by Jaye Ford
What the hell was he doing?
He was scavenging food, that much was clear. And with the amount he’d taken out of the fridge and the equipment he’d tossed on the bench, he and Kane were obviously planning to stuff their faces. Were they here for food? She shook her head. No, it wasn’t what he was doing but what he wasn’t doing.
He wasn’t raping and killing Jodie and her friends. At least not at the moment. And neither was Kane, wherever he was. And from her experience, raping and killing didn’t require a full stomach.
What had Travis said to Kane when he told him to go outside? We do them after. After what?
Jodie jumped as something heavy clattered on the gas hob. Travis swore loudly and suddenly he was looming over them again.
‘Get up.’ He waved his gun around and the anger Jodie had felt was snuffed out by fear. ‘I said get up. You’re cooking our dinner after all.’
‘Piss off. I’m not cooking anything for you,’ Louise shouted.
‘Not you, you loudmouthed bitch. You.’ He pointed the gun at Jodie. ‘The tough bitch can do it. Get up. All of you. Move.’
Hannah and Corrine scrabbled about, trying to get up. Jodie pulled her legs underneath her, wincing as she put weight on her shin. Travis yanked roughly at the cord binding her to Corrine, kept the gun in his hand as he untied them. He freed her from Hannah the same way, then held out the rope.
‘Tie her hands together,’ he told Hannah.
She glanced fearfully at Jodie.
Travis lifted the gun, pressed its muzzle to Hannah’s temple. ‘Do it.’
Hannah’s body stiffened. She gasped, closed her eyes as though she was waiting for him to pull the trigger. He didn’t, he just prodded her with the muzzle of the gun, jolted her head sideways, forced the cord into her hand. She took it, looked at Jodie through tears.
‘It’s okay,’ Jodie said. It wasn’t, she was terrified, her whole body quaking in fear, but she put her wrists together, raised them towards Hannah, saw one palm was smeared with blood from the cut under her thumb.
Hannah tied the rope with trembling fingers, her head tipped slightly to one side from the pressure of the gun at her temple.
When she was finished, Travis pushed her with it. ‘You three. Back on the floor. Try to get up and I shoot someone. And I don’t care who. Got it?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, just hauled Jodie away from them, shoved her into the kitchen. ‘You, over there and cook.’
She looked back at her friends. She’d been released from their circle but she was still bound to them. Whatever happened.
‘Do it!’
Jodie glanced at Travis. He had his back to the island bench, the gun trained on her. She turned to the back wall of the kitchen, saw a frypan on the unlit jets of the stove, a carton of eggs and a plate of bacon beside it. She walked on unsteady legs, lifted the pan with her bound hands. It was top-quality cast iron, not the sort of make-do equipment you expected to find in a holiday house. She felt the weight in its thick base, tightened her hands around the solid grip. It would make a perfect steak – and it could do some serious damage to a person’s head.
‘Cook, for fuck’s sake!’
She looked at him again. The gun was angled down this time, aimed at the others out of her sight now. Oh Jesus, a frypan was no match for a gun.
Sweat gathered on her forehead as she turned away from him. She fumbled the automatic ignition with both hands, lit the jet, dropped in the bacon then scanned the bench for a tool to cook with. In the corner, out of reach, was a knife block. It had slots for three blades. Two were missing, probably in the dishwasher, but the stainless-steel handle of the smallest one shone under the halogen lights.
A paring knife could cut through her bindings, could hurt Travis.
Something cold and hard touched the base of her skull. His voice was a whisper in her ear. ‘What are you waiting for?’
‘I need a … a tool. A spatula. To cook the food.’
‘Then find one.’
Her eyes flicked to the knife block. Could she do it? Could she even get to it? When she was shaking like a leaf, with a gun to her head? She’d have to move all the way along the bench just to reach it. Then what? Slash at him before he shot her. Or one of her friends. There was no chance. Not while the others were tied together. Not when Kane was somewhere outside.
She pulled open drawers beside the stove, found tea towels, placemats, a can-opener, a whisk. Nothing that would protect anyone. As Travis paced the kitchen behind her, she pulled out tongs, used both hands to push the bacon around, break in the eggs.
Then suddenly he was shoving her. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
She winced, waited for a blow.
