Bronze: A Romantic Suspense Novel (Blackwood Elements Book 8)

by Elise Noble

  “I apologise for that too.”

  “I nearly died from a heart attack.”

  “Mimi may have a screw loose, but she gets the job done.”

  “Screw loose? She stole a motorbike and outran half of the QPS. What happened to Shane? Is he dead?”

  “Nobody’s confirmed it, but I believe so.”

  We reached the villa, and I didn’t bother to fight with the door, just followed the path around the side and collapsed onto one of the sun loungers on the terrace. A man I’d worked with, hung out with, and shared my life with was dead. I should have felt awful, but after the way he’d treated me at the end, I couldn’t bring myself to care. Did that make me a terrible person?

  “Hey.” Russell settled on the edge of the sun lounger and brushed the hair away from my face. “I heard what happened. It’s all over the TV.”

  This got worse and worse. “My face?”

  “Not while you were on the bike—it was too blurry—but they’ve got an old picture of you with blonde hair.”

  “Shit.”

  “You look very different now.” He ran his fingers through my hair again. “The fringe changes your whole face, and you’re thinner too.”

  “Shane’s dead.”

  “Yes. Someone put a clip of his body on YouTube.”

  Yeuch. Did nobody have compassion anymore? I may not have liked Shane, but he had a mother and a sister, and neither of them deserved to see him like that.

  “They should take that down.”

  “I’ve already reported it. Ky, what can I do to help? You’re not going into shock, are you?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I should check the symptoms for that.”

  “I’m just a bit dazed. What happened is still sinking in, I think.”

  “Shall I get you a drink? A blanket?”

  I felt too sick to swallow, and it was twenty-five degrees in the shade. What I really wanted was to curl up in my childhood bedroom, for my mum to wrap me up in her arms and tell me everything was going to be okay. But that was impossible, and a sob escaped just from thinking about it.

  “Ky?”

  “Could I…? Could I have a hug?”

  That way, I could pretend somebody cared, just for a few minutes, even if that hug was slightly stiff and planned rather than spontaneous. I closed my eyes as Russell enveloped me, trying to imagine my mum’s floral perfume instead of Russell’s musky scent. It felt weird at first, but he didn’t let go, holding me tighter as I relaxed, and I had to concede that geek or not, Russell gave really good hugs.

  Then I caught movement from the corner of my eye, and Leyton appeared in the doorway.

  “I’ve plugged the phone in to charge. When you’re ready, we should have a debrief, but take your time. It’s been a tough day.”

  “A debrief? Can’t you just watch the chase on TV instead? People were filming it, apparently.”

  “I’ve already seen the chase. Mimi was streaming it in real-time. It’s what happens now that we need to talk about. The cops know you’re back in Australia, and after today’s chaos in the city, they’re gonna redouble their efforts to catch you.”

  “We made it worse, didn’t we? I should’ve stayed away.”

  “Sometimes, things have to get worse before they can get better.”

  “How can this possibly get better? Not only am I wanted for killing Jasper John, now they’ll try to pin Shane’s death on me too.”

  Because I wouldn’t tell them who Mimi was, even if they threatened me. She’d only been trying to help in her own, warped way, and if she hadn’t picked me up, I’d have been languishing in jail at that moment instead of fidgeting on the terrace at the Black Diamond Resort.

  “Shane’s death was an accident. The police have rules for car chases—you know that better than I do—and he broke all of them because he was following his own agenda.”

  “I’m not sure the judge’ll see it that way.”

  “It won’t get to court.”

  “Maybe if I run again…”

  “Don’t run.” Leyton held out a hand. “Come inside and let’s see what we might have to trade.”

  Russell followed, making a beeline for Michael’s phone. The old Samsung looked clunky beside Russell’s newer model, a relic from the past. What was on there? Was Leyton right? Could we really find something to trade? Deals got done all the time by people way above my pay grade—two-bit criminals bartering their freedom in exchange for enough information to catch a bigger fish. What could I offer?

