He said again, “Stay here.” The hell with calling the police. The hot fury was rising, filling his belly, his chest. He hoped they were still in there.
He didn’t creep along and peer around corners. He ran. Surprise was always the best approach. Surprise meant your opponent had no time to react, and most people’s reflexes were rubbish anyway. He leaped up the stairs in one stride and was bashing through the nearly-closed door in two more, his shoulder leading the way.
He was in the kitchen, and sensing movement. Two more strides, and he was around the corner and into the dining room, his arm already out for the fend even before he saw the figure, just starting to turn. Rubbish reflexes. He hit him bang in the chest, and the bloke flew backward and landed in a heap.
Shit.
He was over the prone figure, reaching for his hand, hauling him up, and the fella was wheezing, clutching at his chest, gasping.
“Sorry,” Rhys said. “All right? Thought you were a burglar.”
Hayden said, “What . . . the . . . hell.” Not very loudly at all. “Is that how you normally tackle? How the hell aren’t you killing people?”
“Nah. That was a fend, that’s all. If I’d tackled you, you’d have gone down much harder.” He looked around. Nothing had been disturbed, if you didn’t count Hayden’s phone, which had clattered into a corner. He retrieved it, handed it over, and said, “Hope it isn’t broken.”
“I hope my ribs aren’t broken,” Hayden muttered. “I need a Panadol. And possibly an ambulance.”
“Hang on,” Rhys said. “What did they take?”
“What did who take?” Hayden’s face changed. Rhys could swear it went white. “Bloody hell. Zora’s not with you.”
“What? Yeh, she is.”
“No, I mean . . . Oh, bugger. She’s gone.” Hayden’s voice was shaking, and he had a hand in his hair. “I’m calling the cops.”
Rhys put out a hand and caught his wrist in mid-dial. “Hang on. She’s with me.”
He was saying it, then whirling at the sound of running footsteps. Zora, coming around the corner, holding a shovel over one shoulder. He got his hands out and caught her by the upper arms as she skidded to a stop, then took the shovel from her and said, “Thought I told you to stay outside.”
“Oh, bugger,” Hayden said again, sank onto a chair, and put his hands on his knees. “Zora.”
She looked at him, but told Rhys, “I heard crashing. I was coming to rescue you.”
“That was him tackling me,” Hayden said.
“It was me pushing you a bit,” Rhys corrected. “And I didn’t need rescuing,” he told Zora. “I am never going to need rescuing. Next time, when I tell you to stay outside, stay outside.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but appeared to be at a loss. He said, “Yeh. Don’t say it. Pretend you listened, that you know I meant what I said, and that you’ll be doing what I say next time.”
“Lovely,” Hayden said. “Meanwhile, I’m sitting here, battered to a pulp, probably got bruises on my hip and my back the size of dinner plates, and is anybody asking after me? No, they are not. If my ribs have snapped and punctured a lung, tell Mum and Dad I loved them. What the hell were you playing at, Zora? Do you know how worried I’ve been? Why didn’t you have your phone? Where’s Isaiah?”
“Finn Douglas’s. I told you, the kids went to a friend’s overnight. Did you call the police?”
“No, thank God. I’d look a fool then, wouldn’t I?"
“What? My house has been burgled.”
“No, it hasn’t,” Hayden said. “At least not that I know. Or is that why you left?”
She sank down beside him and glanced at Rhys, who was still holding the shovel. He set it against the wall, sat down with the others, and said, “I think we’d better back up. Zora’s been with me. She’s fine. What exactly do you think happened, Hayden?”
