by Sofia Aves
Shuddering as each muscle relaxed, my thoughts kept turning back to Mila, and that fine rump of hers. I was still itching to get my hands on that, but I also didn’t want to scare her. Strong and passionate as she was, there was something skittish lying just beneath the surface. I didn’t want to push her too far, too fast.
I growled, realising I had a raging hard-on. I turned off the hot water, letting the icy chill sink through me. I’d need focus to do tonight’s job, as always. Nothing else could distract me, not even Mila. When it was all over, I could give her the attention she deserved.
Drying off, I threw on a pair of old, grey sweats, the most comfortable thing I owned. My phone buzzed as I headed to my study, ready to work. A stupid grin slid across my face. I knew I looked like a maniac, but the thought of Mila texting me already got me going again.
I wondered whether she had a naughty side I could play with at night…then I saw who had sent the message — Mandy. When would she bugger off? I wanted her as gone as she’d clearly shown me that night. My thumb hovered over the button. If I responded every time she messaged me, she’d never let go. Another message flashed up on the screen. I closed my eyes, but they kept coming.
Mandy: I really need to speak to you. Will you please answer?
Mandy: I know you’re reading these.
Mandy: Please Cal. I miss you.
The last one boiled my blood. After everything that had happened, she had the gall to tell me she missed me?
Me: I’m tired of your games. Don’t message me again.
Mandy: I’m so sorry. Can I come around?
The message came through quickly, and I read it before I could stop myself. I wasn’t a booty call for the woman who’d trampled my heart only weeks ago. I threw my phone across the room with a curse, an ominous crack telling me I’d smashed the screen.
Damnit. HR wouldn’t be happy to have to issue me a new one.
I inspected the screen. A thin crack lined the screen top to bottom. Frustrating, but everything seemed to work so I could ignore it for a while. I deleted Mandy’s messages and switched it on silent. The door to my study was ajar. I slid inside with the lights still off and placed my phone onto the desk beside the entry, face down.
Nothing would interrupt me this evening.
I nudged the light switch with my shoulder, lighting the room.] Dozens of ice-cold eyes stared at me from the walls. Logan watched me from several angles as I set up for the night. My home laptop sat on the desk, unhindered by clutter — a standalone, and untraceable. A little gem Micah had provided me with as thanks for adding him to the team two years ago. I greatly appreciated the gesture.
A pair of screens flanked the main one. I downloaded the day’s recordings onto a flash drive, then plugged it into the standalone. Hours of footage from three cities popped up — I’d been working with the federal police and ASIO long enough to know which of their feeds were most accurate.
Facial recognition software scrolled commands through a dialogue box in the corner of the screen. I flicked through reports contacts had sent me that day — what I didn’t have the time — or privacy — for in the incident room. Everyone has their obsession, and hunting Wayde Logan was mine.
The time I allocated scouring the feeds for Logan out of office hours had been called unhealthy more than once. I wasn’t going to kid myself — I knew how bad it had gotten; the urge to hunt, to take him down, had increased recently, as we had made little headway on our investigation. Operation Niffler wasn’t going well, though Liam kept most of the jackals at bay.
For now, at least.
I knew he had our backs — our success was his after all, but it was more than that. My boss had mentored me through the academy years ago, helping me resurrect a wreaked career after I let Logan escape the first time.
Which was no small thing.
Partial face shots, side profiles obscured by pedestrians and traffic popped up on the triad of screens, but I discarded them with a flick. Logan worked in specific patterns, which greatly reduced the amount of traffic I had to scroll through. Being predictable was a criminal’s greatest gift to a cop.
Now, all I had to do was catch the bastard.
CHAPTER FOUR
MILA
Spring was always my favourite time of year. Colours seemed brighter, and everything was growing, throwing off its winter skin to burst out with new life. The back of Gran’s old house opened out into a large veranda, complete with enormous cement balustrades topped with equally-giant spheres.