  Fortunately, I knew Michael’s PIN. I’d seen him type it in enough times, and I guess he thought I was too dumb to remember.

  “The code’s 5326.”

  “Thanks.”

  Although having seen Russell in action, I had a feeling that even if I didn’t have the PIN, the security wouldn’t do much more than slow him down.

  I’d seen him do his Ether trick once before, in Egypt, and to my non-techie eyes, it seemed as if he used the same method in Queensland. First, he opened the system settings in Michael’s Ether app and typed in a ridiculously long code from memory. Then a box flashed up with another code—a mix of letters and numbers, twenty or so.

  His fingers flew over the keys of his laptop, opening up a database full of nonsense, what looked like a cross between Russian and Wingdings. Only when he entered the password from the phone did parts of it decode into English.

  “I only get two minutes to enter the decryption key,” he explained. “Otherwise it resets.”

  “What happens if you can’t type fast enough?”

  “I can.”

  Yes, he could.

  There were six thousand lines in Michael’s record. He’d sent a lot of messages over the years, but would it be enough? I held my breath as Russell scrolled back to the fifteenth of February, just over three years ago. I’d never forget that date. It was the day two lives had ended, mine and Jasper John’s.

  The downside of Russell’s Ether methodology was that we could only see Michael’s messages, not those he was replying to. But the usernames were there—three of them, and one of them was mine. Back then, I’d used Ether too. After working a case where a girl had been held to ransom over naked selfies she’d sent an ex, I’d figured the app would give me peace of mind over my own dirty messages.

  Funny how time could dull your memories, wasn’t it?

  In the years I’d been abroad, I’d avoided thinking about my own Ether messages with Michael, and with practice, I’d managed to block out our entire train wreck of a relationship. But now, as I perched on the edge of a chair next to Russell, those final weeks came crashing back.

  “Who’s JayebirdAU?” he asked. “Is that you?”

  “Uh, yes. My middle name’s Jaye.” Which he probably already knew

  And right then, I wished I’d gone to Bahrain instead of Australia. Or China, or Iraq, or even back to Russia. Anywhere but an upmarket resort in Australia where a computer geek and a private investigator were staring at the screen with widening eyes.

  Of course, they could only read Michael’s side of the conversation, but my username was in the “participants” field, and it didn’t take a genius to fill in the blanks.

  Bossman: Nice choice of words, babe. Tell me how you want me to fuck you.

  JayebirdAU: *******************************

  Bossman: With that view of your perfect ass…

  JayebirdAU: *******************************

  Bossman: Oh, so you like that? I’ll get my hand warmed up.

  JayebirdAU: *******************************

  Bossman: Why would I want to stop you from screaming my name?

  JayebirdAU: *******************************

  Bossman: Who cares about the neighbours? I want everyone to know you’re mine.

  JayebirdAU: *******************************

  Bossman: In that case, I’ll come inside your filthy little mouth, and you’re gonna swallow every drop.

  JayebirdAU: ***************
****************

  Bossman: Not until late tonight, babe. Touch yourself while you think of me.

  I wanted to sink into the floor. Actually, that was too tame. Death would’ve been preferable. Come back, Egypt, all is forgiven. I couldn’t look at either of the men. Not only were the details of my sex life splashed across the screen, so was the evidence of my poor judgement, and that was actually worse.

  Russell cleared his throat and hastily scrolled down to the next block of messages. They started just after 8 p.m., a group chat between Michael, Duke916, and SurfsUp, the latter two parties otherwise known as Shane Chapman and Owen Mills respectively.

  I forced myself to forget the memories of Michael’s slimy touch and read.

  Duke916: *******************************

  Bossman: Alone?

  Duke916: *******************************

  Bossman: How’s the street looking?

  Shane: *******************************

  Bossman: Fucking mutts.

