by Elise Noble
Duke916: You a poet now?
SurfsUp: *********************
Bossman: Smokey’s already out, and the rest are running low. Don’t be a wuss.
SurfsUp: *********************
Bossman: We’re providing a service, and the customer’s fucking king. Tell Froggy it’s on.
The address. We had the address!
“Nabarra Street?” I’d been expecting something seedier. A warehouse or a bar, maybe, not a building on a residential street in one of the city’s nicer neighbourhoods. “That’s a good area.”
“It’s a house,” Russell said, already zooming in on a satellite map.
This was no crack den, or a drug lord’s mansion either. Number thirty-nine was a boxy detached home with an SUV parked on the driveway and a small swimming pool in the backyard.
“Looks kind of average.”
“I’ll try to find out who owns it. We should wake Leyton.”
Despite the breakthrough, he was snoring softly on the sun lounger, one arm trailing on the ground. His coffee sat untouched on the table next to him. Who knew salsa-dancing seniors could tire a man out like that?
“I’ll do it.”
Leyton reported the news to Blackwood, then promptly closed his eyes again. Three breaths later, he was snoring, and I shifted one of the big umbrellas so he was in the shade. The last thing we needed was a lead investigator with a bad case of sunburn.
Now what? In the old days, I’d have taken a drive to Nabarra Street and had a look around. Talked to the neighbours. Watched the place to see who came and went. But in my new life, that was all out of my hands, and the frustration at being completely helpless made me want to scream.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked Russell.
“Nope.” He didn’t even look up. “All in hand.”
I tried yoga, but I couldn’t focus. Tai had messaged me last night to see how I was, and since it was late evening in Virginia and I didn’t want to distract her from doing who knew what with Ren, I typed out a reply telling her everything was going as well as expected.
Which was to say, badly.
I couldn’t take another day on the sofa, so I walked down to the beach, stripping off clothing as I went. Years had passed since I swam in the ocean, and I’d missed the feel of the saltwater lapping at my feet. As I waded in deeper, the blue called to me, and it was tempting to float out to sea and never return. But then he’d win, I reminded myself. Michael would win.
I started swimming instead.
Every limb ached as I staggered up the path from the beach. My legs felt like lead, my arms like silly string. I’d swum for over an hour along the coast, stopping halfway to float on my back and stare up at the sky while I enjoyed a few moments of peace. Of freedom. How much longer would it last?
A forty-something woman walking in the opposite direction gave me a dirty look and tugged her husband out of my way. What? Did she think exhaustion was contagious? Since she’d chosen to wear make-up to the beach, exercise was probably a foreign concept to her. What did she do to keep her figure? Rely on gourmet salads, fancy massages, and the occasional nip and tuck? Her snooty attitude was yet another reminder of how out-of-place I felt. The Black Diamond Resort wasn’t my world. I was more of a hostel-and-a-barbie kind of girl. People paid thousands of dollars to stay at the Black Diamond, but I’d have given my soul to be back in my old apartment, working at my old job, with Michael nothing but a nasty dream that vanished when the sun rose.
I’d reached the edge of the terrace when a shout jarred me out of my thoughts. I couldn’t make out the words, but I recognised the voice. Russell. My feet broke into a run before I’d had time to fully process things.
Leyton was only halfway off the sun lounger when I bolted past.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I skidded into the villa.
Russell had sounded upset, but he didn’t look upset. His brown eyes gleamed, and he picked me up and swung me around in one smooth move, grinning.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’ve found him!”
“Found who?”
“Froggy.”
Russell still had a hold of me, and there was a moment of awkwardness when he realised that and loosened his grip. I slithered down his body, soaking him in the process since I hadn’t taken a towel to the beach with me. His damp shirt clung to his body, outlining muscles that he sure didn’t get from computer programming.
“Sorry,” we both said in unison.
But neither of us let go entirely. No, we stood there, frozen, my hands gripping his biceps and his arms around my waist, and a flash of heat travelled south.
