A Place to Stay

by Jennie Jones

  ‘Don’t forget your water, Rachel,’ he said suddenly.

  She turned, placing another smile on her face. ‘Thanks.’ She took the bottle and chanced a look at him. He stared at her as though evaluating what he wanted to say—or what he had to say.

  ‘I’ll see you soon,’ he said.

  Soon? ‘Thanks.’ She turned for the door before she was asked another question and gave the same, uncommunicative response.

  Six

  Luke paced his empty office, unable to get his head around what he’d just done—and what he’d just seen.

  Fourteen years on the force and six of those years in Homicide or with the Drug Squad, working with underworld crime and murder, solved and unsolved, had taught him many things. One of them was how to cover your feelings, your tension and nerves, your expectations. But it hadn’t taught him how to control unexpected emotion of the kind he was dealing with now. He hadn’t expected kissing her to be so—powerfully intimate. A brief kiss, but one that had come from nowhere. One he’d instigated.

  He halted his pacing, licked his lips and tasted Rachel. He could stop a fight but he couldn’t have stopped that kiss. It had been like wind and hail swooping across his path in a dull roar. All sense of an everyday busy atmosphere gone as they stared at each other in an otherworldly connection.

  He was going to have to pull her in soon now. Not that he hadn’t been going to do it but he’d been waiting for Jack to get back to him and that still hadn’t happened. He’d have to write the disturbance into his report on her too. She’d been the focus of it.

  The shift from shock to anger in her had been quick. Instinct probably; it had come from nowhere and she hadn’t expected it herself—she’d slapped the guy hard before she’d thought about what she was doing. Not that he didn’t deserve it but when the guy had lifted his fist to her, Luke had seen fear flash over her features, wiping away the anger.

  He pulled his personal mobile out of his shirt pocket and rang Jack Maxwell. It went to Jack’s message service.

  ‘Whatever’s going on, there might be a domestic violence issue involved. For Christ’s sake, get back to me, Jack.’

  He disconnected, sat at his desk and called the town hall front reception.

  It was the way she’d leaned in to him that bugged him, as though needing heavy-duty support for something more than the horror of what had nearly happened. The kiss had been total bewildered joy on his part, until she’d leaned in like that and he’d realised it was emotional for her.

  ‘Mary,’ he said when the phone was answered.

  ‘I was just thinking about calling you,’ Mary said. ‘If you were to walk out of your office in a minute or two, you’d bump into Rachel coming back from the post office.’

  ‘I’m afraid there was a bit of a scuffle with a couple of guys. She’s not hurt but she’s shocked. I just wanted to let you know—if she doesn’t come back to work, will you call me?’ He didn’t want her running off.

  ‘Oh no!’

  ‘She’s not hurt, Mary.’

  ‘Oh dear. This is getting out of hand, Luke. You’re going to have to step in.’

  ‘I’m doing that.’

  ‘I’m still fielding men as they flock into the town hall to take a look at her. I’ve had more speeding fines paid in the last fortnight than I could have wished for in the last six months.’

  Luke’s gut knotted. ‘Who’s causing her trouble?’

  ‘They’re only pushing their luck. She handled them.’

  She could handle them, on a normal pushing-their-luck level. But what he’d seen ten minutes ago had been different.

  ‘But I promise to put in a good word for you, Luke. I think you’d make a splendid couple.’

  Luke forced a laugh. ‘I’m only looking for dinner and a night in watching a movie at the moment, Mary.’ He didn’t want to appear to be behaving differently. It was important at this stage that nobody guessed anything untoward was happening—especially as he didn’t know what it was he was looking for. ‘Don’t get me married off before I’m ready,’ he said with another laugh—this one surprisingly full of ironic humour. He wasn’t even going close to that state of commitment any more. He’d help her in his professional capacity if she needed it, but that was all. The letters she’d dropped in the café had been addressed to Rebecca Smithfield and he didn’t yet know which woman he’d been so keen to date: Rachel or Rebecca.

  ‘Luke!’ Jimmy called from the front desk. ‘Detective Senior Sergeant Jack Maxwell. Line two.’