  Duke916: *******************************

  SurfsUp: *******************************

  Bossman: Can’t. If he talks to Ky, we’re fucked. I’ll go in the back way.

  SurfsUp: *******************************

  Bossman: Who cares? I’m gonna knock anyway.

  Duke916: *******************************

  Michael had gone quiet for half an hour, according to the timestamps. Long enough to kill a man, plant enough evidence to incriminate me, and clean up? If he hurried, yes.

  Bossman: It’s done.

  Duke916: *******************************

  Bossman: Yeah. Gonna pick up a pizza on my way home.

  SurfsUp: *******************************

  Bossman: Nah, Ky gets grouchy if I’m late.

  SurfsUp: *******************************

  Duke916: *******************************

  SurfsUp: *******************************

  Bossman: Only if you want it to come with STDs. Get tested lately, asshole?

  SurfsUp: *******************************

  Bossman: Call Froggy, would ya? Tell him we’re on for tomorrow.

  SurfsUp: *******************************

  Bossman: Make it 19.30. Clarke wants me to talk to some Sheila from the news at the end of the shift.

  Duke916: *******************************

  Bossman: Depends if her knockers are as good as the last one.

  A tear leaked down my cheek as I got to the end. That was it. The chat finished for the night. For three years, I’d thought that if I could get into Michael’s messages, if I could just find out what he’d been talking about with Shane and Owen that evening, I’d be able to prove my innocence and his guilt. But this…it wasn’t enough. Reading between the lines, I knew what had happened—Michael had killed Jasper John then calmly stopped for takeout on his way home. But I couldn’t prove it. And what was that bit about the knockers at the end? Had he slept with a reporter?

  A bullet wasn’t kind enough for that asshole. Even now, he could still stick a knife in. Those words, those few short sentences? They wouldn’t convince a jury.

  CHAPTER 6 - KYLIE

  NOT ENOUGH, NOT enough, not enough…

  I grabbed the mouse and scanned the messages for the week before the murder. And the week after. There was plenty about cricket, beer, a couple of ongoing cases, and a surfing trip Michael, Shane, and Owen planned to take, the chatter interspersed with comments about women that showed a misogynistic side they’d kept hidden from me. But no mention of Jasper John’s death.

  Despair coursed through my veins. For three years, I’d been hoping, and it wasn’t enough.

  “The only vaguely incriminating part is where he mentions being fucked if someone talks to me,” I said. “But any half-decent lawyer could cast doubt on that, couldn’t they?”

  Leyton blew out a breath before he spoke. “I hate to say it, but I agree with you. Michael could tell a jury he was planning to throw you a surprise party. Buy you a gift. Take you on a trip.”

  “What about the time?” Russell asked. “The ME put Jasper John’s death between seven thirty and eight thirty.”

  How did he know that? “You read the autopsy report?”

  “I got curious.”

  “A coincidence,” Leyton said. “Yes, the time and the part about someone talking to Kylie fit, and even the mention of dogs on the street outside, but it’s all tenuous. Who’s Froggy?”

  I’d never heard that name. “Sorry. I have no idea.”

  “I’ll speak to our lawyers. Get a second opinion.”

  Leyton’s words spoke of hope, but his tone didn’t.

  “Don’t worry, we both know what they’ll say. I knew it was a gamble coming back here.” I snatched up my backpack to give my hands something to do—it was either that or tear my hair out. “Thank you for trying, both of you. I guess deep down I always figured this would catch up with me, and I…I…”

  A sob welled up in my throat, and I hurried into my bedroom before I broke apart completely. What should I do now? Face the music or run? I still had Tegan’s passport as well as Kyanna’s, but the airports would be on high alert, and my photo was splashed across every news channel. If a cop didn’t spot me, a member of the public would.

