Lozza frowned, her curiosity deepening.
“Look!” Maya suddenly pointed at a freakishly large set of swells soldiering steadily in from the distance, growing in size across the bay as they neared. “Big set coming in.”
Ellie went rigid.
“It’ll be fine,” Maya said to her.
“It will,” added Lozza. “Just follow our lead, okay? As soon as a wave is almost upon us and starts to curl at the lip, that’s when you dive in, and at the bottom of the wave, right down, deep, and we’ll pop up the other side . . . The first one’s coming. Are you ready?”
But she’d frozen, her face bloodless, features stricken.
Lozza realized Ellie was not ready for this. But she had to be, because now there was no way out other than facing the wave and going straight through it. If she tried to wade back to shore and the wave broke on her back, or if she allowed the wave to suck her up to the lip and dump her over the falls, it would be worse.
Maya, who was closer, saw, too. She grabbed Ellie’s wrist and yanked her close. “Hold your breath, Ellie! I got you!”
They gasped, and they all dived headfirst into the powerful, rising surge of water. The force tore at Lozza’s hair, peeling back her eyelids as water pummeled over her skin. Pressure that made her ears want to pop pushed down as she swam forward under the crushing washing-machine churn of green water filled with sand. They all popped up like corks on the other side into a skein of foam while the breaker crunched behind them and rolled toward the beach. Maya still held on fast to Ellie’s hand. Lozza gave her kid a thumbs-up and glanced out to sea to gauge how far away the next big wave was.
“Another big one coming,” she called out to Ellie. “We can start wading toward shore now, but as soon as that wave nears, we turn around and face it again. We do the same thing, dive under and back out toward sea. Then we wade closer in to the beach again, and repeat for the next one—ready?”
Ellie nodded.
The wave neared, and under they went again.
When they popped out the other side, it was sheer exhilaration Lozza saw in Ellie’s face. Ellie looked at Maya’s hand on her wrist and laughed out loud, her eyes wild. It made Maya laugh, too, but Lozza remained unsure about what she was witnessing. Something was weird about this woman.
They repeated the process—wading back toward shore, facing the next wave, diving under it, turning around, and wading in some more—and soon they were in the ankle-deep shallows and the big set had passed.
“Thank you,” Ellie said breathlessly as she tugged her bathing suit back into place. “I . . . I’ve been unable to do that for such a long, long time. Thank you both so much.”
“You mean . . . play in the waves?” asked Maya.
Ellie nodded, grinning. Droplets glinted on her dark lashes. “Sort of like . . . getting back on a horse after a terrible riding accident. I’ve wanted to try again for so long, and—” She froze as a movement up on the beach caught her eye. Her face went ghost white. Her features turned rigid. She hurriedly waded out of the sea toward the beach.
“Ellie?” Maya called after her.
But when Ellie reached the hard sand, she started to run up the beach, her buttocks wobbling beneath her scrap of bikini.
Lozza shaded her eyes and peered up into the dunes to see what in the hell had spooked her.
A man.
He sat where Ellie had been seated earlier. Next to Lozza and Maya’s gear. Big man with blond hair that gleamed gold in the setting rays of the sun.
“Come,” she said quietly to Maya.
They caught up to Ellie. It was instinct driving Lozza now. Her cop impulses had linked Ellie’s bruises with Scary Man before her brain had even begun to articulate the thought.
“Martin,” Ellie said breathlessly as she reached the man. “I . . . I didn’t expect you back. What . . . what’s going on? Why’re you back so soon?”
“Cover yourself, Ellie,” Martin said quietly, holding out Ellie’s towel to her. Australian accent, but with a hint of Canadian.
A chill trickled down Lozza’s spine. Every molecule in her body snapped alert. She picked up her own towel and exchanged a look with Maya. Her daughter sensed it, too. She’d gone quiet as she gathered her towel and draped it around her skinny body.
Lozza cataloged the male quickly. A slight wave in his dense blond hair. Pale-blue eyes offset by tanned skin that was evenly toned and unlined. Strong face. Wide jaw. Built like a rugby player—bit on the thick side. Handsome bugger if one was into that look. He didn’t even look at Lozza. His gaze remained locked on Ellie. Wedged into the soft sand at his side were two stainless steel wine goblets and a small esky.
