by Jennie Jones
‘Thought for a minute you were going to bust us,’ the woman said. ‘I’ve got fifty hotdogs cooking along with the burgers.’
Luke laughed. ‘We’d better get in the queue then. Just ignore us.’
‘I don’t think that’s going to happen,’ Rachel informed him quietly as he led her to the club house—nothing more than a metal barn. She kept a smile on her face as she nodded to those people she knew well enough to nod to. Everybody appeared keen to smile back.
He chuckled. ‘We live in hope. Just so long as no-one gets murdered and ruins my date.’
‘It’s not a date. Especially as you’re in uniform.’
‘Just ignore that too,’ Luke said. ‘I sometimes forget what I look like out of uniform.’
‘You work hard—all of you do. So what’s the biggest thing you’ve dealt with out here?’ she asked as he signed them into the club. ‘Crime wise.’
‘Bit of this, bit of that. Enough.’ He led her away from the heat of the barbecue and towards the range a hundred metres away. It wasn’t only men who were shooting: a number of women were geared up, safety glasses in top pockets and earmuffs around their necks. Rachel walked at his side, noting how tall he was. How broad—and how that confident woman feeling swamped her again just from being next to him.
She rotated her left shoulder, which suddenly ached, as it always did when she was stressed and regardless of the way Luke made her feel, she was totally stressed.
‘Is it only pistols?’ she asked. The outdoor range was well protected from the group of people around the barbecue. A couple of guys stood guard at the range, only letting those who were club members or with one through.
‘At this club it’s only pistols,’ Luke said. ‘We’ve got shotgun and clay target elsewhere. There are a lot of hunters and shooters in this district. And for those who don’t care for guns, we have archery, karate, Pilates and yoga.’
‘Which do you prefer?’
‘I’ll leave it to your imagination.’
The thought of him attempting yoga amused her but she kept it to herself. ‘So how often have you had the chance to use your gun during your career?’ she asked, nodding to the holster on his hip.
‘Now and again.’
‘Do you have your own weapons?’ she asked as they waited at the makeshift barrier for the club official to walk over to them.
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve used them? On the bad guys?’
‘Now and again. Not mine, I might add—regulation firearms only. And don’t make shooting someone sound like it’s a pleasure. It’s not. It’s discipline. You’ve got to be a good shot to begin with.’
‘And you are?’
‘Hell, yes. Aren’t you?’
She smiled. ‘You’re aware of everything going on around us, aren’t you? Even though you’re looking intently at me.’
‘I’m gazing at you. And that wasn’t a line—God help me, I can’t take my eyes off you.’ He signed a form the official handed him, then offered Rachel the clipboard. She had to pause a moment when she nearly signed as Rebecca Smithfield.
‘You’re not a regular guy,’ she told him.
‘Is that what you’d prefer?’
She dipped her chin but didn’t lose eye contact. ‘I suppose it’s exciting—or exhilarating—thinking about how you handle things.’
‘Okay, not so bad. But?’
‘I’m not after excitement.’
‘What is it you want?’
She looked behind to the picnic area and shivered in the sunshine. ‘Have you ever killed someone?’ she asked as she went through the barrier with him.
‘Yes. Have you?’
She felt her face heat up. No matter what Peter had done or what right she had to defend herself, she’d never had to consider the rationale involved in taking a person’s life until that night, when for a split second she’d thought she’d killed him.
‘It must be difficult,’ she said, taking a pair of earmuffs from him when they reached their spot at the far end of the range. ‘Knowing whether to shoot someone, or not to.’
He handed her safety glasses. ‘Not if you’re ready for it, and if it’s the last and only course of action available to you. And if you get the command, you do it.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Without even blinking.’
‘What goes through your mind?’
‘Nothing. You hear “Go” and you move.’