  I emptied the contents of the bag onto the bed, and the tears flowed freely as I took Grandma’s favourite necklace out of its velvet box. The diamonds twinkled around the emerald in the middle as I held it up to the light. The setting was a bit scratched now, but the stones still shone as brightly as the first time I’d seen it around her neck. The piece had been a gift from Grandpa on their tenth wedding anniversary. Emerald green to match her eyes, a colour I’d inherited. She’d worn that necklace every day until she gave it to me on the afternoon I graduated from the police academy. I remembered her words perfectly—you’ve got the know-how to keep this safe now, young lady. Her engagement and wedding rings, her sapphire brooch, and a ruby necklace came to me when she died. Where would I keep them when I went to prison? I should’ve left them in the safe deposit box.

  The bronze dog stared up at me. Shadow, he’d been called, because he always followed me around the house. Going to the bathroom was slightly awkward, but mostly his devotion was sweet. Before my grandpa’s eyesight went, he’d made a living as an artist, a sculptor, although he’d usually worked on a much larger scale. Several of his works graced the streets and gardens of Brisbane, and back when I’d had freedom, I liked to take a tour of them each year on the anniversary of his passing. Now I just had Shadow. I put him on the chest of drawers opposite the bed. Perhaps Emmy would take care of him for me?

  Eyes still prickling, I sat on the covers, knees drawn up to my chin. What now? I couldn’t stay at the resort forever, and even if I could, the villa would be nothing but a fancy jail cell. But what if I lay low for a month, maybe two, then left the country again? Yes, I know I said I wanted to stop running, but before the debacle at the bank and my near-death experience with Mimi, I’d had a modicum of hope. All that had changed with the police hot on my tail… How long would the authorities watch for me? Dammit, they had facial recognition cameras everywhere at the airports, and they wouldn’t be fooled by contacts or a new hairstyle if I flew commercial. Would Emmy let me borrow the jet again? Even now, my debt to that woman was so high I’d never pay it off.

  A soft knock interrupted my pity fest, and I swallowed down a sniffle before I answered.

  “What?”

  “Can I come in?” Russell asked.

  “If you must.” Shit, now I sounded like a bitch, and he’d done nothing but help me. “Sorry. Yes, come in.”

  The door opened slowly, as if he didn’t really want to be there, and I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t want to be there either.

  “Sorry you didn’t find the answers you were looking for.”

  “Thanks for trying.”

  He perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed, and I grabbed the jewe
llery as it slid towards him.

  “It was the least I could do.” He picked up Grandma’s engagement ring. “You got this from the bank?”

  I nodded. “It belonged to my grandmother. The value’s more sentimental than anything else, but…”

  Dammit, another tear escaped.

  “Shall I ask Akeem to put it in the hotel’s safe?”

  Should he? It was a nice offer, but how quickly would I be able to get it out again?

  “I think I’d be better off keeping it with me.”

  Russell looked up sharply. “You’re planning to run again?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. What other choice do I have?”

  “Give Leyton a chance. He’s only had the case for a few days.”

  “Michael’s too careful to leave evidence.”

  “Everyone has chinks in their armour. Leyton’s got Michael’s messages as a starting point, plus a team of investigators and that crazy woman on the motorbike.”

  I held up one trembling hand, and a bubble of hysterical laughter leaked out. “I’m still shaking from that.”

  Russell held up his own hand, and it had a definite quake too. “Join the club.”

  “Over and over, I just keep wondering what would have happened if that last set of lights had changed a few seconds earlier. Would I be the one lying in the morgue instead of Shane? I wasn’t even wearing a helmet.”

  Although sometimes, the idea of a silk-lined casket didn’t seem all that bad. At least my worries would be gone.

  “Stop dwelling on it. The lights wouldn’t have changed.”

  “You can’t say that. Luck, that’s all it was. Pure, dumb luck. If Mimi had ridden a tiny bit slower…”

  Russell hesitated, then gave a sort of grimace followed by an apologetic little shrug. “No, it wasn’t luck.”

  Huh? What was he talking about? He glanced out of the door, towards his laptop on the table, and the implications of what he’d said slowly sank in.