A Place to Stay

by Jennie Jones

  He couldn’t read what was in her eyes or in her mind but whatever it was, she was figuring it out while staring into his eyes.

  ‘Feeling better now?’ he asked. ‘You looked a bit pale a moment ago.’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s the heat—it gets to me sometimes. Why don’t you show me how you can shoot instead?’

  ‘No need,’ he told her. He took the Glock from her hands. Was she trembling?

  ‘But you do know how to handle your weapons properly, don’t you?’ she asked. ‘I mean—in various situations.’

  ‘Are you warning me about something?’

  ‘Mary said you were born and brought up outback. I suppose you’ve always known how to shoot—and how to handle yourself.’

  Luke raised his brow at the unexpected question. ‘I was brought up by my grandparents. My mother died young—never knew my father. I’m a farm boy. Through and through.’

  She assessed him with cautious eyes, tilting her head the way she did when she was thinking about the best way to respond. ‘You’re a cop through and through. From the second you left the station to this moment, you haven’t lost a single aspect of the law enforcement persona you live all day—and probably through each night.’

  ‘And you don’t like that?’

  ‘On the contrary. It’s the heart of you. I envy that.’

  Genuine surprise pinched at his heart. He wasn’t sure many would have recognised his serious love of his job. Hadn’t realised she’d studied him or understood him either; but that wasn’t why he was here, teaching her how to shoot a gun she already knew how to handle.

  ‘I like that about you,’ she said. ‘That you have something that’s so valuable to you. You’re lucky.’

  ‘Don’t you have anything?’ She must have something. She couldn’t live her life with nothing.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t carry much with me. Luke—’ She looked over her shoulder, as though a shadow had fallen on her, but there was no-one close by. The other shooters were at the other end of the row of tables.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing. Just … just don’t lose it, okay?’

  ‘Lose what?’

  ‘Whatever it is you need. You know—that something that makes you turn your head to check on a noise. That instinct that has you looking for more than what you see on the surface. That fear—’

  ‘Fear?’

  She trembled visibly and Luke instinctively shot a hand out to take hers. She pulled from him.

  ‘Everyone’s watching,’ she said.

  ‘They’ve been watching the entire time we’ve been here.’

  She glanced around again, then winced and clutched her shoulder.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded. ‘Just a twinge. It happens sometimes.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I broke my collarbone once.’

  A flare of anger rose in his chest. ‘How did you do that?’ Fletcher had broken it, but she wouldn’t tell him so.

  ‘Usual way,’ she said. ‘I fell.’

  He bit down on the words he wanted to say. ‘It must have hurt.’ So much. It must have hurt her so much and in so many ways.

  ‘I’m used to living with it. Do you want to go and get a burger now? Or I’ll buy you a hotdog.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ If they left the range they’d be in the crowd, forced to make light conversation and the chat they were having at this moment was far more important. But not only about Fletcher and her possible involvement with his activities—Luke wanted to know about Rachel. Surely she’d had people to help her?

  ‘All right.’ She took the Glock off him. Self-sufficient as always, but she was still trembling. ‘Does this happen to you,’ she asked, holding up her free hand, ‘when you get into tight situations.? Do you tremble?’

  ‘Are you in a tight situation?’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’

  He took the gun out of her hand, shunted the cocking slide rapidly three times, ejecting the live cartridge in the breach, and holstered it.

  ‘I haven’t had another go yet.’

  ‘Come here.’ She was more off kilter than he’d realised. He’d never seen her like this. He took the earmuffs from her neck and the glasses from the top of her head and put them down. He caught her fingertips and drew her towards him. He sat on the edge of the table, legs splayed, and Rachel stood between them, her fingers in his.

  ‘Do you want to know what I like about you?’ he asked. ‘You said you liked that I loved being a cop. That it was the heart of me. I think I know what’s at the heart of Rachel Meade.’

  She gave him a laugh. ‘You can’t possibly. I don’t even know.’

  ‘It’s your heart itself. Everything that’s in it. The courage, the stubbornness, the tenderness I see even though you think you hide it.’

  Her cheeks flushed. Not deeply, but he noticed every change about her.

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve taken self-defence classes along with learning how to shoot,’ he said, ‘but I want to tell you something. If you’re ever in a tight corner, I want you to run. If that’s an option,’ he added. ‘Have you ever had to run?’ He hated asking because he knew she’d never had the chance. Fletcher had cornered her—more than once.

  ‘Aren’t we going to shoot any more?’

  ‘No. We’re going to talk. We’re having that chat you wanted.’

  ‘We’re causing some interest, standing here chatting.’

  He paused before speaking again, the images of her beaten up and bruised crowding his head.

  ‘Rachel,’ he said quietly, hurting inside because he’d hurt her by confronting her, by making her remember. He’d picked enough of her susceptible points to use them, and had done so. He’d gone too far. ‘That business about your family trouble,’ he said. ‘Is there more you want to tell me? Are you covering something? Hiding something?’

  Vulnerability suffused her features. Her eyes were saturated with it. It didn’t even look like she was trying to hide it—she just looked overwhelmed.