Shivering, Ellie took the towel from him and wrapped it around her shoulders. While the wind had picked up and the air had cooled—as it so often did just before sun slipped into the Tasman Sea—Ellie was not cold. She was shaking for some other reason. A hot and dangerous energy began to cook in Lozza’s chest. She felt her jaw tighten.
“G’day, mate,” Lozza said as she hooked her towel around her neck.
“Who’s your friend, Ellie?” Martin said without acknowledging Lozza.
Angry. Dangerous.
“This is Lozza,” she said very quietly. “She’s a cop.”
Martin’s gaze snapped to Lozza. He regarded her for a moment, his features inscrutable.
“Lozza, this is Martin,” Ellie said.
Martin smiled. His canines were pointed. It was the coldest smile Lozza had ever seen.
“Lozza Bianchi.” She held out her hand. Martin glanced at Lozza’s hand but did not take it.
“Martin Cresswell-Smith,” he said. “I’m Ellie’s husband.”
And there it was, some sort of battle line drawn in the soft Jarrawarra dune sand between Lozza the cop and this dangerous-looking man who Lozza realized must be the developer of the Agnes Basin project. She’d seen that name on the signs.
She noticed his ring. While Ellie was not wearing a wedding band, Martin sported what looked like a platinum ring inset with a bloodred stone. A ruby, if the fancy bronze Rolex on the man’s wrist was anything to go by.
Lozza lowered her rejected hand, and a sinister taste crawled up her throat. She glanced at Ellie. But Ellie turned away, no longer willing to meet Lozza’s eyes.
Terrified. Doesn’t want to displease her husband.
A soft, steady drum began in Lozza’s heart. This woman was not in a safe place. Wind shifted and gusted hard. Lozza could smell smoke from a distant wildfire.
“You okay, Ellie?” she asked.
“Yeah, yeah, fine.”
She still wouldn’t meet Lozza’s eyes.
Lozza lingered. The man watched her.
“Come, Maya,” she said quietly.
Martin and Ellie remained silent as they took their leave.
As Lozza and Maya made their way up through the dunes, Maya said, “He’s scary. He’s a bad man.”
“Yeah. He is.”
THEN
LOZZA
As Lozza drove home with Maya, their boards strapped onto the roof, she chewed on her lip and turned over in her mind the enigma that was Ellie and Martin Cresswell-Smith. The woman’s bruises. How terrified she’d acted when she’d spotted her husband in the dunes. How he’d controlled her. The look in his eyes.
The woman was in trouble.
But where did Lozza’s cop boundaries lie between interfering without official reason and her own deep-down personal drivers around domestic abuse? Of all people, Lozza needed to walk the line carefully. The reason she’d been demoted was because she’d acted badly in response to violence. She’d used violence herself.
The reason the social workers had finally allowed her to adopt Maya was because Lozza had gone to great effort to demonstrate that her slate was clean and to show she could be a responsible and nurturing single mother to a child who herself had been orphaned by domestic violence.
Lozza had only to slip slightly and there were people w
ho’d see to it she was stripped of her badge after what had happened on the murder squad.
She shot a glance at Maya, who was fiddling with the radio in search of a new tune. She owed it to her kid to keep her job, to keep her reputation sterling. She owed it to Maya to be a good example as a human being. And the one thing Lozza was realizing was that more than anything in this world, she wanted a happy home, a warm home for her daughter. She wanted Maya to live in a world where there was no violence. Where she didn’t have to hide under a bed and be scared.
Lozza turned her car onto the road that took them past the Puggo. The place was hopping, and through the open car windows came the mouthwatering scent of burgers cooking on the barbie. Her stomach grumbled—surfing always built up her appetite.
Lozz slowed, checking the cars parked outside to see who was there. She half expected to find her partner’s truck outside. The Puggo was Gregg’s second home. It was also ground zero for gossip. A thought struck Lozza.
If anyone would know anything about the Cresswell-Smiths, it would be Rabz.
“Hey, Maya, how about takeout burgers off the barbie and chips instead of warmed-up pizza?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Can we get extra chips?”