  Luke checked the blinking red light on the landline. What was Jack doing calling on the station phone? This was supposed to be between them—off the record, for the moment.

  ‘Mary, got to go. Let me know if she doesn’t come back to work, would you, and I’ll drive out to check she’s okay.’ And to make sure she hadn’t run.

  He ended the call and picked up line two. ‘Why the landline?’ he asked Jack.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you this before, Luke.’

  His stomach contracted. ‘What?’

  ‘I hope you’re not too involved with this woman.’

  ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘The lady’s had more than one name. Rebecca Smithfield the most recent. Before that she was Mrs Rosalind Fletcher. Before that—Rosalind Michaels, her birth name. She’s been on the run for the last year.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve been put on Operation Garland—and now, so have you. Kind of.’

  ‘What the hell’s that?’

  ‘There’s a legit online international wholesale business called Serenity Flower House. It’s a well-organised cover for money laundering.’

  ‘They sell flowers?’

  ‘Plastic flowers. I know it sounds like some old lady’s gig but it’s not. They make a lot of money. Plastic wreaths, palm trees, flowery candle holders, mistletoe and stuff. You name it, they make it in plastic and people want it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They’re money laundering on a big scale.’

  ‘Plastic flowers make that much money?’

  ‘They’re worldwide, so they’re laundering for others not just themselves. And making a pretty decent profit on top of the plastic flower stuff.’

  Luke swept a hand over his face. ‘How did you get on this op?’

  Jack grumbled something unintelligible. ‘I didn’t want it, obviously,’ he said, after a beat. ‘I cocked something up a while back and now I’m paying my penance.’

  Jack Maxwell had never cocked up any job in his life. ‘What the hell did you do?’

  ‘I pulled over the party whip’s wife and stung her for DUI—her male passenger, also rat-faced, caused a stink so I dragged him out and cuffed him. Turns out it was the senator himself.’

  ‘You didn’t recognise him?’ Luke asked. ‘He just got elected.’

  ‘How the hell could I tell who he was?’ Jack said. ‘It was dark. He was dressed as a rabbit. His wife was an Easter egg—and she was swerving all over the road—of course I was going to arrest them.’

  Luke closed his eyes. He didn’t want to know. ‘What has all this plastic flower stuff got to do with Rachel Meade?’

  ‘Well, that’s the good part, as it happens—good for me, not so good for your woman.’

  ‘She’s not my woman.’

  ‘Her ex-husband.’ Jack paused. ‘You were right about the domestic violence issue,’ he said, in a lowered voice. ‘Peter Fletcher is a missus hitter.’

  Hatred coiled in Luke’s stomach. He loathed the term but had learned years ago that the terminology gave them a perspective that enabled them to do their job. But now that it was Rachel, the woman with vulnerability in her green eyes, a wave in her nut-brown hair and a sweet taste on her lips, he hated the term as much as he had when he’d first heard it.

  ‘I’m still listening.’

  Jack took a breath. ‘They were married years ago. After a year, he left her. Cops have been pestering her on and off for the last eight
years.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Trying to find Fletcher. He’s a dodgy bastard.’

  ‘Did she press charges?’ Luke asked. ‘In the early days. When she was married and still living with him.’

  ‘Initially. Then she wanted them dropped. Cops had no evidence of the assaults so couldn’t prove beyond reasonable doubt. She refused to give evidence against him, so that was that.’

  Fletcher would have forced her, undoubtedly with a threat. ‘How old was she?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  Luke clenched the phone in his hand. Just a kid. Hatred, pure and sharp, rushed through him. Rachel—Rosalind—a young woman who was easy to manipulate and manhandle. Easy to hit.

  ‘Anyway,’ Jack said, ‘the cops caught up with her a few years ago when Fletcher was in prison—auto theft. They suspected him of all sorts of other shit too. His wife didn’t know anything about it. Said she hadn’t seen him since he’d left her. Presumably since she suddenly knew where he was, she filed for divorce.’ Jack drew another breath. ‘How far into this woman are you?’