‘You’re getting blood in it,’ he yelled.
She looked down, saw blood from the cut on her palm had dripped onto the white of the eggs. She snatched her hands away, knocked the pan, made it clatter across the cooktop. Hot bacon fat splattered her arm and as she cried out, Travis crowded in behind her, pushed the gun into her skull again.
‘Do it properly!’
She heard Louise’s voice loud and angry. ‘She can’t do it with a gun to her head.’
‘Shut up!’ he yelled, then leaned in harder on the gun. ‘Do it properly!’
‘She can’t like that,’ Lou shouted.
‘Shut up!’
‘You bastard!’
Jodie closed her eyes, felt Travis’s breath hot in her hair. Christ, Lou, be quiet.
A beat passed. The bacon sizzled.
Then the back door slid open.
Kane’s voice cut through the tense silence. ‘No can do, man.’
The gun fell away from Jodie’s head as Travis turned around. She scuttled out from behind him, saw Lou, Hannah and Corrine had slid along the floor to the island bench, had no chance to meet their eyes before Kane pushed through the curtain across the doorway. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows and the buttons of his flannel shirt were undone to below his chest, a blue wife-beater underneath. He stopped when he saw her in the kitchen, glared at Travis.
‘What the fuck’s going on?’
‘I put them to work,’ Travis said. ‘She’s cooking our dinner like a nice little housewife.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
They both laughed, like it was an added bonus.
‘So shut the loudmouth up.’ Travis cocked his head at the women on the floor. ‘Give the tough bitch something to think about while she does a proper job, hey?’
Jodie’s stomach tightened at the grin on Kane’s face as he turned his eyes on her friends. He was the scary one. Travis had done the hitting and the gun pointing and she had no doubt he’d use it on any one of them but Kane had a craziness about him, as though he was just waiting for the go-ahead to lose control. Scarier still was that Travis seemed to be the one who kept him in check – and he’d gulped down straight bourbon, was pissed off and had some kind of agenda that didn’t include protecting her and her friends from Kane.
She watched as Kane stalked to her friends, grinned at them one by one then homed in on Lou.
21
‘Try anything and I’ll break her neck,’ Kane said. His arm was wrapped around Louise’s throat.
Jodie saw the way he held her – pushed down under his armpit, his other hand at the back of her head – and knew it wasn’t guesswork. He hadn’t watched a few movies and copied the bad guys. Kane knew how to break a person’s neck.
She pulled her eyes down, looked at Lou. Her mop of hair was wild, her face streaked with dried tears, her mouth was pressed closed and she was breathing hard through her nose. She raised her eyes to Jodie’s and they were filled with tears.
The sight of them drove Jodie into action. She found a cloth napkin in a drawer, wrapped it around her bleeding hand, got back to the frypan, pried the food from its base. When it was done, she spoke tersely. ‘It’s ready.’
‘Well then, tough bitch, bring it over,’ Travis said.
Oh, Christ, was it ‘after’? Wer
e they going to make them watch while they ate or were they going to shoot them all in the head as an appetiser? She wanted to be sick. She wanted to drop her head and sob but she took a deep breath and hoisted the frypan off the stove. She walked across the kitchen, stood at the island bench opposite Travis, put the pan down in front of him and turned to Lou.
Up close, she was so pale her freckles looked like splats of mud. Kane’s forearm was around her throat and as Jodie’s eyes took in the tattoo on its pale underside, the scars on her stomach tightened in horror. Stretching from the crook of his elbow to his inner wrist was an elaborately drawn, thick-handled, double-bladed knife. It was in full, brilliant colour, a lethal piece of art, and it was flecked in dirt as though he’d been digging in the garden. There was more dirt in Lou’s curls where he’d pushed his fingers into her hair and a smudge of black along her jawline. Jodie could smell the stink of his sweat over the aroma of the bacon and eggs. And Lou, her best friend, Lou, was pushed into his reeking armpit.
The spark of a new, stronger flame flared inside her.
She tightened her fist around the handle of the frypan, thought about the kind of damage a hot, cast-iron pan could do to a man’s face. Could she? If she kept her wits about her, if she stayed alert, if she didn’t let fear rule her, yes, she could do it for Lou.
Jodie looked up as a band of light moved across the lounge room.
Car headlights.
