Sharp Shooter

by Marianne Delacourt

  I should have felt sorry for Giggler but I didn’t.

  She left and within a second the curtain was flung open, and the cubicle teemed with excited people: Craigo and the boys, Bok and Smitty, and Edouardo.

  I introduced them all to each other, and Smitty pinned Edouardo to the wall, while the boys immediately began to chat up Bok.

  Craigo leaned over to give me a hug and pushed an envelope into my hand.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

  He gave me a delirious smile. ‘We won the tri. The organisers decided that the car debacle didn’t influence the final placings and awarded the first prize anyway. The whole thing got such great media coverage they’re happy for the publicity. And the gym is already getting membership calls.’

  I opened the envelope and peered in: a cheque for three thousand dollars.

  ‘Split three ways,’ he said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Now tell me, Tara, who was that crazy woman?’

  A wave of elation swept over me. ‘I’ll tell you all about it at lunch. Everyone’s invited back to Aunt Liv’s for a celebration. Follow me!’ I thrust back the covers and leaped out of bed.

  Perhaps a little ambitious. Edouardo grabbed me as I started to wobble. With his arm tight around my waist we all headed out of the ER laughing and chattering . . . and ran straight into Nick Tozzi carrying an enormous bunch of flowers.

  The heat of his glare at Edouardo was enough to melt the vinyl off the seats in the waiting room.

  Bok covered the awkward moment by having a fan boy attack. While he took over introducing himself and everyone else to Nick, I read the card on the bouquet. Tara. You were right. What can I do to thank you? N.T.

  I looked at him standing there, a gorgeous giant attracting attention from everyone in the waiting room, and had an idea.

  ‘Bok,’ I said, cutting across their babble. ‘Do you still need a celebrity interview and photo spread?’

  Bok’s eyes lit as he caught my line of thought. ‘You know I do.’

  ‘Nick would be happy to do a celebrity interview for your mag. Wouldn’t you Nick?’

  All eyes swivelled to Nick.

  Tozzi’s aura radiated with the intensity of an impending supernova. For a moment I thought he would refuse. But I waved the card at him and smiled sweetly. ‘Martin is one of my best friends and he needs this interview.’

  Nick took a deep breath and smiled at Bok. ‘I don’t normally do publicity, Martin, but I have a new investor in the team, and some plans to expand, so it might be time for an announcement. Sure thing.’

  ‘Photos?’ asked Bok.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Nick’s just moved into a new house,’ I added. ‘I’m sure he’d love to show it off.’

  Martin gave a little crow of delight and got straight onto his phone to start arrangements.

  ‘A quick word, Tara, if I may?’ said Nick.

  I eased Edouardo’s hand off my waist. ‘See you all outside in a second. Just got some business to sort,’ I told them.

  Edouardo looked doubtful, but Smitty dragged him along. ‘Come on, Edouardo, this might be the only time I get you to myself.’

  Blessed Smitty.

  ‘I’ll be right outside, waiting.’ Edouardo told me, looking straight at Nick.

  Chapter 48

  AS THEY PASSED THROUGH the automatic doors, Nick helped me over to an empty set of chairs screened from the main waiting room by a row of large potted palms.

  ‘You were right about a connection between Viaspa and the exploration lease,’ he said, as we sat down.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I didn’t tell you, but the lease was about to expire. The regulations state that if you don’t start mining your lease within five years, you lose it. I was about to let the lease lapse because the assay report had said it was worthless. Your suspicions made me have a second assay done in Sydney. The lease is actually gold rich.’

  My mouth dropped open. ‘Gold? Truly?’

  ‘Shh,’ he warned. ‘It’s not something I want to advertise. Anyway, I think Viaspa has had Lupi pulling this scam for a while. Lupi falsifies an assay report then Vogue acquires the lease under a different name, trucks his mobile plant up there and rips the mineral out of the ground. The industry’s been so buoyant these last few years that small mines have been springing up everywhere – so it’s been a perfect time to go undetected.’

  ‘So now what?’

  ‘I’ve told the police about the false report. They’re questioning Lupi but I don’t know that an association with Viaspa will be found. You’re the only person who saw Lupi at the warehouse; the only person who could connect them.’

