’t seem upset your neighbour could be involved.”
“No point getting upset. If it’s true, he needs to be stopped.”
“Do you think it’s true?”
“Annisa was scared of him, so something’s not right.” He sighed. “Look, we’ve had some weird shit happening in Blackbridge this year; stalkers, arsonists, drug-related crime, murder. Several of my good mates were involved and I had no idea. I want to get this sorted before it escalates into something worse.” His voice was rough and Zamira squeezed his hand.
“Is there anything else you can tell me which might be of use?”
Zamira glanced at Jeremy and he shook his head.
“No.”
Franklin studied her. “I’m impressed by your initiative. You speak Malaysian, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Could you translate for us if required tomorrow?”
Shock speared through her. “Of course. Any time.”
“Great.” She stood and walked to the front door. “I’ll be in touch.”
Zamira smiled. This could be her big chance.
When Jeremy opened the door for her, Franklin pointed. “Henk’s property is over there, isn’t it?”
Zamira nodded.
“How far through those trees is the fence line?”
“About fifty metres,” Jeremy answered.
“Can you see anything from there?”
Jeremy shook his head. “Just more bush and his fence is electrified.”
Franklin raised her eyebrows. “He got any livestock on the property?”
“No. I always figured it was because he was from South Africa. They’re a little more security conscious than us.”
She nodded. “Thank you for your time.”
She got into an unmarked white sedan and drove away.
Jeremy turned to Zamira. “That went well.”
“It did.” Her insides squirmed at the idea of helping the Task Force with translation.
“She has a good handle on things.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her back inside.
Zamira leaned into him. “Yeah.” Tomorrow this would all be over. Annisa would be safe. Jeremy kissed her head and let go. She missed his warmth.
After tomorrow she’d have no reason to stay in Blackbridge.
Where would that leave them?
***
Jeremy needed to put some distance between himself and Zamira. Things with Henk would be going down tomorrow which meant she could be gone within twenty-four hours. He didn’t like how his chest ached. Would she be willing to try a long-distance relationship? He cleaned up the coffee mugs. Who was he kidding? They’d known each other a couple of days. “I need to do a bit of work in the shed. Will you be all right in here?”
She smiled. “Yes. I’ll make something for dinner. Is there anything you want?”
His chest squeezed. He couldn’t get used to this. “You don’t have to keep cooking for me.”
“I’d like to.”
“Why don’t you make a salad and then I’ll barbecue a couple of steaks when I’m done?”
“Sounds good.”
He found the notebook he needed, put his boots on and headed outside. He had some prep work to do before his job tomorrow. One of the local caravan parks had recently extended their office and had ordered a new reception desk.
He opened the shed, inhaling the sawdust smell and slowly his shoulders relaxed. The whole situation with Henk and Annisa was getting to him.
Blackbridge used to be a safe, peaceful town. People used to be able to be trusted.
But first there’d been the drug ring and now this…
He sighed. He couldn’t do anything to change it.
He opened his notebook and checked the dimensions of the reception desk. The assembly would happen on site, but he wanted to cut all the pieces to size so he’d have less mess to clean up, and be on site for less time, which would keep his client happy.
He shut all thoughts of Henk, Annisa and Zamira from his head and got to work.
“How’s it going?” Zamira’s voice made him jump and he looked up from where he was marking out his next cut. She stood in the doorway, rugged up in a woollen jumper and grey pants, looking as delicious as ever, and behind her the yard was dark. He frowned. He hadn’t been out here that long.
He glanced at his phone. Nearly seven. “Shit. I lost track of time.” He wasn’t used to anyone waiting for him. Jamie had called earlier to say he hadn’t been able to find any information about Annisa and that he’d try again tomorrow. After Jeremy had finished the reception desk, he’d continued working on his own desk, making two drawers. He’d completely forgotten about dinner and Zamira. What a waste of time. He could have been with her instead. Putting down his pencil, he walked over to her.
“Don’t stop if you’ve still got things to do.”
“It can wait.” He’d much prefer to be with her. He wiped his dusty hands on his pants and then flicked off the light. “You must be hungry.”
“A little. I’ve been grazing on nuts.”
As they walked inside his phone rang. It wasn’t a number he recognised. “Mendelson Construction, Jeremy speaking.”
“Jeremy, it’s Moira.”
His footsteps faltered. She’d actually called him. He hadn’t thought she would.
“Jeremy, are you still there?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and continued to the kitchen.
“Listen, I was thinking, if you’re not too busy, maybe we could meet for coffee tomorrow.”
He sat heavily on one of the stools. Coffee, with his baby sister. His chest squeezed so tight it was hard to breathe. “Just the two of us?”
“Yes.” She paused. “Where do you live?”
“Blackbridge.” He reviewed his plans for tomorrow. He could take time for a coffee, but did he want to open himself up for that kind of heartache?
