by Diane Hester
She held his gaze a moment longer then turned away and waved a hand. ‘Go on, go inside. I’m staying here.’
‘Right.’ At least one of them was thinking straight. He climbed from the car, closed the door and smiled through the window. ‘I’ll be inside in front of the fire in case you need me.’
***
Cursing his hide, Lindsay watched Macklyn walk towards the house. He unlocked the door at the rear of the carport, kicked off his shoes and vanished inside without a backward glance. A light came on beneath the carport and for a second she thought he was coming out again, but the door never opened.
She sat listening to the car’s ticking engine. The last of the warmth from the Prado’s heater had swept from the cab along with Macklyn. It was getting dark, her bones ached with cold, and she could hardly draw breath she was shivering so badly.
With a determined grunt she pushed herself up. The dashboard clock read four-twenty-two. A couple of hours, Mac had said. That wasn’t so long. All she had to do was distract herself.
She started by checking her phone for messages, but gave up replying when she couldn’t hit the keys with her trembling fingers. She sang her favourite aria from Tosca, making up the words she couldn’t remember. She watched water stream from a hole in the gutter above the carport, pistoned her legs till she could feel her feet. Then checked the clock again.
A total of seven minutes had passed.
Stifling a moan, she turned to peer out at the surrounding landscape. By the steep terrain and massive gums she gathered they were still in the Hills. Dark veils of moisture draped the sky. Clouds heavy and glutted with rain dragged swollen bellies across the paddocks and scraped them on distant wooded peaks.
Closer to hand, fog drifted through the trees’ upper canopy. Or was it smoke? Smoke from the fire Mac had just kindled inside the house. A blaze before which he was now comfortably settled, in warm dry clothes, a mug of steaming coffee in hand. She thrust the image out of her mind.
A small white speck flitted past her window. Followed by another. Moths in this weather? It couldn’t be. More white specks swirled into view, several settling to stick on the glass. Perfect glistening pinwheels of white.
It had started to snow.
She hung her head, then climbed from the cab and slammed the door.
Squaring her shoulders, she trudged towards the house. As she neared the back door she noticed a second door on her left, giving access to a large wooden building flanking the carport. A shed or storeroom.
Her spirits lifted. Maybe there was a heater inside. She could go in, dry herself and not have to deal with Macklyn at all.
She tried the door and found it locked. Undaunted, she checked above the sill and under the mat, then started lifting stones along the edge of the carport. Beneath the fourth one she found the key. ‘So much for cop security, Macklyn.’
She unlocked the door and let herself in.
***
Light from the carport threw her shadow ahead of her across a dark wood floor. Silvery twilight from a row of windows illuminated benches of tools, shelves of cans and racks of timber. The smell of sawdust and linseed oil hung in the air. A handyman’s workshop. Lindsay stepped inside and closed the door.
Wary of advertising her presence, she left the lights off as she edged across the room. In the semi darkness the glowing eye of a pot-bellied stove caught her gaze. She rushed forward, squatted down and all but wrapped her arms around it.
The fire inside had burned to embers but was still revivable. She opened the damper and threw in a couple of chunks from the wood box. The pieces caught, the fire flared and the room was bathed in a golden aura.
Blessed warmth began seeping into her hands and face but couldn’t penetrate her wet clothes. She stood up, peeled off her jumper and spread it over a nearby saw horse, then turned her back to the stove to warm it.
Firelight flickered up the legs of a large table in the centre of the room. By the wood’s ruddy glow it almost seemed to be on fire itself. She leaned closer and saw the answer. Red gum. The entire piece was made of it—solid turned legs supporting a massive rough-sided slab.
She stepped forward and ran her hand over the glass-smooth finish of the table’s surface. Exquisite. And obviously handmade. As were the other pieces she now began noticing around the room—a small writing desk, a chest of drawers, a set of chairs to match the table. All made of the same timber and fashioned with the same artistic craftsmanship.