  ‘None of your goddamn business.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is. Two years ago Fletcher attacked her and some guy. Put them both in hospital.’

  Luke took it in, his mind playing fast but his gut was already tightly wound. He struggled for a second to get his mind off the attack and the fear she’d have gone through.

  ‘She opened up to the cops then. Told them what he’d done when she’d been with him in that first year of marriage. How he’d threatened her if she pressed charges. The usual …’ Jack sighed. ‘After this attack in her flat, she went to the cops twice to tell them she’d seen him. Then suddenly—nothing. She disappeared from our radar a year ago.’

  ‘As Rebecca Smithfield.’

  ‘Yes. And we now suspect she’s had contact with Fletcher.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Three months ago. In Melbourne. There was a possible sighting of Fletcher two weeks previously at a west Melbourne nightclub—uniforms were called out to a disturbance. The offender had run but the description was enough like Fletcher for everybody’s ears to prick up. We tracked him when we could—like I said, he’s a dodgy bastard—and one unit reported him meeting with a woman—enough of a description for us to believe it was his ex-wife.’

  ‘And you lost them?’

  ‘Fletcher’s a good fence jumper—he just disappears. Rebecca Smithfield also disappeared.’

  ‘What’s Fletcher involved in?’

  ‘It looks like the money launderers at Serenity have got themselves a nice little drug-running sideline, and we’re sure he’s involved in that. But he’s not a big player.’

  ‘Just a missus hitter.’ Luke couldn’t keep the scorn out of his voice.

  ‘Operation Garland was set up six months ago to investigate the money launderers at Serenity Flower House—and to find Fletcher. We think he’s gone feral. Drugs probably. Because for some reason, he’s on the run from them. And as they haven’t caught up with him, somebody has got to be working for him.’

  Luke straightened in the chair, his heart thumping. ‘You think she’s helping Fletcher?’

  ‘She ran after that meeting three months ago, Luke. Disappeared until you advised us Rebecca Smithfield was in your town going by the name of Rachel Meade. Has she spoken about any of this? Anything at all that might now ring a bell with you?’

  ‘Not this. She mentioned she was changing her name because of family problems.’

  ‘Are you and she already—you know.’

  ‘No. You want me to pull her in?’

  ‘No,’ Jack said—too quickly. ‘We need you to get close to Rebecca—or closer, whichever stage you’re at—’

  ‘Cut the shit, Jack. I liked her—a lot, okay?’

  ‘I’m getting that.’

  ‘But that’s not going to stop me doing my job. Do we have any idea where Fletcher is?’

  ‘Afraid not.’

  ‘I know what you’re asking but I’m not going to get close to her on a personal level just to pump her for information. I’ll pull her in for you. I’ll even drive her to Kalgirri. I’ll protect her, or ensure she doesn’t run again, but I’m not doing what you’re asking.’

  Jack cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, but you are. This has come direct from your superintendent. If you want to try to get out of it—I can ask him to call you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Luke said with a heavy shot of derision. ‘Give him my number.’

  ‘You’re in. We need your experience, and she’s in your town. You’re close anyway—’

  ‘Actually, I’m not.’

  ‘Well, you’re trying. So just keep trying.’

  ‘Jesus.’ He could hardly believe this was happening. ‘I’m a uniform, Jack.’ His mind sparked like a pinwheel at a fireworks display. They wanted him to get close, the way he’d wanted to—but now under completely different circumstances.

  ‘A good one,’ Jack said. ‘With a detective background. Come on, Luke, you know the score. Anyway,’ he added, sounding exasperated that Luke wasn’t playing ball. ‘You wanted to be Detective Inspector up until recently. I know you’ve been offered another tenure there, and that you haven’t turned it down yet. So I’m guessing you like being in uniform again. If it all goes well, you’ll get what you want.’

