by Fiona Lowe
‘What has this got to do with the vandalism?’ Helen asked.
‘General lines of enquiry. How are things between yourself and your eldest son, Mrs Atallah?’ Constable Fiora asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Boys that age often run wild.’
‘You think Amal did this?’ Fiza’s chin lifted as regally as a queen’s. ‘Amal was at home last night studying. He has exams soon.’
‘You sure he didn’t sneak out with his mates to let off a bit of steam?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Helen said.
Jade’s guts suddenly loosened like she’d eaten a bad dimmie. Oh God. She’d done the same thing to Fiza as the copper—implied that Amal might know something just because he was a black teenager. Why had she done that? It wasn’t like she was unfamiliar with being targeted by the cops. They always came to talk to her first whenever they wanted information about Corey. She hated that they assumed she knew what he was up to, not only because it meant they thought she’d broken the law too, but because it reinforced how little Corey told her about his life.
‘You’d be surprised how many seemingly random crimes are committed by people closest to the victim, Mrs Demetriou.’ The constable wrote something in his notepad. ‘Mrs Atallah, bring Amal to the station for a chat after school. Or if you prefer, we can visit him at home.’
‘You only want to talk to him because he is black!’
He stiffened. ‘I’m just doing my job, Mrs Atallah. I’ll be talking to Corey Noonan as well.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Jade muttered.
‘You say something, Jade?’
‘Thank you, Constable.’
He hesitated as if he was about to say more, then stuffed his notebook into his pocket. He pointed to the Hoopers sign. ‘Nothing’s ever random, ladies. Boolanga’s currently experiencing a petty crime spree and the hardware store’s a target. They sponsor the garden and now the garden’s been vandalised. The description of boys in hoodies seen running from the scene matches Hoopers’ CCTV. The fact the perps’ faces are never identified leads us to suspect they’re African.’
‘Or wearing balaclavas, fly nets or black stockings on their heads,’ Helen said drily.
He ignored the comment and handed Fiza a card with his name printed on it. ‘I’ll expect you and your son at three forty-five this afternoon.’
Despite old fear fluttering inside her, Jade reached out an unsteady hand and touched Fiza’s arm. ‘We’ll come with you to the station. Right, Helen?’
‘Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it.’
CHAPTER
20
It was a pupil-free day and the kids were home. Usually Tara enjoyed these days without routine, but not today. All of her craved to run—to see Zac. Although Flynn and Clementine had no idea what was distracting her, they knew her attention wasn’t fully focused on them. As a result, they’d squabbled and played up all morning.
Their contrariness wasn’t helped by the fact the neighbours’ children had been outside all morning. During their tennis drill, Flynn and Clem threw so many longing glances towards the Atallah twins, they’d missed most of the balls. Now they were back inside and, in a moment of desperation, Tara had suggested they all play Monopoly. Between turns, she found herself glancing out the window too.
Fiza and her three children continued to work in their garden. The eldest, a tall and skinny young man, appeared to be doing whatever his mother told him. Tara had seen him shovelling dirt or mulch out of a wheelbarrow and now he was hammering in stakes. She reluctantly conceded that the loss of the weed-infested eyesore that had flourished under Lyle’s occupancy was welcome.
‘Daddy!’ Clementine leaped off her chair and threw her arms around her father as if it had been days since she’d last seen him instead of hours. ‘Play with us?!’
‘Daddy’s only home for lunch,’ Tara said.
‘Actually, I don’t think I’ll go back this afternoon.’ Jon sounded weary.
‘You okay?’ she asked automatically, sounding as if everything between them was normal.
Jon pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘Chris sent this.’
It was a photo of a smiling Hegarty family rugged up in coats and standing by a lake in Central Park. Toy yachts sailed in the background and the caption read Looking for Stuart Little.
A combination of delight and melancholy twisted inside her. ‘They look happy.’
‘Yeah.’ Sadness and meaning dripped from the word—like we used to be.