“I think,” he said, looking fully aggrieved now, “that I got a text from my sister, later than she’d normally even be awake, that said, Help. And then I got a hangup call that I missed. I didn’t see either of them until I woke up this morning, and when I rang her back, and texted her, she didn’t answer. Over and over. Which alarmed me, because Zora always answers. Most reliable woman in the world. Then I rang you, because she said the two of you were going out last night, and you didn’t answer, either. I got the bright idea to check her phone location and saw that she was here, so I called in to work to tell them I’d be late and drove forty minutes that should have been twenty in traffic snarled by the arms of Ursula, evil octopus queen, saw Zora’s van in the drive, rang her doorbell, checked her phone again, imagined her in here, hurt or worse, probably by you, I’ll just say, mate, because it didn’t look good, had about ten years taken off my life, kicked the door in—your door’s too easy to kick in, Zora—which I thought was pretty bloody heroic, found her purse and her phone on the kitchen bench, thought she was kidnapped, and lost ten more years. And then, in the midst of ringing the police, some arsehole came around the corner like Captain bloody America, punched me into next week, and probably broke my phone. Now, I’ll be missing a meeting I should be at, about unsafe baby food, he says virtuously, I’ll be hobbling for days, my sister’s fine, and I have gray hair. Other than that, though, my morning was wonderful, thanks.”
“You kicked down my door,” Zora said.
“Yeh. Points for me. Pulled a muscle in my groin. Thank you very much.”
“You should’ve stretched,” Rhys said.
“Excuse me? Before I kicked the door in to rescue my sister? Who the hell texts ‘Help’ to her loving brother and then waltzes off for the night without giving it a second thought?”
“I meant . . .” Zora was having some trouble going on. She glanced at Rhys, then away again. “I meant, help with my problem. Not help help. And I didn’t mean to leave my phone and my purse. I was a bit drunk, maybe. A bit upset.”
“Excuse me,” Hayden said, “that I didn’t adequately read the shades of nuance in your single-word message.” He rubbed his chest and winced. “Do you have a glass of water, two Panadol, and an icepack? I feel I deserve them. I’m sorry I thought you were a murderer, Rhys, which is handsome of me, under the circumstances. Also, the dress looks good.”
“The red one would’ve been better,” Rhys said. He got up and put his hand on Zora’s shoulder. “Stay there. I’ll get it. Cup of tea all around, I think. And unless you aren’t a lawyer anymore, Hayden, I’m guessing they’ll live with you being an hour or two late.”
Interesting, he thought, that for all his casual manner, Hayden was so concerned about both his firm and his sister. Interesting, and possibly touching, too, but not really surprising. Hayden had been there for all three days of Dylan’s tangi. Zora’s parents had come for one.
“It’s nearly eight,” Zora said. “We need to leave to get the kids in twenty minutes.”
“I could think,” Rhys said, “that you didn’t want a cozy chat with Hayden and me. And yet I’d swear you didn’t feel ashamed.”
She was flushing, now, and looking more than cross. She was looking, in fact, pretty bloody adorable, and he wanted to kiss her. It was going to be a long time before he got tired of kissing that sweet, soft mouth. She’d come in to rescue him, too, armed with her shovel, fierce as you like. He hated that she’d done it, but he appreciated it all the same.
Right now, her sweet mouth was saying, “I wasn’t planning on making an announcement. I was planning on keeping it to myself until I knew what it . . . what we . . .” She trailed to a stop.
“In that case,” Hayden said, “you should’ve taken your phone. Because I think you just announced. I also think that Rhys should volunteer to have your door frame replaced. Seems like the least he could do.”
“Already happening,” Rhys said. “Along with better locks, so some wanker can’t kick the door in. Seriously, though—well done, mate. Hang on. I’ll get that ice.”
He was sitting on the hotel bed in Syd
ney, like he’d sat on hotel beds ten thousand times on ten thousand nights, but for once, he wasn’t thinking about the next day. He was thinking about the text he’d sent Casey, via Zora, of the Air New Zealand plane out the window, painted all black with the silver fern along the side. He’d typed, On our way. This is the special plane they made for the All Blacks. We’ll have the same kind of seats you and I had, but we won’t make them into beds, because it’s only three hours. I’ll miss reading you your bloodthirsty dinosaur story tonight. Auntie Zora will read to you instead, but don’t make it too scary for her. Take good care of our rabbits. I expect to see four happy bunnies when I get home.