The look was typical of the period the house was built in, though I was used to it by now. Heavy enough to squash a person, I’d tried many times as a child to knock the spheres off. Finally succeeding, I’d terrified the cat sleeping in the sun nearby as the weighted ball dropped straight through the floorboards of the veranda, into the cellar beneath.
Light filtered through the unkempt garden behind the house, creating a dark labyrinth of colour full of shadowy twists and turns. As a girl, I used to hide in the back corner of the yard, sketching silhouettes as the sun coursed across the sky.
Already set back from the street, the old house was reasonably secluded in Melbourne’s inner suburbs. The garden had always been cluttered with life — the perfect place for the imagination of any child to run wild.
When I’d lost Gran, the garden had stayed. With no good reason to change, it reminded me of her; relaxed, imaginative, just a little crazy, so different from other women of her generation. She had been the last of my family, but living in the house left to me, I didn’t feel as alone as others — really, just Teddy — expected me to be.
With the heavy, wooden doors at the front of the house closing out the sounds of the street, and my easel set out across the length of the boards at the back, I had seven hours of unadulterated light to capture spring’s birth. Selecting a grevillea about to burst with unfurled blossoms, framed by a scarlet bottlebrush behind it full of chattering Swift parrots, I lifted a brush. The vibrant colours glowed against a clear sky, so it was easy to get to work.
Several hours later, I stood, shaking out my toes. Pins and needles shot up my legs from being stuck in one position for far too long. Stepping back to look over my work with an impartial eye, I knew my stasis had been necessary. The pale-headed rosella I’d envisioned poked out at me, his head cocked cheekily, ready to dive back into the ambrosia the flower offered.
Limping, I paced the veranda, trying to encourage circulation to return to my limbs. Stretching over the railing, I breathed in the warmth of the day, afternoon sun still blazing for a few more hours, yet.
Thoughts of last night intruded, though they weren’t unwelcome. My date with Cal had been amazing — talking in the café, walking along the foreshore, the salt of the waves clinging to me…kissing him — my god, that kiss. I was halfway through a detailed exploration of how he’d felt; the planes of his chest, the fire he’d ignited inside me, holding me hard against him, when a sound intruded on my daydreams.
I blinked, but the buzzing was insistent. It took a moment for me to realise it was the front door. I trotted through the enormous, old house, hoping whoever it was would be gone before I reached the other end. I was disappointed to see a wavering figure behind the stained-glass panel.
The door handle rattled, and I jumped, then called out as I fumbled with chains and locks. Gran had always been careful with house security, but I’d added more when I’d moved in.
“I’m coming,” I yelled, fingers stuck in a safety chain, “Coming! I’ll be right,” I untangled the knot of fingers and metal and succeeded in yanking the door open, “there.” Panting a little, I stared at the slim man on my patio, holding a box. Startling grey eyes shot with brightest blue stared back, thin lips curved in amusement.
I glanced down at myself, suddenly understanding how I must appear. Hair whipped up in a messy bun with a spare brush stuck through it, red-faced and covered in splotches of paint from neck to ankle; I looked like a younger version of the cr
azy cat lady.
“Sorry I took a while,” I apologised, “I was just…” I gestured back down the hallway behind me. The delivery man’s gaze followed my hand then back to me, the sharp smile still on his face as though frozen there. I swallowed.
“Coming. Yes, I heard you.”
The innuendo wasn’t lost on me, nor was his sweeping gaze of my body. I shivered, warnings tingling against being near this man — or was it just near any other person? Still, I reached for the box.
“Your name?” He pressed the screen on a handheld scanner.
“It’s on the package,” I said pointedly.
“Of course.” He held out the scanner for me to sign. “Thank you, Miss Davenport.”
Hairs that had settled rose on my arms again. I instantly hated that this man knew my name and where I lived. Thanking him, I retreated into the house, glad to have the stout, wooden barrier between us. The shivering began, and my breath came short.
Those eyes.