Lozza grinned. “You betcha.” She found a parking space along the curb farther down the road beneath a giant lilly pilly tree. The Puggo was a licensed establishment, not a place for minors, but while she waited at the bar for the takeaways, she could quiz Rabz, or whoever else was in there. “You okay to wait here?” she asked Maya.
“Are you kidding? For burgers and chips?”
Lozza left Maya in the car listening to an audiobook and hurried up the street. She passed a beat-up dirt bike parked a few vehicles behind hers. It didn’t look roadworthy, and she took note of the Queensland registration. Cop habits died hard. Her stomach grumbled audibly as she climbed the stairs to the Puggo veranda, and she reckoned she’d order extra chips for herself as well.
Lozza pushed through the PVC strip curtain and entered the pub. Her eyes adjusted and her spirits lifted with the boisterous atmosphere.
No sign of Rabz.
Instead, there was a new guy working the bar—young and tanned, with long dreads and a happy face. He was chatting and laughing with two women bellied up to the counter. Sue and Mitzi. Old-timers from the local board riders club. She went up to the bar, said hello to the women, and placed her order with the young barkeep. He called it into the kitchen.
“Rabz not working tonight?” she asked him.
“She’s away in Sydney,” said the bartender. “Won’t be back for another week or so.”
Mitzi and Sue were yabbering about the greenies in a booth in the back corner of the pub.
Lozza followed their gaze. Mitzi turned to her. “Every evening it’s the same thing. They come in to plot ways to stop the Agnes Basin project, then get shit-faced and lose the plot.” She chuckled. “This evening they’re all afire over some enviro report which apparently clears the way toward shire approval.”
“Who did the enviro consult?” Lozza asked. She was personally against the development of that area herself.
“The dodge brothers,” said Sue.
“Yeah. Word is you can slip those dodgy brothers a bribe and they’ll write anything you damn want in a report,” added Mitzi. She reached for her beer, swallowed heartily, and wiped her mouth with her hand. Inside, Lozza smiled. Mitzi was salt of the earth. A longtime local who took no crap and never minced her words. “Stinks if you ask me. I reckon those Cresswell-Smiths are crooks, and so is half the council plus the mayor if they’re buying into a dodge brothers report.”
“Do you know the couple at all?”
“I know they’re intent on destroying Agnes Basin.” She finished her beer, plonked her empty glass on the counter, and pointed for a refill. “Word is it’s Ellie’s daddy’s money that’s being used to fund the project, and she basically doesn’t know what in the hell her husband is doing with it.”
“I reckon the missus is not altogether there,” said Sue, making a drinking motion with her hand. “Boozer and drug addict is the word around town.”
Lozza frowned, and her curiosity was piqued.
The barkeep set two containers of hot food to go on the counter in front of Lozza. “Did you say Ellie Cresswell-Smith?” he asked.
“Yep,” said Mitzi.
“I was wondering who she was. Someone left a package here for her yesterday,” said the barkeep. “Some bikie with a bald head and ink down the side of his neck.”
“A package? Here?” said Lozza. She was solidly hooked now because she and Gregg had spent the past few weeks helping out on Strike Force Tinto, a law enforcement operation that had zeroed in on an arm of an outlaw motorcycle gang that had run a drug operation out of a town to the north.
“Yeah. This dude came in asking for ‘Ellie’—said he had a delivery for her. But Rabz hadn’t left any instructions about a delivery, so the guy asked if he could just leave it here with me for Ellie to pick up.”
“And did she pick it up?” asked Lozza.
“Nah, it’s in the office,” said the barman. “Package has her name on it. Figured I’d leave it for Rabz to deal with when she got back.”
Lozza paid for her order and took her leave.
Outside, the bats had started bickering like old witches in the tree—it was getting dark. Orange poop collecting on the sidewalk stuck under her flip-flops. As she neared her RAV4, she heard voices. A male and a female. Arguing. Their tone was low but angry, the kind of sound that invites one to listen closer. Lozza stilled. Listened. The woman raised her voice. “No,” she commanded. “Get out of here! Stop. Leave me alone!”