What was wrong with me? I couldn’t have feelings for any man, let alone Russell. My world was quicksand, and if he got too close, he’d get sucked into the mire as well. Right now, he was helping me, and I couldn’t afford to jeopardise that by letting my stupid heart run wild.
I needed him, but not in that way. I needed his calmness under pressure and his bravery when the chips were down. If he hadn’t kept his head and reacted the way he did during that motorcycle chase, it would have been me lying cold in the morgue and not Shane. And Russell was easy to be around. Not pushy the way Michael had always been—there was no “my way or the highway.” Russell gave me space. Sometimes too much space, but that was better than none at all. We’d only been sharing the villa for a few days, but I’d grown to appreciate his company, and I hoped he felt the same.
Except the way he was looking at me…
“Sorry to interrupt your moment,” Leyton said. “But did you say you’d found Froggy?”
Russell’s arms dropped away, and the moment was lost.
“Uh, yes. I’m ninety-nine percent certain. The last of the pieces of the puzzle just slotted into place.”
“So who is he?”
“Francis Mulhearn, also known as Dr. Feelgood.”
“Mulhearn?” I said. “I’d half expected him to be French.”
An ethnic slur from Michael wouldn’t have surprised me in the slightest, not after everything else he’d done.
“No, he’s Australian. A Sydney native. His great-grandfather moved here from Ireland at the beginning of the last century. A priest, as was Francis’s father and his grandfather before him. Francis is the first of the Mulhearns to diversify away from the family business.”
“How on earth did you find that out? Hacking?”
“No, it’s all on his website. Once I worked out who he was, it was easy to fill in the gaps.”
Russell took a seat again and clicked a couple of keys. A picture of a man appeared, brown hair, weak chin, nondescript apart from his protruding eyes. He looked like someone had grabbed him around the throat and squeezed. Frog eyes, which explained the nickname. In the background, a small plane gleamed in the sun. Fly with Francis, the banner at the top of the page read.
“Is the plane his?”
Russell nodded. “He offers sightseeing tours and private charters.”
“I don’t understand—how is he connected to Michael? And why’s he called Dr. Feelgood?”
“Because he sells drugs. Coke mainly, but he can get anything for a price. His store’s called Dr. Feelgood’s Emporium, and it’s basically an A to Z of illegal substances. Payment’s in Bitcoin or a dozen other cryptocurrencies.”
Holy fuck. I felt sick. Leyton grabbed a chair and shoved it under my ass right before my legs gave way. Drugs. When I suggested the idea yesterday, I hadn’t truly believed it myself, but now… Drugs? Michael wasn’t just a cop, he ran the anti-drugs freaking task force, a role that put him in the perfect position to cover up his own crimes as well as other people’s. But how did it all fit together?
“He has a store?” Leyton asked.
“On the dark web.”
“The internet? But how do people get the stuff? Surely he can’t mail it out like Amazon?”
“Nope. It gets delivered by couriers, like an illegal version of Just Eat. And if Michael Brenner’s picking up
goods from Mulhearn, I’ll wager he’s involved in the Brisbane network somehow.”
Leyton was wide awake now, his eyes gleaming. “Fuck. If what you say is true, this is far bigger than three rogue cops.”
“Yes, it is.”
“What now?” I asked. “What do we do now? I mean, we’ve got to tell Superintendent Clarke, haven’t we?”
The two men both stared at me, but Leyton was the first to laugh. “No, Ky, we do not tell Superintendent Clarke. Mimi’s been asking around, and the last time someone shopped one of his people, he trod softly-softly because ‘a man has to be allowed to defend himself.’ Clarke gave the guy enough of a heads-up that he was able to bury the evidence.”
“What did the guy do?”
“Accepted freebies from hookers. By the time the Internal Investigations Group got involved, the cop in question had talked to all the women and got them to swear they’d been on bona fide dates.”