Lindsay turned and went back to the stove. All right, so this wasn’t your average backyard work shed. And Macklyn was more than a humble carpenter. What was any of that to her?
She settled down to sit cross-legged on the floor before the fire. At once memories of the afternoon engulfed her. Her dad’s smile. Her mother’s laugh. Baby Michele, the niece she’d never seen before. Even Pam’s face swam before her, if softened by a wishful imagination.
Lindsay fought the tightening in her throat. She should never have allowed herself to hope, never have dreamed that things could change. For years she’d believed she was content on her own. All that day’s undertaking had done was prove to her she’d been kidding herself.
Her shudders returned, this time in tandem with silent tears. But as her despair deepened, a sudden awareness cut through her pain.
Someone else was in the room.
Before she could rise or even turn, she felt a blanket drape her shoulders. Macklyn crouched down and set a cup of coffee on the floor beside her, his body close. ‘Your parents were never ashamed of you, Lindsay,’ he breathed in her ear.
The words took her completely off guard. She fought their effect. ‘How would you know?’
‘Because I saw how they looked at you today; how they hugged you. That wasn’t disappointment. That was love.’
The sob nearly broke from her throat. ‘Damn it, Macklyn, you don’t know anything about—’
She shouldn’t have turned. The look in his eyes shook her almost as much as what he’d said. A look that held much more than compassion.
She swivelled towards him, letting her gaze stray from his face to his throat, his shoulders and back again. The scar on his lip was a silver line. She reached up and trailed a fingertip over it, heard his breath catch in reaction.
Leaning into the heat of his body, she brushed her lips along the same trail. The just-showered scent of him rose in her head as she kissed across his stubbled jaw to the pulse in his throat.
‘Lindsay, I—’
With a boldness she never dreamed she possessed, she stopped his protest with her mouth.
The kiss spun out, drawing her into a storm of sensation, releasing a need she’d denied for years. When she felt him starting to ease away, she took his arm, slid her hand up to cup his cheek. On top of everything else she’d lost today she could not lose this.
Only when she knew the choice was hers did she break their embrace, the blanket sliding from her shoulders as she pulled off her shirt and dropped it aside.
She lay back, feeling the thick polar fleece against her bare flesh. ‘I’m cold, Macklyn. Make me warm.’
His gaze swept over her, as much a caress as any physical touch. Tension in the muscles of his neck and jaw were testament to his deepening struggle.
She took his hand and placed it on her breast, arching into it, chafing her most delicate flesh against the roughness of his palm. Carpenter’s hands. Artist’s hands. Arms corded with a taut power now fully engaged in his fight for control.
At last his fingers closed around her. The battle lost, he stretched out beside her and kissed her face, her eyes, her throat before smothering her mouth with his.
Lindsay worked at the buttons of his shirt. Freeing the last, she slid her hands over his sleek muscled torso and rounded back, all but gasping at the difference in temperature of their skin. God, he was hot!
The sound came from far away at first. Then a bit closer. The nagging vibration penetrated her sensual dream, snapping her back to
sense and reality.
Macklyn groaned and grabbed for the phone in the pocket of his jeans. Rolling aside, he sat up and put it to his ear. ‘Yeah.’ He listened a moment then mumbled his thanks. ‘No, that’s fine. We’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.’
By the time he’d hung up, Lindsay was on her feet getting dressed.
Chapter 26
From the front seat of Macklyn’s Prado, Lindsay stared mutely at the rain-hazed headlights of oncoming cars.
What had she done? Hitting on a police detective who suspected her in a multiple homicide had to be one of the stupidest things— Strike that, was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.
What on god’s sweet earth had possessed her? For four years she’d managed to remain detached from any form of personal relationship. Managed to deny herself the physical pleasures her classmates engaged in with such abandon. In four years she’d hardly dated. Had grown so adept at denying her needs they barely registered anymore.