Lozza moved forward fast. Beneath a tree along a fence, she saw a man grab a woman’s arm. The woman jerked herself free. With shock Lozza recognized her.
“Willow?” she called out. “Everything okay?”
The man stepped back hurriedly into the deeper shadows. He was bald, his pate shiny. Black T-shirt, black jeans. Biker boots. In his left hand he held some kind of carry bag.
Lozza strode up to them carrying her takeout boxes. “Hoi! Mate! Step away from her. Now.”
“She . . . she’s police,” Willow said loudly. “You better listen to her, mate.”
The man shot a glance at Lozza wearing her sarong and flip-flops, her takeout boxes in hand. His features were obscured by the gloomy light. A bat flitted through the air. The man spun around, slung the bag across his body, and stalked toward the beat-up dirt bike parked near Lozza’s RAV4. He straddled the bike in one smooth motion and kicked it to life. The streetlight caught a tattoo down the side of his neck. The man gave full throttle and roared down the street, popping a wheelie before disappearing around the corner. A kangaroo bounded in his wake and went crashing into bushes.
Lozza went up to Willow. “Are you okay?”
She was shaking. “What an asshole.” Her voice came out quavery. “Thank you,” she said.
“Who is he? What did he want?”
“I have no bloody idea who he is. He came out of nowhere, accosted me as I walked past. Said he wanted to buy me a drink and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He tried to grab me, and that’s when you arrived.” She rubbed her upper arm where the man had touched her. “Good timing—thanks, Lozz.”
Lozza hesitated. “You headed to the Puggo? You going to be okay?”
As she spoke, Gregg appeared from the shadows and came down the street. “What’s going on?” he said.
“Some arsehat accosted Willow,” said Lozza.
“Are you okay?” Gregg touched Willow’s arm. An intimate gesture. Lozza felt her jaw tighten. Of course Gregg was interested in Willow. She was single. Sexy as all hell. As much as Lozza hated to admit it to even herself, she was more than slightly attracted to her buff partner. Gregg might be a rookie cop and not a very good one yet, but he had life experience. He’d worked in the construction industr
y before signing on with the NSW police force. He was good with his hands, at fixing things. At problem-solving. He was also good with kids. That ranked pretty high in Lozza’s books. In his spare time he ran a surf school and helped coach nippers at the lifesaving club. And yeah, Lozza was jealous right now. She’d never have the looks of a Willow or an Ellie or a Rabz. Maybe that was part of why she liked being a cop and carrying a gun. It gave her purpose. A power that those other women didn’t have.
“I . . . Well, I’ll see you guys. Have fun.”
“Yeah,” said Gregg.
“Thanks, Lozz,” said Willow.
“Hey, no worries.” She headed to her car while Gregg and Willow walked toward the Puggo.
“Way to go, Mom!” Maya said as Lozza handed her the takeout boxes. Maya sneaked a handful of fries from the bag, and Lozza allowed her kid to stuff a few into her mouth as she reached down to start the ignition. The bartender’s words resurfaced in her mind.
“Some bikie with a bald head and ink down the side of his neck . . . This dude came in asking for ‘Ellie.’”
She stopped short of starting the car, swallowed her mouthful, and said, “Can you wait here a sec, Maya? I forgot something at the Puggo. I’ll be right back—you can start eating if you want.”
Before Maya could reply, Lozza was jogging back down the sidewalk toward the Puggo. She dusted french fry crumbs and salt off her chin and entered the pub. She noticed Gregg and Willow in a booth, talking with heads bent close. She went straight to the bartender.
“That package for Ellie Cresswell-Smith, I’ll take it—I’ll deliver it to her house.”
The barkeep looked uncertain.
“Hey, I’m a cop. How wrong can it go?”
The barkeep laughed. “You’d be surprised.” He took Lozza into the back office and handed her a small package. It was wrapped in brown paper. Across the top was scrawled, ELLIE CRESSWELL-SMITH. Lozza shook it. It rattled. Like pills in containers.
“You got CCTV in here?” she asked.
“You mean inside this office?”
“No. Out front.”
“Yeah. CCTV of the exterior of the premises and doorways.”
In the Deep Page 23