Retribution
Who would you kill to escape your past?
Diane Demetre
RETRIBUTION
Copyright © June 2018 Diane Demetre
ISBN: 978-0-6483324-0-4
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status and the trademark owners mentioned in this work of fiction.
The author acknowledges Banjo Paterson as the creator of the poem, The Billy-Goat Overland.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Behind the Scenes
Chapter 1
Every Sunday, Jessie tried to walk down the stairs like a civilian, but it was impossible. The trademark duck-walk of a professional ballerina could not be disguised. Not that she cared. Ballet was her life. In fact, ballet was the love of her life. Unlike men with their petty jealousies and unreasonable demands, ballet asked for little in return; just bloodied toes, hours of bone-wrenching rehearsals and absolute commitment. A worthy suitor, it allowed her to flourish onstage in a world of make believe, where happy endings came at the finale of each performance. Ballet was her perfect partner. Life was good.
Stepping out onto the leaf-littered street, she shivered and dragged her coat collar up against the sudden, bitter wind Melbourne turned on for the evening. Four seasons in one day was the capital city’s unofficial slogan and one which it invariably lived up to. When she’d headed into her weekly yoga class this evening, the early December sun had warmed her skin. Now, no more than two hours later, a plunge into an autumn-like chill reminded her of the city’s fickleness.
Against a pewter grey sky, drab buildings lined the grimy bitumen, their dark shadows slanting as night fell. Rathdowne Street was virtually deserted and stretched like a city runway before her, its street lights guiding wayward pedestrians. As the wind ripped water-starved leaves from the oak trees lining the median strip, Jessie readjusted the mat roll on her shoulder. Despite the flurry around her, she still felt the post-yoga peace that meant she’d sleep well tonight and not wake up swamped by terror. Relieved by the thought, she headed briskly towards her car.
She spied him standing in the same place, under the awning of the fruit shop on the corner. Like her, he’d tugged the collar of his black leather jacket high around his jaw and dug his hands deep into the pockets. Reminiscent of a brooding 1940s movie hero, all he needed was a fedora and a cigarette. He leaned against the rust-red brick wall of the dilapidated storefront, and with one leg cocked behind him he looked ready to launch into action at any moment.
Each Sunday, he occupied a mat in the back of the room for yoga class. He left class before Jessie, never stayed or talked to anyone. Yet each week he hung back, propped under the awning until she came down. He didn’t appear to be waiting for anyone. Just standing, and staring into space.
As usual, she nodded on her approach. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he replied, with a reciprocal nod and continued his vigil.
For months, she’d wondered who he was and why he stood there, but she never ventured to ask. It was none of her business. But tonight, the mystery tugged harder at her curiosity, and she stopped. “Hi. I’m Jessie Hilton. We do Aimee’s yoga class together.”
“I know,” he said. “Brad Jordan, but everyone calls me BJ. Pleased to meet you.” He didn’t offer his hand, just a short, sharp nod.
“Good to meet you…BJ.” She lifted a brow and gave him a wry grin.
“I know…the initials could mean something else, but BJ’s a nickname my mates gave me, and it stuck.”
“That’s okay.” She paused, becoming serious. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why do you stand here every week after class?”
“Just checking…” He scanned the darkness, the seriousness of his expression unchanging.
“Checking for what?” Turning her head, she joined in his apparent reconnaissance.
“Not sure. Just checking.” Although hidden in the shadows, she could see his rugged face sported scruffy, straw-coloured stubble and it accentuated his solemn countenance. Though his lips softened into what could almost be called a smile, his brows knitted, and he offered no further explanation.
Jessie shuffled. She pulled her collar higher with a nonchalant shrug. “Okay. Well. I guess I’ll see you next week then.”
“Yes, you will. Good night.” A brighter, easier half-smile creased his face, and she relaxed.
“Good night.” Waving a cheery farewell, she walked away, her low-heeled boots clipping a staccato beat. He was definitely different—handsome, in an unkempt sort of way. She wondered what he’d look like if his scraggy, golden hair was released from its rough ponytail and stylishly cut, and his strong abrasive jaw was clean shaven. What fascinated her most though was his brooding presence. He somehow didn’t belong on the suburban streets of Melbourne. He was not at all like the male dancers she hung out with, all bubbling over with unrestrained energy and movement at every opportunity. A phrase her mother used whenever she’d swoon over the movie star, Robert Redford came to mind. A man’s man. That’s who he was. Jessie hadn’t met many of them in the ballet world.