  Nick bent closer until his breath was hot on my lips. The damn cord appeared, and started pulsing between us, chest to chest. ‘What do you want to do, Tara? Will you go to the police?’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked. He looked so concerned and caring that I almost melted onto the floor.

  ‘Whatever you can live with. I’m worried for you. If Vogue knows you can pin Lupi to his warehouse then he might try and . . .’

  ‘Run me over?’ I ate up his concern like a starving person falling on a piece of pork roast and salt crackle. ‘Actually, that wasn’t him. Turned out to be Delgado’s crazy wife.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Carlotta Delgado?’

  ‘You’ve had the pleasure?’

  ‘It was no pleasure. The woman’s spiteful. She tried to hit Toni one time at a charity fashion parade.’

  ‘If only she’d tried to punch me,’ I lamented, ‘I could have taken her. Anyway, I’ve just spoken to the police. They’ve got nothing on Johnny Vogue. They’re pushing for something. Anything. But I’ve found a way to make Vogue leave us both alone without involving them.’

  Nick stared hard at me. ‘Seriously?’

  I met his look without blinking. ‘Deadly.’

  ‘I won’t ask.’

  ‘Don’t. But I promise he won’t be bothering you.’

  ‘So you’re happy to leave it at that then? Lupi goes down, Vogue walks?’

  I sighed. ‘Not really. Viaspa deserves jail and more, but I’m just getting a business started. I’m broke.’ I gave a weak smile. ‘I don’t want to spend the next five years in a witness protection program. Does that sound pathetic?’

  ‘No. It sounds practical.’

  ‘But what about you, and Antonia and . . . ?’

  His face closed over, the warmth fading from it, his aura listing like a damaged ship. ‘The estimated value of the lease gives me a new asset. It’ll keep the bank happy and get me over my short-term money issues. Thanks to you we’ve avoided the drug plant. I’ve employed security for the new house. Toni and I will be fine.’ He smiled. ‘Means I can keep the Reventon. I’d offer you a drive but –’

  ‘You don’t trust me.’ I smiled back. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to be –’

  He took my hand. ‘I know, you didn’t, but I can manage my marriage.’

  Fair enough. ‘Well that’s that then?’

  A silent moment.

  ‘Umm, we’re going off to celebrate our win. Would you like to come with us?’ I asked politely.

  ‘Maybe another time. But I won’t forget what you did to help me. I’ll never forget.’ His voice deepened and his expression changed again. This time he seemed emotional. ‘Tara, I – look, there’s something –’

  The cord of energy between us brightened and tightened, as though it was pulling us together, and I felt my lips parting in preparation for what he might say.

  ‘Tara!’ Edouardo’s voice.

  It cut through the moment, and I drew back. He was looking for me on the other side of the line of palms.

  I smiled at Nick and stood up. As I’d just told him, I didn’t need complications in my life right now. ‘Maybe another time,’ I said.

  Chapter 49

  I RANG LIV ON the drive home to warn her and Wal about Bligh, and the impending numbers
for lunch. She took both things in her stride, and asked me to pick up extra bread rolls and a cooked chicken.

  Then I rang Mr Hara and JoBob and asked them to join us as well.

  Safety in numbers, I decided, was the best strategy where my parents were concerned. JoBob would never make a scene.

  Bligh and Bill Barnes stepped out of the lift as we crowded into the foyer of Liv’s apartment block. Bligh nodded at me as we passed. I knew better than to think that she would let things lie. The woman had a touch of pit bull in her and she wanted Viaspa.

  I just wanted him to leave me alone.

  Wal answered Liv’s door wearing chinos and an open-necked shirt.

  It took me almost a whole bottle of champagne and half a bacon quiche to get over the shock.

  We sat on Liv’s balcony and drank, and ate, and laughed until well after dark, when Craigo and the boys headed off to a party, and Bok ran Smitty home.

  ‘Darling,’ Smitty said, with good old alcohol-fuelled affection. ‘You never, never disappoint me. Oh, I do love you.’

  ‘You too, Smitts,’ I said. ‘Make her drink water all the way home,’ I hissed at Bok. ‘Henny will gut me for sending her home in this state.’