  Luke hauled in a breath. ‘This friendship is now soured. I’m warning you in advance.’ He also knew that if he refused to help, they’d take him out of the play because he was involved with a person of interest. Did he want that? Want out? ‘So I’m expected to use all my experience on the force, and get personal.’ Crazy scenario—for his head, not only his heart. ‘I’m assuming that this is all off the record until it’s on the record—but I don’t do anything that isn’t by the book, Jack.’ He sometimes stretched the safer boundaries of procedure. But never anything stupid. Never.

  ‘By the book in so far as you’re a cop,’ Jack said. ‘But off the record that we’re asking you to do this. For the moment, anyway.’

  So he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. Not even Will. Jesus. ‘I’ll be keeping a journal, Jack,’ he warned. ‘This is compromising my role as OIC, and I’m not going down for any shit Operation bloody plastic Garland puts my way.’

  ‘Understood. I trust you out there, Luke, which is why I suggested this scenario.’

  ‘Remind me to thank you.’

  ‘This is kind of on the quiet my end too. So there’s only me, you, my inspector and your super who know.’

  ‘Just great.’

  ‘And the lady isn’t the only one you’ll be keeping an eye on. If Fletcher’s around, we’ve got to make sure we get to him before the money launderers do.’

  Luke pushed his chair back and stood, attempting to control his breath but air was banked so high in his lungs it almost choked him. ‘You mean we’re protecting him? You’ve got to be kidding me!’

  ‘We need him,’ Jack said. ‘He’ll talk.’

  If Luke got his hands on Fletcher he wasn’t sure he’d remain in control. Wasn’t sure he’d want to.

  ‘Luke … If we don’t get to him first, they’ll kill him.’

  ‘Let them,’ Luke said, and slammed the phone down.

  Seven

  ‘I hadn’t realised what had gone on yesterday,’ Jax said, putting ham, lettuce and tomato onto the rye sandwich Rachel had ordered. ‘I would have given you the sandwich free if I’d known.’

  Rachel gave a short laugh. ‘I’m fine. Honestly. One of those things.’

  She’d come in today on purpose, to get over regrets she had about ignoring Jax and the café up until yesterday and also to address questions that might have been spread about the incident she’d been involved in. Mary had been distraught when Rachel got back to work, although Rachel didn’t know how Mary had known. Somebody in town must have rung her with the gossip, probably almost as soon as it had happened.

  One bit of good news she’d received was the letter from the Births, Deaths & M
arriages registry, letting her know her application to change her name from Rebecca to Rachel had been approved and that she was allowed to use the new name, but reminding her she couldn’t change any legal documents until she received the certificate. She couldn’t remember how long that had taken a year ago. A day or two? Or had it been a couple of weeks?

  ‘Good job Luke was nearby,’ Jax said, putting the sandwich together and slicing through it.

  ‘He was there in a heartbeat.’

  ‘There are a few idiots around. But they’re mostly out of towners. Not ours.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘I guessed that.’

  Jax wrapped the sandwich. ‘I thought Luke looked more than usually worried when you left the café. It’s not as if he hasn’t handled worse than that, so I presumed he was worried about you. Everybody was.’

  ‘Honestly, I’m fine, but thanks. It’s nice to be appreciated by you all.’ Unless gossip started flying, then things would change.

  She took the sandwich and handed over a five-dollar note. She hadn’t noticed, the few times she’d nodded to Jax across the street or in the newsagents, how attractive Jax was: shiny dark brown hair, a tanned complexion but creamy all the same. Spanish heritage, or so Mary had said. Big, enquiring blue eyes above high cheekbones. Her mouth was always turned up in a smile—even if sometimes it was a don’t-mess-with-me smile.

  Jax put the money in the till then leaned on the counter. ‘He likes you,’ she said. ‘And I’m kind of jealous. Not of Luke liking you. I don’t fancy him. Just jealous that you get those big brown eyes shining at you.’

  Rachel laughed it off. ‘I’m sure he’s not that taken.’ She’d had one more sleepless night thinking about Luke and everything else. It wouldn’t be the last but this one had been about her reactions to that oaf on the street—or rather, her inability to react the way she’d been taught. She’d always known she might not best a man physically, but she’d taken lessons in self-defence and in—