Fury blasted in, decimating melancholy. How dare Jon be sad? All year, she’d been trying different things to bring the joy back into their marriage. The intimacy. What had he done except blame her for their problems?
‘Maybe we should invite the gang over?’ he said.
This was Jon’s solution to everything. Tara wanted to yell, ‘That’s right. Fill the house with people so you don’t have to be alone with me. So you can talk to Rhianna about how awful I am. So you can fall into bed drunk and know I won’t bother you.’ But the children were in the room. At least they hadn’t reached the low point of arguing in front of them. And if she was honest, she just couldn’t be bothered having the same fight with him yet again.
‘Your dad was here last night, so can we have a night off and just do something as a family?’ She inclined her head towards the window and the shrieks of the twins. ‘We need to get away and do something. How about a bike ride?’
‘Dad’s giving me a hand building Clemmie’s playhouse,’ Jon said.
‘Yay!’ Clemmie cheered. ‘I want to help too.’
‘Me too.’ Flynn started packing up the Monopoly. ‘Grandpa said he’d let me hammer in nails.’
Tara should have been disappointed that her idea of a bike ride was nuked but she saw it as a get-out-of-jail-free card.
‘Sounds like you’ve got the afternoon sorted, so I’ll go into town for a couple of hours. Vivian wants to discuss window dressings.’
The lie slid off her tongue so fast it shocked her.
In the gym’s changeroom, Tara pulled on her brand-new compression running tights and crop top. The outfit had cost a bomb. Not only were both items made of high-tech fabric with moisturewicking qualities and open-mesh panels, they made her feel sexy. If Jon was no longer interested in making her feel that way, it was up to her to do it herself. She’d ordered the new outfit the night Shannon and Chris announced they were leaving. Then she’d gone on another night run with Zac.
They were texting each other daily now—a mix of logistics, motivation, advice and unrestrained flirting. After she ran a PB not too far outside Zac’s standard time, he’d messaged you blow me away. Tara had some very literal plans to do exactly that. Soon. Very soon.
Stowing her ordinary clothes into a locker, she picked up her water bottle and walked into the gym.
Zac let out a low whistle. ‘Is that the new range from Nike?’
‘Sure is. I’m hoping it’ll shave off another thirty seconds.’
He laughed. ‘That’s a big ask, but it’s already doing a great job. You look hot.’
A tiny part of her cringed at the juvenile compliment. The rest of her soaked it up greedily like a shrivelled sponge. ‘Thanks.’
‘Great that you could make it in after all.’ He leaned over and pressed a button on the treadmill, lowering it to the starting position. ‘How about you warm up and then we’ll do some weights, squats and lunges.’
‘Sounds good.’ She stepped up onto the flat black surface, pressed some buttons to set the speed and inclination, and grabbed the pulse bar.
‘Looks like you missed a tag.’ Zac’s fingers brushed her skin as he snapped off the offending article. ‘Don’t want you setting off the new security system in the supermarket.’
She laughed, but her pulse was jumping, the numbers leaping up fast on the screen. Horrified, she dropped her hands and gave full rein to the delicious tingles shimmering between her legs and melting her mind. As the treadmill increased its speed
, she indulged in her fantasy of Zac’s fingers trailing further down her spine until they slid underneath the waistband of her tights, skimming her buttocks and—
She stumbled. Her hands shot towards the stop button and missed.
You’re falling.
She grabbed air. Her shoulder hit the belt, then her hips. A second later she was airborne and then her legs slammed into the rowing machine. Shock sucked the air from her lungs.
‘Bloody hell.’ Zac kneeled beside her. ‘Are you okay? Have you broken anything?’
She lay dazed. ‘Give me a second.’
He grabbed her water bottle. ‘Here. Drink this.’
She took a sip. As she swallowed she became aware of a dull pain on the tip of her shoulder. Hoping it was only a bruise from landing on it, she raised both arms and legs. ‘All good so far.’
‘I’ll help you sit up.’
He slid his arm around her, easing her up and positioning her against the wall. The gym swam in front of her and she dropped her head forward.