I didn’t need to be a genius to work out the implications of that. Task Force Titan was the jewel in the crown of the Tactical Crime Squad, Michael its most decorated officer. Losing him, especially to a scandal, would not reflect well on Superintendent Clarke. I felt as if I was drowning. Drowning in my own blood because how the hell was this ever going to end well?
“What alternatives are there?” Russell asked. “He can’t get away with this, surely?”
Leyton shook his head. “He won’t, but I need to have a think about this and talk to some people. Can you send me whatever evidence you’ve collected?”
“On the condition that you don’t tell anyone where it came from.”
“That’s a given. Where’s the coffee?” Leyton spied a mug on the table, picked it up, and made a face as he drank the contents cold. “I need to get back to the office. Look after Ky, okay?”
“I don’t need to be reminded to do that.”
Why did my heart skip a beat at his words?
CHAPTER 10 - KYLIE
I EXPECTED RUSSELL to settle in behind his laptops again, but he surprised me by closing the lids. All of them. Clack. Clack. Clack.
“So, what do you want to do this afternoon?” he asked.
“Huh? Don’t you have to work?”
“I think I’ve done as much as I can on your case for now. We know who Michael’s planning to meet, and we know where. The next step is in Blackwood’s hands. Leyton’ll call if he needs me for anything else.”
“What about your regular job?”
“Don’t tempt me. For the first time in my life, I’ve tried delegating, and I’m already getting twitchy.” He took a step closer. “And I’ve been neglecting you. Six days, we’ve been here, and we’ve barely spoken.”
“Just like a real married couple,” I kidded.
“Kylie… Let’s do something fun today.”
“Like what? I can’t go out anywhere.”
“We’ll be fine if we’re careful. Everyone’s looking for a blonde woman skulking around on her own, not a brunette on a date with her husband. You don’t even look like the pictures on TV, and we’ve got rings and everything.”
Should I risk it? I was going stir crazy in the villa, and who knew how much longer I’d be free? The clock was ticking in the back of my mind, counting down to the moment when I’d either get caught or have to run again. Just for one day, couldn’t I pretend to be normal?
“What do you suggest?”
“Where’s that brochure?”
“What brochure?”
“The hotel guide with the activities in it.” He headed for the desk on the other side of the living room. The bottom two drawers of the pedestal were locked—I’d checked them right after we arrived—but the top one contained an assortment of guide books. “Here it is. How about going to the spa? They do some sort of couples thing. Uh, what’s an Oxygenerio facial?”
“I have no idea, but I don’t want people looking at my face.”
“A boat trip? Do you know how to sail?”
“Nuh-uh. You?”
“Yes, but on second thoughts…” He glanced outside. “There’s not much wind.”
“We could go snorkelling?”
Russell shuddered. “What about sharks?”
“They’re rare. I swam for an hour this morning, and I’m still alive.”
“You swam in the ocean? I thought you went to the pool.”
“I love swimming in the ocean.”
I loved to scuba dive too, and once you’d seen what was under the water, it wasn’t so scary anymore. Every few months, when we’d saved up enough money and had a few days off, Chloe and I would pile into her old Holden and head up the coast to Rockhampton, taking it in turns to drive. Just us, our bathers and towels, and the old battery-powered radio that sat in the passenger footwell because the car stereo was broken. Life had been so much simpler back then.
“How about golf?” Russell suggested. “They’ve got an eighteen-hole course.”
“Golf? That’s just for old rich posh people.”
He did that looking-over-his-glasses thing again, and I swallowed down a groan.
“Uh, you play golf, don’t you?”
“At school, I was captain of the golf team.”
“Your school had a golf team?”
“We did. We got the choice of either golf or rugby, and I figured there was less chance of breaking my nose playing golf.”
“I’m sorry I said you were old and posh and rich.”
“Well, I guess I’m two out of the three. So, what do you say? Golf?”
“I don’t know the first thing about it.”
“I can teach you.”
“What about clubs? Balls?”
“I’m sure Akeem can help out there.”