She scurried to where she’d parked her car down a side street. Even in the darkening, ambient light, her cobalt blue Volkswagen beetle gleamed. She’d had her faithful little bug for years and had named it “Penny” in homage to the motely moggie cat who’d been her childhood pet. Together they’d travelled f
ar and wide, clocking up thousands of kilometres on Jessie’s annual trip back home. Poor Penny now sat squashed between two bigger, brasher cars that had her jammed in tight.
“Damn. It’s going to take me forever to swing out of there,” she said out loud.
She dumped her bag on the bonnet and rummaged inside for her keys. She could hear their cheeky rattle in the bottom of the bag along with her make-up, phone, brushes, ballet slippers, sewing kit, and other assorted necessities.
Losing patience, she shoved her hand after them, just as another determined hand grabbed her shoulder. Being a ballerina she’d been pulled and shoved by lots of male partners throughout the years as they threw her in breath-taking lifts, but this was no pas-de-deux. Fear darted up her spine like a startled spider. Her dancer’s strength engaged, and she kicked back, hoping to connect her boot heel with his knee cap. She missed. As his other hand tried to secure her, Jessie’s heart hammered against her ribs, and she fought frantically to be free. Scream, for God’s sake, scream. Stripped of moisture, her mouth and throat squeezed shut. But the primal fight-or-flight response torpedoed her adrenals, releasing her panicked shriek. But he held firm. Gathering up her bag in both hands, she whirled around like a hammer thrower, intending to hit her attacker’s head.
“Piss off, or you’re a dead man.” The menacing growl reverberated off the side of Jessie’s face. She half-turned to see BJ lift the attacker off his feet as if he weighed no more than her and fling him across the road. The mugger sailed through the air and landed with a thud on the bitumen, his limbs spilling wide and his head lolling forwards. BJ stalked towards the moaning, crumpled mass on the road. Jessie shuddered. In that instant she felt a little sorry for the poor fellow. Having BJ’s menacing form advance towards you would be anyone’s worst nightmare and the damage it promised to inflict obviously jolted the mugger from his daze. By the way he recovered and scrambled to his feet, she thought he must have been no more than a teenager. Before BJ reached him, the kid was up and running down the road, all arms and gangly legs, with his hoody hiding his face.
Not bothering to chase him, BJ returned to the VW. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Thank you. I’m fine. A little shaken, but okay.” She breathed in a long, slow breath and tried to stop trembling.
“Good to hear. I’ll wait while you get in your car, if you like.”
“Yes, please. Thank you. That would be good.” Taking a moment to collect herself, she fought off the fear that scratched at her consciousness. It was the same sense of panic that woke her from frequent nightmares. She swallowed hard, blew out a breath and plonked her bag back on the bonnet to find her keys. Once more, her hand swirled unsuccessfully around inside.
“You know, you really ought to get another bag or have a keyring strap sewn in so you can find your keys easily. Then you wouldn’t be a sitting target for those sorts of clowns.”
She turned to look at BJ, who was peering over her shoulder, and stiffened under the force of his stare. The electrifying cobalt-blue of his eyes was the same colour as Penny. Unsettled, she pulled her coat tighter and for the second time since meeting him, Jessie shuddered.
“Yes, yes, you’re right,” she stammered. At last she found the wretched keys and retrieved them. “I will have to get a new bag or something.” She felt a sheepish smile edge her lips while she tittered at her own stupidity. God, she sounded like she was incapable of any intelligent thought.
“Come on,” he offered, and escorted her to the driver’s side in silence. After she unlocked the door, he held it open so she could slide in.
“Make sure you lock yourself in, okay?” he said, still holding the door ajar.
“I always do. Thank you.” After fumbling with her seatbelt, she jammed it in the buckle. “BJ?”
“Yes?” He leaned down closer, their faces level. A mountain of a man, he dwarfed the car. His icy blue gaze fused with hers.
My God, those eyes. She swallowed and bit her lower lip a little too hard so as not to be distracted. “Were you following me?”
“No. Not really.”
“So how come you were right there when that guy tried to mug me?”