‘Should I call an ambulance?’
She shook her head. ‘I think I’m just a bit woozy from adrenaline overload. One minute I was running and the next I was flying, but not in a good way.’
Zac grimaced. ‘Can you rotate your ankles?’
She rolled them left then right and raised each leg. ‘All good. Just a few bruises.’
‘Come on then.’ He put one arm under her legs and the other around her waist and hoisted her up against his chest.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Taking you upstairs to lie down.’
She didn’t protest. This scenario, minus the bruising, was one of her favourite fantasies.
Upstairs screamed bachelor pad. Apart from one closed door, which Tara assumed was the bathroom, it was a big open living space. The empty base of a NutriBullet sat on the kitchen bench next to enough black and red canisters of muscle and fitness supplements to stock a store. A large television hung on one wall and Tara recognised the gaming device Flynn was pestering her to buy. There was no artwork on the walls, only a large planner surrounded by motivational quotes and a photoshopped photo of Zac crossing the finish line of the New York marathon with a time of 3:00.
He lowered her onto a large rumpled bed that appeared to double as a couch. The sheets smelled of Zac—musky with a tang of sweat. She breathed in deeply.
‘Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Sheets were clean on yesterday.’
‘It’s fine.’ Tara found his embarrassment endearing. ‘I’m not here to rate your housekeeping skills.’
He pushed some pillows in behind her, then his face appeared in front of hers, his dark brows pulled down in concern. He gently brushed some strands of hair out of her eyes. ‘What do you need?’
Despite the niggling sense this apartment reinforced the fact that at twenty-six Zac was barely an adult, Tara didn’t hesitate. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she reached out, wrapped her hands behind his neck and pulled his face towards her. ‘You. I need you.’
His mouth curved up into a smile. It was exactly what she needed to see.
It was over a decade since she’d had sex with anyone but Jon. Back then, she’d been younger than Zac was now and she hadn’t known how to ask for what she wanted in bed. Today she knew exactly.
Closing her eyes, she blocked out the apartment and the quiet but insistent voice in her head saying, if you cross this line, there’s no going back.
Zac’s lips tasted of coffee and opened generously under hers. She tumbled headlong into wondrous, sensual heat, raiding what he offered and demanding more. She craved to consume him from tip to toe.
Her hands fluttered over his skin, glorying in the touch of muscle rippling and tensing under her palms. She whipped his singlet over his head and pressed her lips to his shoulders, his chest, then flicked his nipples with her tongue. He gasped. His heart raced, each beat slamming against her hands and matching her own.
The kiss deepened, running along her veins as fast as a flame burning a detonation cord. She was heat. She was lust. She was power. Nothing existed except the vibrating need spinning unsatiated inside her for weeks. Every muscle tightened as her body edged closer to release.
Not yet. She didn’t want to come on her own—she’d been doing that for months. She needed Zac inside her.
Panting, she pushed him down on the bed and straddled him. She pulled off her top, then turned her attention to his shorts, desperate to release the gratifying bulge in his pants. She wanted to ride him until she was flung out of herself, out of this room and out of her life.
‘Tara.’
Her hands gripped the elastic of his shorts, ready to pull.
His hands captured hers. ‘Tara.’
The combination of his tone and the weight of his hands on hers slowly penetrated her fog of arousal. She looked down into his dark eyes. They sparkled, lit like the night sky, only instead of stars, it was need for her.
She leaned down to kiss him again, her breasts brushing his chest, and her hair fell in her eyes. She pushed it away and then she was staring into his eyes again, only now they were filled with caution. It knifed her.
‘What?’ she said.
His mouth pulled to one side as if he was in pain. ‘Do we really want to do this?’
She opened her mouth to yell Hell yes! then heard the word ‘we’.
He means does he really want to do this.
It was like being hit by a cascade of icy water. Rafts of goosebumps rippled across her skin—the pain of rejection overlaid with acute embarrassment. Her throat tightened, trapping her scream, and then—damn it—she was sobbing. Hard and ugly crying.