Of course Akeem could. Half an hour later, I found myself standing beside Russell at the first hole, dressed in a polo shirt, smart cropped trousers, spiked shoes, and a sun visor. What had Akeem done? Raided the club shop? Russell had suitable clothes of his own, and he insisted on carrying our bag of borrowed clubs too.
“Can’t we rent one of those buggy things?”
“That’s cheating. Golf’s good exercise if you carry the bag, and goodness knows, I need it with the amount of time I spend sitting at my computer.”
“You don’t look like a desk jockey.”
“Five years ago, I did. I was three stone overweight and living on junk food when the button popped off the last pair of trousers I owned that still did up, and I decided I’d had enough.”
“No way. You were overweight? But you’re so hot.” Oh shit! Think before you open your big, stupid mouth, Kylie. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Totally inappropriate.”
Russell turned away to rummage through the bag of golf clubs. He selected one, drew it out, and straightened.
“Your honesty’s refreshing, Mrs. Watson.” Was that a hint of a smile? “Let’s start with a 3-wood for this hole.”
Before I could sink into the ground, we were interrupted by a grey-haired couple. The woman looked me up and down then glared at her husband when he did the same.
“Are you about to tee off?” he asked.
“Why don’t you go first?” Russell said, wrapping one arm around my waist. “We’re in no hurry, are we, darling?”
Darling? Oh, right, that was me. “No, you go ahead.”
“That’s mighty kind of you. Are you here on your honeymoon?”
I stiffened, but Russell just smiled. Despite the years I’d spent faking everything from undercover drug buys to orgasms to my entire life, Russell was clearly the professional in this situation. Why was I so off-balance? It was the lack of practice, right? The month off in Virginia? Nothing whatsoever to do with the man standing beside me, no way.
“We’ve been married for four years now.” He drew me closer, kissed my hair. “But when you meet the right person, every day’s a honeymoon, isn’t it?”
“Gerald, will you hurry up?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the man muttered under his
breath. “Coming, sweetheart.”
The couple each gave their balls a hard thwack, then ambled off after them. Two caddies trailed behind, carrying their bags, and once again, I was reminded of how the other half lived.
“So what do I do?” I asked Russell. “I’ve only ever played minigolf before, and even then I missed every time.”
Russell explained how to set up the ball on the tee, how to hold the club, and how to drive the ball far into the distance. At least, I thought he did. I kept getting distracted by that ass in those fancy trousers, which meant I missed most of what he said.
Finally, it was my turn. I lined up the ball, grabbed the club, and swung it as hard as I could. A bloody great lump of grass flew up into the air and landed at Russell’s feet. The ball stayed exactly where I’d placed it.
“Ah, shit.”
Russell tried and failed to keep a straight face. “I think there are some small improvements to be made. Do you mind?”
“Mind what?”
Gently, hesitantly, he moved my hands closer together on the club. Adjusted my feet. Straightened my body and lined me up next to the ball. Little shivers ran through me everywhere he touched, which was dumb because he was basically acting as a freaking golf instructor. Had deprivation of human company sent me that crazy?
“There, now try.”
Thwack. “Yee-hah! I did it! Uh, where did it go?”
Russell had his hand above his eyes to block the sun as he peered into the distance. “You probably don’t want to know. Why don’t you try another one? I won’t tell.”
Six attempts later, I managed to get a ball to stay on the green stuff as opposed to vanishing into the trees.
“Good. Off we go.”
Russell held out a hand, and I looked around to see who was watching. The older couple had long-since disappeared, but a group was heading our way from the clubhouse. Well spotted. I slipped my hand into his.
“Do you play golf often?” I asked as we walked.
“Once a week, usually. I took a break for a couple of years after school, and that was when the middle-aged spread started early. Now I’m more strict with myself—no more than three hours straight in the chair on a normal day, and then I have to take a break. For a while, I had a personal trainer, but then I installed a home gym, and I use that at least five times a week.”