Well, they sure as hell had registered today. Spontaneous combustion of the physical kind—with years of denial fanning the flames. But to turn that desire on a police officer … She cringed at the thought.
To make matters even more humiliating, he clearly hadn’t wanted any part of what she was offering. She’d thrown herself at him and when he’d tried to decline her advances, she … Oh god.
She straightened in the seat, determined to salvage what pride she could. So she’d stuffed up. She could still show a bit of decorum.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘that shouldn’t have happened.’ No need to explain what she was talking about; surely he’d know.
Macklyn stared straight ahead at the road. Hadn’t he heard her?
‘I don’t normally do things like that,’ she said a bit louder.
‘Sorry.’ He turned to her. ‘You say something?’
She gritted her teeth. Could it get any worse? Not only had he not been interested, he’d already dismissed the matter from mind.
‘I said I’m sorry for what happened back at your place. I’ve never done anything like that before.’
‘Never?’
She seemed to have his attention now. Was that a smile she could hear in his voice? ‘What I mean is, I … Well, I’ve never actually taken the initiative like that.’
‘Understandable.’
She let out a laugh. ‘Happens to you all the time, does it? You’re just so irresistible to women, they can’t help themselves when they’re around you?’
‘I meant that after the day you’ve had, and being in somewhat of a fragile state, you may have needed to reach out to someone. Or maybe just a simple distraction.’
A distraction. Of course, that’s all it had been. She could live with that. Still, it seemed rather self-effacing of him to take no credit for inciting her advances. Her mocking assessment had been a damn sight closer to the truth than she’d care to admit. But for now it was safer if he believed his version.
She opened her mouth to reply and stopped. As the car took a bend, hugging the mountainside, the city lights came into view below them. ‘Taking another detour, are we? This isn’t the way back to my car.’
‘We’re not going to your car. I’ll arrange for someone to pick it up and drive it down to you. We’re heading back to town.’
‘Why? I thought we were picking it up. Wasn’t that the RAA that just called?’
‘It was Sam. From your apartment building.’
An icy shiver swept through her body. ‘What’s wrong, what happened?’
He shot her a quick assessing look, as though wondering how much more she could take.
‘Tell me. Please.’
His reluctance only heightened her fears. ‘Everyone’s okay but …’ He turned to look at her. ‘Someone broke into your flat and trashed it.’
***
Lindsay hurried along the second-floor corridor. Every door seemed to be open. Women stood in clusters every few metres, moving apart to let her pass. She barely heard their murmured sympathies.
Around the corner she found her own narrower hallway just as crowded. Uniformed officers made up the bulk of the milling mass and she stifled a shudder as she pushed her way through them. Past a woman carrying an assortment of plastic bags, she spotted Shaunwyn slumped on the couch at the end of the passage, a broad plain-clothed figure seated beside her.
Lindsay rushed towards them, casting only a cursory glance into her flat as she passed it. Shaunwyn looked up and rose to greet her with a silent embrace.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Sam Gifford said as he moved away from them.
Lindsay watched him retreat up the hall and greet Macklyn, who’d been trailing behind her, then disappear with him into their flat. She pulled Shaunwyn back down onto the couch. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah. Haven’t had this much male attention since I got my foot stuck in the dunny door.’
Despite the brave words, Lindsay could see her friend was struggling. ‘So what happened? How bad is it? Do they know who did it?’
‘I came back around four o’clock and found the place rearranged. Some stuff’s broken—mostly mine—but some of yours as well. Sorry about that.’
‘Not your fault.’
‘The worst of it is, they got Boswell. Slit his little pink belly right up the middle. Gutted like a fish, stuffing everywhere.’
Lindsay had to think a moment about what she meant. Boswell the teddy bear. No great loss in a monetary sense but the fact it was her favourite, given to her by her mother, could say a lot about the person responsible. ‘I’m sure we can sew him back together.’