‘I’d have to think first.’ She hadn’t thought when she’d stabbed Peter, but neither had she thought about where to stab him. She’d gone instinctively for his chest—if she’d thought about it, she wouldn’t have stabbed him at all. And then what would have happened? He’d have beaten her up. So had she done wrong by stabbing him? And was that considered intent to harm, or self-defence?
‘You wouldn’t think about it,’ Luke said. ‘Not when the bad guy is about to get you. Or about to get someone you know, or even a victim you don’t know.’
‘Are you that good a shot?’
‘Luck can play a part. Along with circumstances. But yes.’ He smiled slightly, a pointless-being-modest-about-it smile. ‘You talk as though you have experience,’ he said but didn’t wait for an answer. Or perhaps he didn’t expect one. ‘Rachel, I don’t know where this conversation is going but I’m a good cop.’ He faced her, earmuffs and glasses in hand. ‘I like policing, and it likes me. I can do it wherever I am and whatever I’m wearing.’ He spread his arms. ‘What is it you don’t like? The uniform? Would you prefer me in plain clothes? I’d still be the same guy.’
‘I’m not judging you, I’m just wondering why you left Homicide. Why are you here when you could be—’
‘In the back of a van in Sydney?’ he interrupted. ‘Watching some guy for twelve hours and waiting for him to offend? Where’s the hands-on fun in that scenario?’
‘It has to be more than that.’
‘What have you been told?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Come on, people talk. People like to talk.’
‘They said you were involved with some woman and that it didn’t go well.’
‘Ah. That story. It’s false. I had a long stint in Homicide, a short stint with the Drug Squad then back to Homicide. I wanted a promotion to Detective Inspector. To do that, I have to have run a police station. Which means at the moment I’m just a cop with a detective background.’
‘At the moment?’
He shrugged. ‘I like it out country. I like police work. Haven’t made up my mind whether to stay, or go for DI.’
She looked away, not wanting him to go back to his detective job in some city. He was needed here, and he was respected. But that wasn’t her business. ‘I shouldn’t have probed.’
He turned from her and she tried his name out in her mind. Luke. It held a soft and intimate timbre, even in her head. She glanced at him, and ran her eyes down the back of his head, down his back, his hips, his legs. The uniform was just an extension of his nature. With Luke wearing it, she was no longer wary of it. All those times she’d been questioned by police. All those times she’d refused to press charges against her husband, and refused to give a reason. They must have thought her mad, although they’d been kind enough.
She resisted the need to put her hands to her hot cheeks. The pictures in her mind didn’t come though. Maybe the last bad memory was fading, although why that would happen so suddenly, she didn’t know. Unless it was because of Luke—and her trust of him as a man, if not as a cop.
‘Sorry,’ she said again, apologising once more for probing into his past.
‘It’s all right. I don’t mind telling you the truth and putting the record straight. I just don’t feel a need to do that for every Tom, Dick and Harry who asks.’
She smiled. ‘Or every Thomasina and Harriet who asks?’
‘Yeah, probably. But let’s not discount Dick. He loves to gossip.’
She laughed. ‘You like being one of the good guys.’
And being in charge.
‘Not everyone is a good guy—cop or otherwise.’ He shrugged. ‘Hey,’ he said, his lighter tone traced with a smile. ‘You’re the first person to hear my reasoning for going back into uniform without me not explaining at length that it was nothing to do with my love life.’
‘I won’t say anything.’ And she didn’t want to think about his love life, or how many women he’d been with, or had fallen deeply for.
‘I know,’ he said, ‘but I told you because I want you to know that it’s okay to talk to me too. Swap life stories, watch out for each other.’
‘Are you watching out for me?’ She regretted the words when a watchful light entered his eyes, accompanied by a cautionary grin.
‘You’re a temptation and a challenge all at once, Rachel Meade. What are you trying to tell me? Do I need to look out for you?’
‘I’m not trying to tell you anything. But I presume you watch each other’s backs?’
‘Thinking of signing up?’ he asked. ‘Lots of interest suddenly in how we operate.’