  Bok hugged me. ‘Thanks for saving my arse, T. All the national magazines have been trying to nail Tozzi for an interview for years. They’ve offered me a bonus if I get pics of him and Antonia together.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I grinned, ignoring the little sore spot in my heart.

  I shut the door after them and leaned against it.

  Edouardo left the balcony and came inside. He gave me the most bewitching smile. ‘Your friends and family are nice, Tara.’

  I looked out at Mr and Mrs Hara, JoBob, and Liv and Wal playing Pictionary, and squeezed his hand. ‘They’re lame actually. And I wish they’d all leave so you can give me that foot rub.’

  ‘Just your feet?’ he said wistfully.

  ‘It’s kind of crowded here at the moment, Ed,’ I said softly. ‘Wal’s staying as well.’

  ‘You want to come back to my place?’

  I thought about it. But the elation had worn off, and the champagne and food had left me feeling kind of woozy and tired. I wanted to lie down and sleep, even more than I wanted to lie down next to the gorgeous Edouardo.

  He must have caught my mood because he propelled me over to an armchair and sat himself on the footstool. Before I could argue, he picked up my bare foot and began to rub it.

  I sank back into the chair and gave a little moan of pleasure. ‘Where did you learn to do that?’

  ‘It’s hereditary,’ he said. ‘I come from a long line of masseurs.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No.’

  I sighed, feeling mellow and happy, and contemplated how close this foot rub was to heaven.

  My phone rang. I pulled it from my jeans pocket.

  ‘Tara speaking?’

  ‘Ms Sharp?’

  I recognised the voice right away. ‘Mr Honey?’ I sat up a little straighter. ‘Is everything alright?’

  ‘Wonderful, Ms Sharp. Was the information useful?’

  ‘Thank you, yes. How is your fiancée?’

  ‘We’ve set a date.’

  I relaxed again and smiled into the phone. ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘The reason for my call is that I have a friend who’d like to hire you. I’ve explained the nature of your . . . expertise and they’re willing to double your rate if you’ll take the job.’

  I got a funny feeling in my stomach – but that could have been the olives mixing with the chocolate cake. ‘What’s the job?’

  ‘It’s a little delicate, you see. That’s why I’ve rung you first. To . . . sound you out. My friend runs . . . a very superior escort agency. They want you to coach their . . . employees on the art of reading body language. To enhance their clients’ experience.’

  ‘A brothel, Mr Honey?’

  Edouardo’s head jerked up from his task of pulling gently on my toes, his eyes widening.

  Mr Honey cleared his throat. ‘Ahem . . . yes . . . if you like.’

  Maybe it was the alcohol, or the foot rub, or the whole craziness that had become my recent life, but I didn’t even hesitate. I wiggled my toes at Edouardo for more and smiled. ‘Why not?’ I said. ‘Bring it on.’

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks go to: my publisher, Louise Thurtell, for her golden enthusiasm and insightful comments (and for naming Mona). She has made this book possible.

  To Tara Wynne, my lovely agent, who was happy for me to try something different. May Lily and Poppy grow up to be like Smitty, not Tara Sharp. To Margo Lanagan, my simile consultant.

  And to my early and invaluable readers, Rowena Lindquist and Tansy Rayner Roberts.

  Sharp Turn

  Also by Marianne Delacourt

  Tara Sharp is back in fun, kick-arse form in an adventure

  that Janet Evanovich fans will love!

  After all the excitement of Sharp Shooter, Sharp Turn sees Tara Sharp’s unorthodox investigative business starting to attract customers – though not necessarily of the right kind . . . Teaching upmarket prostitutes how to ‘read’ their clients isn’t exactly what Tara envisaged or wanted. And what would her mother say if she found out! So it’s a relief when the man of Tara’s dreams, Nick Tozzi, lines her up with a real job. Something is rotten in the local motorbike racing industry and an associate of Nick’s has asked him to see if Tara is willing to try and sniff out the bad egg. Tara’s new assignment guarantees she’s tangled in all kinds of trouble!