Shaun bowed her head. ‘Actually, that isn’t the worst of it,’ she whispered. ‘Whoever it was did things with my underwear.’
With a shudder of horror, Lindsay wrapped her arms around her. They sat for a moment in silent communion then Macklyn and Sam emerged from their flat and came to join them.
‘Shaunwyn, the officer we sent to Jason’s place just called in,’ Mac informed her. ‘Jason’s not there. In fact it looks like he’s packed up his gear and may have left altogether.’
Shaunwyn nodded. ‘He said he was thinking of dropping out.’
Lindsay gaped at her. ‘You think Jason Lars did this?’
‘I don’t want to, believe me, but he’s just been getting worse and worse. When I stopped replying to his texts he started leaving me threatening messages.’
‘My god, since when? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Hey, you had enough on your mind.’
Rather than argue, Lindsay looked to the two policemen. ‘If some of my things were broken as well how can you be sure it was Jason? I mean, why would Jason come after me?’
‘He may have been jealous of your friendship with Shaunwyn,’ Sam replied. ‘Or he might simply have been in a rage and destroyed whatever he could lay his hands on. But the fact that he destroyed intimate apparel belonging only to Ms Bishop suggests the attack was directed at her.’
Lindsay nodded and squeezed Shaunwyn’s hand. ‘So what happens now?’
‘We’ve lifted some pretty clear prints and will check them against ones from Jason’s flat.’ Mac hesitated. ‘I don’t want to alarm you but I think you should know … We’ll also check them against a partial we recovered from Bethany Willas’s clothes.’
Shaunwyn frowned. ‘Bethany Willas.’ All the colour drained from her face. ‘You think Jason’s the uni strangler.’
‘Given the nature of this offence and the objects he chose to violate …’ Sam exhaled. ‘It’s a possibility, yes.’
Gripping Lindsay’s hand, Shaunwyn swallowed hard several times. ‘I think I’m going to disgrace myself.’
Lindsay quickly helped her to her feet and rushed her down the hall to the toilet.
***
Slumped on the couch in Lindsay’s lounge room, Mac stared vacantly across the now cleaned and tidied apartment. He didn’t want to look at the time. It was bloody late, he knew that much. He sho
uld’ve been out of here hours ago, along with the rest of the crime-scene team. But Lindsay had seemed to need the support and so he had stayed. In a purely professional capacity of course.
She emerged from the hallway opposite, crossed the floor and dropped down beside him. ‘Shaun’s finally asleep. Taking it pretty hard, poor kid, but I think she’ll bounce back.’
‘How are you coping?’
Rubbing her eyes, she shook her head. ‘I should have known. She told me Jason was calling a lot, leaving her messages. I should’ve suspected something like this.’
‘You think if you had, it would have prevented what happened?’
‘Hell, I don’t know.’
‘Well, I do—it wouldn’t have, so give yourself a break, all right?’
They sat in companionable silence a moment then she straightened beside him. ‘Mac, about what happened at your place … I don’t want you to think I was trying to sway you in any way, influence you about me and the case.’
He nodded, noting the way her jumper had slipped off one slender shoulder, exposing a swatch of flawless, almost luminous skin. Skin he’d caressed only hours ago. The feel of her still itched in his palm.
He had to admit the thought of what she was saying had briefly crossed his mind. Briefly because he didn’t want to consider it could be true. It wouldn’t be the first time a suspect had used sex to divert an investigator’s attention. It would take more than that to compromise his views, of course. But in Lindsay’s case, possibly not a hell of a lot more.
‘So what were you trying to do?’ he whispered.
‘All I’m saying is, there was no hidden agenda. It was just … I don’t know, a moment of weakness. Temporary insanity. Take your pick.’
He let his gaze linger over her lips. He could swear he still tasted them on his own. They were both exhausted, their defences down, judgement surely not at its peak. A time when dangerous things could happen. Things that they both might regret. And still he couldn’t move from the spot.