‘Fuck! Someone’s here,’ Travis said and his aggression seemed to shrink just a little.
Kane let go of Lou, moved quickly to the curtained front windows.
Travis kept the gun aimed at Jodie as he backed into the room. ‘Who’s here?’ His voice was low, agitated. ‘Who is it?’
No one spoke.
‘Tough bitch. Who the fuck is it?’
‘I don’t know.’ She watched the light move across the curtains and felt her heart rate pick up. It was a double-edged sword. Whoever was out there could help – or get dragged into the nightmare.
Kane opened up a gap in the curtains, pulled his face back fast. ‘Shit! Shit. It’s Matt Wiseman’s car.’
Jodie’s mouth dropped open. Matt Wiseman?
‘The fucking cops are here,’ Kane hissed across the room.
Travis swung his head to the window, took a couple of edgy, furtive steps then stopped, narrowed his eyes at Jodie. ‘No, it’s not the cops.’
Kane shouted, ‘Trav, it’s the cops.’
‘It’s not the cops, bro,’ he said calmly. ‘Wiseman’s not a cop anymore, is he, tough bitch? He’s a grunt at his old man’s service station.’ He raised the barrel of the gun, pointed it at Jodie’s head. When he spoke again, his voice was hard and flat. ‘What the fuck is Matt Wiseman doing here?’
‘I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.’
On the floor, her friends turned fearful faces to her. Outside, the car scrunched to a halt on the gravel parking pad.
Travis took a step closer, tightened his hand on the gun. ‘He’s been sniffing around you like you’re a bitch on heat. What the fuck’s going on?’ Then, as though an idea had dawned, he smiled slowly. ‘Oh yeah, I get it. Hey, Kane, I think the loser cop wants to fuck the tough bitch.’
Kane sneered. ‘Oh man, Wiseman wants a piece of her.’
‘What’s your missing husband gonna think of that, bitch? Maybe he doesn’t give a shit ’cause he’s fucking some other slut while you’re up here.’
A car door opened.
‘Maybe Wiseman already fucked her. Is that why you pissed off with him this afternoon? Did you screw him for the car?’
Jodie said nothing as a hot flush burned her cheeks. She remembered Matt smiling at her in the driveway of the service station and felt dirty for the way it’d made her feel. Had Travis seen them? How long had he been watching them?
‘Is he back for more, tough bitch?’ Travis said. ‘Did you promise him some arse tonight?’
Jodie’s eyes flicked to the front window and back. ‘I swear I don’t know why he’s here.’
Kane held out his free hand. ‘Gimme the gun. I’ll get rid of him.’
‘Oh, Jesus, no,’ Jodie cried, holding her bound hands out to him.
Travis said nothing for a second, kept the gun on Jodie, slid his eyes to the door, then to Kane.
‘C’mon, bro! I’ll do him now.’ Kane had an urgent excitement in his voice.
‘No. We’re not doing a cop. Even an ex-cop.’ His eyes moved back to Jodie. ‘She can get rid of him.’
A car door slammed shut.
‘Get the rope off her,’ Travis ordered.
As Kane hauled on her hands, the crazy look on his face made fear pulse in her veins. When she was free, she ducked away from him, dropped to the floor and hugged the first friend she could get to.
It was Lou and she whispered in Jodie’s ear. ‘If you get a chance, run.’
Then Travis was grabbing Jodie’s arm, hauling her up and across the room. His hand was a vice on her upper arm, the muzzle of the gun a prod in the small of her back.
At the front door, he pulled her close, spoke into her ear. ‘Get rid of him. Try anything stupid and I’ll kill him and I’ll kill your friends then I’ll let my brother finish you off. Got it?’
They were brothers.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel.
Oh, God, Matt. Why are you here?
Travis flattened himself against the wall behind the door. ‘I’ll be watching you. Stay where I can see you or I’ll put a bullet in him. Got it?’
Jodie’s heart pounded and her lungs forgot how to breathe. She could see Matt’s face in her mind. Mussed hair, wary eyes, casual and alert. He was a nice guy, probably taking up Corrine’s offer for a drink. She didn’t want to get him killed.
A footstep sounded on the timber stair.
‘Tell him anything,’ Travis whispered, ‘and your friends are dead. And it’ll be your fault. Got it?’