And the answer Zora had sent back, a few hours earlier. Casey says, “That’s just our book. It’s special. Auntie Zora reads me out of a different book. And Marshmallow still likes to be cuddled the most, but Isaiah and I are going to hold the other bunnies a lot so they get used to snuggling.” With a photo of Casey and Isaiah in Casey’s room, sitting on her new “castle” play rug and holding bunnies, that may have made his heart swell a little.
It had all made him smile then, and it still did. If your special book was the dinosaur book? You might have a special kid.
He needed to buy her some rugby gear while he was here in Sydney. New shorts and trainers from the Adidas store, maybe, because all the ones Zora had bought her were rubbish. Good for looking cute, maybe, but not up to any kind of serious work. And some for Isaiah as well. He could take them to the park on Sunday morning, once he was back, and get Casey started on some basic skills. Isaiah’s kicking wasn’t where it should be, either. They could work on that.
Six-thirty here, eight-thirty in Auckland. Zora would have the kids in bed. He should’ve called. That would’ve been better. Tomorrow, he’d call.
He was just thinking it when his phone dinged.
A video. His bath, with two candles on the wooden tray, their light flaring on camera, reflected in the black windows beyond. Water pouring in from the high, arched faucet, and a hand, a bare arm draping a towel over the rack. And that was all.
Come on, he typed. You can’t leave me there.
A long wait. Was she doing this now, or had she recorded it earlier?
Now, he decided. Eight-thirty. She would’ve just got the kids to bed, and this was her relaxing time. Her time to take a bath and sit in the middle of his wide, white bed in her shortie PJs, painting her nails with that little brush and blowing on them to make them dry faster.
Another video, and he clicked, breathless as a teenager.
Her leg, sliding into the water, then another one, and the video scrambled, tilted crazily, until she was there. Her hair up in a clip, her bare shoulders. She was lowering herself into the water, he thought, because her face changed, looked surprised, a little alarmed. Hot, he thought, and then it relaxed, and she smiled. And the video ended.
Hell with this. He video called her.
“Hey,” she said, and there was that smile again. “I thought you’d like to know that I’m using it.”
“I’d like to know. You have a face like a Russian princess. I’ve always thought so. Made for rubies and pearls.”
“Mm.” Her smile was looking sleepy now. “Who knew you were so poetic? I love that. Are you missing me?”
“Yeh. I am.” He tried to think what else to say, and couldn’t. He wished she’d move the phone down. How did you ask for that when you’d been with a woman exactly one night? “Come on, baby, show me your tits” was on no woman’s list of romantic phrases.
“I miss you, too,” she said. “I didn’t take a shower this morning, after I got home from the airport, because I smelled like you, and like sex, and I wanted to keep smelling that way. I’m not going to change the sheets for a while, either. I want to smell you on them. I want to smell you on me.”
Bloody hell.
“And then, of course,” she said, “I had to meet the handyman who was coming to fix the door, so I couldn’t take a shower anyway. Do you think he could smell it on me?”
He couldn’t breathe. “Yeh,” he said, “I expect he could. And that’s not all right.”
“No? What are you going to do about it?”
He wanted to be there. He needed to be there. He knew exactly what he was going to do about it. Except that he couldn’t. He asked, “What are you doing now?”
“Washing myself.” Her face had gone dreamier. Softer. “Thinking about you.”
“Show me.”
The phone moved down. Not far enough. The swells of her breasts, and a white facecloth moving over them, and down. And, finally, a flash of nipple, like it had happened by accident. It was a good flash. He cleared his throat and asked, “Are you painting your toenails tonight?”
“I will if you want me to,” she said. Back to her face again, and he was glad, but he was sorry, too. “What color do you want me to do?”
“That pale pink you had on the first day. Like the inside of a shell. A secret color, I thought. Nice.”
“Mm. I’ll do that, then. I’ll text you a photo, shall I?”
“Yeh.” He cleared his throat. “Good.” He didn’t have a foot fetish, at least he never had. He just had a thing for her feet. And her breasts. And her bum. And her mouth, which he was looking at now.
“And in a few days,” she said, “you can tell me what color you want, and I’ll do that. Because you asked me to.”