My mind screamed as another pair of eyes — cold and hard — stared down at me from the face of a devil hiding beneath the facade of a god. For a moment, the bank returned, the acrid tang of gunpowder and cash notes slamming into me. The room swam; people lined against the wall, terrified. A pale leg protruded from behind a workstation, a ruby shoe discarded, lay on its side–
No.
I wanted to scream, to beat the memory away, but instead, I curled against the closed door, finding myself on the slate stones. Cold tendrils reached beneath my shirt, caressing my lower back like an unwanted lover. Footsteps retreated from the front porch until I knew I was alone.
I shivered, unable to move under the onslaught of emotions. Beneath the closed front door, frigid air stroked my skin. Every muscle clenched with fear until I was shaking with exertion, as well as the cold. The parcel lay discarded beside me on the floor. I was nothing more than a shuddering, sobbing mess in my own home.
When is this going to end?
Eventually, my paralysis passed. I rose unsteadily, scraping my hands on the slate, their coolness reassuring. In the kitchen, it took several tries to slit the tape securing the box, but by the time I managed to open it, the shaking in my hands had reduced to a slight tremor.
Placing my craft knife carefully in the centre of the old wooden bench, I inhaled through my nose, though I knew my anxiety had nothing to do with the box. Sloughing in deep breaths, I tried to find the calm my last therapist had suggested. They never lasted long, saying I should be “over it all” by now after just a few weeks with them.
It wasn’t a particularly helpful mantra.
Staring at the back of my eyelids, I sought something that made me feel safe. Painting was good — I was calm and could get engrossed in it, but it didn’t make me any less anxious. Fear enveloped me constantly; even with my eyes shut, panic edged its way into my consciousness.
I inhaled again. This time the salt of the sea filled my nostrils, along with the sensation of warm, strong arms surrounding me. It was just a memory, but a powerful one. I tried to pin down Cal’s scent — warm and smooth, with that underlying element that screamed male — whiskey mixed with spiced honey. I smiled, opening my eyes. The kitchen bench was cool beneath still hands, my breath even.
I rolled tense shoulders. My chest unclenched, and I could focus. Flipping back the edges of the box, I unpacked a set of fine-tipped Japanese pens with handmade inks I’d been keen to experiment with. Making a mental note to message Cal later to thank him for our date last night, I submerged myself in a world of colour until I lost the afternoon light and the air turned chill.
Covered in paint and ink from the afternoon’s session, I was determined to be clean. The new inks had worked beautifully, though I’d rationed my use of them, unsure what their major project would be. They highlighted contrasting sketches best — quick scenes of people in the streets, or crowds, with the stark white of the canvas set with deep strokes of darker hues.
My hands were covered in red and black splotches, giving me the appearance of a deranged ladybug. A bubble bath seemed like a good idea. I poured myself a glass of wine on the way to the ancient, claw-footed tub, checking my diary for tomorrow’s appointments: Only two slots in the morning on portrait work — one to unveil a project to the family of an older generation and one of a treasured pet. The portraits wouldn’t take long, and if I could get through the midday session quickly, I’d have the rest of the afternoon free.
Though they weren’t as interesting as people in terms of complexity, I always tried to convey the emotion, and personality house-pets demonstrated during our sessions. Often, a furry face didn’t give as much expression, so I spent most of my time speaking with the owner and tried to instil the love they felt for their creature instead.
Pets didn’t usually sit quietly while I worked; I was a new person, and too exciting for them to be sedate. Finishing up with — I checked the name — Dolly’s portrait would likely take me a week or two in total, depending on how often the owner was available.
I sank into the bubbles, dipping low enough to let the water soak into the ends of my dark hair. It would take ages to get the paint out from today’s session. I massaged shampoo in, enjoying the bubbles before they dissolved, dunking my head several times. Clean, I leaned back. Phone on one side of me, and wine the other, I finally, totally, relaxed.