  ISBN 978 1 74237 003 3

  Chapter 1

  MY MOTHER IS AN expert guilt-maker. Joanna Sharp, the Rani of Reproach, the Shazadi of Shame. When she turned her talent on me, it was usually about the fact that I didn’t date the right sort of guy. Unfortunately, my mother’s idea of a suitable male was someone like Phillip Dewar: privileged and pasty (and permanently plastered). But, since I’d moved back home, due to loss of employment and a spot of pennilessness, Joanna had broadened her guilt trip to include my latest career venture.

  ‘Why can’t you just get a good job in the government, darling? Or let your father help you find work?’ she asked me regularly.

  My reaction was consistently emphatic: ‘I can look after myself, Mum!’

  Of course that meant that I had to come good on my statement, which meant earning money, which explained why I was currently on my way to a meeting with a brothel madam.

  ‘It’s all good. It’s ALL good!’ I chanted as my 1980s’ Holden Monaro – aka Mona – took the sharp left-hander onto Stirling Highway with only the faintest squeal of her wheels.

  I’ve always been a great believer in affirmations. I CAN eat less chocolate. I CAN do more exercise. I CAN meet a perfect man. No, scrap that last one. I don’t believe in perfect men.

  That said, my current date, the gorgeous Edouardo, came close. He was a model, a good egg and he seemed to like me – all of which made me very uneasy. The fact was, he was just too good to be true. My track record was dotted with unfaithful Lotharios and even a furniture-stealer (my last boyfriend cleaned out my flat while I was having a massage), which made it almost impossible for me to just enjoy Edouardo’s attention and not try to second-guess the whole thing.

  But Second-Guess is my middle name. Tara Second-Guess Sharp.

  Not just about men, about everything: a legacy from the fact that I have an unusual gift. I can see auras around people, and sometimes around objects. Occasionally, I even smell or feel things or see energy trails.

  I’d been to the shrink about my gift and, instead of whacking me onto an antipsychotic, she’d sent me off to Hoshi Hara’s Paralanguage School. Betsy, my psych, was an old family friend and turned out to be more alternative than I’d ever expected for a woman who favoured Brendan O’Keefe glasses.

  The end result of getting to know Mr Hara was that my gift didn’t go away, it got stronger. Now I was a fully accredited reader of paralan
guage and kinesics with my own business, and I was starting to get jobs that used my skills. Like the one I was going to now.

  One of my previous clients had recommended me to Madame Vine, the brothel’s owner. It seemed the madam was a forward-thinking entrepreneur who needed my skills. In return, I hoped she’d bolster my almost-bust bank account and we’d all be happy. She wasn’t exactly the kind of customer I’d expected to attract when I set up my own business, and certainly not the kind of work I’d be telling my mother about, but I wasn’t about to knock back a funds infusion because of my mother’s delicate western suburbs sensibilities.

  IT’S ALL GOOD!

  I cruised up a tiny side street in Leederville that was crammed with red-brick, Federation-style semi-detacheds, and pulled up outside number nine. It didn’t look like a house of ill repute. In fact, with its minimalist garden and locked letterbox, it was much tidier than its neighbours. There was no red light or gaudy lace curtains in the windows. Madame Vine ran an upper-crusty establishment that didn’t accommodate riffraff – at least that’s what my Google search had told me.

  I parked Mona and reached down to my bag, sighing at the sight of the sequinned palm tree decorating its side. I’d given my favourite imitation Marc Jacobs handbag to a teenager in one of Perth’s more dubious suburbs for doing me a favour, and bartered my beloved backup Mandarina Duck in a secondhand shop. That left me with my old beach bag. Hopefully this job for Madame Vine would bring me enough cash to buy something halfway respectable.

  I scrabbled down the bottom of the bag for my hairbrush and then glanced in the rear-view mirror: shoulder-length brown (at the moment) hair, broad-featured, decent-enough face and a slightly wild-eyed look that was becoming a permanent fixture. Too much adrenaline and too little sleep.

  IT’S ALL GOOD.

  I forced my legs out of the car and told myself I was being stupid for feeling nervous. They were normal women, just like me.

  Actually, considering I hadn’t had sex in several months, probably NOT just like me (my new guy, Ed, and I hadn’t done the wild thing yet on account of me being once bitten, twice shy).