“That’s perfect,” she declared. “I’ve got to visit some clients there tomorrow. We could meet at the bakery. It’s reopened hasn’t it?”
“Yeah. What do you do?”
“I’m a physio. I do some home visits.”
So much he didn’t know about her, about any of his family.
“Would eight o’clock suit you?”
Indecision made his head spin. Zamira’s hand covered his and he flinched. He’d forgotten about her. She mouthed, Are you OK?
He shook his head and blew out a breath. “All right. Eight o’clock at On The Way bakery.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.” She hung up.
He stared at the phone, his heart thudding in his chest.
“Who was that?” Zamira wrapped her arms around his waist, her head resting on his shoulder and her scent slowed his heart rate. He had someone to hold him, even if it was just for tonight.
“My sister.”
She shifted so she could look at him. “Don’t you get along?”
The desire to confess flooded him and he fought for control. It would completely change how she looked at him. He huffed. “Before today, I hadn’t seen her in thirteen years. I ran into her at the hardware store.”
Zamira frowned. “Thirteen years? You would have still been a child.”
“Teenager.” He gritted his teeth. Would she walk out if he told her? She was likely leaving tomorrow anyway. And finally talking to someone about what had happened would be good practice for meeting Moira tomorrow. “My mother kicked me out of home when I was fifteen,” he said. “Moira was ten. I haven’t heard from any of them since.”
Her mouth dropped open. “But why? What happened?”
He stood, and paced away from her, his muscles tight, jaw clenched.
“Jeremy, you can tell me.” Zamira stood by the bench, her eyes concerned.
His lungs constricted, making breathing difficult and the words stuck in his throat. The photo of him and his father caught his eye and he picked it up, staring down at it. They’d taken it a week before it had happened.
“Jeremy.”
He replaced the photo, turned to face her. Swallowing hard, he then forced the words out. “I killed my father.”
Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him before she shook her head. “What?”
He tugged his hair, and the pain centred him. “I was his apprentice and we were working on a job,” he said. “I got distracted by a message on my phone. He called out to me and I fobbed him off, agreed without really hearing what he asked me.” He closed his eyes. “Next thing I knew he fell off the roof and landed next to me.” The sick thud still visited his dreams regularly. “He was still breathing and I called the ambulance, but by the time they arrived it was too late.” He swallowed hard.
Horror and sympathy filled Zamira’s eyes as she walked towards him. He held up a hand. He had to get it all out.
“They did a post-mortem. He’d been electrocuted before he fell off the roof. He must have been asking me if I’d switched off the power.”
“I’m so sorry, Jeremy.” She stepped forward.
He walked over to the window. He didn’t deserve her sympathy or her condolences. “When Mum found out, she told me to leave, said she couldn’t bear to look at me. My sister Heather called me a murderer.” He flinched as her hand touched his shoulder.
“People say things they don’t mean when they’re grieving.”
He shook his head. “No. They’re brut
ally honest. They say things they might not say otherwise, but it’s still the truth.”
“You’re not a murderer.” She gripped his shoulder, turned him towards her, her expression fierce. “It was a tragic accident. You were a kid. We all make mistakes.”
Her words ripped through his defences. No one had ever said that to him. Everyone had blamed him from his mother, his sisters, his grandparents, even his father’s best friend who’d taken him in, taken over his apprenticeship. He’d never been allowed to forget it — he never could forget it. From then on he’d always double checked his work, and then triple checked it when Pete had made him. “The mistake killed my father.” Tears welled in his eyes. “He was my best friend and always there for me. And I failed him.” And proved his mother right. He should have stayed in school. Then none of this would have happened.
She tugged him over to the couch and pulled him down with her. His mind replayed the day, the movement in his peripheral vision, the sick thud as the body hit the ground. Zamira’s arms wrapped around him, and her caresses cut through the loop, bringing him back to the now. She curled up on the couch next to him. “It was a mistake,” she repeated. “A horrible, tragic mistake.”
His throat burned and fat tears rolled down his cheeks. Thirteen years of pain and guilt battered through him and his body spasmed as they finally overwhelmed him and he sobbed.
Zamira’s fingers brushed his fringe, stroking his forehead as he finally cried himself dry. His head thumped and his whole body was heavy, drained. Nausea swirled in his stomach and his instinct was to run, to get away from her and her kind words. But her arms held him gently, comforting him, soothing him and he wanted it too badly. Not even when his father died had anyone comforted him like this. He craved it, craved her.
She must think him crazy to break down over something that happened so long ago. He sat up, moved away from her. “Sorry.” He moved to stand and she placed a hand on his leg, stopping him.
“Don’t apologise. You needed it.” She drew his head towards her and kissed him gently.
She tasted so sweet, like comfort and home and everything right in the world. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “Let me get you some water.” She went into the kitchen.
SHELTER Page 15