Desperate to run, to hide, she scrambled off him.
Zac moved too. Before she understood what was happening, she was wrapped in a sheet and in his arms. He kissed her hair. ‘Please. Don’t cry.’
But the floodgates had opened and couldn’t be shut. ‘You d-don’t f-find me attractive either!’
‘What? No! You’re amazing. Sexy. Gorgeous and—’
‘Shut up! How can I be any of those things when not even my personal trainer wants to have sex with me.’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t want to have sex with you. I just don’t think we should.’
Anger broke through her paralysing embarrassment and she twisted away from him, feeling pain in her shoulder.
‘Have I misunderstood all our texting and flirting? Or is that just part of the official marathon-training handbook?’
Offence scored his cheeks. ‘No!’
She had no idea what ‘no’ meant. ‘Then why are you sending mixed messages? I thought one of the perks of your job was having sex with willing clients.’
His olive skin pinked and he dropped his gaze. ‘The thing is, Tara, the clients I have sex with are women I don’t care about.’
Her head threatened to explode and at the same time exhaustion pulled at every part of her. ‘I don’t understand.’
For a long moment, the only noise in the room was the hum of the fridge, then a long sigh shuddered out of Zac. ‘Of course I’m attracted to you. You have an incredible body, but it’s complicated.’
‘I think you have an incredible body too, so how is it complicated?’ But even as she said the words she heard her voice choking on reality.
‘I really like you, Tara. You’re clever and funny and you chase PBs as hard as I do. You’ve been amazing the way you’ve supported me building the business and giving me solid advice. That Tara reminds me of my big sister. My friend.’
He moved so he was facing her. ‘For months, I never got a hint you were interested in me other than as a personal trainer. The few times I tried flirting, you shut me down fast, talking about your husband and your kids. I respected that. But lately, everything’s changed. You’ve stopped blocking the flirting. I’m not proud I took advantage of that and I hate it’s given you the wrong idea. Thing is, you’re not like the other older women I have s
ex with. Makes me wonder what’s going on in your life?’
What’s going on in your life? Tara’s eyes burned hot and dry. The only person who’d come close to noticing things between her and Jon were off was Shannon and now she was on the other side of the world. Instead, Tara’s buff, goal-focused personal trainer with his limited vocabulary was asking her the question Kelly and Rhianna should be voicing. The irony wasn’t lost on her. A vicious laugh rocked out of her, harsh and raw, the jagged sound bouncing around the room before coming back and circling her in pain. It took her a second to realise the agonising sensation gripping her was coming from just under her scapula.
‘Ice pack,’ she breathed out.
Zac stared at her. ‘What?’
‘Muscle. Spasm.’
He strode to the freezer and returned with a gel pack wrapped in a tea towel along with some ibuprofen. ‘If it isn’t too weird, I could help you get your top back on and massage the spasm.’
Could her life get any stranger? She sighed. ‘Thanks. I promise not to jump you.’
‘Right back at you.’
He pulled her crop top back into place, minimising movement to limit the pain. Then his strong fingers worked on the area.
‘Arrgh!’ The air rushed out of her lungs. ‘You trying to kill me?’
‘Sorry. When you fell you must have strained a paraspinal muscle. They hurt like a bitch.’ He pressed the ice pack into place. ‘That has to stay here for ten minutes. How about you use the time to tell me what’s going on.’
The usual awkwardness Tara experienced when she tried to talk about her and Jon lessened under the weight of having been half naked with Zac and by the sincerity of his concern.
‘You nailed it. Things in my life have changed. My husband no longer wants to have sex with me.’
‘Wow. Okay. That’s big.’
‘Yeah.’
‘So he’s having an affair?’
‘He insists he isn’t.’
‘It’s hard to hide an affair in a small town.’
‘Talking from experience, are you?’ she asked, half teasing, half serious.
‘Little bit. Has anyone dropped any hints that he’s screwing around on you?’