She brushed that off with a smile and a shake of her head. But since she’d been here with him—enjoying the sunshine, the fresh air ripe with the sound of adult chatter and laughter, the smell of hotdogs and fried onions and the sound of firearms—another fear had crawled up her spine: what harm would Peter bring if he did come here?
‘Are you armed even when you’re not in uniform?’ she asked.
‘Do you think I have need to be?’
She didn’t know what conclusion her scenario would have yet. But she’d decided to give a lot more thought to contacting the domestic violence detectives she’d dealt with after the attack. She ought to let everybody know where she was, so that somebody would look for her if one day she didn’t turn up wherever she was supposed to be. If she did make those calls she’d then call Luke and advise him of what she knew—but not until she was out of town—so that if by chance Peter was around, he’d trail her and not worry the people of Mt Maria.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘So, let’s choose a firearm for you.’
‘Why not yours?’ she asked, indicating his holster. ‘If I’m allowed to touch it,’ she added.
His smile curled softly until it was a grin. ‘You can touch my kit,’ he said. ‘So long as I’m in it.’
She couldn’t help the laugh, although she had to banish the sudden vision of him without his kit. If things had been different … No, this wasn’t a date and she didn’t want to think of it as such, but he was making it feel like a date—even through his calculated questioning and his casual avoidance of her queries. He was fishing again, much the same as she was, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d react spontaneously and end up enjoying his company.
He unholstered the Glock. ‘Don’t be frightened of it,’ he said as he handed it to her. ‘Just get a feel of it in your hands first. It’s not armed yet.’
She held it in both hands, barrel aimed at the red earth.
‘How’d you know to do that?’ Luke asked.
She glanced at him. ‘What?’
He nodded at the gun. ‘You’ve got your finger along the barrel. Most newcomers to shooting would put their finger on the trigger.’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve seen cop shows on TV like everyone else.’ She turned to the range. At the far end a pine wall with not much eye appeal had been constructed, the mottled yellow of the wood dull and ugly against the backdrop of a perfect blue sky. Packing crates and other bits of used pine had been set in front of the thick wooden wall, and paper targets had been pinned to boards. ‘So what do I do first?’ she asked, glancing up at him.
He paused, looking her in the eye. ‘Looks like you’ve got a good instinct. But let’s make sure, shall we?’
He gave her the usual instructions. She went through the motions, ensuring she did nothing until he told her or advised her how to. He made her drill a few times before pulling the slide and engaging a round.
She wasn’t a great shot, she didn’t get enough practice. But just in case she got lucky and hit the bullseye, she aimed left of the mark, and fired.
‘Nicely done,’ he said when she lowered the Glock.
‘I missed.’
‘You meant to.’ He tipped his head. ‘So give me the news.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Why do you know how to shoot?’ He took the gun off her. ‘You handle the Glock well. Was it a cop who taught you? Is this the guy who broke your heart?’ There was the expected enquiring look in his eyes but also something deeper.
‘Broke my heart?’
‘You told me,’ he said. ‘In the rear office at the town hall. When I asked you if you wanted me to back off.’
He remembered that? She’d been referring to her heart being broken for life and because of life—although she’d let him believe it was a romantic breaking. ‘No. My heart’s fine. What about you and your heart?’
‘Oh, my heart’s intact,’ he said. ‘Kind of.’
‘Mt Maria base to—Sarge, you there?’
Luke turned and lifted the mic clipped on his shoulder. ‘Go ahead Mt Maria base. What’s up, Davidson?’
‘Thought you ought to know. Aggravated burglary. RDO 247. Just got the call.’
‘Who’s on it?’
‘Will and Louie.’
‘Any news on Billy?
‘Nothing.’
‘Keep me updated.’
‘Do you need to go?’ Rachel asked.
‘No. That property belongs to one of the Baxter sons. There’s always something happening between the older boys. They hate each other. It’ll be aggravated and it’ll be a burglary—but not in the usual way. One of them is nicking the other’s new laptop, more likely.’