By the time I got out of the bath, little ridges pruned my fingertips. Rivulets of water fell from me completely ink and paint-free, the water a swirl of murky rainbow, staining the tub. I resolved to clean it in the morning, but playing with the inks had been worth it.
I was half-dressed when my phone buzzed. The lock screen showed one in the morning. I must have fallen asleep in the bath, which was unlike me. I crossed my fingers that it was Cal; who else was likely to message me at this time of night?
It was. I was grinning like a madwoman as I read his message.
Cal: Thanks for letting me take you out last night. Hope we can do it again?
I smiled; it was cute that he used the question mark, but I was glad he hadn’t assumed we were on just because of that kiss. Oh, my god, that kiss. I’d been glad we were in public at the time; otherwise, that surely would have developed into something much heavier pretty fast, and I didn’t want to rush this with him. He seemed too good to be true — gorgeous, sweet, sexy as hell.
Was he a devil in disguise?
Cal: You’re probably asleep. Just wanted to say thank you.
Me: You’re welcome.
I pressed send, organising my thoughts as I finished dressing.
Me: I’d love to see you again.
Cal: You are up! Shouldn’t you be sleeping?
A winking emoji ended the message, making me smile. The cheeky face suited him. My bed called to me and I slipped between the sheets, already typing out a reply.
Me: Just got out of the bath.
Cal: …
Cal: …
Me: what?
Cal: I’m imagining you in the bath.
Cheeks flaming, I swallowed.
Cal: Have I scared you off?
Me: Not yet…why are you still up?
Cal: Working.
Me: You’re at work?
Cal: I do some casework at home.
It wasn’t there, but I sensed the hesitation in his message. I’d accidentally touched on a nerve. Hmm. I wanted to find a way to ask about it but maybe after midnight wasn’t the best time. My whole body tensed as I thought of him lying next to me in my bed. Well, maybe not next to him…
Me: Would you like to grab a coffee sometime?
Cal: I’m off day after tomorrow, want to catch up then?
It was so casual, but my heart was pounding. Settle your hormones, girl.
Me: Sounds great.
Cal: Cool. Message you tomorrow?
Me: Okay.
His last message had three small x’s in it. Kisses. I turned the phone over to avoid its glow and lied down to sleep, but it wouldn’t com
e. I couldn’t shake the thought of him with me, to feel his weight bearing down on me…I buried my head in my pillow and tried to sleep, hoping the next day would pass quickly.
CHAPTER FIVE
CAL
I hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep, but that wasn’t unusual. Wakefulness haunted me after messaging Mila, thinking how fine she’d felt in my hands, those startling, sea-green eyes that held a depth I could lose myself in. The image of her haunted my wakefulness — a new obsession, and a welcome one. Stifling a yawn, I trawled through the pages on my desk with bleary eyes. My coffee was stone-cold, but I drank it anyway. I could use all the energy I could get.
“Dane, need your eyes on this, man.”
“Give me a minute.” I waved to my ex-partner at his desk just across from mine in the small, fishbowl of an office the team shared.
“Boss, the girl you ran into–,” I shot him a look, and he lowered his voice, “The girl, Mila, she’s here. On Logan’s tracking feed.”
It took me two go’s to focus on what Theodore Black was saying, but eventually, Mila’s name registered.
“Wait; what? Say that again.” I was on my feet, charging towards his desk before I realised what I was doing.
Black spun around in his chair, heavily-muscled arms up in defence with an alarmed grin on his face.
“Whoa, dude. Slow down.” He edged his chair back a little from his terminal.
“Tell me.”
Black didn’t react at my growl, just assessed me with shrewd eyes, scratching his beard.
“She’s got dark hair, five foot six, give or take, and paints. Comes up whenever I put in a search on Ashley. She’s always been there, going back a while. You screwing her?”
His tone was casual, but his shoulders were tense. I canted my head to the side; somehow, this was personal to him. Should I poke the bear? The big man did resemble one, after all. No, I decided dourly. Screwing around with Ashley’s safety was more than even I would push.