“Trouble and I seem to go hand in hand. Wherever it is, I’m usually just a step or two behind. You take care now. See you next Sunday.” Straightening to his full height, he closed her door and stepped back. With a grateful smile, she triggered the lock, and he nodded in approval. She eased Penny out of the tight parking spot while he looked on. Except for a gust of delinquent wind whipping the stray strands of his hair, he could have been carved from stone. She drove away, leaving him on the desolate footpath with the wind as his companion.
Chapter 2
The black Jeep Grand Cherokee confirmed lock-down with a high-pitched chirrup. Like most Melbournians, BJ had little choice but to park his pride and joy on the street—too many people, not enough space. Although he’d been back for a few years, he still struggled with big city living. He missed the sense of vastness, of land stretching endlessly to the horizon, devoid of a city skyscape. He missed gazing up at the brilliance of billions of stars in the night sky. He missed a lot of things.
After confirming the street’s absence of loitering would-be felons, he walked over to his property’s pedestrian gate, punched in the security code and pushed it open. As it closed with a clunk behind him, he turned, surveying his two-metre-high fence. A compound to keep out the rest of the world is what he’d wanted and that’s what he got. With a nod, he strode up the four front steps to his unassuming house with its fortified front door. He plucked the key from his pocket, frowning at how easy it was for him to find his keys—unlike Jessie. Some women just don’t get how dangerous it is. But at least she didn’t freeze under attack. She fought back and recovered remarkably well. She’s got spunk.
Shaking the incident from his mind, he turned the key, opened the door and prepared for the onslaught. There she was, bolting up the hallway towards him like she did every time he returned. All amber eyes and happy face, she danced and pranced, speaking an exuberant welcome as best she could through her doggy larynx.
“How’re you doing, Whiskey? You miss me?” Reaching down, he rubbed his black and white Border collie’s lopsided ears. “You are the most beautiful girl I know. Come on, let’s chow down.” As he strode down the narrow hall of his weatherboard cottage, he weaved from side to side so as not to step on her paws. “So, what did you get up to this evening? Been protecting the castle?” He opened the fridge door and Whiskey shoved her nose in where she knew her dinner waited. BJ grabbed a bag of beef brisket bones and tossed it on the kitchen bench. He’d left the lights on out of habit, rather than for Whiskey. If there was light around him, the darkness within was somehow easier to bear.
He scanned the back yard, checking the perimeters that he’d planted with impenetrable, skyward-reaching bamboo. He never knew what he expected to find. Maybe he hoped it was all a bad dream and that everything would return to the way it was. But nothing would be the same again. Regret tore at his heart as he tore open the plastic bag of bones. “Here you go, girl. Take it outside. I’ll grab a beer and join you.”
Whiskey clasped the bone and darted to the back door. As soon as BJ cracked it open, she sprinted to the grass and began devouring her dinner. Shortly after, he slumped into a well-used, canvas director’s chair on his back deck, beer in hand. He hoisted his feet onto the timber railing, slurped a long tug of Crown lager and delighted in watching his dog.
Reflecting on the two hours he and Whiskey had spent together at training that morning, he uplifted his bottle in salute. “Whiskey. You did good today. Cheers.”
Whiskey’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice. Her eyes locked on him, waiting for further instructions. “Eat, Whiskey. Eat.” He motioned his hand up and down, and she returned to her bone.
When they’d started training together some months ago, he’d wondered if she would ever overcome her natural instinct to herd everything in sig
ht—low-flying swallows, smaller dogs, ducks on the lake, curious hares, and even the trainer on one occasion. But with diligence and determination, she and BJ had finally graduated from the obedience, personal protection and attack training classes. Now in specialist training, they underwent more focused practice, advancing their skills set with the end goal of becoming a search and rescue team.
During his combat years, he’d watched and admired the fearlessness, loyalty and vigilance of the bomb squad dogs. If not for them, many a soldier would never have returned home. Figuring search and rescue might give him a renewed purpose and aid in his assimilation back into civilian life, he’d bought Whiskey. Although many scoffed at his choosing a Border collie, he’d felt sorry for the runt of the litter and gave her a chance to prove herself. Much like life was giving him a second chance.
Lifting her head, Whiskey tilted her ears as if picking up a clearer signal and growled.
“Hey, buddy, you home?” A familiar voice called through the house.
“Yeah, Ricky, out the back. Grab yourself a beer on the way through.”
Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past? Page 1