“Because I told you to,” he said.
Some more secret smile. “Maybe so. And you can think about what would happen if you came home right now, and pulled me out of the tub. I’d be naked, and you’d be dressed. Almost like a fantasy. You could think about how I’d look on my knees. You’d be so hard for me to take, but I’d do my best.”
Oh. Bloody. Hell. Her expression was changing, her eyes losing focus, and the image was getting a little shaky. As if the phone were moving, because she couldn’t hold it still. “Is that making you come?” he asked.
“Yes.” It was a gasp. “Oh. Rhys.”
He was a gentleman, or he tried to be. You met the lady’s needs. He said, “I thought, this morning, that I shouldn’t push it. That’s why I didn’t put you on your knees on that couch that’s right there on the deck, tell you to hold onto the back, push your dress up, rip your undies off you, and solve our height problem, even though all I wanted to do was fuck your brains out.”
She was making some noise. He said, “Yeh. Just like that. Just like you’re imagining.” He wasn’t good at phone sex. He was better at actions than words, especially stringing together a whole narrative of touches and kisses and wardrobe details. But he could just about manage this. “I licked you and kissed you enough last night. Time for you to let me fuck you the way I want to.”
“Ahh.” It was a moan, and her eyes had closed.
“Open your eyes,” he said. “Look at me.”
It was an effort, he could tell. But she did it. He said, “Yeh. You’ll do what I say, if you want it, won’t you?”
“Yes.” She was gasping. “Yes.”
“Then open up, baby,” he said, “and take it hard.”
She closed her eyes again, her face twisted, the phone jerked and shook in her hand, and she hung up on him. Accidentally, he was fairly sure.
He was never going to make it twelve days. Not possible.
The next day, during lunch, Finn said, “What?”
Rhys jerked his attention back. “What?” Had he stopped in the middle of a sentence, or something? He couldn’t remember.
This morning, at breakfast, when she wouldn’t be awake yet, he’d texted Zora, Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense. That’s what I meant to text last night. I may have been a bit less romantic than that, as it turned out. Pretend I said it.
Ten minutes ago, she’d sent back a close-up photo of a deep-pink rose with dew coating its petals, and nothing else. You could call that photo distracting, though.
He asked Finn, “What do you give a woman, if you can’t send her flowers?”
“And you can’t send her flowers because . . . she’s allergic?” Finn hazarded.
“Take it that I can’t send her flowers, that’s all.”
“Ah,” Finn said. “Because she’s a florist, maybe. Coals to Newcastle, eh. Never tell me Jenna was right.”
“What?”
“Mate.” A smile broke through the craggy surface of Finn’s face. “Why d’you think we took the kids the other night?”
“Oh.” Rhys wondered whether he should be alarmed. Offended. Something. He decided on, “Well, tell her cheers for that.”
“What do you want to give her?” Finn asked.
“A ring,” Rhys said. He didn’t mean to. It just slipped out.
Finn looked startled. Small wonder. “It’s that bad?”
“Yeh. That one’s out, obviously. Could put too much pressure on.”
“You think? That could’ve been brewing for a while, then, I’m thinking.”
“You could say that. You could say ten years.”
Finn said, “So. No flowers, then. You could give her something else. Jewelry. Like that. Something small. No pressure, eh.”
It was Friday, and Zora’s hands were flying. She had three new home deliveries added to the list for today, which was good, and a wedding tomorrow, which was better. But it was a lot of deliveries to make in one afternoon.
Fourteen arrangements stood on her work tables: four standard, five premium, and best of all: Five supreme. Two of the new clients were Supremes. She loved Supremes. Not only did they pay the best, their arrangements were the most fun to do. Today, she was pairing the unabashed sensuality of cream, blush, and lavender roses with papery-white anemones, the deep-plum petals of ranunculus, and the open invitation of white clematis, all of it accented with more green and white: the tiny drops and delicate petals of snowberry, the fragility of maidenhair fern, the sturdy structure of eucalyptus, and the twining, trailing vines of jasmine winding through everything, trying to overtake it all.
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