Jodie looked at him then over her shoulder at Louise and Hannah and Corrine tied together on the floor. Lou was bent forward now, her face on the timber, Kane’s workboot on the back of her neck.
Louise and Hannah and Corrine were her best friends. And Matt Wiseman was a cop.
Travis pulled the door open a crack. ‘Get rid of him. Fast.’
Try not to look desperate, Matt told himself. If it looks like she thinks you’re a try-hard for driving all the way out here, then leave. Do your good deed and wave goodbye. It would be a lot better if she laughed and asked him inside, though.
He stepped onto the verandah, the sound of his boot on the timber reverberating through the deck. It was quiet out here. Strangely quiet for a house full of women on a weekend holiday.
The door opened before he got to it. Just a fraction then a moment later, like a second thought, it was pulled wide and Jodie stood in the doorway. Her arms were folded across her chest and the expression on her face was grim. As though he was the last person in the world she wanted to see.
Okay, not exactly the reception he’d hoped for. Do your deed and get lost. But be nice about it. She might change her mind.
‘Hey, Jodie.’ He smiled.
The one she sent back looked like an effort. ‘Hey, Matt. What are you doing here?’
He laughed to himself. You idiot. There would be no anything. He pushed his hands into his pockets, felt for the phone and took a couple of steps closer to her. As he moved into the light from the windows, he saw something on her face, a swelling, high on her cheek. He leaned in for a closer look and she backed away. It looked recent. And painful. ‘What happened to your face?’
She pulled a hand from her folded arms and waved his concern away. There was some kind of makeshift bandage around her hand and blood on her fingers. ‘It’s nothing.’
He caught her hand and pulled it closer, palm up. ‘No, it’s not. You’re hurt.’ There was a dark stain on the bandage at the base of her thumb and her hand was freezing. ‘What happened?’
She tugged her fingers
back and tucked them into her other arm. Her eyes flicked to her left. Quickly, like an involuntary movement. ‘No, really, it’s nothing. Just an accident. So silly, really. I dropped a glass of water and slipped over and hit my head on the kitchen bench on the way down. It’s all right, though. Hannah’s a nurse, she fixed it up. A bit of a rough job but we didn’t have a first-aid kit. It’s fine. Really.’ She smiled thinly, avoiding his eyes.
He watched her for a second. The nervous eye flick was a tip-off but the giveaway was in the detail. It was the classic mistake people made when they were lying. They thought if they talked a lot, no one would notice the lie. For someone clearly not in the mood to chat, Jodie just did a lot of talking. Hannah probably was a nurse but Matt guessed the rest of the story was horseshit. The question was: why lie about getting hurt?
‘Why are you here, Matt?’ she asked again, looking past him as though she wished he’d hurry up and leave.
‘I found your phone in the loan car.’ He pulled it from his pocket and held it out to her. ‘I thought I’d drop it in on the way to my brother’s. In case you needed it tonight.’
She used her undamaged hand this time, went to take it then pulled back. Flicked her eyes left. ‘It’s not mine,’ she said. ‘Mine’s silver. With … with a flip top. That’s not mine.’
He frowned. ‘Okay,’ he said, looking to her left. The front door had drifted halfway closed and soft light from inside cast a glow on the deck. Behind her, he could see timber floors, half of a sofa and a fireplace. No girlfriends. ‘Maybe it belongs to one of your friends.’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No, they’ve got their phones. Definitely not one of theirs.’ Her eyes moved left again but it was different this time – a downwards glance that only made it halfway to the door. ‘Yes,’ she said and for the first time since he’d got there she looked him straight in the eye. ‘Yes, we all sat on the deck this afternoon and phoned home.’
So the phone wasn’t theirs. He got the point. ‘Well, I guess that’s it then.’ The point was that he needed to get it through his skull that his instincts were seriously shot to hell. He thought she seemed interested this afternoon. Maybe not so overwhelmed by him in his jeans as he was in hers but enough to flash a real smile and chat for a moment somewhere out of the cold. He’d obviously been way off. ‘Have a good weekend, then. Give me a call if you have any more problems with the car. Otherwise, well, it’s been nice meeting you.’ He held out his hand. May as well be professional about it ’cause there wasn’t anything else happening.