He handed her the Glock. ‘Let’s go again. Remember there’s a live round in the breach. I’m presuming you don’t have one of your own?’ he added, nodding at the gun. ‘I’m further presuming you wouldn’t need a genuine reason for needing a firearm licence and therefore wouldn’t be given one. So if you’ve got a gun, you might want to tell me why you need it—or own up and hand it over.’
‘Typical cop,’ she said, inferring her sarcasm with a tilt of her head. ‘All presumption.’
‘Not true … not wholly true.’
He stepped beside her when she turned to the range table again. ‘You haven’t got a gun, have you?’ he asked in an intimate tone that went straight to her heart.
‘No.’
‘Knife?’ he asked, his voice sending a pleasurable shiver over her skin.
‘All right, I admit it.’ She lowered the Glock—still holding it in both hands but now aimed at the ground in front of them—and stared him in the eye. ‘There’s a knife in my kitchen drawer. You’ll find it next to my garlic press and my steak mallet.’
He smiled.
Much as she wanted to—needed to—she couldn’t stop the smile that rose in return. Neither could she dismiss the music of his voice that still warmed her chest. Nor the way his dark brown eyes held hers. She’d never had a man look at her in this way. No matter what game they were playing here, their attraction was real.
‘So where were we?’ he asked, breaking the spell. ‘Oh yeah—you and the Glock. And your kitchen knife. Do you remember that cop that got stabbed a few months ago?’
‘No—should I?’
‘I suppose you might not have read about it, it happened in east Melbourne. A sergeant. He was stabbed in his sleep. Funny thing was, it wasn’t a burglary, and he didn’t have any more enemies than your average cop has. No feuds with his neighbour or loan sharks either—but some bastard broke into his house and stabbed him in chest with the penknife from a Swiss Army knife.’
Bravado and warmth trickled out of her as though it were nothing but liquid pouring through a sieve. Her head rang with something other than the music of Luke’s voice and her courage left her. Her Swiss Army knife. The one she’d stabbed Peter with.
I’ll get your neighbours. I’ll get the next person you talk to. I’ll get that cop you were sleeping with.
‘Is he all right?’ she asked. ‘Did he live?’
‘Oh, yeah. Sure. He’s fine.’
She fought the remorse and agony. What did this make her now? A real criminal? If she’d gone to the police after she’d stabbed Peter … ‘Why did you tell me this?’
‘No reason. Just an example of the delights of police life. In and out of uniform. He was an instructor—the sergeant. He trained officers on the range. Taught a few civilians how to shoot too.’
They’d only been together for a short while. She’d met him at a work do—a brother of a colleague. He’d asked her out and she’d gone. When he offered the chance to learn how to handle herself, she took it.
‘Shall we go again?’ Luke asked.
She blinked up at him, and concentrated on his face instead of her fear. The fear that Peter might find her after all and what he’d do if that happened. ‘He’s definitely all right?’ she asked, her voice ragged. ‘That sergeant?’
‘He’s fine. Back at work. We all get people on our backs. I might have one on mine.’
‘Who?’
He smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it. Let’s see if you can hit the bullseye this time.’
Thirteen
Luke caught a drift of his confrontational manner as though he’d inhaled it as it wafted in front of his face. But if he didn’t do it now, the moment would go. He’d lose the chance. Rachel wasn’t going to give unless he forced it out of her. She was as stubborn as he was. She had good reason to be, after what she’d been through.
He tried to swallow the reminder of what she’d endured as he offered the gun again. She was nervous about the conversation he’d started, and worried about the injured sergeant too. She’d been rocked by the news. She hadn’t known, he could tell—it didn’t take a mind-reader. But what was the connection with the Swiss Army knife? Similar to the one used in the attack in her flat. It had to mean there was a connection with Fletcher. That Fletcher had stabbed the sergeant. But did that mean she’d given Fletcher the weapons? Or that he’d taken them off her? Either way, it meant she’d seen him.