  ‘Tell me what’s scared you enough to ask me all these questions about how we work,’ he said. ‘About how I handle weapons.’

  The exposed look stayed on her face and she swallowed hard as though trying to rid herself of the defenceless position he’d put her in. He didn’t release her hands. He wanted to somehow give her the courage to tell him, and if a touch and a soft voice was all it took, he was all for it. She moistened her lips with her tongue. Maybe the truth had been sitting on them and she was forcing herself to wipe it away. But why? What was pressuring her so much that she couldn’t tell him?

  ‘Three months ago,’ she said, then caught her bottom lip in her teeth and said no more. She was lost again in that place she’d wandered into on the street on Thursday, four whole days ago when everything had been light-hearted.

  ‘Rachel,’ he asked quietly, ‘what happened three months ago? Have you done something wrong?’

  She chewed at her lips. Then something flashed across her eyes and he thought she was going to tell him everything. But the look left almost as soon as he’d seen it.

  ‘Would you know the difference between right and wrong in a certain situation?’ she asked.

  ‘Tell me what’s on your mind and I’ll tell if you’ve done something wrong.’

  ‘You’re always focusing on wrong. How would you know what’s wrong and what’s right? Have you ever done something outside of the law?’

  ‘No. Not much.’ A number of things on the iffy side in his youth, but he’d never blatantly disregarded the law. ‘Shall we stop playing games?’ Bugger Jack and his orders. This had gone too far and he wasn’t going to stop now.

  She paled, her eyes darting to his.

  ‘Rachel,’ he said, wanting to take her in his arms and tell her it was going to be all right. It was time to take her in and discover what was going on with her. Because she was innocent. He’d bet his career on it. ‘I think you want to tell
me more about this—brother.’

  She shook her head. She wiped a hand across her mouth as guilt flooded her eyes. ‘I don’t have a brother.’

  ‘I guessed that. This man—he hurt you.’

  She closed her eyes and compressed her mouth, as though holding onto whatever she might have said—or holding back whatever pictures were in her mind. His heart filled for her. He’d dealt with domestic violence and seen it in all its forms but in Homicide, by the time the case came to them, the victim was dead. That wasn’t going to happen to Rachel. He wouldn’t let that happen.

  ‘Did you see him?’ he asked. ‘Have you met with him? Did he hurt you? Is he still hurting you?’ He moved slowly, closing the gap by gently tugging her further between his thighs. Her fingers trembled in his. ‘Have you seen him?’

  She pulled herself away and he pushed from the table and took her hands again.

  ‘Rachel, look at me.’ He raised her chin with his fingers and held her gaze. ‘I want to make this easy,’ he told her. ‘I want to believe you.’ He already believed her, and she hadn’t told him anything yet. Not in words, but her body language and her emotions were clear. She wasn’t the trouble. But trouble had found her.

  ‘You don’t know anything about me,’ she said.

  ‘No—that’s pretty much true. But you’re scared to death. You’re in trouble.’

  ‘With you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m hoping not. And I don’t think so. So how can I make it easier for you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Luke—everybody’s looking at us. Please—let’s stop this.’

  ‘Ignore them. Look at me. Look at me,’ he said again. ‘Tell me how I can make this easier for you.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘But I can.’ He wasn’t touching anything except her chin but his whole body warmed, as though she’d moved into him for comfort, the way she had in the café when he’d kissed her. ‘You have to trust me. I can make this better.’ He ran the pad of his thumb over the soft skin of her chin. ‘Would it help to know just how much I like you? I’ve always liked you. That’s never stopped—regardless of what’s been going on between us these last couple of days. I like you, Rachel.’ He let his words sink in.

  Her gaze darted over his face, before coming to rest on his mouth.

  Warmth flooded him. ‘I want to kiss you,’ he said. ‘Like we did before—more than before. I want your arms around me. I want you to hold me as tenderly as I want to hold you.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘Rachel,’ he said, with patient insistence. ‘I mean every word.’

  How could any of them have forgotten what she’d been through? She was good at hiding her vulnerability beneath the mask she’d created for herself but Luke had forgotten—how the hell could he have done that? ‘You’ve had the life taken out of you.’ Despite the connection and the soft tone of their voices and their hushed breathing, adrenaline ran through him as much as he knew it now ran through her. ‘I’d like to be the guy who gives it back.’

  She gasped, and stumbled back. ‘Was that a line? Oh, God—that was a line. How dare you. You know nothing.’

  She turned and Luke took a step to follow her. ‘God help me, it wasn’t a line. I swear. It’s what I want to do—Rachel!’

  But she was already making her way, with long strides, down the rows of tables. She left the range without a backwards glance and walked fast across the paddock, heading for her car behind the pistol club.

  Fourteen

  Rachel kept her head down as she walked away, her pace fast but steady. She had to work harder to stop her feelings showing though. To stop from screaming. People had witnessed those last few minutes. They’d have seen a deep and meaningful happening between their top cop and the new woman. Then she’d charged off and left him.

  She managed to get to the far edge of the club house without looking anywhere but the ground. It was still hot and dry. She didn’t look over to the barbecue area either but the chatter and laughter hit her hard. Nothing had changed outside the club house but everything had changed inside Rachel.

  It was the sounds that punched her when the pictures came. She no longer remembered the pain, but the noise found its way inside her, making her want to curl up and hold herself for protection. Would there ever be a day or a night when the memory was lost?

  If only she’d had a brother … If only she’d had a family. Someone to turn to. Nineteen. She’d hardly been a woman. What girl, with no-one to ask, could deal with that kind of bullying?

  She skirted around the club house, staying well away from the barbecue. Let them think what they liked. It didn’t matter. She’d be gone tomorrow. There was no way she’d stay now.

  She shook her head. How many times had she berated herself for not getting away? How many times had she reasoned that she’d been too young, too much under Peter’s control? But still the remonstrations persisted that she should have done something for the others. For the women he’d conned, even when she hadn’t known what he was doing.

  She halted to catch her breath, swiping a hand through her hair and leaning her back against the hot metal wall of the club house. How could Luke possibly know that she’d met with Peter three months ago? She hadn’t given names. And the sergeant—how did Luke know about him?

  She wouldn’t make sense of any of it unless she calmed down.

  She put her hands behind her back, pressing her palms into the metal, steeling herself as old thoughts crept up on new.

  Luke had lied too, and she might never be able to forgive him.

  Luke. The sound of his name in her head tortured her. Reminding her of what could have been. What might have been—and now never would. It hurt—like a balled fist in her chest.

  A shadow crossed the ground in front her.

  She looked up, her pulse still pounding.

  Luke stared. ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Want to talk?’

  She shook her head. Suddenly she wanted to know what it would be like. With Luke.

  He glanced to the side when raucous laughter filled the air from the front of the club house. ‘Come over here,’ he said, stepping to a recess in the club house wall with another set of bolted doors and a couple of benches. ‘Let’s give ourselves a minute of quiet, shall we?’

  She moved, but kept a hand on the wall of the club house, trailing it as though the touch might guide her back if she changed her mind and didn’t want to be alone with him.

  It was cooler under the eaves, and almost secluded.

  ‘I thought you must have driven off,’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why wait for me here?’

  She looked up cautiously. ‘Because I want you to kiss me.’

  His eyes widened. It was the first time she’d seen him genuinely surprised. But then the light in his eyes darkened a little. ‘Is this another ploy?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. What about what you said? Was that a line?’

  ‘No.’

  They studied each other, then he spoke. ‘I’ll never hurt you.’

  He already had, but not in the way he meant. ‘Why do you feel the need to say that?’

  ‘You know why.’

  Oh, God—exactly how much did he know? ‘I’m leaving,’ she told him. ‘But I want to know what that kiss will be like. That’s all I want.’

  ‘You’re not leaving. We’re going to have plenty of time to kiss.’

  ‘Another ploy?’

  ‘No. I care for you, Rachel. I care about you.’

  She should say something smart then leave, but all she wanted to do was say sorry for not knowing how to behave. For wanting to accept him, and the kiss he was going to give her because she’d asked him to. It would be a wasted kiss—it would be the second and the last between them. And she didn’t want the memory to torture her. The memory of lying to him would be bad enough. Why torment herself by remembering his kisses too?

  ‘W
e can’t be together,’ she said. ‘I’ve decided not to stay in Mt Maria. I’ll work my notice, then leave.’

  ‘No, you won’t. You’ll go home right now and pack and leave.’

  It was pointless pretending not to understand that he knew more than she’d like him to. ‘Are you going to let me?’

  ‘No.’

  He took a step towards her. She didn’t move but her lungs filled with air and she readied herself, but she didn’t know what for. ‘Are you going to kiss me?’ she asked.

  ‘Are you going to let me do it my way? I don’t want you thinking I’ll kiss you just because you asked me to.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘Scared?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re hurting. I think you want me to kiss you because you really want me to hold you. The way I said I wanted you to hold me—tenderly. So may I?’ he asked, opening his arms and stepping a little closer.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I want to show you that you’re safe. I want to show you what it’s like to be with a man who isn’t going to hurt you.’

  Everything weakened inside her. Courage, doubt, sense. ‘I don’t really know what that’s like.’

  ‘So step into my arms and I’ll show you.’

  ‘I’ve had a tough time, Luke.’ It choked her to say it. To admit to being afraid also meant she was admitting to loneliness.

  ‘We can talk about it. I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay with me.’

  ‘I can’t have a relationship. I just can’t.’

  ‘Yes, you can. It just has to be slow.’

  He didn’t understand. She didn’t mean she couldn’t find the emotional strength to have a normal relationship with a man—she meant that she couldn’t risk Peter hurting any man she was with. He was always going to be around. He’d never let her go.

  ‘You’ve been hurt,’ he said. ‘I want to wipe as much of the memory away as I can.’

  She shook her head, sadness filling her. ‘You can’t mean that.’